#and his line to her in moto makes me so sad man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bthump · 3 years

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I wanted to touch on the whole gutsca thing with someone (I know zero people in this fandom so you're my lucky pick!). Am I alone in feeling like their first time together came out of no where? My meta with Guts is that he was not at all comfortable with sex at that time of his life (this instance being his first time [outside of the rape he experienced as a child]). His choice of words too, "here I go", translated to me like someone only doing what they felt was expected of them rather than something he was yearning for. He clearly wasn't even ready given how rough he was and how he regressed and attacked her. This moment seemed very forced and almost rang to me like Kentaro's declaration of "no homo though". I would be curious to know how Kentaro felt about homosexuality (bisexuality, etc) and if he ever addressed the ever blatant gay tension and romantic-non-platonic-love blossoming between Guts and Griffith pre-eclipse. I do get the sense that this may be a case of severe queer baiting or perhaps a PSA against gay love altogether ("falling for a man will literally destroy you and send you and everyone you love to hell" type of message); but I'm a very jaded person so I hope to be proven wrong. Sigh, my point being Gutsca seems pretty dang forced and empty of true development. I buy them more as besties than anything romantic. Especially since both he and Casca are actually in love with Griffith (what a fucking triangle!). Does anyone in fandom have any opinions on the sad possibility of this whole beautiful and ultimately tragic love between Griffith and Guts actually being a fucked up anti-gay PSA? Are there any interviews with Kentaro shooting this theory down so I can stop being sad and bitter about it? What are your thoughts?

Thanks for sending this, I'm definitely down to talk about it! I hope you connect with more people in the fandom but don’t worry about sending random asks even if you do lol.

Anyway you’re definitely not alone. I have a lot of thoughts on Guts and Casca's hook up, and they're all pretty much "it feels really forced and not particularly romantic but I think you can argue that that's deliberate" lol. For instance I discuss in a lot of detail here how various aspects of the scene indicate that Guts and Casca having sex is shown to be a case of both of them rebounding from Griffith and sort of giving to each other what they were unable or failed to give to him.

And I talk a lot about how Judeau essentially orchestrates it all and what that suggests about Guts and Casca's relationship here.

And lol sorry for all the links but also this post is about how their relationship feels one-sided to an extent and is used to illuminate a lot of Guts' flaws, using Judeau as a comparison point.

Oh shit and also one more lol, here's a comparison between the sex scene and Griffith's with Charlotte that suggests that both start as ways for the dudes to repress their feelings.

(Don't feel obligated to read all those posts if you don't want, you should get the gist of what I'm saying w/ those descriptions.)

But yeah basically I do think that Guts and Casca getting together felt forced and awkward. At best it might be intended to be seen that way, as two friends hooking up awkwardly in an emotionally intense moment but probably doomed to failure because neither of them are ready for a relationship with the other, or particularly interested in one deep down, once they finished "licking wounds." At worst it’s just bad writing lol. But again like I think there are good arguments for the former.

I also totally agree that their relationship has a strong vibe of doing what's expected. Like for real, at least to me both Guts and Casca read so easily as gay and repressed lol. Casca talks about her feelings for Griffith in terms of “he was a boy she was a girl can I make it any more obvious”

and I can’t help but see it as Casca like, wow I have strong feelings towards Griffith, he’s a man and I’m a woman, so clearly these feelings must be romantic, there’s no other option. Then when she has sex with Guts she keeps contextualizing it essentially as repayment for Guts saving her, like she owes him. “I too want a wound I can say you gave me.” “Not just being given to... maybe I can give something as well.” Which just doesn’t make her desire for him look all that genuine lol.

And then you have Guts. The way he tells Casca that from the start only her touch was okay with him after he has sex with her, referencing the scene when he wakes up with her on top of him and starts to panic before realizing she’s a woman, is soooo suggestive of repression to me. Like, first off because it’s incorrect, he was also okay with Griffith going in for a face-grab after winning a duel Guts had been projecting his rape trauma all over, which seems like a pretty conspicuous omission. And secondly because the reason he was okay with Casca’s touch specifically is solely because she’s a woman, not because she’s special or because they have a magic romantic connection - it’s because she’s not a man. To me that just screams that Guts was open to sex with Casca because she’s the only woman he knows, and he’s afraid of the idea of physical intimacy with men, regardless of what he might actually want deep down.

So yeah that’s basically how I feel about Guts and Casca’s relationship, strong agree with you.

When it comes to Miura’s intent, I can tell you that Miura was asked about the subtext in an interview once, back in 2000, and he responded with something along the lines of ‘two men can have passionate feelings for each other without it being romantic.’ The interview is here, but this is a paraphrase the translator mentioned in the comments.

Other than that I’ve never seen him address it directly, but on the flipside he has cited several textually gay stories as inspiration (off the top of my head: Kaze to Ki no Uta, Devilman, Guin Saga, mangaka Moto Hagio in general), and he has straightforwardly said that the (magical intersex) central character of his other work, Duranki, was intended to have romances with both male and female love interests. Also people tell me there are strong griffguts vibes with the main, presumably canon or intended-to-be-canon ship there. So there’s that lol.

As for the no homo aspect and the potential homophobia in the griffguts subtext... I can’t deny I’ve also considered the idea that it’s a deliberate anti-gay PSA (though I haven’t seen anyone else address the idea as far as I remember, and I’ve only briefly mentioned it offhandedly). Like, Guts and Griffith’s relationship turns bad because they’re both too invested in each other, maybe the barely-subtextual desire is meant to look like a sinister twisting of pure platonic feelings that ruins everything, if Griffith hadn’t loved him the Eclipse never would have happened, etc.

But honestly I don’t think that reading holds up compared to a much more positive reading of their feelings, in which it’s their failure to understand them and act on them, thanks largely to formative childhood trauma and self-hatred, that leads to tragedy.

I don’t know what Miura intended, and there certainly are aspects of the story that are homophobic regardless of his intent, even if my best-faith reading is entirely correct, like the only textual gay attraction being pedophiles and over the top heretic orgies lol, or yk, Guts and Griffith both assaulting the same woman while looking at/thinking about the other in a very sexually charged way.

But the reading of their relationship where it’s positive and good for both of them, even including sexual desire, and only gets fucked up because they both incorrectly think their feelings are unrequited is legitimately so weirdly strong, much stronger than a reading where the sexual nature of their feelings is what fucks everything up, so I’m pretty happy just rolling with that take.

And as much as Casca can be seen and may very well be intended as a no homo, it’s also very easy for me to read her relationships with both as less of a hopeful opportunity for positive heterosexual romance and more of a “here’s how repressing your feelings thru attempts at heterosexuality fucks you up” PSA lol. Griffith and Charlotte too, for that matter. It’s definitely a stretch to think that’s intended, but whether it’s intended or not it’s an easy sell for me and I’m fine with not really worrying too much about possible authorial intent there.

Finally, I also want to link this post that goes pretty thoroughly into why I interpret griffguts as very positive rather than as a cautionary tale or predatory gay lust etc

And also have this shorter post about Femto on the same subject too, why not

Oh and maybe this thing where I split hairs about Guts’ lust for Griffith and desire for revenge to make a point that the homoeroticism isn’t necessarily being equated with violence by the narrative lol

#ask #a #b #anonymous #theme: repression #theme: homoeroticism #interviews #ship: griffguts #ship: gtsca #theme: homophobia #theme: heteronormativity

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

Text

Peace: Would It Be Enough?

Previous: In Secret

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Genre: Smut/ Angst / Slice of Life

Rating: NC17

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Swearing, P-V Sex, Consensual Sex, Making Love, Forgiveness, Redemption, Vaginal Fingering

Summary: The morning after.

Listening: peace by Taylor Swift

Peace Master List

There’s a moment when you first wake up when the weight of the world, the weight of the day, doesn’t overwhelm you. Your to-do list waits, your mind is slowly waking itself and remembering whatever nightmare you’ve left for yourself to deal with. But you know it’s coming. As you woke up that morning, that sinking feeling engulfed you before you opened your eyes. Jack Antonoff was right, but your dread wasn’t waiting by your bed, it was thriving within you.

Rolling over, you checked the clock. 10AM on a Saturday is a fine time to wake up, but as you do, the flood of thoughts crashed over you. The dryness of your skin from the salty tears made you wince, and as you padded to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee, you’re confronted with three realities, and leaning against your kitchen counter, you recount them to yourself.

· First, you told him you couldn’t look at him anymore.

· Second, he was verbally harassed last night, and you did nothing

· Third, you’re not enough

· You’re not enough to handle this

· You’re not enough to be by his side

· You’re just…

The third sent you reeling, but the second kept nagging at you like a mosquito bite in the middle of your back. It’s persistent itch slowly driving you mad.

You walked yourself through the events of the night, through Jungkook’s response, through your own. You yelled, you fucking hated yelling, it had no place in your relationship… The guys had been there, they’d tried to ration… Jungkook tried to… But he didn’t… You didn’t … It’s all coming back, the bits and pieces of the hurt you hurled at him, your Jungkook, your love, the man you’d give every wild you had to… the father of your child… And here you were, sipping coffee, trying to organize your thoughts into something cohesive to make up or make sense of the hurt you hurled at him.

You took to your phone to open Spotify and saw his plentiful texts, sent throughout the night… single lines of longing trying to reach you.

Jagi, I’m just checking in. I love you.

Baby, I hope you get some sleep. I love you.

I love you.

Our love isn’t for show… please

Love you, so much

You stared, your thoughts being overwhelmed by the profound sadness you felt towards him, because of him. With tears in your eyes, you moved to your bathroom, hot water scalding your skin as it came cascading down around you.

Jungkook awoke, but if he was honest, he didn’t really sleep. Wedged between a wall and Ho-Seok, having not planned to stay with the members at all, he found himself uncomfortable, his mind stuck on the image of you, telling him you couldn’t look at him. You, walking away from him, telling him not to follow you or talk to you. You… The texts he sent left unanswered. His pleas to you to talk to him, to say anything, to say that you loved him too… unreciprocated.

He carefully climbed out of bed around 9AM, tiptoeing into the gym, trying to work out his frustration on the treadmill.

One mile.

Two miles.

Three miles.

As he ran, he replayed the events in his head. He went to the bathroom, leaving you with a guard nearby and taking one with him. He came back and saw that man circling you, a vulture preying on a seemingly isolated fledgling. Jungkook approached, he watched the man attack, trying to get anything from you, and you, stunning in your skintight black jeans, moto jacket draping over your shoulders, studded booties protecting your feet… Jungkook tried to protect you. You, the object of his desires, you, your dazzling smile and friendly demeanor, a mere kill to that man. But the man wasn’t after you, he was after Jungkook. If one prey was left alone, the herd was nearby, and Jungkook was proof of that.His eyes became bugged as he watched Jungkook step in front of you, Jungkook, nearly six feet and pure muscle, shirt unbuttoned dangerously low, chest seemingly smooth. Jungkook, tattooed covered hand, rings absently adorning digits, undercut fresh, hair slightly pulled back, glowering over him.

Jungkook was the vulture, and weak prey does what it can to escape the predator, it distracts and deflects.

Jungkook wanted to be the threat, he wanted to use his height and physique as a way to protect you from that man. But what you hadn’t accounted for was the man’s mouth, his beliefs, his disgust that you would be dating someone so, Asian. It didn’t matter if Jungkook could beat the shit out of him, it didn’t matter that he could grind seeds in his palms or use his falsetto after dancing nonstop for three minutes. It didn’t matter, because in that moment, when the man realized that you belonged to Jungkook, his xenophobia and ignorance raged more powerfully than Jungkook’s fists ever could. Jungkook knew it, as the man’s eyes drifted between you… He knew it would come to blows.

