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rachellesedai · 6 months

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The Lasting Memory

Here is my story for the @inklings-challenge 2023! This was my first time doing the challenge. I had a lot of fun! It got kind of long, but it's finished. So here you go.

Team: Tolkien Genre: Secondary World Fantasy/Time Travel Themes: Burial/Visit the Sick Word Count: 5,621 [PART 1] | 4,467 [PART 2]

―

PART 1

Treasa drew back the midnight blue hood that hid her face and took a step forward. Her limbs trembled, moving automatically as her name was spoken again. “Cleric Treasa Raelle.” The call boomed through the chamber with a slight vibration from the enhancement that sent it to every corner of the great basilica, echoing up to the lofty spires above. Strands of brown hair escaped the braid she had attempted in an effort to bring them to order. She resisted the urge to smooth back the unruly wisps and swallowed, trying to focus on the dais where the High Elder stood instead of the churning in her stomach.

The only other sound was the swish of her formal robes and the tap of her leather short boots on the floor. Her fellow clerics and the ranked orders of scholars and healers on one side and knights-reverend on the other were as silent as the stone walls, whether from shock or reverence for the solemn occasion, she did not know. Hundreds of eyes followed Treasa as she moved up the marbled walkway. Her position at the rear of the congregation made her journey a long one, and her heart beat louder with every step. She expected someone to step out at any moment and say there had been a mistake and this honor would go to one of the knights-reverend who had fought alongside the First Guardian or a member of the high scholars who had advised him these many years.

All of Damaria mourned the loss of their great leader. Men and women alike had wept openly when the announcement had been made. Every bit of gray and white material had been snatched up, and overnight, the normally vibrant capital city had been blanketed in somber colors. Muted banners adorned the buildings and every citizen wore a gray scarf or a bit of white ribbon to honor their revered leader’s passing.

The Order of Scholars, which Treasa had joined only seven years ago, had the weighty task of presiding over the First Guardian’s burial ceremonies and, most importantly, establishing his final monument and memorial. The central, and most sacred, element of the memorial was the Lasting Memory. A few minutes of history captured in every detail. The crowning moment of a person’s life, the event that represented the essence of who they were, recorded and displayed as a legacy for the ages. The task of finding and recording this event was the highest honor one could bestow, and for some incomprehensible reason, the First Guardian Peatar Valleth III, High Lord Chancellor, Protector of the Realm, had chosen her, a lowly cleric, to decide how he would be remembered for time immemorial.

―

Treasa clutched the scroll she had been presented by the High Elder, the golden seal of the First Guardian freshly broken. She blinked, a dazed part of her mind wondering if this were a dream she would soon awaken from. After bowing low and formally accepting the duty given her, she had stood still as a statue as the congregation filed past. A few had smiled their congratulations, but most had shook their heads in confusion or disapproval. She had then been unceremoniously hustled out of the main sanctuary and up to the Order’s council chambers.

Elders she only knew by reputation and high scholars in their white robes argued with a group of high-ranking knights and the First Guardian’s son who had burst into the room a few moments ago, his supporters among the Order apparently being very swift in their relaying of information.

Standing at attention in a corner, Treasa tried not to fidget as she listened to their exclamations and arguments insisting she was the worst possible choice for this sacred role.

Snatches of conversation stung, though she could not deny their truth.

“She is only a cleric...”

“… cannot have had enough training.”

“…should have chosen Sir Damerel… ”

“Someone who has at least gone on a recovery mission…”

“My father was not well at the end,” Timon Valleth said, his tone implying pity while his eyes blazed with white hot indignation, “Surely this is a regrettable mistake that can be rectified. I will not leave my family’s honor in the hands of an inexperienced commoner.”

“She is not totally inexperienced.” A voice cut through the commotion and a tall, dark skinned woman with intricate rows of iron gray braids leaned forward, her hands planted firmly on the large wooden table at the center of the room. She looked directly at the High Elder, who sat in his presider’s chair at the head of the room.

Treasa froze. Scholar Althea Keltris had taught several of her secondary level classes. To say she was demanding was a laughable understatement. The woman seemed to delight in pushing her students to their limits and beyond. She did not suffer fools and would dismantle a student’s project before their eyes rather than allow them to submit something one whit less than what they were capable of. Treasa had withered under her hard gaze more than once and had only barely survived her courses with a passing mark.

“That is beside the point, however,” Keltris continued, “Is it not, Elder Reyes?”

The High Elder sighed, rubbing his brow. “Scholar Keltris is correct. This discussion serves no purpose. What is done cannot be undone.”

“My father cannot have been in his right mind to choose—”

“It is done.” The High Elder rapped the floor with his ornate staff, bringing an end to the murmurs circling the room. “Your father followed the forms to the last detail. His choice was witnessed and sealed. It is final.”

Timon opened his mouth, but a knight with a golden crest indicating a rank of Lord-Commander raised his hand, halting his words.

“Would you bring the First Guardian’s final commands into question? It would be wise to consider they include your official appointment as heir.”

The young lord’s face twisted into an ugly scowl. “But why her?” he demanded, glaring at Scholar Keltris and the High Elder in turn.

“I have no idea,” Keltris replied, “Has anyone thought to ask the girl?”

All eyes turned to Treasa and a hot flush suffused her cheeks. Panic welled up inside her as if she were actually guilty of an inexcusable crime instead of just as bewildered as the rest of them. “I don’t know why,” she rasped, “He never said anything about it.”

“But you did speak to him,” the High Elder said, leaning forward.

Treasa nodded. “I was assigned as his night attendant two or three times a week.”

“And he would just chat with his nurse in the middle of the night,” Timon said, his lip curling.

“He rarely slept,” Treasa stammered, glancing at Scholar Keltris. The details of the First Guardian’s illness had been kept very close. Not receiving any indication of how much to disclose, she went on. “I would read to him, out of The Tales of Damar or The Knights of Lord Haverel mostly. It eased his restlessness. Sometimes he would talk of how the stories reminded him of his youth and would tell me about his own boyhood adventures and such things. It seemed to calm him,” she said, shrinking under the incredulous looks of everyone in the room. “Once or twice he asked me about what part of the kingdom I was from and how my education in the Order was coming along.” She took a deep breath. “We spoke, but not about anything important. He definitely never said anything about choosing me to recover his Lasting Memory.”

Keltris sniffed. “So she was kind to him in his last days. Not the best reason to choose her, but perhaps an understandable one.” She turned to the High Elder. “Cleric Raelle did fairly well in my classes as I recall.”

Treasa’s eyes widened. The words were essentially a glowing recommendation, coming from her.

“I believe, given some time to prepare, she will be able to complete the task creditably.”

Treasa stiffened, as everyone looked her up and down. Some shrugged and several shook their heads in disgust. Timon Valleth crossed his arms in front of his chest, apparently resigned to the state of affairs.

The High Elder nodded. “Very well. Scholar Keltris, you will take the girl in hand and prepare her for her duty. I will appoint someone with experience in recovery missions to assist you.” The last seemed to have been added to appease the grumbling among those still dissatisfied with the situation. He looked at Treasa. “There is not much time, child, a few weeks perhaps until the monument is completed. It would not do to wait much beyond that to install the First Guardian’s Lasting Memory.”

Treasa straightened and responded with the words that had been engrained into her from her first days in the Order. “I am ready.”

Treasa held it all together, smiling bravely, shoulders back, as one high-ranking official after another poured advice into her ears. She would never be able to remember it all, which was probably a good thing, since not a one of them seemed to agree with another. She nodded again and again, jaw clenched and hands folded respectfully in front of her. Finally, Scholar Keltris announced she needed rest and ushered her away, going with her as far as the door to her tiny, two-room apartment in the west tower.

“Be ready at sunrise,” Keltris said, “I will send someone for you.”

Treasa nodded once again, unable to form a more coherent response and the scholar gave a satisfied sniff and turned away. Treasa shut the door, leaning against it for a moment, her knees buckling. She stumbled past her desk that also served as a table with its tidy stacks of books and papers. She thrust aside the beaded curtain to her sleeping closet and collapsed onto her narrow bed, not bothering to light the candle standing ready in its alcove.

Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, her breath coming in short gasps as the enormity of what had happened crashed down on her. She balled her fists, willing back tears. This was impossible. It could not be real. The kind, if sometimes garrulous, old man she had spent countless nights caring for over the past several months had never really been the same person as the majestic First Guardian in her head. She had tried to ease his suffering and distract him during the empty hours of innumerable sleepless nights, but never in hopes of gaining a reward or commendation. And this was hardly a reward! Tears leaked out of her eyes. It was a crushing responsibility.

“I can’t do this,” she moaned, looking up at the ceiling, “Why did you ever think I could do this?”

―

Treasa woke to a crisp winter morning still shrouded in starlit shadows. She rubbed her hands together, massaging cold fingers until they were limber enough to lite a fire in the grate. Pulling a carefully wrapped, day-old honey cake from her basket, she ate the entire thing while water heated over her small fire. Her meticulously ordered routine meant nothing now. She would have to pass the cases she was assisting on to other clerics. At least her notes were clearly ordered, and the recording crystals she had reviewed organized according to relevance to the prosecution’s arguments. She frowned, wondering whom best to give them to as she poured hot water into her cup over a fragrant pouch of tealeaves.

Treasa took a sip and blinked. It seemed, somewhere in the middle of the night, she had accepted her fate. The task of choosing the First Guardian’s Lasting Memory still terrified her, but she was beginning to think of it as a problem to be worked out instead of an overwhelming impossibility.

Stirring her tea, Treasa pondered her time with the First Guardian. He had talked to her quite a bit as the last few months of the sleeping sickness had taken their toll. The illness did not dull the mind per se, and the First Guardian had been very capable of performing his duties most days. Night was when things became difficult. Sleep was near impossible once the sickness took hold, and a body was not meant to go for such long stretches without it. Anything that kept the First Guardian’s mind occupied during those long, dark hours had helped, and he had loved to tell stories.

Treasa wrapped her hands around her cup to still their trembling. As much as she had enjoyed listening to his varied adventures, his decline had been horrible to watch. While the condition did not pass from person to person, there was no cure. If you did not go mad from the lack of sleep, eventually your body simply gave out. The worst nights had been when sheer exhaustion had taken him, after days awake. He would slip into a delirium and thrash about calling out for his dead wife or attempting to leave his apartments in a daze. Sleeping draughts had no effect and eventually only the highest doses of medicine meant to dull the pain of the dying could calm him. Even then, after a few short hours, he would awake, glassy-eyed and not the least bit refreshed. Understandably, the Elders had not wanted the First Guardian’s condition to become fodder for malicious gossip. Thus, only healers and clerics from the Order had been allowed to care for him.

Shaking her head, Treasa focused on the conversations they had had. None she could remember seemed to explain his decision. Any one of a hundred more skilled candidates existed. People closer to him, people who were experienced in what it meant to hand down a legacy. The only legacy she’d ever received were her mother’s green eyes and keen mind, and her father’s quiet stubbornness. They had sent her off to the Order chapterhouse with blessings and good wishes the summer she had turned seventeen, but without even a silver mark in her pocket. She was a hard worker, and had advanced steadily in the order, but she was no one special. So why had the First Guardian chosen her?

―

The stone amulet warmed Treasa’s hands. Her eyes traced the intricate carvings along the edge, following their twisting and curling until they turned in on each other and she lost the thread. She blinked and tried staring into the depths of the opalescent jewel imbedded in the center of the pendant. With even breaths, Treasa built an image in her mind, bit by bit, like a puzzle coming together. Low clouds obscured a sky. A cavalry regiment swung around a bend in formation and flanked a contingent of howling Rethans. The leader of the regiment, tall in the saddle, raised his saber. The image crumbled and Treasa held her breath, trying to get it back.

The tapping of Scholar Keltris’s fingers made her shoulders slump. A cool breeze raised goosebumps on Treasa’s skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking the view of city rooftops and shrouded mountains in the distance. They had moved to the large stone balcony outside Scholar Keltris’s rooms to see if the open feeling and fresh air would help her form the outdoor scene.

“Are you concentrating?” Keltris asked.

Treasa let out a loud sigh. “It’s no use. I can’t get the picture right.”

“You’ve done it before, while working with the judges,” Keltris said, her tone brusque, “Several times, if my reports are correct.”

“They are,” Treasa said, lifting her chin as she looked from the frowning scholar to the dark haired knight-protector, who leaned against one of the elaborate columns supporting the vaulted ceiling above them, “but those were short little jumps back in time to record a crime or verify an alibi. The locations were accessible here in the present or shown to us in great detail by court artists.”

“It takes no more effort or concentration to go farther back in time,” Sir Damerel said, his tone somehow both instructive and encouraging, “You only need to see the event in enough detail. Do not let the span of years overwhelm you. Simply visualize the moment as if it were happening around you, not on the other side of a door you have to step through, but already existing beneath your feet and within your grasp.”

Treasa bit her lip. “It seems so far away. I don’t know if I’ll be able to…” She waved her hand vaguely. “… do that.”

Damerel straightened. “I have every confidence you will be able to travel to wherever you need to. Simply give yourself a moment to breathe.”

Treasa cast the knight-protector an appreciative look. She had been intimidated when the High Elder had presented him as her mentor in all things relating to time travel. The few knights she had met working in the courts had been self-important prigs or battle hardened veterans who had little patience for inexperienced clerics.

Thankfully, Sir Adrian Damerel was nothing like that. On first impression, Damerel was the very picture of a Knight Reverend, tall, classically handsome, with the confident but graceful bearing of those dedicated warriors. When he smiled, however, a twinkle shone in his warm brown eyes she had not expected to see in someone with his experience. He could not be many years older than her, but she had heard he had been on more recovery missions for his fellow knights than anyone currently in the Order. In spite of that, Damerel never once hinted he was jealous or resented the fact she had been given an honor he clearly deserved more than she did.

Scholar Keltris rubbed her forehead. “Perhaps it would be better to put the travel itself aside for a moment. Once you are there, you must be careful to do nothing that would push against the flow of time. The past will tolerate a small pebble it can flow around without changing its course. However, if something you do goes against that inexorable flow, you will be spat out and end up back here.”

“And much worse for wear,” Damerel interjected with a wry smile, “That way back is painful, to say the least.”

“I know,” Treasa said, “We did receive some training before going on missions for the Judges.” Holding up a hand, she counted off rules of time travel etiquette on her fingers. “Interact as little as possible. Record only what is needed. Above all, do not try to influence anything. It will end badly.”

Damerel nodded. “This type of recovery is a little trickier,” he said slowly, “You have to consider perspective and what the recording is meant to convey.”

Treasa frowned.

Keltris stood, pacing the length of the terrace. “What Sir Damerel is trying to say is you have to frame your recording with an eye to what it is being used for. The reality of war is messy and the death of so many a tragedy. Politicians spend more time bickering over taxes than enacting grand programs to benefit the people. A man’s Lasting Memory is not meant to convey the gritty reality of what he may have had to do in his life, but the spirit of his ideals and what he stood for.”

Treasa looked down; the scholar’s words did not sit right with her. She understood the Lasting Memory was meant to be beautiful, but it was also meant to be true and good. The honor of a memorial with a Lasting Memory was mostly reserved for knights and leaders of Damaria, and she was not so naïve as to think all those people were paragons of virtue. She supposed, at times, an appropriate moment for the memorial would be hard to find, but that did not mean she should make things look different from what they were.

“I do not think the First Guardian would want a Lasting Memory that gave a false impression of who he was,” Treasa said, fiddling with the end of her braid.

“What do you think he did want?” Damerel asked, leaning forward.

“I don’t know.” Treasa frowned, her brow furrowing, “He said once the best things he had done were not the grand moments most people thought of, but I don’t know what he meant by that.” She frowned. “How am I supposed to choose one thing, one moment, that sums up everything he was?” She looked down at the amulet in her hand. “And if I think of one, will I even be able to get there?”

Scholar Keltris threw up her hands. “Being so indecisive will only make things harder, child. Choose a moment and know it is where you want to be, where you need to be. That is more important than visualizing the details. You must have faith in in your decisions and in yourself.”

“Of course, Scholar Keltris,” Treasa said, bowing her head, “I will try harder.”

Sir Damerel crossed his arms, a speculative look in his eyes. “Do you ride, Cleric Raelle?”

Treasa blinked. “What?” She lifted her chin as he waited for an answer. “Of course I can ride. I grew up in the country.”

“Good. There is nothing like a brisk canter astride a swift horse to clear the mind. We can visit one of the smaller pavilions to the south and try a few practice time jumps. There will be less chance of curious onlookers outside the city.” He turned to Keltris, but she put up a hand.

“I am not spending the afternoon in a saddle. Just make sure you actually work with her while you’re gallivanting around the countryside.”

Damerel smiled, giving the scholar a courtly bow. “I promise.”

―

Treasa paced up and down the grand hallway. She had spent weeks riding out with Damerel, practicing jumps, and discussing the strategy and finesse needed to get the perfect recording. Scholar Keltris had drilled her on every aspect of Guardian Valleth’s life and gone over every contingency involved in a recovery mission of such importance. Now, she was down to the last day of her extensive preparation and she could no longer put off the one task she was dreading the most.

It was customary to visit the family of the dead before leaving to seek their Lasting Memory, but she had been surprised when Lord Valleth had accepted her request. He had not ceased in his vocal disapproval of his father’s choice. The few times she had seen him in public he had looked down his nose at her when he acknowledged her at all. Treasa took a deep breath and entered Lord Timon Valleth’s suite after a hesitant knock.

“Give me but a moment.” Valleth’s voice drifted in from farther back in the apartment, behind one of the standing screens. Treasa hovered in the doorway. Sir Damerel had said he would accompany her, but he must not have received her note, for he was nowhere to be found, and she did not want to keep the Guardian’s heir waiting. Treasa’s feet sank into a thick wool rug as she crossed the entryway, muting the sound of her boots on the floor. Heavy velvet curtains had been drawn back and tied with golden cords, allowing sunlight to stream into the spacious apartments while a roaring fire chased away the winter chill.

She straightened as Timon sauntered into view.

“Thank you for coming, Cleric Raelle.” Timon acknowledged her brief bow with a nod of his head. “It is so important that we speak before you embark on your sacred mission.”

“I agree,” Treasa said.

Timon wandered over to a group of chairs near the massive fireplace. He paused, idly examining a vase that would probably fetch enough to feed a small family for half a year. Treasa waited while he settled himself in one of the cushioned chairs. He crossed one leg over the other and gazed up at her, pointedly not inviting her to sit. She schooled her features into a neutral expression, refusing to show any reaction to his insulting lack of common courtesy.

“I want my father’s Lasting Memory to be worthy of him. It needs to inspire the people as well as be a constant reminder of their exalted leader and all he accomplished.”

“I fully intend to honor his legacy,” Treasa said, relaxing a little. Perhaps he really just wanted his father to be well remembered. “Are there any specific events you want me to consider?”

“There are. In fact, I have a list.” Timon produced a slip of paper.

Treasa accepted it and scanned the events he had written in a neat script. She nodded, tense muscles beginning to unravel. She might actually be able to satisfy Timon Valleth without compromising what she thought the First Guardian would want in his memorial. If she went to one or two of these moments, surely he would be satisfied. There was no reason to tell him she was probably going to choose at least one of these before he had suggested them.

“Thank you,” Treasa said, “These are good. Is there anything else? Sometimes the family wants to talk about their loved one, who they were to those who knew them best and what was important to them…” she trailed off as Timon’s expression hardened, his mouth twisting into a sardonic smirk.

“I do not think you understand me, cleric. These are not suggestions. These are the events you will go to, and once you have recorded my father’s most glorious moments, you will bring the crystals to me and I will decide which one to use.”

“That’s not how it works,” Treasa interrupted, “I’ll only have one crystal, and while I can go to a handful of events, I am supposed to return with only one recording. Making the decision of which one to use in the Lasting Memory is the whole point of why the First Guardian chose me.”

“It does not matter what he wanted,” Timon snarled, “He isn’t here. This monument needs to reflect the power of my family and remind everyone that I am the First Guardian now and should receive the same respect he did.” Timon was up and out of his chair, crossing the space between them before Treasa could formulate a response. He loomed over her, his soft voice made terrifying by the fire in his eyes. “Do not think this ridiculous choice guarantees your advancement in the Order. If you disgrace my beloved father’s memory, I will make my influence felt.” He was inches away from her, his breath hot on her face.

