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oroniusn · 13 days

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Introductions

Hello! You may call me Samuel :] (or Sam, Samael, Oroniusn, Oro, I’m not picky!) I decided to redo my introduction post so it was more accurate and elaborate.

I’m a trans man, I’m oriented aroace (romance and sex repulsed/indifferent but it fluctuates at times, when not repulsed I consider myself gay/MLM)

I call myself Transexual, Tranny and a fag, that bothers you feel free to leave your complaints at the door I do not care. All other “old” queer terms fit as well!

My two big special interests are WW1/WW2 history, and survivalist/apocalypse prepping. I’m always down to talk about both. (Especially if you’re also from the United States, the land here is beautiful and I’d love to run off into the woods)

a warning for cannibalism/murder talk on here (both of which I bring up regularly), to get the F&Q out of the way, yes I would eat a person if given the chance, Now moving on!

Currently learning German (A-1? Bordering on A-2? It’s a slow process) and will probably be posting on here in German as a practice when I get better.

American English is my native language (C2)

I’m a practicing Norse Pagan (with Christopagan/Enochian elements mixed in) as well as a Therian/Otherkin (spiritual and mental, depends on the kintype, feel free to ask questions!) I’m generally a very open person when it comes to the paranormal, ghosts, cryptids, curses, demons, I follow a sort of “It’s real until proven otherwise” path. It keeps life interesting.

-DNI-

Supporters of the IDF/Israel or anyone who thinks you can have a neutral stance on the liberation of Palestine

Actually anyone who thinks ANY form of colonization is correct, I don’t want you here

Far right wingers (I’m a socialist, why are you here)

TERFs/SWERFs/TRUSCUM, any of those fuckers, I’ll just block you anyways but might as well add it

“Kill all men” people (I’m a trans dude, once again why are you here?)

Evangelicals, I have no problems with other branches, Y’all are welcome here

Anti-recovery (It’s fine if YOU don’t want to recover, just not if you don’t believe people should recover)

Anyone who is Anti-reclaiming, please do some research on 80’s-90’s queer culture.

-BYF-

I pretty much never check the accounts I interact with before hand, if I broke your DNI it wasn’t intentional (although I tend to find “this fandom dni” type lists stupid as hell)

I can seem very unhinged at times, that’s pretty much my normal (by unhinged I don’t mean “silly” I mean I have little to no moral compass and empathy for others, I also struggle to differentiate right from wrong sometimes)

I also experience paranoia, hallucinations and delusions that can cause me to be irrational. Typically around things like being watched (either by something or by cameras Truman show style) being hunted or an impending sense of doom/feeling that something bad is about to happen.

I struggle with self harm/suicidal thoughts and will occasionally vent on this blog, if you’d like to avoid seeing that block the tags (#tw self harm) and (#tw sui ideation)

A detailed list of fandoms/my interests can be found below!

-Movies/Shows-

Hannibal (the show and all movies, manhunter included)

Saw

Sweeny Todd (2007)

The Crow (1994)

The Thing (1982)

Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954)

Land of the Lost (1974)

Tremors (1990)

Coraline

Star Trek (specifically from 1966)

M*A*S*H (1972)

Dawn of the Dead (2004)

Apocalypse Now (1979)

The Truman Show

Saving Private Ryan (1998)

JoJo Rabbit

All Quiet on the Western Front (1930, the new one is also good however I prefer the original)

Dunkirk

Band of Brothers (2001)

Downfall/Der Untergang

Inglorious Bastards

Full metal jacket (1987)

Zero Dark Thirty (2012)

Look who’s back/Er Ist Wieder Da (political commentary portrayed as comedy my beloved, the book is even better)

(I’m a massive old/war movie fan and I always take suggestions for new ones!! )

-Books-

Maus

Look who’s back

Paradise Lost

Paradise Regained

The Divine Comedy

All Quiet on the Western Front

1984

Animal Farm

Catch-22

Crime and Punishment

Jurassic park

The Lost World

The Book Thief

Hannibal (all four books)

The Hunger Games

(And more)

-Music-

The Crane Wives

Swear and Shake

The Oh Hellos

Hozier

Modest Mouse

Gregory Alan Isakov

Kimya Dawson

Noah Kahan

Iron & Wine

The Mountain Goats

Johnny Cash

Saintseneca

Radical Face

Alex G

Rammstein

Ghost (bc)

Mitski

Mumford & Sons

Fiona Apple

Big Thief

Florence + The Machine

The Hunts

Radiohead

Little Chief

Roar

(And more but this list is already long)

-Games-

FNAF (Been a fan since 2014 baby!)

LOZ (BOTW, TOTK, Skyward Sword and Twilight Princess mainly)

Night in the woods

Fran bow

What remains of Edith Finch

Stardew Valley

MW2

Red Dead Redemption

FAITH: The Unholy Trinity

Fears to Fathom

Red Dead Redemption

(Just the main ones I’ll talk about)

-Misc (Mostly YouTube based stuff)-

Hazbin Hotel (since pre pilot days)

Angel Hare

Local 58

Gemini Home Entertainment

Mandela catalog

Mystery Flesh Pit

Graylock

Vita Carnis

Happy Meat Farms

Welcome To Nightvale

The Magnus Archives

Creep Cast

The Red Thread

-YouTubers-

Wendigoon

ESOTERICA

Jacksepticeye

Markiplier

Sam O’nella

GTLive

Game theory (and all attached channels)

Watcher

HasanAbi

Penguinz0

-Hobbies-

Crochet

Knitting (although I’m not very good yet I do still enjoy it!)

Quilting

Hiking (I love, LOVE being out in nature, I’d die in the city)

Witchcraft

Writing (both my own stories and fan fiction)

Bushcraft

Archery/making bows (I’m not great at it yet but practice makes perfect!)

Art (painting and digital)

Foraging (both for food and medicine purposes)

Folk medicine/medicinal herbs (just small stuff for myself right now, I’m not confident enough in my skills yet)

Herping (I keep a notebook full of native species I’ve found out on my walks, especially snakes)

Collecting bones, pelts, and other animal parts

Bird watching

Hunting/Trapping (I put this in hobbies because I do enjoy doing it, however I only hunt for food and use every part of the animal)

#langblr #aroace #loveless aroace #introducing myself #therianthropy #therian #otherkin #alterhumanity #alterhuman #norse pagan witch #practicing witchcraft #I’m a sucker for military movies #angelkin #actually angelic #i’ll add more tags later

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themultifandomgal · 2 years

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John Shelby- Arranged Marriage

The Shelby brothers, a name you had heard of before, but never met the men behind the name. Until today. Your father is marrying you off to John Shelby. It was either you or your younger sister Esme and so to protect her from this group of awful men you decided that you would marry John Shelby

"You look beautiful dear" your mum says walking into your dressing room

"Thanks I guess" you huff not wanting to get married. You were as they say 'a wild on' your father hoping that this marriage would calm you down a bit, that a Shelby would calm you down

"I know you aren't happy about this, but you will be taken well care of"

"That's not the point mum. Let's just get this over and done with" you stand from your vanity and walk out of your room. Outside a car is waiting for you with your father already sat in the back

"YN, my daughter. You will listen to what your husband tells you and do as he says. Be the perfect wife. Understand?"

"Yeah" you cross your arms sitting in the back of the car with your father.

The wedding itself went rather quickly, thankfully for you John was actually quite handsome, but if he thinks your going to be the obedient wife that stays home with the kids he will have another thing coming. Right now your sat on Johns lap watching everyone around you dancing. His sister Ada is drinking a lot and she's heavily pregnant

"Should your sister really be drinking and dancing that much?" you ask John who's nursing a whisky

"Fuck knows. She won't listen to any of us"

"Come and look YN. Come and look at the family you've joined. Come and look at the man who runs it" Ada shouts at me while John older brother Tommy is stood in front of her "chooses his brothers wives. He hunts his own sister down like a rat and he tried to kill his own brother in law" Ada yells. You get up off Johns lap, John getting up behind you

"Ada that's enough" Arthur, the oldest of the Shelby's now tries to calm her down

"And now he won't even let me have a fucking dance. Not even at a fucking wedding"

"Ada calm down" Polly says holding her

"Sit her down" John tells his aunt

"Holy shit. Water. Right get her in there" Polly points to one of the cars

"Bloody hell Ada you pick your times" John says annoyed

"She can't bloody help it" you nudge your new husband

"I'll go with her. I've delivered babies before" Esme tells the Shelby family

"Well boys let's go to the Garrison to celebrate our two new Shelbys" Arthur shouts

"I'll drop YN off home first"

"Err no I'm coming with you" you frown at John who reluctantly agrees.

"I bloody love this woman" Arthur points to you downing yet another drink

"You did good Tommy"

"Just don't fucking cheat on her, you'll loose you dick"

"Esme" you scold. She came over to the Garrison to let us know Ada had her baby, Karl

"Good luck with her John. She's not one you can control. That last guy who courted her ran away crying"

"Ok ok that's an exaggeration" you laugh taking a drink from your sister

"It's not at all. He had blood dripping from his nose" Esme laughs "she's a tough one our YN. Treat her right John and she'll treat you very well" Esme winks

"Well boys I think YN and I should be going home. We probably wont see you tomorrow" John gets up and takes your hand and you both walk out of the garrison with Johns brother whooping and yelling. Walking down the street it's quiet

"I know I'm seen as the wild one in my family, and yes in a way I am. But also Im not very experienced when it comes to... ya know errm..."

"Sex?"

"Yeah" you breathe out "as in not at all. I guess everyone thinks I would be because I never corrected people"

"Look we don't have to do anything tonight"

"What if I said I did?" you stop in the street and look up at John his eyes looking into yours

"Then I'll do this" he leans down to kissed you, obviously you kiss back

"Just don't control me or tell me what to do. I might be your wife, but I'm no man's property. I'm your equal"

"Ok" he breathes out and kisses you again. John then lifts you up making you squeal, takes you to his home where you end up in his bed with no clothes on. Maybe you just actually thank your dad for that man you've ended up with.

#john shelby x y/n #john shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders #John x wife #john shelby x reader #john shelby x you

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Prompt: what if jc was lxc's age (and jyl maybe 2 or 3 years older) and wwx was lwj's/nhs' age when he was brought to lotus pier? (Or anything that involves a much bigger age gap bw the jiang sibs and wwx - where wwx is babey)

Untamed

“You know what,” Jiang Cheng said to his sister, who looked at him. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not marrying a woman.”

Jiang Yanli’s lips started twitching uncontrollably and she hid her smile behind her sleeve. “Oh?”

“Nope. I’m going to marry Chifeng-zun.”

“On the basis of…?”

“If you take two adult men in charge of two Great Sects,” Jiang Cheng said, doing his utmost best to keep a straight face, “with all the power we can generate between us, we might – maybe – have a chance at disciplining our baby brothers.”

Jiang Yanli burst out laughing.

“There, there. It’s all right,” he said, grinning, reaching out to pat her on the shoulder. “You can join us if you’d like. There’s enough room in Qinghe for two wives.”

“We are not both running away to Qinghe,” she said, giggling. “A-Cheng!”

“What? I think it’s a great idea. If our parents want us back, they can negotiate with Chifeng-zun for it – may they have more luck than they had with the whole medicinal herb debacle.”

“A-Cheng, I am officially tabling this idea,” Jiang Yanli said, still snorting. “Older sibling privilege.”

“I let you out of the womb first as a matter of courtesy,” Jiang Cheng sniffed. “And now you use it against me? A-Li, how could you?”

“Call me jiejie! It doesn’t matter how much older, a few shichen or a few years, older is still older.”

“You probably elbowed me with those sharp pointy things you have on your arms. Weapons of war.”

“Older is older!” she sang. “Now tell me, what did A-Xian do this time?”

“Would you like it in chronological order, or in order of severity? I can also group it by theme, if you prefer.”

“Oh no,” Jiang Yanli said, covering her eyes. “Oh no.”

“And the chief-most theme,” Jiang Cheng said, continuing anyway, “is still called Lan Wangji.”

“Oh no!”

“He has the worst crush,” Jiang Cheng said, shaking his head with endless amusement. “And he just – refuses to admit it. ‘Nooooo, shixiong, we’re just friends, he can’t even stand me most of the time, he’s always trying to get me in trouble, but sometimes he lets me sit next to him and spend time with him and he’s so handsome and I really just want to make him laugh –’”

“We have,” Jiang Yanli said thoughtfully, “raised an idiot.”

“He was fine when we got him,” Jiang Cheng disagreed. “We have spoiled an idiot.”

“This is true. Maybe we should go form a mutual complaining society with Chifeng-zun; isn’t his little brother also an idiot?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jiang Cheng said. “Worse: they’ve teamed up. Nie Huaisang buys Wei Wuxian porn now.”

“Oh no…”

“In return for help cheating on his tests!”

“Oh no!”

“So that’s why I’m going to marry Chifeng-zun,” Jiang Cheng concluded. “Our parents may be disappointed by my decision, but with our powers combined, we might be able to save the world from our respective younger idiots.”

“Maybe,” she said, and shook her head. “A-Cheng – about our parents…”

Jiang Cheng shook his head as well, echoing her action but more in denial. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that she took after their father and he took after their mother, that she was born a shichen prior to midnight and he a shichen after and their personalities completely different as a result; it was no one’s fault that their parents didn’t get along, with their mother disdaining what she perceived as Jiang Yanli’s passiveness and lack of passion and their father despising Jiang Cheng’ prickly temper and difficulty communicating his affection without scolding.

It certainly wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault for being younger and more brilliant, talented at everything he did and with just the sort of personality their father liked best – the combination of his former best friend and the girl he’d once thought of marrying – and that he’d always made that preference very clear to everyone, even to their mother who often worried that her husband would dispossess her children in favor of his foundling and who lashed out at everyone in response.

That had hurt – hurt a lot, even, and Jiang Cheng was soft and sensitive underneath all his defensive layers, but any time he got angry over it he would look at Wei Wuxian, their little A-Xian, baby Xianxian, who adored his older siblings more than anything and was adored in return, and he forced himself to get over it. He was old enough, by the time Wei Wuxian arrived, to know to whom the blame really belonged.

“I spoke with Nie Huaisang while I was at the Cloud Recesses,” Jiang Cheng said in an undertone, one reserved just for his sister. “He’s asked me to pass along a message to his brother, the next time I go night-hunting, about the whole debacle – he’s so terribly apologetic, you understand, he couldn’t wait for the post – if we get to Qinghe by tomorrow, Chifeng-zun will be able to get to Gusu in time to intervene before our father does something wretched like cancel your engagement and take A-Xian home early from his studies.”

“The engagement I wouldn’t mind,” she remarked. “If Jin Zixuan feels so strongly about it that he’d get into a fistfight with A-Xian, it’s better not to marry, no matter what our mother might think. But on no account is A-Xian to be sent home early! He needs his education!”

Unsaid was everything else he needed, things he could get better at the Cloud Recesses than anywhere else.

“Then we go?”

“We go,” she agreed. Between the two of them, Jiang Cheng had more talent at cultivation, but she was steadier, even in her overall mediocrity: when the two of them flew on a sword together, they could make it much further and faster than anyone expected.

Qinghe wasn’t really close enough for a quick jaunt – they flew all night without stopping – but Chifeng-zun was amendable to their scheme, jumping at once onto his saber and making his way straight to Gusu. A waste of spiritual energy all around, really, but far faster than their father would move, with his Sect Leader’s dignity and retinue, rushing to the Cloud Recesses to save his precious little Wei Wuxian from having any connections in life that weren’t to the Jiang sect, and the Jiang sect alone.

And never mind how much he needed those connections: needed to have friends his own age, needed to have more time with that crush of his, needed independence and freedom and everything the Jiang sect supposedly stood for - needed for them to support him and act as the foundation beneath his feet, rather than the chains tying him down to earth.

Chifeng-zun – who was only a few years older than they were – was really a very understanding person, getting the problem at once and immediately agreeing with their view on things. Perhaps there really was something to be said about the difference in generations…

“Let me show you to rooms where you can rest,” Chifeng-zun’s aide said, a slender young man with a polite smile on his face as he saluted. “I’ll arrange for refreshments as well.”

“We hate to trouble you, but in all honesty you are a lifesaver,” Jiang Yanli said to him warmly, and he unexpectedly flushed red at the cheeks. “A-Cheng, let’s follow this handsome young man and rest a while before we return to the Lotus Pier.”

The young man was blushing.

“What’s your name?” Jiang Cheng asked, and the blush faded away at once as the man paled a little: it would be one he expected them to recognize, then, and not in a good way.

“This one is Meng Yao,” he said, and saluted again even though he’d already saluted once before, and Jiang Yanli’s eyes flickered to Jiang Cheng’s very briefly before she caught his arms and raised him up.

“I’ve heard of you. Smart and talented enough to get Chifeng-zun’s attention, even so far as becoming his personal deputy - you must be brilliant. Truly, you deserve a better father,” she told him, and he stared up at her, dumbstruck.

“Don’t mind her,” Jiang Cheng said. “She’s trying out this new thing in which she says everything she feels without thinking first.”

She elbowed him. “And isn’t it your fault?” she asked snappishly. “You’re the one who needs to speak your mind more; I’m just modeling good behavior!”

If she’d been older than him – really older, rather than just a few shichen – maybe she would have held her tongue more and played the role of the peacekeeper, trying to protect him from his father’s indifference the way she had tried to when they were both younger, just as he had tried to distract his mother from her with his hard-fought accomplishments. It wasn’t until they had little Wei Wuxian to spoil and care for, a joint task that required both of their attention, that they realized that splitting their forces like that was pointless and self-defeating: it wasn’t actually helping that Jiang Yanli suppressed so much of her spirit until she felt like little more than a reflective mirror with no content, nor that Jiang Cheng nearly worked himself to death trying to prove that he was worthy of his father’s love and respect that he would never receive, and it never would.

So they stopped.

They were trying very hard to stop, anyway.

“You’re very kind,” Meng Yao murmured, and led them to their rooms.

The moment he closed the door behind him, Jiang Yanli turned to Jiang Cheng and said, “I’ve changed my mind about your plan – we can run away to Qinghe. You marry Chifeng-zun, and I’ll marry that charming boy out there.”

There was an audible thudding sound from the corridor outside, as if someone had accidentally walked into a wall, and they both grinned at each other.

“Mother would kill you,” he warned her in an undertone.

“And being married to someone who disdains me enough to fight over my worthlessness in public wouldn’t?” she retorted, smiling even though her expression was tinged with pain: if she had one ambition in life, it was to never become their mother. “The marriage agreement might have been forged by our mothers, but the text of it says ‘the Jin sect leader’s son to the Jiang sect leader’s daughter’. Why can’t I marry him?”

“He hasn’t been acknowledged.”

“Only technically. Everyone knows he’s the real deal, or else his father wouldn’t have made such a fuss about it.”

“But –”

“Anyway, he must be a good man, or Chifeng-zun wouldn’t have promoted him.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jiang Cheng said. “Chifeng-zun doesn’t have the sense of self-preservation the heavens bestowed on a lemming.”

There was a vaguely audible snort from outside their door. It seemed Meng Yao, at least, had the good sense not to leave guests in his house unattended, and no discrimination against the very useful business of listening at doors.

He also had a sense of humor, which was good given Jiang Yanli’s newfound ambitions in his regard.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t saying I’d elope with him tomorrow or anything,” she sniffed, eyes dancing. “Give him some time to prove himself to me.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but smile back. “That’s true,” he said, raising his voice a little. “At Chifeng-zun’s side, he’ll be able to make a name for himself until the whispers all say that his father was an idiot for keeping him away.”

“And if even that doesn’t work, I’ll marry him in and make him help me run the Jiang sect,” she said cheerfully. “Who needs Lanling Jin?”

“Wait, since when are you inheriting the Jiang sect?”

“I’m older! And anyway, aren’t you marrying Chifeng-zun? That means you’ll be away helping run his sect, and that leaves an opening at home for me.”

“…huh. Good point.”

“Maybe you can just swap places with Meng Yao,” she said, starting to giggle again. “And we can all see how long it takes anyone to notice…”

“Our parents might not,” Jiang Cheng said dryly. “But Chifeng-zun would. If only because I have my sights set on his bed, and I don’t think Meng Yao does.”

“You don’t know that; everyone wants Chifeng-zun. Maybe you have competition.”

“Better to have competition than be oblivious. Do you want to hear the whole story about A-Xian and Lan Wangji’s tragic mutual pining disaster? Xichen-xiong told me all the details he’s been leaving out of his letters.”

“Tell me everything!”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #meng yao #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #jiang sect twins #crazycat27 #mingcheng #meng yao/jiang yanli

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demonslayedher · 3 years

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I lost a bet to myself and paid the price by making another demon sibling AU. Was originally just going to be headcanons and doodles, but I wound up writing the parts I felt like. The names of Tengen's siblings are entirely made up. This will come in two parts due to length.

Clicking each bone in his spine, Yogen stood to his full height, taller than Tengen remembered. It wasn't uncommon to go long periods of time without seeing his siblings when they were on their own missions, but Yogen shouldn't had changed that much. "I'll spare you. It wouldn't do for the Uzui clan not to have a head. Now you're the strongest one."

"...Yogen..."

"I wouldn't had been able to take you on, if not for the fact that you'd never have done it if you knew. You should thank me, Aniki. You know what I've spared you? Father was going to make us all have a fight to the death. You'd have done at least half of this."

"What have you done!?"

"I ate them," he laughed, something Tengen had never heard Yogen do in his adult voice. He had the most infectious laugh when they were children, and this rang with the same pleasure, however dissonant. "I was stunned too, at first. When I came to, I had eaten two of them, they were still warm in my mouth, their cells already nourishing mine. But you know what? I decided to eat the others. I was going to kill them anyway, what difference does it make that I should eat them?"