Stepping off the treadmill, sweat soaking his clothing, he picked up his phone. No calls. No texts. No Instagram updates. No tweets. You’d gone to ground, and he was desperate to hear from you. He dialed, knowing full well you wouldn’t answer. You never spoke before you were ready, you never made a decision that wasn’t thought out… He knew you well enough to know you’d be processing, but he needed you to know he was still there, he was still so close… A call, a text, and he’d be at your door.

You sat still as your phone rang, his name and ID flashing… A photo Taehyung had taken on your last trip to Korea... A rainy day spent in sweats and watching your favorite movies, trying to show them films that were important to you. Subtitles on, and when the situation called for it, Namjoon translating. Jungkook had fallen asleep, his head resting on a pillow in your lap, fingers intertwined with yours. You sat slowly raking your fingers through his hair, smiling as you watched the film. The moment was too cute to pass up, and Taehyung snapped the pic. You watched it fade to black, and he listened as it rang and rang.

“Noona, please, please talk to me. I love you; I love you so much and I, just please call me.”

He picked up the weights, heavier than he needed, hand still hurting from the punch, and became determined to burn himself out before he could dare to think about your accusations.

You’ve sat with him in the trenches, been there for his biggest hits and greatest wins. But you weren’t convinced he’d stand by your side. You didn’t believe he’d die for you, you didn’t believe that he’d take a bullet for you, to protect your honor, to defend his own he’d… He’d die for you, on the front page, on national television. He’d give you anything you wanted, everything you wanted, but would it be enough?

Dropping the weights, mind spent, Jungkook ambled throughout the Airbnb, showering, forcing himself to eat, his bandmates asking if he was okay.

“I still haven’t heard from her,” He whispered.

“She’s safe, she’s at home,” Namjoon said, watching his maknae with sympathetic eyes.

“I know,” He responded, eyes trained on the counter. He felt uncomfortable standing with his brothers in the spot where she had walked out on him, where she’d lay bare her fears and insecurities. It felt wrong, like the place should be torn down, burned, never to be built upon again. Anything to erase the memory.

“She hasn’t said anything to us either,” Taehyung added, wrapping an arm around Jungkook.

“Is that supposed to make him feel better?” Yoongi asked, making his way through the kitchen to grab an apple.

“She isn’t just icing him out,” Taehyung clarified.

“What are you going to say to her?” Yoongi questioned.

“I don’t really want to talk about this,” Jungkook said, eyes finally moving to look at his bandmates. “I just, I just want to talk to her.” He stood, tears starting to form again and moved towards the backyard. As he pressed into the grass, his phone buzzed.

Come over please

Jungkook bounded from the car to your front door, knocking frantically, enthusiastically, begging for entrance into your home. You approached slowly, a deep breath being drawn as you unlocked the door and stepped back, letting Jungkook slowly step over the threshold.

“Baby, I-” He was cut off by your lips, hands reaching to pull him too you, your lips meeting in the middle. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. His wet hair brushed your cheeks as you moved your arms to wrap around his neck, fingers instinctively playing with the hair at the nape. He growled lightly, bottom lip between his teeth, and started to move you, slowly, through the living room and down the hallway of your bungalow to your bedroom. Your hands moved down his clothed shoulders before slowly reaching up underneath his sweatshirt to rest on his bare chest, and as you pulled away for air, he deftly slid it over his head and tossed into a pile.

“I want you,” You whispered, his hands gripping your hips, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed. You slowly opened your eyes, looking through your lashes at him.

“I need you,” He whispered, the intensity in your gaze doubling as he stared. “Always, you.”

You brought him onto the bed swiftly, lips connecting as he nestled himself between your thighs.

“I love you,” You said as his hands began to tug at your shirt, carefully guiding it off your frame. “So much.”

“I love you,” Jungkook said, his gaze staying with yours as he slipped his hand down the front of your leggings, splitting your lips open and taking a tentative stroke.

“Take them off,” You said, arm covering your eyes, giving into the feeling of him, Jungkook, Golden Maknae, lover.

He did as instructed, slowly spreading your legs, revealing yourself to him, your arousal clear and glistening, beckoning him to it. He wasted no time, no build up, no longing strokes or languid caresses. He wanted you, and he wanted you now.

Wrapping his lips around your sensitive bud, he began to suck, alternating slow gentle pulls with sharper, harsher puckers. He held your thighs down, strong hands splaying across the fat of your thighs, his favorite thighs, keeping you firmly pressed into the mattress.

Having sex with Jungkook was either one of three things:

1. Slow and passionate

2. Rough and overwhelming

3. Gentle and giving

It had taken you two a while to find your stride, sexually. One of you was experienced, the other lacking, and finding a common ground was challenging, except for the fact that you both so desperately wanted one another. You’d waited a decent amount of time, in your opinion, before having sex. You’d been burned before, and sex was something you wanted to share with someone you cared about, who was invested in whatever you were building together. Jungkook had understood and felt similarly. Your aligning star signs, and a particularly tight pair of jeans and a too low-cut top had pushed things over the edge, and you’d consummated your relationship in your house, first in the bedroom, then in the kitchen, and finally, the floor in front of the fireplace.

Jungkook continued to attend to your clit, and when he felt you getting close, slipped two fingers inside, coaxing your walls to embrace him. The stretch, unwelcome at first, was exactly what you needed. Your orgasm crashed down, overwhelming you as a new batch of tears started to fall. You tried to maintain composure, the pleasure outweighing the guilt and pain. If not for yourself, for Jungkook. He noticed your change in demeanor, and slowly kissed up your body, straddling your waist and moving your hands from your eyes.

“Hey, noona,” He whispered, lowering his lips to kiss your tears. You turned your head, catching his lips as your hand slipped between you, palming his member through his sweats. He moaned greedily, hips involuntarily rutting at your touch.

“Jungkook,” You whispered against his lips. He slid off of you and stood, tossing his sweats and briefs into the same pile of clothes he’d tossed his sweatshirt.

“How do you-

“Just, like this,” You said, propped up on your elbows, staring at his naked form. You wanted to feel close, a part of him, like you’d felt the last time you’d made love. Yes, made love was the term Jungkook preferred. Sex could be, impersonal, emotionless, but making love… a phrase perfectly depicting what it was: love shared. You could tell from the glint in his eyes, the tears still spilling from your eyes, that the love making would be gentle and passionate, your favorite kind.

Jungkook nodded, moving back between your open and willing legs, hand stroking himself once, twice, before he angled his hips and gently pressed into you. Moans swirled as the sound of his flesh against yours echoed off the walls, your tears mixing with sweat as he slowly thrust in and out of you. Your eyes locked on his as he slid a hand between you, teasing you towards your second orgasm as he edged closer and closer to his first.

You wished it could be like this forever. The passion and heat between you hadn’t lessened in the years you’d been together, distance hadn’t made your wanting disappear, it only intensified. As you came down from your respective highs, Jungkook nipped at the skin on your shoulder, leaving a small love bite.

“I love you,” you whispered, eyes closed tight, unwilling to look at him.

“I know, noona, I know,” He whispered, eyes trained on your face. “Look at me,” His voice was gentle, an ask, not a demand.

You opened your eyes, tears slipping down your temples, soaking your hair and absorbing into the pillows. Silently, Jungkook pressed his lips to yours before rising. He disappeared into the kitchen, washing his hands before bringing you a glass of water, waiting patiently for you to return from the bathroom before handing it to you. Sipping silently, you pulled him into the bathroom and into the shower.

You’d both showered independently that morning, washing away your transgressions and anxieties from the night before. In the afternoon sunlight, the water brought you two together. As you washed each other, silence sitting in the atmosphere like low clouds, ridding themselves of the last few drops from the storm that had just raged.

Slipping into clean clothes, pulling him to you again, you tumbled into your bed, limbs intertwined as your head rested on his chest, rising slowly with his breathing. The exhaustion from the fight, the anger, the fear, coupled with the exhaustion of making love, and the comfort of a lovers embrace lulled you both to sleep, only awakening when Jungkook’s phone rang.

Groggily he answered, speaking swiftly in Korean.

“The guys want to know if we want to go to dinner with them,” He said, glancing down at your still form.

“Can we just stay in?” You asked, sleep still heavy in your body.

“Of course we can,” He said standing. He stepped into the hallway; his voice still hushed as he spoke to whomever called him. You tried to open your eyes, to will the drowsiness away, and slowly it did. You opened your eyes to a setting sun, and Jungkook leaning against the doorframe, sweats low on his hips, back bare.

Somewhere in his conversation he became animated, and you knew he could paint dreamscapes if he wanted.

“Jungkook?” You said, pulling his attention from his phone call. He looked at you and smiled softly before saying his goodbyes.

“Yes love?”

“I, I’m sorry,” You said, fidgeting with the skin on your thumb.

“I’m sorry too,” He offered, sitting on the bed, staring at you.

“I’m so sorry for everything, for yelling at you, for being so harsh and cold, and, and”

His tattooed hand reached out to grab yours, a willing peace offering.

“I’m sorry I minimized your pain,” You looked at him. “I, I ignored it. I latched onto the one thing I could control, and that was what the world could see of me. I couldn’t register your hurt because I don’t know how to fix it or make it better or make people less hateful... so I got angry because our privacy is something I can navigate. I can manage if someone sees us together, or Instagram posts or twitter comments. That I can do, but last night,” You shook your head, trying to block the memories from invading. “I shut out your feelings, Jungkook, I didn’t acknowledge what you were going through, and I’m so so sorry,” Your voice cracked as you uttered your apology. Jungkook was quick to move to you, pulling you against him, your fresh tears falling on his bare chest.

“I don’t know what it’s like to experience that level of racism and hatred. I know microaggressions, I’ve fielded a million. I know in America we put Asian Americans in internment camps, we passed laws that literally wouldn’t allow them to become citizens, or enter our country, we blamed them for COVID and our stock market tanking... We fetishize and demean and make light of thousands of years of abuse. I’ve experienced my own racism, and colorism, but I’ve never ... I hate that you were hurt. I hate that someone could spew that vile, repugnant bull shit at you. I hate that I couldn’t do anything to protect you. I hate that I was so insensitive. I love you, Jungkook. I’ll give you a son, I’ll give you my best, I’ll die for you in secret, in public, I don’t care… But Jungkook, I don’t know if it will be enough?”

Your eyebrows knitted together as you stared at him. Him, the Golden Maknae, the love of your life, the man of your dreams.

“I love you,” Jungkook said, holding your gaze. “I love you. I want you… So, what if you can’t bring me peace? What does that even mean? Of course, you are enough because I say you are, because you say you are. You are enough and so much more,” Jungkook broke as your joined vulnerability tore down any remaining emotional walls or self-preservation you’d put up.

You’d had a fight, a really-bad-could-end-everything fight. Neither of you were sure what would happen, what Bang and Big Hit would want from you, whether or not swinging for the fences was going to result in a low batting average or the record for homers in a relationships timeline. Neither of you cared. The ever-present question of whether either of you was enough for the other would eat away at you, dissipating only when lips touched, I love you’s exchanged, promises of forever etched on your hearts. You could be enough for one another… until he breaks into a million pieces and the shattered edges glisten with blood… then what?

Next: Clowns to the West

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dfordragons · 4 years

Text

The Divine & The Damned

The last of the unfortunate explorer of Glimmerwood, now entangled in poisonous animated vines was finally blown away by the silver-haired elfs peculiar yet somewhat majestic purple eldritch beams before she got back to scratching her painfully itchy injuries.

“That’s it?”

A deep voice sounded from under the black helmet with the meticulous resemblance of a skull, the dark tone of which was mitigated only by a grey gem embedded in its centre as he perceived the environment around them. The weeping that had surrounded the forest for a while had yet to stop, if anything, it only grew stronger.

“I think so?” A taller, slender man responded; his pale skin highlighted his blue eyes.

“Oh no” A dwarven girl, sharing the same colour tone as the elvish figure said in awe.

“Rynvia? What is it?” Another dwarf patted her on the shoulder, unlike her, he was covered in deep wounds from his bald head to the toes most likely, but nobody could see below his shoulders with the swamp water up to their neck.

