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mmmleckerlecker · 3 years

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I was reading the questions you've answered, and I'm curious now: you said that the co-existence between preds and prey is very recently. So I was thinking the HP world from years ago, when pred could snatch up whoever prey they wanted... How was the society in that time? How did they live? (Headcanon: prey lived underground?) Did the preds have no qualms in consuming whoever they could find? (prey children/teens or the elderly, for example?)... The harmony was founded by a prey or pred? (1/2)

What was the reason for the preds to make the jump from consuming indiscriminately to the public/private contracted prey? (another headcanon: preykind severely disminishing in numbers?) I find your worldbuilding so enchanting, I'm sorry for the avalanche of questions. You're awesome! (2/2)

AHHHH YES!!! THE QUESTION I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR!!! No need to apologize!!! I have considered making a post about stuff like this for awhile now but I’m always like “do people REALLY wanna hear all that?” But now i have the perfect excuse. Thank you, anon! You’re awesome too!! (WARNING this kinda turned into a chapter length read. So I hope y’all like to read history about fictional worlds.)

Okay so. This is all stuff I’ve sorta kept in my head and have built upon when I’ve had ideas, so sorry if there are some gaps currently haha.

So I imagine preds and prey started trying to “make peace” about five centuries ago but didn’t start living in true “harmony” until about two hundred years ago. And I use the term “harmony” loosely because clearly there’s still a lot of infighting happening. Before that, the preds and prey lived in two entirely separate cultures. The prey lived in larger, more stationary groups while the preds lived in much smaller, more nomadic groups. They also DEFINITELY didn’t speak the same language.

So for preds, the groups they would live in were more like traveling pods that consisted of maybe 1-3 families living/working together. Having groups of preds getting too large was… not sustainable. It would create too much competition for food. So each group would usually give other groups of preds a wide berth. Granted there were definitely still spats for territory, especially if said territory had a good supply of prey available.

Prey, much like in modern times, were never really the preds’ main food source, however. Preds would still hunt and gather like normal. It would usually take some organizing to get a raid together on a prey village (or a pred could just get lucky and stumble across one that wandered off alone). Consuming prey all the time was just too much effort. They weren’t a practical food source nor a completely sustainable one if they were over-predated. Also! Keep in mind, the more a pred consumes, the more their body acclimates to handling such a large meal. It would be better for the preds to consume every once in awhile and have their prey take longer to digest (hence, keeping them fueled longer) than to consume ALL THE TIME and risk addiction. I think consuming would probably become more regular in the cold months too, when it was harder for preds to find other food sources.

As for WHO the preds would consume? Definitely adults would make for the best meals. Children? Well, I imagine prey would be very protective of their children, first of all, making them difficult to obtain. But also they would just make… not as filling meals? Also prey children are mostly the same size as pred children so there might be that little hesitation there on the pred’s end as they’re reminded of their own kind. I guess if the pred is desperate? There’s always gonna be a time and place for special circumstances. As for the elderly… I imagine they also live in places that are harder for preds to get to. I also think if a prey managed to live that long, they would have a trick or two up their sleeve. But like I said, there’s always a possibility for things to happen.

Now for how prey live…. Like I said, they live in larger groups. There is safety in numbers, after all. These groups were basically villages, sometimes even cities where prey could really know their territory and set up defenses against any invading preds. (An underground dwelling is really cool idea tho! I also believe that prey evolved to be able to fold themselves up and be comfortable/feel safe in tight spaces that preds could never reach them in, so prey living in like a cave system might actually work really well!) Like it’s been stated in the story, prey tend to have a lot more children than preds for “just in case.” This could cause their towns to become rather large and populous sometimes.

Prey, also unlike preds, usually tried to keep in contact with neighboring towns/villages/cities. This was one of the key factors for what made it possible for the shift to both sides living in harmony to happen. Since the prey lived in settlements and kept in contact with other prey settlements, it allowed for a certain development of culture as well as the sharing and recording of knowledge that preds… just didn’t have. Prey were able to develop things like farming and running water. They could study math and science and share their knowledge in libraries and schools. They were really on their way to becoming an advanced society, they just had one big (both figurative and literal) problem holding them back. They constantly had preds attacking and killing off their people.

Despite their efforts to fight them off, the prey just weren’t winning. So they decided, if a war against preds wasn’t going to get them anywhere, then why not make peace? The first step for this was the prey learning the preds’ language. This was… dangerous, of course. But it was done enough that the prey were able to open conversation with preds. Just this move alone caused a huge shift between both sides. What are you supposed to do when your food, which for centuries has only babbled nonsense at you before you swallowed it down, suddenly starts speaking to you like an equal? It certainly gave preds pause, but not enough to stop consuming. Not that the prey didn’t expect this. They approached the preds with more than just a common language. Their first big move was offering them food. And not just any food, but GOOD FOOD. Cooked food, decadent food, spiced foods, foods that preds didn’t have the resources (nor the patience) to prepare.

Sharing food took… probably a little more effort than one might expect. Prey and preds view food fundamentally different. To prey, it’s sustenance but also something to enjoy and connect with. To preds, it’s simply something to stop hunger. There was a sort of learning curve for preds to actually learn to ENJOY food for its flavor, but once they got it… OH BOY!!! A door was opened! Because despite LIKING prey food, the preds weren’t always so good at preparing it, so it gave the prey something they could exchange for safety. (This is also something that persists into modern times. Preds are still often stereotyped as not having very refined palates and not being very good at preparing food. This is referenced a little in Heart Pangs itself as well as the one-shot I posted last week!) Once the food trade became established, it opened up relations enough to exchange other things!

The prey shared would they could with the preds in exchange for their own survival. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes it SEEMED to work but then the preds turned on them and things went downhill very quickly. But the prey had the advantage of sheer numbers and determination on their side (that and if they didn’t keep pushing they would literally be eaten alive). It took generations of negotiations, but the preds and prey eventually came to a sort of truce, though consuming never stopped entirely.

The preds weren’t stupid, they saw the prey had a lot of good stuff to offer them. At first they took what they needed and went their separate ways, but as they gained more trust from the prey, the preds encroached more and more into their territories until both sides were more or less neighbors. There were some advantages to this. If both sides cooperated enough, they were able to make further advances as civilized societies. But there were also disadvantages… like the fact that the preds were always bigger and the prey were always making sure not to anger them so it became very easy for the preds to take whatever they wanted and leave the prey with less than they deserved.

The prey even began to lose their own language as most of the preds couldn’t be bothered to learn the prey’s language (although a lot of prey terms for food and science stuck around). The preds stopped being the enemy who lived outside the prey’s walls and suddenly became the bully who lived next door. Yes, technically the prey were a little safer than before, but the advantages they once held over the preds were slipping away as the preds claimed more and more of what the prey had until the preds were able to start developing their OWN advantages.

For a long time, the preds and prey operated as two different societies that lived in one space, meaning each group had their own leaders and their own laws. But as things began getting more and more strained between each side (as they tend to do when two natural enemies live side-by-side), the prey (once more) tried to make peace. They made the bold move of reaching out to the pred leaders in an attempt to work together and function as a singular society (although both sides more or less continued to live as two societies, just under the rule of one government). The preds were surprisingly open to this change, which was a relief to the prey… at first. But then it became clear that this was mostly just a power grab for the preds to acquire more status and wealth and power amongst the prey.

Besides the fact that a lot of prey were falling into poverty because of this, the most glaring issue was that the “unification” had made it even easier for a lot of preds to break the peace and consume prey with barely any consequences. This caused a lot of prey to flee and seek out safer, more remote places to live. Eventually it got to the point where the prey leaders threatened to break away from pred society completely. The preds didn’t like this, though, as they’d gotten very used to having prey within easy reach. They also knew that losing half the people in their society would cause a lot of problems in terms of keeping everything running smoothly. However, the preds very much did not want to give up consuming entirely. It was in their nature after all, they argued.

So after A LOT of negotiations, both sides came to a compromise. The preds would actually start enforcing consuming as something illegal UNLESS the prey being consumed had agreed to it beforehand. Obviously the prey leaders couldn’t see any prey ever AGREEING to being consumed, so they settled on the compromise thinking that was the end of it. This was the true beginning of the “harmony” between preds and prey, but of course, the preds always have something up their sleeves.

Rich preds began offering up money and food and shelter to all those desperate prey in poverty. Those prey could get everything they could ever want for, the only payment was their lives ending in said pred’s gut (after a specified amount of time). These ventures started slow, but once they started to catch on, BOY DID THEY CATCH ON. The desperate prey began hearing about certain preds who were practically giving away wealth, all it took was a signature written in (figurative) blood. Meanwhile preds began hearing about other preds who had found a loophole in the consuming law and wanted in on the action. Like any good entrepreneur, the preds turned their contracts into a business and started selling them to other preds.

The prey leaders, of course, despised this, but what could they do? It all aligned with the compromise they had made. The only thing they could do was stand by and help come up with regulations for this new practice. So they did. Over the decades, the contracting businesses grew to what they are today (large corporate monsters… although the smaller, more private contracts still exist) as well as became the core to keeping the peace. Even the government itself offers contracting services now.

Society has shifted considerably in the years since harmony was reached. The two sides have mostly learned to live with each other. Prey have fought viciously to be treated as equals while a lot of preds go their whole lives without consuming (particularly fatally) even once. And, as you know, the development of neutralizers allowed preds to experience consuming without having to hurt anyone. A lot of progress has been made, but a lot of progress still needs to happen.

And I think that pretty much catches us up to the setting of Heart Pangs (whew)! I keep thinking it would be really cool to write a story that takes places in an earlier time period to further explore how different the relations between preds and prey would be, but I have yet to come up with a plot haha. Maybe someday. I’m sure an idea will come to me at a proper time. Anydays, thank you for your interest! It was really nice to be able to (finally) type all this up somewhere!!

#ahhh this is so much info!!!#but i hope some people are interested in it!!#if i accidentally raised more questions than answered them feel free to ask tho 😂#asks #heart pangs #heart pangs worldbuilding

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airquietworks · 4 years

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How Izuku Learned to Stop Worrying and Enjoy Being in Love (IzuOcha Oneshot)

Summary: Izuku Midoriya is struggling in his newfound romance with Uraraka. He continues to stumble when he is with her as nerves get the best of him. He wonders how he can get better at love but the answers he's searching for are closer to his heart than he thinks.

Izuku Midoriya considered himself a man of many failings.

As he idly scrawled in a small pink notebook before class, he could not help but reflect on those inadequacies. He was not always as strong as he needed to be. He still struggled in a lot of social situations. He could lose control of himself when it came to his hero obsession.

But more than any of those, he hated that he had no idea how to be a good boyfriend.

It was not for a lack of trying. He had dedicated a lot of time studying the subject, dedicating the whole pink notebook to it. Every piece of advice that far too many people had bestowed upon him was carefully recorded, from strategic romantic lines to subtle romantic movements. It was all in the vain hope he could decipher the bizarre machinations - and palpitations - of his own heart.

And much more importantly, Uraraka's.

Izuku had few troubles facing down villains with lives on the line. But facing down the greatest woman he had ever met to woo her on a semi-regular basis was proving to be far more challenging than your average ne'er-do-well.

"Heya, Deku. Whatchya working on?"

"NOTHING, NOTHING DON'T LOOK!" the boy screeched as he leapt upward to stare into the person of his affections. Uraraka hovered over his desk, eyes left blinking at his sudden outburst.

His face burned; he would sooner face Todorki's flames than this kind of heat.

"Oh, okay then. That's fine," Uraraka replied with a tight-lipped smile, completely inscrutable.

"It's just...it's something particular and really rough and kind of private I'm sorry it's not you it's me and I really want to-"

"Good morning class. To your seats," Mr. Aizawa ordered loudly as he grumpily entered their homeroom. The students quickly acquiesced, Uraraka included, as she moved to take her desk near the back of Class 3-A.

"Talk after class," she whispered as she turned her back to him.

Izuku breathed a deep sigh, resisting the temptation to leap out of the room.

Boyfriend. Girlfriend. The words still felt strange bouncing around in his head. The past few weeks had been chaotic. Having Uraraka ask him out. Having an awkward but wondrous first date. Having a first, terrifying, glorious, first kiss. Carefully exchanging their first utterances of "I love you." Riding out the highs and lows of a hormone-driven storm, as young lovers did.

Neither of them had much experience but they worked it out, mostly.

But as fall gave way to the start of winter, the fires of their newfound romance were quickly extinguished under an avalanche of schoolwork and their own nerves. Their easygoing friendship of two years was now fraught with this new element hanging ominously over everything. It seemed their every interaction somehow ended up the same - him blurting out something stupid, or something else going terribly wrong before they both retreated to safer spaces.

He did not regret dating Uraraka - something he had not realized he really, really wanted. But it made everything between them a lot more difficult to manage.

They were burning, passionate people. They cared about one another. But so often, figuring out their relationship under the scope of romantic social conventions made their interactions more glacial than they had been in a long time.

A part of him longed for the more easygoing days. Surely, they could get back to that. Love should not be this hard - or frightening.

"Midoriya?"

Izuku snapped upwards to attention at his teacher's question. He stared straight ahead at Aizawa's unimpressed grimace. He must have zoned out harder than he thought.

He could hear a few giggles buzzing around his ears.

"Sorry, what was that?" Izuku asked quickly, hoping he could wing whatever response was necessary.

Aizawa gave him a tired sigh. "Keep your head out of the clouds and pay attention."

"Right, sorry sir!"

The giggles turned into full-blown laughter at his uncharacteristic spaciness. Izuku blushed deeply, thoroughly humiliated. He relished the chance to plunge his mind into class, something troubled heart.

He leaned on keeping his thoughts preoccupied the entire day, pointedly limiting his interactions with Uraraka until class let out. It was easy enough; their third-year schoolwork was no small task and necessitated the focus.

But the end of the day did arrive and with it came Uraraka marching over to his desk. Much as it was never an unpleasant sight - her lively gait was always a pleasure to watch - he had mixed feelings about the romantic maneuvering their talks now required.

"You seem really out of it today. Something the matter?" she asked, voice light but full of sincere concern. She was always looking out for him; he wished he could pay her back for that, somehow.

Despite bracing himself for conversation, he found himself wholly unprepared for the question. "Oh, uh, yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired I guess?"

Uraraka gazed intently at him, her usual bright smile absent from her face. She did not appear too convinced by him but mercifully let it slide. "Well, I can understand that. But I was wondering…" she trailed off, her eyes suddenly falling to the ground. "Maybe...we could study together later?"

He could see the rosier complexion on her face, something his surely matched. Once, that question would have been simple. A casual night between two friends. Now, the idea carried a lot more baggage - but a lot more promise, too. The promise of the things teenagers in love did.

How could he refuse?

"Sure!" Izuku replied, a little too loudly. He took a breath to try and steady himself, even as his shirt suddenly felt like it was choking him. "You could stop by my room...maybe around seven?"

Uraraka nodded with more vibrancy than he might have expected. "Alright, sounds good! See you later!"

Izuku watched as she rushed out of the room, clearly as eager to end the awkward exchange as much as he was.

"You two make me sick," Bakugo grumbled as he walked by Izuku's desk.

Izuku scrambled on instinct, readying himself for any further barbs. Most of their class was all-too-happy to see him and Uraraka get together after years of pining, but Bakugo had made no secret of his disgust for it.

"You need to get your head out of your ass," Bakugo murmured before walking angrily out of class.

Izuku breathed a sigh of relief, glad nothing worse came of it. Their relationship had cooled over the years, but he could never be certain about what might set the explosive boy off.

"How uncouth," Iida said from behind him. Izuku jumped slightly, startled. How had he missed his friend approaching? "Well, forget him. The pair of you seem to be getting along alright. Though admittedly, I'm not the most knowledgeable about this kind of thing."

Izuku stood up, relieved to get back to his dorms in search of respite. "Neither am I, to be honest."

"Well, I suppose experience is the best teacher," Iida mused as the two ventured out of class together. "But you two have been practically inseparable since we first got to U.A. You've always been there for one another and I have no doubt you'll work through your current tension."

"That obvious, huh?" Izuku replied, sighing. He did not fault Iida, but he could very much do without the rest of their class tirelessly watching their relationship.

But there was something to Iida's perspective. They had been in lockstep since before they even entered the building. The many times they teamed up and drove one another - the jitters of the heart were there, but it still felt so natural. Simple. He would forever look back at those days of friendship fondly.

Surely, that was a foundation for a relationship to last. He had jotted that down in his notebook, anyway.

"Pardon me, I don't mean to pry or anything. You two just stand out. And I do care about your well-being, after all." Iida bowed his head slightly in apology, formal as always. It was good to have a constant pillar like Iida. Unlike some things, their friendship had remained a steady constant.

"Don't worry about it," Izuku replied, laughing for the first time all day.

Izuku eventually arrived back at his room, gleefully getting into a comfier T-shirt and shorts. He jumped into his bed and breathed, basking in its softness. It was good to find peace after a difficult day.

With the distraction of school gone, his thoughts turned back to Uraraka, his heart skipping as her adorable face sprang back to his mind. He idly began to tidy up his room to prepare for their study session.

He had seen his fair share of depictions of love in the media, which often made it seem like the greatest joy imaginable. Which he had felt, certainly. But now, he couldn't help but think media undersold the anxiety, the nerves and the work it all involved.

Even in the act of cleaning his room, he found himself second-guessing himself. Should he put away more of his All Might figurines? Have a scented candle to provide a better atmosphere? Was now even the right time to be thinking of romantic gestures, or would she just focus on studying, given her drive?

"Get a grip, Izuku," he mumbled to himself, pulling at his chin. He really was too tense.

He settled on a more minimalist effort, clearing off his desk of memorabilia to give plenty of room for studying. They could leave it at that. Just another session, like the plenty they had before they were dating. No need to get stressed out.

The knocking on his door at 7 p.m. sharp seemed to pulse through his entire body. He sat still for a moment, a sudden onset of nerves freezing him in place.

Maybe a little reason to get stressed out.

With a breath to re-animate himself, he rushed over to the door, opening it widely to see his Uraraka standing there, beaming brightly with a stack of books. She wore a casual pink hoodie and a pair of jeans - nothing out of the ordinary and yet, still radiant.

"Heya Deku!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide and her cheeks looking exceptionally rosy. He blinked, finding it hard to look at her - not an infrequent occurrence. But there was something different about tonight. Her face looked...shinier, somehow.

"HiUraraka," he said quickly, gesturing for her to enter. "You look beautiful!"

The words stumbled out of his mouth without him thinking, and he immediately clamped it shut afterward.