Treasa backed up a step and blinked as her stomach clenched and her heart pounded like the hoof beats of a wild horse. “I don’t understand,” she gasped, “I only want to honor your father.”

“It is quite simple,” Timon said, “If you mess this up, it will reflect badly on me. So, I am taking steps to avoid that. I will provide you with two additional crystals. That gives you three chances to get this right. You should be thanking me for saving you from embarrassing yourself.”

Treasa shook her head. Words failed her. What he was asking was unprecedented, not illegal exactly, but very disrespectful of the First Guardian’s wishes.

Timon’s eyes narrowed. “Even if you cannot appreciate this gift, remember the position I will hold when you return. You do not want me for an enemy, cleric.” Without waiting for a response, he retrieved a small wooden box from a low table and took out a velvet pouch. He carefully shook out two recording crystals and offered them to Treasa.

“No one outside the Order is supposed to have access to these,” she said accusingly. Treasa snatched the crystals out of Timon’s hands, her sensibilities more offended by his handling of them than his boorish behavior and sinister threats. She held them up to her eyes, automatically checking them for imperfections. They were large, made for longer, more detailed recordings, and they were clear, indicating they had never been used.

Timon smiled smugly. “Now that you’ve touched them, who would believe that you did not ask me to get them for you because you suffered from anxiety and doubt concerning my father’s frankly unfathomable choice. You simply did not feel capable or up to the task. It will be proof enough that the elders need to choose another for the task.”

Treasa gasped. Only years of training having ingrained a deep respect for the precious crystals kept her from immediately dropping them at Timon’s feet.

Timon straightened. “So, now you can choose to do as I ask or turn in the extra crystals and see who the authorities at the Order believe.”

A knock sounded on the door to the suite and Treasa thrust the crystals deep into the pocket of her coat.

Timon laughed softly. “Enter,” he said in an infuriatingly cheerful voice.

Sir Damerel entered and bowed to Timon. “My sympathies, Lord Valleth. Your father was a great man. I apologize for being late.” He glance over at Treasa. “I meant to accompany Cleric Raelle on her visitation, but I was unavoidably detained.”

“Thank you, Sir Damerel,” Timon said, “Cleric Raelle and I had a very productive conversation. I was touched by her empathy and respect for my feelings.”

Treasa gaped at him, closing her mouth with a snap before turning to look at Damerel. His dark eyes held a look of concern mixed with a bit of confusion. He knew she had been worried about this meeting and rather intimidated by Valleth in general. For a brief instant, she considered showing him the crystals and spilling everything that had happened. But she could imagine Valleth’s feigned surprise and sympathy for her situation and how it was all too much for her.

Damerel was the one person she had let herself confide in. He knew the level of her anxiety and the depths of her fear that she had been the wrong choice. She did not think she could handle seeing pity in his eyes. Even the chance that he could believe Timon and think less of her was too much. She would have to figure something else out, find some other way.

“It went well,” she said, forcing a brightness into her voice she did not feel, “I am sorry you were not able to be here.” That much was true at least. She took a deep breath. “But I think I have everything I need for the recovery mission now.” She turned to Timon. “Thank you for your time, Lord Valleth.” Timon smiled and waved them both out.

Damerel gave her a searching look as soon as the doors were shut, his eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“I’m fine.” Treasa blinked back tears. “He is insufferable and egotistical, but it’s over and I’m fine.” She smiled up at him, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. They walked down the hall side by side and exited the building via the grand entryway.

Once outside a short walk brought them to the familiar Order district with its libraries and lecture halls. Neither spoke. Treasa’s mind raced, trying to find some way to deal with the crystals in her pocket that seemed to weigh more and more by the minute.

The knights’ practice yards were out of sight, but the sound of metal on metal rang out from beyond the jumble of stone buildings that forced the narrow street into twists and turns. Treasa had been to several cities whose roads were laid out on an orderly grid, but she much preferred the meandering paths of the capital with its unexpected cul-de-sacs and ever present scent of damp stone.

In a few short minutes, they approached the west tower where most of the clerics and lower level scholars had their rooms. She twisted the end of her braid, contemplating the collar of Damerel’s jacket. “Would you help me make my final preparations for tomorrow?” she finally said.

“It would be an honor.” Damerel laid a hand on her shoulder. “You have no reason to worry. You are strong and you are ready, worthy of your name.”

Treasa shook her head. “My name?”

A smile quirked at the knight’s lips. “Treasa means ‘strength’ and you have born up under the pressure and scrutiny of your situation with a graceful, quiet strength that I am in awe of. Give me a battle to fight or an enemy to strike down and I will never waver, but the constant doubt and criticism you have endured with determination would send me running for the hills.”

Treasa laughed. “I do not believe you. Your courage would never fail. I am grateful to have had you for a teacher. You have been very patient.” She paused. “We both know you would have been a much better choice. I’m sorry the First Guardian did not see that.” She raised her eyes to his, wishing she had the courage to tell him just how weak she was, how she was actually considering Timon’s suggestion.

“He chose you for a reason.” Damerel cupped her cheek in his hand. Treasa couldn’t help leaning into the touch. His hand was rough from years of handling weapons and yet as gentle as a brush of silk across her skin. He leaned in, his eyes shining. “You will find the perfect moment to show everyone who the First Guardian was at his core and give him the legacy he wanted. I know you will.”

Treasa exhaled, her body finally remembering how to breathe. “I hope you are right,” she whispered.

[PART 2]

#inklingschallenge #team tolkien #genre: secondary world #genre: time travel #theme: visit the sick #theme: burial #story: complete

13 notes · View notes

aipilosse · 10 months

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3, 4, 7, 10 😇

3. Screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr.

This is one of the ones that I really don't think I can choose just one, even if I'm restricting myself to Tolkien related takes.

I think I'll do a general terrible take and a Tolkien-related take. For general terrible take, that fucking post that's like "you don't understand, these 20 companies are responsible for 80% of pollution" and then implies that killing the CEOs of these 20 (or w/e the number of companies is) would solve the climate crisis. I've seen this reblogged so many times and it is dumb as fuck on every level. That's not how companies work!! CEOs die, step down, move on all the time; there's a whole c-suite, a board of directors, and a host of vice presidents at each of these companies. My god this is common knowledge. That's on top of the fact that it ignores how the problem of fossil fuels is systemic and driven by demand on multiple levels. if you succeeded in murdering every executive and board member at each of these companies that does not remove the issue of a supply chain that runs on fossil fuels. And of course the whole concept is absurd -- tumblr kids who couldn't figure out how to buy weed in high school are talking about ordering hits on executives? lmao.

*ahem* now the Tolkien take. God there's so many. I think I'll go with a classic: the idea that because Elrond turned into a good person, therefore Maedhros and Maglor were good parental figures to him and Elros. I don't know about you, but I know people who endured terrible childhoods and are wonderful people. Likewise, I know people with kind accepting parents who are pieces of shit. Parents and what happens during childhood have a major impact on people, but it is garbage to imply that because someone turns out a certain way we know for a fact their childhood was good or bad.

That's of course not even getting into how these takes go hand in hand with the idea the Elwing and Earendil were unfit parents. Ugh.

4. What was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

She was mean to my friend >:( Horrible takes are one thing, but if you are mean to my friends I will never forget it.

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because of how the fandom acts about them?

I answered this here! Three guesses on who and the first two don't count.

10. worst part of fanon

Another one that's really tough. I'll go with my perennial complaint about overly simplistic Noldor-Sindar relations. It completely ignores Cirdan and the Falathrim, the Mithrim, and is usually about trying to make Thingol into the villain of the Silm. It also ignores the very real intra-Noldor tensions and the Noldor-Sindar societies of Gondolin, Nargothrond, and Sirion.

oh wait, no, I have to add: fanon use of the thorn. God. People make such a huge deal while not understanding at all how it works. No, Maedhros wouldn't have gone by 'Maedhroth.' Sindarin still had the voiceless dental frictive! Notice THingol, GorTHaur, THuringweTHil? And the idea that Elrond spoke with a 'Feanorian accent'? Not only is it disproved by canon (He says 'Sauron' in FOTR), but if you read the Shibboleth it sounds like Maglor and Maedhros abandoned the thorn early in the First Age anyway! And of course Feanorian accent Elrond also seems to have no regard for the tragedy of Elrond losing his family's language and is just treated as 'ahaha isn't kidnap fam fun and cute?'

phew ok that was a lot of violence.

#lol after I finish these asks I will try to be more positive

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junipercreeps · 7 months

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🔖 Chapter Three - I Want To Believe You It took an eternity for the siblings to finish their encounter. When I finally mustered the courage to emerge from between the shelves and leave the library, three students stood not far from the entrance. All three looked at me first and then at each other. I wasn't sure why, but I had a feeling that two of the three were the siblings.

I bought some snacks and drinks in a small shop off campus. There were three meals a day and also some self-service canteens, but I liked the feeling of not necessarily having to leave my room just because I was hungry.

My involuntary observations in the Radcliffe Library were still occupying me when it was already dark. Outside my room door, I heard voices - students who had already made friends and were spending time together in the evenings, presumably going to an off-campus bar to toast a good time together here at Oxford.

I wasn't particularly sociable. People didn't usually like me because I never had much to say and was just a boring person.

But I have to admit that I felt lonely after today. I wanted to tell someone about my experience, tell them about my mother's letter.

The next day, I made a plan for what I wanted to explore before the lectures started in two days. It was clear to me that I didn't want to go to any of the libraries until all the buildings were officially filled with a multitude of students.

So, I walked over to the Dining Hall and found a place where I could have breakfast. The selection of food was incredible, but I simply chose scrambled eggs and some orange juice. It reminded me of my Aunt Abby and made me feel a little less alone.

Actually, I was not alone. Dozens of students were milling around me, chatting. About their journey, about their rooms. About their grades and their future studies.

I listened and was somehow a part of them. As I got up to continue looking around the campus, someone even said, "See you!" to me and I waved a friendly goodbye to the group.

After breakfast, I felt much better than yesterday, even though it looked like rain, and the dense fog that had settled between the buildings overnight didn't seem to want to dissipate.

I spent most of the morning trying to memorize where my first lectures would be held tomorrow. The anticipation of being able to focus on my studies soon distracted me from my uncertainty about the student fraternity.

It was almost afternoon when I fell onto my bed, feeling slightly exhausted, and wondered if my parents might call me today. However, after several attempts, I received only a message from my father saying they would get in touch as soon as they landed back in London.

I sighed and turned to my side. I could look out of one of the two windows and watched the leaves of the oak tree in front of my dorm gently swaying in the wind.

At home I had been running a lot when loneliness overtook me. Nature always made me feel like I wasn't really alone after all. The rustling of leaves, the cracking of branches, and the smell of earth and plants would heal me. So, I decided to throw on my jogging clothes and go for a run.

At first, I considered taking the path through Trinity College Gardens, but then I decided to run a longer route through the New Marston Meadows.

It turned out to be the right decision.

Even though it started thundering about halfway through my run, the exercise and the view did me so much good that my concerns about Samuin and the strange siblings practically vanished.

On the way back, dark clouds gathered in the sky, and I took a break on a wooden bench. I couldn't help but smile as I read the small silver plaque. By chance, I was sitting on the Tolkien Bench, overlooking the narrow Cherwell River. The slightly rippled surface of the water was gradually being broken by heavy raindrops. That was my sign that it was time to jog back to the dormitory.

I had only taken about twenty steps when I felt the hairs on my neck stand on end. It was as if someone was watching me.

The same feeling I had when I had spotted the three students outside the Radcliffe Library—or when they had spotted me.

I turned around and looked back at the bench. But the path was empty except for an elderly lady or gentleman with a small terrier in the distance. I couldn't really make out if it was him or her anymore. I glanced over at the trees, but there was no one there either. So, I jogged on slowly until about a minute later, a strange noise came from the bushes by the river.

"Hello?" I called out and stopped.

At first, there was nothing to hear except for the intensifying rain. But then there were footsteps, and when I turned around, there were two hooded figures, and one of them softly said, "Hello, June," before the second one held a cloth that smelled sweetly to my mouth, and I subsequently lost consciousness.

When I woke up, the first thing I felt was a pounding pain behind my eyes. I had never had a migraine in my life, but this is what I imagined it to be like. My mouth was dry, my back hurt, and I groaned in distress.

It was difficult to orient myself because everything around me was dark, and it took a moment for me to realize that my eyes were covered. I was sitting on a cold, hard floor, on my knees, with my hands tied behind my back. I could feel the warmth of other bodies right next to me and behind me.

One of them was speaking, but I was still so disoriented that I couldn't understand their words. Or rather, their words just didn't make sense to me. I pondered what my options were and how to best survive after being kidnapped, but my thoughts and my logic were failing me.

All I felt was raw panic and that nagging pain behind my eyes.

"Please," a female voice whispered to my right. "My parents have money."

After a short silence, there was deafening laughter, and I froze because that laughter sounded very familiar.

"Dear, all our parents have money," said the girl from the library yesterday, in her arrogant tone.

A voice that was unfamiliar to me said boredly, "Shall we begin? I have plans later."

And then, with a sudden jerk that made me flinch, the blindfold was ripped off my head.

I was sitting on a dark stone floor with deep grooves, and it took me a while to recognize runes and symbols that undoubtedly had some meaning, but whose origin I was not yet familiar with.

"Some of you may already know what's going to happen. For those who haven't figured it out yet: Welcome to Samuin."

I blinked and tried to shift my weight to alleviate the pain in my knees. Samuin. So, this was the prestigious student association my mother had praised so highly? Someone behind me laughed bitterly.

"Well, great. An association that has to abduct us with such a ridiculous initiation ritual. Did you get this from your favourite movie or something?"

There was little light in the room, but slowly I realized that I was crouching in the middle of a vault with at least six others. We were surrounded by students in black robes. Each of them had their hoods up and was gazing in our direction.

In the stone walls, there were small niches at regular intervals where candles, as the only source of light, broke through the shadows of the vault.

"Nolan Delvaux," someone said to the person standing in the middle on one of the three steps to the left of me. The vault was constructed in such a way that we had to look up at the people who were talking. Around us were three larger ascending steps where you could sit comfortably.

I recognized by the voice that the person in the middle must be the student from the library. She nodded and repeated the name. "Nolan Delvaux. You're quite bold for someone whose father had to dip into their trust fund to get you in here."

"What nonsense are you talking about?" Nolan snapped irritably. However, the woman beneath the robe now turned her attention to the rest of us and pompously spread her arms wide.

"Each of you will now answer three questions. If we like your answers, you can consider yourselves novices of Samuin. Until you have proven your loyalty to us. You don't need to know more for today."

I frowned and watched as seven hooded figures descended the three sets of stairs, each one positioning themselves in front of one of us. While they helped us to our feet, they didn't untie the bonds that still held our hands behind our backs.

"Can you stand?" the man beneath the hood in front of me asked.

"Looks like it," I replied, realizing how annoyed I sounded, which was exactly how I felt. I was annoyed by this childish abduction game, which, in reality, was neither childish nor appropriate.

"Couldn't you come up with something better to initiate your novices?" I asked, and the man in front of me tilted his head slightly—whether he was amused or considering throwing me out again, I couldn't tell.

My mother's words came to mind, and I imagined how disappointed she would be if I were to tell her that Samuin didn't want me because I couldn't even pass an initiation rite.

Murmurs went up next to me. The girl who earlier wanted to offer money for her release whimpered in anguish, but the student in front of her only said. "A simple question, Jocelyn. Answer it or you can fuck off and explain to your parents why you are unworthy."

"Focus on me," said the student in front of me. His voice was demanding, but also engaging. I would have liked to see his face at that moment.

"Ready for your first question?"

"That was actually the second," I smart-mouthed, earning a soft laugh.

"What was it like for you when your best friend grabbed your boyfriend and let him take her virginity at your aunt's holiday home."

I suddenly felt cold.

He couldn't have known that. But he did know.

My eyes were wide, otherwise I controlled my facial expressions as best I could.

"How could it have been? It was a bit of an end of the world for a seventeen year old," I said quietly, trying very desperately to suppress the memories of that day. The surprised faces of Grace and Sam. The months after, when they became a couple and I faded further and further into the background. Physically and mentally.

"Did you watch Audrey and Corbin at the Radcliffe Library yesterday?"

I blushed. That was the name of the student who let her brother take her, so. Audrey.

"I'll rephrase the question," the student said, taking a half step closer. "Did you enjoy it when you saw Audrey and Corbin-" I interrupted him. "I'm answering your first question," I said quietly. "Yes. I watched them do it, unfortunately. Which I would describe as more of an involuntary listening."

My counterpart took a full step towards me this time, reached around my body, touched my bonds and came very close with his hood to my ear.

"What would you do to finally get the recognition from your parents that you deserve? To finally be seen?"

I looked ahead to the place where Audrey was standing. It looked like she was looking in my direction, I couldn't tell exactly through her wide hood. Around me, the shackles were already being untied by several other novices. The warmth of his hands sent a shiver down my spine and his breath, his voice. I closed my eyes and said softly but clearly, "Anything."

And wished that I could have believed myself at that moment.

#angstober #angstober 2023 #writing challenge #dark aesthetic #dark academia #writing prompt #writing #inktober #writing community

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absolutebearings · 1 year

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after this latest ultimate extended rewatch with @lecampy i can finally say for sure: i like the hobbit movies more than the OT ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

All 6 are more consistent in quality than I remembered so there's less for me to get hung up on that i wasn't already accepting from the first movies -- there's infrequently wonky cgi, weird act 3 pacing, and stupid action sequences in the OT but they didn't get in the way of my enjoyment then, that's still the case for me here

i already like tolkien dwarves so all the focus on them was awesome, i like that they blended in some other tolkien works, i like that there were references to the cartoons and various illustrated editions

it must be said -- the soundtrack fucks! howard shore adds some new great dwarvish themes to the leitmotifs we're already familiar with and it works so well -- in particular its underscoring of thorin's descent is really really good

the biggest thing for me though is the characters. I am incredibly fond of all the dwarves, and bc the movies put effort into differentiating them I was able to quickly learn names. i always come away from a rewatching getting attached to a new character (this time its balin ;__;)

riddles in the dark! the barrel escape! goofy and heartfelt songs! outwitting trolls and bluffing dragons! i think all the best stuff from the novel is a lot of fun in large part bc freeman is the perfect bilbo, he handles this ridiculous, increasingly depressing procession of events with a combination of twitchy insecurity and desperate nerve and its exactly as i imagined

dont even get me started on armitage as thorin jesus christ holy fcuk. I'm still recovering and it's been a decade. his last scene had me in hysterics

in general bilbo is a more interesting and compelling protagonist, (all his little tics are so endearing!! there's like 50 Relatable Bilbo Moments per movie) and thorin's tragic character arc beats the shit out of anything from the OT. i wish i had 10 more hours of them interacting. i wish they had more time together

love the stuff with bard the bowman, he is a much more interesting figure than i initially gave him credit for, especially after laketown is destroyed and he's trying to care for all the refugees who immediately looked to him for guidance because he's the one that killed the dragon. he feels the weight of responsibility for their survival on his shoulders, his dragonslaying wasn't so much a feat as it is a prelude to the real work that is the result of prowess -- those who can, MUST. and that pressure drives his plea for thorin to just honor their prior agreement, and the feeling of betrayal when that plea is callously refused. its just like thorin taking responsibility for his people after erebor was lost (and the deliciousness of thorin treating bard like thranduil treated him, and the way the trauma of being abandoned to starvation and exile ripples out over years)

the critique i agree most with is the execution of the kili/tauriel romantic subplot, it could have been better developed imo, theyre really intense about each other after like one conversation LKJFdsjf

pacing is definitely wonky at times

specifically the pacing of the gandalf subplot was not as good as the main plot, but i think it was better handled in the extended editions

i dont think smaug was killed too quickly, or the confrontation was weirdly positioned astride the 2nd and 3rd movies bc the dragon isn't the most interesting antagonist of this story and there are more important things to explore, like thorin's descent into paranoia, his awful choices as a leader once he steps inside erebor and how theyre connected to his past experiences, and the way infighting leaves all parties vulnerable to destruction. but i'm someone who was bummed they cut scourging of the shire from the OT so i would enjoy stuff like this, those arcs that show the fallout after the Big Final Battle, (or what seemed like it at the time), where you have to reconcile real world shit like diplomacy w/ neighboring polities.

i still love the OT, its a classic for a reason, but the hobbit movies are underrated and i'll die on this (under)hill.