The weeping grew stronger as a figure hovered from tree to tree.

The figure in the skull helmet went back into his battle stance, yet he knew not what they were even talking about, he wasn’t the most perceptive, nor the sharpest tool in the shed.

“Okay make us fly, Doronin make us fly right now!”

He screamed as he eventually saw the figure approach, hovering and crying, but magic wasn’t that simple.

The hovering figure looked magnificent as she approached them, her messy, green hair had a charm to it, while her blue eyes only added to the wood-elven characteristics she bore. Yet her translucent figure only spelled trouble in their heads. As she saw them she stopped weeping, well, sort of.

“Who.. Who is this?” she asked.

“She talks..?”

“She talks.”

“Wow.”

“She’s so pretty.”

They all whispered amongst them.

“I..Am Leonard?” he said through the helmet as he sensed her undead nature.

“And I’m Doronin” sounded the declared sorcerer from a safe range.

“And Rynvia” the dwarven girl said in awe while the other dwarf stayed silent as did the elven figure, not a few seconds passed before she took note of her.

“And you…You…Who are you?” She said as she hovered towards her, in just as much awe as Rynvia spoke to her. Her eyes pinned on her.

In an awkward, somewhat troubled by her behaviour tone she responded hesitantly

“I’m Yliv.”

“You’re so pretty Yliv” she continued

“She is isn’t she?” He mumbled before getting back to his senses

“That’s not the point, who are you, what are you doing here?” Leonard turned around to look at her, still sceptical and caught off guard.

“I…” she scratched her translucent head.. “I don’t remember who I am” she said as she started crying again

“I remember I was so pretty… And this forest was so pretty…” all of them looked around in the horrible swamp they were currently in.

Rynvia remembered, she remembered the vision she had from Lyreth, the one who had sent them there. The one who had started this quest of theirs. She remembered how pretty the forest was, and grew sad knowing what it turned into.

“But then.. Fire.. A mad dragon.. A FUCKING HORRIBLE DRAGON. MEN ARE DICKS” She screeched as she continued remembering,

“AND THIS SLUT, THIS HORRIBLE SLUT CAME FROM ALL THE DEATH AND DECAY AND TOOK EVERYTHING AWAY. EVERYHING. USED MY OWN PROTECTORS AGAINST ME. THIS SLUT.”

Her voice pierced their ears as they were trying to listen yet cover them. They all looked at each other. Her eyes never stopped looking towards Yliv in awe despite the hatred in her voice.

“Um..” Leonard broke the silence after her bipolar monologue.

“But you’re so pretty” she continued saying towards Yliv.

“You are too” she responded awkwardly

“But I’m dead” she started weeping again.

The rest stayed silent before Leonard continued.

“Have.. Have you by any chance come upon a pretty tree.. Like Yliv?”

Without looking away, she responded in a sweet voice

“A pretty tree.. I like that tree.. But I can’t get close..”

Yliv figured that this was due to her not being part of the living, her experienced had taught her at least that much.

“Would you be able to take us to that tree?” Doronin added.

“I.. I could.”

“We could also help you with this.. Slut?” Leonard continued

“This slut.. THIS SLUT. SHE’S A HAG. SHE’S A HORRIBLE HAG.”

“How about you take us to the tree, and once we are done there we will help you with her.” He tried to reason with the creature.

“What is this?” the dwarf whispered to Rynvia

“I think that’s a Banshee, Dean. But she’s so pretty” she responded with her pupils dilated as he grew silent, unsure of if her response was troubling or reassuring.

“I can guide you there.. Because.. Because you are pretty” she continued looking at her.

“I shall lead the way.. Do you want to lead with me Yliv?” she said eagerly.

“I think I’m better in the back.. Looking around….” Her tone was more of a questioning tone on whether this excuse would work than a statement.

“Okay..” She said disappointed as she led them.

“But stay.. Stay quiet, my creatures.. My beautiful creatures from this THIEVING SLUT are very perceptive”

They treaded for hours in the swamp waters and the mud before reaching the drier part of the swamp. The humidity combined with the summer heat even below the thick tree line wasn’t making their journey any easier. Eventually they decided to settle for the night in a hollow tree trunk. It wouldn’t fit all of them, but someone had to keep watch.

Yliv against her better judgement decided to go above the tree line to measure the distance towards the bespoke tree. She soon found out that she should’ve trusted her instinct, as she turned into a raven, she flew through the tree line.

Before she knew it she became entangled in a spiders net. The only problem was that the spider was much bigger than anticipated. Lucky for her, as a giant raven she was also stronger than her average bird, breaking free from the web right before she became dinner. Flying down entangled in the web she had an anomalous, yet still elegant landing.

“Um.. You have white stuff on your hair” Doronin pointed out while the rest laughed.

“Could be worse.” She responded.

“Was everything okay up there?” he continued

“Everything was fine.” She smiled back before turning her back and facing the creepy, yet somewhat cute Banshee they had met.

“So how far are we?” Leonard asked

“I couldn’t see much.” She responded before Kaylen, Doronins owl flew upwards.

Luckily, he was much more elegant than a giant raven. Seeing through him, Doronin saw the beautiful night sky without the light pollution of Westgate, but not much else aside from small, star-like looking lights far from where they came from, perhaps the Irraebor. Coming down from his brief flight, the party had decided to gather a few materials for a fire.

Doronin, willingly scattered to find possible materials to use, before sticking his blade handle on a tree and.. Taking a piss.

In the meanwhile, Dean stayed with the ladies, rather silent.

Until everyone except for Dean heard in their mind

“Dear Arthur”

“Dear Rynvia”

“Dear Yliv”

“Dear Doronin”

“I, Lord of Waterdeep, Chosen of Mystra, Laeral Silverhand summon you to have an audience with me about your recent claims. Force Grey will meet you and accompany you from Irraebor to Waterdeep safely. They shall await at the Black Talon Headquarters for 3 days starting tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

The authoritarian voice finally seized to speak.

“Um..We’re kind of busy.” Rynvia responded while Yliv didn’t bother responding.

“Don’t. Be. Late.”

Doronin stuttered in the sound of the Lord of Waterdeep

“Um.. Can we get an extension or something? We’re out of town for now.”

The same response as Rynvia sounded in his mind.

“We’re in the middle of something here. Isn’t the fact that the king of Cimbar has said so?”

Leonard had grew in cockiness

“The king of..” she said laughingly in his mind

“It’s funny, because the king of Cimbar is here for talks these days.. Tell me, when were you the king Arthur?”

Leonard started panicking. His brother was there. If he was there, that was bad.

“Listen closely. Do not trust him.”

“You listen closely. Don’t. Be. Late”

“I won’t be responsible for you losing your kingdom.”

He never heard back.

“So I was wondering.. Where did you say you got that armor from?”

Yliv asked Dean while resting in the tree trunk, fully knowing the armor was identical to the bladesinger she had met a few days ago.

“This Vanduin tailored it for me.. It was a gift for winning my first fight in Ysgard.”

“So everything has a price for him?”

“Proving yourself is his moto.. Not one I’m fond of, I died many times in this place, rather not talk about it” he said in a more serious tone

“I understand.”

Rynvia was just looking at her brother, both happy and nostalgic about how they were as kids.

“I..” He took out a small gem stone

“I have this.”

“What’s this?” Yliv tried to get a closer look to the stone

“It’s meant to take me back if I wish”

“And.. Do you?”

“Not really, but it’s something I thought that’s cool” he smiled back at her and looked towards Rynvia

“We have to find our brother.”

Leonard overheard the last sentence as he was coming back from his gathering trip with Doronin.

“I believe we have to speak, Dean, Rynvia.” He also said in a serious, yet somewhat uncomfortable manner.

“Yes?..” She responded.

“I had told you that before I ran away I was a general of the army of Cimbar..”

“Yes?..” She kept repeating

“Well, we were fighting barbarians in the mountains for a while, at some point we fought these Bhaal priests, at that time Bhaal was unknown to me, aside from them being murderous heretics.”

They both remained silent.

“Long story short.. I think your brother was a high priest for them.. And he may be in our dungeon..”

Both of their eyes went wide, no, everyones eyes went wide.

“WHAT?”

They both screamed.

“And.. This thing you described, Dean. About him being a different person after touching this staff. I believe it’s the same thing that happened with my helmet.”

“OH NO” Rynvia screamed

Indeed, the situation was dire, he had fought for his life against this cursed helmet before claiming it against a Bhaalspawn, he called himself. He was warned that should he fail, his soul would be trapped in the helmet, and instead, his body would now be used by whoever sat in the helmet, waiting for a victory for so long.

“I had a message from the Lord of Waterdeep, she said that my brother is there for talks”

“We did too” Rynvia spoke for both her and Yliv.

“Same here” Doronin raised his hand.

“We could potentially intercept him once we’re done here, but first I need you to contact Fenduin and have him plead to Silverhand not to trust my brother.” He said as she Rynvia already started tracing the spell glyph in the air.

“Um… Hi.” She said counting words with her fingers.

“Tell Silverhand, not to trust the king of Cimbar…” She said looking at Leo in a ‘Is that fine?’ fashion, nodding back at her.

It wasn’t long before she heard Fenduins calm voice and elven manners respond.

“I already have done so as promised. Glad to hear you’re alive. I’m in traveling to Irraebor looking for this Alia Arthur had mentioned…”

As she transferred the message to Leonard a sigh of relief sounded

“At least there’s some good news.”

It was good news indeed; she was the only thing that he missed from home. Although as of lately, the feelings of nostalgia had started fading away, or rather replaced with the fulfilment of the present, maybe for the better.

Under the wing of a powerful political figure and archmagi, she would have little to fear, he hoped.

Conversing back and forth, eventually the party ended with the hope of returning Leo to power in Cimbar, and, getting her brother out of whatever predicament he had found himself in, assuming it was a similar case.

“Maybe have a convict touch the staff, then he can take their body”

“Or maybe a different race, did he ever want to be something else when he was little..Like.. Taller?”

The conversation went on and on before they eventually warmed a few stones to bring into the hollow tree to keep them warm, a fire would probably attract unwanted attention.

“I can keep watch…” said the Banshee smilingly.

“Um..” Leonard doubted her.

“I’ll do it, I don’t sleep” Yliv continued

Her patron had given her many gifts indeed, curing her insomnia was one of them, there’s no insomnia when there’s no need to sleep.

“And if she does anything weird, I’ll wake you up.” She said in all seriousness this time around.

Leonard stayed out with her for a while before passing out, trying not to stare at her like the Banshee did.

“So.. It’s been a while since we stayed in the same room, I miss being roomates..” he muttered before he said it out a little too loud for his own good.

“Really?” she responded.

“I was used to having someone creepy staying awake all night.” He said laughingly, but with a few pinches of truth in there.

“Well, we’ve grown richer, and more comfortable.”

“That’s true.. But it was pretty nice” He kept hinting with no luck.

“Do you like it?” He pointed at the owl hair pin he had paid rather handsomely for.

“I do, I hope I never have to use it though” she responded as she played with the magical strings.

Each of the strings once broken would emit a painful ping in the receivers mind. Yet they would also let them know that someone was in trouble.

“It’s a good night.” He said looking.. Well, at the trees above them, possibly for any giant spiders.

“Oh, good night” She said before his eyes went wide in awe

“No I meant it’s a good night..”

She busted out laughing.

“True.”

And so the night passed, Leonard passed out near trunk entrance, with the Banshee staring at Yliv all night long, her idea of ‘keeping watch’ was vastly different from what the group had in mind. There was no dawn break to measure the time, nor there were any birds to be heard, but few light rays eventually started penetrating the thick swamp.

As she blinked, she bathed in darkness. She knew this darkness, she had grown in it, she felt safe. Yet it felt different, the Queen was not there to greet her, nor could she hear her steps.