Uraraka nearly stumbled into the room after the compliment, managing to save herself from falling by roughly sliding into the extra seat at his desk. "Thanks, Deku!" she said loudly with her hands balled in her lap. "You look hot!"

The statement hung in the space, quickly expanding to smother out any other sound they could have made. Deku could hear his own pulse ringing in his ears at the proclamation. His eyes bulged outward, but he dared not look directly at her.

She broke the suddenly frosty atmosphere first. "I mean, I mean because you're in a tight shirt! Wait, no, I mean, because you're wearing a shirt and I just noticed they started the heater in the building today and I just wondered if you were feeling - is it warm in here?" Uraraka suddenly pulled at the neck of her sweater, mouth moving more rapidly than he could ever recall.

Watching her murmur like he himself might, looking so flustered - by him, of all people - and feeling tension thick in the room, Izuku could not help it. He burst out laughing. It was ridiculous. He had a much better understanding of why all of this was so often a subject of comedy.

Mercifully, Uraraka joined, laughing with him, clearly relieved. The two dared a glance at one another, eyes full of mirth.

"We're hopeless at this, huh?" Izuku dared, smiling at her.

"Yeah, definitely," Uraraka replied, grinning back, rubbing at her brow. "Who would have thought dating would be so hard?"

"Both of us before we started, I think," Izuku said honestly, shifting to take a seat next to her. He opened his own workbooks, excited to get into the meat of their evening.

"True," Uraraka said with a sigh, shaking her head. "Still, I somehow didn't think it would be this difficult."

"Sorry that this hasn't been my strong suit." He did sincerely wish he could do this better. Be suave or whatever it was. She deserved it.

"Me too," Uraraka responded, giving him a smile that somehow made it all worthwhile. "Shall we get started?"

The two got into their homework in earnest - English, math and finally heroics law. Things fell into a more casual routine, each of them falling back to the patterns they would have as friends. It was nice. Cozy. Comfortable, like crawling under the covers on a cold day.

But Izuku found himself watching Uraraka more intently tonight than he might have before they started going out. He could not help but admire when her face got scrunched up at a difficult question. Or when it morphed into a glorious smile when she gained some new understanding. Or how intense she could get when she focused in on something, so determined and driven in a way he always admired.

He noticed other things, too. Like how soft her hair looked. Her cute, pink cheeks. Her skin, which looked strangely, especially vibrant today. It shined more than usual, which was saying something.

It clicked for him suddenly. He blushed and turned his eyes to his notebook, not bold enough to ask the question directly to her face.

"Are you...wearing makeup tonight?" Izuku inquired, breaking their silence.

He heard Uraraka shift but did not dare to look over.

"Err...yeah. You noticed?"

"Yeah…" Izuku responded, feet tensing beneath his chair. "...It looks good."

There was another awkward moment of noiselessness. Izuku stared intently at his textbook, eyes listlessly reading over some obscure law like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He prayed the compliment landed safely.

"...Thanks," she responded quietly, not saying anything more. Izuku dared not glance over to her.

The two worked for a little while longer, falling back into their routine. They eventually decided on a five-minute break, using it as a reprieve to dissipate the tension stored up in their bodies.

Despite everything, they had once again fallen into a comfortable companionship - until Uraraka broke the spell by reaching out for his hand.

It was far from the first time they had held hands, but it never failed to send a pleasant shock up his arm. Her hand was callused, worn as his was from many hours of training. Yet it still always felt pleasant to his touch and he was eager to grasp it.

He glanced up at her as she squeezed her hand in his, carefully keeping her pinky separated to stop her quirk from activating. She was beaming up at him from beneath her eyelashes, eyes warm as ever. He gulped, his free hand starting to quiver as he lost himself in the wonder of the moment.

She inclined her head ever so slightly, but he did not move. He was frozen still, enraptured, unable to think of anything beyond the feeling of her hand and the light upon her face.

He tried to snap himself back to reality. He should say something. Probably. This was a good time for a romantic line. He just had to wing it.

"You're-"

"Deku, I-"

The two were in-synch enough to speak in unison. But Izuku still felt it just added to the increasingly tense moment.

"You want to go first?" Izuku suggested, forcing himself to smile best he could despite his nerves.

Uraraka's face fell under the shadows of her locks. "No...well, sure, I guess. I just...I don't know. Maybe the moment's lost if that makes sense?"

It did but it did not make Izuku happy. How had he lost a moment so quickly, when he was barely cognizant of it even starting? It was frustrating.

"Yeah, I guess I do," Izuku responded, sighing mournfully. He let go of her hand, reaching out to rub at his temple. "It was a lot easier talking when we were just friends."

He did not think much of the question. They were open enough about some of the hiccups of romance. They trusted each other to talk through it.

But the statement carried more weight than he had imagined.

"Should we...should we just go back to that?"

Izuku let his hand fall to the side and sat up straighter, shocked into alertness by the sudden question. He looked at Uraraka, who was staring away from him, biting her lip.

A chill settled over him, the teasing embers of their teenage love suddenly seeming a distant memory.

"I...um…" he stammered, throat suddenly feeling clogged. His mind whirred, trying to find a suitable answer. "Why do you ask?"

He internally chided himself on the deflection. But he had no idea how to respond. Despite all the awkwardness, the moments of romance they had shared were blissful. He had never even thought about turning away from it all, so soon after starting to experiment with it.

Or had he? Why had he even suggested being friends was easier?

"It's just... you're right. It has gotten harder," Uraraka murmured, staring forlornly over her work. "I was worried before we started going out. I was worried about what it might do to our friendship or whether it would just distract us. And I can't help but feel like it has."

Izuku's mind flashed to that morning when his head got fogged up overthinking about her. She had a point.

He could feel it. A wall of ice, slowly coming between them, each of them burning up on either side of it. Maybe they could break their way through together but that appeared an increasingly monumental task. Especially when his own speech was so artless, with all the grace of an iceberg.

He could remember the days when such barriers seemed smaller. He had to admit that a part of him wanted to go back to that.

But other memories flooded into his mind too. Walking with her, hand-in-hand, after class. Laughing with her on their first date. The scorching heat of their first kiss. Even tonight, watching her, noticing things he realized he never properly appreciated.

"I...I didn't mean anything by it," he stated carefully. As soon as the words left his mouth, it sounded lame, even to him. Why could he not say the right thing? "I still like being with you like this."

"I do too," she responded quickly, looking up at him, a deep frown etched into her face. He hated seeing that on her. "I like it too. It hasn't been bad or anything. I just worry you know?"

"I get it," Izuku replied, reaching out to clasp both her hands, nerves dissipating in a bid to hang onto what they were starting together.

But the contact was fleeting. She gave a quick squeeze but withdrew quickly, eyes glancing to the side.

"Sorry. I was probably just being silly."

"You weren't," Izuku insisted. "I know it's been hard. And I know I've been getting distracted lately. But we can keep trying to get better at this, can't we?"

Uraraka nodded in response. "We always have, right? Still driving each other to improve."

The pair shared a strained laugh at that. It was strange, framing romance like heroics when the two things appeared worlds apart. But both took passion and work ethic. That was something they each had plenty of.

But the peace they returned to was poisonous. His mind wandered into more doubt as he mulled their frosty relations. He wanted to put his all into their romance but he wondered if they really had it in them, especially given the strains they were under as heroes-in-training.

The two exchanged only the lightest of pleasantries, any lingering trace of fleeting romance thoroughly doused by their talk.

"...I think maybe I should get going back. I've been missing out on sleep, so I want to turn it in early," Uraraka said suddenly, stretching out to depart.

It was a full hour sooner than she might normally go on a study night. But Izuku could not blame her for being eager to get away from him.

"Oh, alright. See you...around?" Izuku wished he could have set a date with more confidence, but work-studies and training would keep them busy. Nights like this were fleeting. He wished he had not wasted it.

"Yeah, sure. We'll figure something out," she replied sincerely, with a smile. Without any fanfare, she walked out of the room, waving before shutting the door. "Good night!"

"Good night," Izuku responded, the light slamming of the door rudely banging against his eardrums. He waited a few seconds before letting his head fall to his desk, burying it in his notebook. He gazed into the seemingly endless expanse of white emptiness.

Haywire emotions clashed within him, keeping him locked a strange stillness. Frustration at the icy state of his first love. Anger at his own ineptitude. Anxiety over the endless uncertainties love brought with it, something no amount of effort seemed to help him figure out.

He had messed up somehow. He knew that. He had spoken unthinkingly and he was paying the price.

Izuku set his face into a hard line. His mind conjured up the images that were plaguing him more and more - the two of them, easygoing, meeting up after school, working together at the sports festival, training together in their first year. The nostalgia tasted sweet, his heart eagerly basking in the rays from the suns long set.

But those days were gone now. He had to move on if he wanted to experience what lay within love's confounding mysteries. He might not know what would happen but he would have to trust himself.

More importantly, he needed to trust her. It was Uraraka, after all. She had never let him down.

With a groan, he got out his little pink notebook. He would need to think up an apology - the perfect one. Get a plan ready and act quickly. He would rehearse it, to ensure he avoided shoving his foot in his mouth again.

"This is going to go perfectly," he murmured to himself, before submerging himself in his studies.

Despite his oft-messy exterior, Izuku could operate as efficiently as a well-oiled machine when he put his mind to it.

Today, he went into overdrive. He woke up a half-hour early to put some extra effort into his appearance, combing the messier strands of his hair and ensuring his uniform was neat.

He practiced words to her, mumbling up a storm as he went about the rest of his morning ritual.

He adjusted his green winter coat in the mirror carefully, trying to ensure he did not look weird. Uraraka may not care that much about his appearance - he doubted she would be dating him if she did - but it couldn't hurt to be as proper as possible. More than a few people had given him that advice, anyway.

Satisfied enough, Izuku ran out the door, deftly avoiding a few of his classmates to make it out. A rare snowstorm had hit the area hard last night, leaving the ground coated in a garish mixture of snow, slush and ice. It was early enough that the walkways were still covered.

It was not exactly a picturesque scene, but it would do well enough. Speed was important here. He did not want their terrible conversation from the previous night to fester. Best to face it head-on, like he would a villain.

As he expected, Uraraka was the next person to come through the doors. He knew she had pushed herself to become one of the earlier risers in her class. He had timed his own exit from the dorms accordingly.

Once again, she took his breath away. Dressed in a brown coat and an adorable pink hat and mittens, it seems strange to him how effortlessly she shone. He blinked, as stricken as the first time he laid eyes on her.

"Oh, hey Deku!" she said with her carefree bubbliness, flashing him a smile, seemingly untroubled by the events of the previous night. "Didn't think I'd see you here!"

He gulped, struggling to think with how smitten he was with her. But he had practiced more for this - to avoid his heart tying his tongue. He just had to stick to the script. He could do this.

"Yeah, I thought we could walk to class together this morning and just talk a bit." He kept his voice even-keeled and smooth, displaying little of the nerves he felt. He had to steel himself for this. She deserved that.

Her eyebrows flew upwards on her face, her lips loosening slightly as she appraised him. The expression did not last long, morphing back into another delighted smile. "Sure!"

Thrilled at the early success, Izuku made his way down the front steps. This was good. He had already cleared the first hurdle and she seemed receptive. All he had to do was repeat a few key phrases and he was sure they could put that night behind them. That she could see his commitment. Everything would go exactly as he planned it.

He felt his feet suddenly give way. Before he realized it, he was slipping on a patch of ice. He flipped upward into the air and soon found himself falling rapidly, his eyes gazing upon the overcast skies above.

Izuku prepared to meet the ground and welcomed his own destruction.

Before everything broke apart with his fall, he found himself floating in mid-air. He blinked for a moment, his mind not immediately processing what exactly had happened. He got a strange sense of vertigo as his body adjusted to its sudden weightlessness.

"You okay? We better be careful with all this ice!" Izuku inclined his head to see Uraraka, eyes focused intently on him. She still wore her beautiful smile, her suddenly ungloved hand extended, connected to his upper arm. When had that happened? She had quick reflexes.

Uraraka had saved him. Again.

His mind suddenly flashed, his heart hammering as he found himself warping back two years. He occupied two spaces, two times, at once. The pair of them together before their entrance exam. Both of them here, together, now. A strange, cute girl going out of her way to stop him from face-planting. His wonderful girlfriend preventing him from falling, rescuing him once more. Uraraka grinning at him in both places, friendly as always. Him, completely flabbergasted.

Oh. Oh. Right. It had always been this way.

She had always sent his heart flying with the greatest of ease. She had always gotten him flustered. Since they came to U.A., she had always been there for him. Had always been a friend, a companion, a saviour. At the core, nothing between them had changed.

She was one of his heroes. What had he ever been so afraid of?

In his mind's eye, he could see the wall of ice that had formed between them. That he had formed between him with his own glacial thinking. With a thought, the ice broke apart, no longer separating him from his best friend.

"Err...Deku? You alright?"

Izuku flew back into the present, his head no longer feasting on the sweet mixture of nostalgia and love. He saw Uraraka waving her bare hand before him, trying to bring him back to reality.

Without thinking, he grabbed a hold of the hand, making it fall still. He lowered it, giving her a wide grin.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Sorry about that!"

He noted a blush flooded her cheeks, but she did not react otherwise. However, her expression faltered after the moment lasted a few seconds too long.

"Hey, Deku?"

"Hmm, what is it?"

"I need my hand back if I'm going to release you."

"Oh, right!" he laughed as he let go. A voice inside nagged at him for the blunder, but in this instant, he no longer felt worried about such missteps. Suddenly, he felt surer about their bond than he could ever remember being.

She took off her other glove and carefully brought her fingers together. He oriented himself to land on his feet, taking care not to slip this time.

He had a script he could launch into right now. Prepared, rehearsed, proper. The words would not lead him astray.

But that speech would not do for him now. He let it scatter to the far reaches of his mind. His faith in his carefully prepared romantic notes went with them.

A true hero spoke directly from the heart. He could not be afraid of that anymore.

"I love you, Ochako Uraraka," he stated unabashedly, reaching out to grab one of her hands again. "And I want to stay with you."

The silence was palpable. Uraraka blinked rapidly at him, her eyebrows furrowing. "...What…?"

"Sorry, I just felt I needed to say that." Izuku kept his muscles lax and his voice even-keeled. He refused to get budged by nerves again. His feelings for Uraraka were an unshakeable pillar now; his actions would reflect that. "I messed up last night and I'm sorry about that. I couldn't wait to apologize. I don't want there to be any doubt about how I feel about you. About us."

"Oh. Oh." He felt a hard squeeze on his hand and watched as Uraraka suddenly inclined her head downward. "This is a lot to take in, Deku."

He reached his free hand out towards her, wanting to comfort her. "Sorry, Uraraka I didn't mean-"

"I wanted to say sorry, too. I felt awful about what I said last night," she said softly, her eyes flying upward to meet his. She stared forward, her irises displaying a powerful intensity. "But I guess you beat me to the punch this time."

He breathed, a pressure lifting off his chest. "Well, that's-"

Before he could react further, Uraraka pounced on him, throwing her full weight into it. He caught her easily enough, but he was left defenceless as she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips into his.

His pulse raced as he pushed back into her, drinking all of her in. Their kisses before were chaste, delicate, his insecurities often freezing him in place. This was different. They were melting in a passionate inferno, the two heroes pushing, driving each other, harmonious as they ascended to the heavens.

Uraraka pulled away first, but did not separate, keeping her forehead connected to his. Her brown eyes shined brighter than ever, like stars lighting the way in the sky.

"Wow."

"Wow," he echoed.

"Love you, Deku," she stated simply, surely. "Sorry, I wanted to get you back for surprising me, somehow."

She gave him a cheeky grin and he laughed at that.

"Not how I expected we'd next say that to each other, but I'll take it," she continued.

"I guess it had been a while." He could not remember exactly when they had last exchanged simple affirmations of love. Had it been that first date? Was he so lost in his own head that he had forgotten to repeat it?

"...Too long, I think," she replied grinning back. "We both got a little lost."

"Well, I promise I'm going to say it more often," he murmured sweetly to her, inclining his head slightly to press a kiss to her forehead. "I'm done with worrying. I love you, Uraraka."

"...Were you planning this?" she questioned, her head hot under his lips.

"Not exactly. My idea kind of...went up in the air."

She giggled at that. "This is because I caught you?"

Perhaps that should be embarrassing but he nodded without hesitation. "I realized how much you've been there for me. And how things don't have to change so much between us. We're still friends."

"The best," she corrected.

"And we'll be there for each other, right?" He raised a fist towards her. "Every step of the way."

Uraraka completed the fist bump. "Same as ever."

"So should I really worry about if we're dating?" It was a rhetorical question, now. At that moment, he knew he would not be inhibited by those doubts again. Most of the time, anyway. But they would work through any hurdles together.

"Not at all," she answered anyway, for herself and for him.

She suddenly opened her hand, grabbing onto him and triggering her quirk. He went weightless once more, allowing her to more easily pull him in and share their love together once more.

Forevermore.

AN: Written for the IzuOcha Discord server writing contest. Prompt: Ice breaker. Forgot to post this on Tumblr a couple of weeks back, so I decided to add it here.

Thank you to the organizers. I hope you all enjoyed one of the fluffiest things I've written.

Let me know what you thought! Leave a like and a reblog if you can. They are important nourishment for us writers ^_^

#izuocha #my hero academia #fanfiction #oneshot #fluff #izuku midoriya #ochako uraraka #mha #shipping #romance #uncontrollable amounts of fluff #tooth-rotting fluff

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tempest-loupnoir · 4 years

Text

Random Old Duck Angst

Happy 2020, Duck fans! How about we start it off right with a random angsty drabble, starring some comic version of two of our favorite feathered foes. I just wrote this two minutes ago so it may have some typos and odd illogical mumbo jumbo in the plot.

——————-

A bearded duck grumbled as he hauled an unconscious figure the same height and stature as himself out from a half frozen mudflat. He plopped the mud-crusted blob on the floor of his life raft and irately paddled across the thick, soupy floodplain to the shore, glancing automatically further up the canyon.

The remains of a formerly majestic snowy mountain was still smoking on the starry horizon. If he’d timed the explosives better (and hadn’t lost his temper), he would have been able to ride the flood out and down through the broken dam into town with the prize he’d snatched from his rival’s hands and become the richest duck in the world, just like he had always wanted. However fate seemed to have other plans for Flintheart Glomgold today.