Tengen's face pearled back into a snarl, his eyes flaring.

"One, two, three... Eizen got away before I could bite him, though. That whelp would had done nothing for me. The one I really wanted to eat was the strongest," he said, his glowing white eyes shifting down to their father's fresh corpse. "And now, even he's nothing to me."

Tengen could stand no more of this. "Yogen!!" he screamed and gripped one of the swords at his back, and charged at Yogen all in one motion. A hard sickle burst out of the flesh of Yogen's arm and caught it, but when Tengen pulled his other sword down through Yogen's shoulder and chest, the sound of ripping sinews what different than it should had been. A look over to the injury revealed that the shoulder was repairing itself before Tengen's eyes. When had he learned any technique like that?

The momentary lapse in focus caught him, Yogen swiped up against Tengen's forearm. It felt too varied to had been spiked knuckles--those were his fingertips, he had grown claws. Tengen drew a sword up to lop off Yogen's forearm, and then his brother let out a shrill scream as his features lit up and revealed how contorted they had become. Yogen didn't look human anymore with how his veins bulged and burned. Burned? From what? Tengen took a look over his shoulder to the sun rising and casting light through the wide open door, and when he looked back, Yogen was gone.

---

Tengen watched the flames consume the house and the bodies of his slain family. He had combed it for any trace of Yogen, but his brother left none. Hope though he did that the flames may consume Yogen too, he knew in his gut that he was still out there.

Behind him, Suma sneezed in a gust of smoke that wafted into her face. Hinatsuru handed her a handkerchief, as she and Makio were already covering their faces in case of poison. Tengen didn't bother, he was resistent to most ninja poisons, and the scratches down his forearm were already less swollen. "You three should go back to your homes."

"No!" insisted Suma.

"We're already members of the Uzui clan," said Hinatsuru.

"Your revenge is ours," added Makio.

Hinatsuru made the most important point, they were already seen as his property. He could hear whispers and feel them all being watched; the other ninja clans knew what had befallen the most powerful family, and the Uzui name was now shunned. Even if Tengen wanted to stay, he had no place in the village, and neither did anything that belonged to him. The only thing left for him now was to track his brother down and drag him to hell.

Someone else was approaching, and Tengen reached for one sword. Uneven footsteps. One didn't have the splat of a foot, it was the thunk of wood--a cane, or two canes? A leisurely, but determined pace. Self-assuredness, even for entering ninja territory. A robust heartbeat. Who was coming?

"Well, is that what you all look like? I feel like I've wandered into one of those storybooks," said an old man. He had one missing leg, a full head of hair and moustache to rival it, a grin, and a telltale scar lining the underside of his left eye. "I had always left your kind alone, but I couldn't when I felt the presence of a demon over here."

"Who are you?" Tengen asked, stetching one arm before his wives while the other hand stayed at his weapon.

"You didn't chop its head off, did you, ninja boy? It's long gone by now, you know. It'll hide from daylight. Be even more trouble to find if it's one of your folk."

"How do you know about us?" Makio shot back.

"How do you children not know about demons? Aye," the old man huffed to himself as he set down a stool he carried. He planted his rump on it, then folded his arms. "The name's Kuwajima Jigoro, former Roaring Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corp. I figured this would be out of your expertise, so I've come to help."

Tengen felt in his gut he could trust that. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head, his wives all doing likewise behind him. Jigoro seemed to enjoy that, but insisted they do not. Instead of bowing, he'd appreciate the ladies rubbing his shoulders to display their gratitude, he said.

While Hinatsuru and Makio set about at each arm, Suma kneeled at his remaining foot with a gasp. "Aren't old people not supposed to be this beefy?"

"Can it, Suma!" chided Makio.

Hinatsuru said nothing, but could feel something was different in this man, not only in his physique. Whatever he had to say was going to change their lives more than the previous night already had. They all listened carefully as Jigoro orated about the existence of demons, how they eat humans, how they are near impossible to kill, but also the methods of those who hunt them, with specialized blades and an organization to support them. As he began describing Breath, however, Tengen stopped him. "I already know all that, that's ninjutsu basics. That's not giving me anything I don’t already have."

"Oh? I figured as much. Always made me curious about you pups. So you you've got the basics of Breath technique, huh?"

"It's beyond basic," he shot him an annoyed frown.

"I'll be the judge of that. See that tree over there? That's probably about the strength of the usual demon neck. Go hog wild on it." As much as showing off was against the ninja code, Tengen wasn't in the mood to argue and made short work of that tree, the only sound being the pop of it seperating into two halves. Jigoro gave him a clap, then stood with his cane. "Good accuracy. Spot on. Now you pick one out for me. Take some mercy, though, I'm only working at half-strength." He balanced on his foot and his peg, plopping the end of his cane in his palm to show off that he meant to use it in place of a sword. Tengen hated when other people tried to be show-offs, so he pointed to a tree a few rings thicker than the one he had cut.

The old man eyed it, then slid his good foot through the dirt, and as he leaned forward, clouds of steam rose from his lips. "Breath of Thunder, Fifth Form. Heat Lightning."

The sound hit Tengen so hard that he covered his ears, and the old man was gone--on the other side of the tree, which was not only cleanly chopped, but split itself in half vertically as it fell. A rarity, Tengen's jaw dropped. Jigoro looked back with a fierce grin, knowing he'd have left them all impressed.

Rather than one knee, Tengen planted his palms and face to the ground. "Please teach me this technique, Master."

"When did I ever say I wanted a student like you? You already said you know Breath technique, don't you?"

"You won't teach him?" Suma sat straight up, little tears in the corners of her eyes.

"I only want students with talents I can mold. You're already set your ways and would just try to make Thunder Breathing into what you want. You can't fill a full tea cup, as they say."

Tengen wanted to insist he's do anything to take his revenge, but the old man was right. As he was, he wouldn't be able to unlearn everything he always knew, it was as much a part of him as every experience and memory, like every scar, such as the ones running down his left arm.

"The true nature of Thunder Breathing would escape you, you'd get too caught up in how powerful it looks. You're too flashy!"

His cheeks flushed. "Say that again."

"You're too... flashy? I don't think a ninja should find that a compliment."

"You can't tell him all that and then not train him!" insisted Makio. "Please! There's got to be something you can do! Tengen-sama works really hard!"

"Tengen-sama works harder than anyone!"

"Please, Master. Tengen-sama can think flexibly, please give him a chance."

"I won't! I can already tell he's not the sort of student I'm looking for!" he barked back, and Suma burst out into sobs, while Hinatsuru hid delicate tears and Makio's face turned dark red. Jigoro flinched at the sight of the upset girls, then looked back to Tengen. "I--I didn't come out here to leave you high and dry, you know. I already told you about the Corp, didn't I? That's where you really need to go. I can't teach you Thunder Breathing, but if you really think you can pick up something new, there's an old scroll I've got of an off-shoot Breath. Someone like you might be able to pull it off. What do you say, ninja boy? How about I give that to you and you teach yourself Sound Breathing?"

---

From there, Tengen took much the same course as in canon. When he became a Pillar and had his meeting with Oyakata-sama, he was upfront about his reasons for entering the Corp. Oyakata-sama appreciated his frankness and assured him that the entire Corp would support him if they found any information on Yogen, but Oyakata-sama was also keen on the undercurrent of Tengen's heart; that he was relieved to leave the murderous ways of ninja, and that he wanted to live an upright life. This finally gave words to something Tengen always felt, but thought he had no right to wish for. He and his wives were moved and they swore loyalty to Oyakata-sama.

However, as time went on, there were no clues whatsoever about Yogen. Around the time they all got antsy, Makio finally couldn't stand it anymore and suggested they may never find him. "Think about it," she said. "This Corp is full of strong swordsmen. Someone might had already chopped off his head long before we got here."

While that should had come as a relief, Tengen couldn't help but find the idea frustrating. That revenge was his to take. He could think of only one person stronger than him who might had done it, so he described Yogen to Himejima one day and asked if he remembered seeing a demon like that. Himejima plainly replied that he was blind.

As they began to accept that they may never have closure, Hinatsuru proposed that they be satisfied bagging an Upper Moon. That should be enough for them to earn their peace, she said, and as much as it grinded away at Tengen's heart, he agreed.

In the course of performing Tengen's Pillar duties, they closed in on what was likely an Upper Moon in Yoshiwara. Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma slipped in, but when he lost contact, Tengen went looking for some female Corp members to sneak in and see what was up. That's when he reencountered the boy whose head he meant to spill at the last Pillar meeting, as well as his two annoying buddies. Inosuke would had been satisfyingly flamboyant, if not for the fact that he was gross. The other whelp was named Zenitsu.

"You write that 'Zen' with the kanji for virtue?"

"Yeah. What's it to you?"

"Nothing," Tengen replied, never saying anything of it ever again. It didn't take long for him to notice that Zenitsu had ears on par with his own.

The boys managed to get in, and soon the plan went awry. Tengen's first encounter with an Upper Moon broke out, and that went awry in the most horrifically flamboyant of ways. Tengen found himself unconscious, needing to stop his heart to keep the demon poison from spreading, as it was many times more potent than any ninja or demon poison he encountered before. There was fire in the wreckage nearby, he'd be consumed if he doesn't move soon. In the odd space where consciousness was returning to him, his hearing reached into a deeper plain, where he could hear the most carnal thoughts pounding though the bodies of those around him.

Tanjiro was panicking.

No scent! No scent! Upper Moon Five--where did--but--no scent! No scent!!

Tengen could hear Upper Moon Six, in both bodies, but he couldn't hear any other demon. It gave off no sound. He struggled to look in Tanjiro's direction, and was stunned by the sight of a demon partway sticking out of the shadow Tanjiro has cast, guarding Upper Moon Six with a kunai stuck in his arm.

"Sakage!" growled Upper Moon Six. That is not the demon's name. "I don't need you here! Were you intruding on my thoughts?"

"I didn't need to. I heard the cacophony from ages away. You wouldn't had seen wisteria coming anyway."

Upper Moon Six looked to the kunai, while Tanjiro panicked that the poison had no effect on the newly arrived demon.

"Quit with all the fuss. I'd appreciate it if you hurry up and silence that Pillar over there," he turned his glance to Tengen. His eyes had writing in them, but that was Yogen. "I can't be bothered."

Yogen disappeared into the shadow as suddenly as he appeared, and Tanjiro fell forward with a stumble. He'd be a sitting duck like that, Tengen had to go save him, he pushed himself off the ground to--but--but his arm was missing--the scars were torn off-----

---

Yogen had been quick to learn some of the ins and outs of being a demon, but not all the finer details. He gathered from the surrounding demons' fear of the drum demon that the "Twelve Moons" were the most fearsome demons, closest to their progenitor, but didn't those other demons notice that the drum demon couldn't stomach humans as he ate them? That demon was weak, and Yogen wouldn't stand for it. He cut off his head.

It did not kill the demon, who screamed at him with the characters "Lower Six" in one of his eyes, but he shut up quick when Kibutsuji Muzan arrived. Despite warning Yogen that this was not how fights between demons were done and he should kill Yogen for acting without permission, Muzan smilingly decided to allow it, and instructed him to absorb the former Lower Moon Six and assume his role. Muzan did not care for how Yogen's name referenced sunlight, though. He renamed him Sakage on a whim.

Sakage went on to learn very quickly how to please Muzan, and how to climb the ranks. While not immune, he could resist wisteria poison, which Muzan was more than pleased to borrow from him and see how he could try to adopt it into his own cells. Sakage could move between connected shadows, and in spying on the Corp, he picked up on the hand signs the swordsmen used and quickly deciphered them, and openly reported so to the demons that outranked him. With hearing far more advanced that his brother's ever was, he listened to the information shared between crows, piecing apart their language to the best of his understanding.

Lower Moons Three and Two later, he used his spying abilities to identify his next target: Upper Moon Five.

Gyokko was startled by the challenge, and under Muzan's gaze, he could not refuse. Sakage made short work of him, and the other Moons all felt a chill. Akaza's chill was excitement.

Akaza wasted no time in chatting up the new Upper Moon, for Sakage likewise had a stated hatred for weaklings. While Sakage did find it a bit of a bother, especially since he knew he was a long way from ever being able to pose a real challenge to Akaza, he learned that the quickest way to stop Akaza from pestering him was to spar. Akaza loved to chit-chat even while sparring, though, and this became a useful way for Sakage to catch up on a hundred years of gossip about the other Upper Moons.

While it did feel they had somewhat of a friendship, one day they got on the topic of poison. "I hate people who use poison," said Akaza, between punches. "It's as cowardly and low as you can get."

Sakage, who could create a myriad of weapons from his cells as needed and always laced them in poison, was not offended, but disagreed. "I see no problem in being effective."

This gave Akaza pause, and an uncomfortable drop in his stomach. He excused himself, and bothered Sakage not so often after that.

Muzan was typically pleased with Sakage, which made Hantengu tremble that the ambitious demon had it out for him next. When Muzan was in a foul mood after Upper Moon Six's defeat, Sakage was likewise in a bad mood for the annoyance he encountered out there, someone who should had stayed hidden away instead of bearing free his inherently show-offy personality by joining the Demon Slayer Corp, especially since he was sure to have his ears set to the ground now for any new sign of him. He was certain Tengen witnessed him. But, for as much of an insult as it was to the Upper Moons that Gyutaro let him live, Tengen wouldn't be much of a threat anymore.

Still, Sakage knew to keep his cool. He had news to report, and he was certain of his deciphering. When he declared where the swordsmith village was located, Muzan had no doubts, and sent Hantengu alone. "Now why couldn't you find that, after all this time?" Muzan smirked to Nakime. She, not being of any rank, could merely apologize. Sakage took no pleasure or pride in looking better than a peer whom he knew he was stronger than. Muzan's mood could never be sustained for long, though, and he very soon frowned back to him. "You've brought no word of the blue spider lily."

"My apologies."

"Aren't ninja supposed to have knowledge of these things? Weren't you of a high ranking clan? Go back and order them to search."

And, at that moment, a dangerous thought escaped Sakage's inner filter, it leaked though to his mind at the same moment it leaked to Muzan's: But I can't show my face back there.

The way Muzan's face bent with disgust drove more terror into Sakage than when he was still a human and first encountered the demon lord. He felt certain of a swift death, but Muzan let him be. Sakage was still too useful. But, Sakage knew he'd have to crawl back to Muzan's graces by providing something of more use to him. He had to unveil a secret of more value.

Tengen, who remained active despite missing an eye and a hand, was present at an emergency Pillar meeting. Tokito and Kanroji were bandaged up, and they recounted how the swordsmith village was attacked by Upper Moon Four. With two Pillars and a few other reliable Corp members all working together they defeated him well before daybreak, but not before discovering an ancient ability known only as "the mark."

As he was now, Tengen knew he'd never attain this. What bothered him more was how the demons found the village, so hidden that he'd have to put his mind to it to have figured out where it was. He could had resorted to old tricks to figure it out, whether that be silently tracking the smiths after their deliveries or flirting with the Kakushi, but what recourse would a demon have had?

'I heard the cacophony----'

A demon may have had ears that rivaled his own, or were better!

Feeling sure of which demon it may had been, he set to thinking of what he would do next. If the demon moved in shadow, listening for the Corps' secrets, what would be a bigger target than the swordsmith village?

Oyakata-sama!

"Uzui-san, are you alright?" asked Himejima. "You seem quiet today."

"You look pale," added Kanroji.

"I'm jealous I won't get one of those flashy marks," he lief without flaw. "We all know I can't take any demons on like I used to. Maybe I don’t belong here."

"Uzui, what sort of talk is that?" Iguro looked to him with his flamboyant dichromatic eyes wide, and brows knit tight over them. "This isn't like you."

"I've got a different sort of mission to go on, I'll see myself out. You all stay here and keep each other company discussing this."

"Then I'll excuse myself here as well--"

"Not you, you've got no excuse," Uzui forced Tomioka back to a seated position by pressing on his head.

In conducting his own investigation, Tengen set his crow to work investigating from the sky. What the crow learned, tracing a few leaks and scolding the birds involved, was that their mid-air communications may had been what spoiled the secret location. This confirmed Tengen's suspicion about Yogen's hearing. He had a feeling about some other spoiled secrets too, and in following up with Corp members involved in previous mishaps, he concluded that the secret hand signals had been divulged.

(Read the conclusion reblog here.)

#please reblog from the conclusion post thx #tw blood #tw violence #tw cannibalism

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

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The Lady of the Autumn Court: what the fuck is happening in Autumn (part 2)

As I said in my Eris Vanserra post, it seems that the Lady of the Autumn Court is a bigger piece to the Eris and Lucien puzzles.

We don't know what the fuck has been happening in the Forest House but we do the following:

The Lady of the Autumn Court is/was extremely powerful

Lucien (and to some extent Eris) are mama's boys (even though Lucien has been exiled for centuries)

The Lady met Helion before she was married to Beron

At least one of the seven brothers - Lucien - is Helion's child, but Helion saved the Lady after she had already had some kids (so Eris probably isn't his, even though they both have amber eyes)

The Lady chose to stay with Beron

Beron is aware of the affair between Helion and the Lady

Beron is physically abusive towards the Lady and had tortured Eris

Helion does not know Lucien is his heir, but Eris seems to know Lucien isn't Beron's son

Things that aren't mentioned below the cut, but are interesting:

Eris is the ringleader of the brothers, the commander of Beron's forces, and is Beron's most trusted son (the other three don't even have names)

In ACOWAR, Eris says has never denied Beron anything - except to save Lucien - but is angling for the throne and betraying him in ACOFAS and ACOSF (this reminds me of Lorcan betraying Maeve for her own good in TOG)

Beron wanted to kill Lucien for wanting to leave Autumn and marry Jesminda (this doesn't seem like a good reason if he isn't in line for the throne - or isn't part of their bloodline, but I guess Beron doesn't need a reason to be cruel)

Helion alludes to having trouble at home in ACOSF

The remaining unnamed brothers are all angling for the throne (this reminds me of the Khaganate in TOG and the Cruel Prince)

I got a little carried away with the color coding, but here's every major scene involving and discussing the Lady of the Autumn Court (and some breadcrumbs because I'm convinced SJM is purposeful in her writing)

Rhysand uses the Lady of the Autumn Court taunt Lucien in ACOTAR:

Rhysand’s venom-coated smile grew. “You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you’ll learn how quickly Amarantha’s whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady.” The color leached from Lucien’s face, but he held his ground. It was Tamlin who answered. “Put your sword down, Lucien.” Rhysand ran an eye over me. “I knew you liked to stoop low with your lovers, Lucien, but I never thought you’d actually dabble with mortal trash.” My face burned. Lucien was trembling—with rage or fear or sorrow, I couldn’t tell. “The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, I’d keep your new pet well away from your father.”

The Lady of the Autumn Court also helps Feyre with one of her tasks:

A door clicked open somewhere down the hall, and I shot to my feet. An auburn head peered at me. I sagged with relief. Lucien— Not Lucien. The face that turned toward me was female—and unmasked. She looked perhaps a bit older than Amarantha, but her porcelain skin was exquisitely colored, graced with the faintest blush of rose along her cheeks. Had the red hair not been indication enough, when her russet eyes met mine, I knew who she was. I bowed my head to the Lady of the Autumn Court, and she inclined her chin slightly. I supposed that was honor enough. “For giving her your name in place of my son’s life,” she said, her voice as sweet as sun-warmed apples. She must have been in the crowd that day. She pointed at the bucket with a long, slender hand. “My debt is paid.” She disappeared through the door she’d opened, and I could have sworn I smelled roasting chestnuts and crackling fires in her wake.

Rhys (while wearing the mask of hte High Lord) uses her to taunt Lucien again in ACOMAF:

“Little Lucien,” Rhys purred. “Didn’t the Lady of the Autumn Court ever tell you that when a woman says no, she means it?”

“Prick,” Lucien snarled, storming past his sentinels, but not daring to touch his weapons. “You filthy, whoring prick.”

Lucien explaining how he was treated since Beron may suspect he's Helion's heir and as we know from Tamlin: future high lords have physical markers:

His jaw tightened. “As the youngest of seven sons, I wasn’t particularly needed or wanted. Perhaps it was a good thing. I was able to study for longer than my father allowed my brothers before shoving them out the door to rule over some territory within our lands, and I could train for as long as I liked, since no one believed I’d be dumb enough to kill my way up the long list of heirs. And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.”

“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”

A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

This may not relate to the Lady of the Autumn Court's relationship with Helion, but I'm gathering all the crumbs (why does Eris hesitate before calling his brothers brothers?)

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

Eris has no love for Beron (he literally asks Rhys to kill him), but he does seem to protect the Lady during the High Lord's Meeting:

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.

Helion and Lady of Autumn lock eyes:

The violence simmering off my friends was enough to boil the pool at our toes as the High Lord of Autumn filed through the archway, his sons in rank behind him, his wife—Lucien’s mother—at his side. Her russet eyes scanned the room, as if looking for that missing son.

They settled instead on Helion, who gave her a mocking incline of his dark head. She quickly averted her gaze.

The High Lords discuss the past war:

(also reminder: Eris has Amber Eyes like Helion)

Helion shrugged, the sun catching in the embroidered gold thread of his tunic. “Indeed, though it seems Tamlin is already ahead of me. The Spring Court must be evacuated.” His amber eyes darted between Tarquin and Beron. “Surely your northern neighbors will welcome them.”

Beron’s lip curled. “We do not have the resources for such a thing.”

“Right,” Viviane said, “because everyone’s too busy polishing every jewel in that trove of yours.”