#bleep blorp bullshit #when i finish watching lotr i feel emotional and satisfied #when i finish watching the hobbit i want to start rewatching it immediately #the hobbit

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unnamedelement · 3 years

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I am utterly exhausted by this seminar-related nonsense. An academic discussion of a text is no threat to one's enjoyment of it--the presence of analyses you do not like does not hurt you. However, hateful words aimed at a seminar's presenters (or at associated fans with marginalized identities) are rude, hurtful, and antithetical to the multitude examples of collaboration and tolerance across differences in the legendarium. Per Tolkien's own Letters, all writing is about the integration of Story and Allegory, and allegories' relevances change depending on "time and place” (Letters 109; 163). Stories, he implies, have “significance or applicability” to the reader and to the present world, and he says this in spite of his feelings on allegory (which he sees as being distinct from applicability) (Letter 215).

“[For stories to be successful,] there must be some relevance to the 'human situation' (of all periods).” - Letter 181

“That there is no allegory does not, of course, say there is no applicability. There always is. And since I have not made the struggle wholly unequivocal: sloth and stupidity among hobbits, pride and [illegible] among Elves, grudge and greed in Dwarf-hearts, and folly and wickedness among the 'Kings of Men', and treachery and power-lust even among the 'Wizards', there is I suppose applicability in my story to present times. But I should say, if asked, the tale is not really about Power and Dominion: that only sets the wheels going; it is about Death and the desire for deathlessness. Which is hardly more than to say it is a tale written by a Man!” - Letter 203

"As for 'message': I have none really, if by that is meant the conscious purpose in writing The Lord of the Rings, of preaching, or of delivering myself of a vision of truth specially revealed to me!" - Letter 208

We were never necessarily meant to read his stories and each get the same thing out of it. That hardly ever happens in literature. Live and let live. Think before you speak--speak with the intent to be understood, and listen with the intent to understand. Be kind--not even “kind as summer.” Only kind. (I am not trying to change minds with this. I am not trying to ask for sympathy. I am just tired.)

#And it is draining to see every time I step into a tolkien space #except for swg #it is exhausting to be barraged with people saying one is corrupting literature #is it ridiculous?#yeah of course it is #but as someone who finally stepped out to try to be part of the tolkien scholarship world #and then getting beaten over the head with this?#its mean #its more disturbing than fic flamers #this is not the quiet crossing of my hobby from fandom into academia i had expected to experience #and it is a reminder that people exist and will get mad about things that do not harm them #but they will still manage to do harm to others with their reactive anger #i'm just tired #ue rambles #ue whinges #behold the glorious and infuriating intersection of fandom and academia #ts #i can't quite figure out why this hurts me so much or stresses me out like it does #but it does #lmao

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janiedean · 3 years

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if you ever wrote that rant about grrm making jon his chosen one deconstruction i'd be very happy to read it 👀

hello anon sorry for the lateness but here we go *deep breath*

sssooo, I had once ranted about it though not mentioning the thing I mentioned in those tags so lemme see if I can find the op and like... cp the main argument and amend it bc it was long, but okay so I found it, original anon asked me: why is Jon considered to be one of the most special characters grrm created? Why is he not the typical hero of fantasy books?, my original answer was here if anyone wants to go there but basically lemme just cp the first part making it shorter and then I'm adding:

first thing, the Typical Post-Tolkien Chosen One With A Shitty Life Before He Finds Out He Is Chosen™ character (I’m saying post-tolkien because every fantasy writer in existence who copies tolkien thinks that lotr went like that and instead it didn’t) usually goes through the following steps: his life sucks up until the beginning of the series, his family generally hates him/her or doesn’t appreciate them or abuses them or anyway doesn’t make their life easier and they’ve never known any different, but *something* never quite worked right and they always knew something was missing in their life, they just didn’t know why. suddenly someone who knows they were Chosen™ shows up and tells them that they’re actually Special because of this this and that and they have a quest to go on to save the world or something. our hero/heroine obviously is finally validated and while their quest is hard and full of hardships and maybe they lose a few friends along the way, finding out that they were Chosen gives their life meaning, they usually find love/friends/everything they didn’t have before until they fulfill the Prophecy™ and live more or less happily ever after, possibly after hooking up with the Person Of Their Dreams with whom they had UST up until the last twenty pages of the book. basically: being Chosen™ in regular fantasy novels is a good thing because suddenly you’re special and all the crap you suffered acquires a new meaning and in the end it made your life better.

jon snow is a complete overhaul of about everything in this sense because

instead of having a family who hates him he has a family who actually mostly loves him, and with ned it’s arguably so much that he risks royal treason by keeping him hidden from his *best friend* - sure, there’s cat and peripherally sansa, but his issues stem from the fact that he feels lesser because he’s a bastard (as far as he knows) and it’s a *class* issue, not a *my family hates me* issue not counting catelyn obv but that's what gives him freudian issues more on that in the emended part later

no one actually knows that he’s Chosen™ - like mel could get there and probably will and someone will put two and two together when his parentage comes out in the open, but he doesn’t have a gandalf or mentor who shows him The Way Towards His Quest

so instead of going from ‘my life sucks but I’m going on a quest which is gonna be a+’ he actively chooses to leave a fairly decent situation (a household he knows, siblings who love him - ned actually hoped he’d become robb’s counselor or right hand man or something from what we can gather) because he feels like he has to prove he’s better than his name and goes to the Crappiest Place In Westeros. like idk if people grasp it, but the wall is basically a prison and at the ripe age of fourteen he decides that it’s totally a good and honorable choice (his only choice actually) to go defend the realm in the freezing cold along with a bunch of criminals/derelicts/rejects of society

at which point he makes friends among said rejects and let’s remember that it’s the point where he actually has to do his first an only privilege when donal noye made him go like hey you were brought up with nobles these ppl are here because they stole bread, and that helps making him more into the person he is rn but like your tyopical fantasy hero who has had a shitty life doesn’t usually have to acknowledge that other people might have had it worse

then he goes on the Quest where he finds his first One True Love, and that’s where it turns even worse because usually the quest is where things start to go right for the Hero™, instead for jon they start to go wronger, because first he has to go undercover which pretty much tests most of his belief/code system, he falls in love with a girl he has to betray, half of his friends and his lord commander die along the way, while he’s off doing his thing winterfell gets taken/burned and robb dies when jon openly stated that he also was going to the wall to defend his family and keep them safe (yeaaah worked out real well), when he goes back to the wall he has to fight the people he lived with for months, the woman he loves dies in his arms and he can’t do anything about it and he’s aware it couldn’t have gone any other way, people put defending the wall on him and then put his loyalty in question, when stannis shows up with a legitimization (which is everything he ever wanted) he refuses because he doesn’t want to accidentally steal his siblings’s inheritance (which was what cat was so worried about hahaha) and actively chooses the crappy defending the realm life all over again. also in all this time his being Chosen™ hasn’t manifested or helped him in any way whatsoever - actually all his honor-moral code related baggage is what moral dilemmas come from that. like, your usual chosen hero™ would always take the right decision and it all turns out good eventually, jon takes the morally right decision and it all turns SOUR eventually

at this point he finally gets elected LC, thanks to his friends also pitching in, which is about the one fantasy hero™ thing that’s happened for now. should be good, yes?

lol no, because he ends up with THAT hellish responsibility at sixteen, since he thinks that he has absolutely to be even better than that now and he has very specific notions about how you should lead and he knows he has to take unpopular decisions/decisions that he doesn’t necessarily like, he ends up either having to send his friends away forreal (sam) or detaching from them (pyp/grenn/the likes) and when as far as he knows he learns that his sister is married to ramsay he can’t do anything about it

never mind that it’s the same situation as when he had to pick the watch or robb in book one - he went there to defend his family and now being there actually prevents him from helping them in person. ops. meanwhile he’s trying to implement a new vision of things which is modern and smart and actually makes sense because why fighting the wildlings when you have ZOMBIES coming. your usual Chosen One™ would get people to approve just because he’s the Chosen One

instead jon gets stabbed to death - okay, that was also because he wanted to go get arya but it was the last straw, people were pissed over the wildlings plan first and foremost

so basically he’s gone through all the Chosen One™ steps but in reverse - he loses his family which did love him instead of finding another one that makes the first pale in comparison, he does find a new one who loves him but has to alienate most of its members for responsibility reasons as a consequence of what should have been the crowning achievement of his life choices (which eventually is NOT one), he falls in love and they don’t drag the UST forever but they never get a chance to be together without small print in between, he chooses the admittedly most masochistic life he could for his family as well and half of them die and he can’t do a thing for the other half, every other mentor-like figure he runs into after ned dies, instead of finding validation he ends up having to isolate himself and on top of everything HE STILL DOESN’T FUCKING KNOW HE’S THE CHOSEN ONE™

so instead of his life going better the more he learns stuff and matures as a person, he gets murdered. by the people he trusts and who were supposed to be his new family. haha?

never mind that when he finds out he’s the Chosen One™ it won’t bring him closure because all he ever wanted was being full stark like his father/siblings and then bam he’s going to find out his father’s actually targaryen and what does that even mean to him?

on top of that being AA will just be a pain because I don’t believe for a second he’s not going to get leftover ptsd and who the hell is gonna help him deal with it? or how is he ever getting over his *brothers* murdering him? and people are going to ask stuff of him all over again and he’s gonna have to go slay a mythical monster and if I know grrm it’s not gonna be fun, pretty or cathartic FOR HIM

on top of that, Chosen Hero™ fulfills the prophecy and gets a realm to rule and everyone lives happily ever after. money is that if jon does get that realm (and I think he is because he has the best claim if he's legitimate and most likely it'll turn out he was on the targ side but ROBB also legitimized him so he has double the legitimization), he’s going to hate every second of it and he’ll take it because a) duty, b) literally no one else is available, and like this guy didn’t want to rule a realm or be a king or anything he just wanted to be a stark, and instead he’s going to have to after all that shit thanks to Magical And Noble Heritage he hadn’t even known he had and probably didn’t even want up to that point because since when jon wanted to be a targ? yeah since never

obviously I hope he manages to be somewhat happy regardless because the alternative is too miserable, but basically being a Chosen Hero™ is what makes jon’s life worse rather than better and the fact that hew went through all the regular self-discovery journey for the fantasy hero list doesn’t mean he’s not flipping that over in his sl. the fact that he stayed a decent person more or less throughout it and that he hasn’t turned into a bitter asshole also doesn’t change the main point XD

tldr: jon snow is not a typical fantasy hero because he deconstructs that trope into tiny little bits same as robb deconstructed the arthurian flawless king hero trope

now ^^^^^ THAT was what I originally wrote for that meta but adding on to what I said in those tags

okay so... there is a certain tendency to also make the chosen one™ special in the sense that he's kind of goals - good looking, rich or set to inherit, gallant, takes the initiative, he's like.. social or anyway immediately makes friends etc and all that jazz which jon... doesn't really fit

like jon is an introvert who immediately makes friends just with outcasts and his siblings also bc he feels like one but he's hardly a social butterfly and charms everyone wherever he walks by

I mean ffs says all that the only person he charmed in that sense is stannis who is the literal only person in charge in the books who is more introvert than him and has worse communication issues and appreciates ppl going straight to the point

on top of that in the book he looks like ned.... and arya looks like ned and ned isn't described as being particularly handsome that was brandon so he's not even like... I mean kit h. is v. pretty and I think he was a good choice for the role and I'll die on the hill that he was born to play that character and he did it well but book!jon doesn't have that kinda pretty face so the concept that he's the HOT alternative to anyone to me is kind of iffy bc he's not

he's shit at social interactions and at PR which is why robb and him would have been a key winning ticket like he has a better idea of the larger picture but robb would have actually made sure ppl didn't turn against them bc he actually was good at that but like he doesn't go around rallying armies in his name does he

the one time he's been with a girl it was ygritte and like he courted her without realizing it and then she had to pursue him and he barely knew wtf to do on top of the fact that they slept with ghost in the middle of them like a sword which..... is.... I mean sleeping with the sword in the middle was a thing to make sure the maiden stayed a maiden and he's the one who is like i CAN'T HAVE SEX WITH HER EVEN IF I WANT TO BECAUSE I'M TECHNICALLY SPYING ON THEM like... he's not... gallant-knight coded

never mind that the moment they do the do she basically does everything until he decides to try the oral which I mean... isn't exactly alphadominatingmale out of jon which is not a given with the trope he's supposed to represent like he's not smooth he's not suave he's like WHAT THE FUCK when ygritte tells him he has a pretty face bc most likely no one else told him that and he like... doesn't pursue people like that in general which is also not exactly 100% what that trope usually goes for

we can add that he has a lot of passive-aggressive little shit sarcasm in him that they didn't let him go for in the show but like... usually chosen heroes™ don't think what he thinks about selyse in general

we can also add that he's not automatically above being better than his position like... he doesn't take winterfell bc ygritte is dead but he did think he'd have taken the deal sansa or not if stannis had said he could marry her and not val and if she wasn't dead, he basically went off the rails at the dude he was fighting with thinking about robb telling him that he couldn't be lord of wf because he was a bastard and he's absolutely not in the frame of mind of 'well I was born a bastard who cares it doesn't define me'

he's obsessed to the point of unhealthy with actually being defined by it which is why he was better off with the wildlings aka the only idiots in the realm who don't gaf about that

and that's like... I mean usually if chosen ones™ have parental issues it's like 'you were an orphan and raised by asses who weren't your parents but your parents loved you and you'll find out at some point and you'll be happier for it and make your own family', jon is like... he has the mommy freudian issues of the century bc of how cat treated him, on the other side he's obsessed with living up to ned's/his father's name and he hates that it makes him not-belonging or that he feels like he doesn't even if he does with his siblings, and at the same time when the truth about it comes out he's going to get the cold shower of the century bc like - he's spent all that time thinking BUT DID MY MOTHER WANT ME WHO WAS MY MOTHER and he's going to find out of who it was and how he was born and honestly considering that lyanna most likely did regret running with rhaegar the moment he finds that out and that she died birthing him how is he going to feel? - also he spends his life wanting to live up to his 'father's' name aka ned aka someone known to be honorable to a fault and then it turns out his bio father is... the dude who started that entire rebellion not doing a very honorable thing? - also if jon*erys is a thing idt that he'd take 'I fell in love with my aunt' so nonchalantly as he did in the show tldr: he's never gonna get over his parental issues in a short time and when that particular brick hits him in the face it won't be pretty

like the entire point of jon is that he goes through all the chosenone™ cursus honorum as we'd call it in high school when studying latin but each step that means smth good for the usual chosenone™ to him is something bad, being one is not going to make his life better and throughout the entire thing he does not fit that stereotype when it comes to look, personality, basic traits and familial history and like hell he's going to have the happy ending tied up with the bow - like I think he gets a bittersweet one and eventually goes off with the wildlings bc he belongs there after being jon snow first of his name (bc like hell he's not reclaiming his bastard background at the end of this entire mess I'm eating my hat if he doesn't) after splitting the seven realms and fixing things but that's hardly the neat happy ending the chosenone™ usually gets so that's my two cents

... christ this was long *raises hands*

#jon snow #tagging for the lulz i guess #janie writes meta #ch: jon snow #long post for ts #tldr jon snow is a kurt cobain stan in disguise in westeros and chosenones™ aren't nirvana stan coded #and i'm dying on this hill xD

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goldenvoicedminstrel · 3 years

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realised after posting it’s actually @feanorianweek and even day 2, so have some Maglor

The sun was hidden from the sea that day, the rough waves turned murky grey in a perfect mirror image of the dull clouds overhead, both divided only by an endless pale horizon. All around, the colours had disappeared from the earth and Maglor wondered, if perhaps this was what the void looked like. An endless space devoid of colour, sound and feel.

An endless nothingness to isolate one from one’s own existence and drive one mad.

It was a far more frightening thought than any darkness or torture.

Is that what my brothers feel? he asked the only person still listening.

Does it matter? he answered his own question. He would never join them now, it had been much too long since he had failed to follow his brother’s example and throw the Silmaril into the waves with his body still attached to it. Too many years of wandering and suffering had passed, that had made his next step and the next note of his lament as unescapable as the passing of the hours and years. He had woven the mourning resonance of the Noldolantë into the music of Arda itself and himself with it.

Even if he did not care if he lived, he had been surviving for so long he thought he might not know how to die anymore.

The coarse sand and stones were biting into the soles of his bare feet as he walked, having long since discarded his worn through boots. Now the quiet crunch of his steps in the sand formed an imperfect metronome for his song.

“I fixed it.”

Curufinwë stands before him, hands outstretched and in them a little box, ticking away with the steadiness of his own heart beat.

“It was easy, Atar did not even have to show me how. Now you must not be cross with me anymore.”

Again his feet lost their rhythm, one sinking a little deeper into a puddle of water that had been hidden under the wet sand. Around his foot he could feel the pull of the waves towards the sea, dragging the sand with them and hollowing out the ground he stood upon. He stepped aside instinctively, onto a sharp shell that cut through his skin.

“Careful, Laurë!” Maitimo calls and the white towers of Alqualondë glitter behind him, shining with the colours of the Mother of Pearl fragments inlaid in their walls.

“Let me see that. Where was that head of yours again?”

He picked up the shell. Its hard, curved form was broken and the white edges ragged, now tinted pink with his blood.

“Káno, look what I found!” A smudge of silver races towards him, so fast, that his light hair whipping behind him in the wind blends into the pale morning light around him. When Tyelkormo opens his small hands they reveal a cone shell and, emerging from it, the scarlet claws of a hermit crab. “Can we please take him home with us?”

He thought his hair might be turning pale too. Grey, like that of the Edain, when their spirits and bodies started to wane after long years of sorrow and grief. His skin seemed grey as well, and sometimes he thought it was because he could see the grey sky through it. Perhaps he was just becoming a part of that greyness around him, fading into a lament on the waves, his song lost under the cry of the gulls and raging of the sea. Another gull flew over his head, so close this time that he could feel the gust of wind from its wings in his hair.

A shrill scream comes from the other side of the beach, followed by a bought of laughter.

“You sound like the gulls, Moryo!”

A dark haired elfling’s face is turning an impressive shade of red as he scowls at his brother.

“I do not!” he cries and crosses his thin arms, but when his indignation shows no effect, he quickly ducks down and picks up a handful of wet sand, hurling it towards his still laughing brother.

“Stop laughing at me, Tyelko!” he insists and the blonde’s face immediately turns grave, as he bends down in an exaggeratedly somber manner to pick up his own lump of sand.

“If this is how you want to play…” he says, and the scene quickly dissolves into childish screams of laughter.

Little wet droplets were running down Maglor’s cheeks. Ah, he thought, it must be raining.

There was an opening in the high basalt cliffs, nothing more than a crack in the dark structure looming over him, a comfortable shelter for a child perhaps, but not enough to hide a grown adult. He walked past and let his scarred hand trace the stone. It was as rough and blackened as his own scorched skin and its sharp edges seemed detached from under his unfeeling finger.

The wind blew sharper now and the dark strands of his dirty hair tangled before his eyes, obscuring his sight. He listened instead to the desperate howling of the wind trapped in the small cracks and hollows of unmoving stone.

Two red-haired children cling to him, the vibrant colour of their hair burning with the curb’s fire behind them and their identical faces are flushed with excitement and the only recently abandoned heat of the flames.

“Tell us a story Káno! About why the wind howls so. Does it sing like you do? What does it sing about?”

His hair was whipped away from his eyes again by another violent gust of wind, but the darkness stubbornly remained. Was it night already? There were no stars he could distinguish, not even in the West was his father’s creation visible to the hopeful eye. He clenched his hand and walked on, the howl of the wind lost beneath his own.