Glomgold still had his treasure, an amber-entombed fossil of an unknown species with gold flakes stuck in its teeth, but the heavy deer-like fossil had tipped his raft over when Glomgold tried to paddle it out to his steamship. He’d planned on damming the river to flood the plain so that he could sail his ship closer to shore and build a ramp or lever and crane to haul his find aboard but just as he’d gotten the dynamite set to blow off the top of a nearby mountain, his oldest rival Scrooge McDuck had fouled that plan by flying by on some mechanical contraption and gloating about the fossil of an egg with gold flakes on its shell that he had found.

Glomgold had gotten so upset about the taunting that he’d dropped his match and started hopping up and down, dislodging a dynamite stick nearby. He would have blown himself up accidentally but Scrooge had seen the danger first. The richer duck had leaned down and hooked his cane under Glomgold’s arm and flung him into the river.

The water had saved Glomgold from the worst of the explosion, and Glomgold had managed to clamber onto his raft before the river flooded from the mountain and tree debris, but Scrooge and his transport had been blown through the air and disappeared in the resulting avalanche.

Glomgold thought old Scrooge was a goner and he’d gone about his plan as before, loading the fossil onto his steam boat and chugging it a safe distance from the newly created dam and padding the sides of the boat with life rafts to keep it from sustaining much damage while the river drained. He’d blown up the dam with his remaining explosives and tried to ride the flood downstream but he’d miscalculated how fast the water would drain. His ship had run aground instead of floating and the sudden drop in water revealed the crown and brim of a vaguely familiar black silk top hat stuck between a couple of tangled trees. Following his intuition, Glomgold investigated and found the hat’s owner still attached to it, drenched, chilled, and barely conscious.

Glomgold had considered leaving him to fate and walking to town but he was reluctant to leave his enemy with his grounded steam ship and the fossil onboard. Plus...a small part of him felt indebted to Scrooge for saving him from the explosion.

Scrooge had been too firmly wedged under the heavy trees for Glomgold to free him by force, so Glomgold had pried a life raft off his ship, put his tools and a spare towel on it, and paddled across the muck to his foe. It had taken the rest of the day and part of the night to alternate between carefully chopping and sawing the trees enough to pry them away from Scrooge’s battered body. He’d gotten Scrooge to wake up enough to sip some soup from his flask (eww, Codger Cooties), but Scrooge was too cold and too weak to stay conscious or help free himself.

Glomgold ended up unable to lift the tree trunks after he sawed them so he’d shoved Scrooge down into the mud and dragged him out under the trunk. He’d felt a swell of pride at his ingenious and strength. If only there were someone else around that he could brag to.

Wait. Of course! Saving McDuck would get Glomgold lauded as a hero! Nevermind that McDuck had saved him first; what mattered was effort, and Glomgold had certainly put forth a hero’s effort to free his hated foe from the death trap his own actions had put him in. Besides, it was McDuck’s fault for taunting him to begin with. Everything would have been fine and gone according to plan if that wretched braggart hadn’t shown up.

Glomgold grunted as he dragged Scrooge onto the shore. He quickly built a fire to warm Scrooge up, laying the towel over him.

“This is some fine fettle you’ve gotten yourself into, McDuck. Look at you! Covered in muck from head to foot and you haven’t even thanked me for giving you my soup! Hmph! Some example you are to your nephews! Where are they, anyway? It’s not like you to travel alone. You lucky son of a-“

A wolf howl distracted him. Glomgold scowled into the darkness and shook his cane at it. “Go on, get, you manky mutts! There’ll be no munching multimillionaires tonight! Fleabitten curs...”

He added more wood to the fire and glanced at Scrooge again. He poked him with his cane.

“Wake up before you become bear bait, you mudball! Do I have to do everything around here?”

He dumped the bucket of muddy water he’d collected from what was left of the river onto Scrooge. The multidecaquadrillionaire sputtered, but coughing took his breath away and made him cry out and writhe in pain.

“Quit your caterwauling! I liked you better unconscious.” Glomgold grumbled. “Just hold still. You’ll be safe until we get to town; then the media wolves will getcha.” He tried to smirk and rile Scrooge up enough for him to forget his pain and start taking care of himself like he always did in the past, but whatever retort Scrooge started to say died on his lips.

“Unggh- G-... Glom...” He wheezed and winced.

“Yeah yeah, save it. You can thank me by mailing me a check from the hospital. We’ve still got to get through the night with wolves, bears, mosquitoes, and sand fleas after our blood.”

The mention of fleas made Scrooge writhe again. Glomgold sneered, amused by his foe’s itching and misery for a moment until he realized he was feeling itchy, too! Crud. Grumbling again, he dug around in his emergency bag and lit a citronella candle.

“There. That will keep some of those pests at bay. Too bad we’re too far away from civilization for a flare to do us any good. I don’t suppose you have your sat’ phone on ye. Don’t be getting any ideas!”

He patted Scrooge’s coat and belt for a telltale rectangular bulge. His heart lifted with relief when he found something, but that was quickly crushed when he realized it was just Scrooge’s wallet.

“Why do you carry this thing around anyway? It doesn’t have any cards in it. Just this wad of...” His face fell. “Family photos...”

He took each one out to check for water damage but thankfully all had survived the explosion, water dousing, ripping and tearing from tree limbs snagging on cloth, and the mud bath. He sighed and put everything back as it was and put it back in Scrooge’s wallet.

“You’ll see them soon, you lucky old goat. Rest up. You wouldn’t want to look a fright for the wee ones with red eyes now, would ye?”

Seeing Scrooge had drifted off again, he nodded. “Aye. Thought not. You just rest there. Old Flinty will hold the fort. No man, mouse or beast will sneak by Flintheart Glomgold!”

He shifted closer to McDuck, telling himself he just wanted to sit closer to the citronella to keep the durned mosquitoes off and Not because he felt a little safer with someone by his back. It would be a long night, and who knew how long their journey would be tomorrow.

#one shot story #flintheart glomgold #scrooge mcduck #comic book character fanfiction #fan angsty drabble #lupineleigh’s writing #frienemies? short story #Nah. These two old birds will always try to one up each other #don’t worry. Scrooge will be fine. I have a migraine and sinus infection so I don’t feel like writing more tonight #Happy New Year Disney Duck Fans mahahaha #ducktales fic

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theclosetpoet7 · 5 years

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The Fighter

A Biggs with minor CloTi fic by theClosetPoet7

Rating: M, Inspired by Sailor Venus' and lockharts' headcanons on a Biggs/Tifa romance in our Discord server. Special thank you to Senigata (Journey of a Barmaid) and Denebola Leo (Underneath the Rotting Pizza) whose works also inspired some of the scenes here.

Summary: She manages to have him falling hard for her, even when her heart already belonged to someone else. He never even stood a chance. [Prequel to the Original Game]

When he meets Tifa Lockhart for the first time, he regards her with a look of suspicion; mind already laced with doubt when his eyes rake over her slim body, flat stomach exposed for the world to see while her long smooth legs are highlighted by the short leather skirt she wears; and with the tightness of her white tank tap emphasizing her sizable chest, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow when she comes running down the steps of Seventh Heaven to greet the rest of the team.

"Hi there! I'm Tifa. Let me help you with those."

She has such kind eyes, a shade of red he's never seen before, and with her long brown hair cascading over her back, he finds himself even more intrigued. What's a beautiful girl like her doing here in the slums of Sector 7? And she owns a bar at that. Isn't she putting herself in too much danger with that outfit she's wearing?

He stops himself before he lets prejudice get the best of him. His late mother would whack him across the head if he so as hinted that he's already judging a woman based solely on the clothes she's wearing.

Or lusting after her for that matter.

Seriously, who wouldn't want her?

He's been with the opposite sex before. There was nothing like burying your cock in a woman's moist heat, nothing like moving to one's own release. Those nights filled with meaningless fucking always served to distract him from thinking about the losses he suffered in the past.

His mother and sister, trapped under the burning building as Shinra guards tried to make it appear like they were doing their best to put out the fire. Except that, it was them who had planted the bomb in the first place.

Something about a well known scientist living there.

"Are you guys coming in?"

She tilts her head towards their direction as she holds the box of equipment they've brought with them, a patient look in her eye and a charming smile on her face while she welcomes them officially into the Seventh Heaven.

Jessie whistles low next to him.

"Damn, that Tifa is pretty."

He scratches the back of his head awkwardly, suddenly conscious of the fact that perhaps Jessie has noticed his attention on the young barmaid, and the way he's rendered speechless at the sight of her, no sassy pick up lines unlike with his previous pursuits, he might be too obvious.

"I guess so. If you're into that princess vibe."

She does have that aura about her, like she's some rich man's daughter who has decided to play hooky and is trying to make it out on her own. To prove something to Daddy.

Still though, he infers that she's not a member of the upper class, given that she's turning her establishment into AVALANCHE's secret headquarters. And when he looks at the way she instantly has Wedge comfortable enough to ask what's for dinner, she isn't some prissy spoiled brat either.

Biggs knows that there is certainly more to her than meets the eye, knows that she probably had scars hidden beneath that cheerful facade, probably had a good reason for becoming a terrorist.

There was something about her.

Jessie lets out a scoff.

"Already complaining about it aren't ya? Well, if you don't want her then she's up for grabs right?"

_________________________________

As it turns out, Tifa isn't up for grabs.

The first night they help her close the bar, he sees that she definitely isn't. He noticed that she puts herself on guard for most of the night, there's a bubble around the young woman's frame that screams at the patrons to keep their hands to themselves. He's surprised when no one has attempted to hit on her like he'd expected.

Were these men blind? Or was there really something he doesn't know about her?

She was a great hostess and a skillful bartender at that. The latter fact already has his heart racing especially when he tastes the drink she's concocted. It was a simple soft drink with scotch in it, but the way she balanced the amount of each beverage, suited well to his preference that it doesn't take long before he's asking for a second glass.

When she has him giddy and a little inebriated with alcohol, Tifa cuts him off with a stern look on her face, lightly reprimanding him and silently indicating that they have a mission the day after. He shrugs her off with a confident smile on his face, liquid courage stirring his intentions.

And with the way he's been constantly eyeing her since they've moved in two weeks ago, Biggs couldn't help but want to get to know her better. Especially now, when Barret is busy getting supplies. Their leader has become more and more protective of her.

He leans over the bar, giving her that smoldering look which always managed to have girls swooning, confidently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as he tries to close the distance, wondering if her lips would feel as soft as they looked.

"Biggs, I'm not interested."

He pauses to look into her scarlet eyes. She has that expression of tiredness, like she's done with people trying to put the moves on her. But he knows there's something there, has noticed the way her eyes would linger occasionally when he'd walk in while he puts his olive shirt on, feels the heat of her gaze when he tucks it in his pants.

So he grabs her chin and tilts it to him, a smirk on his face when he tries to close the distance again.

"I said, I'm not interested."

"We both know you are, Tifa."

The next thing he knows he's being thrown on the bar table, face pressed onto the flat wooden surface, while his arm is pulled to his back, locked in place as she holds him away from her.

How did she?

"Fuck. Let me go."

"Only if you promise not to do that again."

"I won't."

She releases her tight grip on him, an expression of distrust on her person while she regards him with caution. He is instantly riddled with guilt because of that look and he takes the time to observe her stance. She has her arms up in front of her, hands formed into a fist as if she has a lot of experience in hand to hand combat, like she's ready to knock him out.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I just thought..." He runs his hand through his dark hair and adjust his red bandanna.

"You thought wrong."

"I apologize."

Her angry expression softens then, that good-natured look flashing through her face as quickly as her hard exterior did. Biggs cracks his head and touches his jaw, a trickle of blood staining his thumb.

"Crap, sorry about that. Let me get some ice on it."

Minutes later, they're seated at the bar, him holding a pack of cold ice to his face while she pours him a drink that she says is effective for hangovers.

"I never knew you were good with self defense."

"Well, I'm actually better than good, why do you think Barret recruited me?"

"I dunno, thought a hot gal like you would be perfect as a front to ward off suspicion."

She chuckles lightly, probably used to such praises but like he thought there is more to her than meets the eye.

"I've been trained in the martial arts since I was fourteen."

"No way."

"Yes way, do you want me to show you?"

That twinkle in her eye is one that he can't stop thinking about in the ensuing days to come, and when he gladly accepts her offer to show him, Biggs couldn't help but feel the beginnings of a feeling he can't quite define yet.

Except that he's enamored with her.

He's enamored with Tifa Lockhart.

_________________________________

If he was being honest, he would prefer it if Tifa stayed behind to watch Marlene. After all, she was the only person strong but also skilled enough to handle children on her own. The only person Barrett trusted to take care of his child.

Barret's daughter would sometimes come out to the bar to call out to the brunette, her small arms hugging a chocobo plushie to her tiny frame while she asks if she can sleep next to Tifa again.

He'd feel a sense of envy for the four year old because he had fantasized about holding Tifa Lockhart too many times to count now. And it's not in a sexual way like he would've expected. Not entirely at least. It's more of a gentle embrace, the kind wherein he wants to have her in his arms to comfort her during times when her eyes would look troubled, the kind that made him want to think about the prospect of waking up to her pretty face; the kind of hold that would tell her that she's safe with him except that in truth, he's actually safer with her.

So of course he would want her to be tucked away in Seventh Heaven, to be out of complete danger. Yes, if he was being honest, he would want her to stay put. Even if he doesn't have the right to think so.

In truth though, the main reason why he prefers for her to stay behind is the fact that she serves too much of a distraction. Especially when she'd use those well-toned legs of hers, now covered by thigh-highs, that only tease him more. He loves the way that she's quick on her feet, loves watching her do back flips to take down giant centinels like it's no one's business.

Loves watching her in general.

And she watches him too, except that she's merely doing it to protect him, like any teammate would. The way she covers his back sends shivers down his spine. And as he quickly sets the bomb on one end of a Mako Reactor and cocks his gun to shoot more of Shinra's goons, he couldn't help but admire her form from time to time.

She always looked her best when she's saving him.

_________________________________

"Dude, just ask her out."

"What?"

He's sitting on a bar stool with Jessie and Wedge. Tifa has just made her way to the back door to get more drinks. He had offered to help her but she had brushed him off, in the same way she tells him whenever he offers to help, that she's got it. She had been managing the bar on her own for a while after the previous owner suddenly passed away. So, he disregards his gentleman instincts.

"Yes, I agree with Jessie."

Wedge is munching on the fish and chips the barmaid had made for him, a gleeful look on his eye like he's eating the best food there is. Biggs is sure Wedge also has a little crush on the brunette.

Although he can't say that his feelings right now counts as a mere crush.

He definitely has grasped the concept.

That maybe he's a little bit in love with her.

And his two friends have already caught on to the fact. True to his roguish nature, he merely shrugs his shoulders and attempts to deny it anyway.

"Y'all are just fucking with me."

"See Wedge! I told ya he'd go back to cursing just to cover it up."

"Mghg, yer gotch it right, Jesshie..."

"Come on man, just chew your food. Didn't your mom teach you not to talk with your mouth full?"

"And he's lecturing us now, damn, you have it hard, my friend."

Jessie's pats on his back seems pitiful in a way and he senses that there's some meaning to it. And while they play this game of back and forth, friendly banter passing around the three of them, the young adults know that this is a moment that shouldn't be taken lightly, granted that what they are doing is dangerous.

Life-threatening even.

Tifa comes back with a crate of beer in her hands, carrying it like it weighs like one bottle. She dutifully gives Wedge a glass of water while sliding him and Jessie another round of scotch.

She's absolutely beautiful. The most beautiful person he's ever seen. And when Jessie asks him to come out to have some "man-to-man" talk, Biggs knows that she isn't kidding this time around.

He merely nods his head when she tells him to go for it. They can't predict what tomorrow brings so might as well put his heart on the line as well.

Biggs can't help but agree.

Besides, that spark in her green eyes tells him that maybe she knows exactly how he's feeling.

_________________________________

So, he asks Tifa out one morning. As they do their usual early dawn sparring, him already sweating through his shirt while she's throwing punches, as if she's just doing warm up, Biggs tries to find the words to properly ask her out on a date.

He nearly takes a fist to the face but ducks away the last minute. Asking a girl out was never this complicated. It used to be as simple as saying "Hey, wanna grab a bite?" and then he'd take them out to the plate above, giving them a glance of the outside world. The women of Midgar would be so impressed that they'd give him hints to take them home and have his way with them. And my, it would be a wonderful night filled with sweaty bodies and endless rutting. He'd wake up at the break of dawn and slip away from their lives, never to be seen again.

With Tifa though, he can't just slip away. And he wouldn't want to. With her it was all or nothing. He'd risk a lot. Their friendship, the mission, his life's purpose.

"Go for it. We never know what tomorrow brings."

Jessie's words had been echoing throughout his head since that night, and they don't have another mission until a week from now. He can take her out if he wants to, if she lets him.

Bam*

It takes him a second to realize that she had been aiming for his head, and she knocks his socks off when she lands a punch on his face, nearly rendering him unconscious.

When he shakes the confusion out and Tifa leans over to help him up, Biggs couldn't help but fall harder.

If that was even possible.

"Are you okay?"

She's touching his jaw lightly, feeling for any fractures.

"Have dinner with me."

"What?"

It's cute that she's a bit confused with his invitation. And with the way she's currently tending to his injuries, Biggs doesn't blame her.

"I'm asking you out, Tifa." Already, his heart is pumping out of nervousness.

"Oh."

It looks like she's thinking about it.

"Say yes."

He gives her that smoldering look again, knowing well enough that it didn't work the first time. But, the way she actually doesn't say no immediately has that small flicker of hope in his heart burn brighter than it ever has since meeting her.

"Okay then, one date."

_________________________________

He takes her to Sector 6. There is a restaurant there called Seven Seas, one that was popular enough that he needed to make a reservation days before if he wanted to impress her. He requests for an outdoor table. After all, it's the most romantic location, with fairy lights brightening up the ambiance as if they're actually outside the slums, underneath billions of stars even though that gorgeous view is blocked by the sector's plate.

There was a large tree in the middle of the grounds, it was fake of course, but one with pink flowers, paper petals littering the floor to give it a feel for the real thing, he heard that it was supposed to be a Sakura tree, and though he hasn't seen one yet, he has to admit that it is indeed beautiful. With the way Tifa's eyes light up with the sight, he has to admit as much.

She's wearing a black long skirt with a slit down the side, one that teased him with a view of her leg, even if he's seen it a number of times. She pairs it with a white halter top that only served to entice him even more with her ample bosom.

'Wait, is she actually trying to dress up for him?'

He shakes the thought away. It couldn't be. The very idea of her reciprocating his feelings in some way already has his mouth dry. Jessie was right. He's glad that he finally decided to go for it. Wherever the night takes them, he can at least bask in the fact that in this moment, Tifa is with him.