Beron threw her a glare that had Kallias tensing. “Wives were invited as a courtesy, not as consultants.”

Viviane’s sapphire eyes flared as if struck by lightning. “If this war goes poorly, we’ll be bleeding out right alongside you, so I think we damn well get a say in things.”

“Hybern will do far worse things than kill you,” Beron counted coolly. “A young, pretty thing like you especially.”

Kallias’s snarl rippled the water in the reflection pool, echoed by Mor’s own growl.

Beron smiled a bit. “Only three of us were present for the last war.” A nod to Rhys and Helion, whose face darkened. “One does not easily forget what Hybern and the Loyalists did to captured females in their war-camps. What they reserved for High Fae females who either fought for the humans or had families who did.” He put a heavy hand on his wife’s too-thin arm. “Her two sisters bought her time to run when Hybern’s forces ambushed their lands. The two ladies did not walk out of that war-camp again.” Helion was watching Beron closely, his stare simmering with reproach.

The Lady of the Autumn Court kept her focus on the reflection pool. Any trace of color drained from her face. Dagdan and Brannagh flashed through my mind—along with the corpses of those humans. What they’d done to them before and after they’d died

After Nesta makes her speech:

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

After Azriel attacks Eris:

Beron struck—only for his fire to bounce off a hard barrier of my own. I lifted my gaze to the High Lord of Autumn. “That’s twice now we’ve handed you your asses. I’d think you’d be sick of the humiliation.”

Helion laughed

---

Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.

Thesan rubbed his temples. “This does not bode well.”

But Helion smirked at his retinue, crossing an ankle over a knee and flashing those powerful, sleek thighs. “Looks like you owe me ten gold marks.”

Feyre loses her shit:

Beron shielded barely fast enough to block me, but the wake singed Eris’s arm—right through the cloth. And the pale, lovely arm of Lucien’s mother.

---

The Lady of Autumn was clutching her arm, angry red splattered along the moon-white skin. No glimmer of pain on that face, though. I said to her as I reclaimed my seat, “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes lifted toward mine, round as saucers.

Beron spat, “Don’t talk to her, you human filth.”

Helion tells the story of the Affair:

Helion tapped a finger against the carved arm of his couch. “He played games in the War and it cost him—dearly. His people still remember those choices—those losses. His own damn wife remembers.”

Helion had looked at the Lady of Autumn repeatedly during the meeting. I asked, carefully and casually, “What do you mean?”

Helion’s jaw clenched. “The Lady of the Autumn Court was sent to stay with her sisters, her younger children packed off to other relatives. To spread out the bloodline.” He dragged a hand through his sable hair. “Hybern attacked their estate. Her sisters bought her time to run. Not because she was married to Beron, but because they loved each other. Fiercely. She tried to stay, but they convinced her to go. So she did—she ran and ran, but Hybern’s beasts were still faster. Stronger. They cornered her at a ravine, where she became trapped atop a ledge, the beasts snapping at her feet

Helion didn’t so much as shift in his chair. “She was still young—though she’d been married to that delightful male for nearly two decades. Married too young, the marriage arranged when she was twenty.”

---

But it was Mor who said coolly, “I heard a rumor once, Helion, that she waited before agreeing to that marriage. For a certain someone who had met her by chance at an equinox ball the year before.”

I tried not to blink, not to let any of my rising interest surface.

The fire banked to embers and Helion threw a half smile in Mor’s direction. “Interesting. I heard her family wanted internal ties to power, and that they didn’t give her a choice before they sold her to Beron.”

“How long did the affair last?” I asked. That withdrawn female … I couldn’t imagine it.

Helion snorted. “Is that a polite question for a High Lady to be asking?”

But the way he spoke, that smile … I only waited, using silence to push him instead.

Helion shrugged. “On and off for decades. Until Beron found out. They say the lady was all brightness and smiles before that. And after Beron was through with her … You saw what she is.”

“What did he do to her?”

“The same things he does now.” Helion waved a hand. “Belittle her, leave bruises where no one but him will see them.”

I clenched my teeth. “If you were her lover, why didn’t you stop it?” The wrong thing to say. Utterly wrong, by the dark fury that rippled across Helion’s face.

“Beron is a High Lord, and she is his wife, mother of his brood. She chose to stay. Chose. And with the protocols and rules, Lady, you will find that most situations like the one you were in do not end well for those who interfere.

I didn’t back down, didn’t apologize. “You barely even looked at her today.”

“We have more important matters at hand.”

“Beron never called you out for it?”

“To publicly do so would be to admit that his possession made a fool of him. So we continue our little dance, these centuries later.” I somehow doubted that beneath that roguish charm and irreverence, Helion felt it was a dance at all.

But if it had ended centuries ago, and she’d never seen him again, had let Beron treat her so abominably …

The Lucien Paternity Revelation:

While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.

I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.

It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.

My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?

It would seem not.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

Beron must have discovered the affair when she was pregnant with Lucien.

He likely suspected, but there was no way to prove it—not if she was sharing his bed, too. Rhys’s disgust was a tang in my mouth. I have no doubt Beron debated killing her for the betrayal, and even afterward. When Lucien could be passable as his own of spring—just enough to make him doubt who had sired his last son.

I wrapped my head around it. Lucien not Beron’s son, but Helion’s. His power is flame, though. They’ve mused Beron’s title could go to him.

His mother’s family is strong—that was why Beron wanted a bride from their line. The gift could be hers.

You never suspected?

Not once. I’m mortified I didn’t even consider it.

What does this mean, though?

Nothing—ultimately nothing. Other than the fact that Lucien might be Helion’s sole heir

#LONG post #lady of autumn #lucien vanserra #autumn court #beron vanserra #eris vanserra #helion spell cleaver #acotar #lady of the autumn court #forest house #a court of wings and ruin #high lord's meeting #a court of silver flames #kp analysis #acotar series #mtp

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fanficteen · 4 years

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Reincarnation (4)

marcus volturi x reader

Didyme. The name echoed in your mind as Marcus, Felix, and the Cullens briefed the newly arrived guards. Something wasn’t right. You had no doubt Marcus would have been capable of hunting her - your? - killer to the ends of the earth. And Aro… why had he not been more concerned with the death of his sister? Reincarnation was a tricky thing, and even your centuries of life had not prepared you for the memories that began to flutter in your mind. Bella dropped onto the couch beside you, wordlessly holding out a hand. You clasped it, opening your mind to the one other who wouldn’t be risked. These are dangerous thoughts, (Y/N). I know. You looked back at her, chewing your lip, then returned your gaze to Marcus. As though he felt it, he glanced back, querulously, and you offered him a bright smile that didn’t reach your heart. But I can’t go in there without knowing if he is just waiting to kill me again. Your eyes scanned the guard. Alec and Felix could be trusted. Demetri… could be persuaded. Jane would just as soon take your head off herself and that would compromise Alec. But Alec would also compromise her. You’re not seriously considering going back to Volterra. Bella’s eyes widened in alarm. Wouldn’t you? you challenged, eyes flashing into hers. She clenched her jaw, but nodded. Besides, he can’t go through me. Not this time. But he can go through Marcus. Your eyes met your mate’s again, as Bella’s words slammed the reality of your musings into you. After all, who wouldn’t he go through, if he would kill his own baby sister?

Meeting Aro again did nothing to quell your concerns, his thoughts clear upon seeing you again. Could you be harnessed or would you have to be put down? Would Marcus survive it? At least he hadn’t yet begun to wonder how hard it would be to kill you. Or whether you knew he would. “It is good to have you back brother. Oh, and with dear (Y/N) as well!” He floated down from the dais, clasping first Marcus’ hand, then yours. “Aro,” you greeted, politely taking his hand and watching his brow furrow as he ran clear into brick-wall shields, which you were carefully building around Marcus as well. Your touch was delicate in his mind, an infraction that churned the very pit of your stomach but you found what you needed. Didyme’s head – yours, then, you supposed – rolled from his hands to the flames, betrayal slackening from the muscles in her face. He released your hand with a tight smile. “I trust you and Caius have been well while I stole Marcus away.” “Yes, yes, all was well,” he assured you, cheerfully, tone far from his cold eyes. “You must be tired, after your journey. Chelsea!” The girl appeared at his side. “Show dear (Y/N) to her room, please.”

“Oh.” You prayed that pleading eyes wouldn’t let you down now. “I am not staying with Marcus?” You reluctantly dropped your hand from Marcus’ arm. Aro paused at the sudden emotion in your previously guarded voice and you could see his mental calculations. “I am sure that could be arranged, cara.” It was Marcus who broke the silence, looking at you curiously. “If that is what you wish.” “I don’t want to be alone,” you murmured, as he turned your dropped head to look at him. I don’t want you to be alone. We are in enemy territory, though you cannot feel it yet. “Of course.” Aro clapped, and you snapped your attention back to him. “We would not want to separate the happy couple, after all.” You ducked your head again, mumbling thanks that you knew they could all hear. “Marcus, would you mind remaining for a moment? Chelsea, take Marcus’ bag and show (Y/N) to their room.” Chelsea offered you her arm, Marcus’ bag hanging from her other shoulder. You hesitated, but Marcus pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, releasing your hand. “Go and get settled,” he encouraged, stepping towards his throne. You nodded, and let Chelsea guide you out of the throne room. “Don’t.” You felt Chelsea’s power reach out as soon as the door closed behind you, her arm entangled with yours. She froze, but you kept walking, tugging her into step with you. “It would be a waste of energy. I am already tied to Marcus and your power will not penetrate my shields.” “How did you know?” Her voice was so quiet, aghast, as if she couldn’t believe her own failure. And you supposed she probably couldn’t. The girl had probably never met a witch. “It is in my nature,” you answered, easily. Then you offered her a warm smile. “Enough of that, now.” She raised an eyebrow. “I should like to get to know you. It will be lonely here if I know only Marcus and Felix, when they have duties to attend to.”

“I would not bother, my dear.” It was Corin who came to you next, when Chelsea had been summoned back to the throne room. “My Lady?” she queried, politely. “I have found my mate. There is no need for your false contentment and it will not reach me unless I allow it.” Her smile stiffened, shoulders drawing tight. “I am not here to hurt you, Corin. Tell me, did you come only at Aro’s request?” “The Queens wish to meet you, my Lady. A new face is not common in their home.” You could imagine that was true. Caius and Aro did not strike you as the type to be flippant with the security of their wives, and only longstanding guards would be trusted. “I would be delighted.”

Marcus could not dull the fear thrumming through him when he returned to his chambers only to find them empty, your bag and his sitting untouched at the foot of the bed. But there was no more fear than in the throne room – an understandable anxiety in such a formidable new environment, he supposed – no sign of anything wrong, only your scent and… Corin’s. He wasn’t sure whether to be hurt or angry that the young vampire had perhaps already been sent to comfort you, but he was too busy with the relief suddenly flooding him to think on it too much as he followed your scent through the castle. Afton happily let him through and as soon as he entered the chambers, he was greeted by you all but flinging yourself at him. “Marcus!” Behind you, Sulpicia and Athenodora watched with a mixture of fond amusement and jealousy as he stumbled, not expecting the sudden attack. “Was everything alright?” “Of course, cara,” he answered, noting Corin’s unusual absence from the tower. “I see you are settling in.” You smiled, but were cut off by Athenodora. “Well, I suppose if she’s this happy to see you, you may take your mate for now.” There was something mischievous in her smile that Marcus had not seen for a long time. “But don’t think you will be keeping her delightful company to yourself, brother. We have not seen such a bright presence here in a long time.” A wave of sadness washed over the room, but there was an edge of hope to it that had not been seen in Volterra for a long time. “Thank you for allowing me to take pleasure in her company, sister,” Marcus answered, smartly, making Athenodora’s grin widen. “I knew we would see the return of that tone one day,” she laughed, softly. Sulpicia just smiled, watching the scene with a wistful worry.

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ambarto · 4 years

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Finwean Ladies Week Day Six: Orodreth’s wife

So the @finweanladiesweek prompt today was original characters. I don’t really have entirely original characters to talk about, but I do have various headcanons for various unnamed wives. Like, sure, technically speaking these ladies exist, but at this point? Functionally speaking, they’re OCs.

And since I talked about Finduilas the other day, I figured why not talk about her mom today? So here is my OC-not-OC, Thalforiel

The name Thalforiel is an epesse she was given by her husband, before they even got engaged. Roughly it means “strong lady of the North” and if it’s not correct Sindarin we can say it was because Orodreth didn’t know Sindarin too well himself when he made up this name let me live. She very much liked it and started using it to the point that in most historical recordings of her her older names is almost never used which is code for “if I have to go research yet another Elvish name I will probably start crying like for real”

She was a Sindarin lady born in the late Years of the Trees. Her family was Sindar, but while they recognized Thingol’s authority they were of a northern and mostly nomadic group who spent little time in the forest. Thalforiel herself spent most of her youth around the northern parts of Sirion.

When Morgoth came back to Beleriand, Thalforiel’s people were some of the most vulnerable when it came to the attack of his Orcs. They were driven back, and forced to regroup with the main forces of Thingol’s army. Thalforiel was at this time still fairly young, not quite an adult yet, but she knew how to use a bow and had been trained in fighting with a sword, as some of Angband’s monsters sometimes made their way into Sindar lands even before Morgoth returned. Thalforiel survived the First Battle of Beleriand and proved herself a capable warrior, but she lost both her parents during it, and this led her to develop a lifelong hatred towards Morgoth and all of his servants, as well as a lifelong fear of losing more of her loved ones to him.

She didn’t overly care for the Noldor when they first came to Beleriand. At this time, she and some other Sindar warriors spent their time hunting down Orcs in the Ered Wethrim, and most of her thoughts were aimed at getting rid of as much of Morgoth’s creatures as possible. She appreciated the Noldor as additional fighters against Morgoth, but that was the extent of her concerns about them.

She met her future husband when Finrod started to build Minas Tirith in Tol Sirion. She and many of the other Sindar weren’t too sure what to make of these people, and often came to see what Finrod’s plans were. At first, she wasn’t overtly impressed with Orodreth, more interested in the practicality of keeping a stronghold in this place than with the young Noldor Prince, that she mostly noticed just for his unusual golden hair. Orodreth, on the other hand, fell in love at first sight with her, and made a fool of himself more than once trying to catch her attention, much to Findrod’s amusement. He was a little younger than her, and had little idea of how to court someone, and for her own part Thalforiel also didn’t have much experience when it came to love.

They eventually entered a relationship after Finrod moved to Nargothrond, and their wedding wasn’t taken too well by everyone. Plenty of people didn’t approve of Noldor and Sindar intermarrying, and some of Orodreth’s relatives weren’t too keen on this Sindar lady. However, both of them were rather stubborn, and their marriage was a happy one for a long time. Thalforiel was the one who controlled the soldiers and military power of Minas Tirith, while Orodreth was less of a warrior, and mostly took care of the other matters. They balanced each other well, she was impulsive while he was more reflexive, but Orodreth was also prone to bursts of negative moods and overthinking that Thalforiel often had to break him out of.

They had Finduilas a few decades before the Dagor Bragollach, and Gil-Galad just a handful of years before it (we’re going with Gil-Galad being Orodreth’s son for this post). When the Bragollach happened, Thalforiel fought long to keep Minas Tirith in their hands, but eventually they had no other choice but to run away and take refuge in Nargothrond. Afterwards, she went to the Falas with her son. She hadn’t wanted to leave her husband, nor go so far from where the fighting was, but she agreed that it would be safer for Gil-Galad to go to Cirdan and decided to go with him. She would have wanted Finduilas to come too, but her daughter was almost an adult by then, and refused to leave Nargothrond, and Thalforiel had to concede.

After the Nirnaeth, when the Falas were attacked, Thalforiel held out Orcs as long as she could in order to give her son a chance to escape from the clearly lost Havens. Gil-Galad did live, but Thalforiel was killed in the fight. She never saw her husband or daughter again, at least not until they also died in the fall of Nargothrond a few years after Thalforiel’s own death.

#finweanladiesweek #my headcanons #oc: thalforiel

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thewitcherssongbird · 4 years

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To let oneself be loved.

*****

My first geraskier fic!! Aaah I’m so excited I love this fandom.

Geralt doesn’t want to be loved but Jaskier isn’t letting his idiotic ideas stop him.

****

“Oh come on, Geralt. I can’t possibly be such a horrific prospect, can I?” Just when he gets used to the silence, Jaskier starts again. Again with this nonsense.

“Jaskier,” the witcher growls in warning, even though he very much wants to say: no, you’re not, but I am.

“Oh stop growling at me, witcher, I understand that you don’t want to condemn anyone to caring about you,” Jaskier jabbers on in the tone of a man who doesn’t know when to give up, if only in self-preservation. Geralt is running out of ways to say no. ��I know you want me. You’re just not admitting it, even to yourself. All I’m saying is that your argument is stupid and so are you.”

Geralt turns, grabbing Jaskier by the front of his shirt. “Is this the part where you kiss me?” Jaskier has the nerve to ask hopefully.

“Listen carefully, bard. I don’t want love, I don’t want romance and I don’t want someone worrying about me and mothering over me. I somebody to give grey hair every time I get bitten by a little monster and I don’t want to care about you. Is that not enough for you?” by the end of his short speech Geralt is shaking the poet, hoping the message will sink in. The road to the next town is far and Geralt doesn’t want a mournful travel companion suffering from a broken heart.

For a moment, Jaskier is wide eyed and Geralt thinks he has either succeeded or broken something he’d been trying not to break for so long, but then “But you do!” Jaskier insists, “I know you do, you daft- “ he’s struggling for an insult, “daft ass. You’re an idiot if you’ve convinced yourself that’s true. You just- “

“Let. It. Go, Jaskier or I will tie you to a fucking tree and leave you here, don’t test me.” Geralt is glaring in that way that usually has people avoiding his gaze and walking a little faster down the street but Jaskier is glaring right back at him. They both know he’d only gag the bard at best. Geralt never leaves Jaskier anywhere.

“Fine,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “Fine, I’ll let it go. For now, but you haven’t won and I’m not giving up.”

Geralt sighs but lets him go. He hears Jaskier mumbling, “dull-witted donkey” forgetting about Geralt’s enhanced hearing and then Geralt is fighting a stupid smile.

They reach the town without arguing again and Geralt finds work hunting down a “demon” that is supposedly haunting the woods. From what Geralt gathers, it sounds like a leshen and after some rest in an inn, they set out for information. Geralt, more than once, has to explain that the missing townsfolk won’t be returning. There is an ungodly amount of shock and tears and consoling, by Jaskier of course, but by the end of the day he is certain that the creature is in fact a leshen and he has a basic outline of its territory.

Jaskier insists he hasn’t enough coin to stay in the inn and although Geralt offers to pay for him just to keep him out of harm’s way, Jaskier refuses. They set out toward the woods the next day.

It’s dusk and their trudging through the woods, Geralt isn’t ecstatic about having to guide the bard through the darkening forest, but in hindsight it’s probably for the best that he came along. Geralt is convinced he might have gotten stabbed after one too many tragic songs about love and heartbreak. They’re heading towards a small clearing which should be a safe distance from the moster’s territory. Geralt plans on seeking out the creature the next day.

Jaskier trails behind Geralt, slowed by his limited human vision. An owl hoots close above and Jaskier squeaks and hurries to the witcher’s side. Geralt snorts. Jaskier smacks him on the arm, “Don’t laugh at me, everything is scarier when you can’t see. You wouldn’t know what with all your witchery-“ He doesn’t finish before he’s tripping over a root, Geralt catches him by the back of his shirt before he can smack face first to the forest floor.

“Watch where you’re going,” he snaps even though he know he can’t.

“I can’t, and you know it. Unlike you, I can barely see anything!” He waves a hand in front of his eyes.

“Humans,” Geralt grumbles.

He gasps dramatically. “Rude! You know what, you’re not so far from human as you would have people believe either so you shut your trap.”

Geralt turns, “and what is that supposed to mean.” Jaskier stares at his glowing eyes with crossed arms, considering his answer. A part of Geralt hopes he will say something meaningful about destiny and denial again but apparently Jaskier decides against it.

“It means either stop complaining or start carrying me, that’s what.” Geralt considers this for a moment and suddenly Jaskier yelps in surprise as he is slung over Geralt’s shoulder. “Put me down this instant you brute!” he shouts but Geralt walks on, at a notably faster pace than he previously could.

“You asked for it!”

“I didn’t mean it, you idiot. If I could see more this would be a wonderful view, Geralt, but I can’t and I do not appreciate being carried around like a corpse!”

Geralt scoffs. “I’ve seen you carry dead men like this,” he insists.

Geralt moves him into his arms, carrying him like he’s seen love newlywed men carry their wives over mud puddles and suddenly he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

For a moment the only sound is twigs breaking under Geralt’s boots and he sees a faint blush grace Jaskier’s cheeks. “Oh and now I’m a faint maiden instead of a lively corpse?” but his words hold no bite and Geralt’s heart is doing something it shouldn’t in his chest, it feels a lot like gymnastics. Geralt is suddenly glad for Jaskier’s human eyes that can’t see the flush on his own cheeks.

“Stop complaining,” he grumbles, also lacking heat and he should swing him back over his shoulder like one carries a drunkard, he should put him down, it was a joke, but in the end he does neither and Jaskier doesn’t protest.

The clearing is little more than a patch of treeless space. Geralt starts a fire to avoid having to deal with any animals in the middle of the night. Jaskier rolls out their bedrolls, putting his very close to Geralt’s, the witcher raises a brow.

“There’s a moster in these woods, Geralt and if it’s hungry, it’ll probably try to eat you first. You’re bigger than me.”

Geralt laughs, but doesn’t protest. It’s not such a stupid idea, at least Geralt can protect him if he’s close.