Another blink, and she appeared amidst a village square. It rang no memory bells. People screamed and ran away as she walked towards the source of terror. Only to see what she originally thought to be a tiefling standing above a crying female elven teenager. An older male elf begged for mercy as the bodies of villagers lied on the ground. From where his spine was, bones that were as sharp as razors came out.

“Do not worry, I shall not hurt her, but our deal was I could have anything I wanted.. Anything that you owned.. You own this village..” the tiefling said with a grin in his face.

As she blinked once more, she was back to the swamp, with the Banshee creepily staring at her, yet Yliv finding it weirdly comforting that she was indeed still there. Whatever that was, it was new. And she wasn’t sure it was for the best.

Staying out during the night was rough, she was sure to catch a cold, yet Leonard slept outside too, he was too big for the tree trunk, or perhaps he was just making sure she was safe. And his warmth, even when he slept, kept her from catching a cold in the middle of nowhere. Leonard, on the other hand had ironically woken up with a cough in the morning.

Rynvia opened her eyes to the sight of Doronins peculiar owl indiscreetly staring at her chest. It wasn’t long before she regretted the fact that she could talk. With her being a minor annoyance, she snapped her fingers as battlecries sounded in the forest. Leonard jumped out of his sleep, grabbed his sword and charged towards the sound at the distance. Rynvia may have gone a little overboard with her thaumaturgic cantrip, but she sat back and enjoyed the reaction nevertheless.

It wasn’t long before she called the cantrip off. Leonard had only ran some meters away, still within the vicinity of Yliv and the rest as he stopped, listening carefully after the abrupt ending of the screams. It was then that he heard the sound of multiple insectoids screeching around him, preparing for their first meal of the day. A dozen of ooze-leaking spiders had started coming around him, probably attracted from his own battle cry. They didn’t look very threatening, aside from being the size of his palm. With the rest of his comrades rushing to help, Rynvia wrestling each of them until they were squished while Dean, Yliv and Doronin had a the backseat of electrocuting and barbecuing them, it was over quickly.

“That was eas---” Leonard spoke too quickly as one had crawled inside his plate armor, he felt its teeth.. Or was it claws? Dragging along his back, her acidic poison burning him to the bone as he screamed in pain. It looked bad, but nothing Rynvia couldn’t take care of with the divine powers Liira had entrusted her with.

Despite their victory, they kept looking around for the ‘barbarians’ Leonard had heard… Rynvia never told him the truth, she liked her head in-tact, plus, nobody would argue about the fun factor of the situation they had gotten themselves in without anyone getting hurt.. A lot.

The party proceeded eating their not-so-glorious breakfast compared to their time spent in Westgate, at the Baron Fenduins keep, or any other day before their arrival to the mansion, be it a casino ship, or representing a magic shop owner at the fighting tournament in Oakrun. The banshee slowly but steadily led them through the drier parts of the swamp towards the tree they had been talking about all along.

Eventually, they arrived. The dim light from the thick forest line of the swamp finally started breaking by the summer sun. The dirty waters and the musty, somewhat decaying smell around them started changing. In front of them lied a clear, deep blue lake. A small island sat in the middle of it, bearing a tree beautiful enough to make up for the entire unfriendly swamp that they had treaded in.

“That’s as far as I can go” said the Banshee as if she was about to cry..Again.

“We’ll be back” Leo assured her as he started taking off his armor.

“I can make us walk on water” Rynvia said halfway, receiving a miffed look from Leonard which spent the last 5 minutes donning off his equipment ever so slowly.

After a bunch of small discussions on how wise it would be to walk on top of uncharted waters, they had decided to take the risk. Leonard took the first step in while fully expecting to sink, to his surprise, he didn’t. Yet something else occurred.

A pinching sensation surrounded him from head to toe, for a split second he wanted his skin to melt off him, before a peculiar sense of warmth he hadn’t sensed in a while surrounded him. The smell of lilac replaced the smell of the swamp entirely. His dark, somewhat rusty helmet became partially grey, as if it was purged from the misdeeds of the past.

The rest followed, experiencing similar sensations, with Rynvia being the least affected, she was used the divine energy surrounding her, yet not necessarily that kind.

After treading rather quickly to the other side of the shore, hoping they wouldn’t attract any lake predators, they had arrived to the centre of the island. The warmth grew ever more stronger with every step towards the tree. The entire island was covered in its roots. Pink petals were scattered in the air and in the ground. None of them could remember the last time they encountered something this beautiful. Edgar, Ylivs Raven went on a patrol with Kaylen to scout ahead. Through his eyes she saw a tall statue of questionable material standing near the tree bearing an inscription at the bottom of the platform it stood on. In the meanwhile, Leonard examined the tree through his divine senses. The entire place seemed to overflow with abjuration magic, whilst a stronger aura came from the statue. The tree itself radiated with divine magic. He proceeded to touch the tree, looking for potential passage, yet only found a small hollow, only enough for his hand to fit through.

Rynvia took an alternative approach, deciding to hug it instead, while her brother kept an eye out for potential threats. The warmth as she hugged it overtook her with positive emotions. She remembered this place through her vision of the past. The dying place of a deity. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for what had happened to her.

At the same time, Yliv and Doronin examined the inscription plate of the statue, it read;

“Only the bold and the worthy shall be blessed by her divine grace. Those who prey and steal shall lose much fore than their filthy hands”

Simultaneously, Leonard had already placed his hand in the hollow, using the bag Lyreth had given them in their first encounter, remembering his words on the potential hazards of the item he had sent them to recover. As his hand went deeper, he could feel the warm pulse of whatever lied in there.

Yliv and Doronin were debating on what the inscription could mean, clueless of what was going on behind them. The statue was marvellous. It wasn’t stone yet it was sturdy as stone, it wasn’t plate but it shined just as much. And last but not least, it may have only been a statue, but they felt intimidated.

And then, Leonard finally pulled something from the tree.

“I got it.”

He said loudly.

As they turned around and headed towards him, he felt the abjuration magic that surrounded them fade away, the tree had started to wither. Rynvia started screaming to Leonard to put it back as it turned into just another tree of the swamp. The dirty waters that were being kept out finally slipped in the blue lake, the water slowly became muddier by the second. The smell of lilac had turned into the musty smell of the swamp waters. Yet he felt something else, as he saw Doronin and Yliv head his way, the abjuration magic from the statue did not cease to exist. Instead, as they turned around they saw the statue leaking of blue, most likely arcane energy from every part of it where its armor had a gap. The runes on its shield and weapon had brightened up, as it stepped off the platform.

Leonard wasn’t surprised but wanted to get its attention to protect the rest. And so he did;

He walked forward with the stone in hand. The statue remained in position. Everyone who could sweat within their party was already sweating.

The phrase below the platform started echoing from within it. Yet nobody knew what it meant. The knew that it was neutral, for now at least, towards them.

“We are not here to steal.”

He said.

“We.. We work for Lyreth?” He hoped a name would work.

It didn’t.

“Orion maybe?”

Neither did that. Or potentially the language was not correct.

Doronin decided to step it, not for the good of the group necessarily, but because he secretly wanted this very stone himself, but nobody ever really suspected it.

“I could speak to it in celestial, just give me the stone so I can have its attention”

Leonard passed the stone to him unknowingly.

Repeating the very same steps, no progress was made. With the statue eventually slowly clobbering his shield and weapon, Doronin took it as an act of aggression. That wasn’t the case, not until he put the stone in the bag at his side. From 40 feet, the statue took a step only to leap a breath away from Doronins space. They all had finally realised its true height, standing at just about 7 feet it was already intimidating before it was animated. Yet it didn’t attack.

“Bad move. Let’s reset this.” He thought as he took the stone from his bag and held it in front of him once more using the bag as a glove.

“What do you want us to do?” He spoke in celestial as the statue extended his arm that had yet to unsheathe his sword. He placed the stone on it with the bag, before the statue tore the bag apart and left it on its open palm.

“You said you weren’t allowed to touch the stone..Why?” He looked at the rest

“Not sure.” Yliv responded.

“Do you trust this Lyreth?”

“He looked genuine. Why?” Leonard said

Doronin wasn’t sure but he was getting the message to touch the stone.

They spent quite some time debating their next move while the echoes of the inscription kept sounding through the statue. Eventually, they had decided if one was to touch it, it should be Rynvia. The purest of them.

She walked up and Doronin tied to pick her up before realising dwarves are not as light as they look. She slowly climbed up the statue before she touched the stone. The magnificent energy she felt flowing from it was majestic, yet it soon turned into scorching pain, but she didn’t leave it. She fell on the ground with it and kept holding it.

What the rest saw was Rynvia slowly turning into dust, that’s where her brother stepped in and grabbed the stone with her, slowing its effects while looking at the rest. They were all hesitant, yet she wouldn’t let it go, and they wouldn’t let her go. Leonard stepped in next, with Doronin and Yliv following suit. The energy overwhelmed them as they were trying to hold it for as long as they possibly could

‘The worthy and the bold’

Gif Taken from: https://www.quora.com/Avengers-Endgame-Why-wasnt-Tony-disintegrated-after-holding-the-stones-just-like-guardians-of-the-Galaxy-in-GOTG-vol-1

It kept repeating into their minds before a shockwave sent threw them on their backs. A cloud of shimmering dust was raised by whatever had just occurred as they called for each other.

Eventually the dust settled, they all lied on the ground looking at each other. Dean rushed to Rynvia making sure she’s alright, only to realise a halo flickered on top of her. Rynvia looked at him as he was running towards him as his movement seemed otherworldly as if he glitched. Doronin saw both as he realised sparks of lightening, or static electricity were flickering in the same manner, he turned to Leonard as he felt an uncomfortable wave of heat radiating from him, yet there was nothing to note.

“Maybe the arcane users had experienced a malfunction due to the arcane explosions” he thought.

“Wow.”

Said Leonard as he looked around him making sure everyone is alright before finally stumbling on Ylivs otherworldly appearance. He always found her clothing style creepy, possibly because of the cloak of raven feathers that occasionally seemed to somewhat animate on its own while making the dim candlelight in the room that they used to share even dimmer. But this time it was different. Her eyes constantly flickered between green and endless, pupil less purple glitter. As if the sky had found refuge within.

Yliv looked at him with a curious grimace

“Huh?”

“Your eyes” he pointed

“Um..”

“Oh shit, the stone!” he remembered as he started looking around. The statue that was previously echoing the inscription on its platform now lied on the floor, half shattered in dust and the rest partially dipped within the ground. They all searched for the stone with no luck. Instead, using his divine senses he felt a beat of divinity from each of them, including himself. Unsettling, yet warm.

Looking around them, they quickly assumed they wouldn’t be the only ones who heard the loud explosion, with whatever little was left from Rynvias miraculous water walking ability, they started rushing for the shore, away from the opening which could end up being an arena, or a tomb.

While crossing, they saw two figures heading towards the island before noticing their presence. A tall, grey haired man alongside a red haired woman started to approach them.

“Yo, Doronin” she shouted from afar.

“Shit” He thought, quickly clenching his fist and muttering an incantation silently to replicate the stone they had just lost.

Being a mistrusting bunch, they kept on their course until they reached the shore, with the two figures quickly catching up to them.

“Long time no see, comrade” She smiled as she walked towards them. She wasn’t as elegant as he had originally met her, partially bloodied and worn off. With the head of a some forest creature hanging on her side.

The rest looked at him curiously

“Who is she?”

Yliv said first

“Oh? I thought you’d mention me to them already, I’m somewhat offended.”

The man behind her seemed at a much better condition, one would doubt he had even drawn his sword during whatever encounter they had in the forest.

Rynvia, seeng she was wounded, gave her a.. Hug.

She was just as surprised being on the receiving end

“That’s some good illusion magic, I’ll give you that”

she said as she noted the flickering halo on top of her head.

Leonard looked for their newly baptised Banshee, Geltrud, with little luck.

“Before we go on, have you seen a banshee by any chance?” Leonard interrupted

“A..Banshee?” she responded while the man stayed silent.