He walked until the path before him rose away from the soft sand and up on uneven stone, crumbling away under his feet as he climbed, the small pebbles falling endlessly into the abyss beside him. He would not sleep, only make one step after the other until he would drop from exertion, too exhausted for even dreams to find him, may they be horrible- or worse- good.

He stumbled.

There was a bird at his feet, the white feathers making it visible to him even in the night- no, that was the dawn breaking over the horizon.

One of the creature’s wings was twisted and its neck broken, overstretched into an unnatural position on the ground, his honey coloured beak turned away from its body as if pointing out the way ahead.

Did the storm do this to you? he asked, but the dark eyes gave no answer.

He touches the impossibly soft feathers with a trembling hand and suddenly, for the first time since he has been born into these immortal lands of Aman, he understands that even here nothing lasts forever. He thinks of his grandmother, lying as beautiful and lifeless as this little bird while his father strokes her soft hair. The bird must have a mother too, or little nestlings screaming for it, and if it doesn’t, how lonely it must have been. Perhaps it is a silly thing to anguish about, but he has a vivid imagination and a soft heart and has never seen death before.

Through his tears he sees his father hurrying from his forge, alarmed by his young son’s despairing wails.

“What is it, Makalaurë? What has happened? Are you hurt?” his father’s face is tight and pale and his hands are running over his child’s small form, trying to find the cause of his hurt, to fix it as he always does. “Please, tell me why you are weeping,” he asks again and spots the lifeless bird in the same moment. His shoulders drop in relief and his features relax into a sad smile as he pulls his sobbing son into a tight embrace. “It is alright ‘Laurë,” he whispers to him. “Everything has its time.”

He turned away from the bird and walked on as the sun rose higher into the clear, blue sky.

His father, who then had been so much younger than he must be by now, and so anxious about any sadness befalling his newly formed family.

Maitimo had been an easy child in that regard, and really in any other regard as well. Happy and content, with the sure confidence of someone who had grown up with all of his parent’s praise and attention and who, deep down, believed he deserved it. Kind and courteous to everyone and widely loved- and later admired- in return. When he had been quiet, it had been with thoughtful consideration or the comfort that needed no words. Maitimo had never been despairing.

He himself however, befitting the poet he would become, had been much more volatile. His joy had been delightfully loud but his sorrow even louder. How unsettling these first fits of despair must have been for his father, who had always lived under the shadow of his mother’s fate.

His brothers had shed tears too, of course, but they were easily quietened. Tyelko had cried in pain after falling out of a tree and Moryo often in anger. Curvo had sometimes teared up in frustration and the Ambarussa had sobbed in fear the first time they had heard the tale of their father’s mother and discovered that there might be a force in this world that could separate them after all. But Maitimo…

The hard stone under his feet had softened into dry earth and the narrow path was being overtaken by yellow and green patches of grass and finally a thick carpet of heather, the sea of small green leaves parted by spots of rose and purple flowers. A twig snapped underneath his weary feet.

The air is filled with the fragrance of blooming petals as he wanders through the labyrinth of thick green hedges and thorny bushes heavy with blossoms of every colour. Even now, thirsty and irritated as he is, he marvels at the beauty of it all, his parched throat aching to burst into a verse of song in celebration. Yet first he needs to find his brother, as his father had sent him out to do hours ago. But today Maitimo seems to have disappeared from the face of Arda entirely and his grandfather’s rose garden is his last hope. There is a spot there his brother had shown him when he had been but a little boy- his secret hiding place he had called it.

He ducks under the low branches of a young tree and carefully pushes away some of the dense shrubbery before he stills.

He hears their laughter before he sees them, sitting in the grass, a bottle of what must be grandfather’s good wine lying forgotten next to them. They are leaning against each other and speaking in hushed, excited tones, and suddenly his brother is throwing his head back and is laughing, laughing until there are tears running down his cheeks and he has to gasp for breath. He is still holding onto Findekáno’s arm as his giggling cousin wipes away his tears of mirth.

Quietly he turns away and leaves, reporting to their father that Maitimo is nowhere to be found.

The sun was high in the deep blue sky and the sea glittered faintly beneath it.

Maglor’s path lead him down again, away from the heather, towards the waves where the smell of salt perpetuated the air he still breathed. He did not hear the gulls anymore and the light breeze that seemed to caress his cheek was too weak to drown out his lament.

When his feet sank into soft sand again, the sun was already setting and suddenly the sky was set aflame in the same shade of red he had loved and hated and grieved more than anything else.

And again he walked on. Was it raining again?

And when Maglor walks the shore alone, his brothers walk with him, and on the wind his father’s voice whispers: “Why are you weeping, Makalaurë?”

#today on making myself sad at 1:30 am #maglor #i love you bby i'm sorry #makalaure #maedhros #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #ambarussa #feanor #feanorians #silmarillion #just realised it's #feanorianweek #and maglor day as well here #tis fate #golden writes

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oh-for-fic-sake · 4 years

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Trophy Chapter Seven

Masterlist

Warnings: Adult situations +18, Smut ,Dub con, Coercive behavior, Daddy kink, Threats of violence, Masturbation, Swearing

A/n: So this has taken absolutely ages to write... there are many things that i wanted in the chapter that havent made it i was struggling about how much plot i added to this chapter and i can only apologize for how long it has taken m0but also wanted to covey the back story a little more. I'm happy with it and i hope you are to. As a head's up this story might end up being a fifteen to twenty chapters I hope. Any way I do hope this is worth the wait. p.s if you want the other chapters they are in order on my masterlist which is linked above as always.xx

Taglist: @havenoffandoms @aphrodites-punch @charlieferret @thatgirly81 @two-unbeatable-beaters @viking-raider @iloveyouyen @black-ninja-blade

Trophy Chapter Seven

Henry sat behind his desk he was annoyed, you could tell by the way he sat shoulders, neck and jaw twitching every now and then, he was wound tight. The power radiating from him cast waves across the space leaving the air thick, yet behind it was something else, something that was echoing across the room each time he cast his gaze to you. He sent smirks to you when he caught you stealing glances at him. Feeling his glances linger you faltered scanning the same line of your book for what seemed the hundredth, willing yourself not to look at him not to give him a reason to approach you. You wanted to be left alone with your thoughts sighing you tucked your feet up on the sofa cringing you huffed as your bare ass pulled on the leather...You just knew you was leaving marks...The knowledge made you curl up tighter tucking your skirt under yourself shielding your center from His glances. You couldn't concentrate, to many things had happened already today and to many thoughts ran around inside your head. You could kick yourself ,was it right? You'd sold yourself to the devil...For what? You looked him over taking in the way his shoulders tensed as he moved pulling a slim tablet from his desk flicking open the stand connecting it to a wireless keyboard. Was this the plan all along...For him to back you into a corner like this, to make you hand yourself over willingly? To resign yourself to staying with him. Trapping yourself in this house forever...To protect a fantasy of what could have been? A man who you started imagining a future with...An agent... A liar. You heaved a deep sigh moving a hand to swipe at your eyes then pinched the bridge of your nose dropping the book to your knees that were firmly tucked below your chin. Your emotions finally catching up with you. Tears were quickly forming in your eyes. It could have been a ruse, a cruel ploy to use as cover. Had it? It had felt so natural, so pure. Like you could have had it all but was it real?... Or did Stephan think you knew something was you just part of the job?.... You looked over to Henry he had said the day you got here that Stephan was using you... At the time you just thought it was the mans madness talking but now?...He could have been right...As far as things stood at the moment Henry had done many things to you...But he had not lied to you. Did he know all along? was he in some fucked up way trying to help you?. Could he possibly love you as he said he did?. Is he just acting now? Playing along? it was entirely possible Henry was a smart man. There was no doubt about that, you don't get to were he is being an idiot...And it was convenient that everything was in his favor that he was coming out on top again... You shook your head, they were some very dangerous thoughts. You felt him look at you again and he sighed at you watching tears fall landing on the pages open in front of you. He just rose out of his seat moving ,opening the door letting in Kal who had been waiting dutifully out side the door.

"Go see your mother" you blinked not quite understanding but soon realized he had been speaking to Kal as the dog jumped up on to the sofa beside you nudging the book from your hands to the floor. Henry moved collecting the hardback copy of Tolkien's Hobbit placing in on the small side table by you. He smiled as Kal stealthily made himself comfy on your lap, making you uncurl to accommodate him lathering you with kisses. Henry moved his hand ruffling the bears ears praising him"Good boy, you sit there and protect your mother hmm?...He is definetly taken with you, my fully trained gaurd dog becomes a soppy puppy around you" you smiled a little scratching Kals chin, Henry crouched down looking at you moving to pat your hip

"...Pet? try not to think to much...You have no need to be sad my love, now is a time for us to...move past everything to look forward to our future... I'm going to keep my word as long as you keep yours. Now try and cheer up for me" you forced a smile at him then let your face drop again. He sighed deciding to give you time to yourself then made his way across the office to his seat again. You whined digging your fingers into the dogs thick fur pressing your face into his neck as he rested his chin on your shoulder panting happily as you continued to cuddle the massive fluff ball. You closed your eyes it was pathetic that you'd throw away everything to protect the first man to ever show you attention. But what was done is done. There was no way Henry would ever let you back track, and if you did you knew for certain that you'd be wholey responsible for Stephan's demise. And to make matters worse in the middle of your confused despair you now had to face the man who had started all this, who had betrayed you. Fletcher who had set you up to be kidnapped. With no idea as to what would happen to you, or you'd like to think he had no idea but you doubted it. You turned your head resting the side of our face into the dog sniffling trying hard not to cry, this time with anger. You shook sitting silent, you didn't want to attract the mobsters attention any more than you had. You could feel him getting worse feeling him seeth to himself as he tapped away at the tablet every few seconds cursing under his breath. You moved back leaning back as Kal followed your movements to lounge across you getting watching the door.

Finally after the longest hour of your life there was a timid knock on the door then a nasally voice you knew all to well.

"Oh he hasn't answerd must be busy-" you heard a thump as if someone had been slammed against the door.

"Get your ass in here fletcher!" You jumped making Kal nudge your hand as if to say keep petting me. The good boy was helping with your anxiety over the whole situation. Your attention was brought back to Henry as he spoke his tone was dark, cool and calculated. He looked high and mighty, smug as he sat taller a lopsided grin upon his face he winked in your direction making you blink slowly this was business and he was most definitely the boss. Slowly the door opened and your ex-employer came in,the usually tall confident man was hunched forward trying to look as insignificant as possible. Nervous and flighty, he didn't want to be here and you couldn't blame him, hell you didn't want to be here. Henry raised a brow to the door left wide open making Fletcher turn sharply and close it you jumped closing your eyes tight as it slammed beside you prompting another nudge from Kal who was covering you leaning across you trying to be a wall between you ad the other male. The terrified man stood still then, took a few steps in the room as he quickly began stammering apologies to Henry which he rolled his eyes at and held a hand up .Stop. Fletcher moved forward with a forced smile and sat down in front of the desk twisting his hands.

"S-so Mr Cavill.....I erm wh-what did you need to talk to me about?"

"Get up" Fletcher tilted his head as Henry leaned back in his chair placing his forearms on the arms of the chair taking a relaxed pose

"Wha-why?" Fletcher asked but soon moved when Henry's blues turned icey

"Did I stutter? Get. Up." Fletcher jumped leaping out of the chair as Henry's voice was sharp and foreboding. Fidgeting with his hands Fletcher took a a deep shaking breath and looked about ready to piss himself. Henry moved slowly closing the kickstand on the back of the tablet casually with a flick of his wrist, moving to place it and the keyboard in the drawer he had got it from. He looked up through his lashes at the man.

"You see Fletcher...This is the problem we have.....You make decisions....The wrong decisions and then you try to back track." Fletcher looked at Henry and swallowed.

"You are to do as your told and nothing more, things are going to change, your not going to make a move, decide anything talk to anyone your not even going to take a shit without my fucking say so is that fucking clear?" Fletcher moved forward wide eyed at the implications.

"But-Henr.....Mr Cavill I didn't say anything, I just gave him the trail you .Gave me...That’s all!....I swear....I'd never betray you like that we're friends" Henry laughed loud at him then fixed to coward before him with a stern look.

"Friends?...You think we are ...Friends?....Sure. I may have kept you out of prison which; you paid me for and I agreed to the loans... We drank together what once? Twice?...I may have even wiped your debt with our last little deal...." Henry's eyes swiped over you for a second his haze turning hungry for a moment then returned to the quivering man before him.

"But I am not your friend...I don't have friends...It was business....You are a pathetic little man who bit off more then he could chew. Now be a good boy and tell me What did he tell you? Was there anything that seemed strange about him? Anything at all think back.." Fletcher furrowed his brow confused and shook his head.

"I don't understand he was just an immigrant-"

"He used a false identity... Did you do a background check on him?" It was a test. Henry knew Fletcher didn't check him out, he couldn't have.For an agent the kid hadn't covered his tracks very well he practically popped up out of thin air. But Henry was more interested in whether Fletcher would lie to him, he needed to know how close of an eye to keep on him .Fletcher however went a deathly shade of pale, he hadn't known about Stephan.

"I-I don't... I don't know ...He seemed to check out when I hired him-" Henry slammed his fist down making you whimper into Kal’s fur closing your eyes.

"YOU GOT SOME FUCKING BALLS TO SIT IN MY HOME, IN MY FUCKING OFFICE AND LIE RIGHT TO MY FACE!! YOU DIDN'T EVEN CHECK HIM DID YOU?" Fletcher let out a little yelp taking a step back and shook as he nodded.

"Y-your right I'm s-sorry ple-please I rushed him through, I knew I-I didn't have long to replace Y/n...But I swear I didn't know, you have to believe me...He is just a boy...You said so yourself! A boy who doesn't know his place!.A silly little shit who thinks he is in love, or that's what I thought. That maybe he will give up after he realized Y/n wasn't the only place to get his dick wet....I mean she didn't look like she'd be the best fuck in the world you know?" Henry glowered at him the room got colder. Bad move. Henry was jumping down his throat before you even had the chance to be offended.

"Excuse me? What the fuck did you just say about MY woman? You wanna run that one past me again?...Well? come on don't hold back now tell me what you think of her... Oh you haven't got the balls now have you? Let me tell you something you sniveling little cunt you ever disrespect her again and I will personally cut that sorry excuse for a prick right from between your little chicken shit legs and choke you to death with it understand? you keep your fucking mouth shut if you know whats good for you!" stupidly enough you couldn't help the smile or small flutters in your chest as you heard this dangerous man defend you so quickly, even if it was murder...Something about it made you special? dare you say cared for? Fletcher shook realizing his mistake to late.

"Yo-Your woman?....I'm so-sorry Mr Cavill I didn't know you had taken her for yourself...Ple-Please forgive me I didn't mean-" Henry growled waving him off if he let the man continue to grovel then they would be here all fucking day. He sighed rolling his eyes before continuing.

"One check...One five minuet check and you could have avoided this fucking mess...There is no Stephan clermont...I’m pretty sure he was a fucking agent, we are not sure what branch.. You let an agent into your fucking cafe! Fuck knows what he has seen and heard because you didn't screen him properly..."

"H-he was a what? Oh fuck oh fuck! Mr Cavill? I'm sorry I am so sorry please..I-I didn't know! You have to believe me!" The poor man all but got on his hands and knees,pleading with the kingpin opposite him. He was trembling as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. Henry sat back keeping silent, he wanted to make the man squirm for a few moments, he thrived of the terror permeating the room.Finally he moved forward tilting his head sighing.

"However it has worked in my...Our favor....Hasn't it little one?" You shrunk into Kal as Fletcher looked at you shocked seeing you sitting by the door on the huge leather sofa,you scowled at him wanting desperately to launch the book in your hands at him, to scream and shout attack him even.

"Y/n? Yo-your okay? Thank god I was so worried- I was sure Henry wasn't going too hurt you...But there was still a doubt...But he hasn't and your here!" you stood up seeing red, Fletcher flinched as Kal strode past him looking at him warily. A part of you wanted Kal to take a bite but you didn't want to see him turn like that, he was the only one you trusted not to hurt you in this house. Tears blurred your eyes as you struggled to temper your anger.Worried?How dare he! How fucking dare he say that to you! Your stomach clenched as you finally registered his words. But before you had any time to think it over you was already screaming at him. Henry slowly pushed himself out from the desk waiting for the blow up about to happen.

"BULLSHIT! BULL-SHIT YOU WASN'T WORRIED AT ALL! YOU CUNT YOU FUCKING SET ME UP, USED ME AS SOME FUCKING BARGAINING CHIP FOR WHAT?" You screamed at him moving across the small space towards him spitting out your words, you didn't notice Henry move to focused on the man in front of you as you gained on him as he shuffled back nearly tripping over the chair beside him.

"I TRUSTED YOU! WHAT DID YOU GET? WHAT DID HE FUCKING GIVE YOU HUH? TELL ME FLETCHER JUST WHAT WAS I WORTH?" He took another step back unprepared for your out burst he stumbled back. You cried as your anger overwhelmed you Henry bypassed him capturing your arms in his hands pressing you back with little effort. Standing between you and Fletcher, his massive frame concealed him, a huge wall of sculpted muscle. You frowned up at Henry for a second only to twist your head to the side around him and carried on screaming at the sleazeball cowering behind him.

"DID YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN TO ME?! TELL ME DAMNIT!" You cried as Henry quickly pulled you away from the man you struggle feebly as you was directed away from the man you wanted to claw at.

"I thought you were going to be safe! I was sure Henr-Mr Cavill wouldn't put you in the circuit in town-" You fumed crying torn between anger and despair. Henry finally moved sitting back down holding your heaving form flush against him making you lean his hand resting across your abdomen he moved kissing your hair. He rocked you slightly the caring gesture seemed to flip a switch as you immediately crumbled into his chest, your nerves were shot and you had just about enough. You gave in to the need for comfort, wanting someone to hold as the days rollacoaster finally caught up with you. You moved turning shifting on his lap tucking yourself into him sobbing, clutching and twisting at his shirt. Henry adjusted his hold on you, cupping your legs and widening his own to support you more comfortably.

"I ha-hate you...Why?...Why did yo-you do this?....." you brought a hand up to your face wiping away the tears looking up at Henry completely lost falling apart at the seams, you looked at him in that moment for answers. For reasons and reassurance.

"There is a fine line between love and hate, hasn't anyone ever told you that pet?" He smiled when you looked at him confused then sobbed he pulled your face to his chest again.

"What did I do to deserve this?" You whined against him ,loosing yourself into something you still didn't understand yet. Henry smirked feeling you give in. He just began shushing you and rubbing your back soothing you, his eyes on Fletcher the whole time. Fletcher watched in fear seeing first hand just what this man's cruelty truly was, how he had gotten under your skin and manipulated you, twisted you into doing exactly what he wanted. How he can redesign and remold anyone to suit his own ends. And that was his strength. That was the secret to his power Henry was a silver tongue and master at mind games. He made the game and everyone around him was playing it whether they knew it or not. Fletcher gulped he knew he wasn't going to walk away from this, there was no escape you cannot outsmart this man. You cannot win against the devil himself.

To anyone in that moment Henry looked like the cat who'd caught the canary.A king sitting on his golden throne with his little sacrifice curled up in his lap. So pleased with himself and how things were playing out as he allowed you to wrap yourself around him willingly as you wept into his chest. Fletcher could see through the veneer for the first time and what he saw terrified him. Just what had he gotten himself into? And more importantly how was he going to get out of it?

Henry moved slowly whispering into your neck as he tilted his head down.

"Shh love thats enough....shh shh its okay your okay I'm here....Thats it good girl..... No need to get yourself so worked up...what's done is done and we can all put it behind us....." he finished with a chaste kiss to your neck , you could feel how Fletcher was uncomfortable as Henry worked on your neck slowly sucking making you gasp and wriggle as he dug his teeth in determined to make a show for the other male. He smirked against your neck as you whined, one of his hands had slid up under your skirt digging his fingers into the raised welts from yesterday,you flush as you jolted you hips to escape his hand. You felt ashamed as you enjoyed the thick thighs below you rubbing across your ass even if it did sting, you have almost no control as his words relaxed you. Letting you melt into him closing your eyes giving yourself into his soothing tone.