It’s dark and Geralt is heavy with sleep when Jaskier is shaking him awake. He’d crawled closer, practically into Geralt’s sleeping arms but he’s whispering furiously, “Geralt wake up, I hear something. I’m not dying for your beauty sleep, wake up. Geralt’s thoughts are muddled with dreams. He hears a creaking sound, like old tree, groaning under the force of the wind, but as Geralt’s head clears, he notices there is no wind and the creaking is no tree. The leshen roars and attacks.

Geralt had misjudged how big the creature’s territory was. It was dead now, charred by Igni, but as Geralt limps back to the fire, clutching a wound that stretches over his stomach like a grotesque mockery of a smile, he has to admit it did it’s fair share of damage. Jaskier is ralready hurrying to his side, talking rapidly in distressed tones. He grabs Geralt’s arm slinging it over his own shoulder and letting Geralt lean on him, not fazed in the least by the blood now soaking both their clothes.

“What happened? This never happens, not this badly, oh gods Geralt you’re losing so much blood. Was it unusually big? What went wrong? Was it because you were caught off guard? Or because you didn’t even have your witcher potion thing? How bad is it, where’s the healing potion? Oh gods Geralt too much blood, don’t die on me, you’d make such a heavy corpse, and you have to make sure no jealous lovers cut my throat mid-song.” Jaskier grips the hand that’s dangling over his shoulder, grips it like he’s the one bleeding all over.

“You can’t die yet, for heaven’s sake, you don’t get to die yet,” he’s panicking, “I love you, you big, dumb witcher, I still have to convince you to- to kiss me and court me and- and- “ The words are pouring out of his mouth in a frenzied rush, Geralt can barely comprehend what he’s saying, it hurts and he feels light-headed. He focuses on Jaskier’s voice, it’s grounding and he clings to the sound, clings to it for consciousness because the blood in pouring from his stomach, the gash is deep.

“Not dying,” he grunts out, it takes far too much effort.

“Not yet you’re not.” Jaskier lays him down gently, rifling through Geralt’s belongings for his potions. “Which one is it? Geralt, talk to me which is the healing potion?”

“Red,” Geralt chokes out and quickly Jaskier is at his side, pouring the contents of the vial down his throat. He swallows and releases a breath, sounds like he’s been punched. Jaskier is stripping him of his layers, he feels like he can’t breathe, he’s heaving, staring up at Jaskier’s panic stricken features. He should relax, breathe but he can’t. What if something else is prowling the woods, following his trail of blood.

“Why did you stop talking, keep talking,” he commands, desperately clutching Jaskier’s hand. “I don’t want to black out. Please don’t let me, what if- what if something else- Need to be safe, you need to…” Geralt can’t control what he’s saying. His usual filter is missing and only his treacherous tongue remains, the thoughts pouring over his lips, unguarded in his panicked state.

“Yes, yes you’re going to be all right. There’s nothing else coming, you killed it, alright? We’ll be okay, just let me get off all this armor and patch you up and then you’ll be okay. Alright?” Geralt nods absently, letting Jaskier peel him out of his blood soaked clothes. He doesn’t stop talking and Geralt focuses on his voice, his panic subides

Jaskier is peeling a final blood soaked tunic from Geralt’s skin, wincing when he sees the deep gash clearly for the first time. He cleans the blood from around the wound with Geralt’s already partially bloodied tunic and some of their drinking water. The bleeding has slowed and finally it’s just the wound that’s left to clean and Jaskier stops, hesitant to cause him more pain.

“Just do it, it has to be done before it gets infected.” He takes Jaskier’s hand in his own. Gently, the poet cleans the wound and bandages it with the small kit of medical supplies any sensible witcher carries, he doesn’t complain when Geralt crushes his hand in his grip, he just holds on tighter. Geralt remembers a time when he had no friend to clean his wounds and no-one’s hand to hold, he doesn’t miss it.

Finally, Geralt is patched up as well as they can manage in the middle of the woods and Jaskier doesn’t get up. He sits at Geralt’s side and lets him hold his hand even though he doesn’t feel so light headed anymore. He feels like he can breathe again. The healing potion is taking effect and the pain is tolerable. Geralt should let the singer’s hand go but predictably, he doesn’t.

The bard is humming a soft melody, Geralt is almost lulled to sleep in the gentle light of the flames but then Jaskier says softly, “You know Geralt, you’re not doing anyone any favours.”

Geralt looks at him then and knows where Jaskier is going, they’ve had a hundred versions of this conversation over the past few months but this one feels different. He doesn’t stop him this time. “Geralt,” he continues, “you say you don’t want anyone always worrying about you, you don’t want someone to love you and care about you, you say it would be a curse…”

And it’s true, he doesn’t want to condemn anyone to wondering whether he’s still alive every time he does his job. He doesn’t want to cause anyone pain.

“But Geralt…” he sighs, looking at him in that way Geralt knows so well but doesn’t quite like. He whispers, voice soft as the gentle melody he was humming, like leaves in the pring breeze, “What the hell do you think I’m doing?”

Geralt sighs, and looks down at where their hands are intertwined on his chest. “Jaskier…” he starts but he doesn’t know what to say. There’s a tight feeling in his chest, his throat.

“I worry about you all the time, I care about you and you’re blind if you can’t see that I love you. Geralt you’re fooling yourself. You’re so scared of being a burden to me, that you’re not worth all the pain that comes with having you, you don’t understand that you are more than worth any pain. You’re so scared of the bad parts of letting me love you that you’re not considering the good parts.”

For a minute or two, all is silent, the words are hanging in the empty space between them. Maybe it’s because he’s still delirious, maybe it’s the peaceful quiet but this time he doesn’t say what he always says.

“What are the good parts, Jaskier?” he asks instead and he knows that this is it. He’s given up and any second now some ocean of emotions he hasn’t let himself feel will break loose.

“I’d be yours, all yours and only yours.” Jaskier says it like he’s telling a story or weaving a wondrous fairy-tale with excitement in his voice. He shifts a little closer. “And you’d be mine. You’d get to kiss me when I’m annoying you and when I’m angry at you and when I’m sad and when I talk too much or just because can. You’d hold me while I sing you all the love songs I wrote for you. And you can tell me sappy things that you overheard at the market and I’d tell you I love you all the time.” He smiles in a bitter-sweet way, the way of nostalgic people. Smiles in the way one does when one has a good dream, but it’s only a dream.

“And you could stop pretending not to be jealous when someone tries flirt with me, and you could glare at everyone who’s looking at me wrong, not that you don’t already, and right after you beat up some idiot like you always do for me, you’d get to fuck me because I’d be yours and you’re just dying to.”

Geralt snorts, but he’s right. He is dying to.

“And I would write you love songs and when I sing them in the tavern you’d know that they’re for you. I’d make you carry me over the mud in the road and when I see a flower on the side of the road I’d stick it in your lovely hair, hair that I washed the night before. I will get to wake up in your arms every morning, and kiss you when you’re being an idiot. And I’d smile just because I have you. I’d whisper filthy thing to you when you’re talking to someone important and then you’ll pretend to be mad at me but actually you’ll just want to do all those things. And when I’m bathing you I’d kiss you until you pull me into the water with you.

“And I’d laugh with you and talk with you and tell you all the nonsense I think about every day and you’d sit, just listening to me and eventually you’d probably be bored to sleep but I’d love you anyway and I’d know that you’re always listening when it’s important because you always do. And the best part is that we’ll always come back to each other because that’s what lovers do.

“There are so many wonderful things about loving someone, I wish you’d see that. I wish you’d just let me show you, just let me love you.”

He falls silent. Geralt is stroking his thumb over the back of Jaskier’s hand. “But I’m sure you’re delirious and when you wake up again you’ll be back in your right mind.”

“I’m not delirious.”

It’s so quiet Jaskier almost doesn’t hear him, so quiet one might have imagined it. Geralt brings up his hand to gently cup Jaskier’s jaw. He moves closer until their lips are an inch apart, he murmurs, “Perks of being a witcher, I heal quickly.” Jaskier isn’t moving. His eyes are closed as though he’s scared the moment will break. “I think you win.”

And then they’re kissing, it’s stupidly sweet and soft like first kisses are supposed to be. Finally, finally, their lips are connected, their hearts are connected and their souls are connected and Geralt’s walls crumble and fall and it feels like all the pieces falling in place, like the world is right and it feels like destiny. And that, Geralt thinks, is because maybe it is.

*****

Thank you for reading! Likes and comments are appreciated and be gentle it’s one of my first writing pieces.

#geraskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #gerskier

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xellshun · 3 years

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Feeding The Beast

I stand firm when supporting one of my favorite quotes: Evil is never born, it is created. All things were once good in the beginning, even Satan.

With the developement of my disorder and my descent into becoming a sociopath came many dark traits that I’ve used countless times to calm my urges and impulses. Most of them are fairly common among those with ASPD. But one quality has always stood above all the others.

My desire to victimize as many women as possible.

This post will focus on this trait rather than HOW it came to be but I will share a little bit of my past just to give you a general idea of it’s origins.

Over the course of the last 7 years I went through 3 very traumatic relationships. But before I did, I was a very kind hearted, ambitious, compassionate person with a huge dream of some day finding the love of my life, building a family, and living out the same fairy tale ending that my parents and their parents had before them. I had this perfect image of how my love life would work out and I based it off of what I watched my family build as I grew up. I grew up with a very close, caring, and loving family. So going into adulthood that’s just how I thought things were supposed to be.

I didn’t realize how fucking wrong I truly was and I was no where near prepared for the 7 year long nightmare I was about to go through...

The first of the three stages was when I lost my first true love - the mother of my beloved son. Not only did I loose her along with all my hopes and dreams of having that fairy tale ending. But I lost her while she was still pregnant with my son... So along with the initial pain, my first experience of pregnancy and my introduction to being a father were stripped from me and left me in a state of mind that pushed me into making my FIRST step down the dark I would eventually get lost in. She was what I would eventually call “The First Heartache”

The second stage happened with my next serious girlfriend. She would not only be my second love but would also end up being the girl who would eventually become extremely abusive. Physically, emotionally, mentally - she tortured me. She ultimately become what I called “The Abuser”

At this point, my disorder was born and rapidly growing. Coupled with emotional distress and a newly developed addiction to drugs and alcohol, my next relationship would only escalate the problems. She was a drinker, a drug user, and eventually a cheater. Her betrayal lead me down a path filled with an unending urge to stay intoxicated to cure the pain. And even though I should have left both her and the last girl, I didn’t. I was constantly trying to fill the void in my heart left by the first girl. But this third girl was no better than the last. She eventually became what I called “The Drunk Cheater”

By this point, my son was 5 years old. My relationship with him and my family was greatly damaged. I had come off my ADHD medication, struggled to stay employed, struggled with money, wrecked and totaled my vehicle, got into trouble with the law, did time in jail, struggled on and off with addiction to both drugs and alcohol, lost many of my friends... And above all else...

I lost myself...

And I forgot the feeling of remorse... Of empathy... And love...

The person I became and am now is the total opposite of who and what I was 7 years ago. Me then and me now wouldn’t even recognize each other if they met...

And thus, the sociopath was born... And within the dark pit of inhumane emotions, impulses, and urges.. The strongest one was my unending thirst for revenge...

And with that, the player mentality became supreme. And with it every aspect of my life would shift, change, and become centered around an unending cycle of chasing women. It started out as me just having fun and enjoying the single life and eventually evolved to what I do now.

So what do I do? For starters, I supress the monster underneath, I go out and I hunt women. I will often create several dating profiles, all of which with the same pictures, the same information about myself, and it has quickly turned into a game of seeing how many women I can sleep with in the shortest amount of time.

People would probably tell me “You sound like every other typical asshole player.” And it’s partially true, but in my mind I am a hunter. But I don’t hunt with the goal to kill (or hurt these women). I hunt with the goal of capturing and retaining them. I go out with my sociopathic mask, looking friendly, nice, and emotional. I play the part of a good honest man who just wants to settle down. For each individual girl I would learn her, everything about her, I would research her and read her like a book. I would figure out exactly what she wants and needs in a partner and I’d become that to the best of my ability. Once they are lured in I deceieve and manipulate every situation. Slowly and pateintly I shift the mood and create a large amount of sexual tension. I never come off as the creep, I never make them uncomfortable, and I always wait for THEM to make the first move. Why? Because it makes me feel powerful. And when we finally reach the point of having sex the sexual side of my sociopathic tendencies comes out. You see, I don’t care about finishing. It’s not what I look forward to and I don’t need to finish to be happy. The only thing that matters is HER pleasure. In those moments of intercourse I do everything in my physical ability to fuck them in every way they fantasize about. The porn star comes out and my one and only goal is to fuck them to the point where they are physically sore and trembling from orgasms. I want them to have issues walking the next day, I want to rearange their insides, and turn their intestines into soup. It almost never fails and this newly found dark skill has increased my body count from a pathetic 5 (my son’s mom) to a body count of 52 as of this last weekend.

But do I stop there and leave them in the dust? Hell no! I keep them around, I drag them around, and am constantly looking for new targets daily. I keep them around for many reasons - sex, money, drugs, alcohol, transportation, parties, new friends... And some times I’ll keep them around and create friendships with them so I always have someone to talk to or hang out with.

This way I am never bored and can always feed whatever hunger comes into my darkened heart...

I have done so many messed up things. Slept with more than one girl in a single day, slept with a new girl every day of the week, fucked a girl and then fucked her best friend. I’ve made women cheat on their boyfriends and then turned around and hung out with their boyfriends. I’ve made wives cheat on their poor unknowing husbands. Some would find out and their wives would leave them for me. Others would simply ask me to never mention it. Do I respect their wishes? Of course! Like I said. I never purposely treat any of these women poorly. I do this so that I can retain my image as a good and normal man. But more often than not, it’s the sex that makes them come back. I can’t tell you how many girls I’ve dicked down. I’ve been with all kinds of girls. Blondes, redheads, burnettes, thick girls, thin girls, small boobs, huge boobs, some who could be porn stars, some who were covered in tattoos and peircings, some were cam girls, some were strippers, some were partiers, drinkers, some were moms, some were church girls, some were younger, some were older... I think the only type of girl I have yet to be with is an Asian... Gunna have to change that...

I’ve been all over the place too. I can’t go to ANY surrounding town from where I live without knowing a girl I’ve fucked there. It’s hard enough when I’m out running errands too, can’t go fucking anywhere without the chance of seeing one of my victims.

All in all, it’s the thrill of the chase, it’s the thrill of knowing what lurks beneath the mask while they remain clueless, it’s the feeling of being so cold and heartless yet have the ability to bring them so many emotions I can’t feel, it’s about giving them the best sex of their lives, it’s about the satisfaction of leashing them along like pets, it’s about POWER and CONTROL. The two fucking things I had so little of when this all started during those 3 toxic and traumatizing relationships.

And in the deepest, darkest corners of my sick mind... In these many moments of deception and manipulation... I trick myself into believing that these poor girls I victimize are my exes.. In an attempt to feel some type or form of revenge to dowse the neverending burning fires of PURE HATRED that have turned my entire world into a place of devastation that is now just as dark as my heart...

For me, women as a whole, are my newly developed drug addiction. When I see them, I don’t see people, I see prey that I can use for whatever benefit I see fit. And if those benefits run out I simply take them to the slaughter house and use them one last time. Rejection doesn’t faze me either. If a single sheep manages to escape my fenced in prison it doesn’t bother me, the herde always consists of between 10-20 women at all times. It’s as easy as a simple hunting trip, which I honestly enjoy. After all, it’s always good to get out every once in a while.

This is what my life has turned into. A never ending sickening cycle of trying to fill in the void within my heart that they left behind those years ago. But in the end that ONE thing that can fill this whole is the one thing I avoid the most - Love...

Yes, my therapist knows about all of this. It’s great because my therapist is a female so it’s nice to be able to share my stories and brag to a girl who’s job is to help me. She probably thinks I’m a fucking piece of shit and I don’t blame her. But she’s a professional and has to help people like me.

We’ve discussed goals throughout therapy on ways for me to relearn the feelings of empathy, remorse, love, and so on... It’s one of many goals and this is the one I have the most trouble with... Part of me wants to change and go back to being normal. But the other part of me wants to keep doing what I do best because it’s just so much damn fun.

So will this part of me ever change? I think so. I hope so. The only other times I went from being a total man whore to a faithful loving man was every time a girl would come into my life who was strong enough to snap me out of dark ways... So far it’s only happened twice. My body count is at 52 and going up more quickly than ever. I’ve spoken to thousands of women, met hundreds, recieved thousands of numbers, thousands of X rated pictures and videos of these women, I’ve had sex thousands of times, and it’s getting to the point where these women just seem to blur together...

There’s little hope of finding a girl strong enough to pull me from the darkness this time. And honestly, I’m okay with it. I am at a point where the darkness is comforting and feels like home...

So this time around.. Not only does she need to be strong enough to pull me out... She needs to be brave enough to venture into a world of total darkness...

#sociopath #aspd #psychopath

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fuwafuwamedb · 4 years

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Cursed G Pt 32 (Hakuno, Gilgamesh, Enkidu, Humbaba)

Previous Part:

1 (HakuPOV / GilPOV), 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10,

11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20,

21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

___

Things had grown peaceful in the kingdom of Uruk.

The marriage wasn’t even a major note to his time. He held the whole affair in a few hours’ time, keeping Hakuno on the palace steps as he had planned. They poured the perfumed waters over her, brushing back her hair and allowing him his way.

He found himself curling up against her at night, peppering her in attention as she fell asleep in his arms.

Each night, he found himself pulling tablet after tablet from her hands, telling her to rest and finding that her hands would attempt to grasp those tablets a little longer.

“Let me finish my work.”

“You’re not reading with your eyes closed, you fool. Don’t lie to your king about working.”

The sticking out of her tongue earned her long punishments of his mouth slammed against hers, stealing away his own pleasures from her. Her small whimpers in response, when she gave them, earned her soft touches and low murmurs. In the span of a couple months, they had it down to routines she would break apart.

Just when he thought she would only whimper or throw him attitude, she began to set her tablets aside and climb into his arms more.

Those brown eyes looked up at him in his bed and he found himself pulled beneath her.

He’d been preparing to kill that goddess for attacking what was his. He had been so prepared for severing her head from her shoulders, tossing her head to the god, Enlil and laughing forever and a day about it.

Enkidu was helping him to prepare for the fights to come, they had gone to the Cedar Forest just the other week to look at the perspective slaughter of the fool who held dominion there.

They’d seen the destruction of the bodies of warriors who had gone up against the beast. They knew Humbaba would be quite the foe to defeat.

However, he found himself still turning back and crawling back into bed with Hakuno. He still found himself nipping along her stomach and up to her lips, stealing those for himself instead. He could feel her squirm beneath his touch, her small smile pathetically effective.

Time had come and gone, leaving him with a rounded woman in his bed and a strange restlessness in his spirit. He could feel that something was off with every fiber of his being, but he couldn’t tell what that something was. At times, he found find his attention waning in the audience chamber, his lions curling around him as he sought to understand what was causing this strange feeling within him.

Perhaps it was the lack of war.

Now that he was thinking about it, he had not gone so long without a war or squabble to win. Typically, there would be disputes in relation to perspective wives for him or there would be debates over how to handle the situation of kingdom tensions. His solution had always been more along the lines of being proactive.

“Enkidu.”

The being glanced over to him.

“I think it’s time we go defeat Humbaba, don’t you think?”

The responding smile was all he needed for that. Gilgamesh called forth for Siduri and the advisors, beginning the long list of what would be needed in his absence. Hakuno was still new to their world, still accustoming herself to their language and to the culture. Siduri would be helpful, but he would ensure that the advisors held themselves properly as mouthpieces for the two women in his absence.

Enkidu was practically lounging by the time he was done, their hands teasing at one of the lion cubs and squishing toe beans.

“Enkidu? Are we going or not?”

The being raised a brow at him.

“What?”

“You’re not telling Hakuno of these plans?”

Why would he need to do such a thing as that?

The woman had heard about his thoughts for the Cedar Forest. She’d babbled on about the monster and about her world, to which he had politely stopped listening by admiring the way their child was slightly kicking at her stomach. His child was growing well enough. It wouldn’t be long now.

“Gil… Actually, I’m going to pretend I didn’t ask.” The being shook their head at him and straightened their robes. “So we’re leaving now?”

“We’ll grab food from the kitchens and set off.”

It was easier to simply be gone a few days and then return to Hakuno.

He’d found she was amorous after he did that during the days. He would go to the audience chamber or to the kingdom districts, finding her baubles from time to time and returning only after the sun had set. She would lay there in the center of the bed, her brown hair brushed out and her body bare to his eyes.

There’d be a tongue lashing, which would often lead to grumbling when he laughed or to other things her tongue could do when he decided to humor her.

A couple days away would earn him more than simple chastising though, she’d be all but clawing at him to climb into their bed. She’d have that narrowed gaze and those bright, focused gaze that seared him straight to the soul. He’d probably find himself ridden to the point of exhaustion, bitten and sucked on enough to sport a collection of jewelry in the form of love marks.

The kitchen boys asked him of fear for the beast.

“You do not know how my Hakuno can get when I return late to her bedside. A beast like Humbaba is merely a child in comparison.”

They moved out into the night, weapons strapped to their backs and food safely tucked away.

The winds blew hard at them as they left the kingdom gates, the lights of the palace illuminating the darkness until the hills came between them. They rode the horses that they had taken until the horses could no longer walk.

The hours of the day became longer, the sun scorching at their skin.

The night hours became hauntingly quiet, leaving the sounds of the animals to sound like the shouting of forlorn lovers.