And she's beautiful.

He pulls the chair out for her and clears his throat when the scent of her lavender lotion fills his senses, already fanning those threads of desire.

Then, he sits across from her, adjusting the jacket he has on while slowly contemplating if he should offer it to his date, though she doesn't look cold.

"You, uh, look nice."

She blushes.

"You do too. I don't think I've ever seen you in that jacket."

Of course she hasn't. The black leather ensemble was one Jessie bought for him. Paired with dark jeans and a simple black shirt beneath, he appeared a little fanciful than he usually did, and he had disregarded his red bandanna, allowing his spiky locks to fall on to his forehead.

He scratches the back of his head in reply. Come on now, he's courted countless women before, why is it that he's acting like an innocent school boy in front of her? Maybe it was because his feelings were not limited to simple infatuation. It means more this time. He orders a bottle of wine and recommends the salmon, a rare delicacy in the slums and one customers had raved about.

When the waiter has poured them their wine and has jotted down their orders, Biggs takes a sip to gather his courage. Tifa has her attention on the tree, quietly enjoying her drink and features gleaming at the people slow dancing under the lights.

"So, what's your story?"

He starts with a simple question. Or was it complicated? But, he has always wondered.

"What do you mean?"

She frequently has her walls up whenever any one of them questions her about her past. Only Barret had some idea; one night their leader had been drunk out of his mind and had challenged Tifa to arm wrestling, teasing her about how much she probably misses fighting in an underground arena, cluing them in that she used to be a brawler.

It was an interesting factoid about her, but then again, she always managed to surprise him. Still though, he wants to know more.

"How is it that someone like you is still single?"

She quirks an eyebrow, smiling shyly.

"Is there something wrong with being single?" That teasing look in her eyes challenges the fighter.

"Oof, you got me there. Well?" He presses on.

"What?"

"Out with it."

He swallows the uneasiness, but, his curiosity overcomes the fear of getting hurt. Because, he just has to know.

"I dunno, maybe I'm still waiting on my hero to come save me."

She has that dreamy look on her face, soft hands resting on her chin, those red orbs of hers glinting in a far off look.

He wonders if Tifa's just humoring him, but with that expression on her exquisite face, he couldn't help but think that perhaps she isn't kidding, perhaps there is someone from her past.

And he'd give anything for the possibility that she might think of him that way. Even for just a bit.

When they finish their meal, Biggs offers a hand to her, smiling gently while she looks up at him in puzzlement.

"Jessie told me that you like dancing."

The grin she rewards him with is calming yet makes his heart thump wildly. Biggs takes her hand in his while leading her onto the dance floor. He notices the way she shivers when the artificial tree's leaves billow all around them, so, he takes off his jacket and puts it around her while he settles his hands on her slim waist and pulls her closer.

They sway lightly to the music.

He's never been good with dancing, not in this way anyway. There's a tenderness to the way he holds her that he's never done before. Tifa's hands are around his neck, but her eyes are not focused on his. As if she's trying to put more distance between them even if they've never been this close before, as if she's already thinking about someone else, wishing that he was someone else.

The very thought breaks his heart, but, he had sworn that he wouldn't back down. He leans his head on her own, not missing her sharp intake of breath. She isn't pulling away though, not like before.

"I want more from you, Tifa."

He knows she's confused with his confession but continues anyway.

"I think I'm in love with you."

Her whole body stiffens. He pulls away to gaze into her carmine eyes, looking for that signal. And he sees it, subtly shining through even though she hasn't said anything in reply.

But then again, like he said, she isn't pulling away like before.

He couldn't help but cup her face in his calloused hands. So he can see her more clearly. He thinks that perhaps his hands don't deserve to touch her in this way, granted that they were stained with blood, had been responsible for a good chunk of evil in this world.

When he fights alongside her though, he knows that he's doing something worthwhile. As long as he's with her.

He leans in.

Only for her to shift away.

"I, Biggs, I'm sorry… But I…"

He drowns out her apology by tugging her to his body. Holding her for the first time like he's thought of.

"It's okay. I know. Just let me hold you."

She nods her head and returns his embrace, their bodies still swaying to the music.

"I'm sorry."

Those are the only two words she says in return.

_________________________________

He supposes that he should feel bitter about her haste rejection. But he doesn't, honestly. He's never felt like this about anyone before and he doesn't think he's ever going to feel this way about anyone else. And it's just as well. He doesn't know if he could go through that kind of hurt again.

She still smiles gently at him, still prepares him a drink after long missions, still manages to brighten up his life even if she isn't letting him into hers. Not in the way he wants to. Except that maybe he should be grateful to be called a friend at the very least. Because, seeing her smile and cheer the other AVALANCHE members on and seeing her genuine concern when one of them gets injured, makes him think that he's glad that it is Tifa Lockhart he's fallen in love with.

Maybe he can just love her from afar for the rest of his life. And he doesn't even mind anymore. As long as she's happy.

He doesn't ask about that hero she was talking about during their date, never tells her again that he's in love with her. Because he doesn't want to weigh her down with his feelings.

At least he has Jessie and Wedge though, there was a semblance of comfort between the three of them, because they had all fallen for Tifa in some way, even if her heart seems to be reserved for someone else.

He hopes that someday he'll meet that person. That person who is responsible for that blush on her cheeks, the person who gives her that look of tenderness as she gets lost in the memories she hasn't shared with them. Probably saving it for that one special friend.

But he'll stay here anyway. In Seventh Heaven. Watch her from afar as he said.

Because she sets his world on fire.

He could say that he's contented with the ways things are. That is, until one day, Tifa brings home an ex-SOLDIER of Shinra, a disgruntled, rude and cocky young man covered in dirt and blood but with Mako blue eyes that told him of his physical prowess in the battlefield.

A hero in his own right.

Perhaps he was?

No, it can't be.

Still though...

With the way she acts differently around the new AVALANCHE member, and the way her eyes trail after him when he's not looking, Biggs couldn't help but connect the other man to the person he's always imagined she's been waiting for.

Cloud Strife manages to disrupt their mundane lives overnight.

_________________________________

Author's Note: Senigata's "Journey of a Barmaid" is an amazing read, I based Tifa being in an underground fighting rink as well as Jessie being interested in her on his work, And his stories along with Denebola Leo's "Underneath the Rotting Pizza" gave me the urge for some more of Midgar fics. ;) Just wanna give another shout out to them as well as SailorStarDust1 coz we're just having tons of fun working on the Call of the Mountain world's lore. :D

R and R!

#biggs fanfic #cloti #cloti fanfic

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theladylovingcrow · 4 years

Text

Skin On Skin, Hearts Laid Bare Ch. 2

Ch. 2 Too Much Sugar Makes th Heart Lovesick

Summary (of Whole Series): They started off cuddling as a necessity in chilly tents and cramped car rides, but it eventually became something much, much more. Sam finds that there isn't a safer place in the world, no where else he'd rather be, than when he's wrapped up in his best friend's strong, caring arms. And Danny, he just can't get enough of the feeling of Sam's silky smooth skin spread out underneath his hands. A non-linear chronicle of Samuel Kiszka and Daniel Wagner's budding love.

Author (As known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @theladylovingcrow - writing/art Tumblr, @insannywestan - Sanny shipping Tumblr

Fandom: Greta Van Fleet

Pairing: Sam Kiszka/Danny Wagner

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Summary: "There were snowflakes in Sam's lashes, and, it seemed, a few were actually in his eyes. It could have been the shining lights of the skating rink, too, highlighting the absolute joy emanating from Sam's beautiful face. It was then Danny became convinced once and for all that Sam was actually made out of starshine and prayers, sugar and spice, pure love and radiance."

Warnings/Tags: ice cream, ice skating, cold weather, fluff, extreme fluff, flirting, hand holding, nose kisses, lap sitting, cuddling, slow dancing

Author's Notes: Ahh I finished chapter FIVE but couldn't get going on this one for a few days, so my brain is a little scrambled trying to back track from the smut (ch 5 is when some of the smut hits) to this.

Thank you to @satans-helper / thelazarus for all the lovely support and feedback, you've really encouraged me to write better 😚

Also, part of me wants to question why I've been able to write so goddamn much lately, but then my muse might run away and we can't have that. Ah, the mysterious appearances of creativity!

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Danny observed the scenes around him, taking in the welcoming atmosphere. Rainbow lights were strung up around the square, going from lamppost to tree to lamppost, illuminating the many people out and about enjoying the crisp night air.

Families - urban, attractive and well dressed - strolled along the sidewalks, the small children in winter coats and boots running ahead and laughing until their parents called them back. Danny smiled at their antics as a girl in a tan jacket started a snowball fight with her little brother, flinging soft white clumps at him.

On one side of the square, a skating rink was decorated with shining ornaments and cutouts of various cartoon characters. Skaters, young and old, rushed past the sides; some stumbling and laughing, some calmly holding the hands of a loved one, some racing with reckless abandon. Occasionally, a brave and talented athlete would speed up and do some sort of spin or flip Danny didn't know the name of. He would clap along with the rest of the people.

Various shops, some closed for the night and some welcoming the nightlife, lined the other sides, attracting people with their colorful displays. One such shop - Maria's Ice Cream Parlor - had a line out the door as the Midwestern crowd lined up to get a cold treat to combat the chill.

Danny felt a little bad that he honestly couldn't remember the name of the town they were in - fast touring and sleeping through info meetings left him a little out of the loop - but he knew he would look crazy if, after all this time, he finally worked up the courage to ask someone around him where he was. He would just wait for Sam to get back with their own ice cream cones and ask him, his buddy always knew where they were and where they wanted to be.

Jake clapped him on the shoulder, somewhat disrupting Danny's observance of holiday cheer. He peered up at him, wondering what the matter could possibly be.

"Joshie and I are gonna go head to that bar a few blocks from the hotel and warm up. You guys are welcome to join us, of course, though you seem to be really enjoying yourself."

"I am," Danny said, smiling. The atmosphere was like one out of a Hallmark Christmas card; colorful, happy, everything gleaming with holiday cheer and a warm welcome despite the snow. He didn't want to leave, though of course he would if Sam wanted to.

"Alright, well, you guys have fun, we'll be at the bar or back in our room if you try to find us. Are you gonna skate?"

"I'm thinking so." Danny heard Sam come up behind them, and leaned back into his presence until his upper back was against Sam's stomach. His best friend laid the hand that wasn't holding their ice creams on his chest, holding him to Sam.

"The price isn't bad, and we haven't skated in awhile. Right, hun?"

Danny heard Jake snort, but he payed him no mind; the fluttery sensation in his stomach was much more interesting. Sam only called him pet names - *lovers* pet names - when he was feeling particularly happy. It was going to be a memorable night, he already had that feeling.

"Yeah, we should. What'd you get me? Did they have pistachio?" Danny asked, twisting his head around to look up at Sam.

"They did. Here, take some napkins too, you always get so messy when you eat ice cream cones."

"Hey!" Danny protested, but he was smiling when he took them. "I do not. Besides, it's so cold out the ice cream isn't likely to melt."

Sam shook his head, little brown bun bobbling back and forth. "No, that just means our tongues will get stuck."

Danny rolled his eyes, and stuck his tongue out, touching it to the ice cream cone.

"Shee? Not shtuck!" He said, keeping his mouth attached to the sweet treat.

Sam snorted and shook his head again. He came around to Danny's front and pushed at his legs, making him adjust so he could flop down into his lap.

"You just disproved yourself, idiot," Sam said fondly.

Danny knew a few people were staring at them - cuddling in an outdoor patio chair that was definitely too small and eating ice cream. He didn't care, though, not when Sam was so warm in his lap and giving his ice cream cone cute little kitten licks with his tongue.

"Can I try some of that?"

"Okay," Sam agreed, "but only if I can taste some of yours."

Sam squirmed in his lap, looking at him so pretty and perfect it nearly hurt. Was Sam made of porcelain, or confectioners sugar? It seemed like it sometimes. Danny was convinced that he would be showered in an avalanche of candy hearts if he were to break Sam open. But, he would never let that happen, even if he had to somehow protect Sam from his own self.

Sam held out his Chocolate Raspberry cone to him, letting Danny take a soft bite. A myriad of sensation and flavor burst on his tongue: tart berries, creamy chocolate, a surprise of salty caramel, and a biting cold that melted all too quickly when it met the internal heat of his mouth. The best, though, was something he couldn't really place, but Danny was pretty sure that it was Sam himself.

"See, I told you. There's chocolate all over your face," Sam murmered, moving his food away from Danny's mouth so he could gently dab at it with a napkin.

He swiped at some of the ice cream on Danny's nose with the paper, and then Danny felt cold fingers running over his lips, collecting the chocolate there. He licked at them on reflex, getting some of the sugar before Sam pulled them away and put them in his own mouth with a coy smile.

Danny moved his free hand, which had been hanging at his side, to Sam's denim covered thigh, gripping it high up. He felt the shiver that wracked Sam's whole, lithe body when he took a lick of Danny's ice cream.

"You never dress for the weather. We all know you're cute, but you gotta put on more layers, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes, taking another bite from the pistachio and tangling his left hand in Danny's hair, getting it warm underneath that blanket of black fluff.

"But you keep me warm, I don't need to wear more. I know you like it."

Danny blushed, as did Sam, but neither of them broke the eye contact. People were definitely staring now, Danny just noticed, sensing the tension in their own little corner of the square. In fact, Danny wasn't really sure when exactly the twins had left, either, he had been so caught up in Sam.

"Come on, let's finish these up and go skate a bit before they close the rink," Danny finally said.

It didn't so much diffuse the tension as give it a different tone, adding a fair dosage of love and fun to the intensity. It was never aggressive, what they had. Danny knew they were soft for each other, caring in a way that they couldn't be with anyone else.

Danny could admit that he and Sam had been flirting around each other for... years. Always had, though he certainly hadn't realized it way back when they were younger. He just knew that Sammy was his best friend in the world, and that it made him feel almost giddy when Sam smiled at him.

He still felt that way, a childlike glee running through him whenever Sam turned to him - only him - to tell a joke or ask for a hug. The colder months seemed to be when they got closer; physically, to conduct body heat, and thus spending more time in close, intimate quarters. He distinctly remembered the several night they had spent huddled together in a sleeping bag on their last camping trip; and, even before then, when staying the night at the Kiszka household became an almost weekly, if not daily, occurance of Danny and Sam cuddling in Sam's twin sized bed.

Danny enjoyed nights like this, when Sam cuddled close and let Danny put his hands on him, moved in so they could share the same air and the same space. There was just something so thrilling about being able to hold Sam, see him breathe and move and let himself be wrapped up in Danny. He knew that his reverence and appreciation always showed in his eyes when they lay quietly together - but it was okay, because he could see it in Sam's, too.

Danny slurped up the ice cream at the bottom of his cone, then took a bite from the top with a quiet *crunch*. Sam finished his, too, holding it out so Danny could take the last bite.

The cold air immediately assaulted his legs when Sam got up, holding out a hand to pull Danny with him. Danny took it, linking their fingers together and putting then in his pocket so that they could warm up a bit. Sam never wore gloves; Danny knew it was so he could get someone else to warm him. It was nearly always Danny.

They made their way over to the counter of the skating rink, past all the other couples eating ice cream and the young friends running after each other. Were they a couple? Nearly, probably. All Danny knew was that he had Sam, and Sam had him, and they were not going to let go for anything.

"Two pairs of skates, please. Men's thirteen and eleven," Sam said to the lady at the counter, raising his voice to be heard over the rush of metal on ice and chattering laughter.

They each grabbed their ice skates, walking over to a bench to put them on. Danny keenly felt the loss of Sam's slim hand in his; Sam smiled at him like he felt the same.

He held his shoes by the laces, socked feet freezing on the cold ground, but he didn't notice. Sam had his lip held in between his teeth, reminding Danny of a strawberry macaroon: pink - white (perfect white) - pink. There was a furrow in Sam's brows, one of concentration as he unlaced his hiking boots to put on the skates. Danny wanted to smooth it out, run his thumb along the ridges of Sam's delicate bone structure and kiss his head.

By the time he snapped back to reality, Sam had already put his shoes in one of the little lockers and came back to Danny, waving his hands in his face to get his attention.

"Hey, are you feeling okay? You seem a bit out of it," Sam asked, looking at him in concern.

Danny grinned up at Sam, taking both of his hands in his own. "I'm great, Sam-a. Just really enjoying the night, it's beautiful out here."

Sam pulled him up, keeping one set of hands interlaced as they carefully hobbled over to the rink and stepped out onto the ice.

"It is lovely. I like the lights, it's like we're back in Frankenmuth," Sam said.

Danny nodded in agreement. In truth, the most beautiful thing in the scene was Sam - but he'd get called a sap if he said that aloud.

They skated along, utilizing the skills they had learned growing up in Michigan to avoid teetering children and successfully turn around corners.

At one point, the DJ changed the music to an older Christmas selection, indicating the departure of most of the families with small children. They moved along to Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Eartha Kitt, and all the good classics.

When "I Was The One" came on, Sam's face lit up like he was one of the sweet angels perched on the Christmas tree in the center of the square.

Danny let Sam guide them to a slow stop near the east side of the rink, and throw an arm around his neck. They swayed slowly to Elvis, holding to each other tightly to avoid losing balance and grinning like lunatics.

~ And then one day

I had my love as perfect as could be

She lived, she loved, she laughed, she cried,

And it was all for me ~

Danny looked at Sam as the danced and sang together, harmonizing their voices like Josh had taught them. His breath caught at the end of the last line: the sight before him would be held like precious glass in his memory forever.

There were snowflakes in Sam's lashes, and, it seemed, a few were actually in his eyes. It could have been the shining lights of the skating rink, too, highlighting the absolute joy emanating from Sam's beautiful face. It was then Danny became convinced once and for all that Sam was actually made out of starshine and prayers, sugar and spice, pure love and radiance.

Sam was beaming at him, positively glowing with affection and happiness. Danny felt his chest beat hard and the air rush out of him in a white cloud.

Their heads moved closer together, the magnetic draw between them undeniable. Sam rested his forehead against Danny, eyes closed, squeezing his hand.

Danny wished he could draw Sam closer, tighten the arm sitting low around his waist, but they were still on ice skates. He settled for relishing in the feel of Sam's sweet breath against his lips and their hands locked together; almost as intertwined as their heart strings.

Danny kept swaying when the next song came on, not willing to let go of Sam. They stayed in their corner of the ice, no longer moving about like the more skilled couples who could actually dance on their skates.

A breeze swept past, carrying a few stray snowflakes from the grey clouds and a cider-scented chill. They danced and skated for nearly an hour, until the rink closed down for the night. They exited stumbling, laughing and still clinging to each other.