Henry finally looked up at Fletcher through his lashes mouth still hovering at your neck he pulled back with a parting kiss, he moved his arms to wrap around you as he felt you settle into him completely relaxed , you had past the point of panic and simple stayed there soaking up what ever comfort he was willing to give you. Chuckling he grinned knowingly across the desk he knew the man across from him was panicking, that he had clicked that Henry was much more then he appeared and that letting him get away with this wasn't an option.

Well man? He was a little weasel- a little weasel that had owed him big time, tax avoidance wasn't the biggest thing Henry could help cover up usually he didn't bother but Fletcher was desperate when he came to him begging for his help. Two businesses and seventeen years worth of dodging the tax man ,national insurance pensions you name it he wasn't paying finding loopholes and then it had all caught up to him. It was enough to make anyone desperate when the tax man started asking too many questions, if he went down he wouldn't get out of prison at his age. So Henry decided to help, he needed to start somewhere in the new town and it was a piece of piss. He helped arranging everything, saving Fletcher's ass but it had come with a hefty price tag. Fletcher was getting brave after nearly a few months, out right refusing to pay him back. That is what prompted his visit to the crappy cafe, if he asked you probably wouldn't remember serving him or chatting to him but he did. He spent the days and weeks after obsessing over you, he was unsure how to go about seeing you he didn't want to leave anything to chance. He wanted you. He wanted to feel that peace that you caused in him, you were his refuge, his little piece of normality. It wasn't until the second visit to Fletcher that he had made a deal.It was simple, Fletcher had pleaded with him making promise after promise, first of money then assets, use of the cafe; which Henry had already been doing for smaller deals but then he finally offered something Henry actually wanted. You. He offered you as his payment saying that your were pretty enough and would make him a lot of money in the prostitution ring he had in town. He remembered that moment, he was filled with unadulterated rage and pure joy all at once. The mere thought of you being used in such a way made him want to step back and let his boys do their thing, yet he couldn't for the life of him let the opportunity pass.He was also frightened for you, the fact Fletcher was willing to sell you into that kind of life was to much of a risk, what if he sold you to someone else? And they did force you into that life?. No absolutely not he had to save you. Protect you. So he accepted.You for his debt. It was decided that you would keep working at the cafe for the time being.... With higher pay and better conditions, he couldn't have his woman struggling could he?.

He had got everything ready at that point he was going to become a regular customer and try to wrangle a date that way, yet when he visited you were never out front always in the kitchen. So he moved to his second plan the long game becoming your landlord and bumping into you as he visited the building...He would play himself of as a relative of one of the residents. It was the perfect plan he would have then have access to your building and apartment,have all security footage of you coming and going so he would know when to pop in he was going to up the security and such too. He could make it impossible for you to ignore him. Once you were going steady he would rocket the rent forcing you to move out....And in with him.That was the plan you'd have been content came to him willingly! thinking it was all meant to be just as much as him! You'd have fallen so in love with him all on your own!. All Fletcher had to do was keep you occupied for a few months as he bought your building. It wasn't a big ask really.Instead he had made you unknowingly train up your replacement. Stephen who he now knew had been posing as some danish pratt and HE had tricked you! quickly wooing you into a date.

"Fletcher...keep your eyes open for Stephan...I want him found...He gets in touch with you you tell me" he nodded quickly sensing this meeting was going to be wrapped up soon. You wriggled against Henry pulling yourself out of your safe space still desperate for answers.

"No! Tell me what happened?" You struggled as Henry brought his arms around you tighter grunting in your ear.

"Enough my love!...That is enough...Like I have told you its in the past! Unless you are already backtracking on our little deal?" You froze twisting to look up at him, his voice was calm but firm and sliced past your ear in hot breaths. You shook.

"No!-no I'm not...I just want to know...I need to know why? Why he did this? Please...." Henry sighed looking at you for a few seconds then to Fletcher who was literally shaking on the spot.

"Leave...As far as we are concerned you now fucking owe me again...Same as before my boys will be there to collect on Thursdays as usual and I will be watching you, you fuck up again and its over for you we clear?" He took a step forward gasping motioning to you.

"B-BUT I PAID IT OFF...YO-YOU GOT HER DIDN'T YOU!?" You froze as you got your answer. A debt. You were just a debt? Money... you thought he'd at least sell you of for something less common then money. You sat shell shocked not really sure why you expected it to be over something else but hearing him say it so freely made you, you wasn't sure hurt? Insulted even. Your thoughts were cut short a Henry replied confirming what you'd just heard.

"Yes your right I do have her... And she has agreed to stay here with me of her own free will" he kissed your temple and chuckled but quickly snarled as Fletcher turned on you.

"YOU LITTLE USELESS CUNT! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE?" You jumped and cowered sliding back grasping Henry's hand for comfort as Fletcher moved forward arms raised as if you try and grab you. For a second you panicked that he would and held onto Henry tighter. It was then that Kal crept from beside the desk growling his heckles raising looking frightening as he stood tall staring at the frantic man. Henry moved you to one leg hushing you, he was pleased you wasn't facing him as he couldn't help the triumphant smile as he realized he was your safety net, it was a tiny move but in the right direction. You wanted him to protect you and he wouldn't disappoint. He turned from you and growled low you pushed in to his chest your breath picking up as he looped an arm stroking your hip in small circles as he leaned forward pulling open a drawer next you heard as a click of a gun being cocked.

Instantly Fletcher's new found confidence dwindled and he stood back.

"I'd advise you not to talk to my woman like that, you'll find I'm not very patient when it comes to things like that. You ever raise your voice to her again and it'll be the last thing you'll ever fucking do...Your useless do you understand?...Expendable...And remember its you who fucked up big time...You who caused all this....I don't know weather your worth all the fuss....and I have to ask myself weather you are worth the risk? I mean where does this leave you?.....Bar from finding Stephan your fucking useless now and to be honest I don't think he is going to contact you again...And you royally fucked up, you let an agent in your business, he knows what you've been doing...or more importantly what you haven't been doing...He also knows that you have ties with me and my...Associates and also thinks that you helped aid me in kidnapping...And that brings us full circle really, now I'm going to have to watch you. Have my men protect your business have the police and judge on my payroll find ways to overlook your cock ups all over again...Its only fair that you compensate me for all my hard work...Or I could end it right here..." Henry moved the gun higher aiming it at the quivering man before him, he was making a show wanting you to see he would never ever let anyone disrespect you or frighten you. He wanted you to know he was the boss and was here for you, that you could run to him and he would always protect you. He wanted to convey so much here and now but as he looked down at you he saw terror...You wasn't ready to see this side of business...You shivered turning to face him noticing his pause, he tilted his head and shushed you kissing your lips softly you closed your eyes tight and moved your hands clutching at his shirt. He sighed looking back up.

"But...I don't want to frighten my little one here...shes had a trying day already so you'll just have to settle for the Vonnie brothers have a go they are back this afternoon." He moved tilting his hand with the gun checking his watch smirking, as the man tried to move out of the way.

"Two hours? you know what they are like messy brutal but they do get things done...And they do enjoy squealers you definitely fit that bill...Or you can go back the how it was before, nice and simple...so what will it be?" Fletcher just looked between the two of you and nodded.

"I-I will pay... I will tell you if he contacts me or I notice anything" Henry chuckled darkly at that watching in amusement as the man before him slumped looking to the floor giving up the fight defeated. Henry was a snake, you were within his coils before you realized what was happening and then once you were trapped like a rat that is when he decided to strike.

"That’s what I thought. Now fuck off"

within seconds the door shut and you were left in the office with him alone. Still placed on his lap you let out a breath you didn't know you was holding. he shifted you you face him knees spread around his waist ad he pulled you flush against him running his heavy palms up and down your thighs making you tense.

"Apart from your little outburst I am very please with you, such a good girl for daddy aren't you?" You blinked at him then looked to the door again.

"Are you gonna hurt him? When all this is over I mean?" Henry sighed his breath moving your hair.

"That doesn't concern you little one..If you start becoming to nosy I will have no choice but to correct you... You may have agreed to stay but that does not mean your free to do as you please, daddy is still very much in charge and will still spank you when your misbehaving...do you understand little girl?..." You just sighed sniffling you was tired to tired to even try and argue knowing that it would be futile you wasn't going to get any answers from him.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes Daddy"

It had been a week since Fletcher had visited. One week since you’d made the deal and one week days since Stephan had disappeared. You hadn't really been around Henry to ,much over the past week he had lots of meetings and phone calls. From What you could gather he had began changing locations and combing through his empire searching for bugs and stuff. You wasn't sure on details he caught you at the door once and that had swiftly ended with you over his knee in the office being spanked into hysterics then being stood in the corner pinning a penny to the wall with your nose holding your skirt up so he could 'admire his handy work'. You cringed at the memory your bottom tensing at the thought. Apart from that you don't really see him which is a god send in a way he was also to preoccupied with other things to touch you to much. You mainly saw him in the morning and evenings. Hearing raised voices from the office just beyond the sitting room. Henry was shouting at Luke again. No one knew where Stephan was but from what you over heard they had wheedled out another undercover agent, you wasn't sure what happened but Henry seemed pleased with himself over it. Suddenly the door opened and Luke staggered past dead on his feet moving down into the garage. You tilted your head to Henry who stood by the door sighing. He looked relaxed very happy...Maybe this was the time to ask him about it...See if they had any idea of where Stephan was...Who he was? over the past week you couldn't shake your doubts about him and the relationship you'd begun to build. the more you thought about it the more questions you had. And the more you began to question your feelings especially about Henry. It was concerning, you found yourself justifying his actions. You was starting to truly Question if he had taken you to protect you from Fletcher...If Fletcher was willing to sell you for his debt things could have been much worse you if you hadn't gone to Henry... You dread to think where you could be now. He also seemed to want to protect you from Stephan who you decided was just using you for cover and would only end up breaking your heart in the end. You blinked at the screen. The other terrifying reality was you had missed him this past week, you were isolated in this house and without Henry around it was really getting to you. It was late in the afternoon and you had spent the day watching films on Netflix in the living room. Trying to ignore the many questionable men and women coming in and out of the office. You looked at him as nudged Kal away and he took a seat beside you on the sofa rolling his sleeves up his arms.

"Hey love...What are you doing?" You moved the tablet showing him the screen coseying up to him below his arm as it settled across your shoulders, you took a deep breath breathing him in then stopped yourself.

"Watching stuff....Can...Can I ask you something?" he raised a brow at you has hand cupping your shoulder and looked down at you taking a deep breath.

"You can but it just because you ask doesn't mean I’m going to answer.." he finished with a grin then looked down at your face noticing how it had dropped as you swiped your your new tablet back to the home screen.

"Come on little one whats on your mind?" you sighed taking a breath. then face him for a second your breath hitched in your throat sometimes his looks just hit you, making your heart begin to jump in your chest you looked down flushing shaking your head going to flick back on your tablet only for him to cover the screen with his huge hand prying it from you.

"Now now don't be like that love, you remember what does daddy say about pouting?" you flushed again knowing exactly what he wanted to hear, you sighed trying to look down and hide yourself only for him to pull your face up again.

"If I don't stop pouting you'll give me something to pout about.." he nodded giving you a gentle kiss on your head.

"Good girl now tell daddy whats going on in that mind of yours" you sighed and twisted facing him fully. and opened your mouth a few times trying to figure out the best way to bring this up, you didn't want to set him off again you steeled yourself swallowing down your anxiety.

"I-I erm...I just wanted to know if..well I was wondering if you knew just wh-who Stephan was yet is all.." his frame grew rigid he blinked then opened his mouth then decided against what he was going to say, his eyes closed and his jaw clenched trying to compose himself. Then his eyes snapped open harsh and burning trapping your own gaze.Oh shit.

"And why would you need to know that little lady? Are you planning something little one?! Tell me your not still hoping he will come and whisk you away from me?! is that what you want?! for him to come and try to rescue you? to fall in love with that lying little rat?! When you have me?! and I finally have you...You are not going anywhere princess your mine or have you forgotten that?!" you tensed gasping as his voice got deeper carrying more weight with each word. You quickly started shaking as he pulled away from you sitting up taller his eyes grew wild as they darted across your form. You swallowed seeing the frantic madness in him coming to the surface, you needed to pacify him and fast. You leaned forward grasping his knee.

"N-No nothing like that I promise...It's just Ive been thinking a lot over this week..." you grew more worried as your words did not have the desired effect. He growled gripping your bicep holding it tight, you didn't wince or pull away you knew he would read to much into it. instead you sat there before him trying desperately to close the can of worms you had just opened.

"NO! Not like that...Please-Please Daddy I don't mean...H-he lied to me and..and he was using me I know what we hav-HAD wasn't real I-I see that now I just wanted to know who he was, Who he worked for to bring it home...For closure...Then I can move on..I don't want to think of him anymore but I cant stop wondering" that seemed to have helped as he took a deep breath his hard eyes softened and he let his grip on your arms loosen making you sigh in relief.

"Yo-You don't want him to come get you? you know he doesn't love you? he doesn't! he can't no one can love you, not as much as i do you know that don't you? that I love you so so much you are my world,Mine the most important thing in my life" you took a slow breath at his desperate words, his views and words still frighten you and these dark turns are still a worry. But you find yourself able to navigate them easier each time he has one. You swear he is schizophrenic or something, tho not as violent as they had been in the beginning they still happen at the slightest of things. you forced what you hoped was a convincing smile ready to butter him up praying to god this next line helps rather then hinders.

"No...I don't want him to come get me...I'm yours Daddy, your little girl...I agreed to stay here..I'm sorry, I just don't want him to haunt me when I'm trying to move on...With you...Ive missed you." It works, you can see in his face how his eyes sparkle and his jaw hangs slack suddenly your pulled in tight his arms caging you to his massive frame.

"Oh baby girl...Daddy is sorry...I'm so sorry I snapped at you I should have known!.. My precious little one! of course your finding it hard to move on...That boy has really messed with your head huh? tricking you like he did, leading you on...Your okay now I promise I won't let him hurt you ever again" he moved back cupping your face in both hands then kissed your cheeks his gaze was calm full of understanding and wonder. you sighed nodding to him know full well that it was best to agree. he tugged you up onto his thighs with a soft grunt puling you forward, you put your weight on your knees either side of him hovering lightly thee skirt you wore offering no protection from him what so ever. if he noticed your hesitance he didn't comment on it to wrapped up in himself as he tugged you closer making you gasp as your center came into contact with his bulge. You hissed whining as he pressed you harder onto him chuckling making him smile.

"Oh Sweetheart I know...I've missed you two but daddy is doing everything he can so we can stay together...I love you little one and as much as it pains me to be apart from you I do still have an empire to run hmm?" you blushed as he groaned a little moving you by your hips making you rock onto him.

"But fuck baby girl your so hot...I can feel you through my trousers" You gasped clutching his arms trying to make him stop as he let his head fall back bucking up into you coming to life below you. He laughed moving your skirt up your thighs making it rest high and shuffled down leaning back on the soft cushions tugging you down onto his chest by your wrists. He spread his thighs wider the with the sole purpose to force your legs to part further your body slide down his erection now pressing into your lower tummy. Once he had you laid across him he hummed into your ear holding you close before slowly letting a hand slither down your back sliding over your ass and cup the apex of your spread thighs below you. You tensed as he did this trying to pull yourself up.

"Ah Ah shh shh that's it baby don't worry Daddies got you...I wont let you fall love...Oh I know I know princess." you whined as he moved his fingers slowly over you grazing the pads of his fingers across your lips teasing the delicate flesh making you look around the room making sure no one was going to walk in on you. He sighed watching you for a few seconds then tilted your head to him.

"Hey eyes here pet...that's it...I'm sorry I haven't been around but luckily everything is now sorted out and we can spend our days together again...No no look at me princess...that's it good girl" you arched up as his fingers wandered forward capturing your clit in two fingers pulling and rolling it until making your walls flutter to life rocking down and forward unsure if you was trying to dislodge him or move him into a different pattern. he smiled tilting his hand so his thumb ran across your slit as he continued to manipulate your little bud. You twitched trying in vain to close your legs. but your thighs were no match for his as he held firm using one hand to gather your hair tucking it behind your ears as you bit your lip rocking against his wicked hand feeling you coat his thumb as he smeared it across you.

"Ah-AAHH F-fucK! PLease..pleEASE DA-oh god" you closed your eyes as he worked you up into a frenzy your cried gasping choking on air. Pressing the side of your face to his chest panting as he tilted his hand quickly rewarding your weeping center with two thick fingers knuckle deep holding them still. Groaning as your heat swallowed him rippling around him smiling he just kissed the top of your head, you quivered over him panting out small breathy whines. He got to work bringing his other hand to one of your thighs rolling the soft flesh massaging you as he scissored his fingers back and forth inside you. Then he began dragging them in and out making sure to open you up as far as he could with the digits, changing his angle slightly each time pressing on different nerves. You jumped yelping as the pads of his finger tips skimmed the soft patch of nerves that he has become accustom to stroking. He grunted winding his free arm around your waist then used as much strength as he could, pinning your torso to his own need then quickly started pounding his fingers into that tiny spot of nerves bouncing you faster and faster making your tummy rub him through his own clothes sighed and grunting he started bucking his hips up to you. He hissed closing his eyes concentrating on the sounds you made, from the smallest of gasps as your breath got stuck in your throat to the louder more erotic moans and cries that his fingers forced out of you. He groaned louder joining you making your own duet of lustful cries. he hissed as he tensed his arms your tummy trapping his head between your torsos he moved his wrist hearing the wet slaps of his hand against you in a furious rhythm, definitely ready for another. he added a third finger and began curling them making you arch almost painfully tensing your legs trying to wriggle away from him when they pressed harder and harder to your weak spot.

"AHH UGHFUH-FUCK NOnoOnoOO!...PLease not-NOT HERE PLEASE DADDY!" he grunted in response a you sat back up only to curl back down into him mouth open over his shirt crying out trembling. Trying to hold your release not wanting to leave any evidence in such a public room in the house. he slowed a little but only for a few short seconds as he moved another finger extending it making every stroke torture as the digit rolled over your taught clit. You clenched trying to hold back but couldn't finally grunting louder than you meant to as you rocked desperately onto his hand tears streaming down your face as your climax made your body cramp , nerves burning and shuddering as he forced you to melt across his hand. panting you fisted your hands in his shirt shivering whimpering into him trying to catch your breath. he moved his hand away wiping your own release on your back letting it seep through your blouse you blushed and sobbed feeling your own warmth heat your back in puddles.

"Such a good girl...so good for me my love...OH look at all of that hmm? you really have missed me haven't you?..I promise I wont leave you alone this long ever again.." he moved you to sit up with one hand you looked down seeing the clear puddle below you on the floor and sobbed harder shaking your head at him embarrassed.

So wrapped up in your own mortification you hadn't realized what he was doing. his hands crept to his trousers with a few quick tugs ha was free standing tall and proud was quick to guide your hands to his raging erection. you jumped gasping trying to pull away but his grip was tight.

"Shh shh that's it little one...It won't take long here...Just hold it gently like this" he moved your reluctant hand making you grip him at the base then looked at you nodding to your other hand expectantly. You swallowed looking down at him still panting every so often trying to hold your breath. you met his eyes again and he smiled nodding to you.

"Go on...The longer you wait the longer we will be here" you looked down.He was firm and hot in your hand, you could feel his pulse on your palm from the thick veins that climbed across the flesh from root to tip, he was thick your hand felt tiny holding him. Slowly you took a deep breath wanting to get this over with. You just knew he wasn't letting you anywhere with out finishing him off. Moved your other hand to hold him above the other. your reward as a beaming smile. you blinked at him then slowly gave an experimental squeeze making him groan and bring his legs up a little quivering. At first your movements were light, slow then he intervened making one hand grip him tighter moving you faster. Then through his head back praising you closing his eyes.