He could feel that sense of foreboding building as they marched across the lands, their skin beginning to crawl with every rainfall and dry with every morning’s mounting heat. There was something wrong with their actions, but there was no time to back down now.

Words had been given.

They were expected dead or with a dead body in arms.

Still…

“Something is wrong,” Gilgamesh found himself telling the being nearby.

“Oh?” The being snickered a little, leaning back on their fallen log and regarding him for a moment. “Are you sure it isn’t just because you’re used to having Hakuno around to cuddle up against?”

“I’m being serious, Enkidu.”

“I am as well.”

The being motioned him back to the campfire, leaning against his side.

“You’re used to her. I’m sure it’s just being away that’s strange.”

“Oh?”

“Well, that and maybe the fact that we’re going to kill that monster attacking people and then utilize these trees for something useful.” Enkidu shrugged. “Just keep a few up to regrow. I want to see the monkeys again when I take your son out to go hunting.”

“Don’t you mean when ‘we’ take my son hunting?”

“Hmm? Oh! Oh. You think Hakuno will let you live after this. That’s so funny. Oh, I’ll tell that joke to little Nanna when he’s out of his ummum. ‘Your father, Gilgamesh, told me this great joke about being able to take you hunting, but failed to realize that he’s been being haunted by some magic that’s been tugging at his person.”

He shoved at the fool. “Enkidu!”

“It’s nothing! Don’t worry about it, Gil. I’m sure she’ll probably get over it after making you her footrest for a few days-“

“We’re bringing her back the beast’s head.”

“UM! GIL! Maybe let’s get her a nice necklace-“

He would bring Humbaba’s head on a stake for her. When she saw it, he’d be in the clear from this magic nonsense. This was for the safety of the people and her.

It was also a way to get more resources for expanding Uruk.

The thought of her being mad didn’t lessen with that plan. Instead, he found himself pacing, his mood darkening further as Enkidu ate at their hunted down food.

“She has no right to be upset,” Gilgamesh growled.

“You left without saying goodbye.”

“Hakuno is fully aware of her duties as my queen. She knows that she will have times where I leave without informing her. The kingdom and safety of our people-“

Enkidu’s look stilled his words.

He glared back at them, but he couldn’t find that train of thought anymore. Whatever he’d been going on about, he knew he was right. Hakuno was no doubt exaggerating the whole ordeal. No doubt it was due to being very heavily pregnant with his son. Or daughter, but he rather doubted that his first child by Hakuno would be a girl.

They set quietly now, the two of them.

He could no more grasp words than he could eat his full fill of the meal. He had Enkidu enjoy themselves before laying down to rest.

Perhaps he should have said goodbye for the time being.

Hakuno was new to their culture. Despite learning of him and learning what life was like for the Uruk people, she knew so very little. There was only so much one could learn about a culture in the span of a couple months.

Had she slept without him around before?

Now that he was thinking about it, he wasn’t sure she’d ever been without him at her side at night. Normally, she lost herself in his embrace before resting.

The head of Humbaba and perhaps a lion cub.

The forest was filled with wildlife. Finding a few more pets for the palace would be a simple matter. Enkidu could help tame the thing before he presented them to Hakuno.

She’d forgive him because he would leave her with no other choice.

After all, her heart was encased and immersed in love for him. All she would be able to do is revel further in her devotion to him.

“Enkidu.”

He nudged the being now, finding that dawn’s light had come to the forest early.

Their feet pattered across the grassy floor of the forest, surpassing snakes and beasts to head for the dark center of this wooded city. They found the beast atop one of the highest cliffsides, its arms ripping and tearing at the body of what had to be one of the acclaimed fighters from the kingdom of Ur.

Their hands took to the rocks, tugging and pulling themselves up the side of the cliffs. He could feel the spurts of red as they came tumbling down the side. They could hear the inhuman sounds of the beast in the distance as it raged and destroyed at the bodies it had collected.

“The head is mine,” Gilgamesh told Enkidu simply.

The lifted themselves up the last of the distance and lunged.

Things felt right.

His blade sang in the air. His adrenaline was pounding in his ears, his eyes focused on blow after blow. He could see Enkidu using the chains to hold the beast back, but they were having their hands full as well. The being knew how to work with a handicap like the chains.

Humbaba gripped the golden chains in hand, swinging Enkidu wildly as Gilgamesh went after them. When he struck a blow, it was only with the beast slamming him with another rainfall of attacks and blows to block or dodge. He could taste blood on his lips. He could see the sun in two places. His senses were ringing or perhaps it was just the sound cutting out on him.

Those piercing eyes looked into his and he saw nothing but a beast to hunt.

This beast stood in the way of going home, of returning to his bed and his woman. He could feel something stab at him, his side piercing with a sudden explosion of warmth and stinging pain, but he didn’t look down.

Drawing in a breath, he opened his eyes and swung fast.

Enkidu had taken the moment to yank on the chains that held themselves to Humbaba’s grasp, yanking the mighty forest protector down. Rather than a blow to the arm, Gilgamesh felt his blade hit the beast’s neck, sliding straight through them with the sickliest sound of death he had ever heard.

The beast trembled, holding at the space where its head once stood. They could see the head rolling off into the grass, a fountain of crimson spilling into the air, coloring at the deep blue skies that hung overhead.

And, with an echoing banging, the beast fell.

Humbaba was dead.

Gilgamesh panted, looking to Enkidu.

“…Gil…Gil!”

Enkidu rushed forward, clambering around the chains and wrapping their arms around him. Their eyes widened at whatever they thought they were seeing.

“Stay with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you fool. Grab the head for Hakuno. Let’s go home.”

The being shouted, but he couldn’t hear them well. The pain was worsening. It was a bit hard to concentrate right now.

He wasn’t even sure what was happening, but there was a blur of motion around him whenever he opened his eyes. He could feel the movement of someone running, but he could also feel his conquered foe’s head in his arms.

Hakuno needed this for forgiving him. He’d left her all alone in the ziggurat, lost in his time without him. He would take a few days from the audience chamber and spend them coaxing her into her proper state.

She was like the lionesses after their mate would vanish for too long.

Ah, but she would stay at his side.

That was at least something he could count on.

“We must take him to the temple of Ishtar! She can heal-“

“The goddess would kill him,” Enkidu’s voice growled.

“There are no temples other than hers close to the forest,” another voice argued. “Whatever his qualms may be, he needs healing or he will die. The beast struck him with a deadly poison-“

“Find an apsu!” Enkidu insisted.

Was he dying?

Truly?

It didn’t make sense to die so easily. He was the great king, after all. He had an heir on the way and he had a kingdom of people to rule over. There was no time for him to close his eyes and rest. He had to rise up and he had to walk home. He could take his horse once they returned to the beasts and the selection of soldiers that they’d left the two beasts with.

“He won’t make it to Uruk,” the other voices insisted. “Being of Enki, please… He must go to Ishtar.”

Gilgamesh forced his eyes open, glancing up at his general. The soldiers weren’t far off, already beginning the deforestation of the Cedar Forest.

The moment he returned his gaze to the general, he spat on him.

“Take me to my queen.”

He’d never left Hakuno’s side for long as a cat. He would not do so as a man.

The goddess, Ishtar, could burn in Ereshkigal’s fires for all he cared.

#drabble #drabbles

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hamliet · 5 years

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MXTX Ladies Week: MDZS

I did Scum Villain’s awesome female cast last night, and now it is time for my favorite of MXTX’s novels, Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation.

In MDZS, my main critique is that, while all of the female characters do get fantastic arcs, the vast majority of them die (though, granted, their deaths aren’t usually done just for the male characters’ sadness, but often do make sense for their own arcs. So that’s. Something. Still grumbly about it though). “The woman dies” is a similar trope to “bury your gays” and it’s... tiring. That said, I did find all the characters’ arcs incredibly well done. No one is fanservice; they are all complex and human.

I want to talk about the characters whom I haven’t talked about as much before, so that means less on SiSi and MianMian, as well as less on Madame Lan. See here for my meta on SiSi and MianMian, as well as here for my meta on Madame Lan. Throughout all of their arcs, there’s a common thread about calling out sexism. MianMian calls it out directly:

The person replied, “You’re...calling white black no matter how irrational it is. Ha, women will always be women.”

MianMian fumed, “Irrational? Calling white black? I’m just being considerate it as it stands. What does it have to do with the fact that I’m a woman? You can’t be rational with me so you’re attacking me with other things?”...

Holding in her tears, she shouted a moment later, “Fine! Your voices are louder! Fine! You’re the rational ones!”

She clenched her teeth and took off the crested robe she wore with force, slamming it onto the table with a loud bang. Even the sect leaders in the front rows, who weren’t paying attention to this side, turned around to see what happened. The ones beside her were indeed surprised. What she did meant that she was ‘leaving the sect’?

Soon, some began to agree, “Women will always be women. They quit just after you say a few harsh words. She’ll definitely come back on her own, a couple of days later.”

“There’s no doubt. After all, she finally managed to turn from the daughter of a servant to a disciple, haha…”

MianMian is looked down upon by the social hierarchy for being a woman and for being the daughter of a servant. Her lack of power against a sexist world is eventually countered by the fact that she’s one of the women who survive the novel, with a husband who follows her in night-hunting. As I said in my past meta, she steps outside a corrupt society.

Mistreated Wives Mistreating Children: Madame Jin and Madame Yu

Madame Yu is probably one of the most complex characters in the entire novel, which says a lot since she’s a minor character. But she and Madame Jin are said to be best friends who arrange the marriage of their children, and the two women are also foils.

Both of them are mistreated by their husbands in a sense. Madame Jin has to deal with Jin GuangShan sleeping around and impregnating numerous other women, while Yu ZiYuan has to deal with the fact that Jiang FengMian clearly was in love with CanSe SanRen, not with her, and brought back CangSe SanRen’s child after Wei WuXian was orphaned. To be completely fair, Madame Yu’s dislike of and lack of respect for her husband is completely valid over this. However, what isn’t valid is her taking it out on all three of the kids at Lotus Pier. She abuses Wei WuXian and mentally abuses Jiang Cheng as well, and isn’t exactly awesome towards Jiang YanLi either. She constantly reminds Jiang Cheng that he can’t live up to Wei WuXian (projecting her own bitterness at not being enough to be loved like CangSe SanRen in her husband’s eyes), whom she despises for whom his mother was, and thereby exacerbates Jiang Cheng’s already deep insecurity issues (granted Jiang FengMian is responsible for this as well). But, she ultimately dies to save both Jiang Cheng and Wei WuXian, refusing to cut off his hand when she knows he is innocent. It doesn’t erase how she treated them while they lived, but it does add a level of complexity and tragedy: she knew Wei WuXian was powerless in these circumstances, as she had always felt, and she saves the kids before dying to defend Lotus Pier--with her husband, whom, it’s implied, did care about her but sucked at showing it. Almost like that’s a Jiang family trait.

Madame Jin is no better towards Jin GuangYao when he shows up. She did not object towards a child being kicked down the stairs on the basis of something he could not help, and Lan XiChen notes that she has him beaten regularly after he is accepted in the Jinlintai. Yes, she told off her husband for his arrogance, but she was trapped in her marriage with him and projected her pain onto someone who was not responsible for it (regardless of what Jin GuangYao did, she was abusing him).

The point of both women isn’t that they’re horrible or that one is redeemed; it’s once again calling out the double standards and corrupt power structures at play. Jin GuangYao and Madame Jin are actually foils in that both abuse the power they have to target children who can’t help who their parents are (A-Song), because neither of them are able to truly demand justice from the person who is actually responsible: Jin GuangShan.

The Bad Girls: Meng Shi, CangSe SanRen, and Madame Lan

Or the women whom no one cared about enough to hear their stories. Madame Lan was a murderer and a parallel to Jin GuangYao and Wei WuXian as a result; the only way to save her life was to marry Lan WangJi and XiChen’s father. She’s noted to have been playful and fun, but she was only allowed to see her sons once a month, and she was confined her entire life, which is basically symbolic of how the cultivational society treats people: it traps them and isolates them.

CangSe SanRen is not described in much detail besides that, like Xiao XingChen, she left BaoShan SanRen to join cultivational society. Yet she still continued to flout its rules--cutting off Lan QiRen’s beard and marrying a servant instead of marrying a sect leader and gaining power. Rumors about her--that she had an affair with Jiang FengMian despite no evidence--and that she flouted society are then projected onto her son (symbolic of society’s unwillingness to change its corruption and power system)...

...which is just like how Meng Shi’s having been a prostitute is projected onto Jin GuangYao. People won’t even accept tea from him, believing his skin dirty on the basis of whom his mother was. However, everything we know about Meng Shi suggests she cared deeply for her son and chose to have him despite knowing what it would do to her popularity as a prostitute. Even when the other prostitutes comment about how she was a fool who kept hoping he would return, she still cared for her son and he repaid her by carving her face into the GuanYin temple’s idol. Jin GuangYao also expressly says that his father “wouldn’t buy [her] freedom,” implying that she did not have much of a choice about her lifestyle. Good job, society. Not.

The Mean Girl: JiaoJiao

Okay, she’s kind of loathsome in personalty, petty and cruel and having an affair with an even crueler prince. Yet in a story that comments so much on privilege, it’s hard not to see her as a victim of circumstance as well; however, her proximity with the (then) pinnacle of corruption in Wen Chao and Wen RouHan means that she too misuses her power once she has it. She hurts innocents in Lotus Pier, she tries to kill MianMian just for being pretty, etc.

However, keep in mind that JiaoJiao’s prettiness is said to be what attracted Wen Chao to her, and it’s said that her family then received favors, such as the creating of their own sect. Her name is also noted by translators to be comparatively unsophisticated, implying that she likely came from a family that wasn’t exactly high up in society. None of this excuses her, but what exactly makes her fear of someone else being prettier than her and thus losing all the power she has (which she knew would happen eventually), and potentially her family suffering for it as well, all that much different than Jiang Cheng’s bitterness towards people more powerful in cultivation than him? Jiang Cheng had ShiJie and Wei WuXian and others to show him love and help him not become as cruel of a person (until she dies and then he does, indeed, torture people), but we know nothing about whether JiaoJiao had that.

Desperate people cling to what they have. JiaoJiao, Wei WuXian, Jin GuangYao, and Jiang Cheng all show us this. It doesn’t excuse them, but neither does it mean they’re demons.

Integrity and the Limits of Sacrifice: Wen Qing and Jiang YanLi

Jiang YanLi and Wen Qing are in many ways the opposite of JiaoJiao: both are brave, kind women, and wonderful older sisters, even if Jiang YanLi is unassuming and Wen Qing bold. Both are inhibited by their power, though: Jiang YanLi’s talents are not cultivational in nature, and Wen Qing may be talented and brilliant as a doctor, but she is limited by her role all the same:

Lan XiChen responded a moment later, “I have heard of Wen Qing’s name a few of times. I do not remember her having participated in any of the Sunshot Campaign’s crimes.”

Nie MingJue, “But she’s never stopped them either.”

Lan XiChen, “Wen Qing was one of Wen RuoHan’s most trusted people. How could she have stopped them?”

Nie MingJue spoke coldly, “If she responded with only silence and not opposition when the Wen Sect was causing mayhem, it’s the same as indifference. She shouldn’t have been so disillusioned as to hope that she could be treated with respect when the Wen Sect was doing evil and be unwilling to suffer the consequences and pay the price when the Wen Sect was wiped out.”

The thing is: she did try to stop some of them, helping Jiang Cheng and Wei WuXian, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t speak up for her. Sigh.

Both of them are also foils in how they both ultimately sacrifice their lives to save Wei WuXian... and it turns out that their sacrifice doesn’t protect Wei WuXian. Wen Qing tells Wei WuXian the story’s catchphrase “thank you, and I’m sorry” before turning herself in for execution with her brother, but all this winds up in is the BurialMounds being seiged anyways, all her relatives except Wen Yuan being killed, and Wei WuXian still dying. Wen Ning, too, is not killed but is made a weapon. Jiang YanLi, despite Wei WuXian having led to the death of her husband, pushes him out of the way of a soldier looking to kill him, and gets killed instead. But this only results in Jiang Cheng becoming enraged and helping kill Wei WuXian, and Jin Ling being left an orphan.

However, because MDZS has a pretty nuanced view on sacrifice, it’s neither pointless nor to be admired. Wei WuXian is both Wen Qing and Jiang YanLi’s foil in this: he, too, is self-sacrificial to a fault. The novel pretty clearly implies that self-sacrifice can be a form of self-harm, as it is for all three of them. Yet, all three of them have a defining trait of deep love that ultimately enables them to have legacies that continue: Wen Yuan, Jin Ling, even Wen Ning survive, and Wei WuXian is given a second chance at life. It’s not that their sacrifices were ultimately selfish and didn’t matter or shouldn’t have happened; it’s that, without an unjust society, they should not have had to happen. Wen Qing should not have been condemned on the basis of her name. Jiang YanLi should not have been killed because Wei WuXian should never have been seiged. And Wei WuXian should never have had to feel like he had to prove his worth (keep in mind Yu ZiYuan’s last words to him are literally that he should protect Jiang Cheng with his life).

The Victims: Qin Su, Mo XuanYu’s Mother, and Madame Qin

In this house we stan Qin Su.

Talk about a woman who goes after what she wants. She is said to have pursued Jin GuangYao after he saved her during the Sunshot Campaign, rather than the other way around.

However, during the sunshot campaign, Qin Su had been saved by Jin GuangYao. She fell in love with him and never gave up, insisting that she wanted to be his wife. In the end, they finally drew the period on such a romantic story. Jin GuangYao didn’t let her down either. Even though he held the important position of Chief Cultivator, his behavior was drastically different from his father’s. He never took in any concubines, much less had a relationship with any other woman. This was indeed something that many wives of sect leaders envied.

And yet, again, because of circumstances beyond her control and because of the abuse of power, she can’t have happiness. Jin GuangShan raped her mother (seriously, he’s the very symbol of power abuse in relation to sexism in this novel), who is too ashamed to tell her husband that his best friend assaulted her. We can’t fault Madame Qin for staying silent, and with Qin Su already pregnant, it’s difficult not to empathize with Jin GuangYao for feeling trapped and marrying her anyways--though it is his fault for not telling her, and for killing their son, as Qin Su basically states that the dividing line for her is because Jin GuangYao killed A-Song, not because of their blood relation.

After a moment of silence, Jin GuangYao answered, “I know that you won’t believe me, no matter what I say, but it was sincere, back then.”

Qin Su sobbed, “… You’re still speaking such blandishments!”

Jin GuangYao, “I’m speaking the truth. I’ve always remembered that you have never said anything about my background or my mother. I’m grateful for you until the end of my life, and I want to respect you, cherish you, love you. But, you have to know that even if A-Song hadn’t been killed, he had to die. He could only die. If we let him grow up, you and I…”

With the mention of her son, Qin Su couldn’t bear it any longer. With a raise of her hand, she slapped him on the face, “Then who’s the one that did all this?! Just what can’t you do for this position?!”

In some ways Qin Su and Madame Qin could be seen as a potential foil for Madame Jin and Madame Yu, in that they both loved children who were forced upon them, who would have been scorned in the world’s eyes, and defend their wellbeing and life.

Mo XuanYu’s mother was sixteen when Jin GuangShan found her, and she was noted to herself be the illegitimate daughter of a servant--but her father was not scorned for this, yet she was scorned for having a son outside of wedlock.

the elder one was the daughter of his principal wife, looking for a husband to marry into the family, while the younger one was the daughter of a servant. The Mo family originally wanted to hastily give her to someone, but an adventure awaited her. When she was sixteen, the leader of a well-known cultivation family was passing by the area, and fell in love with her at first sight.

...In the beginning, the people of Mo Village regarded the topic with contempt, but because the Sect Leader* often helped out, the Mo family received plenty of advantages. And so, the direction of the discussions changed, and the Mo family took pride in the matter, while everyone else also envied the opportunity.

She was respected only for the value she could bring a poor village. And then when Mo XuanYu was cast out of the Jin Sect, it’s noted that:

After he went back home dejectedly, he was bombarded with ridicule. The situation seemed like it was beyond redemption, and the second-lady of Mo was not able to withstand the blow, shortly choking to death because of the trauma.

Considering Mo XuanYu’s makeup is of a hanged ghost and the mention of how she died, it’s pretty likely that she hung herself.

Mo XuanYu’s mother, just like Qin Su, commits suicide in the end to avoid a cruel society that would not respond to plights that were in no way their fault with anything but cruelty. Jin GuangYao notes that Qin Su would be the “laughingstock of the world” and soon after she grabs a dagger in which her soul would be trapped forever--a dagger originally owned by again The Symbol of Abuse of Power in Wen RouHan--and kills herself in a chamber of secrets (literally, a secret treasure vault, because she could not survive these secrets coming to light not keeping them silent). Just like Madame Qin, neither of them have anywhere to turn to for justice or for compassion. In the cultivational world, they are already disadvantaged for being women, and their tragic ends show again how disgusting the society in MDZS is.

Hope and Bravery: A-Qing

Of course it’s not the righteous cultivator and it’s not the strongest in cultivation who is the hero who finally gets justice in Yi City. It’s the beggar girl who pretends to be blind, the thief, with no cultivation. A-Qing’s ghost may be blind and mute, but she sees and speaks more than any of them. Her empathy enables the heroes to figure out what happened in Yi City, and she is mourned and lauded for her bravery for it.

She has little power in the world, so she lies to get the money she can. But what she does have is love and loyalty that foils Lan WangJi’s (though I don’t believe in any way that it’s remotely implied this love for Xiao XingChen is romantic!) Even after Xiao XingChen’s death, even after her own physical dismemberment and death, she continues to look for justice for him, and this eventually pays off.