Sam sighed happily, nudging Danny's shoulder as they walked down the lit up streets back to their hotel.

Danny took their still linked hands and put them back in his pocket, making Sam pull closer to him as they walked. Sam grinned at him; a small, private smile that was able to encompass the whole night in one toothy quirk of pink lips.

When they passed the bar the twins had gone into, Danny could hear singing coming from inside. Sounded like Jake finally got drunk enough for Josh to convince him to do a karaoke duet like he always wanted. Danny was a little disappointed that he couldn't witness what was surely a glorious moment - an excellent black mail oppurtunity - but he wasn't going to end his night with Sam so easily.

As soon as they got into the elevator, Sam slumped against him. Danny was also exhausted after all the skating; sugar and adrenaline wearing off and leaving them candy shells without any energy left inside.

They made their slow way down the hall to their shared room, a shaking hand and fuzzy eyes making Danny take several tries to unlock it. He felt almost drunk, the kind of bone deep tired that only resulted from an exhilarating day continued well into the night.

Sam shuffled towards the bathroom, shedding slightly damp clothes in his wake. He ran the tap into one of the paper cups on the counter, taking a sip and turning around to give some to Danny, who had followed him.

Danny finished the water and set it aside. He put his arms around Sam, swaying them like they where back on the ice rink. Sam buried his face in Danny's neck, both hands curled around his shoulders from the back, and moved with him.

"That was honestly the best night I've ever had," Sam said, laughing into his shoulder.

Danny smiled, taking his hair out of the bun and stroking it.

"Agreed, that was fun. We should go out like that more often."

"Are you telling me we should go on more dates?" Sam asked, lifting his to raise his brow at Danny in his signature 'really?' face.

That was a date? That.... that was a date. Danny decided that he did want to go on more "dates" with Sam as long as they were like this one.

"Yeah, we should. And I am. I like spending time with you, Sammy," Danny whispered, looking his best friend in the eyes. Even in the harsh bathroom light, Sam was beautiful.

"I do too," Sam whispered back. "You can take me out as often as you want, but you have to pay for the ice cream sometimes."

"Of course."

They stuck together, dancing their way clumsily back to the bed, Sam giggling the entire time. He flopped back onto the king, kicking a foot up into he air and looking expectant. Danny shook his head fondly but complied in taking Sam's shows off, tossing the boots near the closet.

He sat down on the bed to take his own shoes off, Sam's hand running up and down his back when he bent over to untie them. Danny laid back, Sam's arm still on his back so now he was the one being held.

Sam rolled them over a bit, so that he was lying on top of Danny. He swore he was going to get up in just a minute to finish getting undressed and get under the covers, but Danny just couldn't make himself push Sam off of him. They fell asleep like that, cuddled on top of the blankets, too asleep to notice the twins - loudly, drunkenly - check on them.

#fanfiction #slash fiction #greta van fleet #sanny #samxdanny #sam kiszka #danny wagner #fluff #series #slow burn #my writing #lulucrowproductions

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bytheangell · 5 years

Text

Desperate Hours

(Read on AO3) (Coda for 3x13 and compliant with the 3x14 sneak peek of Magnus&Lorenzo, so spoilers for both ahead)

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Magnus says, stepping inside Catarina’s apartment.

“Of course, Magnus. You’re acting like it’s some huge struggle to pencil you in, and not like I wouldn’t gladly welcome a visit from one of my closest friends any time.” She smiles at him but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes - she knows that this isn’t just a social call. Magnus wonders if she could hear the desperation in his voice over the phone… or maybe she put two and two together when Lorenzo undoubtedly contacted her to forbid her from assisting him after he started asking around.

That wouldn’t surprise him. He’s tired, physically and emotionally, and there’s only so much faking he can do before he has to let his guard down at some point. Catarina, bless her, is the unfortunate recipient of his unfiltered woes.

“Drink?” She offers. “I don’t have much, but there’s some beer or a cheap bottle of wine with your name on it.” She grabs a bottle of beer for herself in the meantime.

“No, thank you.” Now this, if nothing else, sets off a red flag. He’s trying to appear nonchalant but the way he fidgets gives him away. Plus, the last time he came over focused enough to not share a casual beer with her was when he showed up to tell her about Ragnor. Concern flashes across her features.

“Magnus, what’s wrong?”

Where to begin?, he wonders.

“Everything?” He jokes, attempting for sarcasm but there's a bit too much truth in it to be comfortable. “Isabelle came to me for help earlier. It was important, a matter of her heath, and all I could do was stand there and watch her hurt. She lied and said she was fine to spare me the regret of being useless.”

The irony isn’t lost on him that for all the years he complained about everyone coming to him to help solve their problems, now that he couldn’t he actually missed it. How long until no one bothers to ask in the first place? A week? A month? How much time does he have left before word gets around that Magnus Bane isn’t capable of anything that goes beyond a trip to the market in town or something he can look up in a book already in his possession, unless you’re willing to wait for him to taxi to the nearest reference?

How long until Magnus Bane, as the world knows him, is entirely obsolete?

Cat sighs. She always could read him best and it’s easy to hear the strife behind his words. “I’m sorry.” Magnus doesn’t look her in the eyes just yet, knowing the pity he’ll find there and not wanting it. He’s done with pity. He’s done with trying to get used to an existence he doesn’t want. “What do you need? You know I’ll help however I can.”

“For Isabelle? Burdock root, native to L’Isle-Adam, which I do need, yes. But that isn’t the whole reason I came…”

Magnus keeps his expression stoic, unwilling to betray the trepidation he feels at the path his current thoughts take.

“I need to get my magic back... I was reading up on a reversal of the spell Asmodeus used on me. Instead of taking magic, the caster would give part of their own to another. There isn’t a lot written on it, but… I think it can work.”

“...I’ve heard about that.” Catarina says, and Magnus’ face falls. He was counting on the fact that, by some small miracle, she hadn’t. Because if she knows what he’s talking about then Magnus already knows what’s coming next before she even opens her mouth.

“You can’t seriously be considering that so soon, can you?”

“I know it’s primarily been used on Non-Warlocks-”

“-all of whom died from the rejection of the magic in bodies not meant to hold it.” Cat supplies quickly, making sure he couldn’t skip around that fact.

“But it does have documented attempts on Warlocks, too.” He continues.

“Yes. Attempts to transfer magic which have resulted in uncontrollable powers at best, and, again, death at the very worst.” Cat looks at him with a mixture of surprise and concern. “You can’t possibly think this is a good idea.”

“I don’t have any ideas, good or bad. It’s the only thing I’ve been able to find that seems even remotely helpful. And it’s never been used on a Warlock with no magic before. All of the previous complications with warlocks were from having two different sources of power fighting within the host. If I only have one…” he trails off. He doesn’t know what will happen with just one, of course, but he’s desperate enough to find out.

“Your magic - your specific signature - is a part of you. To put some foreign essence inside of you like that, the chances of your body rejecting it like a bad transplant, the chances of it going wrong-”

“-are all chances I’m willing to take. I can’t keep living like this, Cat. You don’t know… you can’t imagine how empty I am. How wrong it feels to just exist like this. I haven’t stopped since I got back because every time I’m too still--.” He pauses, looking up at her with pleading eyes just shy of tears. He can’t bring himself to talk about it anymore, it’s too overwhelming. “I need your help.”

“Magnus...”

“I can’t perform the spell on myself and no one else will so much as speak to me about it, by direct order of the High Warlock of Brooklyn.” Magnus spits the title out with bitterness.

“Magnus, I can’t. Not because of Lorenzo - you know I want nothing more than to help you get your magic back, and if I thought giving you part of mine was the solution I would, I really would, consequences be damned. But I’m not powerful enough for something of this scope. Not with how much magic I use every day with work. And even if I was…” She hesitates. Magnus wants her to stop there. He almost cuts her off because the idea that it was simply a matter of her not being able to, that he could compartmentalize and store away. But it isn’t, and they both know it. He remains silent as she continues. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. You’re upset, and you’re frustrated, and you haven’t given this enough thought.” She’s only looking out for him. If he were actually thinking clearly he’d see that. But instead all he hears is that she thinks he’s being foolish. That he’s making a mistake, just like the mistake he made in giving Lilith that potion, and in thinking he was strong enough (or clever enough) to deal with Asmodeus. Just another mistake to add to the list that would be the end of his legacy: a great man buried by an avalanche of missteps.

“I’ve given it nothing but thought. Thinking is all I can do since I’m useless everywhere else now.” Magnus shakes his head, defending himself but no longer working to convince her. They’ve been friends long enough for him to know when her mind is made up.

“You’re not useless and you know it. There’s more to you-” “-oh just shut up already.” Magnus snaps. “If one more person tells me I’m more than just my magic, I’m going to scream.”

There’s a heavy pause immediately following his words in which Magnus knows with no uncertainty he fucked up.

“I think you should go home.” Catarina’s tone isn’t angry, but it is colder than the comfort she offered before. “Take a step back and give me a call later. I’ll have the burdock root for you then.”

Magnus winces, her controlled politeness worse than any anger she could respond with. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She pauses. “You know what else I know? That you came here to ask me to help you perform a spell that might kill you, or have any number of consequences we don’t know about - and that would all fall on me. The Magnus I know would never put his friends in a position like that.”

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes again, because it’s all he can seem to do. She’s right, of course. And it’s why he didn’t want to go to her in the first place - he wanted to find someone neutral, someone he could pay off to go through with it no questions asked. It was a solid plan until Lorenzo went and complicated everything.

So Magnus was forced to go to Catarina because if anyone is willing to go to extremes to help him, it’s her. Perhaps that’s the very reason he shouldn’t have - he’s abusing her good nature for something selfish. What if she agreed and something happened to her? How could he live with himself?

Not to mention if something happens to him. Magnus knows the risks and accepts full responsibility for them, which would do nothing to stop Cat from blaming herself if he dies with her magic coursing through him. Maybe he isn’t thinking clearly, but the longer he goes on without magic the worse he imagines that problem will become. He certainly isn’t going to grow more rational the more disconnected he feels from himself.

Magnus is broken out of his thoughts by the sound of Catarina’s voice. “What does Alec have to say about all this?”

Magnus winces again and remains silent.

“You haven’t told him, have you?” Her tone turns accusatory again.

“No need to if it isn’t going to happen, is there? I’ll worry him when there’s cause to. He has enough on his plate right now without my wild goose chases.” He shrugs, mentally cursing the dead-end Lorenzo caused him, when a thought occurs to him. He hates it, but it gives him a flicker of hope just the same.

“We’ll figure this out,” Cat continues, unaware of his epiphany. “We can do more research on the reversal spell first - we don’t have to write it off entirely - and keep looking for other alternatives. Safer alternatives. There’s a solution out there and none of us are going to stop until we find it, alright?”

“Alright,” he says, distracted, and hears the word fall flat. Magnus is careful to throw a smile her way and brighten his tone, which is an almost impossible task given the stomach-turning idea that crosses his mind just then. If he’s really going to go through with this he needs to make sure Catarina isn’t keeping tabs on him. He needs her to believe he’s dropping it, at least for now… at least long enough to make one more visit.

“Of course. You’re right. I’m rushing into this… I’m not thinking clearly.” Magnus nods. “I’m mortal now, but it isn’t like I’m on my deathbed. There’s time to figure this out.”

He says the words in response to Cat but his mind is elsewhere, thoughts racing at a possibility of one last place he can turn. Catarina eyes him suspiciously but decides to embrace the change of heart as a good thing. And why shouldn’t she assume he’s fine for now: with no Warlock in the city willing to help him it isn’t as if he can run out and do something immediately, right?

“Just promise me you aren’t going to do anything stupid. I’ve nearly lost you twice now, I can’t do it a third time.”

“You have my word.”

It isn’t a total lie because he’s convinced this isn’t stupid. Risky, yes. Humiliating, certainly. His absolute last resort is enough to make his skin crawl to even consider, but it’s the only option he has and he needs to try.

There’s only one warlock with access the level of power he needs. One who won’t bat an eye at the potential side-effects to him. The only warlock who isn’t forbidden from helping him, because he’s the one who gave the order in the first place.

It’s time to pay a visit to Lorenzo Rey.

#magnus bane #catarina loss #shadowhunters #shfanficnexus #sh spoilers #i had to rework some of this when the sneak peek came out today but I MADE IT WORK #elle writes a few deadbeat lines

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violetsystems · 3 years

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#personal

For once I’m not terribly moody although I did wake up pretty early. My mom called last night presumably while I fell asleep watching the Road Warrior. I also watched Alien Covenant for the first time yesterday all the way through. I’ve been living all this time thinking they never patched the plot holes together from Prometheus. Lots of DNA porn in that. If there is such a thing. I’m sure everyone has seen it by now so I’m not spoiling anything. But the bomb dropping on an alien planet in the form of a chain of nucleotides is kind of raw. Bleached blond android reminiscent of 1940′s Germany though still undoubtably referencing Lawrence of Arabia. It reminds me of an avalanche moreover the effect of how snow particles reorganize themselves. This effect is called the Catherine Wheel and forms together when smaller particles shift together between bigger mass movements. I love that quote from Stone Island somewhere back in 2008. A purple jacket with embroidery talking about snowflake responsibility when it all comes tumbling down. Life lately seems to be a nonstop seesaw of hope and fear. I’ve been kind of stuck in a holding pattern with everything. One of the biggest roadblocks was a vaccine. I took the train earlier in the week one block to Bulls Stadium. I live that close. In about twenty minutes I was all patched up with the latest update. It’s 2021 mind you. I’m still recovering from a mortal wound back last July. I was in New York that February at the heat of it. The simple fact that I’ve stayed alive is a triumph to me. But after a full five days after being vaccinated there are no real side effects to talk about. I read somewhere someone who wrote at length how the side effect they felt was guilt. That somehow they didn’t deserve this when the rest of the world is suffering. That narrative is problematic at the moment for me. The sticker I received after getting poked in the arm helped me understand it better. Protect Chicago. When the military nurse injected me I replied that I was thankful for their help. They replied it was the other way around. Getting vaccinated is certainly the healthy thing you can do if you can get it. It’s also rather understandable to feel confused as to which one to get. I do feel lucky to be able to experience a platform that is the start of something new for medical science. MRNA is about as real as it gets. There is no live virus. It is more a set of instructions. I was eligible because I live in a high risk zip code. The dosages for Chicago were made available federally. So I don’t feel so much as guilt really after what I’ve been through. However it all worked out in the end doesn’t honor or dignify all that was sacrificed in the process. The virus to me was an exogenous shock to the system here in America. And it was ongoing. It trapped me. It trapped us all really. And the light at the end of the tunnel couldn’t start until the shot was in my arm. It’s too bad the tunnel pretty much collapsed behind me. But things reorder themselves after a disaster. Gravity pulls everything back to earth. My mom’s call was to inform me her new neighbors knocked on the door. Her old neighbor died. A terribly awful lady who yelled at my mom anytime she stepped into her backyard. My mom suspects her new neighbors are from Jamaica. She loves Jamaica. We went there one summer when I was little. She loved embarrassing me dancing to live music. I love the clear ocean water and being solicited on the street with huge garbage bags of weed. I was twelve back then. I thought it was salad. Either way I mentioned to her not to assume anything from an accent. She’s going to go to Home Depot and buy them a plant to show them some love.

As far as neighbors go, we’ve had a little turnover in my building. According to my landlord, it’s a full house. My mom lives just outside the city on the border. I live near the Heart of Chicago in an area called the Lower West Side. West side and south side are night and day. People from the South Side wear their White Sox hats like they’re part of a shock troop invasion sometimes. People on the west side don’t give a fuck. Dance Mania records originated in the Lawndale neighborhood far west. Most of the Teklife footwork culture started further south near 95th and the Dan Ryan. My mom lives a bus ride away from the old Battlegrounds spot. But Chicago is by definition safer when you understand we live block by block. DJ Deeon said it best. Block business. Every street has it’s own culture and lore. It gets harder to parse as the years go by mostly because things get more diverse. Narratives get buried. People get it twisted. And you never know whose toes you are stepping on. People are always trying to get a read on you. Maybe pigeonhole you into a social group so they can worry less. I’ve had people tell me they get nervous when they couldn’t keep tabs on me. I’ve never been one to hold myself back from exploring. I’ve wandered back and forth to Korea, Japan and China by myself. The last year and a half has been sort of torture for me. I’ve felt trapped and in limbo. Much less the last few weeks. There’s always little signs that things are getting better around you. Or at least signs that people understand your context and what it is that makes you happy. There’s also always people out there that think they know you better. Chicago can be up in your face at times. Accusatory. It doesn’t like lone wolves unless it can corral them together in a pen. There’s always an agenda here. Much like anywhere. But in Chicago, it moves slower. Gentrification to me here has always been a sweeping motion. People come in that you don’t know and claim to be neighbors. They set up camp in your sacred spaces and you assume there’s some sort of mutual understanding. Community can be somewhat pushy when it comes to sharing power. Nobody has ever really ever asked me anything. It’s always statements or projections. I can explain this by how many times people have asked or said my name in the last year. It’s painfully low. People aren’t polite. They are balancing huge weights on their shoulders. I get that nobody has time for me. Living in a city like Chicago is facetime every time you walk out the door. But there’s times when people would rather just be rid of you than have to settle up. And there’s enough intimidation out here that goes hand in hand with gentrification. If you resist you obviously have some problem. And when you do, you are asking for more trouble. And yet after awhile standing your ground in Chicago is a lot like being a stick in the mud. There’s a point when people give up trying to push an immovable object. They just build around the foundation of it. And in some ways having a history of being both exceptionally mobile and classically predictable is a good thing. Of all the things I could have worried about the last nine months it was having a place to live and shelter in place. It isn’t like I have to go very far for real culture. I don’t own a car. The train is literally out my kitchen window. I can walk to Chinatown. I get Korean stew every Sunday. The faces I see every day are not exclusively Caucasian although the intimidation I feel is primarily from White people. I stumbled the other day when the operator on the vaccine line asked my race. I said white at first but white isn’t a race. It isn’t even a culture. I’m half Swedish, a little German and Croatian. I don’t see anybody sitting home on a Saturday night watching Anthony Hopkins as Hrothgar to celebrate their heritage around here with me. I do see a bunch of generic white people fearful that I’m something they can’t control. Welcome to America I guess.