"Here like thii-OH FUCK!" he swore as you tightened your fist watching your hands as his thick head dripped precum over you hand. It was hard to pull your gaze away forgetting about him as he through his head back moaning loud and grunting into the room. Not willing to miss this he moved his head resting the side of his face on the back of the sofa watching you through half lidded eyes. you blushed when he watched you, not your hands. Your face as you moved faster with both hands. You licked your lip watching his lips form a perfect 'o' then biting his lip as he began moving again thrusting his cock into your palms. You shook your head and paid attention to your hands telling yourself you were watching him to try and see what would help get this over with quicker, but in all honesty you needed a distraction from his handsome fucking face. Watching the way the head of his cock was getting a deeper color going from pink to red and fading fast into purple as you stoked away at him. How his cum came through thicker creamier as you worked it up and down on him. You enjoyed the way he bucking into your hands and clawed at the sofa watching his length slid through your palms finally, just as you thought his crown was going to go blue he swore loud grunting and thrusting into your hands.

"UGH F-FUUUCK YESyesYESFUCK B-BABY DONT STOP! UH UHAAGGH!" his moments through you for a second but you was quick to, on reflex you squeezed him tighter so he wouldn't slip away from your hands making him growl at you as he released across himself. you squeaked as he shot his load drawing a line across your chest making you freeze and cringe. he panted looking to the ceiling in a daze a lazy grin across his lips. You blinked looking around for something to wipe his cum from your top. Before you could move he laughed forcing you to lay down on him again ignoring your protests making you lie flush against him dragging you up to his face as he panted. then moved his face to you neck kissing you.

"Thank you Little one...Daddy really needed that..." you whined against him wanting to run to the shower feeling dirty and sated all in one. he took a deep breath in then stood up slowly on shaking knees cupping your ass then nodded to you.

"Put daddy away and we can go upstairs and have a nice hot bath together...how does that sound baby?" you whined making him raise a brow at you grabbed him quickly but he hissed

"Fuck careful baby you've left daddy sensitive...Play nice...that's it slowly god girl.." slowly you moved his cock tucking it back into place and zipping him up choosing not to delay, the longer it was hanging out the worse you will feel about what just happened and you just wanted to forget the whole thing. he smiled kissing your cheek then moved around the sofa heading up the stairs.

Stephan growled out loud as he walked away from his handlers office. They still said they hadn't got enough evidence on Cavill even with everything he found out about you.or should he say the little he found out about you, you'd been kidnapped by him that much was clear but he couldn't prove it. The closest thing he had to proof was that you hadn't boarded a plane. Coincidentally all cctv of the police station around the time of you and Cavill’s arrival and departure was gone. The paperwork was all gone as he didn't press charges and no arrests were documented on your record , there was no record of his car being impounded either. Someone on the ground as covering for him. Someone high up was on his payroll. So he couldn't help you not only that but his handler was pissed at him, him going off on one had lost them a valuable spot in the investigation he was now benched for a week, stuck on desk duty as punishment for fucking up. He was now to risky to use in the operation and worst of all he couldn't do anything to save you for the time being. He was out unless he could find a rat, someone to double cross Cavill, finding someone that stupid was as rare as hens teeth. So here he was hands tied by bureaucrat bullshit and red tape all because he cared enough to try and find out something, to actually do something!.

He stomped out of the small house being used as the HQ for the sting. And made his way down the road to his new accommodation a cheap b and b on the outskirts of town. Cheap and cheerful and most important of all out of the way. Threes days....It had been a whole week since he saw you with Henry. The image of you burned into his head. Terrified crying he could see you wanted help and now with how his own investigation had gone down the drain he was afraid that no one not even the collaboration of FBI, CIA and MI5 could save you now, this man. Monster. Was just to cunning, to clean he was ahead of the curve on every aspect and as an agent all he can do for the time being is watch and pray Henry slips up or god only knows what was going to happen to you in the mean time.

#mob boss henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fic #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill is daddy

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fanfic-collection · 3 years

Text

Loki x Reader: The Manor - Ch 8

I feel Tolkien man, cus like, I wanna describe everything in excruciating detail but also I kinda just want the story to advance. Don’t you just want to describe every hair follicle???

In the morning, Loki woke before you.

You were roused from uneasy dreams by a gentle touch to your shoulder. Opening your eyes, you looked up and saw Loki standing over you. He offered you a comforting smile.

You sighed, “Of course.” Nodding at the unspoken exchange, you allowed him to help you to your feet.

Loki cautiously guided you to the door of his room and peered out into the hallway.

Nothing.

Stepping out, Loki motioned for you to follow him. Carefully, and painstakingly slow, the two of you inched your way back to your room with the wretched door. The gashes were deeper than ever, and they would be impossible to deny. The door would have to be replaced.

Loki reached for the handle, steadied his breathing, took a long deep breath and pushed the door in.

The door swung inward ominously, creaking slightly on its hinges. It had been knocked off balance by the onslaught from the night before.

The room within revealed itself and other than your strewn about belongings, all was as it should be. Nothing was untoward.

Loki stepped in and peered around.

You wondered if his pulse raced in his chest as fast as yours did; a fluttering bird desperate to escape its cage, flapping around for its last vestiges of life. You swallowed it down, hoping to calm it.

Glancing over his shoulder at you, Loki walked over to the curtains and threw them open, letting the early dawn light in.

You winced at the purity of the sun. Could something so clean and beautiful exist in this world after such a darkness of the evils of the night before? You looked down at your wrapped wrist, proof of the attack, proof of the horrors.

Loki let out a soft breath he had been holding. “I think it’s gone for now. Whatever it is.” He glanced back at you.

You swallowed thickly and felt tears in your eyes, fighting the urge to fall to your knees and sob. How you longed for home.

Another part of you did not want to leave Loki to face whatever this was alone.

“I’ve seen it lurking in the shadows before, but never like this.” Loki muttered, once more gazing around the room, as though the monster might spring out at any moment.

Had your presence inadvertently stirred whatever this creature was from harmless entity, watching the denizens of the house, to malevolent monster trying to attack and possibly even kill? But what had you done? You asked Loki.

Loki’s brow furrowed, “I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with that attic.”

“I’m not spending another night in this room.” You declared.

“Then we’ll investigate it tonight.” Loki affirmed.

You blinked at him.

“I have lived in ignorance for too long. No more. We will find answers tonight.” Loki lowered his voice, “Tonight, after you have put out the lights, meet me at my room so I will know you are ready. Do not go to your room. We will go to the attic and investigate. The monster can hack at your door all it wishes, you will not be there. We will solve the mystery of who is in the attic.”

“What if there’s someone in there? Do we help them?” You asked. “Remember I saw a hand.”

Loki pursed his lips, “Well we can’t help them until we know why they’re in there. First we have to know exactly what it is that’s in the attic and why this… thing seems to be connected to it.”

You nodded, “Yes, of course.”

“Continue the day as normal, do not speak of this to anyone.” Loki grabbed your hands and squeezed them, looking you in the eyes. He smiled at you and you could see an excited glint in his eyes.

A new shiver ran up your spine, another thrill and skip of your heart but this was far different than what the entity brought. You returned his smile easily, barely even registering when he had let go of your hands and left the room to prepare for the day.

You stared down at your hands, finally realizing the absence of his. A tingling sensation seemed to run through them and you sighed, missing the lingering feeling of his touch. You shook your head and set about readying yourself for the day. There was no way you could risk the outcome of your task by acting unusual today.

As you changed clothes though, you hissed in pain at the cloth sliding along your burnt arm. Biting your lip, you looked at the ugly burn. That would have to be tended to by someone.

You hurried down to the kitchens for breakfast and made sure to stand near the stoves before asking Lady Frigga if she had any salves for burns.

From his seat at the table, Odin grunted irritably about useless staff, not able to avoid getting injured.

Lady Frigga gasped at the sight of the ugly burn. If she realized that it did not at all resemble a stove burn, she did not let on. Hand on shoulder, she took you to one of the private bathrooms and selected medical supplies to properly wrap and tend to it.

“There now, don’t mind my husband, accidents happen. You can always come to me if you get hurt, no matter the circumstance.” Frigga inclined her head, turning and leading the way back to breakfast.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, so it seemed. Though everywhere you cleaned, Odin seemed to have some business in the room at some point. You found there was no time to talk to Loki.

In the library Odin needed a book, in the halls Odin wanted to admire a picture, even in the music room Odin felt the need to inspect the instruments.

You felt on edge all day, and evening meal arrived, you brought the tray up – untouched – and returned it.

Merida glanced at Frigga, Frigga looked pointedly away.

You looked towards Loki and he picked at his thumb, sweeping from the kitchen and no doubt going to his room.

Odin lingered in the kitchen, making small talk with Merida. Merida looked at him with a strained expression, clearly wanting to be home with her family.

You stood in the shadows, knowing you could not sleep until the last family member had gone to bed. It was, after all, your duty to put out the lights.

Odin saw you lingering, “Servant, bah, what are you doing skulking over there?”

“My lord,” you bowed your head, trying to keep the exasperation from your voice, “I am waiting for you to go to bed that I might put out the lights and put the last of the house to sleep.”

Merida seized her chance, “Yes, it’s late my lord, I need to get home to my family, if you’ll excuse me.” She turned and grabbed her cloak.

Before Odin could protest, she turned and trotted from the kitchen.

Odin opened and closed his mouth in a small snapping like protest. Slowly he turned and rounded on you. “I was rather enjoying that conversation.”

You bowed your head again, “It is very late, my lord, it would do you well to get your rest.”

Odin stared down at you with his eye, hands on his hips. “Have you been following my rules?”

You felt heat rise on your neck, grateful for a high collar on your dress. “Completely, my lord.”

“I should hate to think what would become of your drunkard father if you weren’t.”

You nodded and grit your teeth, “My lord.” You gestured towards the kitchen doorway, leading in the direction of the stairs.

“Still though, you get along well enough with my boy, Loki. What exactly do you to…” He squinted down at you. “There’s nothing between you two, yes? He is a nobleman’s son and you are nobody, you remember this.”

You stepped back, stammering, “Absolutely, of course, I would never dare to think otherwise.” Despite your words, you felt as though you had been slapped in the face. Had you dared to hope that maybe, perhaps…

You had spent the night in Loki’s bed. It was for completely pragmatic reasons of course, but to wake up cocooned in his scent with him staring down at you. It was incredibly improper for a lady, but you could not deny that it was… nice.

And the softness with which his hands had brushed over yours when he wrapped his torn tunic over your burns.

Odin nodded sharply, “Good, I don’t want some servant girl prone to flights of fancy. You will do your job, pay off your father’s debt and then decide if you wish to stay as a paid servant or leave to go birth children like every other peasant does. Meaningless drivel you lot are.”

You nodded stiffly, “To bed then, my lord?”

“Fine, fine, very well.” Odin turned and walked from the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. “Don’t go asking questions that you shouldn’t be asking now, do you hear me?”

A single tear rolled down your face and you sniffled, quickly wiping it away.

You had a task at hand and you were not going to fail it.

In short order you were outside Loki’s door and softly tapping on it.

Loki opened the door and tilted his head curiously, “Are you well?”

“Me? I’m fine, why do you ask?”

Loki pursed his lips, “You look like someone who has just talked to father.”

You looked away, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Nodding, Loki gingerly took your good wrist and stepped out of his room and guided you down the hall towards the attic ladder.

Carefully, he opened the attic and began to climb the ladder up, motioning for you to follow when he had reached the top.

You followed up after him, silently cursing your skirts.

The two of you were now at the landing outside the simple door with the metal flap at the base. Both of you huddled together, staring in fright at what lay before you.

“What now?” You asked.

Loki pulled out a lockpicking set.

“You know how to pick locks?”

“Hobby.” Loki muttered, crossing the last distance between the attic entrance and the door. The only light came from the light in the hall below streaming up into the dark. Crouching down, Loki insert the lockpicks and began working at the lock. He worked by sound, nearly blind in the gloom and you stayed by the top of the ladder, heart rate increasing as you watched his actions.

There was a satisfying click.

Loki looked back at you and you could see his smile in the gloom. Putting his things away, he straightened up and reached for the handle. You cautiously approached him, slightly behind his shoulder but ready for anything.

Slowly, breaths held, you watched as Loki turned the door handle.

It was well greased, no ominous creak.

It swung outward easily.

Outward, that was curious. Designed to keep something in.

The first thing you noticed was the large window overlooking the grounds with thick metal bars. They made a latticework shadow on the ground in a pool of moonlight to light up the otherwise black room.

The room itself was bare.

“Wait.” You breathed.

“There’s nothing here.” Loki whispered.

You looked around, stepping further into the room.

Loki followed after you warily, looking around. He turned and inspected the door.

You looked at the walls. Bare. Save for nails every few feet, sometimes with bits of parchment sticking out of them. There was two large square spaces where the wood floor was a slightly different color than the rest.

“Furniture.” Loki breathed, pointing at where you were looking. “And look.” He pointed at the door.

Deep jagged scratches, identical to the ones on your room ran the length of the door. “Something was in here.”

“But the hand I saw… it didn’t have claws like that. It couldn’t have done that.” You mumbled.

“Maybe whoever was locked in here had the same night time visitor you did.” Loki muttered.

You walked over to the walls, running your fingers over the nails. Your fingers caught on the parchment slips and you tugged on it, pulling it free to look closer. “Do you think… do you think this room was decorated?”

Loki looked away from the door, “What?”

You held up the small bit of parchment. “What if these were drawings nailed to the wall?”

Loki bit his lip, and picked at his thumb, “We should go, if that thing shows up at your room and here, we’re not safe.”

You blanched, “Right.”

The two of you scrambled from the room. Loki quickly turned and locked the door behind him as you waited by the ladder, ready to climb at a moment’s notice. As soon as the lock clicked shut, you began your descent. Loki rushed over, all but jumping from the attic to the floor.

Both of you ran back to Loki’s room and slammed the door shut, collapsing onto the floor as you leaned against the door and held it closed, shoulder to shoulder.

Looking at each other, faces inches apart, and for the first time that night, able to freely breathe, the two of you finally let out a long sigh. Slowly the two of you smiled as you looked at each other. The pent up tension turning into giddy laughter as each of you threw back your heads and just laughed at the stress of the whole situation.

New questions had been raised. But for now, you just had to survive another night.

#Loki #Loki x reader #ficbit #fanfiction #reader insert #no y/n #the manor

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rohirric-hunter · 3 years

Text

Hathellang of Bree-land (Léonys of Rohan Pt. 7)

Part 1 | Part 6 | Part 8 | Part 10

So far I’ve only encountered one quest in LotRO that I found myself disagreeing with entirely. It’s during the Epic questline, just before the Battle of the Pelennor fields, and it’s called Reserves of Courage. The game has you encouraging some soldiers who are about to give up with rousing tales of your adventures, featuring such exemplary stories as: Balrogs, which TBH the soldiers probably didn’t think existed anymore. Mordirith, who you just found out yesterday is still alive and also can’t be killed and also is leading the assault on this city. Dol Guldur and its associated Nazgûl. Also the PC is explicitly losing hope themselves, and while there’s something to be said for a narrative of someone going through the motions to encourage other people with platitudes they don’t believe, I don’t feel that angle was effectively played. So. Yeah. This is my response to that quest.

The thing you gotta understand about Tolkien and LotR is “Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures” and also “I do not expect 'history' to be anything but a 'long defeat' - though it contains .... some samples or glimpses of final victory” but at the same time “the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.” Hathellang has always been much more “in tune” with LotR’s core themes than Léonys, a bit more hobbit-y, if you will, which is hard to showcase when the story isn’t told from his point of view (which is because I hate writing in his voice but that’s a whole other rant).

***

This is how it is to be Hathellang of Bree-land:

The basket in your arms is a heavy burden, and you gladly set it down with a dull rattling noise on the battlement beside Celonor, who gives you a quizzical look. You can’t blame him; you’d hardly explained yourself before heading off to the Thirsty Seer to fetch it. You draw back the cover and produce two mugs in one hand and a large jug of beer in the other -- nothing fancy, as you have precious little money left, but you tasted it and it’s of decent quality, something of a nuttier, lighter version of Barliman Butterbur’s favored homebrew.

Celonor and the men behind him brighten up as they realize what it is you’ve brought, and gather around, taking the mugs of ale you hand out and then spreading out around the walltop again, still eyeing you curiously as you fill one for yourself.

You settle down on the battlement, swinging your legs around so you’re facing out, eastward towards Osgiliath and Mordor beyond it, and you can’t help but suppress a shiver at the sight. The men behind you have given into despair. How can you hope to have victory, indeed? Somewhere in the ruined city across the smoking Pelennor fields stands Mordirith, returned from death somehow, unable to be killed, and the drink turns to ash in your mouth.

Léonys had stood before Mordirith in Angmar, hurling insults and threats even as the terror forced her to her knees, crouched over the body of Lorniel or trying desperately to distract him from Golodir when the Ranger was broken by false visions of his daughter. You had stood behind her, and behind every word she spoke, but that is how Léonys channels her courage; through anger, and through determination, and through fighting every step of the way, even when victory seems impossible. You have never been so strong.

You think, wryly, that you ought not to have followed the Grey Company at Léonys’ urging. Blind devotion had overridden the voice of sense in your head that whispered that she ought not to be left alone, not after the way she had followed Gimli out of the caves in the back of Helm’s Deep like a skittish goat, eyes darting everywhere and seeing nothing, and the high-strung way she had spoken to you and managed to say everything and nothing at once. Perhaps it would not have if you had known then what she had left behind in those caves. Even now you know very little, an incomplete and hastily told account from Candaith, who had not been present for most of the events he spoke of, and had been reluctant to tell you what Léonys had chosen not to tell for herself. If you could do that morning over, perhaps you would have chosen differently, but you cannot, and you did not, and now you must play the hand you have been dealt.

You straighten your shoulders and lift your mug to your mouth again, stirring yourself from the memory. How can you hope to have victory? There is no hope for victory. You do not belong here. You are not a warrior or a leader; you are a thief, and your skills lie in hiding and lying and misdirection. But there is no leaving the White City now.

“You said that Echadon wished for you to speak to us, but you have said precious little,” Celonor says. “Is it true then, that there is no hope?”

You close your eyes, and then open them, drawing your gaze closer, to one of many towers of smoke rising from the fields below. “What was the Pelennor like?” you ask.

“What?” says another voice, from behind you and to your right.

“Before… everything,” you say. “What was it like?”

Some shuffling and murmuring. You do not look back. “Andor lived there,” someone says. “Tell him, Andor.”

Another pause, and then another voice speaks, of an older man, tinged with fear. “I own -- owned a farm, to the south, over there. “We grew… beans mostly, but my wife had a flower garden.”

You look back to follow where Andor is pointing. In the darkness you cannot make out the farm, if indeed anything remains to be seen, but you nod knowingly anyway. “What kind of flowers?” you ask.

Andor looks at you the exact same way Keeper Brombard Foxtail had looked at you when you had asked him about Mithril from the Michel Delving Mathom house, and it is that, more than anything, that brings the light back to your heart in that single moment as you stifle a laugh. “Primroses, mostly,” he says. “Snake’s head. Mostly primroses.” For a moment, silence reigns, and you scan the faces, confused, fearful, and heartbreakingly sad.

Andor continues. “There are great clusters of wood anemone beneath the Rammas in the south. She did not grow them; they are best kept away from farmland, and they don’t grow well in the open fields. But she loves them, and they are quite beautiful. Have you seen them?”

You are reasonably certain that you have, but you shake your head anyway, and Andor comes and settles on the battlement beside you. He is grizzled, not shaven well due to a scar that runs across his chin, and his skin corroborates his tale of long hours spent working in the sun, though he wears his armor with a comfort that speaks of habit. “They blanket the grounds beneath the wall, and in the woodlands beyond, clusters of leaves of the boldest green, and small white flowers with six petals. Our daughter calls them the eyes of the land, watching out for us.” He takes a long drink from his mug and then sighs. “I suppose it’s all dead now, though.”

You set your mug aside and draw your legs up onto the battlement, wrapping an arm around them. “I wish I could see it,” you say, and take a deep, shaky breath. “It’s beginning to be springtime, where I’m from. The wildflowers will be blooming in the fields; violets, marigolds, primroses. Mostly violets.” You raise your eyes to Osgiliath again as you continue. “Helena -- my sister, I suppose -- Helena will be starting her garden. She grows potatoes and onions, but last year she tried her hand at carrots. They were terrible. I can’t figure how you can ruin carrots but she did it, somehow. There’s a festival in the springtime; a hedge maze, baking and eating contests, horse races, dancing. Drinking. Lots of drinking. The winter rains move off and the new rains are gentle and warm.”