“Yeah, we sort of promised we’d take care of a hag for her.”

The rest of the party mentally face palmed while this conversation took place.

“Met a hag, killed a hag.” she pointed towards some partially destroyed woods on the other side of the lake.

“Are you sure she was a hag?”

“It was a hag. She can give one hell of a massage” she said as she fixed her dislocated shoulder.

“Well, that makes it easier for us, I still wanted to say goodbye but I guess there’s no nee—”

“I can see you’re in a hurry so let’s make this quick, Doronin, that is Nathan, Nathan, that is Doronin.”

Nathan looked at him surprised

“I’ll be damned. So it is true” looking at him somewhat fascinated from whatever he thought he looked at.

Doronin looked in awe

“Wait..” his eyes went wide.

“I promised you information, I found the next best thing.” She said smilingly at him as she extended her wrist, he knew what she expected.

“Wait, wait” he said repeatedly.

“What are you saying? This is my..Dad?”

Nathan laughed

“I’m not your father boy. But I am an associat—”

“No more talking before you hand over the stone.”

The rest had finally began to catch up with whatever was taking place.

“The stone?” Leonard looked at Doronin.

“You didn’t tell them about being one of the good guys either? Really Doronin?” she sighed.

“You threatened me not—”

“And I thought you’d know better than that” she interrupted again.

“Oh well, that’s something you can work on later, may I have the stone, please?”

“Why would you want the stone, and who are you?” Yliv moved forward

“Oh? My name is not necessary, my mission is. The stone rightfully belongs to Ezekiel, and that is more than enough of a reason for me to acquire it.”

“Eze..Who?”

“Look, girl. We’re the good guys, you can hand over the stone as you have no need for it. In return, we will make sure everyone in the realm remains safe. Win-win, see?”

“I don’t. We are working for the good guys too.”

“Oh? And who would that be?” she said as her eyes flickered for a second as she rested her hand on the grip of her sword.

“I’d be careful with your response.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It very much does.”

While the conversation went back and forth, Rynvia silently prayed to Liira to calm the spirits.. It wasn’t a good idea. As the calming hymn sounded towards the woman she hugged, she looked down, knowing what she had just tried as she pulled her sword.

“Tell me, is that what the good guys do? Charming everyone else?”

In the meanwhile, Doronin had sneaked away and towards Nathan.

“So.. You know my dad?” he tried saying without his voice breaking.

“Yes.” Nathan looked at him with even more interest, and somewhat sadness as he was closer.

“How would I know?”

“We can arrange a rendezvous. And you can meet him. How else?” he said stoically towards him.

“Wow” he said astonished.

As the scene became more heated on the side of the party, Nathan drew his sword and took a swift slash towards the red-haired woman, severing her head.

“That just made things much easier.”

Leonard said looking at Nathan.

“It has. I am going to try and say this once, please, leave. I have business to attend with Doronin.”

Doronin looked back at him.

The rest of the party looked towards him.

“We can’t really do that.” Rynvia responded.

“This man just betrayed your trust. Are you willing to defend someone like this?”

“He’s right.” Leonard thought

“No, but he has to explain himself.”

He looked around them.

Doronin started explaining the story to the rest, while the atmosphere grew more static by the minute.

Nathan didn’t stop looking at each of them with pinches of regret.

“My dear Doronin. What you have just narrated was the story of how secrets never stay secrets unless you’re the only one that knows about them.. And I, have to be the only one who knows about what happened to you and your mother. I want you to understand, I never wanted to do this, nor do I want to do what I am about to do. But it was for the greater good. The good I and your father have done; I can’t allow it to be undone. Not for a single life. “ Nathan followed as Doronin finished his story.

He raised is open palm towards the party, as neon blue sparks flew from him towards them. It had finally occurred to Doronin, his powers were identical to Nathans, identical to the ones that Aerdrie had slowly been handing over to him from when he was struck as a new-born. The overflowing energy shook everyone to their core, most of them barely made it while Leonard stood in front, taking most of it. Doronin was overflowing with lightening, a little more barely harmed him. Yet he knew the gap between their power levels was unprecedented. While angry, he maintained his composure to think. He had to survive.

“Please.” He looked at the rest, “Leave.”

Dean had rushed towards him seeing his sister overwhelmed, taking two swings at Nathan, slightly disrupted from the eldritch energy coming his way, as well as keeping Leonard at bay in combination with Deans peculiar fighting technique he managed to tear a small wound on his otherwise stone-hardened skin. In return, Nathans sword flew out of its sheathe, while unpredictable, Deans reflexes saved him, only for it to make a 180 degree turn before stabbing him in the back. Rynvia saw this, as he kneeled and coughed blood on the ground. A bolt of divine light gathered in her palm as she shot it towards him with all her might. Nathan didn’t move, he instead stood in front of it, taking it in full force, only to barely be scratched to Rynvias surprise.

Radiant energy burst from Nathan, knocking Dean unconscious as Doronin and Leonard could hold their ground. Doronin muttered an incantation as he started growing in size, ripping apart his armor. White body hair started replacing the tears in his armor with electric blue highlights as he roared and tried to punch Nathan. It was then that Nathans wings finally spurted, lightening the blow of the giant ape before he took off the ground to gain the higher ground on them. Rynvia barely ever missed with the hammer she was given by Tristan, yet Nathan not only evaded it, but used it as a boost to fly higher.

The fight kept breaking out, yet the more blows the party missed the more they realised that their enemy was formidable. Too formidable even. Yet he was holding back. He wasn’t actively trying to kill them; he was trying to make them falter. Leonard had never sensed this scorching aura from a being before. If they did manage to take him down, it wouldn’t be without sacrifices.

Leonard kept seeing himself within Nathan, as Nathan did see himself in Leonard. They shared the same sense of duty, making absolute sacrifices for the greater good. He couldn’t fight him, not like this, not for someone who had just jeopardised their trust. He went near Yliv as he asked her to trust him and follow his lead, unknowingly of what he was about to do, she nodded. Nathan had finally found their weakness; Comradeship.

A glimmer of hope grew when one of Ylivs blasts finally landed while the ache from her hex symbol on his face had him lose his edge for a split second, only to wilt as he rushed through the party, grabbing her by the neck and scooping her off her feet. He was worn off, they all were.

“Stop.” Leonard shouted as Nathans sword had just landed in his arm as he was about to pierce through her chest.

“We don’t want to fight you anymore, you were right.”

He continued, while Nathan looked at him, somewhat confused. He could sense lies, and Leonard wasn’t lying.

He took his sword up and slashed towards Dorinin with necrotic energy overflowing from his sword.

Doronin roared in pain, even in his adrenaline-induced form as blood gashed out of his wound.

Leonard looked towards Rynvia, nodding at her, she was confused but trusted him, she knew the situation was dire, she then started taking swings. Yliv wasn’t sure what was happening, yet she held tight on her staff as she waited for the right moment the tides would turn.

Dean was appalled, but his sister had asked signalled him to follow, he couldn’t afford risking her life.

Doronin eventually started turning back to his plane touched Aasimar form, as he panted, bleeding, he muttered an incantation while coughing blood. He flipped a diamond in the air, and from the diamond came fire. Fire strong enough to match the breath of a dragon. Nathan was caught off guard, yet he stood there, taking it. His face had partially melted as he walked towards Doronin, always with regret.

“You can leave. You don’t have to see this.” he reassured the rest.

Yliv had rushed to them, she was looking at all of them, waiting for a sign.

Doronin started running towards the depths of the swamp, confused as everyone was attempting to strike him down. He couldn’t think anything else than making it out alive. Dean looked at his sister once more with doubt as he ran towards him, giving him the final blow as he cut his tendons before he passed out. Leonard followed him, as he lied in the ground, he plunged his sword in his back, blood started soaking the ground as it run towards the swamp waters. Even Nathan was caught off guard. The cool air that often surrounded his sword grew hellish hot, almost burning him as he gripped it as firmly as he could, making a final twist. He always thought the wind surrounding it was attuned to his emotions. Yet this time he wasn’t sure if that was his state of mind that was reflected in the temperature of the wind or someone elses.

“I told you, he was our problem.” Leonard continued.

“I..” “I am sorry.”

He looked at all of them and their wounds.

Yliv hadn’t partaken in this. She just stood there, her legs below her raven-feathered cloak were shaking. Her eyes had gone wide.

“I didn’t do anything to him”

She kept thinking

“I didn’t do anything for him”

The echoes were interchangeable.

Nathan headed towards the dismembered body of the red-haired woman. As he placed it over her neck and chanted a couple of words radiant energy started searing the wound.

“I wasn’t planning to kill any of you. Your courage is admired, and so is your sacrifice.”

Those were his final words before he flew above the tree line, leaving them to mourn.

The woman eventually gasped as she woke up and grabbed her sword heading towards the group standing on top of Doronin.

“You’re lucky the rest of you lot is alive after trying to take us on.”

Leonard looked at her dead serious

“Your friend cut your head off, nobody tried to take you on, now leave.”

She stared at them confused.

“I..”

“You can sense if we’re lying can’t you?”

She could. But it didn’t make sense.

“He also brought you back, if it helps.”

Her confusion only grew.

“Did he take the stone?”

“There is no fucking stone. The stone disappeared. You don’t believe us, go and take a look. Now leave us, we have a burial to take.”

“If what you say is true, then the entire Faerun will turn into a burial because of your incompetence.” She said as she walked towards the now withered tree.

They sat in silence for twenty minutes. Dean moved away from the group as he couldn’t stand the sight.

The woman eventually came back, only to ask for further details, yet nobody was willing to speak. She couldn’t blame them. She had failed, and it did not matter how, the consequences were what would matter. She sweated as she walked towards the forest frantically before they lost sight of her.

They all remained silent for the next few hours, they buried Doronin, Rynvia made the utmost preparation to pray for him in the afterlife before rushing towards where she had seen her brother last. She found him, wiping off his already clean sword.

“Why did you leave?” she said silently

“I need some time” Dean said as he avoided eye contact.

“Is this what you’ve been doing since I was gone?” he continued.

“Doronin betrayed us, it was a bad situation.”

“Is this how you justify it? Is this how you’ll treat our brother? He killed our parents.”

“That’s different.”

“No Rynvia, it’s the same. If not worse.”

“We spent a month with this guy, we spent our entire lives together with Damon.”

“A month that you could’ve all died. You fought zombies, pirates, demons, a dragon, Rynvia. A dragon.”

“Did you never think of killing our brother when he sent you in Ysgard?”

“Never. I was angry, I was mad, I died a thousand times. But it never occurred to me. I don’t wanna know what would happen if I betrayed you”

“You really wouldn’t.” she said in a serious tone before her voice broke and tears started dripping on the ground.

“When I came back, I wanted to see my sister and family. I was sad to find out what had happened, but I at least was happy to have my sister back. But now I see that it’s not the person I had known for the better part of a century. And I’m.. I’m confused.” He never made eye contact, he just kept on wiping his blade.

“I…”

“Go back with the rest, Rynvia..”

“Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I’ll try.”

She started walking back as she shouted

“I love you.”

No response echoed.

In the meanwhile, Yliv and Leonard sat around the burial site in silence. Leonard look at her shaking hands but wasn’t sure if he should try to comfort her.

“You didn’t follow my lead.” He said bothered

“I’m not sure what you expected me to do” she responded after a long interval

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not sure about that either.”

She had never imagined killing an innocent, let alone a comrade.

“He had betrayed us. If anyone was going to die in this it was him.”

She didn’t respond. Neither did he continue to justify what had happened.

“He redeemed himself.”

She looked back at him confused

“Do you still trust me?”

“I don’t know”

“Help me unbury him, please.”

They both started excavating the grave once more, as Rynvia was coming back she cluelessly helped whatever they were trying to do, perhaps one of them wanted to give their regards, she was too disoriented.

Eventually, Doronins cold, muddy and moist from the swamp body was finally uncovered.