I have family all over the world. A cousin who lives in Hong Kong who I’ve reached out to again but has gone silent. Another cousin from Africa I’ve never met who shares the same name as me but not the same color of skin. These little details are lost amongst a sea of paranoia, disinformation and pranks. I write the same shit here every weekend like a faq on Usenet. Frequently asked questions about our friend we’ve known for years but can’t trust. Things better left unsaid or skimmed over. Most of being confident in this age is realizing when you are not the problem. Everybody is looking for someone to blame. And everybody is talking on the internet. Everybody wants to win their argument in a cage match to an audience of influencers around the globe. There are real people in every situation suffering in complex ways that you size up on your forums. Everyone is a private detective. Everybody plays CSI. Everybody got the latest dirt on the tiniest speck of dust in the wind. And everything is twisted to fit a larger agenda and narrative that becomes impossibly complex until it collapses. We all get lost in the Avalanche. Failures and fuckups get lost in an alternate reality game of ABC’s and P’s and Q’s. Trying to juggle and wiggle through these busy bodies that don’t give a fuck about us. Trying to argue with a brick wall that will soon shift and crumble. And we all feel completely small in the process. A little snowflake. All by itself. Resorted by the tides of the moon with each passing invisible wave of gravity and physics. The entropy of things that what we build can fall apart eventually. How long that happens is determined by the bonds we keep. Whether it’s worth it in the long run. And I worry less these days about what isn’t working and more about what keeps me together. Where I land within all of this. I’ve felt alone and not so much over the last year or so. I long for physical connection just like anybody else. But without the right foundation it’s damn near impossible to connect it all together. Sometimes when the avalanche comes, it’s better to roll with the punches and see how it all sorts out. And there are plenty of seismic rifts happening in the world today acting upon by any number of exogenous shocks. The virus being one of them. When it’s lifted, the problems we had before all of this are still there. And the tunnel to the past has all but been demolished. Where do you go forward in the light? Maybe you just take a rest. Maybe you wait for people to recover their sense of balance and direction. After that kind of disaster you definitely don’t make any sudden movements. I’ve thought about travelling again this summer. This idea of revenge travel is ridiculous to me and slightly toxic. If everybody is filled with bloodlust, I’d rather just relax at home until it’s my time to shine. I’ve been to New York so many times already and nobody ever wants to hang out. And for once in my life all the signposts point back to here at least when it comes to sanctuary. Everybody in the world is looking for Sanctuary. Everybody in the world wants peace. And yet not everyone in the world wants to see eye to eye and share this planet together. Not everyone wants to put their ego aside and respect the dignity and horror of being alive. And subsequently many people have an internalized guilt over this. They romanticize it. They deflect and project it back onto you. They gaslight and pretend you are invisible. They create false narratives to help them sleep at night when their nerves are on fire from consumption, greed, and guilt. And the bullshit ultimately floats to the surface of this toilet we call life. My life at times in the last nine months feels like it was flushed down the toilet. Like some well meaning android dropped a bomb of toxic shit on my entire game plan. I’m resilient enough to live through it. I’m smart enough not to consider revenge. I’ll be more comfortable with that statement after I get my second shot. Until then I’m not making any sudden moves. Or any controversial statements other than I still love you. <3 Tim

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neuxue · 6 years

Text

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 22

So...I read the chapter. That was...

Chapter 22: The Last That Could Be Done

Oh.

Okay.

Well that…uh... that… sure is a chapter title. Yeah. Um.

It certainly evokes the idea of a threshold. Which… I am starting to see why you were all so eager for me to get here.

(For those who are curious: my guess at this point, reinforced by that title, is that this is when Rand reaches his low point and crosses that last line somehow. The somehow seems likely to involve Semirhage and the a’dam that is being kept in a SMALL. WOODEN. BOX.)

The Last That Could Be Done. Just…damn.

That just leaves the question…done by, or done to?

I should probably stop staring at the chapter title and actually read the chapter, shouldn’t I?

OH EXCELLENT IT STARTS WITH SEMIRHAGE. HEEEEERRRRRREEE WE GOOOOOOOO.

During her days, prisoners hadn’t been denied light.

Um, Semirhage? ‘Alone, in the dark, with the pain’ ringing any bells?

Oh okay fair she admits it in the next sentence.

There’s a part of me that’s a little bit…annoyed?...at how Semirhage was broken so easily. I absolutely get the point that was being made, and on one hand okay sure I can work with that but on the other hand…the rapidity with which it worked and the fact that she’s now huddling in a corner trying not to cry seems to almost cheapen her character somehow.

Of course, this is coming from me, and I have a whole Thing with competent characters (usually villains) being robbed of that competence at plot-critical moments. But that’s very much a personal preference thing and a Lia Has A Type thing, so. YMMV.

Torture made sense. You truly saw what a person was made of, in more ways than one, when you began to slice into them.

That’s a terrible pun Semirhage and you should be ashamed.

Why couldn’t they have given her pain?

This is such an excellent line. It’s so wonderfully…ambiguous? And the way it’s phrased, along with the actual meaning and implication, is just off enough to make it stand out.

She had steeled her mind to each of these things, preparing for them. A small, eager part of herself had looked forward to them.

Of course she had. And Semirhage is in such an interesting position in terms of the whole ‘figs and mice’ thing. She knows pain and torture so intimately, knows probably more ways to hurt someone than her gaolers could begin to think of, has spent a disturbing amount of time studying pain and the nature of pain. So what she is capable of imagining is so much worse than what would probably have been done to her, which was Juilin’s whole point with the figs and mice explanation. But Semirhage also has such a clinical and precise understanding of all of this that it would almost certainly not have the same psychological effect…it would have been interesting to see this play out.

Oh hey Shaidar Haran. This will no doubt end well.

“You have been given one last chance,” the maggotlike lips whispered. “Do. Not. Fail.”

Yep, I’m sure this will all turn out wonderfully.

Three corpses, everything’s fine.

“I live to serve, Great Mistress,” the woman whispered. “I am instructed to tell you that there is Compulsion in my mind you are to remove.”

Is this Verin’s Compulsion? Shall we start keeping a tally of How Many Things Can Go Wrong In One Chapter? I feel like setting Semirhage free is one of those things that’s just going to set off an avalanche of OH SHIT.

“Also,” the woman said, handing something forward, wrapped in cloth.

Oh shit.

“I am to give you this.” She removed the cloth, revealing a dull-coloured metallic collar, and two bracelets. The Domination Band.

Well.

Here we go, then.

I mean, I was kind of expecting it to come to this, but still…well played on getting that Domination Band into the hands of, out of the cast of the entire series, the person capable of doing the absolute maximum damage with it. The one who best knows how to torment, how to break, how to find the cracks and pry them open. Giving Semirhage, the Lady of Pain, a way to have absolute control over someone…that’s the stuff of nightmares. Especially because she’s not motivated by anger; she’s clinical and precise and she delights in this. “He must know pain of heart. He must know frustration, and he must know anguish.” Putting this tool in Semirhage’s hands and setting her loose?

A smile finally broke through Semrihage’s fear.

This is going to be spectacular.

And now we’re in Rand’s POV. I’m ready. Let’s do this.

Lews Therin’s memories. Not his own.

What is Lews Therin’s is yours, Rand. You are the Dragon Reborn. That is the entire point. Lews Therin is your past, but that does not define the fate of your present. Accept it, use it, learn from it. Claim it and make it a part of you because right now you’re almost literally tearing yourself apart.

I do feel like we’re close to a turning point with this though, one way or another, purely because of how prominent it has become in Rand’s thoughts. It’s reached the point where it doesn’t feel sustainable any longer; it’s always been headed there but now it’s not just a slip of memory here and there, something that can be ignored or brushed aside to be dealt with later. He’s holding on to an idea or a barrier or a specific sense of identity and there’s too much pressure on those walls, and any moment now it’s going to shatter. And I’m really, really interested to see how that plays out.

“Has it occurred to you,” Ituralde said, riding on Rand’s left, “that what we are doing here could constitute an invasion?”

NO SHIT. Rand’s just like ‘there are some Saldaeans it’s fine’ and Bashere and Ituralde are probably wondering what they’ve done to deserve this.

“I am the Dragon Reborn. It is not an invasion to march against the forces of the Dark One.”

Well, that’s…a fair point. How much do borders matter, at the end of the world? How much should they matter?

And it’s that difference between ‘do’ and ‘should’ that can be so frustrating and discouraging, but at the same time it’s human; the apocalypse is huge and all-encompassing and too much to actually take in and deal with and accept, much less begin to systematically address, but sovereignty and invasion and homeland are much more manageable concepts. And much closer, more personal concepts for most than some nebulous and not always well defined impending doom. So instead we continue to contribute to our own destruction, perhaps because putting some of those grievances aside would mean accepting that there really is something larger, something infinitely more terrifying, something we don’t know how to address, something we could no longer hide from once we acknowledge it. Easier to defend your home and your people against a definable them than stand beside them and defend an entire world against forces of nature or fate or our own selves.

Sorry, that verged on political there for a second.

It was an act of war, but the Borderlanders’ forces were away doing Light only knew what, and he would not leave these lands undefended.

This, on the other hand, still makes me want to hit my head repeatedly with a brick. Luckily, I recently purchased a hardcover copy of Oathbringer.

Ow.

But seriously, Borderlanders, WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT. It’s still just so absurd, like ‘oh this guy is ignoring us while we mind our own business guarding the Blight, guess we’d better leave the Blight to go find him and tell him to…pay attention to the Blight’. Why. Why.

Maps sometimes couldn’t convey the truth eyes could see.

Sanderson, I think you and I need to sit down and have a chat about maps.

Also reading this is just an exercise in anticipation because you KNOW WHAT’S COMING.

Well, you know what’s coming. I just know that SEMIRHAGE AND THE DOMINATION BAND AND THIS IS GOING TO GO SO VERY WRONG ANY MOMENT NOW but my point stands.

“I will leave some of Bashere’s officers with you as advisors,” Rand said.

“That would help,” Ituralde said, “but I wonder if it wouldln’t be better to just leave him here.”

I do love Ituralde. And Bashere. I want more of the two of them together.

But Ituralde has a point, and not even from a ‘this is an invasion and not like that time Switzerland accidentally invaded Leichtenstein but an actual invasion’ perspective, but from the simple fact that he doesn’t know the Blight. Bashere does. Friends don’t let friends fight Russia in winter, and friends don’t let friends run blindly into the Blight.

“No offense, my Lord, but don’t you think it’s odd to have us working in each other’s kingdoms?”

Ah but here, see, we come back to my earlier question. Should those borders matter? Can they afford to care about whose kingdom is whose, when they’re all fighting for the future of the entire world now? Are the borders not part of the problem, dividing them when they need to be united in facing the Shadow? At least for now, they need to be able to work across borders. They’re all on the same side in this – or at least, they need to be – and perhaps forcing them to work in a nation that isn’t theirs is a way to enforce that, in a strange way. To say that it doesn’t matter what country you’re in right now; it matters that you’re standing against that.

It wasn’t odd, it was bitter sense. He trusted Bashere, and the Saldaeans had served Rand well, but it would be dangerous to leave them in their own homelands. […] His reasoning with Ituralde was equally brutal. The man had sworn to him, but allegiances could change. Out here, near the Blight, Ituralde and his troops would have very little opportunity to turn against Rand. They were in hostile territory, and Rand’s Asha’man would be their only quick means of getting back to Arad Doman. If left in his homeland, however, Ituralde could marshal troops and perhaps decide he didn’t need the Dragon Reborn’s protection.

It was much safer to keep the armies in hostile territory.

And that’s all true and pragmatic and probably effective, but I feel like this is a perfect example of the whole concept of “if he goes to Tarmon Gai’don as he is, even his victory may be as dark as his defeat.”

It’s a case of ‘right thing for the wrong reasons’ – all of this is true, but it’s not the reason Rand perhaps should be thinking of. Instead of seeing this as a chance to encourage unity and common cause, he thinks about how to make use of enmity in order to hold things together just a little longer before they inevitably fall apart. He’s dividing rather than uniting, even though his actions would be more or less the same either way. It’s an issue of mindset and perspective and purpose; he does not trust, he does not seem to believe any longer that there is a way to truly unite everyone. Instead it’s a question of force, of holding everything together and pushing through just enough to get to that end goal, but that’s not enough. And it draws closer and closer to the Shadow’s goals. Play on distrust, sow chaos, play towards but never beyond the ending.

Rand hated thinking that way, but that was one of the main differences between the man he had been and the man he had become. Only one of those men could do what needed to be done, no matter that he hated it.

And he doesn’t see it. It’s not just about what must be done; it’s remembering why.

[Narishma] had been a Borderlander, too, before he had become Asha’man. Too many clouded loyalties. Which would come first for Narishma? His homeland? Rand? The Aes Sedai to whom he was a Warder?

Except it shouldn’t matter because all of those should be aimed at the same thing right now. But ‘should’ is not always ‘is’. Also, Rand, Narishma nearly died bringing Callandor to you. And then there’s Dumai’s Wells and the Cleansing. Maaaaaaaaaybe trust the kid?

I want more of Narishma. He’s intriguing and he’s had some really cool moments but it feels like he hasn’t yet had his turn in the spotlight and I’d like to see him have that. I’d actually really love to see him interact with Logain. I feel like that would be A Lot.

But the most dangerous enemies were those you assumed you could trust.

Ah, Rand. It’s…he has been so hurt before, and he has so little ability to trust, and it’s not even remotely difficult to see why. And he needs to be able to trust some people, because it’s all part of the same spiral, but it’s hard to even criticise him for this because while it’s obvious from the outside how damaging it is…how can he still trust?

It’s true of so much of his path at the moment; there are so many things he’s doing that he really should not be doing, and he’s tearing away pieces of himself and trying to harden himself and it’s all so very damaging but how can he not? But he needs to find a different way, and that’s the most difficult part. That’s the heroic effort, however it ends up playing out. But he has to go through all of this first, has to make those mistakes because they’re the only way he can see to remain even remotely functional, but also because given what he’s been through and what he sees ahead it’s nigh on unfathomable that he would just pass gracefully through and never stumble.

The night where he had dreamed of Moridin, and there had been no Lews Therin in his mind. It twisted Rand’s belly to know that his dreams were no longer safe. He had come to rely on them as a refuge. Nightmares could take him, true, but they were his own nightmares.

And how awful is that? That he seeks refuge even in nightmares because there is so little refuge left to him now. His own mind is a minefield, the world is duty and pain, and now even those dreams have been taken from him, along with everything else. He has nowhere to escape, almost no one he trusts, and no longer much hope for the future. Alone, in the dark, with the pain.

But okay. That dream with Moridin. And Rand had come to rely on his dreams as a refuge, but that was…almost what it was, even then, with his enemy at his side. Because that dream was when he felt stable, felt more himself, and he just…sat, quietly, looking at the fire. Talking with Moridin but neither of them fighting.

And then we come to the fact that dreams are clearly a refuge for Moridin as well. He didn’t expect Rand, didn’t bring Rand into that dream. He was just…there. Sitting in front of the fire. Tired and without hope.

Rand is the Chosen One, the one who must fight again and again at each turn of the Wheel, fighting a battle that may never be truly won because victory only buys another chance, another cycle.

But Moridin or Ishamael or Elan Morin Tedronai is chosen as well, a Chosen Antagonist. If his interpretation is correct, he, like Rand, will be spun out again and again to fight in the ultimate battle of good against evil, of Light and Shadow, time and again. And to lose. As Moridin put it, “When you are victorious, it only leads to another battle. When he is victorious, all things will end. Can you not see that there is no hope for you? […] there will be no eternities. Only the now, the last days.” And he was ostensibly talking to Rand, but I think he was also speaking of himself.

This is their story, a simple story that they will play out – like Birgitte and Gaidal Cain – in a thousand variations. They will face each other with the world at stake – a world that has cause to hate and fear them both, but refuses to let them go.

And when you realise that your fated recurring role is the Eternal Antagonist, you either seek an ending or you convince yourself that this is what you wanted all along. As Ishamael, he tried the latter. As Moridin…the former seems the only option left to him.

Is it any wonder, then, that when we first meet him he all but thinks himself the Dark One? He has immense power but for all that he is watching the Wheel turn and the Pattern play itself out, knowing that for him it will always mean a loss. And so he takes on the persona of the only one – he thinks – with the power to break this Pattern that weaves him to betrayal after betrayal, to fall after fall, to fight after fight that he cannot avoid but cannot win. He takes on the guise and the identity of one who has power he never will, and lies to himself, because if he is powerful then this is his choice, and he has a chance at true victory, of re-writing his role, even if not for the better.

And he does have a choice – they both do, in how they step into those roles and where they let that path take them, and how they face it. It comes back to the why, to the question of what are you fighting for, to the nature of hope and the choice to hold to it or abandon it. But it’s also a question of perception. Rand perceives himself as constrained because duty will not allow him to step aside; he will see the world saved because he cannot stand by and watch it burn. It is a choice, but to him it doesn’t always feel like one. And Moridin… “your logic destroyed you, didn’t it?” He is constrained by what he sees as inevitability – which is almost ironic, in that by capitulating to inevitability he makes of it a self-fulfilling prophecy. So both absolutely do have choices (I promise the purpose of this is not ‘Moridin did nothing wrong’), but both are also subject, especially in terms of their own perception, to the weaving of the Pattern.

So here you have the two Chosen Ones, one fated to have a slim chance of saving the world but only through pain, and the other fated to fail in its destruction, time and time again.

It’s no surprise, really, that they both find a refuge of sorts in dreams, and even that they can sit in one side by side for a few moments.

And that was a bit of a digression. Oops. I just have a lot of Thoughts about Moridin, and about Moridin-and-Rand and the choices they make and the roles they play and what leads them there and how they see those roles, and how they are alike but not, sides of a coin tossed again and again.

Anyway.

Why had Moridin come to help Rand in Shadar Logoth, back during the fight with Sammael? What twisted webs was he weaving? He had claimed that Rand had invaded his dream, but was that just another lie?

No, I’m pretty much certain that was true. That Moridin really does just…use those dreams as a chance to escape from his own place in all of this, for a time.

He and Rand are both focused on an ending right now. Rand is increasily focused on just getting to Tarmon Gai’don, on ‘we can die at Tarmon Gai’don’, at forcing everything to that one point and progressively losing hope of anything that might come after. He’s losing sight of why he’s fighting and of the purpose of all of this, looking only at that one point when it will all finally be over.

And I think Moridin’s…kind of in a similar position. Which says something about Rand’s current mindset and brings us back to the ‘even his victory may be as dark as his defeat’ thing. It’s also more or less exactly where Moridin wants Rand to be. He must know anguish…

Except that Min didn’t want him to be hard.

I am trying not to make the obvious joke here. I’m trying. I swear.