There’s an eerie silence on the walltop now. Even the wind seems to have fallen silent. You shiver in the suddenly chill air.

You drag your gaze away from Osgiliath and turn, looking at the eight or so men that stand behind you. Their eyes are bleak, as bleak as your own must be. You can read on their faces that they know what you are thinking. They do not -- cannot know about Angmar, or the Barrow-downs, or the orcs and bandits that roam freely across the fields around Bree-town, but they know that there is evil there, read the fear in your voice that upon your return, if you do return, there may no longer be eating contests, or a hedge maze, or horse races. And even if there are, if these things persist for a little in the face of Sauron’s inevitable power, how long? How long before even the memory of them fades?

This, then, is the difficult bit.

You throw back and drain your mug, setting it down with a harsh clatter on the battlement beside you. A stiff gust of wind sweeps past and you stand up, and draw your cloak about yourself.

“So there is no hope.”

It is not a question, but you respond anyway. “Not really, no.”

“Then why do we prepare for battle?” someone demands, and you hear the clatter of another mug hitting the stone of the battlement.

You shrug, turning back to face the men behind you. “What’s the other choice?” you ask.

Andor looks about, eyes darting shiftily, before speaking. “The Withered Tree promises mercy if we surrender.”

“Well, that’s definitely not going to happen,” you say, matter of factly, “if your orcs are anything like the ones back home.” There is some disgruntled murmuring; they can read the truth in your voice as clearly as they read the doubt. “It’s how most things worth doing get done,” you say. “You’ve come this far, so you might as well go a step further, and then a step after that. We’re here, and we can’t leave, so we might as well fight.”

There’s a long pause. “You are not a strong motivator,” Celonor says.

“Oh, that’s very true,” you reply, picking up the jug and pouring a little more beer into your mug. “I’m right, though.” You don’t wait for a response before forging ahead. “I probably won’t go home. It’s too much to hope for. But it’s what I want. And I want it enough to fight for it, even if I don’t expect it to happen.” You hold out a hand for Andor’s mug. “Does the Withered Tree promise a farm that grows beans and a flower garden with primroses and wood anemone in the woodlands?”

The man shakes his head as he hands you the mug, smiling grimly and sadly. “You have only been here a few days. There is no victory against the Enemy.”

“Of course not,” you say. “But there’s no victory in surrender.”

Celonor frowns. “And you’re willing to die for that -- for a hope that you don’t believe you’ll ever see?”

“I’m willing to live,” you correct him. “If I was dead, then I wouldn’t be worrying about any of this.” The mugs are plain clay, cracked glaze offering textures that you run your fingers over contemplatively for a moment before handing Andor his refilled cup. “I have a great deal to live for, and it would be nice, if I could see it again.” You meet his eyes, and the eyes of the men behind him. “Do you have nothing to live for?”

“You are right in this,” Celonor says, looking out over the field. “Men of Minas Tirith have much to live for. Let it never be said that we quailed before the hosts of Mordor, not while the White City yet stands.”

Andor nods as well. “My wife and daughter traveled westward, with the last of the wains. I would see them again, and no orc-host will let me live in peace with my family.”

Murmurs of agreement rise from the walltop, and with a small twitch of your lips you raise your mug. “To living,” you say. “Even if it’s not for much longer.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Celonor says.

“Aye,” says Andor, and mugs clink against each other, a tiny spark of life amid the dread that hangs over the Tower of Guard.

Part 1 | Part 6 | Part 8 | Part 10

#lotr #lotro #lord of the rings #lord of the rings online #lord of the rings online fanfiction #lotr oc #leonys of rohan

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thekisforkeats · 3 years

Text

An Avatar No More (Let All the Broken Pieces Shine, Chapter Three)

Info: The Magnus Archives, D&D AU. JonMartin, more ships to be added. Rated T. Post-Canon. Jon is amab nb and uses they/them, Martin is a trans guy.

CWs: Character death (mentioned), character injury (mentioned), body transformations, birds, sacrifice (sort of, I mean, everyone lives)

Summary: Jon is a warlock who thinks they're a druid, and they're finally meeting their patron. Well, their original patron, not the nasty Watcher that tricked them into ending the world, that guy's a jerk and we have no truck with him.

Avatar powers or no, Jon will yell at eldritch beings to protect Martin because they need their tea-making poet alive and well, dammit.

——————————————————-

First Chapter Previous Chapter

Jon wakes to a world that looks as if it’s had all the color leached out, all blacks and whites and grays. Martin’s arms are still around them, holding them, but not as tightly as they dimly recall from before.

Martin seems to be asleep, his expression pained and his breathing shallow. He is vibrant despite the lack of color, standing out from his surroundings, almost verging into sepia rather than mere monochrome. Jon, too, seems almost as vibrant though perhaps not quite as much so.

There is a nip of cold in the air, and that by-now familiar feeling of being watched.

Jon slowly disentangles themself from Martin’s grasp, doing their best not to wake the sleeping man. They can see, and that is odd--didn’t Martin stab them in the eye? Eyes? They can barely remember, everything after stepping into the Panopticon is a blur except the conversation with Martin, as though the words were somehow burned into their memory while all other sensations faded during the trip to wherever they are now.

They take a moment, blink slowly, press their hands gently to their eyes. And yes, they have eyes, and there’s no blood on their face, and now that they look there’s no scars on their hands, either. No burn marks on the right hand, no worm scars on either one. Their skin is whole and unblemished.

This bothers them more than, perhaps, it ought.

They sit up and look around to take a greater survey of their surroundings. Jon and Martin are on the balcony of a large fortress set on the edge of a cliff in whatever this strange realm is. The sky above is an inky black, devoid of sun or moon or stars, and the landscape beyond the balcony is bleak: jagged mountains behind and a flat plain dotted with twisted spires below.

It occurs to them that it might be reasonable to assume they're in Hell.

“That’s… disconcerting,” Jon says aloud, as much because they are used to narrating their life as to hear the sound of their own voice. They stand, slowly, checking to see if there is a room attached to the balcony. Usually balconies are attached to chambers, though with Hell, it’s possible that this will be another level of torment: impractical architecture.

The balcony turns out to be just an extension of a room with no doors or outer wall. The room is shrouded in darkness, but it looks... big… ish? With maybe a table and some chairs and some sort of dias beyond that?

Jon leans down to place a hand on Martin’s cheek briefly before they begin to move into the room. “Rather spacious if… empty accommodations for a Hellscape.” Again they're speaking partly for their own benefit, but the darkness of the room is deep enough to hide someone who might respond if they speak.

And then there is indeed a voice, coming from the shadows around the dais: “This is not Hell. That place is rather more… torturous for mortals to exist in.” The voice seems… vaguely female, but with a strange, almost croaking sort of undertone.

“Ah, there you are.” Jon starts looking around for the source of the voice. “That’s good to know, that we are not dead. I take it you are who we have to thank for that? Since this is your domain.”

As Jon moves into the room, the shadows seem to shift and a form appears sitting on a large chair on the dais, pretty much a cowled cloak. It would be spooky if Jon weren’t becoming inured to these things.

“Oh, no, you are quite dead,” the voice replies from the depths of the cloak. “He is not, yet, but he will be soon enough.”

Jon looks back toward Martin, who looks to be in more pain and maybe a little less vibrant than he was. “Stop that!” they shout. They move back to Martin and kneel down, running their hands over the taller man’s hair, trying to soothe him. “Save him!”

Martin relaxes at the touch, but only slightly. He still looks pained, troubled.

The voice from the cloak says, “I have done nothing to him. He chose to follow you through the gates of death, and so… he is dying.” There is an odd level of unconcern in her voice. Not malice, per se, and not indifference, but rather what one might expect from an avatar of the End, regarding someone dying.

“And you can’t do anything?!” The indifference in the voice angers Jon. How dare this cloaked wannabe Grim Reaper just ignore their plight? And though they might not admit it, they have become used to getting their way in most things, to having power to shape the world as they wish. “This is your world; insulate him from the ravages of its effects!”

“Why should I?” The voice is more curious than malicious. “I have no hold nor tie to him; where once he belonged to Araushnee, in this form he belongs more to Oghma, or perhaps Sune, and I have little truck with either.”

“Because he is important to me!” Jon hisses, still keeping contact with Martin. “And you clearly have some attachment to me or I wouldn’t be here. Is that not enough, or are you so detached from all compassion as to not understand the intricacies of companionship?”

The figure moves out onto the balcony and Jon can see it now, cowled and hooded, with a glimmer of light from within the hood: eyes, maybe. “I understand compassion. And I understand companionship. And I understand that the latter has rarely led to much but tragedy, when pursued too fervently.”

The woman(?) looks down at the two of them. “He will not fade from your view. He will become part of this place, and if you are so concerned I will take him into my employ. You will be able to see him still, between the work I have for you to do.”

Of course. Some new eldritch horror expects Jon to work for them without even knowing what they're getting into. Lovely.

Jon stands, placing themself between the cowled figure and Martin. “No. You will save him and ensure that he lives. He didn’t sacrifice himself just to be controlled by another one of you.” They are shaking with both fear and rage. “You want my help, fine. Another Eldritch power wants my hands for its machinations…” They laugh. “What else is new? But he deserves better. Name a price for his survival and freedom, and I will pay it.”

The eyes under the hood seem to narrow. “There is a way to save him, to give him life enough to survive here and to survive the journey you are yet to take. But it would require…” A pause, a deep, heavy sigh. “I had thought to give you more time as something you would still recognize as… yourself.”

The woman gestures, and a mirror appears, so that Jon can see just exactly what she means.

The mirror allows them to see colors, but only in the mirror itself. Jon still wears the clothing they'd been wearing in the Panopticon (and much longer before that), and they look… themself, they're short and slim, their skin dark, but their eyes have become shining gold. Their long black hair shimmers now, and their ears are… pointed? Yes, elongated and pointed, and they realize their form is even slimmer than they remember, now that they look closely.

They appear to be, for all the world, an elf.

Jon puts a hand to their ears to see if it is real. How had they missed that, while trying to be sure they were whole and alive? “What? What… happened to me? You turned me into an elf? Like Tolkien? Why?”

“Tolkien…?” There’s a pause, as if the woman is accessing information; it reminds Jon, oddly, of themself. “Ah. No. I have done nothing, really; this is what you were before you went to that world. You have become something like what I once was, Tel-quessir. I believe in the common parlance the term is ‘sun elf’ or ‘high elf.’” Galadriel more than Legolas, then.

Jon tries to make sense of what the woman is saying as they take stock in the mirror but they can’t understand more than rudimentary levels. They truly had come to rely on Knowing as a crutch. “Went to that world? What you once were?” More questions than answers, and little is more irritating to them. They return their attention to the cloaked figure. “And this has what to do with saving Martin?” That is what’s important right now, after all.

The woman’s words become suddenly clipped. “You were mine. From birth, you sought out new stories, new experiences, new memories, as many as you could find, to bring them back here when you died. A spark, a soul sent into the dark, to try to expand my reach to the other worlds. And, I admit, to try to bring balance to a world so overrun with evil; an attempt at a ray of good to balance that out.” A pause. “I suppose it succeeded, mostly, if only by spreading that evil out into the realms. But the powers there, they tried to… claim you. The Spider, the Watcher…”

There is a rustling under the cloak, a sound of many wings. The voice rises, angry. “And then the Watcher stole you from me, to carry out its perverse warping of your world! It would not do, but you already had the means to combat what the Watcher tried to make you, Archivist. And so, here you are. And yet, you do not even know who you truly are.”

There is more rustling of wings beneath the cloak. The woman is clearly angry.

“Wait… you’re saying I’m from here… originally? Not human?” Jon touches their ear again, a nervous gesture. “And I was your agent… meant to be your eyes and ears until Jonah Magnus…” They have to stop, the anger that rises in them is so great, “did what he did.”

Jon’s tone turns insistent, and they wish they could still compel answers. “Then tell me. What am I? What are you? Feathers, a cloak, pinpoints of light that could be eyes. Do you have a name?”

“You are not from here,” the woman says, and her voice has become… melancholy. “We were from a place of light and beauty, once. It is my fault that you came here, but you never complained, before. And you were never meant… that ritual was never meant to happen. I never meant you to experience… any of what the Watcher made you do. But at least now the pain of all those you encountered is catalogued, and perhaps in time, they can be cleansed of the pain and know peace.”

Another deep sigh. “As for what I am…” The rustling intensifies, and then suddenly the cloak explodes into shadow. Beneath is not a woman at all--beneath is a massive collection of ravens. They fly around Jon, all flapping wings and eyes, and one in particular--the one with the eyes they've been seeing under the hood--seems to hover in the air in front of them. It speaks in a voice that booms off the nearby mountains:

“I AM THE RAVEN QUEEN.”

Jon stumbles back a bit, and narrowly manages to avoid falling on top of Martin. They haven't been this terrified since… what, since before the Change? Since well before the Change. But terrified they are. “A-an-and I’m… I’m… o-one of your… servants… and extension of you… one-one-one of… of… those?” They gesture at the ravens flying about them.

The ravens settle all around the balcony, and the one that has been speaking stays where it is, as if to give them space. “No. I told you--what you are now is what you were one, long ago, before… before my failed attempt to become a goddess and stop the conflict between Corellon and Araushnee failed.”

She sighs, and her voice is full of ancient, terrible sadness. “You came to me and offered your help to stop that conflict. You gave much of your life and essence to try to fuel the ritual, along with many others. Like them, you believed in our cause. The gods were warring, and it had to be stopped, or the Tel-Quessir were doomed to split apart forever. We would save the Tel-Quessir from the doom we foresaw. I would travel to Arvandor, gain the attention of the gods, and stop the war.” A long sigh. “I was a fool, and it was all of you who paid the price.”

Jon is starting to put the pieces together. “So… in order to save Martin, what do I have to do? Give up this… essence again? Return the restoration you bestowed on me? Become something else? Something that can still be your hand, but different?”

The raven cocks its head in almost a nod. “This is what you were, before my failed ritual. This is what I purified you into becoming again so you could go to the place where last you lived. I had wanted to give you time as this again, a lifetime of reward for your service, but…” The raven looks to Martin. “You have brought your reward back with you, I see. You always did prize love above so much else.”

“In order to save his life, I must siphon off yours. Return him to what he is, and perhaps allow him to be more, something closer to what he was long, long ago. And return you… to what you were. Shadar-kai. Shadow fey.” A pause. “It is not pleasant. The color will leech from you, even in the living world. The shadows will cling to you. In the living world you may look young and fresh, but here you will see your true state: cursed, aged, withered.”

The raven gives a long, deep sigh. “You may say that you will endure all of that and more to save your lover, but you will lose many of the emotions that now drive you. You will be bitter and grim. Others will see you as cold and pitiless. Most of my people who go out into the world care little for their physical bodies; they know they will return here, and be reborn. Some embrace physical pleasures, others test their limits, and some strive for glory in their lives.”

“You… never did much of any of that. You were usually content to watch, to listen, to study, and to bring me back what you found. You played tricks, sometimes.” Is the raven… amused? Yes, by the glitter in its eye, it is. “You have always retained your sense of humor, regardless of everything else.” The amusement fades. “But you may lose your love for him. Even if you do not--even if it is the one thing you cling to--he may lose his love for you, on finding you so horribly changed.”

Jon looks over their shoulder at Martin for a moment and then back to the raven before them. “Done. It may be as you say, but he’ll be alive. And that’s what’s important.” They sigh. “He has to survive. He’s given up too much to not survive. Do it.”

The ravens all flock back into the form they’d been in before and the shadows warp around it like a hood and cowl once more. The Raven Queen nods--or seems to--and sighs. “Very well.” She reaches out with one “hand” to Jon and the other “hand” to Martin’s sleeping form

A bright white light begins to flow out of Jon and into Martin. Jon doesn’t feel lessened so much as different, as though the shadows here seep in to replace the light that flows out. They can see the color fade from their form in the mirror. Their skin becomes a pallid grey, their eyes become wholly black--no pupil, no sclera, something far more befitting the avatar they became. And they do, indeed, twist and wither and age, though they feel no less strong and vital.

And Martin… wakes up.

Next Chapter

#the magnus archives #tma #jon sims #jonathan sims #jon the archivist #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #fanfic #my fanfic #tma spoilers #otp: one way or another together #tma d&d au #let all the broken pieces shine #just one more leeeeft

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gffa · 4 years

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Hi! First off, don’t worry about being rude or poking at me a bit over this, I’m still grappling a bit with being ready to talk about being aromatic (mostly in terms of that it takes me awhile to figure this stuff out in a way that I feel truly settled on) and I think there are probably more aro people than we realize, it’s just hard for some to figure themselves out, especially in fandom culture, where shipping/romance is such a huge part of it. I think that probably made me take a lot longer on my journey, because I love shipping so much, I love characters being in love, so obviously I’m not against the concept of romantic love, which meant that the idea of being aro didn’t really sink in for a very long time. I thought maybe I was just demi and hadn’t met the person I was in love with yet. But I really just don’t feel any lack for not wanting romantic love for myself. And that gravitates me towards characters who are on the ace/aro spectrum (I had such a moment of clarity like OH that’s why I like Tolkien’s Elves so much, they spend like 99% of their lives as ace and I was like #MOOD even before I realized it)(asexual/ace and aromantic/aro are separate things, but as someone who is somewhere on the spectrum for both, I take what I can get where I can get it). So, I’m assuming that some of us came onto the idea and view of the Jedi as an aromantic culture separately for separate reasons, some of us are aro ourselves, some of us just see that in the Jedi culture, but for me it really started coming together about nine months or so ago because I remember this post coming on the heels of me just starting to be ready to talk about being aro myself and navel gazing about why that drew me to the Jedi in such a resonating way. And the more I think about it, the more it really, really resonates for me, as someone who prizes other connections--family and friends and projects are so fulfilling to me, in a way that romance just exhausts me, it doesn’t charge me up at all. Seeing a group of fictional characters that prizes those same things, who don’t seem interested or lacking because they don’t seek out romance, who enjoy their connection to this big energy field and the light of the people around them, as somewhere in the nebulous area of family that’s not defined by traditional blood family structure? It resonated a lot with me and made me feel finally seen even in just a small way. Romance and shipping characters aren’t bad, fandom is a place where people come to it for fun and to enjoy what they enjoy. I clearly love shipping, I have my OTPs and I’m constantly thinking about them smooching, it’s not like I’m trying to shoo it away from my precious aro babies. Instead it’s that I want some space to enjoy one of the incredibly few cultures in media that I can feel connected to through this lens and would like to encourage people to step a bit away from the “romance is a fundamental part of the human condition” mindset because it’s not. Being human can come in so many, many forms and they’re all genuinely just as valuable. That Obi-Wan chooses the Jedi over romance, that the narrative approves of his and Satine’s choices, that they loved each other, but found more value in other things. That Mace Windu is a sympathetic, empathetic character who has never expressed a need for romantic love in canon. That Ahsoka may have genuinely liked Lux romantically or she may have had tangly feelings for someone who resonated with her psychic abilities that we don’t really have a box for other than romance because that’s what we’re used to and she went on to not really be that interested in romance, even when Kaeden was practically all over her, Ahsoka wasn’t really thinking about that or feeling like a piece of her was missing because of it. That Yoda has lived almost 900 years and never actually needed a girlfriend because he has so much other stuff to connect him to his people. That Plo Koon and Luminara Unduli and Aayla Secura and Shaak Ti and Agen Kolar and Ki-Adi-Mundi and Depa Billaba and Adi Gallia and Even Piell and Kit Fisto and so many more don’t need to have romance to make them human, to make them empathizable, to make their stories worth being told. Yeah, some Jedi do have romantic feelings, but even then (with the exception of Anakin) they tend to put their duty before their own feelings first and are fulfilled by this, it’s a choice they are satisfied with making. Or else they leave because that’s not the choice they wanted to make, and that’s fine, too. But the majority of the Jedi we see are ones that resonate on an aro spectrum for me, that the culture of the Jedi that prioritizes purpose before feelings, that puts adopted family feelings before romantic feelings, that finds fulfillment in these things, is pretty wonderful. That the Jedi express love and care in ways that aren’t inherently romantic--touches to the shoulder are constant, that Obi-Wan shows his care by telling Anakin he’s proud of him or showing up to talk if Anakin’s ready for it, that Mace and Yoda share these hilarious looks of people who have been through some shit together, that Luminara smiles so brightly to see Barriss alive, that literally almost every single Jedi Master would lay down their lives to save their Padawan, that we see that with Depa dying to save Caleb, that we saw that with Jaro Tapal dying to save Cal, that we heard the echoes of another Master dying to save their Padawan in JFO’s Sense Echoes, that Yoda constantly makes time to talk to anyone who comes to see him, that literally every Jedi we see is practically jumping at the chance to help Ahsoka with her lessons or help teach her something she needs, that these are forms of love being explicitly expressed through these gestures and they’re wonderful.