Further Hope: MianMian

I addressed this a bit in my meta with her, but MianMian’s happy ending comes outside of society, and includes her marrying a man who respects her autonomy and wishes:

Luo QingYang gazed at her husband, smiling, “My husband isn’t of the cultivating world. He used to be a merchant. But, he’s willing to go night-hunting with me…”

It was both rare and admirable that an ordinary person, and a man at that, would be willing to give up his originally stable life and dare travel the world with his wife, unafraid of danger and wander. Wei WuXian couldn’t help feeling respect for him.

And MianMian still has a keen observation: that society in the world hasn’t changed (which Wei WuXian will also note in the last chapter when they find a new scapegoat villain in Jin GuangYao):

Luo Qing Yang sighed, “Oh, these people…” She seemed as if she remembered something, shaking her head, “They’re the same everywhere.”

But as long as there are people willing to be empathetic, to believe in justice and be brave, who can combine these--like A-Qing, Lan WangJi, Wei WuXian, and more--there is hope for healing, even if it takes thirteen years.

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 4 years

Text

Motion Sickness: I Let you Die II

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GaiLong was comfortable after sleeping in Shion. Sure, sleeping in some hundred-year-old ghost town was eerie on it's own, but not as eerie as seeing all the newly stray cats and dogs with collars who managed to survive. They tried to put their lives together the morning after everyone died in the wreckage.

Yes, we did cut the collars off every single one we saw.

We were welcomed back to GaiLong too. I had been worried a little about how we would be received with the news, but it seemed to be nothing but paranoia on my end. The village leader, Lai Beihfing, was more than willing to sit down and work with us, though. He had seemed content to think that our alibi of staying with them for the past few weeks was enough evidence to be assured we weren’t in on some conspiracy.

He sent out riders by horseback to the surrounding villages, but he quickly monopolized my time. I wanted to leave to hunt the bandits, too, but…

“Surely you’ll agree that if all of you leave, we would be just as defenseless as Shion would.”

“If we encounter the enemy or whatever Grimm left that print, I need all hands-on deck,” I disagreed. Maybe I was paranoid, but if Beihfing-Tono didn’t believe us entirely, then having half as many of us here would also decrease our effectiveness if we tried some trojan horse-shit.

“You said you would have fled if the beast returned to Shion.” He returned. “Doesn’t that imply your strategy was to retreat from it anyways?”

“Only if I thought I couldn’t beat it, which I definitely can’t with half my team.” I returned. “If half of us die then we definitely can’t kill it and there are also the bandits.”

“Who could then attack while you are gone. We couldn’t possibly fight them off without your help and without the presence of at least some of you, I am worried that the news may cause a panic.” The nail in the coffin, for me, really. “And we should not assume my riders will return with good news either.”

It was a win-win for him and his village, and it wasn’t a gamble he could afford to take, whether I was telling the truth or not, he needed some of us here, preferably more than one of us. It wasn’t one I could afford to either. “Arc-san please. You must see reason.”

“I-” I sighed and shook my head, “I didn’t disagree with you from the start, sir.”

The Beihjing-Tono, reclined slightly and looked beyond and behind me. “Please, won’t you give us the room?” His own guards nodded and gestured for my friends to file towards the door. “You three are more than welcome to return to the inn.” Ruby hesitated and though she did lift her hand from my shoulder.

It was sort of implied that he would pay for our room and board while we hunted his enemies, especially now that I had my new weapon. Not just to pay us but also… well… if the bandits could kill them all, then so could we. Plus, if we were telling the truth we could just leave, and they would be fucked.

It worked both ways, though, the timing of me getting my weapon, communications going down, and Shion’s destruction was all super suspicious on our end, too.

The fact was we both sort of had each other by the balls and neither of us really wanted to do any more squeezing than was necessary.

I turned and nodded to Ruby, “it won’t take us long. We just need to hammer out the details.”

She nodded, but I knew she wouldn’t let it go. She’d want those details later.

Well, I figured she’d probably want details on other stuff she wasn’t pushing super hard on now either, but it was really time to stop thinking about her as she was walking away from me. Her legs looked really good in those tights and you could see her hourglass figure from behind in that tight corset. But it was really time to stop thinking about Ruby's legs, you fucking idiot.

I pretended like I made myself focus and it wasn’t when she shut the door. I was the boss. The boss, the boss, the boss, the boss.

When I turned around it was to the sight of GaiLong’s principle face pouring two cups of tea. He offered one to me even as he poured it and it struck me how tired he looked.

Panic, bandits, Grimm, and no communication with Vale, Atlas, or Mistral, further, Beihjing-Tono wasn’t exactly having a good day either. The village had no back up military-wise and no capital I could even take with me, let alone valuable enough to me that would really be worth risking their lives.

He probably had friends in Shion, too.

And he was now going to have to rely on the fact I wasn’t a total scum bag or people would die in his streets.

It probably hadn’t been like this in almost a century, since the towers went up. It seemed nearly as far away ago as the construction of the first pyramids, since feudalistic Mistral. Not so long that the system had collapsed entirely.

“You agree you have to leave half yourselves here.”

“Yes.” I took a long drink. “But I do think I need every one of them to kill it. Maybe some of your men, too. I don’t know how to kill it, I haven’t seen it yet, but it looks very big and possibly intelligent.” I hesitated. “It might be old, too.”

“We should prepare, the Grimm will come here first, no?” It was true. It doesn’t matter how tightlipped you think your men are this place is too small. They’ll talk to their wives and children and more. “We must assume we are the first to know and thus, the most likely to experience the greatest change in happiness over the next few days. If it was as close to Shion and as you say, it will feel us. Do you agree master huntsman?”

“We’ll have to wait a few days at least,” I agreed. “My friend’s semblance lets him suppress an area from their senses, its better with fewer people but with such a small village it should help. It’ll help people stay calm, too.”

“What will you do then?”

“That depends entirely on what news your men bring back, doesn’t it?” I asked. “What should we do if your men bring back news that Shion wasn’t the only place destroyed?”

“We shall discuss that if and only if it comes up.” He’d been a little relaxed before but to my eyes he grew more cautious of me. “Arc-San, I am sure the destruction you experienced at Beacon was traumatizing but if a Grimm with such might has been in the area for years and destroyed villages with such ease, I would know it. After the first few days the bandits shall be the greatest threat. Once you eliminate them the danger will pass, and you can return to your journey.”

I bit my tongue. He didn’t want me here any longer than I had to be. Didn’t trust me enough, maybe. He thought I was in with the bandits, it would be a reasonable way to try and consolidate power in the area. I just had to invent some imaginary threat that only I could stop, and I needed all the villages around to give me whatever I wanted to do it.

I hesitated, I wanted him to strongly consider it now. I wanted to have a plan in case the villages around were destroyed too but…

“I strongly encourage you to reconsider.” I pleaded.

“I am not evacuating, I cannot consider it and you cannot pretend to be able to protect us no matter where we go.”

What? Did he think I was an idiot?

“I… I never was considering evacuating…” There was another plan too, an obvious one. “Sir, I have another idea, one I’m not sure anyone else needs to know about.” I watched him set his tea down, slowly. “I’m assuming that you don’t have a prison, even if we do catch the bandits…”

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So, I realize that what I was about to do may as well be murder if I pulled it off. Yeah, I was still calling it outlaw justice with a thousand justifications if anyone called me on it but wasn’t that sort of the plan with Cinder and her shmucks anyways?

It was complicated but calling something ‘outlaw-justice’ when I was contemplating how to kill people seemed really hollow. Maybe it is the right thing to do. I’m even convinced it is, but I am even more convinced that not everyone will see it that way.

The Grimm needed to be drawn away and any of the bandits who had aura could not be allowed to escape and kill again.

I’m no mathematician but I see some ways I could cancel things out.

I glanced across my team’s faces and I reasonably guessed who I could sell what when and how.

“We’re staying for a few days.” I met Ren’s eyes and started nodding. “We’re making everybody feel calm and going on patrols. Spending some time here. I have our board from the mayor and we’re just waiting for the riders to come back.”

“Should we start now?” Nora asked.

I nodded. We’d talked about it along the way. We already planned to do ‘patrols,’ i.e. find dinner, in town and be seen. However, Ren could just calm down everybody he passed through walls and over fences and the combination of the two should help. He couldn’t do everyone, well, not at once, he could do something like ten to fifteen meters depending so there wasn’t anywhere in town that he couldn’t reach and calm down.

He rose with Nora to set about.

Then it was Ruby and I.

Which also led to the problem of how I’d sell Ruby leaving the bandits to die somewhere or cutting them down.

Nora I could trick. Ren I could convince. But I’d need to somehow evade Ruby to get it done. Outlaw justice wasn’t going to fly with her. It just wasn’t. If I tried to launch it, she’d shoot it down and then maybe, she’d shoot me, too.

Bam, bam.

I had to go because who else would kill them, and Ren probably had to stay here, and the implicit understanding so far had been any splitting-up would be done partner-wise. Changing that now would be suspicious.

Well. I could and would have to change that over the next few days or find something else. I really was looking. It wasn’t like I had my heart set on lying to Ruby per se. Or even on killing the bandits or Cind-well, let’s not get crazy.

The bandits, though, I was open to ideas.

I still thought the mayor was wrong about the Grimm, too. How could he sleep at night with such a creature right next door? I suppose the same way he had the night before.

“So how did it really go?” She wondered.

I sighed. Feeling her arms wrap barely above my waist. “Pretty much like that. We have some other plans, but we need to know more.”

“Like what type of Grimm, it is?” Ruby hesitated. “It’s a Nuckelavee.”

I blinked. “Wh-What else can you tell me about it?” I whipped around. “Ruby what the fu-”

“I didn’t know either, alright!” She snapped right back her hand somehow stung through all my armor despite that she was in her PJs.

They were the same as the old ones and they didn’t fit well anymore. She was taller and her legs were longer than they had been. She also just didn’t have the frame she used to. Her chest was bigger and she had wider hips. It made the place below her ribs thin and gave her a supermodel hourglass shape.

I was trying hard not look at her. In the dark it was one thing, but…

“Alright, alright, alright.” I pleaded. “I’m sorry.” I turned and sat on the bed. I was frustrated but that was really no excuse at all. What was I? A barbarian? I spat out a long breath. “Please, where and how?”

“Nora told me; what it was called, I mean. She told me that Ren told her once, but that she doesn’t know any more. Ren does, though. He didn’t tell you, then?”

She threw out her arms and paced about the low-lit room. There was enough room to pace from the small sofa, to the small bathroom. Just enough for her to get all the pacing she needed done. I’d maybe been hypnotized by it once or twice.

They’d given us two rooms again, which was nice of them. They were low, but they were warm, and their walls were built as inexpensive as possible from the dark woods around them. I mean they had other wall stuff done to them, too.

I wasn’t I wall guy and I had better things to think about when she turned around, walked over, and handed me a cardboard box that had the logo, warmth, and weight of restaurant food. “Ren ordered it for you, said you probably wouldn’t mind anything so… We can get something else if you don’t like it. I’m sure it’ll get eaten.”

It was a large sandwitch with fries. I was pretty sure about its ultimate fate as well.

“I’ll uh, thanks.” I stuttered off.

She turned and sat on the bed next to me with a plop as I tucked in. “Sorry, we didn’t wait for you, but we sort of figured.”

I nodded.

“Nora was talking to me about it earlier, she said Ren’s been quiet, not sure how she can really tell.”

“He has.” I agreed. Why didn’t he tell me about the Grimm?

“You can tell too? Is it just me? Ugh.” She flopped backwards. Her exposed stomach was- well-exposed. As in I could see it. I was trying to stop, too, but it really wasn’t working well. She had abdominal outlines around her navel and the way her sides ran down to her pants was just-

“-you know?”

I moved the box across my lap and chewed hard.

“-Jaune?” She sat up. “You looked like you were thinking hard.” Incorrect, Rubes. “You figure something out?”

“Huh?”

“About Ren.”

“Ren?” I wondered. “Oh yeah. Yeah, I’ll talk to him later.”

“You think he’ll talk to you?” She raised an eyebrow. “When he’s not talking to Nora? You have absolutely lost your mind.”

“Maybe.”

I had an angle, I wasn’t really even sure what it was yet but maybe if Ren wasn’t his usual self…

“Hey.”

“Huh.”

“Don’t you want to change?”

I was still in the clothes I’d marched all day in, not to mention armor, by necessity I’d had to leave the sword by the door. It was one of those two meter-and-change sword things. I eyed it now. “I was going to go practice some.”

“Nope.”

“Nope?” I asked. I couldn’t help the smile that ran across my face.

“Nope.”

“Why nope, now?”

“Because you were up late last night doing it, and up early this morning doing it, and you did the same thing the day before. And don’t think we haven’t noticed you not even trying to sleep during Ren’s shift. We have. We’ve noticed a lot.”

“Who is we.”

“Uh, the rest of us.”

“You guys talking about me in here?”

“Well duh, what else would we talk about.”

I laughed. “Well it would be pretty arrogant of me to-“

“We’re worried about you.” She glared, her eyes glimmered at me even as she rolled over so I couldn’t see her face. “You butt.”

“Ruby-“

“You haven’t been the same since Beacon. You’re just… it’s like Ren, now, but all the time and every time someone tries to talk to you keep them out.” I watched her pull the covers around her even tighter. “Even me.”

Her red face peaked out and I met her wet eyes. I took the deepest breath I thought I could manage. “Ruby you’re being unfair.”

She lost the battle against her angry tears and the first one fell. It was closely followed by the second. She wiped them away with the sheets of the bed with a fervor that left a red streak across her face.

“I don’t mean with-like-Pyrrha.” I managed. She must have gotten the sense that I really was trying because her angry tears stopped for a moment and she just stared at me. “Come on. I was never going to be the same again. You haven’t been, either, since you saw her die.”

“I told you I hardly even remember what happened at the top of-“

“I know.” I pleaded. “I meant Penny.”

She looked away again, but I reached out and grabbed her hand. “I was never going to be like I was before Pyrrha died. How could I go back?” The headmaster’s machine beneath the school and the scarred girl in the pod were burned into my mind forever. Nothing could be the same again.

“Well… you know you can talk to me about it.” She crawled across the bed and wrapped her arms around my neck. My stomach was too tight for me to eat anything, so I set my food on the nightstand between the two beds. I could smell, well, her. I couldn’t pin the scent down besides ‘rose’ in a lot of unhelpful ways. It was clean, though, and gentle. Maybe a bit like cinnamon and sugar.

“I’m trying.” I continued. “It’s really hard. I didn’t get to sort out what I felt for her, if anything. And her feelings really just...” I shook my head. “God, listen to me complain like I was the one who fucking died.”

“You’re allowed to feel things you know.”

“I really don’t know what I feel, though.”

“What about me?” Her voice came quietly into my ear and I simultaneously relaxed and tensed in her arms. She seemed ready for it. She always seemed to be able to do that with people. Tonight, wasn’t the first time she seemed to know what I was feeling before I did.

I felt like laughing. “I feel guilty just looking at you.”

Is that all? She didn’t say it. She just rubbed her hands across my chest for a long moment. She knew it wasn’t though. Too many late-night talks between shifts and time on the road. Too much before that, too. In a lot of ways. “Jaune things will never be convenient but I...” I turned my head and suddenly we were centimeters away. “I want to help you move on.”

“I never started anything with her. Never got to.” I wondered.

“Jaune you don’t treat me like her.” She insisted. “You’re not replacing her with me.”

My voice was tight. “It feels like it, sometimes.” I rubbed my face hard with one hand. “Ruby I-“ I tried to tell her. I looked into her eyes and saw how emotional she was. I wondered if I could feel even a tenth of it.

“If you feel like you’re replacing me with her you can talk to me about that, too.”

She brought my head forward in the cradle of her arms and kissed me.

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-WG

#motion sickness #lancaster rwby #whiteknight #lancaster #rwby #ff7 #ffvii #cloud strife #ruby rose #jaune arc #war of the roses

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Now I want the story where NMJ is half war god and NHS is half fox spirit, thank you so much xD

based on this tumblr post and Lao Nie’s decision to refer to WRH as A-Han in this one ficlet

on ao3

Nie Zonghui had long ago suspected that his Sect Leader was a madman, but he didn’t really know it for certain until the first time he lost the man while on a bodyguarding mission – his first, and a great honor.

Supposedly.

“It’s all right,” his father said, looking long-suffering, when he reported back in distress. “He’s an adult, our sect leader, and this is a small city with no major threats in the middle of some idiosyncratic festival celebration for some goddess or another. How much damage can he really do before he sobers up?”

Nie Zonghui stared at his father, then turned to his mother, who was also staring at her husband with an expression of sincere incredulity.

“Lots,” she supplied. “Lots and lots and lots, and that’s assuming he doesn’t get himself killed in the meantime. Why would you even say that?”

“He’s our sect leader, have some respect.”

“I respect the boss bull of the herd, too, but it doesn’t mean I let it go wandering around the fields wherever it pleases!” She shook her head, snorting in a manner not entirely unlike a bull herself. “Well, if we’re very lucky, maybe our cousin will knock up a cow while he’s out and about rather than just breaking things. We could use a direct heir already; he’s not getting any younger.”

“We could use him being properly married is what we could use. I don’t understand why he’s so resistant – ah, Zonghui, you’re still here? Go gather some cultivators and go look for him, but don’t kick up any fuss, and worry too much if you can’t find him at once. He’ll be back to business soon enough.”

He was, if by “soon enough” one meant “after nearly ten days” and by “back to business” one meant “still drunk off his ass and waxing rhapsodic about some girl he met and possibly married”.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure the sun shines out of her ass,” Nie Zonghui’s father said, his face stormy. “You still could’ve told us where you went. Look what you did to poor Zonghui, he’s been wearing down his heels pacing in worry over you!”

“Oh, heels, yes, did I mention that my gorgeous goddess had amazing legs, too?” their sect leader asked with a soppy smile and stars in his eyes, totally uninterested in any of their petty complaints. “She could kill a man with them – oh, but I would die a happy man between those thighs…!”

“Zonghui, go guard the outside door,” his mother told him. “Also, tell his younger sister that she might need to be sect leader sooner than she’d hoped, because I’m going to murder this fucking –”

Nie Zonghui was there, too, when ten months later his new little baby cousin was (metaphorically) ditched on their doorstep.

The entire thing was entirely too dramatic for his taste, and yes, he was aware that as a person who chose to dual wield sabers he had very little room to criticize others for being overly dramatic, however correct he might be.

They had been fighting bandits – barely disguised mercenaries, really, probably paid off by the Wen sect to harass them – in what had turned into a particularly bad situation. Three separate regiments had joined together to take advantage of a terrible thunderstorm and ambush them at all once and them with their backs against a raging river, swollen with rain to the precipice of flooding, with no way to retreat except by fleeing on their sabers, abandoning the common people they were protecting and losing all face.

The sect leader had been raging on the battlefield, saber in hand, but even he had seen that they would need to shortly choose between death and dishonor; Nie Zonghui, close by his side, had seen how his face was split with a terrible scowl as he wracked his brain for more options.

Then there had been a terrible roar of thunder, and then a flash of light that had blinded them all.

Nie Zonghui had immediately noted the anomality of it, thunder first and lightning second, and wondered it if it was some sort of array working against them, especially when the light had not faded away but grown brighter, causing searing pain in his eyes that made him fall and clutch at his face. But he was a good soldier, loyal and true, and he forced his eyes open to squint into the night, looking to see he did not know what.

Through his sun-blindness, he vaguely thought he could see a silhouette not unlike that of a woman, ten feet tall and radiant as the sun, wearing a dress of nine colors and carrying a guandao in her hand that seemed to reach the clouds, but when he blinked again he saw nothing at all.

Or, well, he did see something: all of their enemies were headless, no matter where on the battlefield they were, their bodies dropping like a loosened string of coins where they had been standing and splattering anyone they were fighting with blood as they gawped at the sudden corpses.

Also, the sect leader was suddenly holding something in his arms when he hadn’t been before.

“What’s that?” Nie Zonghui asked, and the sect leader turned towards him. Nie Zonghui squinted, and suddenly wondered if this entire battle had been a very bad dream. “…is that a baby?”

“Yes,” the sect leader said, grinning broadly. “He’s my son!”

“He’s your what,” Nie Zonghui said.

“My son! I didn’t know about him, of course – apparently he came as something of a surprise to her as well – but anyway she thought that it would be more appropriate for me to raise him, all things considered. A baby doesn’t quite fit her lifestyle. What do you think of ‘Mingjue’ as a courtesy name? Good, yes?”

Nie Zonghui suddenly understood why his parents were always cursing all the time.

“I don’t see why I need another wife,” the sect leader said. “I already have a son.”

“Don’t you want to give said son a mother?” Nie Zonghui’s mother asked, her arms crossed. “One that isn’t the Dark Lady of the Nine Heavens, the war goddess you somehow managed to knock up without getting killed?”

“She never specified that she was –”

“Someone needs to be Nie-furen,” the sect leader’s younger sister interrupted, “because I am sick and tired of doing the job, and it’s a little difficult to ask a goddess to do it. So you are going to find yourself another one that’s a little closer to the ground this time, you understand me?”

The sect leader nodded and agreed, which was universally agreed upon to be the only appropriate reaction when his beloved meimei said something in that particular tone of voice.

(He did, after a suitable period of time, state that he wanted to make clear that there was no actual evidence that he had knocked up Jiutian Xuannü and that it was quite plausible that the mother of his heir was nothing more than a rogue cultivator of particular strength and possibility even immortality. If Baosan Sanren had managed it, why not someone else?)