She might call him a fool, but she did not lie, and that made him want to be the man she wished him to be. But did he dare? Could a man who could laugh also be the man who could face what needed to be done at Shayol Ghul?

Rather blunt terms, but…yeah, that’s kind of the crux of the problem at this point. He doesn’t see how to reconcile those, because he doesn’t see a way to let himself feel without shattering.

It would take a hard man to face his own death, to fight the Dark One while his blood spilled on the rocks. Who could laugh in the face of that?

…Yeah. Oh, Rand.

That’s the thing; on some level he can just about see that what he’s doing to himself right now maybe isn’t good, but he can’t see another way. Because how can he face that? Except he has to, and I’m still fairly sure a large part of that is going to be in accepting who he is and who he was, and in finding…is it a pun if I say ‘a memory of light’?

She says we need to break the seals. She’s right.

Rand froze, pulling Tai’daishar up short, ignoring the groom who had come to take the horse. To hear Lews Therin agreeing…

What do we do after that? Rand asked.

We die.

Well that was almost helpful, Lews, thanks.

You know that if he wins, there will be nothing for us. Not even death. Yes…nothing, Lews Therin said. That would be nice. No pain, no regret. Nothing.

If he wins, there will be nothing. That’s…more or less what Moridin said and again, he seemed to welcome it. Which makes ‘not even death’ also a pun and I would say I’m sorry but I’m not at all sorry.

What I am is wondering how much of an effect the bond or link or whatever it is between Rand and Moridin might have on their thoughts and mindsets.

Rand felt a chill. If Lews Therin began to think that way…No, Rand said, It wouldn’t be nothing. He would have our soul. The pain would be worse, far worse.

Oh, Rand. He still desperately doesn’t want to die, though he doesn’t see another option. And more than that, the ‘if Lews Therin began to think that way…’ it’s as if Rand himself can barely avoid falling into that mindset, and if Lews Therin starts to, it’ll only make it all the harder. Especially because Lews Therin is Rand but that’s another issue. But Rand is just barely holding on as it is, and he’s already promised Lews Therin that they can die at Tarmon Gai’don, and now to have Lews Therin wondering if defeat might not be the better choice, if maybe oblivion is preferable…it’s hard enough for Rand to hold on to any reason to keep going and this would be too much.

And so he argues with himself, trying to remind himself that it would be even more pain, that it wouldn’t get better, that he can’t just stop that easily, that it isn’t an escape. That he has to keep going.

(Also I’m once again thinking of Moridin and his seeming eagerness for this ending of everything, and…if he’s thinking along the same lines as Lews Therin is, but if Rand is right…)

It didn’t work, Lews Therin whispered. We used saidin, but we touched it to the Dark One. It was the only way! Something has to touch him, something to close the gap, but he was able to taint it.

Oh.

OH.

Something has to touch him.

There’s a link between Rand and Moridin.

The True Power cannot be tainted, because it is already of the Dark One.

Moridin can touch the True Power.

‘A Memory of Light’…

I wonder.

Duty was like a mountain. Well, Rand felt as if he was trapped between a good dozen different mountains, all moving to destroy him.

I mean you did turn yourself into one…

The sun was near to setting, and the mountains were bathed in a red light. Beyond them and to the south, so strangely close, lay Emond’s Field and the Two Rivers. A home he would never see again, for a visit would only alert his enemies to his affection for it. He had worked hard to make them think he was a man without affection. At times, he feared that his ruse had become reality.

Mountains. Mountains like duty. The duty of solitude in this case, for somewhere southward along those too-near mountains was his father. Tam.

This whole passage is lovely; sad and beautiful. ‘The duty of solitude’. And the setting sun, bathing those mountains in red – a gathering storm, a growing darkness, a fading light that becomes harder and harder to see as all that is left to him is a duty that feels like it will crush him. The mountains of duty and the red of blood and battle and all that he can see of his future, as the light vanishes.

And at times, he feared that this ruse had become reality. It’s the much more painful side of ‘fake it ‘till you make it’. In the early books he was very much projecting an image of the person he needed to be, or thought he needed to be, but wasn’t yet. But how long can that last before it becomes reality? How far can you go before you lose yourself to it? At some point, does it matter whether it’s a ruse or reality, if the actions taken are the same? Where is that line and how do you keep it from vanishing entirely?

At times, Rand longed for Tam’s voice, his wisdom. Those were the times when Rand knew he had to be the most hard, for a moment of weakness – a moment running to his father for succor – would destroy nearly everything he had worked for. And it would likely mean the end of Tam’s life as well.

But he can’t keep closing off those he loves, and those who love him. The duty of solitude, he calls it, but that’s…part of the problem. He has so few left that he trusts, and there are few left who even see the humanity in him, not to mention his pain, and he can’t do this alone.

Also I just really, really want a Rand and Tam reunion. Rand needs Tam. Rand needs pretty much anyone he can get who still loves him as Rand. And also TAM.

He needed to be alone. Relying on anyone would risk being weak when he reached Shayol Ghul. At the Last Battle, he would not be able to lean on anyone other than himself.

Except…the opposite of this.

Again though, it’s all too easy to see how he comes to this line of thinking. He’s been hurt and betrayed, and he fears that anyone near him will be hurt as well, but…you can’t do this alone, Rand. He has the two other ta’veren, and he will need them. He has Min and Elayne and Aviendha, and he relies on their bond to strengthen him. He has Nynaeve, and he doesn’t have Tam right now but he should, and he has Bashere and Lan and his other allies and he needs all of them; he may stand at the centre of what is coming but the Last Battle can’t just be him. He can’t do all of it on his own. And again, what is he fighting for, if he closes himself off to that extent? It will only get more difficult to care about the rest of the world if he doesn’t allow him to care about those closest to him.

At this rate, his stewards worried that he would soon bankrupt his assets in Illian, Tear and Cairhien. Rand had not told them that he didn’t care. He would see the world to the Last Battle.

And will you have no legacy other than that? a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Not Lews Therin, but his own thought, a small voice, the part of him that had prompted him to found schools in Cairhien and Andor. You wish to live after you die? Will you leave allof those who follow you to war, famine and chaos? Will the destruction be how you live on?

Rand shook his head. He couldn’t fix everything! He was just one man. Looking beyond the Last Battle was foolish. He couldn’t worry about the world then, he couldn’t. To do so would be to take his eye of the goal. And what is the goal? that voice seemed to say. Is it to survive, or is it to thrive? Will you set the groundwork for another Breaking or for another Age of Legends?

What are you fighting for. You need to remember, otherwise you will destroy it in your effort to achieve it. And this is his struggle right now, to care about what comes after, when it’s taking everything he has just to get there. To care not just about victory at the Last Battle but about what that victory means, and what it establishes. Because if all he thinks about is that one single point, if he burns the world to win, then he has not won at all.

And he knows that, but it’s so hard for him to accept and to acknowledge because it’s too much; he’s right that he can’t fix everything, and that he’s just one man. He has to let others help him, and he has to look past that point, and that’s why his role as the potential saviour of the world fucking sucks, because it’s demanding of him everything he has and then some, and he doesn’t even have much hope that he’ll be around to see what comes next. He just has to care anyway, and caring hurts.

Eerily, Rand felt as if he could almost remember those events – not what had happened, but the anger, the desperation, the decision. Was the mistake, then, not using the female half of the Power as well as the male?

Well, partly. Or perhaps they would both have been tainted. But yes, collaboration is probably a good starting point.

There was a game children played, Snakes and Foxes. It was said that the only way to win was to break the rules.

I mean, finding a way to turn the True Power against the Dark One, thus making the Shadow’s own power serve the purpose of the Light could certainly be considered ‘breaking the rules’. The question is how. Moridin seems like the answer there, but…how? Can he be forced into it? Or…I mean okay I’m not sure I want to even hope for redemption here because Ingtar aside that’s not really how these books seem to go but there is the whole no man can walk so long in the Shadow that he cannot come again to the Light so it’s not impossible, maybe…

Could he break the rules by slaying the Dark One?

No don’t do that that’s a terrible idea.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard again, sheepherder,” Min said.

“I have to.”

She pinched his neck hard, and he flinched, grunting. “No you don’t,” she said, her voice close to his ear. “Haven’t you been listening to me? What good will you be if you wear yourself out before you reach the Last Battle?”

Listen to Min, Rand, she’s wonderful and she can help you. Let her help you.

“Cadsuane says that—”

“Wait,” he snapped, twisting around so that he was facing her. She knelt on the bed, short dark hair curling down beneath her chin. She looked shocked by his tone.

“What does Cadsuane have to do with this?” he asked.

Min frowned. “Nothing.”

“She’s been telling you what to say,” Rand said. “She’s been using you to get to me!”

Yikes. If Rand’s reached the point where he can so quickly mistrust Min…

The serving woman continued to clink dishes. Why couldn’t she just leave!

I am concerned about the identity of this serving woman.

Min couldn’t be working with Cadsuane, could she? Rand didn’t trust Cadusane by any measure. If she’d gotten to Min…

Rand felt his heart twist. He wasn’t suspicious of Min, was he?

At least he caught himself. Min is pretty much the last one he does trust completely, and he came very, very close to losing even that. He’s so close to the edge here, to not trusting anyone at all, to being suspicious of even those who love him most. He’s long since stopped trusting Egwene, he has less trust for Nynaeve than he once did and maybe trusts her more than most Aes Sedai but not completely, Elayne…hard to say, but there’s some slight political tension there, Aviendha maybe but they haven’t had a chance to interact in approximately forever because Aviendha’s being stubborn. Lan’s gone again and even that one is a bit strained, which hurts me, he mostly trusts Bashere but still takes some precautions, he hasn’t seen Mat or Perrin in forever and I don’t know if trust is really the right word there anymore either…and that leaves Min. The one person with him who he can confide in, who can bring him at least a little bit back to himself, who he can trust completely.

And he caught himself here, but still the suspicion was so quick to come, and he had to push it aside. It was still his first reaction, and he had to consciously stop himself from following that path. Oh Rand.

Burn me! He thought. She’s right. I’ve grown too harsh. What will become of me if I begin to grow suspicious of those that I know love me? I’ll be no better than mad Lews Therin.

It’s a good line of thought, and a necessary one, but I’m still SO CONCERNED because again, this entire chapter has been ANTICIPATION EVERYWHERE and at any moment it’s going to go horribly wrong and

“Min,” he said, softening his voice. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps I’ve gone too far.”

She turned to look at him, relaxing. Then she stiffened, eyes widening in shock.

Something cold clicked around Rand’s neck.

AFLKE;JLASJS;ELTIAH;ERKLEFJAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

That is such spectacularly terrible timing. The moment he lets his guard down, the moment he lets himself – makes himself – soften even a little. The moment he reminds himself to trust. The moment he begins to admit something he really needs to admit to; he needs this realisation so badly. And he’s on the verge of it there, and then…this.

Because this will only teach him the cost of that ‘weakness’. The price of trust.

It’s so perfect because it’s SO AWFUL. The exact worst thing happening at the exact worst moment.

The serving woman stood behind him, but her form was shimmering. She vanished and was replaced by a woman with dark skin and black eyes, her sharp face triumphant. Semirhage.

HERE. WE. GO.

At that moment, Rand felt terror. He met Semirhage’s eyes anyway, and she smiled deeply.

THIS IS THE WORST THING AND I’M SO HERE FOR IT.

He’s absolutely powerless. It’s the box again but worse, and it’s the same thing – half a second of something that could almost be mistaken for a tiny bit of trust, and it ends in pain and powerlessness and terror. And there’s nothing he can do so he tries to stand defiant but this is Semirhage and she has absolute power over him right now and that is absolutely horrifying.

This is where Rand breaks, isn’t it?

And oh shit I just realised that this is set up so that Min is in the room.

Just when Rand was thinking about how he tried so hard to convince his enemies that he was a man without affection. One of the few people he shows and feels genuine affection for is in the room, and Semirhage knows how to hurt people the most, and “I would cut off my arm before I hurt you.”

Run, Min.

Or throw a knife. That works too.

Well it doesn’t work, actually, which is kind of a shame, but. Massive credit to Min for trying – again. This is Semirhage, one of the Forsaken, one of the most powerful channellers in the world and the monster parents scared their children with for millennia, and Min should be so out of her depth but she just…decides not to be. She’ll face this, and pull a knife, and call for help, and do anything she can think of, because that’s what she does.

And Rand is just…standing there watching, powerless to move, unable to grasp saidin, unable to do anything at all.

Desperate, Rand reached for saidin again, but found nothing. In his head, Lews Therin began to snarl and weep, and Rand felt almost as if he would join the man. Min! He had to get to her. He had to be strong enough!

He forced himself toward Semirhage and Elza, but it was as if he were trying to move someone else’s legs. He was trapped in his own head, like Lews Therin. He opened his mouth to curse, but nothing came out beyond a croak.

This is…terrifying and it’s just the beginning, because she hasn’t even done anything yet. But he’s absolutely powerless, no matter how much he tells himself that he has to be strong enough – there’s nothing he can do. He’s been here before, in the box, and that only makes it worse.

And…somehow he’s going to have to find a way out of this, because that’s how this works, so now I’m just remembering the They will pay. I am the Lord of the Morning moment and trying to think how that will scale up, and.

I love how perfectly, incredibly, beautifully awful this is. It’s…you really couldn’t make this worse for Rand. To be so powerless, at a moment where he almost allowed himself to acknowledge that he has gone too far. To take that and then encage him, put him at the mercy of the one who knows pain better than possibly anyone else alive. While Min is there. And he knows what this collar is, knows that Semirhage can control him with it, knows her and what she is capable of, and there’s no way out.

Just. Wow. I…yeah.

Rand stood up off the bed, his legs moving against his will. Then, his own hand whipped up and began to squeeze his throat just above the neck band. He gasped, stumbling. Frantic, he reached again for saidin. He found pain.

THIS IS SO MUCH.

I UNDERSTAND NOW WHY YOU ALL KEPT WHISPERING ‘22’ AT ME.

THIS IS SO SPECTACULARLY TERRIBLE AND IT’S JUST GOING TO GET WORSE AND THIS IS IT THIS IS THE BREAKING POINT THIS IS

This is just the warm-up and

We’re in the box again! Lews Therin cried.

And suddenly, he was. He could see it, the black confines, crushing him. His body sore from repeated beatings, his mind frantic to remain sane. Lews Therin had been his only companion.

I mean there is a slight irony to ‘frantic to remain sane’ being immediately followed by talking about the voice in his head as his only companion. But yeah, this is the box again. Except, you know, worse.

Boxes are bad for dragons.

Rand hadn’t been willing to see Lews Therin as part of himself. The mad part of himself, the part that could deal with torture, if only because it was already so tortured. More pain and suffering was meaningless.

This is Fine, I am completely fine, this is absolutely 100% okay. Oh, Rand. That…hurts.

And it’s also such a twisted reflection of Egwene’s recent adventures in pain. She took it in and was able to disregard it because it was secondary to the greater pain of watching the Tower fall apart, but in it she found strength and purpose and a cause she believed in. There is pain, but she could endure it because she was focused on something greater. Rand…it’s similar and yet so very different. The pain is meaningless because there’s so much more pain, so much that he won’t even let himself acknowledge it as his, because it broke Lews Therin so how could it not break him too, if he lets that barrier down? The pain is just more pain, and he’s focused on another goal, but even that brings pain, and he’s forcing himself through it but it all hurts and he so badly wants an ending but he can’t even let himself hope for that too strongly. It’s such an excellent and terrible not-quite-parallel, because it really does manage to be so similar in so many ways, and yet create a sense of opposites.

Perhaps a large portion of the difference comes from that moment when Egwene realised the key: understanding. She knows why she’s fighting, and it strengthens her. Rand hasn’t reached that point of his own arc, quite – he knows he has to win the Last Battle but he’s lost so much of the reason for it. He’ll have to reach that point too, but this is….not the time for it. This is kind of the opposite of that.

He stopped screaming. The pain was still there, it made his eyes water, but the screams would not come. All fell still.

And Egwene stood silently before Elaida and the other Aes Sedai, beaten and bleeding, but calm. Yet for her it was a moment of triumph, while for Rand it is a moment of desperation; he is very close to seeking refuge in madness, here. He is powerless and he can’t see a way out and it’s taking him back to the worst thing he has endured and making it even worse and this is not even remotely a moment of victory. This is despair.

So you get these scenes that are similar in staging, to some extent, with similar beats, and yet they serve almost opposite purposes. I love it.

Also just so much pain.

Semirhage looked down at him, frowning, blood dripping from her chin. Another wave of pain washed across him. Whoever he was.

He stared up at her. Silent.

WHOEVER HE WAS.

WOW.

THAT’S…damn. Whoever he was. He’s adrift in pain, letting himself take refuge in the part of him that is Lews Therin, because there is so much pain there that more is meaningless, and yet he’s not fully Lews Therin either, he’s just…

It reminds me of the battle of Cairhien, in that sequence where Rand comes close to losing himself kind of for the first time, where we get one of my favourite lines: because of Couladin, true, but at the heart of it, because of himself. For a moment, he could not remember his name.

It’s eerie and silent and absolutely terrifying.

Whoever he was. Just…yeah. I…yeah.

He stared up at her. Silent.

When they beat him, after taking him out of the box, he made himself smile through the pain. Now…now it is just silence. Staring at her silently as the pain washes over him and even his identity is adrift. Silence. Nothing. And in its own way it’s even more than the defiant smile. This isn’t defiance, really. It’s something else. Apathy, maybe, except that’s not quite right either.

“What are you doing?” she said, compelling him. “Speak.”

“No more can be done to me,” he whispered.

OH.

WOW.

OKAY THAT’S.

ALRIGHT. UM.

YEAH.

I was trying to find the words to describe the silence and then THIS HAPPENED and yeah it’s a perfect description and it’s so chilling.

Also because Rand now is not the time to issue that kind of challenge.

But mostly because…no more can be done to me. We’ve reached that point. So much pain and suffering that more is just…more. It’s meaningless. There’s nothing left, and there’s barely even anything left of him, and he is a being of pain, what’s a little more?

There’s just this sense of that step past desperation – desperation implies hope. And Rand was there a few seconds ago but now he’s just…pain.

Wow that line is a lot.

Shit. Okay.

Another wave of pain. It shocked him, and something inside of him whimpered, but he gave no outward reaction. Not because he held the screams in, but because he couldn’t feel anything.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THIS.

Well okay actually I want to compare it to Egwene again because that’s another difference – she withstands the pain, and accepts it. She feels it, and it hurts, and she withstands it because there is a greater pain that she also allows herself to feel, and she accepts that too because it is a part of her purpose, and she embraces that purpose.