A burning sensation started radiating from Leonard as a couple of withered wings spurted out and his armor turned entirely dark, aside from the grey gem that remained embedded in his skull shaped helmet. From under his helm his eyes had turned bright red as he started chanting.

Both Rynvia and Yliv were daunted from the intimidating sight yet somewhat comforted by the unexpected warmth that emanated from his grim appearance. He continued to chant for the better part of the hour, as he did, he felt the divine essence slowly going dormant and his emanating radiance fading while Doronins colour returned and Leonards sword thrust that pierced through his heart started mending, physically at least.

#Dungeons and dragons #d&d story #d&d #homebrew #5e

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viviandroidcardigan · 7 years

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HUGE post about Drautos

My speculations about Drautos based on little number of canon facts we have but still remaining mostly in headcanon space. MANY gifs.

However you look at it, Titus Drautos is a man of ideas, or maybe better to say mental constructs. He put himself under immense pressure, being a double agent for 10+ years leading a major force for two opposing armies. Successfully leading both, I can’t stress that enough, because that’s just crazy. And for what? What possible motivations could he have had?

There are two major ideas he seemed to be living by. Both artificially constructed and absolutely disconnected from him by the end of the movie.

Personal grudge against king Regis and the wellbeing of his homeland.

First, I just want to say that it’s very clear to me that neither pure power nor any other personal gain was ever his goal. And there was no loyalty or other positive feelings towards the Empire. That much is clear from his words and his actions.

I’m going to take the majority of what he says at face value because some offhanded phrases were revealed to be meaningful later on and I think he is trying to tell the truth as much as possible not to get tangled in a web of lies as any respectable spy would do.

Also I regard the majority of his words about someone to be actually about himself as it is a customary way to show character’s motivations in any story.

Like here. Drautos is feeling he has no power without the magic on loan from a person he hates. That was probably the reason he started working with Niflheim in the first place, to get an alternative which he got in a form of his armor.

The one thing he is passionate about is ending the war. He could be acting for sure but there is no real reason for it. Other Glaives showed all the spectrum of emotions ranging from rage to uncertainty to derision and none was considered a suspicious behavior. The best choice of emotion for a captain close to the King in some respect, would seem to be a reserved contemplation. But he is emotional and in not just words but also his posture and movements. That’s the most fidgety and unsettled we see him for the whole movie. I believe it’s because he really want’s for the fucking war to end and... he doesn’t feel all that great about his next order to Crowe. Though from his perspective her death is essential for the plan and thus for stopping the war.

In my favorite scene Drautos is obviously probing Nyx for any discontent he can use to stir him his way. He’s not really working to get Nyx to his side because as far as we know that’s the only talk of such nature between them and it’s really far too late for it to work. Drautos has already recruited his merry band of traitors long ago and has a role for Nyx to play, but he is still hopping for something. I would say, to check if Nyx can be persuaded to work with him afterwards, when everything would work out accordingly.

Also, Drautos is not a super emotional guy but the flatness of his expression now in this particular (otherwise relatively lively) conversation indicates to me that he may be thinking how HE wasn’t happy to give up his home, back when it happened the first time.

My personal take on his age is around 45 (his actor’s age) it’s somewhere there anyways. And seeing that the Wall was retracted to cover only Insomnia in 725 and he was said to loss his home 30 years ago that would make him 14-15. Not most pleasant teenage memories for sure.

I love the fact that he is genuinely baffled by the idea that Nyx wants to return to Galahd. His reaction makes it clear that he wasn’t even considering it to be an option. Neither for Nyx, nor for himself. And he tells right away why he thinks so. He is sure that without magic they won’t be good for much at home but he is well aware that soon he would be permanently without it.

So here goes the first mental construct: Cavaugh his homeland.

He may be the one to invent or at least put emphasis on the moto: For hearth and home. And he later claims the Empire made promises regarding giving their lands back but he exhibits no particular cultural signs of that place, unlike very prominent Galahdian ancestry Nyx and Libertus bask in. I don’t think he has any family left and sure he had no chance to visit it in decades. He clearly had no plan to come back to it soon or maybe at all. For the place he is putting his life and honor in line for, he shows very little care for it.

It’s more like it was something he cared deeply for long ago, in his formative years. Something he built his life around to protect but it’s merely a ghost of an idea by now. This is also something he never actually got to understand.

“Yeah, always wanting to save somebody” another: I’m talking to you, but I’m actually remembering myself long ago when I wanted to save everyone and couldn’t. He used to be that, but now he IS the one who is winning wars, because he learned to align with a strongest forces and play the dirtier way.

This argument is actually a huge proof to me that Drautos cares about Nyx to some extent. He is basically showing his hand a bit with the next phrase especially, just to warn him a little bit, not about what is coming but about the danger of being too moral in an immoral world. Something hard learned.

Can we take a moment to appreciate Nyx’s eye roll during his captain’s speech? This little shit!

And here, another instance of talking about his own unanswered prayers, because he knows that “The gods do not listen”.

This one is interesting. He has no reason to tell Luna anything. He came to take her and he will, no reason for additional intimidation and he is not a man to drop vague unnecessary ego busting phrases.

The only reason to do it in my opinion, as if that prayer did piss him off a great deal and he reminds himself how close he is to finally reaching his goals - something gods never granted him so he went and got it for himself.

Again talking about the struggles he couldn’t overcome. It pains me to think how he faced this arguments alone, never getting a chance for a fair fight and still choosing the right thing to fight for.

He is a Niflheim general commanding the infantry, he knows what MTs are, what daemons really are. Well he knows much more than Nyx at least. Drautos is not afraid of them but he understands how truly overpowered that enemy is.

“Giving a future to those who want to see it is everything”

And now about the second construct: hatred towards Regis.

Regis was undoubtedly a very unlucky man, because his actions were dictated mostly by his knowledge of unimaginable fate of the world and his own son. And many of those actions looked very much like cowardice and hypocrisy from outside of what he was totally aware of.

Alas, Drautos was not privy to that information, in his younger years at least. And in all honesty I think his hatred started before Regis even could take any of those actions. I’m reasonably supposing that Drautos had lost his family during that war 30 years ago. When Morus abandoned the lands beyond the wall and recalled Regis back to Insomnia from the front lines.

So Drautos actually started hating the Lucis Caelum dynasty for something that wasn’t Regis’ fault, ironically I think it was said that Regis was not happy about that development himself. But that time Drautos saw him as a coward and nothing could change his mind ever since.

Also these words mean that Drautos in fact still enlisted into Lucis army. I don’t think he talks about the recent armistice, he surely has no ground to talk about betrayal there. That’s why I think there was another incident, something after he enlisted and served loathing and before he actually snapped. I have MY version of what that was (read Chapter 11 of H&H when I get there xD) but anyways there was something. And for Drautos it looked like he was betrayed multiple times before his own retaliation.

But the point is, for many years in charge of Kingsglaive Drautos was in position that required close work with Regis and certain active protection of his name before the Glaives, who were prone to be dissatisfied with king’s actions. Like at the start, Drautos again and again repeats that the king is a supreme power and wisdom. Whether he believed it or not at first is of no matter because he sure as hell had to at some point to admit it at least partially. Because he is not stupid and he is honorable in his own way and being in close quarters with Regis he had to recognize a good man in him. And I think that he did. Because despite his angry words in the end, he did give him a quick death and a fucking salute. TWICE. The second one so long that he, in fact, had lost Nyx and Luna because he was doing it. Also that cathartic cry for a man like Drautos? Lots of emotions I interpret as anger, relief, closure and regret.

So yeah. Drautos wasn’t in fact hating Regis, more like he was hating the idea of Regis and all that he represented. But same a constructed idea of his homeland it was so deeply set he could have never objectively rethink it. Every trait he developed, every action he took was built onto these two things: the future for the place he never meant to return to and the hatred toward a person who never actually deserved his scorn.

Something he probably realized on some level but couldn’t afford to doubt, because it was too late to change and would have resulted in self-destruction of the core of his personality. He was stuck in the past, molded around the ideas he fought for all his life, alone, for the right cause but missing all the crucial information about what was to come and therefore without a hope to ever truly succeed. And that is very sad if you think about it.

#titus drautos #final fantasy xv #KINGSGLAIVE #ffxv #meta #general glauca

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3one3 · 7 years

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The Sequel - 816

L’Aveugle Par Amour

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

“Walking into the lobby.”

“Stay there. I’ll come down.”

“I need to put my bag in the room anyway. And...other stuff.”

“322”

Juan picked Hotel Zoo for his expedition to Berlin. The boutique hotel was in the same neighborhood as the actual zoo, but not technically associated with it. The historic building did feature a courtyard full of safari animal statues and topiaries though. It was also really pretty, and cool. Christina liked it as soon as she walked in, and thought of it as art deco but with a modern luxury twist. Everything was shiny, and the dark colors were broken up with vibrant purples, greens, and reds. There was tufted velvet furniture all over the place, under glitzy chandeliers. She had planned to look at Google Maps on her phone in the car between the train and the hotel to figure out where to go with Juan- what to check out, where to eat, and what neighborhoods might reward explorers with interesting finds. Instead her eyes were glued to the windows. Berlin was still foreign to her. Fortunately, or perhaps logically, Juan’s chosen accommodations were right on the Ku’damm- the premier avenue in the western part of the city, lined with high end shopping, independent restaurants, other hotels, and car dealerships. The area was a major destination for artists and the Bohemian set pre-World War I, and was still a big culture center. The sights appealed to the rider. The wide boulevard felt nothing like London. It was more modern than that, and more open, even with some very old facades. She couldn’t wait to go wander around. But there was something else she couldn’t wait for either, and it required waiting for Juan to open the door to his room.

“Hey baby gir-“ He almost got a whole greeting out before Christina stood on her tippy toes to offer her own greeting. Both styles involved lips and tongue but only his involved words, and only hers involved kicking the door shut.

“Hi,” she smiled after the 4-second kiss.

“Hi. You look great.” The Spaniard didn’t miss a beat, and used her lingering nearness to hold her waist and her neck. His smile matched hers. They were rather happy to see each other. “I like your jacket.”

So does your girlfriend, the new German resident thought, remembering when Taylor complimented her red leather Givenchy moto jacket. What she couldn’t remember, however, was the last time Juan even mentioned Taylor. Not that she cared. All that mattered just then was the way the happiness she felt was reflected back to her in his cool blue eyes, and the effect of his cologne. That Gucci scent evoked in her many recent memories of intimate engagements. It was the trademark scent, if you will, of being very naughty or very nice with him, and like the smell of cinnamon rolls made her ravenously hungry, made her crave the intimacy.

“Thanks.” She maintained her smile and started unwinding the heavy knit scarf from her neck, forcing the player to let go. He offered to take her quilted nylon overnight bag, and she followed him up three tiny dark wooden steps into the rest of the room.

It was much like the lobby, with brick accent walls, white paint, tufted everything, stylish lighting. The bathroom was all white, clean lines, smooth surfaces, and expensive looking products. Juan said he went for the nicest level room under the suites, since they weren’t going to be spending a lot of time in the hotel. The thing was, his friend had designs on spending some time there right away, before heading out in search of culture and novelty. As soon as she was finished surveying the comfortable space, she toed off her black slip-on sneakers, took her little bag over her head, stripped off the jacket, and hopped backwards onto the bed in the spot where it looked like he’d been sitting on the nice white comforter.

“I need sex and 10 minutes of snuggles and forehead kisses afterward, and then we can go on an adventure,” Christina explained, hoping to sound alluring. She was already unbuttoning the skinniest of black skinny jeans. You know what’s funny, she asked herself as an aside. I had to lay down to get these suckers on in the first place.