At any rate, they brought him several pictures of women that might fit the bill and who would not be too offended at being asked to be a secondary wife – their sect leader swore up and down that he had performed bows with the mother of his first son, rendering him legitimate, and anyway no one was in the mood to see if the maybe-a-goddess would take offense to someone calling her child a bastard – but none seemed to catch their sect leader’s interest.

“Consider visiting a few brothels,” Nie Zonghui’s great-uncle suggested. “Anything to get you back in the habit of thinking about women of a less divine nature – though of course we’d prefer that she be literate.”

The sect leader scowled and stalked off to go night-hunting instead.

“I don’t like brothels,” he said to Nie Zonghui as they made their way through an especially deserted mountain valley in search of something that had murdered all the local mensfolk in the surrounding villages with especial viciousness. “Surely there’s an option in between.”

Nie Zonghui preferred his sabers to either men or women, but he obediently wracked his brain to think of where people in stories and famous songs found their wives. “Innkeeper’s daughters?” he finally suggested.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the sect leader scoffed, but the very next day, he decided to break his usual habit of staying out in the wild no matter the weather in favor of taking shelter from the encroaching storm in a small inn right at the base of an especially lonesome and nasty-looking cliff.

“We’re always happy to have guests,” the innkeeper said with a somewhat sinister smile – he was pale as a ghost in the guttering candlelight, and his lips looked very red. “My daughter will show you to your rooms.”

The daughter in question was inhumanly beautiful: small and graceful, with a fox’s face and dark hair that fell to her knees.

“Wow,” the sect leader said, staring at her. “You know, I think you could kill me with those nails of yours.”

Nie Zonghui took a look and agreed with the sentiment, seeing that her nails were as long as claws and looked just as sharp, but apparently he and the sect leader had somewhat different interpretations of this sequence of events and plans on how to address it.

Namely, Nie Zonghui pointed out that the lady was obviously some sort of yao or maybe a gui and that she was probably the one seducing the local mensfolk, draining their yang energy and then slaughtering them, and therefore that it was undoubtedly their duty as cultivators – and cultivators of the Nie sect in particular – to put an end to her vile deeds through the swift application of their sabers. Furthermore, he explained, they should take care never to allow themselves to be alone with her in the process, lest she seek to entrance them with her seductive magics and lure them to their undoubtedly violent deaths.

The sect leader’s rebuttal to this line of logic was limited to “I’m the sect leader and if I want to bang the probably-a-ghost, I’m going to bang the ghost and there’s nothing you can do to stop me”.

Amazingly enough, the sect leader did not end up dead the next day – the innkeeper looked just as surprised as Nie Zonghui felt – and instead announced, very happily, that he was planning on marrying her.

“You what,” the innkeeper said, staring at his very smug-looking ‘daughter’. In light of dawn, she was wearing a dress of many colors with a foxfur ruff, and her beauty was almost painful to behold.

“You why,” Nie Zonghui moaned.

“You shut up,” the sect leader told him. “I’ll have you know that my lady here is very clever, literate and well-learned, and she doesn’t at all mind being the second wife. Weren’t you one of the ones on my case about getting a Nie-furen to help managing things back home?”

“I didn’t think we needed to specify that the person in question didn’t murder a lot of people!”

“Isn’t his first wife supposedly a war goddess?” the lady inquired, her clever eyes dancing in amusement.

“Well…yes…”

“Also, all those men deserved it,” she said. After a brief pause, she added, “In my opinion as a totally unrelated observer, of course.”

“See?” the sect leader said, putting his arm around her waist. “No problem. Anyway, she’ll stick to killing bad people from now on, it’s fine.”

The lady smiled. There were many teeth in that smile, and they were very sharp.

“If she doesn’t, I’ll have my first wife discipline her,” the sect leader added and her smile abruptly disappeared.

Nie Zonghui coughed into his hand, but reluctantly admitted that maybe this wouldn’t turn out to be as bad as all that.

“Huaisang is a lovely name,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said, being the best of them at diplomacy when she put her mind to it, although admittedly it was something she did only very rarely. “I think we were just expecting something a little different, that’s all.”

“Possibly something a little more fox related,” Nie Zonghui’s father said.

“Please,” the sect leader’s second wife said. “That would be gauche.”

They looked at her.

“…all of my suggestions along those lines got rejected,” she admitted, and glared at the small shrine in the corner as if it had personally wronged her. In this context, it very well might have.

“Is there anything we should keep an eye out for?” Nie Zonghui said, watching his little cousin carry around his even littler cousin under his arm as if he were a sack of potatoes and not a baby that hadn’t yet had its first month celebration. He would have interfered but for the fact that little Nie Huaisang seemed to be notably more in control of his various limbs than the usual infant. “A tail, for instance?”

“Oh, no,” the second lady said. “Nothing like that.”

“Great,” Nie Zonghui said. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“It’s very rare for fox children to achieve a grand plot worthy of a tail in their first lifetime.” A pause. “From what I understand, that is.”

“Great,” Nie Zonghui said. “…great.”

“You’ll take good care of him when I’m gone, won’t you?” she asked, and when they all looked at her, smiled. “Not for another year or two, don’t worry, but I really can’t stay here that long. Sometimes, a girl’s got urges she has to take care of.”

“The sort of urges where we’d need to hunt down a mysteriously appearing fox yao for having murdered a lot of people?”

“I already promised to stop killing people,” she said sulkily. “Although I do think I made some plausible arguments in favor of a little bit of entirely justified murder in connection with the Jin sect and maybe the Lan sect and, oh, the Jiang sect –”

“Please don’t.”

“It’s not my fault your Great Sects are all headed by men who wrong women.”

“You’re not wrong,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said, and Nie Zonghui’s father looked alarmed. “But still, don’t.”

“You’re such spoilsports. But no, as it happens, it’s getting to that time when I need to return home for a while to pay my respects to the older generation.”

“How often does that happen?” Nie Zonghui’s father asked. “Once a century?”

“A gentleman shouldn’t ask a lady her age,” she sniffed. “At any rate, my family home is rather far away and they’re fairly insular, so I’ll probably be gone for at least a decade or so. I’d take the baby with me, but, well, you know, long travel and all. He’s better off sticking with his father.”

“All right,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said. “We understand, and we’ll help take care of him as best we can.”

“I’m glad.”

“We have only one thing to ask of you in return.”

Their second lady arched her delicate eyebrows.

Nie Zonghui’s mother smiled. “You be the one to tell your sister-in-law that you’re leaving your post.”

“…you know, on second thought, maybe I can push my departure out a few more years…”

“Before you say anything, I want to be clear right now that I don’t need a third wife,” their sect leader said. “I’m fine.”

“Sect Leader,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said, not unaffectionately. “You’re not allowed a third wife.”

“And therefore – wait, really?” he asked, a little skeptically. “You’re not concerned about me?”

“Oh, we’re very concerned about you,” Nie Zonghui’s father said. “But not in that specific respect. Some celibacy would probably be good for you, at least in terms of increasing your life expectancy.”

“…my sister is lying in wait with a cleaver to make sure she doesn’t have to take on the duties of Nie-furen again, isn’t she.”

“I’m not discounting that possibility, but don’t worry about it, it’s fine, we’ll talk to her. The Lan sect haven’t had a proper hostess in years either, we can just say we’re following their example.”

The sect leader eyed his cousins beadily. “They haven’t had a proper sect leader in years, either.”

“No, you don’t say,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said dryly. “What a coincidence -”

“You have two fine sons,” Nie Zonghui’s father said hastily. “That seems like enough, really.”

“You don’t think they need a mother…?”

“Sect Leader,” Nie Zonghui interjected politely. “While we admit that it may be within your capabilities to be able to find a mother willing to deal with one step-son who has been waiving around a saber taller than he is since he learned to walk and has a penchant for the unyielding, unmerciful and very violent application of the norms of divine justice –”

Nie Mingjue’s presence bolstered the spirit of good men, while his gaze seemed to make evildoers itch. He was the most earnestly good person Nie Zonghui had ever met, and also one of the most stiff and unbending in respect to what he believed should and should not be done.

Unfortunate that his standards didn’t seem to match up to the needs of either human law or diplomacy…

“– as well as another who can scheme circles around anyone and persuade them of anything as long as he puts his mind to it and only doesn’t because he’s too busy lazing around in the sun to bother –”

Nie Huaisang liked to file his nails down to something that looked quite normal, but they grew sharp quickly enough if he wasn’t paying attention, and he had a penchant for pranks. There was nothing quite as unnerving as running into a sudden and unexpected ambush and then suddenly hearing the shrill peal of a fox’s laughter, hidden behind a scholarly fan.

“– but all things considered, we’d really rather you - didn’t.”

His mother and father nodded fervently.

“Good,” the sect leader said, though he still looked suspiciously at them as if he thought they were hiding something. “Good. As long as we’re agreed.”

Nie Zonghui walked in on his sect leader pinning the Wen sect leader to a wall, murmuring something in a low voice with a very particular smile on his face, and then he turned around and walked right back out again.

The sect leader of the Wen sect might appear beautiful and young, but he was at least a generation older than the Nie sect leader. Not that that had stopped the latter from relying on their respective positions to refer to him in startlingly intimate terms – my dear A-Han, the sect leader would say with a touch of wickedness that reminded one of his second son and the tiger gall bravery of his first – and while at first the Wen sect leader had taken it as a challenge to his authority, an act of brash insolence, it appeared that they had progressed beyond that.

That the Wen sect leader already had three wives and two concubines apparently didn’t present any obstacles either – except perhaps in what those poor women might have to endure from their husband when he returned from the wretched teasing he was enduring. Nie Zonghui felt a bit of pity for them.

Shortly thereafter, he felt a bit of pity for himself. The Wen sect had long dreamed of dominating the cultivation world and sought to increase their influence with the other sects through underhanded means, with the Nie sect opposing them at every turn. Even if war was not on the immediate horizon, the wise could smell its distant approach in the air - the best estimates said that it would take another decade or two to arrive, unless the Nie sect leader took an especially hard stance.

It appeared, however, that the Nie sect leader had chosen to take a different sort of…hard stance.

Ugh.

Maybe Nie Zonghui could conspire to throw his sect leader into a cage with a live tiger in heat next time he felt in the mood. It’d probably be less dangerous.

Nie Zonghui had assumed that the first person to talk to him about what he had seen would be his sect leader, even if it was only to remind him of the general rule that the sect leader had ultimate power and therefore could exercise his own bad judgment in deciding to fuck whoever he wished, but instead it was the Wen sect leader that found him later that afternoon.

A flush had yet to fully fade from his cheeks, and Nie Zonghui raised his eyes to the ceiling to avoid looking directly at the man in front of him.

He did not want to know. Others might, given that no one had ever complained about the looks of either party, but he himself had realized long ago that he had no interest in matters of the flesh under any circumstances; he was very content with that conclusion.

“Is there some service this one can provide to Sect Leader Wen?” he asked politely, and it was only when the sect leader flushed again that he realized belatedly that his words could be misconstrued. After all, his own sect leader had probably already made a similar offer regarding the provision of services…

“Your sect leader has a sister, doesn’t he?” the other man asked, his voice tight and his hands in even tighter fists. “I’m not misremembering that?”

“He does,” Nie Zonghui responded honestly, and not without sympathy for the Wen sect leader’s position. He was given to understand that making certain belated discoveries regarding one’s own preferences could be highly disconcerting, particularly later in life. “But she’s rather different in kind than what you may be thinking, so it won’t work out that way. It wouldn’t work even if she wasn’t already married, which she is.”

After a moment of thought, he added, “Also, consider your predecessors.”

The Wen sect leader’s eyes narrowed.

Really, it was the sect leader’s own damn fault that he got himself murdered.

#mdzs #lao nie #nie zonghui #madame nie 1 and 2 #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #the alternate name of this fic was #a goddess a yao and a tyrant walk into a bar to bitch about their boyfriend #but I refrained #atwitchofthewrist

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sageclover61 · 4 years

Text

It’s Only A Myth Witchers Don’t Need Family

@geraskierweek

TITLE: It’s Only A Myth Witcher’s Don’t Need Family

AUTHOR/ARTIST: @sageclover61

PROMPT DAY #: Day 6, Found Family

SUMMARY: The general population is wrong about a long of things. Witchers have feelings, Mages have feelings, and Bards are more than the shenanigans they get up to. Geralt might think he doesn't care what others believe him to be, but he's more than their hatred and their fears. Over time, he learns a valuable lesson about his pack.

WORD COUNT (if applicable):4881

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/VIDEO GAME: Netflix

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: NA

RATING: T

ADDITIONAL NOTES: AO3 link https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828018

Everyone knows that Witchers don’t have feelings. They don’t form attachments, they can’t feel anything , and they’re no better than the monsters that they hunt. Those who believe in souls would say that Witchers don’t have them, can’t have them, because they’re too inhuman for a thing as human as a soul.

Some say that Witchers were born without souls, and others would say that they were cut out of them. Either way, they were inhuman.

They’re wrong. Witchers didn’t do families. Or attachment. But it’s a choice, a rule, a law . They’re sterile, and the only thing that separates them from the monsters that they hunt is the choices that they make. But not because they were incapable of attachments or feelings. Rather, they felt everything too strongly, and used the coldness they displayed as a means to protect themselves.

They could live forever. No one around them was going to. Human lives were a single grain of sand in the hourglass of the universe.

Everyone knows that mages trade their capacity to feel things for the enhancements that make them beautiful and immortal and powerful. It makes them cold, and petty, and amoral. They’re human, anymore. They’re something greater.

Humanity fears them for it, and uses them, and craves to be like them in the same pretty sentences they weave to use to abuse them.

Mages don’t want families. They sacrifice their ability to have children in exchange for power. They don’t need anyone. Not to depend on, not to be dependent on them. They did live forever. Even the lives of the Witchers were but a grain of sand.

Everyone knows that bards aren’t to be trusted. Their words hid too much behind them, charming wives away from their husbands, husbands away from their wives, and running away before anything could be done about it.

But there were whispers, in dark corners of taverns at night, when no bards were around. Rumors of clandestine meetings, from which only the bard would leave alive and of coin trading hands as quickly as daggers sinking into hearts, and strange concoctions being tipped into drinks when no one was watching, leaving the drinker dead by morning.

They didn’t have families. They didn’t need families, all the bastard children running around unclaimed. They didn’t have time for them. Lives too short, too many places to visit and epic ballads to write, and deaths to be gleaned at the hands of jilted lovers.

They’re wrong, about Witchers. Witchers are less than human, but they’re more, too. If humanity is defined by their capacity to feel, then Witchers are defined not only by their infinitely greater senses, but also their infinitely greater capacity to feel .

Geralt can’t speak for all the Witchers, but he finds that their disdain for him makes everything, easier, somehow. They hate him, so they send him on his way once he’s helped them, often without paying all that he’s owed, and it’s easier to keep himself from getting attached to them. He says little, cloaking himself in a facade of whatever the fuck they need to keep from desiring to get closer to him.

He pretends so well and for so long, that he forgets that he’s pretending. Opinions of him decrease and decrease, until he didn’t know they could get any worse, and then it does get worse.

“You say that you can’t choose but you had to, and you’ll never know if you were right. Your reward will be a stoning and you will run. You will try to outrun the girl in the woods and you cannot. She is your destiny.”

She does not tell him that the stoning is his reward for caring so much, but it is. He cares deeply, and impossibly, and being able to do so is supposed to be against the way of the Witcher.

He kills neither the girl nor the mage, but the whole town of Blaviken is dead.

Geralt uses a Witcher Sign, and he wonders if anyone else had ever thought of such a use for it. He uses Axii to wipe the knowledge of the curse of the black sun from Stregobor’s mind, and force him to forget about Renfri.

He manages to convince Renfri to stop hunting him, and move on with her life. She’s safe, now. She doesn’t have to run unless she wants to, and she can discover for herself what she wants.

She’s 16 and she has never had peace. But she can have it now, she deserves it.

Renfri trails after him for 3 days, and then, she is gone, having chosen for herself what comes next.

She was the first of Geralt’s pack, though she did not know it.

Jaskier was, in all probability, the sluttiest slut who had ever been a slut. If not, he was definitely the sluttiest bard who’d ever existed. He who would happily charm into his bed anything and everything that could possibly consent to joining him there. The husbands, the wives, the elves, the monsters, even those who believed themselves to be the most celibate of priests and priestesses allowed themselves to be charmed into his bed.

He loved this life of performing for the masses, and running from vengeful cuckolds. Jaskier had always craved some more adventure, and this was as fun as it got.

But then, the great Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, walked into the bar while he was playing, and he knew that even greater adventure awaited him.

His first adventure, and he even ended up with a brand new, elven crafted, lute. From Filavander, the king of the elves. He didn’t think it could get any better than that, but then he was falling in love with the Witcher who didn’t use enough words, and, who despite his course addressing of him, treated him well.

Tumbling into Geralt’s bedroll with him, there was no place on the entire Continent that he would rather be.

He was the second member of Geralt’s pack, and followed by his side, faithfully, for twenty three years.

Yennefer did not have a choice. She had a series of impossible decisions, and a destiny that led in a direction she did not wish for, so she broke it. No longer was she the little girl to accept the hand of cards that had been dealt to her. No. She needed no one. She was as alone as she had always been, but she chose power over being a wife or a mother. She did not know that was her choice.

She did not know that humanity despised mages, even while demanding their services to fix their messes. Yennefer had the potential to be the greatest mage to ever exist, and yet for thirty years she was nothing more than a royal arse wiper.

Nobody. She was nobody. She was hated and despised by the same people whose very lives depended on her. It was not what she had envisioned, nor was it the power she’d so desired.

But then she was escorting the queen and the new darling princess the queen didn’t even want, and she could not allow her to so callously attempt to bargain with the assassin for her own life, with the life of her child.

What mother was willing to allow a fiend her child if it meant that she could live?

The assassin kills the mother with a single blade, but Yennefer is willing to risk her own life to save the babe, and the magic accepts her desire without requiring her life.

The baby wasn’t born of her blood, but she realizes that’s okay. She doesn’t know what Kalis named her daughter, so Yennefer names the baby Ksenia.

Yennefer hates being trapped in a gilded cage for a stupid mayor of a stupid town in a stupid country that she hates infinitely. But she must provide for the little girl she’s raising as her own, and this is the only way, now that she’s left the Aedirn court.

Ksenia is almost ten, and Yennefer loves her more than she's ever loved anyone, and if the mayor so much as touches a single hair of her head, she's burning this town down.

She was entertaining herself with a masked orgy when a Witcher brought her a pitcher of apple juice and a dying bard. What wish did they make, she wondered, as she mixed the antidote for the tumor in the throat.

Could she use the Witcher to get the mayor off her back? She didn’t want her daughter growing up here. It simply wasn’t the best place for her to be. So what to do…

In retrospect, using the Witcher to attack the members of the council she hated the most, especially before she knew all of what was going on, was an incredibly stupid mistake. She was lucky Ksenia hadn’t suffered any harm, once the djinn had set its sights on the house they were all in.

So was the fact that Geralt had made the third wish silently. It could be anything. But whatever wish he’d made, Ksenia was safe, and so was she. It had to be good enough.

“You know, you could have just told me that you wanted to get yourself out of this place.”

Yennefer turned around quickly, seeing the Witcher standing behind her. “And how do I know you truly would have helped us? Your kind isn’t so fond of my kind, as I recall.”

She could hear the bard speaking with Ksenia, but it wasn’t important. Whatever Geralt was about to say, however, she could feel that it would be one of the most important things she would hear for a very long time.

“Contrary to popular belief, Witchers aren’t all heartless beings. Regardless of my feelings towards someone, I will not ignore a child in danger, especially when there is a chance I can help save them.”

Yennefer didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent, watching her daughter. The daughter whose life she had risked foolishly, because she had been too selfish to ask for assistance.

Ksenia was laughing at something the bard had said, she wasn’t sure what. When had she last seen such a carefree expression on her child’s face? Had she really spent so much valuable time with this worthless situation, when there were so many more important things? Like whether or not her daughter was happy ?

There was a sigh from Geralt, then, as he moved to leave. “I will not keep you from your child any longer than I already have. All I ask is that should anything happen, you ask for help, before it is too late.”

“Ksenia.” She did not raise her voice, loathe as she was to separate her from what she was finding so hilarious, but she also needed to know that the child really was okay after all that had happened.

“Yes, Mama?” Ksenia turned her head in recognition of her name being called, but she didn’t move the rest of her body, and she was still grinning, eyes still laughing. She somehow looked younger than her nine years. Smaller and more innocent, but not unhealthy. Not injured .

“It’s time to go, My Heart. There’s another home waiting for us elsewhere.” She didn’t know where, but there would be somewhere . Anywhere would be better than this place had been for them.

Yennefer and her daughter were the third and fourth additions to Geralt’s pack, and neither of them had any idea.

“And what does a Mage like you want with a dragon hunt?” Jaskier asked the next they saw Yennefer. “Don’t you have a daughter to be looking after?”

The expression of sour hurt that spread across Yennefer’s face was almost enough for him to regret his taunt. But it wasn’t until she said, “Ksenia is dying from dragon pox, I need the dragon’s heart to cure it,” that he really regretted it.

Even after so long, he could still remember the fear in his sisters’ eyes as they heard of a mysterious plague sweeping through the land, and the horror in his parents’ eyes when the youngest had fallen ill with it. He could remember watching helplessly as it spread from one sister to the next, as his parents locked his sisters away in a room, unable to watch as the sickness slowly stole away their lives.

“Jaskier-”

It had been the strangest, and deadliest plague. A wasting illness, a horrible rash, an ever rising fever. It had left them bedridden, lost in waking nightmares. Famished, but unable to eat, and sweating more than they could possibly hope to drink. He could still hear their screams, as the disease had taken weeks to run its course. Though he had been told to stay away, he just couldn’t. He’d snuck into their room, laying with them, and holding them as they shook and cried, praying to any god who would listen to spare his baby sisters.