I just love how a very similar concept – the nature of pain, and the point at which it is ‘overcome’ – can be used in such starkly different scenes. One a triumph, one a nadir.

The box, the two wounds in his side corrupting his own blood, beatings, humiliation, sorrows and his own suicide.

OKAY JUST. THROW THAT AT ME. RIGHT OKAY UM.

Sorrows and his own suicide WHY WOULD YOU EVEN.

Just. Wow. That…I can’t really say that came out of nowhere but damn.

Killing himself. He could suddenly and starkly remember that.

The moment Lews Therin broke. And he can remember it, remember it clearly, sorrows and his own suicide, and what does that do to someone? To remember that, while he is powerless and in pain, already barely withstanding everything he has to endure in this lifetime, remembering in vivid detail the moment he broke in his last one. I just. This is.

This is so good. This is so well done; that doesn’t do it justice but I’m really kind of amazed by this scene because to get something like this right is hard. Rand’s been through so much that it could easily just be ‘okay and now there’s more pain’, or it could be too much and just become absurd or meaningless, but it manages to find a balance where everything just hurts.

After all of these things, what more could Semirhage do to him?

Do. Not. Ask. That.

“Great Mistress,” Elza said, turning to Semirhage, eyes still seeming faintly dazed by something.

Possibly by the removal of the Compulsion in her mind but also very possibly by the pain she can feel secondhand through the Domination Band. And Rand doesn’t even consider that; it’s another of those moments where you see Rand through another character’s eyes even as you’re in his POV and it’s a little bit horrifying.

“That’s twice now those knives have tasted my blood.”

Min. Run.

“You say nothing more can be done to you? You forget, Lews Therin, to whom you speak. Pain is my specialty”

Yeah.

The thing is, hurting Rand himself may be more or less meaningless at this point. He exists in pain. But you don’t have to hurt Rand to break him.

He turned around, obeying her wordless command, and found Min hanging above the floor, tied by invisible ropes of Air. Her eyes were wild with fear, her arms bound behind her back, her mouth blocked by a woven Air gag.

It was always leading here. To hurt one of the last people in the world he cares about, who loves him, who he loves. And he remembers Lews Therin’s last moments, remembers Ilyena, remembers sorrows and his own suicide and now he’s standing powerless and in pain and he has to see where this is going and still there is nothing he can do.

This is…absolutely perfect. There’s really no way this could have been made worse.

Use it, Lews Therin whispered. Kill her while we can! I will not kill a woman, Rand thought stubbornly, a figment of a memory from the back of his mind. That is the line I will not cross…

I mean if you don’t cross it you’re going to kill a woman you care about. But if you do cross it, then you’ve crossed your last line. And so either way Rand loses, because this is the line he has drawn in the sand, the moral event horizon he has set himself, the last threshold he will not – cannot – cross, because crossing it means he has nothing left to hold to. It doesn’t matter what the line is; it matters that there is a line at all, and now…I’m not really seeing a way out of this without crossing it one way or another.

The last that could be done. There is a double meaning there, perhaps, and if so it’s excellent.

And then he began to form weaves, complicated ones of Spirit and Fire.

“Yes,” Semirhage said, almost to herself. “Now, if I can remember…The male way of doing this is so odd, sometimes.”

Rand made the weaves, then pushed them toward Min. “No!” he screamed as he did so. “Not that!”

“Ah, so you see,” Semirhage said. “You weren’t so difficult to break after all.”

Semirhage is spectacular. I was annoyed that she wasn’t getting a chance to live up to her reputation but holy shit does this ever make up for it. Because this. This is.

This is one hell of a way to fulfil the character Semirhage promised, in the mentions and glimpses of her. Which is a hard thing to do, because that kind of character often works better off-screen than on; most of the time they end up disappointing. Semirhage almost did, but man, this changes things.

The weaves touched Min and she writhed in pain. Rand continued to channel, tears springing to his eyes as he was forced to send the complex weaves through her body.

I am 100% certain this is not the way he should be re-learning tears.

Semirhage must have released Min’s gag, for she began to scream, weeping. “Please, Rand!” she begged. “Please!”

And it’s awful because she loves him and cares for him and trusts him, and knows he never wants to hurt her…and now he is torturing her and it isn’t him and she knows that but that kind of…doesn’t change the fact that she is in pain at his hands. And she’s begging him, and there’s no way he’s not going to play that over and over in his mind and hate himself for it, and what is it going to be like for Min, to look at someone she loves and remember agony at his hands?

Rand roared in anger, trying to stop, unable to. He could feel Min’s pain through the bond, feel it as he caused it.

I…he isn’t actually going to kill Min, is he? And in doing so break the Warder bond himself? We’re not actually going there, are we?

“Stop this!” he bellowed.

“Beg,” Semirhage said.

“Please,” he said, weeping. “Please, I beg you.”

He’s not even trying for defiance. He just…begs.

I guess the fact that he’s weeping could be considered progress?

But damn the image of him standing there, torturing someone he loves and begging, when moments before there was nothing but pain and silence.

He bowed his head. There had to be a way out! He imagined her using him to tear through the ranks of his own men. He imagined them afraid to attack, lest they harm him. He saw the blood, death and destruction he would cause. And it chilled him, turned him to ice inside.

They have won.

THIS IS SO. MUCH.

THIS IS SO GOOD I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY ANYMORE I’M JUST.

WELL FUCKING PLAYED.

That image. Of Rand used as a weapon against his own, of Dumai’s Wells and Ebou Dar but so many times worse, turned against his own side; he’s made himself into a weapon and now he’s in the wrong hands and wow that is an image.

I mean, it’s not going to come to that but it kind of doesn’t need to.

Semirhage glanced at the door, then turned back to him and smiled. “But I’m afraid we must deal with her first. Let’s be about it then.”

Rand turned and began to walk toward Min. “No!” he said. “You promised if I begged—”

“I promised nothing,” Semirhage said with a laugh. “You begged quite prettily, Lews Therin, but I have chosen to ignore your pleas.”

She’s good. She’s very, very good at this. To make him do what he would see as the worst possible thing, to offer him a way out. And he begged so easily, without hesitation, because there was no question of defiance at that point. To give him that reprieve, even as he thought ahead to the horrors awaiting, but at least the immediate horror has passed. And then to turn back as an afterthought. It’s so much worse than if she had done this right away. To give him that almost-hope, and then to hand him absolute despair.

He stepped up to Min, her pleading eyes meeting his. Then he pressed his hand to her throat, gripping it, and began to squeeze.

“No…” he whispered in horror as his hand, against his will, cut off her air. Min stumbled, and he unwillingly forced her down to the ground, easily ignoring her struggles. He loomed above her, pressing his hand against her throat, gripping it and choking her. She looked at him, eyes beginning to bulge.

How will she look at him after this? It’s such beautifully crafted cruelty towards both of them. They’re both absolutely powerless and this isn’t Rand’s fault, it’s not his choice…but it is still him. And the way it’s written, the language here, highlights that. Forcing her to the ground. Ignoring her struggles. Looming above her. And she can know it’s not really him, that he’s being forced to do this, but. It’s his face and his hands and his body and he is the one she sees and that’s not the sort of thing you can just forget, or ignore.

The one who loves him, the one who trusts him, the one he trusts, the one he can confide in. The one who still sees him as human, as ‘sheepherder’, as Rand. And she’ll still want to, but how do you…get past something like this? How do you avoid it leaving some scars? And that will only hurt them both more.

Also please, please do not kill Min.

This can’t be happening.

Semirhage laughed.

Ilyena! Lews Therin wailed. Oh, Light! I’ve killed her!

Rand squeezed harder, leaning down for leverage, his fingers squeezing Min’s skin and pushing down on her throat.

It’s so detailed, so visceral, which of course it is because that’s the entire point. Every step of this is him, he is doing this and causing this pain and there’s nothing he can do to make it stop and this is Min and she’s still staring up at him and wow this scene is.

He felt horror, he felt her pain. Min’s face grew purple, her eyes fluttered. Rand wailed. THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING! I WILL NOT DO THIS AGAIN!

ASLFKAJSLESJAT;LIEHRSE

And he’s remembering the last time and it’s the same thing, lifetimes repeating, doomed to Lews Therin’s fate as he so feared he would be, remembering breaking as Lews Therin even as he’s being broken as Rand and it just compounds, and

Something snapped inside of him.

Okay.

Yeah.

So this is.

This is it.

This is the actual breaking point and.

He grew cold; then that coldness vanished, and he could feel nothing.

The last that could be done. The last step into absolute unfeeling steel, into numbness, nothingness.

No emotion. No anger.

At that moment he grew aware of a strange force.

……..oh.

No.

NO THAT ISN’T

ARE YOU

THAT IS

And if it is, if what it takes to access that power is true nothingness, no emotion, no anger…what does it say about Rand that this is the state he has been striving for for so long? To be steel. To harden himself until he cannot feel. If that has been his goal, and in achieving it he can touch the Shadow’s own power…

I mean the ‘I must be steel’ thing was pretty clearly Not Good but if the endpoing of that trajectory is the True Power, that’s. Um. I mean, the goal was to play Rand until he served the Shadow, even as he stood as champion of the Light. He must know anguish.

Wow.

Okay I can say I did not expect this.

I mean, I wondered, briefly, about Rand and the True Power in terms of his connection to Moridin - I remember at one point saying ‘...Rand can’t use the True Power, can he?’ which in hindsight oops - but like.

I did not expect this.

A clouded face flashed before Rand’s own, one whose features he couldn’t quite make out. It was gone in a moment.

Is he accessing this through Moridin, somehow? And in light of what I was just speculating about, with the whole ‘saidin was tainted because it touched the Dark One but something has to touch him’ thing…if Rand can access the True Power….

But that’s going to come at a price.

I mean the fact that he’s accessing it at all, here, is a price.

Oh, Light, Lews Therin suddenly screamed. That’s impossible! We can’t use it! Cast it away! That is death we hold, death and betrayal!

It is HIM.

Chills. Actual chills. That is…wow. That is such a terrifying, perfect, chilling moment. It is HIM. That beat, there. The realisation. The absolute stunned horror.

This is Rand’s low point, and he reaches out and touches the Shadow.

How perfect is that? How absolutely, perfectly, beautifully terrible?

That is death we hold, death and betrayal. What a line.

I wondered how They will pay. I am the Lord of the Morning would scale up. This. This is how. This is…

Looking for any way out, a way to save himself and Min, a way to escape from Semirhage’s hold over him, a way to reclaim himself…

And to do so, he seizes the Dark One’s own power.

Rand closed his eyes as he knelt above Min, then he channelled the strange, unknown force. Energy and life surged through him, a torrent of power like saidin, only ten times as sweet and a hundred times as violent. It made him alive, made him realise that he’d never been alive before. It gave him such strength as he’d never imagined. It rivalled, even, the power he’d held when drawing from the Choedan Kal.

He screamed, in both rapture and rage, and wove enormous spears of Fire and Air. He slammed the weaves against the collar at his neck, and the room exploded with flames and bits of molten metal, each one distinct to Rand. He could feel each shard of metal blast away from his neck, warping the air with its heat, trailing smoke as it hit a wall or the floor. He opened his eyes and released Min. She gasped and sobbed.

And somehow this, his moment of escape and what should be some kind of victory, eclipses in horror the previous moments. Somehow, this managed to make it worse, even as he freed himself. It is HIM.

This.

Is a stunningly well-executed scene.

Because this is it. The last that could be done, and he reached for any way to stop it, any way at all, and found true emotionlessness and in that, the Shadow’s power.

The champion of the Light, channelling the power of the Dark One. He must know anguish. He did, and it pushed him to this. It is HIM. And so the Shadow lays claim to him. He hasn’t turned but this is…I mean, this is what the Shadow wanted. Even his victory may be as dark as his defeat. It was the only way, and yet.

The True Power.

I’m still just…kind of stunned.

Oh okay we’re not done.

Of course we’re not done.

Rand raised a hand and, filled with the power he did not understand, wove a single weave. A bar of pure white light, a cleansing fire, burst from his hand and struck Semirhage in the chest. She flashed and vanished, leaving a faint afterimage to Rand’s vision. Her bracelet dropped to the floor.

Elza ran toward the door. She vanished before another bar of light, her entire figure becoming light for a moment.

No anguish, no agonised decision, no moment of hesitation, no word, not even any thought shown. Just…a lifted hand, a weave of power, and light. One and then the other, and we see nothing of Rand’s thoughts. No anger, no emotion.

The last line. The last that could be done.

And in that sense, breaking the Domination Band is rather symbolic – it’s the shattering of a restraint. The last thing holding him back. And he breaks it, using the True Power, and as that last restraint falls away and he embraces the Shadow’s power, he crosses the last restraint he’s made for himself. Quietly, almost easily.

What have you done? Lews Therin asked. Oh, Light. Better to have killed again than to do this...Oh, Light. We are doomed.

Rand savoured the power for a moment longer, then – regretfully – let it drop away.

That is such a chilling contrast. Still no thoughts from Rand, because it’s all Lews Therin now. Rand has relinquished that. He’s crossed that line and a part of him knows it, and is horrified by it – and more so by that power he has just touched – but only as Lews Therin does he let himself acknowledge it. And the only thoughts we’re getting here are Lews Therin’s, because Rand is in that numb state of no emotion.

And the contrast of Lews Therin’s absolute horror against Rand savouring that power, and regretfully letting it go. Not even thinking about what he’s just done.

It’s also…I love that it’s What have you done rather than the more classic What have I done? Because, given the nature of Rand and Lews Therin, it’s the same thing. But because it’s phrased this way, it’s also…not. And it’s even more chilling because of it.

The way he can go from we are doomed to this eerily quiet savouring of power before regretfully relinquishing it. The True Power.

You guys. I’m. Wow. This is a lot, and I was expecting a lot. But this is phenomenal. This is absolutely perfect and by that I mean this is the actual worst thing that could possibly have happened and it’s executed so. well.

Just the soft, chilling, silent horror here, and the sense that a part of Rand is screaming and he doesn’t let himself acknowledge it – at least not as himself. That he’s just…empty but for this power he has now found. Empty and emotionless and unfettered.

She looked up at him, and seemed afraid. He doubted that she would ever see him the same way again.

….Yeah.

I mean this is Min, and she’s pretty incredible, but. Yeah.

Also still the narrative we get from Rand is so…emotionless. Clinical. This is technically a thought from him, this expression of doubt, but there’s nothing attached to it. No emotion, no sense of regret, just…statement. Lews Therin is the only part of him that’s able to feel anything about what’s just happened, and that part is almost incoherently horrified. It’s this chilling, jarring dissonant contrast, within Rand’s mind, and the way it’s played out here is…yeah. *shivers*

He had been wrong; there had indeed been something more that Semirhage could do to him. He had felt himself killing one he loved dearly. Before, when he’d done it as Lews Therin, he had been mad and unable to control himself. He could barely remember slaying Ilyena, as if through a clouded dream. He’d realised what he had done only after Ishamael had awakened him.

Finally, now, he knew precisely what it was like to watch as he killed those he loved.

Even this is…clinical, sterile. Precise. A clear description, but utterly devoid of emotion. Eerily so, because the last bit of true emotion we got was Lews Therin’s voice with Oh light…we are doomed. And before that the absolute terror of It is HIM.

And in that time, Rand has escaped Semirhage’s grasp and seized the Shadow’s power and killed two people and crossed his last threshold, and all without…thought. Emotion. It’s just…events. Happening. Actions. Which makes this all so much more horrifying. And makes it so much clearer exactly what it is that he’s done here, in taking those last steps.

The last that could be done.

This. This is a low point. This is the low point.

Also I have to take note of how Rand doesn’t distinguish between himself and Lews Therin in that last paragraph there. It’s when he’d done it as Lews Therin rather than when Lews Therin had done it. It’s he realised what he had done. So on the one hand he’s pushing any horror he feels at all of this across that barrier but on the other hand…he’s barely keeping them separate. Which is interesting. Is that the next thing, then? The piece that will let him start stepping away from this low point? Though I have a feeling we’ll be spending a little more time down here. Best get comfortable.

“It is done,” Rand whispered.

“What?” Min asked, coughing again.

“The last that could be done to me,” he said, surprised at his own calmness. “They have taken everything from me now.”

Oh, Rand.

And it’s fitting that he’s so calm, that he says this so quietly and emotionlessly, and it hurts and it’s beautiful and I thought I was prepared for this but in hindsight I’m not sure I was actually completely prepared for it.

This exceeded my expectations.

They have taken everything from me now. I just...oh Rand.

Just that…calm acceptance that it is done. This is it. There is nothing more they can do, they have taken everything, there is nothing left to hold on to. He has crossed those last lines and while he literally begged and wept in the moments before, at the actual threshold it’s barely a sigh. And now that he has crossed, now that it’s done, it’s just…quiet. Because what more is there to plead for, or fight against? What purpose is there in defiance, in anguish? He has lost everything, relinquished the last of himself, crossed the final line that was holding him, that was letting himself believe he still had some shred of Light left to him, and now that’s gone, and so this is it. No pain, no emotion, nothing, because he has moved past that now.

Which is, you know, horrifying.

On so many levels.

I love this. A lot. This is how you break a character.

And it’s also a really interesting place to go because while I’ll be astonished if he doesn’t manage to find his way back somehow – or forward, I suppose, or upwards – crossing a moral event horizon and reaching this state of the-other-side-of-pain-but-not-in-a-good-way is. Quite a step. As far as Rand is concerned, he’s now past the point of redemption. So where do you go from there? What does he do in this state, and more than that, how does he find his way back to humanity?

“I have made my choice, Min,” he said, turning toward the door. “You have asked for flexibility and laughter from me, but such things are no longer mine to give. I am sorry.”

Even that is…we still don’t really see his thoughts here. Because there…kind of isn’t anything there. It’s not a painful, agonising sorrow. It’s not horror at having hurt her, and begging forgiveness. It’s not feeling her love through the bond. It’s just…a statement of fact. I don’t know how human the Dragon Reborn can afford to be, he said to Nynaeve seven books ago. And now…this. The last that could be done.

It appeared that steel was too weak.

He would be harder, now. He understood how. Where he had once been steel, he became something else. From now on, he was cuendillar. HE had entered a place like the void that Tam had trained him to seek, so long ago. But within this void he had no emotion. None at all.

They could not break or bend him.

It was done.

And so the Shadow rejoices.

What a chapter.

That…yeah. That was incredible. I asked for fictional characters in pain and wow did this deliver.

And just…damn. I…yeah. Okay. I’m going to have a cup of tea and like. Stare at it.

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