“I like you this way,” the Spaniard chuckled. He reached for her right foot, prepared to help pull the tiny pants off from that end. There was no way to know if he’d been eagerly desperate to rip her clothes off and go at it or if he was turned on by her completely uninhibited desire, or if he was simply willing to humor her. She knew though as soon as the jeans were off and she felt the course denim of his only moderately skinny jeans brush against her knees and thighs as he crawled over her that he was definitely down to provide the services she was looking for. His lips were possessive and predatory when they landed on hers the second they could reach her. The rider loved that. It turned her on of course, but it also just made her feel great. She was wanted, and there were no relationship complications to diminish or confuse that the way there was with André, and André was noticeably too afraid of alienating her or offending her when they were together over the weekend to kiss her like that. She figured he was afraid that she’d think he wasn’t interested in the connection- only the sex. It didn’t bother her. Experiencing her other sexual partner’s lust for her just highlighted that it had been missing. It filled a vacuum.

“Missed you,” she whispered innocently when Juan pulled back a bit to look at her, a playful smile mostly in her eyes. Her hands held onto the arms holding him up. His physical form was beginning to feel like her property in a way it never did even when they were together exclusively. The soul within it belonged to her off and on but mostly on. Only on those occasions when he demonstrated real closeness with another girl did Juan feel out of her grasp, and those usually turned into misdirected temper tantrums or hidden sadness. In contrast, the body only ever seemed to belong to him. She never thought of any of his other girlfriends, or his fiancé for that matter, as having ownership- having the right and freedom to sit on, touch, poke, kiss, lick, move, or otherwise manipulate the player’s body. Christina had ownership of André’s. She was never entirely sure if she even wanted or needed the same with the other player. As she got a taste for that privilege- for whatever reason it was changing- she grew into wanting it.

“You’re wearing a tiger shirt.” The person with literal ownership of the body in question did a kind of double take when he spotted the roaring tiger on her t-shirt. The Gucci garment was apparently surprising, and caught his attention.

“Brilliant observation.”

“What does “L’Aveugle Par Amour” mean?” he asked, reading the large words on top of and below the tiger head when she let go of his arms to spread the white shirt out.

“Blind for love. Can you stop checking out my shirt and take it off? Or take your pants off? Or stop asking unnecessary questions and kiss me instead?”

Juan took the hint. His friend’s urgency amused him enough to keep a pleasant little smirk on his mouth while he switched to one elbow and reached under her shirt to squeeze a breast, first through the soft cotton cup of her bra, and then without it when he shoved it up out of the way. Christina wanted to get in his jeans. At the very least, she wanted to get to the button and zipper. She couldn’t reach and he seemed to be deliberately trying to make it difficult. His right hand shuttled up and down her side, from pushing her underwear down her hip a little ways to uncovering her breast from her shirt too instead of just the bra inside it. His kisses were at her neck.

Literally everything is perfect, she concluded, her hands in the hair at the back of his head since evidently that was all he was going to allow her to touch for the time being. I was in a hurry because I know he wants to go out and see things, and I do too, but he isn’t in such a hurry. He’s not slow but he’s not frantic either. He’s just the right side of “I am ridiculously turned on by you being horny enough to demand that I fuck you 90 seconds after you got here”. This is perfect. The rider closed her eyes and lived the excitement inherent in being able to turn someone like Juan from sightseeing mode to sexing mood with a few gestures and a couple of words. There was no question by then that he wasn’t just humoring her, or doing a favor. He wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. That gave her all the flutters and twitches and electricity of early-relationship sex, and the ease and nonchalance of the forehead kiss she got after he finished in her mouth gave her the melting insides feeling of the love of an established partnership. It was like having all of the different feelings of a whole relationship from about the third or fourth date through the third or fourth anniversary in 30 minutes. And it was all highly energizing.

“Which way do you want to walk first?” Christina asked the Chelsea man while he installed a knit beanie on his head and she cocooned herself in the oversized scarf.

“To the left out front. We can walk on the main street for a while and then double back on the side streets. There is this music club I want to go to later. Walking and dinner first.”

“Where do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know. We’ll find something,” he shrugged, checking his pockets to make sure he had his essentials. She interrupted his inventory with a cheerful smooch.

“I’m so excited to be a tourist and not have plans.” I hate plans. Plans suck. Everything at home is about plans. Plans to be home. Plans to go out to eat. Plans to do things with Lukas. Plans to do things with friends. Plans to do stuff that’s supposed to make us reconnect. The German girl mentally rolled her eyes at what she perceived as the oppression of André’s misguided belief that he could improve their home life with these plans. She thought he was always trying to plan things because he couldn’t just sit still and let their situation play out. He needed to do something about it. He thought plans were solutions. Christina liked having plans for things like her workday, or for running errands. His plans often felt like plans for the sake of having plans, rather than plans for accomplishing something, be it an objective task or a subjective goal, like “fun” or “relaxation”. Juan’s only plan was to see where their interest took them, and then check out a club whenever they made their way to it. His friend wasn’t exactly sure how to define the difference. She just knew it was there.

“Are you in-the-street-famous in this country?”

“Huh?”

“Do people recognize you on the street here?”

“Oh. I dunno. I don’t think so? People recognize me in Dortmund, but literally everyone in Dortmund is obsessed with football.”

“I meant because you’re Christina Schürrle, not because you’re Mrs. André Schürrle.”

“I doubt it. Are we hiding?”

“No.”

“I need a coffee for adventuring.”

“Okay, but I’m not carrying your shopping bags because your “hands are full”.” The Spanish player leaned over to peck her cheek, and started for the door. Smartass, Christina thought, smiling and following after him. They were in search of culture and sights. They both knew Christina couldn’t pass up retail though.

Berlin turned out to be colder than expected in terms of ambient temperature, and warmer in terms of pretty much everything else. The city was new to both of them. Christina had visited for specific functions, just never to actually walk around. Nothing had ever brought her companion there before. He told her about his stop at the headquarters of a social charity partner that endeavored to use football to improve the lives of children, particularly in poor urban areas. It was quite nice for her to hear about something other than herself, or horses, or Borussia Dortmund. Too many of their regular conversations were getting sucked into the hole that was her transition period. Juan was supposed to be the sunshine outside of that, and so he proved to be once again. It helped that the city provided alternative topics for discussion. They found small art galleries, independent artisans’ shops offering everything from soap sculpture to handmade journals and paper goods, random reminders of history, record and book stores that seemed in abundance compared to London, and a gallery selling nothing but architectural photos from places around the world. That was a favorite stop. Rider and footballer both picked out a couple of prints to take home, and the proprietor helped them choose frames and mats too. The photos were to be shipped to their respective homes.

Having to give their separate addresses made Christina a little sad inside. She kept it there- kept it from showing. As few as 8 days earlier, she was still thinking about their futures converging in perhaps one shared address. There was still a desire for that within her. It didn’t go away just because her future at her current address, with André, was looking more tenable than it did a week before. That duopoly felt like it had the potential to be really confusing and difficult. It begged questions such as: What happens if I want to be with both of them? She thought about a fantasy life while the Spaniard spied through the windows of a restaurant across the street from the photo gallery- a fantasy life in which she split her time between the two midfielders, with separate families even. Obviously it wasn’t realistic, and she didn’t even want a situation like that, but there was no stopping her mind from wandering down that path until the player she was with asked her to translate the menu by the door.

The place was called “80 Days”, as in “Around The World in Eighty Days”, and fittingly offered culinary delights from all over. Juan was after something interesting and uniquely Berlin, rather than looking for whatever the hottest, hippest, trendiest spot in town was at the moment- that would be for the next night- so an eclectic looking establishment with everything from Wiener schnitzel to country fried chicken salad with Georgia peaches was perfect. They shared falafel balls and hummus, a roasted lamb dish with fries, and traditional currywurst. That last part wasn’t so much shared as eaten by just Juan. Christina never went anywhere near currywurst, no matter who was trying to share it with her. There was a debate over whether or not to have two big glasses of German beer with their meal. The idea was rejected because of their next destination. They wanted to save their alcohol calories for the jazz club.

Just in case the more recently crowned of the two World Cup winners forgot how impossible a fantasy life with two separate partners would be, the jazz club offered up an opportunity to remember. The space was pretty small and pretty modern for a jazz club, but with nostalgic nods to more authentic venues, like tall lamps that belonged in an old lady’s parlor, and the cliché drop-shape red candle glasses for the tables. The furniture definitely came from yard sales or thrift stores. None of it matched. There were a few sets of chairs that went together, but not with anything else. Seating options included two recycled sofas on the side of the room, sturdy wooden chairs at round tables, dainty upholstered chairs right up close to the drums and piano, and tall-backed patio chairs around tiny tables meant to serve as end tables in what would have been a very stylish living room in the late 1970’s. Counters lined the two longest walls, with mismatched wood stools. The club was in a retail space, so the acoustics weren’t ideal for a music venue. There was a lot of glass window to contend with. Two mustachioed and bowtied men served the drinks behind the small bar with the establishment’s name in neon above. Despite the aforementioned, it was known as one of the best spots in Europe for classic jazz. The real problem with the club was that Christina couldn’t sit under her jazz advisor’s arm, or hold his hand, or make out with him when the mood struck her. Even if she could split her future between a partnership with him and a partnership with her husband, in different countries, she could only be a partner to one in public. That didn’t matter so much since it was all fantasy and imagination and not something she really wanted. Still, it was no fun to resist instinctive urges while she enjoyed good wine and nice music.

“Are you ever going to get more tattoos?” Juan asked her inquisitively after she got some hair caught in the button that held a fishtail-braided cotton string bracelet on her wrist. He had to help free a wavy lock from the little piece she’d been wearing 24/7 for a few weeks, and the presence of the inked fox beneath it must have made an impression.

“I don’t know. I don’t have any plans. I actually kind of wish I had put my raven somewhere else.”

“Like where?”

“I dunno. Somewhere I don’t have to see it in the mirror,” Christina shrugged. She felt compelled to scratch at her side near the tattoo, even though it didn’t itch. “You should tattoo my face on your neck. Neck tats are so hot right now.”

“Can I tattoo your lips on my backside?”

“I mean, you could but...nobody would know they’re mine.”

“Do you like the piano player? If you listen to just him and cut out the other instruments, I think he’s pretty good.”

“I guess. I dunno. This music isn’t my thing. To me it’s like being in Bergdorf’s in Manhattan 15 years ago.”

“We can go soon if you want,” the footballer yawned. He didn’t take offense to her opinion. He wasn’t really into the music either. They shut their mouths and paid attention when the musicians got really into their craft and everyone in the club got caught up. Otherwise they were just chatting about things they saw and places they went, other people sitting near their table, and pictures on their phones, mostly of each other, taken by one another that evening. There was no big headline act to perform. The pair of friends, and indeed the other patrons, treated the music as background for their socializing rather than something to be quiet and observe.

“Are you offering me a reprieve because you think I’m bored,” his ex-girlfriend smiled back. “Or are you just tired and ready to go back to the hotel?”

“We’ve been here 90 minutes and two glasses of wine. I think that’s enough. We’ll take a taxi back, yes?”

“We’re miles from the hotel, so yes. I’m trying to treat my ankle well since, ya know, I have a World Cup Final next week and everything.”

“Are you excited for it yet? You haven’t talked about it much since you had to scratch Dirk.”

“D’ya know what? I’m not excited anymore. Not even because of Dirk. I had a look at the entry list on the train this afternoon,” she explained with a sour note in her voice. “Almost nobody great is even going. It’s going to be me and Marcus and Ludger, a handful of other top Europeans, less than a handful of the top Americans, and then a bunch of grid filler! It’s so lame! I guess because it’s in the States and it’s an Olympic year, nobody wants to bother with it. Also, there is nothing else to show in while you’re there. At least when they have it in Europe at a normal show, you can take three, four horses and do other stuff. I’m kind of annoyed now,” she complained. “Maybe I wouldn’t have even bothered fighting to qualify if I knew it would be like this. I could have qualified like four shows early. Or maybe I wouldn’t go at all. Tom says I have to go anyway to try to defend my title since that doesn’t happen much, but it actually does happen a lot. I looked it up. There have been 5 back to back winners in my lifetime, including Rodrigo Pessoa’s three-in-a-row, and several of them used the same horse, so I can’t even pretend it’s for Riri.”