But it had all been pointless. A month after the first signs had been noticed, they had all been stolen away from him, leaving him alone to face his parents.

“Jaskier!”

Jaskier found himself blinking, staring at Geralt in confusion. When had the Witcher moved in front of him? “Geralt? What’s the matter?”

Golden eyes stared back at him, narrowed in concern. “You were speaking with Yennefer, but froze. I’ve been trying to get your attention for several minutes now.” he paused for a moment, eyes searching for any unseen wounds, but Jaskier knew that he wouldn’t find any. “What happened?”

He shook his head, trying to calm his heart as he put on the same fake smile he’d been forced to wear all those years ago. “It’s nothing, I was just distracted for a moment.”

Jaskier might have missed the whole of the battle sleeping in, but the fight he’d missed had nothing on the scene he witnessed now. The whole of the dragon’s lair was littered with blossoming flowers in a pale blue, yellow, and dark purple, and in the back of the cave, alongside the massive body of the green dragon, a golden egg was glowing .

He’d never seen this kind of flower before, but even from where he was standing, he could feel the magic emanating from the petals, so thick it was almost impossible to breathe.

His sisters would have loved it. A sunny meadow would have been prettier, but even a cave full of flowers in their favorite colors would have been a hit.

Despite himself, he reached down to pick one of the pale blue ones. Even as he bent now, it felt like blasphemy to vandalize it, but he just wanted to get a better look at the flower that reminded him so much of his youngest sister.

Even as he severed the stem, the flower crumbled into dust.

“Humans have all but wiped the dragons out, believing them to hold all manner of cures for their ailments. Fertility, blindness, lost limbs, even to hold the secrets of immortality. They’re wrong. There is no cure that can restore your womb.”

Jaskier glanced to where Borch was standing in front of Yennefer. Borch was holding a handful of the flowers that he’d just tried, and failed, to pick.

“These flowers only grow where dragon fire has burned, but they’re most common where we hatch our young. I give these to you freely. My heart will heal yours.”

“ Dragon’s Heart,” Yennefer gasped.

Jaskier swallowed heavily. “Borch,” he said, quietly. He did not think he could speak louder, but he also did not think the gold dragon would have any trouble hearing him. “Would flowers like these… have saved them?”

“Perhaps, Julien Alfred Pankratz.”

His insides burned at how ironic it was that flowers in their favorite colors might have saved the lives of his little sisters. There was a very sad, very epic ballad in there somewhere.

A dragon’s fire breathes new life.

“You may take these with you, Bard.” Borch handed him a bouquet of three flowers, one in each color. One for each sister. “They will not wilt, and if you were to plant them, they would grow.”

“Thank you.” There were no words that Jaskier could say that would convey his gratitude. But his heart burned, too. These were the flowers that would have saved the lives of his little sisters, and he was only holding them too many decades too late to be of use. “Yennefer, may I come with you?” He was intimately familiar with dragon pox. At the very least, he could help Ksenia feel more comfortable while Yennefer prepared the medicine to cure it.

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier turned around, and walked towards where Geralt was standing outside the cave. He hugged the witcher. “I need this,” he whispered, brokenly, even as Geralt kissed his forehead. “I need closure. And you need to go find your Child Surprise. She needs you.”

“I know you do.” Geralt’s voice was soft, almost softer than Jaskier thought was possible. “I’ll find you, or you will find me, when you’re ready. And by then, I may have my Child Surprise, ready for you to meet.”

Yennefer made the cure for dragon pox, and Ksenia lived.

And Jaskier found himself in a place he’d never ever thought he’d return.

There were three marked graves in a meadow in Lettenhove. The pox had been believed too contagious for them to be buried in the family graveyard, so they had been buried here instead. This was almost easier, however, because it meant that he could carry out his task without any witnesses.

He planted the baby blue flower over the first grave, the purple flower over the second grave, and the yellow flower over the third.

“Answer your calling,” his eldest sister had said, her dying words to him, as he’d held her hand and fervently wished that she would live. “Go be a bard.”

He had spent his entire childhood trying to be the very best big brother that he could be. He’d learned to braid their hair, and had played dress up with them, and stolen their mother’s makeup, and cooked with them. He’d also sung an infinite number of songs, and read bedtime stories or made them up, and all in all, they were his fondest memories.

But they had been gone for decades, and he’d left very soon after their deaths, unable to cope with their absences in a house in which the ghosts weighed more than the air they breathed.

There had been no joy, and the pain had not only been emotional.

“In a house of too many secrets

There’s no people, only their strife.

At the end of dying meadows,

A dragon’s fire breathes new life.”

He sighed. “No, no, that’s not right. There needs to be something about the memories in that house. It was… rife with them.”

“Excuse me. I’m sorry, are you desecrating those graves?”

Jaskier spun around. A brown haired woman was leaning against a tree at the edge of the meadow. She looked young, but looks could be deceiving. “Excuse you, I would never . If you must know, they’re family.”

“Sometimes our blood is the people we want to hurt the most. I’m Renfri. You’re… Jaskier, the bard, right?”

She was armed, but she hadn’t drawn her blade, nor did he think that she was about to attack him. Or at least, he hoped not. He was armed too, at least. If it came to that. Not that he was very useful with a blade.

“They died of dragon pox. I wish them no ill will, I’m simply here for closure. What brings you to the graves of three Lettenhove daughters who didn’t even have the respect of being buried in their family graveyard?”

“I had heard that the bard who traveled with the white wolf of Rivia was traveling this way, and I wanted to meet you. I’m on my way to see Geralt again, it’s been… a number of years since I saw him last, and I thought it would be polite to ask if you cared to accompany me.”

Jaskier looked back at the graves. The flowers seemed… healthier, than when he’d planted them. Taller, perhaps, if that was even possible.

“As I’m sure you know, there’s an inn not that far from here. I’m leaving in the morning, but we can stop here as we leave.”

He didn’t have his closure yet, but he did also greatly want to go back to Geralt. He’d been feeling lethargic for days.

It was possible the woman was using him as a trap to get Geralt, but if that was the case, then she had no idea who she was dealing with. If she was telling the truth though, and he really thought she was, then it meant he didn’t have to travel to Cintra by himself, and he liked that idea.

“I’m not ready to go back to the inn yet, but I will travel with you back to Geralt.”

He sang a few ballads in the tavern at the inn, including a new one in his rotation about the White Wolf. Songs of heartbreak and the lonely Witcher were popular with the masses, even if it was mostly an exaggeration.

He loved Geralt, and maybe Geralt loved him back, but while his heart did feel broken, it has nothing to do with Geralt and everything to do with three little girls.

He still channeled it into the song.

"Did Geralt break your heart?" Renfri asked when he joined her after his performance. "I would be happy to knock some sense into his skull for you."

Jaskier shook his head. "We both had things that we needed to take care of, and we'll see each other again when we're done. But some audiences prefer songs like that one and I like the coin they'll part with when they're satisfied."

"I couldn't help but overhear you in the meadow, were you writing a new ballad?"

"I'm hoping it'll bring me closure. Anyway, I think I'm going to head to bed."

Travelling with Renfri was nice. She let him ride double on her horse, and they made really good time.

They chatted about their adventures, telling various stories or just making idle chit chat. She was infinitely more talkative than Geralt.

But it didn’t help with the emptiness he was feeling in his chest. It was growing. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but now, Renfri’s random diversions of dialogue was the only thing distracting him away from it.

“Tell me about the bards who assassinate people with poison while wandering around the bar with no one ever the wiser.”

He blinked. “What?” He supposed it wasn’t exactly a secret that some bards used the opportunity provided by their ability to wander around mostly unnoticed to perform more nefarious acts, but he’d never done it himself. He’d never… felt that urge. “There’s probably good money for those with the skill and inclination. But why commit murder when the greatest pleasures in life comes from sleeping with them?”

It occurred to him that he’d slept with a lot fewer people once he’d started sleeping with Geralt. The Witcher had a lot more stamina than your standard human. Needed less sleep, too. Meant the best of both worlds.

“The call of the White Wolf is loudest at the dawn

The call of a stone heart is broken and alone

Born of Kaer Morhen

Born of No Love

The song of the White Wolf is cold as driven snow

Bear not your eyes upon him lest steel or silver draw

Lay not your breast against him or lips to ease his roar

For the song of the White Wolf will always be sung alone

Cast not your eyes upon him, lest he kiss you with his sword

Lay not your heart against him or your lips to ease his roar

For the song of the White Wolf we'll always sing alone

For the song of the White Wolf we'll always sing alone”

Jaskier was singing in the bar of an inn somewhere north of what was left of Cintra, and he was beyond exhausted. Sleep did not come easily, and what sleep did come was plagued by nightmares of losing what little family he thought he’d gained.

He was about to beg off because even just lying restlessly on a bed sounded better than staying down here any longer, when who but Geralt walked in, Ksenia and a younger girl he didn’t recognize on his heels.

The younger girl was the spitting image of Pavetta, and he realized it could be none other than Princess Cirilla of Cintra.

“Geralt!” he exclaimed, barely noticing as Renfri made a beeline after him as he hurried over to embrace the Witcher. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, standing up on his toes so that he could kiss Geralt.

“And I you,” Geralt answered, after kissing him back. “Ciri, meet Jaskier.”

“Hi,” the little girl said.

“Geralt.”

“Renfri?” Geralt smiled at Jaskier’s traveling companion, who was standing behind Jaskier. “It’s good to see you again. This is Ciri, and Ksenia. And I guess you’ve met Jaskier?”

“Ran into him in Lettenhove. Geralt, I would be happy to see that the girls get something to eat, and a room.”

“You should do that,” Jaskier suggested, before kissing Geralt again. “I think Geralt and I have… some things to, uh, talk about.”

“We do?”

“We do,” Jaskier repeated, dragging Geralt in the direction of the room he and Renfri had already rented for the night.

They stayed a few days longer than Geralt had intended, but Renfri and Jaskier had enough coin, and Ksenia and Jaskier both needed a few days of rest before making the long journey to Kaer Morhen.

Once they left, Ciri and Ksenia, who had been riding double on Roach, took turns riding double with Renfri so that the horses could rotate who was carrying the weight of two. Sometimes Geralt would insist Jaskier ride as well, which was new, he’d never let Jaskier ride Roach before.

It took them weeks to get to Kaer Morhen, but Vesemir was waiting for them when they arrived.

The eldest witcher stared at them, and then he rolled his eyes as he opened the gate to let them in. “The others didn’t bring their packs this year,” he said. “But Lambert, Eskel, and Coen are all here.”

“Thank you,” Geralt said, and with that, he led his family into the home that would always welcome him.

Destiny would bring Yennefer back to them, and time would allow Ksenia a full recovery from her time bedridden by the dragon pox. Yennefer would have to come, someone had to teach Ciri control of her volatile magics.

Vesemir wasn’t going to say anything, but he really hoped it was before Ciri managed to dismantle the entire keep with a single shout.

The other Witchers learned to enjoy having some women in the keep who could remind them to stop eating traveling rations all winter long. It was a reminder, really, that they deserved good things too.

And Jaskier… wasn’t just a bard. He taught Ciri and Ksenia, with Renfri’s help and using Geralt’s long hair, all of the courtly braids he’d learned to make of his sisters’ hair. He also made a mean chicken noodle soup.

He also worked on his newest ballad, an ode to the memory of his sisters.

“Jaskier! You have to play a new ballad! A sad one, those are my favorites,” Ciri begged, one eaving after supper when Geralt’s pack and all the Witchers had gathered in the main living room, in front of the warm fire. She was sitting at Jaskier’s feet, watching out the window as it continued snowing.

Jaskier hummed, and plucked idly at his lute as he considered whether or not he was ready to play the ballad that would bring him closure. “100 years ago, the dragon pox took my little sisters away from me. I haven’t finished it yet, it’s not really telling the story I want to tell.”

“That’s okay,” Ciri said. “I want to hear it anyway.”

Jaskier smiled, sadly. He couldn’t deny her anything, and he didn’t want to.

“At the end of the old road

In a house built on a foundation of strife

There’s too many secrets, too many memories

Too many necessaries after too many centuries

All the things of which it was rife.

Far too much that was all but owed

And yet, a dragon fire breathes new life

Into what first appeared a dying meadow

Being that which is not a rough

But all it ever needed was that new life.”

He plucked a few more chords, but he didn’t resist when Geralt tugged the lute from his idle fingers. “You’ll be happy with it when you finish it, and it’ll bring you the closure you’re still seeking.”

“I’ll help!” Ciri exclaimed. “It’s just a matter of finding the right words, right?”

“Something like that.” He leaned against Geralt, and let himself find comfort in that.

#witcher fanfiction #geraskier #found family

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toughbookie · 3 years

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7 Books in 7 Days

I Stumbled across a few YouTube videos about this “7 Books in 7 Days” challenge going on on the internet.

I got curious and after absolutely no research or further preparation, I decided to do that as well; I would have read seven books in a week.

Aaaaand here’s pretty much how it went.

DAY 1: The book I couldn’t find in English

Title: Storia di una balena bianca raccontata da lei stessa

Author: Luis Sepúlveda

Pages: 107

Rate: 5/5

Having started in the early evening, I had to pick a book that was short enough for me to finish on the same day. The choice fell on this tiny masterpiece by Sepúlveda, whose literature I wasn’t familiar with (boy, will that change during this reading challenge) aside from The Story of a Seagull and the Cat Who Taught Her to Fly, read years and years and year and years ago.

What I thought I was going forward was a nice, cute little novel.

Was.

Wrong.

This actually kind of broke me.

Based on the story of Moby Dick - which in turn is based on the true story of the Essex, a whaler that left the island of Nantucket in 1819 only to be destroyed by the giant sperm whale the crew was after to acquire the oil to power lamps… Look, life sucked before we got electricity - this book is narrated by the giant white whale in the flesh. As you might have guessed by now, we’re not talking about the happiest story ever.

What starts as an observation from the young whale’s eyes of the resourcefulness and curiosity of mankind, quickly transforms into a condemnation of its cruelty and disrespect for nature.

Beautifully written, I definitely recommend this book to anyone who loves angst and can speak Italian or Spanish (I couldn’t find an English version).

I really had a good time with it. And also a good cry. I’m fragile.

DAY 2: The book about a murder

Title: The body in the library

Author: Agatha Christie

Pages: 215

Rate: 4/5

For the second day of this challenge, I’ve decided to throw myself into a novel featuring Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple.

In this crime novel, the body of a young woman is found in the library of Mr. and Mrs. Bantry’s house. The problem: nobody knows this girl or how she got in there. It’s going to be up to the police and, naturally, to Miss Marple, to find the truth.

I have discovered Agatha Christie only recently but it’s undeniable that she deserves all my love. It’s been fun to read this book and develop theories to find out who the murderer was and how and why they acted. It was like piecing a puzzle together. This is my first reading featuring Miss Marple, and I found her quite impressive. Unlike her “colleague”, Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple is not a detective, she’s just people smart, and it’s delightful to follow her around on her adventures.

Unfortunately the finale didn’t satisfy me that much, but it was still pretty good. Definitely recommended.

DAY 3: The long one

Title: The temptation to be happy

Author: Lorenzo Marone

Pages: 268

Rate: 3.5/5

Note: The more I think about this book, the more I feel like it doesn’t fully deserve its 3.5 rating. Consider it as an “almost 4”, please and thank you.

On the third day, I faced the longest book of the ones I had chosen. And, since life happened and I had other things to do around, I risked not finishing it on time (no worries, I managed).

The story is one of a cynical 77 years old widow: Cesare Annunziata. He doesn’t really care much about the people around him, except his daughter and son whom he loves even though of course he doesn’t know how to show it. Up until here, it’s honestly pretty standard and it has its cliches.

Everything changes when Cesare realizes that his new neighbor, Emma, is a victim of domestic abuse and lives in fear of her husband. The old man and the woman form an improbable friendship aaaaand I don’t want to get into spoiler territory, even tho the story is actually quite simple and sometimes predictable.

The best part about this, however, is not the story. The characters are what really brings the book to life, with a perfect balance of goofy and more serious personalities. It’s people we could meet every day, and that’s what really makes it good. Not full of plot twist, but it’s not meant to be.

Reading Lorenzo Marone was a pretty nice way to spend the day.

DAY 4: The other book about the murder

Title: A Caribbean mystery

Author: Agatha Christie

Pages: 230

Rate: 4/5

Another day, another Agatha Christie’s novel. In this sunny and colorful environment, new murders have happened and new assassins have to be found.

Miss Marple, on holidays in the Caribbean, is having quite a good time, except not much is going on around here. Lucky for her - and honestly, only for her… I mean, good for you that you have a hobby but you should really not enjoy dead people so much - old Major Palgrave is found dead in his room. What looks like a natural death to most is actually a deeper mystery, and it’s up to Miss Marple to dig up the truth and save the day before the assassin strikes again.

Again, making up theories and analyzing the characters is a lot of fun, and I actually found out who the assassin was, which is pretty rare because I’m dumb at mysteries.

At the end of this book I started to feel a bit tired and I got a bit of a headache. I loved reading it, but with work I never really have the time for long, intensive sessions that go on for multiple days in a row.

Still, the pleasure of reading this book made everything more bearable.

DAY 5: The big fail

Title: Loving sabotage

Author: Amélie Nothomb

Pages: 62 out of 124

Rate: 1/5

God, I hated this book. Pretentious, boring, just bad. It didn’t even seem like there was a plot or the author was talking about anything in particular, just words put down one after the other without any true purpose.

Really felt like a waste of time. It was awful to get though. So I didn’t. Which, given my holiday was over and I had to go back to work, gave me a bit of a time problem.

DAY 5: Sepúlveda strikes back

Title: Patagonia Express

Author: Luis Sepúlveda

Pages: 127

Rate: 5/5

To save the day at the last minute, came Luis Sepúlveda with this short account of his travels in Patagonia.

Starting in Spain and exploring the very edge of the world, this collection is filled with wild characters and hilarious episodes that made me enjoy every single page.

That is, after getting past that one chapter about lamb castration.

That was a weird one.

I’ve never liked this particular literary genre much, but Luis Sepúlveda gives an incredible description of the places he visited, the people he met and their own stories, which are particularly bizarre and told with incredible talent. It’s a pretty short book, so I don’t want to spoil anything, but you get the drill.

Possibly my favorite book out of this challenge, Patagonia Express is a delightful quick escape from the ordinary.

DAY 6: Guess who’s back

Title: The old man who read love stories

Author: Luis Sepúlveda

Pages: 135

Rate: 3/5

So, Sepúlveda wasn’t originally supposed to stick around for so long, but here we go again.

As for The old man who read love stories, it’s possibly the book I liked the least from Sepúlveda. Which isn’t saying much, I still like his work a lot.

The story is one of old Antonio José Bolívar Proaño, and guess what: he likes to read love stories.

That makes two of us, buddy.

He’s also an expert of the forest nearby the small town of El Idilio, and forced to hunt down a female of ocelot, along with a group of men from the town.

Through some flashbacks we also find out the story of his life and how he became to know the forest so well. That’s my favorite part of the novel, by the way.

While the book started well, it felt like it got lost somewhere around the second half, which was supposed to be the important, life-lessons-packed part. You know, the part you don’t want to get lost at.

By the last pages I was almost falling asleep, and thinking back a couple of days later I don’t really remember much of the story as a whole.

In total honesty, a lot of it might have been because it was the sixth book in as many days, and my three brain cells had been up to a lot more than they can usually stand. Plus, long work hours got in the way.

DAY 7: Because it’s Christmas

Title: Hercule Poirot’s Christmas

Author: Agatha Christie

Pages: 209

Rate: 3.5/5

A millionaire asshole. His children and their wives. A nephew and a family friend. A murder on Christmas night.

It would have been offensive to read so much Agatha Christie without any Hercule Poirot, and so here comes my dear detective, ready for the grand finale.

Also, it’s Christmas!! Christmas book!! Christmas spirit!! Quite literally I mean someone got killed -

Hercule Poirot’s Christmas is an interesting novel, full of well done characters and mystery. I had a good time reading it, as I always do with this kind of novels.

But I do have to say - it’s probably just me and other readers liked it fine - the finale really ruined it for me. It feels pulled out of nowhere at the last minute, and even though it was certainly a big surprise, it felt added like a second thought just to make an even bigger plot twist than what could have been.

Aside from that, it’s a good book and given the settings I dare say it’s the perfect reading for when it’s cold outside, maybe snowing, and you’re cuddling under a blanket with a nice warm cup of tea.

Or hot chocolate.

Pick your favorite, I won’t judge.

Conclusions:

So finally we’re at the end of this 7 Books in 7 days Challenge. It was very enjoyable, but also towards the end it got pretty draining and sometimes stressful to keep up with the reading schedule while squeezing into the day everything else life throws at you.

Doing that on a week of holidays instead three days, when I could have focused only on the books, it would have probably gone differently, maybe even attempting to tackle longer novels. But you know, we’re talking about reading 1139 pages in a week, which is not something I thought I was capable of doing.

So overall I’m proud of how I did.

Not sure if I’ll repeat this but I’m glad I’ve done it, at least this once, and I honestly recommend it.

Also I don’t want to read anything else until 2022.

Bookie, signing out.

#7 books in 7 days #books #reading challenge #agatha christie #luis sepúlveda #lorenzo marone #hercule poirot #miss marple #bookblogging #reading #the body in the library #a caribbean mystery #la tentazione di essere felici #novel #hercule poirot christmas #book review #i'm so tired #worth it

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