“Be careful, cariña, or you’ll psych yourself out,” the ever-cool footballer advised. “If you go in thinking it isn’t a big competition, then you ride like it isn’t a big competition. When you point out that not all the top riders are going, you have no excuse not to win. Those two things don’t go. You’re going to disappoint yourself.”

“As long as I don’t embarrass myself, then I don’t care how it goes,” the defending champion shrugged before taking the penultimate sip of her Burgundy. “I wanted Dirk to win. Now...meh. I have bigger priorities.”

“You’ve had a good week.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re in a good place. You sound good.” Juan looked away, and Christina was left puzzled. Is he pointing out that I’m relaxed and not whiny for a change because he’s happy for me, or because he was on the lookout for signs of how a whole week in my new home with my Schü is really making me feel, without the filter I naturally apply, intentionally or otherwise, when I talk to him about stuff? Was or is he worried that I’m going to pull away from him if things are all better at home? Or was it nothing to do with any of that, she wondered. Is my mental health just noticeably better today? My point of view is improved? Differently focused? Does he like that I sound better, or no? I sound strong about- “Let’s get the bill.” Hmm.

The pensive equestrian picked up the tab, and studied her suddenly quiet date. He seemed weirdly fixated on his phone while they waited for the waitress to return her card, and then in the car on the way back to the hotel with their shopping. She resolved not to take it personally, or to keep trying to read deeper into his behavior. She wanted the easygoing and engaging Juan back, and there was something in her duffle bag that she thought might help restore him. After wiping off her makeup and changing into a black tee for bed, she padded out with the object from her bag and a pump-top bottle of lotion discovered in the bathroom.

“Can I show you something?” she asked the silent player with two mobile devices in his hands and the comforter on his legs.

“Is that a photo album?” His curiosity was certainly piqued by the navy blue leather book in her hands.

“Mhm. It’s my mom’s but I stole it from her when she asked me to find something in the boxes in her basement. This was what my family was like before ponies and horses, when we were a real, happy-ish family.” Christina presented it to him and climbed into bed with the lotion to rub some into her dry spots while her friend got to explore the photos of her early childhood. There was a specific and considered reason why she wanted to share the album with him, and she intended to explain it to him after he looked through. A warm, “awww” smile spread across his face as soon as he opened it.

“This is you? Did you go to Hawaii?” He zeroed in on a picture of Christina in a Hawaiian floral print bikini, with a tiny grass skirt and a colorful lei. She was standing between her parents, each holding one of her hands.

“No, we went to my uncle’s Hawaiian-themed backyard BBQ,” she chuckled. “I was like three.”

“That’s your mom in the bathing suit? Wow.”

“Ew don’t go there, Juanin.”

“Your hair was so blonde, so curly! I don’t think I’ve seen pictures of you this young. Look at this one! Your birthday cake was pink?”

“Yeah. Mom made it. She made the same funfetti cake for me and Aidan every year. His had chocolate frosting with dinosaur sprinkles and mine was pink vanilla when I was little, and then chocolate later on. I didn’t like anyone sitting at that plastic table with me except the girl in the white dress. Everyone else was related to me, and I hated them all. I don’t think I had other friends when I was that age.”

“Who is the girl in the white dress? This is her too, no?” The amused footballer pointed to some other photos on the next page, with precious moments from other family parties and occasions, and dance recitals.

“My neighbor. We were best friends but I also hated her a lot of the time. Her mom was super glamorous though. Mrs. Case. I used to be jealous of how cool she was. She told me when I was like 17 that she was always envious of my mom when I was growing up. She said my mom went to the grocery store every day to buy fresh ingredients for dinner. Mrs. Case didn’t cook. If I ate at their house, we had macaroni and cheese from a box, or Mr. Case grilled hamburgers and hot dogs. He was a judge, and a stockbroker. And an alcoholic, and a total dick. They split when I was 8-ish. He then blackmailed my parents into getting me to go to his second wedding as moral support for his daughter when I was supposed to be at an SAT prep class and- well, it’s a long story. I’ve told you about them before.”

“Yeah, I remember. The girl who made the opera record?”

“Mhm. This one of all of us on the dock was in Newport, Rhode Island. I don’t remember anything about the trip, but we took one of Dad’s friend’s boats up there. Notice how my dad was always wearing those ugly too-big baseball caps with the huge brim, like Donald Trump?” Christina laughed at the memory of her dad’s caps. By “always” she meant whenever he was out in the sun, which wasn’t actually that often. He wore them for golfing, and for boating and fishing. They didn’t do a whole lot of other things outside.

“This is a great picture, cariña. You are the spoiled baby!” Juan had his biggest laugh at an image of Mrs. Martin sitting on Mr. Martin’s lap, with Aidan sitting on hers, and Christina sitting on Aidan’s, back when the kids were small enough for all of that to work. Mr. Martin was kissing his wife’s cheek, his wife was kissing his son’s, and his son was trying to smooch Christina too, but Christina was scowling and trying to get away. “Beautiful family.”

“Yeah, we were a perfect, happy family. And then I turned into a professional pony rider and we weren’t a family anymore, and once we weren’t a family anymore then nobody else was happy anymore.” The grown up iteration of the scowling little girl keeled over onto a pillow on her side, the enjoyment of sharing something with her best friend and seeing him react to it gone. He’d already gotten to the crux of why she brought the album with her to see him. “We stopped doing things as a family when Aidan and I started going away to horse shows every weekend, and riding after school. The three of us were together, but never with Dad. Then Aidan quit riding and it was just Mom and I. Once we weren’t together as a family, my parents weren’t happy together anymore. It can be traced that far back. I’m starting to wonder if horses and family happiness are mutually exclusive. What if you have to devote everything to horses to be good at it, and there’s nothing left to give to your people?”

“Don’t be silly. Haven’t you ever considered that perhaps the reason your mother was willing to give so much time to you and your riding was that she was already unhappy with your dad, and just trying to stay away? You might have the cart before the horse. Forgive the pun.” Her moral and intellectual sounding board kind of furrowed his brows at her suspiciously, and then returned his blues to the book. There were Easter egg hunt, skateboarding, tennis, golfing, Christmas, and baseball game outing memories to take in, including a disturbing number of photographs of the world class rider eating ice cream from small plastic batting helmets at Shea Stadium in New York, the home of the Mets. The private school that she and Aidan attended in their earliest years hosted an annual outing to the park to take in a game from the bleacher seats, with a party in the “[Insert Title Sponsor Here] Picnic Area” reserved exclusively for the students and their families, and Mr. Martin usually took the kids on their own a couple of times each season. She only liked going to baseball games to eat hot dogs, soft pretzels, and ice cream sundaes. The baseball was of no interest whatsoever, though even as a wee toddler, Christina could recognize and appreciate how much her dad liked to go to the games. What she didn’t know at that age was that he only enjoyed going to the games because he got to see the kids have fun, so really, nobody cared about the baseball.

“No, because my mom would do anything for us, pretty much. She didn’t have friends. All she wanted to do was help Aidan and I do whatever we were into. She took him all over to find new skateparks. I got to go to the zoo or the aquarium whenever I wanted. If I said I wanted to go to The Plaza Hotel for food at the Palm Court like Eloise, we went. We went to Broadway shows. We got our hair and nails done all the time. We went shopping at Lord & Taylor a lot because apparently I really liked the chicken noodle soup and plain frozen yogurt served in the pretentious cafe on the 8th floor. Mom totally lived to hang out with her kids. Once I started riding for real, that meant barn stuff aaaaaaall the time. Not just taking me to the barn to ride, or to the horse shows. When we weren’t doing that, I wanted to go to the different tack shops to browse and pick up the new magazines, or go to other barns to see friends who moved, or who I knew from showing. I wanted to go to the big events I wasn’t good enough to ride in yet, or go back at the end of the week after my classes were long done so that I could see the feature Grand Prix. Instead of going to The Plaza Hotel, I wanted to go into New York City to visit the Miller’s flagship- that was a huge saddlery. While we were off doing that, she and Dad were drifting apart, I guess. By the time I was old enough to even notice, they had no relationship anymore beyond like...not even roommates, but maybe coworkers. And make no mistake. I was the best pony rider on the block because all I thought about and cared about was horses and riding. You can’t be good at this sport if you treat it casually. You can’t be great at it if you don’t treat it like a lifestyle. As I look at what I want to do with the horses now, and the schedule I feel I need to pursue, and everything else...I’m like, “What if you can’t do this and have a good family life?” And that’s a question that exists whether I want that life with Schü or with you.”

“Your parents had their own problems. You’ve said many times that your dad was always working anyway. Not all relationships can only work when the people in them are together constantly.” Juan peered down at her with an expression that actually made her think of her mom. That’s the look she gave me when she was sympathetic about whatever I was having a tantrum about, but thought it was ridiculous. Hmph. “You have to ask yourself sometime if you want your relationship to work or not. You’re always making excuses for the problems, or looking for reasons why it’s doomed to be difficult. You have to ask yourself why that is. Are you really just looking for a way out of it? And if you are, is it because you’re afraid of fighting through the hard parts, because you don’t believe there should be any parts that are that hard, because deep inside you don’t want that future, or because what you really want is something with me? Why are you always looking ahead and saying “This is going to be a disaster”? Either stop doing the things that make it a disaster, or start having more belief in yourself. It’s the same as with the World Cup. You go in thinking the competition isn’t top level and it doesn’t even matter to you, and you’ll ride that way. You go into difficult situations thinking that they’re impossible, or that you’re guaranteed to suffer, and then you end up making yourself suffer.”

“I didn’t get the eternal optimist gene.”

“So you pretend. Tell yourself what you want is possible, that you can have it, and that you will have it.”

“Yeah, no, my brain doesn’t operate that way, babe. I just feel even more uncertain because I know my faith is fake.”

“What do you want me to tell you then? You always ask me these “what if” questions but your mind is already made up.”

“Okay. Never mind then,” Christina sighed, giving up. She brought the photo album to try to get clarity or perspective on the idea that her life goals were incompatible with one another, and her counselor was correct- it was difficult for her to accept his guidance when it went against what she’d already decided was true. “You can just go back to enjoying the photos for their comedic value and not as evidence supporting my damaged worldview.”

“Do you remember many things from these photos?” Juan wasn’t succumbing to her melodrama or sympathy-seeking. He didn’t treat her like she was contemplating serious things. He remained casual- nonchalant, even- and maintained a thoughtfulness about his manner that was neither deep nor absent. It was just somewhere in between. It was level. It was steady. He was steady. That was something she relied upon him for without even knowing it. The Spanish footballer was like horizon. He helped her find levelness when she pitched too far one way or the other.

“I remember a moment here and there. Like I can remember the places I found Easter eggs, and I sort of remember a very early Christmas, but mostly, no. I have no recollection of my parents being a happy couple.” She nodded against the pillow, and he studied her for a moment without giving away anything about what he was thinking. Instead, he eventually scooted down the bed and twisted to use her tummy. On his back with his knees bent and feet flat on the mattress, he angled over to use her as a prop for his head so he could continue browsing her non-memories in the photo album upright in his lap. Despite not remembering much, his headrest could still explain the context of most of the pictures, or relay what she was told about them. They went through the book and cycled through laughing, teasing, taking offense, expressing confusion, and “aww”-ing.

“You should post some of these on Instagram,” Juan suggested after closing the book at the end. “All your fans would like to see small Christina in her ballet costume.”

“You should turn off the lights and snuggle with me and talk to me about something nice, in your sleepy bedtime voice.”

“It’s like you think you can order services off a menu.” He shook his head as if to rue her demands, or perhaps how easily he acquiesced. “Same as earlier.”

“I just have very specific needs that have gone unfulfilled since last we said goodbye.”

#football fanfiction

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