#aromantic #jedi order #meta #lumi.txt

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tangent101 · 4 years

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Pricefield Dabbles

I found this list of “send me a ship idea” from @writsgrimmyblog and realized I could answer most of these for Pricefield! So... here we go! =^-^=

1. Who makes the first move and how?

Max Caulfield after being dared by Chloe to kiss her now.

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better?

It would be easy to claim Max, but to be honest both are equally insecure. Chloe is just better at hiding it except when things really start to pile up. What used to make Max feel more secure was taking photographs, at least before someone went and fucked that all up for Max. Now? Chloe helps Max feel better. As for Chloe... sappy as it sounds, Max helps her feel better. When you play LiS you see her slowly calm down and heal over the five days you see them together. Max is very much the catalyst for Chloe’s growth and healing.

3. Who is the most romantic?

That depends on how you define “romantic.” But the person most likely to indulge on a whim to show the other how she feels is Chloe. Max is more likely to show her affection through physical actions - little kisses, spontaneous hugs, and the like... but Chloe loves the more sweeping gestures. Dragging Max out to a club to go dancing, making her dinner, or even bringing her to an art museum because Max commented on some artist who’s being exhibited there.

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

It’s about equal. Chloe has no sense of personal space and is very bouncy. If she gets excited and enthusiastic she’s all over Max. But it’s Max who is more spontaneous and physically romantic with hugs and eventually kisses. Seriously, in LiS it’s Max who initiates the kisses we see, and I suspect that never truly changes for these two.

5. Who says ‘I love you’ first?

Chloe. But it’s casual. The first person to say it in a tone that gets the other to blush and bite her lip is Max.

6. Who would they ask if they ever had a threesome?

Steph. Max never met her as far as we know, but she was likely in college when the events of LiS happened. (Damn it, now I have another idea for a fanfic! Not a threesome, but for where Max and Chloe end up soon after the end of LiS....) Steph is very much a geek and Chloe likes and even trusts her. I could easily see Max becoming good friends with her as well.

While there are a lot of folk who’s want to see Rachel with them... well, even if Rachel were available, Max would feel entirely too self-conscious and feel that Chloe would be better off with Rachel. It wouldn’t work out without something to initially draw Max and Rachel together and then the two of them reaching out to Chloe. So with an existing Pricefield dynamic? Amberpricefield isn’t happening.

7. What do they get up to on a night out?

They probably relax and enjoy each other’s company, helping each other in the kitchen cooking after a hard day working crappy jobs while trying to get Max’s pictures out there.

8. What do they like in bed?

Cuddling. Sex is great and all that but just being together, touching each other gently, looking in each other’s eyes... realizing they’re together on a grand adventure called life and yeah it sucks at times and they miss those they left behind but... they’re together. That’s what’s important.

9. What's the most embarrassing thing they've done in front of each other?

Deliberately or accidentally?

Max would say the time she tried to do a striptease in front of Chloe and ended up falling on her ass because she had trouble getting out of the tummy-control nylons she picked up rather than stockings which you can take off one leg at a time.

Chloe would claim she has no sense of shame but she probably feels rather wretched about some of the times Max ended up holding Chloe’s hair out of her face when she got shitfaced drunk and was worshiping the porcelain throne (and that’s one reason why she used to cut her hair short, damn it!)

As for accidentally? Walking in on each other when someone was... scratching an itch in the shower, shall we say? Though there was also a certain thrill to that so it might have become a game at times....

10. What two songs, two books and two luxury items do they take to a desert island?

For Songs? Syd Matters "Obstacles" (Max absolutely loves this song), and oddly enough “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” by Meatloaf (for Chloe at least, Max hates the ending of that song).

For Books? Chloe loves the Lord of the Rings. Max is amusingly enough into Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice.

And luxury items? A solar-powered laptop with a huge screen and hundreds of movies downloaded into it, and a solar-powered fridge stuffed full of food and booze (Chloe said the second part. Actually she mentioned the laptop as well and even added “solar-powered” seeing she’s a bit of a geek under her at-times punk exterior).

11. What do they hide from one another?

Chloe hides the fact that at times she wishes Max could have saved Rachel, somehow. But she’s never going to ask as she doesn’t want Max to get hurt. As for Max? She hides that she still hears that bastard’s comment of “always take the shot” when she takes a picture and that at times it fucks up an otherwise perfectly fine photograph even though that bastard is rotting in jail.

12. What first changes when it starts getting serious?

Max loses her nervousness. Seriously, when things get tough she suddenly hardens and becomes “SuperMax” and pushes up her sleeves. Chloe is very impressed with her and loves her to pieces, but also doesn’t want to see Max go through something like that again as afterward Max does fall to pieces and Chloe doesn’t like seeing her hurt. As for Chloe? She actually takes a backseat and does whatever Max tells her to. She trusts Max.

13. When do they realize they should get together?

They realized it when swimming in Blackwell’s swimming pool after the school was shut down for the night. But neither thought the other felt the same way. When Chloe watched Max strip down to jump into the pool she had to look away as she realized she was enjoying watching Max undress and Max... Max was talking in the pool and just... realized. She wants Chloe to remain by her side. Always. The kiss the next day in Chloe’s bedroom just was icing on the cake, even if it took them a couple more days to become “official” in each other’s eyes.

14. When one has a cold, what does the other do?

Chloe makes a homemade soup for Max. She’s actually gotten fairly decent with her soups and experiments with various recipes. She then babies Max even as Max is all surly and insisting she doesn’t need to do this.

When Chloe inevitably gets ill afterward, Max repays the favor with the rest of the soup (Chloe’s realized that she usually gets sick afterward and has taken to making enough for a week at that point) while hiding her own symptoms as she’s still suffering a bit from her cold. But she’s not going to let Chloe know that because otherwise Chloe will push herself too hard!

15. When they watch a film what do they choose and why? Who gets the final vote?

Bladerunner (the director’s cut). It’s their favorite. And it’s always unanimous. Though sometimes they indulge themselves with lighter fare like Princess Bride or Labyrinth. Or even Lord of the Rings because Chloe is a secret Tolkien fangirl

16. When the zombie apocalypse comes, how do they cope together?

Max warns Chloe a couple days ahead of time and they get as much canned goods and the like as they can and then “go camping” - they end up far outside of the cities and someplace defensible until the military or cold weather ends up taking care of the zombies.

17. When they find a time machine, where do they go?

Yeah... no. No playing with time. Not anymore. Well, unless they met the Doctor at which point they go wherever the Doctor suggests because it’s the freaking Doctor, of course they’re going to go with her!

18. When they fight, how do they make up?

Max shrinks in on herself and looks all hurt and Chloe just... she gets flustered and starts apologizing and then they start apologizing to each other and finally start laughing as the silliness of apologizing for “making” the other apologize just gets to them.

19. Where do they go on their first date?

That depends on what you consider a “date” - I mean, that Blackwell swimming pool could have been a “date” after all. But their first real date after leaving Arcadia Bay? Chloe saw a little restaurant on the side of the road and then smiled, looked at Max, said “hey, how’d you like to go out for dinner? Just the two of us, and our stolen Blackwell money...” and Max blushed and said “we really shouldn’t spend it unless we have to” and Chloe just sweet-talked her into it and the food was only halfway decent but it was being together that just made it work for each other.

20. Where do they go on holiday?

They’re kind of working retail and the like in hopes of getting Max’s photographs to various galleries. So there’s no actual holidays per say. But they have plans for Paris, one day. And they visited Chloe’s step-dad in Arizona and that went surprisingly well, David stopped being a step-douche and has kind of become a second dad for Chloe, and loves both Chloe and Max. Oh, it wasn’t all roses and the like, but it was David who reached out to them, and Max helped talk Chloe into visiting and giving David a chance. It worked out.

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another?

Chloe always gets nervous about going to a gallery with Max. She tried bleaching the blue out of her hair but... well, that just turned it into a mottled pale blue-green that she’s now just growing out and she’d have hacked it off by now but Max actually likes her hair longer so Chloe’s been putting it off. She still feels nervous going into art galleries and the like, she’s blacked out her sleeve tattoo with a black sharpy and is dressing less punk these days while trying to fit in with Max. But she still feels like an outsider at times.

As for Max? She’s nervous whenever they go into a club or go dancing. She thinks she can’t dance and that there are lots of girls better than her but... Chloe loves her. So she goes outside her comfort zone for Chloe. And enjoys herself.

22. Where does their first kiss happen?

Chloe and Max were in Chloe’s old bedroom and Chloe double-dog-dared Max to kiss her. Max did so. Chloe was very shocked and pulled away (useless lesbian that she is). Their next kiss (multiple kisses) was a couple days after they left Arcadia Bay.

23. Where is their favourite place to be together?

To be honest? The place doesn’t matter. What matters is just... being together.

24. Where do they first have sex?

In Chloe’s truck a couple weeks after having left Arcadia Bay, and then finding a motel room because a truck isn’t exactly the most comfortable of places to have sex in, especially an older truck like Chloe’s was.

25. Why do they fight?

Chloe thinks Max is pushing herself too hard and refuses to accept that she is talented. Max gets annoyed because Chloe just stacks dirty dishes in the sink rather than on the counter because if they’re all in the sink then you can’t wash them you have to take them out and Chloe just stacks more dishes on the counter next and... yeah.

26. Why do they need to have a serious chat?

It was about Chloe’s step-dad. Chloe wanted nothing to do with him after they left Arcadia Bay. It didn’t matter that David helped in dealing with the Dark Room situation, Chloe had too many memories of David hitting her, and blaming herself for instigating David at times though that doesn’t forgive David’s actions damn it! But... Max insisted. She talked to Chloe about David, and about how Chloe’s mom allowed this to happen and blamed Chloe instead... and even about how she should forgive David and move on.

In the end? Chloe feels a lot better about listening to Max. David will never replace William. But he’s kind of stopped being her step-dad and is more her real dad now. Enough at least that Chloe’s the one who calls David.

27. Why do their friends get annoyed with them?

Chloe will blow off plans to get together because she doesn’t want to. Sometimes it’s because Chloe is exhausted after working retail and they are trying to make ends meet but... yeah. And Max? Oh Max, we love you dearly but will you start actually believing in yourself more? You’re a talented photographer and when Victoria or Steph tell you you’re good, just accept it rather than try to insist they’re wrong. *shakes head*

28. Why do they get jealous?

Max remains jealous of Rachel to this day. And she does get a bit miffed when Chloe compares Max to Rachel because Rachel was so much more awesome than Max is and is Chloe wanting Rachel by her side instead of Max?

As for Chloe? She’s scared that Max regrets her choices and will leave. She is so scared of being abandoned. Max left for five years... yeah, it wasn’t Max’s choice, her parents moved away when she was only 13, but part of her feels that Max could have made more of an effort to remain in touch even as she realizes she in turn could have. And she’s scared Max will find someone else.

29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

Chloe sees Max doing something, be it suddenly geeking out over a perfect photography opportunity or a bit of art or even just a computer game, and her heart just... contracts. At times she has to restrain herself from spontaneously hugging Max, especially if Max was geeking out while taking photographs as she doesn’t want to ruin a perfect shot.

As for Max? Waking up and seeing Chloe sleeping next to her... she falls in love deeper and deeper every day.

30. Why does it work (or not work) between them?

Because they’re Max and Chloe. And they’ll always be together. Always.

#life is strange #max and chloe #pricefield #max caulfield #chloe price #lis #after the storm #bae over bay #happily ever after

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huntertales · 4 years

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Part Two: Wicked Witch of the West. (Slumber Party S09E04)

Episode Summary: The reader and the boys call in I.T. expert Charlie Bradbury to help track fallen angels with technology found in the Men of Letters bunker. However, they soon discover something more in the form of the one and only Dorothy from Wizard of Oz. Everyone joins forces to take down the Wicked Witch and her evil plans. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,020.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

There was nothing more you loved than curling up with Dean in bed to enjoy a little bit of TV and enjoying one another’s company. Sam offered up his room for all of you to stream the show, you took a wild guess that it was because the man was afraid to step into his brother’s room to see a wild assortment of leftover food growing new forms of mold. You reassured him you made sure all half-eaten meals were thrown away and everything was kept in a tiddly order. He reminded you that his room was the one with the TV. And your bedroom was a mere disaster of still unopened boxes from your house and clean clothes thrown around in a manner you swore was organized. All of you settled on the offer and enjoyed a few episodes of the TV series you had heard so much about.

The bowl of popcorn shared between you and Dean had nothing left but kernels after munching through the episodes that kept your attention with its enjoyable plot and characters. You sipped the remaining mouthfuls of your beer as Dean slid his hand from around your waist and reached for the remote to pause the screen after nearing the end of the final episode on the DVD.

"Wow. That Joffrey's a dick." Dean felt the need to declare his hatred for a character you had grown to despise yourself from his childish and downright horrific behavior. You didn't think you ever had more of an urge to jump through a TV screen and strangle a fictional character more than you had for that blonde headed bastard.

"Oh, you have no idea. Wait until he—" Charlie smiled at the upcoming plot details you and Dean might want to hear about that would happen in the next season. Before she could get a single word out, the young Winchester promptly stopped her from spilling any details.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Spoilers." Sam warned the redhead. "I haven't read all the books."

"You're gonna read the books?" Dean asked his brother. He didn’t see the point of wasting one’s time reading a fictional version of the same media you could consume in a live action version, no mental imagery required on his part.

You shook your head from the point the older man was missing. Books were not always like the live adaptations. The plot might have been the same from the beginning, but TV versions often strayed from the original material to make their own spin and give the characters new journeys. The reader was able to picture the characters described by how the author saw them and not how the actors were chosen for the role. There was no greater disappointment to a reader when someone chosen turned out to be the opposite of what you spent pages imagining in your head. Not to mention the author was still writing the novels as the show aired. You tried getting yourself into the book until you ultimately failed trying to find interest. You gave the first one to the younger WInchester in hopes he would enjoy them.

"Yes, Dean. I like to read books—you know, the ones without pictures." Sam shot back with a sarcastic comeback to strike his brother silent.

You took it upon yourself to finally relieve the ache in your back that started to creep up on you while you were halfway through the fourth episode. You let out a long, drawn out sigh of relief after you got back up to your feet. “Ooh. I have never loved you for talking to me into getting that memory foam mattress more than I do now.” You said to your boyfriend. The price tag made your eyes widen from how expensive it was. In reality you didn’t spend a single penny. And you slept better than you had in a long while. You rubbed your lower back and stretched slightly to make yourself stop feeling twice your age. “I don’t know how you sleep on that thing Sammy.”

"You're not kidding. This bed is about as comfortable as a brick." Charlie got up from the chair she had been sitting on and switched to the edge of the mattress. She bounced a few times to discover it was painful as it looked. You smiled and leaned against the desk to change up the scenery. Charlie glanced around the room, taking notice of the fifties style attire with not much updated touches to make it personal. "Any plans on moving in anytime soon?"

"I am moved in." Sam said. "This is just my style."

"Yeah, this is style. Old man." You agreed. You took a look around the room yourself to see he didn't do much to give it the Sam Winchester touch except for cleaning out the several decades of dust. He didn't even try to put any effort to make it his own. "You would've really fit into the fifties aesthetics, Sammy. Fifty shades of brown and endless plaid."

"Well, I'm sorry I haven't hung up the 'Hang in there, kitty' poster yet, Y/N. Feel free to redecorate." Sam didn’t like the sarcastic jokes you were saying on his behalf. You rolled your eyes from how he was behaving all of a sudden. "Tell me again how your moving process is going.”

"I'll get there eventually. At least I'm making some kind of effort to make it mine." You said. It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes from your half-hearted excuse. "Are you saying our home's not good enough for the 'Hang in there, kitty' poster?"

"This isn't our home." Sam corrected you. "This is where we work."

You tightly furrowed your brow from the way he was acting. "What's the difference?"

You waited for Sam to give you a reason why he didn't think the bunker was just that, a home. He was the one who helped you persuade Dean into staying here permanently after discovering it for yourself. You thought he would have embraced it with open arms from everything this place had to offer. For once he had a home to call his own. Something that fits him perfectly from the life all of you lead. No one to take it away, no real chance of a monster sneaking in here. You hoped he might have been able to find some sort of comfort here. But it seemed the younger Winchester didn't feel the same way you and his brother did. To say it came as a surprise would have been an understatement.

Charlie looked between you and the younger Winchester when the both of you did nothing more than stare at one another for a few seconds. It was as if the two of you were waiting for the other one to say something to keep this conversation-turned argument going. You and Sam remained silent. The redhead didn't realize she had triggered such a touchy subject. She shifted her gaze and mumbled something underneath her breath, a weak attempt at trying to relieve the brewing awkward tension.

“All right, well, I'm gonna go get us some more beers.” Dean said, getting himself up from the bed and making his way to the door. ”How about that?”

You polished off your beer when Dean shut the bedroom door behind him, leaving the three of you alone. You set the empty bottle down on the desk and quickly spoke up, not wanting the mood in the room to shift into a subject you didn’t want to discuss while your friend was staying here.

"So, Charlie," You struck up a conversation you had been meaning to bring up since you heard about the redhead's solo adventures. "what was that all about how hunting isn't magical?"

"Saving people, hunting things, the family business? I am down. But..." Charlie trailed off, making you and the younger Winchester share a curious expression to her hesitance about seeing what hunting was really all about. "I was raised on Tolkien, man. I mean, where is all of this?" She held up the DVD she grabbed to make her point about what she had really been searching out there for. "Where are my white walkers and my volcano and magic ring to throw in the damn thing? Where...Where's my magic quest?"

"Magic, quests...suck. Trust us." Sam scoffed. You had to agree with the younger man about that point. Both of you dealt with your version of fate and quests. It all mapped out to a miserable ending. "They're all dead ends.”

Charlie's shoulders slumped at the possible reality she might have to come to terms with. The few times she had been able to work on a hunt with the three of you had turned out to be sort of fun, minus the physical and emotional trauma she endured. Charlie was searching for a spark that steamed from a childhood daydream of fighting dragons and saving the princess. An urge that didn’t come along in this kind of lifestyle.

The supernatural and magic might be real like it was in the books she read, but it was vastly different from the fictional counterparts. It was darker. Scarier. Charlie couldn’t help but find the light in every bad situation. You had a feeling she was going to keep looking for her quest. You were a firm believer everyone had a role to play in life. She had yet to find hers.

+ + +

The four of you decided to check on the progress of the files Charlie had been downloading to her tablet after giving the progress more than enough time. You made your way down to the control room to see everything was how you left it at first glance. It was when you made your way closer to the outdated machines was when you noticed something was strangely off. You slowed down your pace and looked straight ahead at the strange substance on the wall behind the shelf. You knew for sure it hadn’t been there before.

“What the hell?” Dean muttered under his breath. The boys approached closer to the shelf as you stayed behind near Charlie as she reached for her tablet to check on things. "Sam give me a hand."

You placed your hands on your hips and watched as the brothers pushed away the shelf out of the way, revealing something you had never seen before. Almost the entire wall was covered in a grayish color cocoon. You were tempted to poke at the substance to see what it felt like in order to figure out what it might be, but your squeamish disgust kept your feet planted where they were. Dean took out a knife from his pocket and slid the blade through the substance, cutting deep enough of a makeshift entrance to discover what might be hiding inside. You weren't exactly sure what you were expecting to find in there. A human arm falling out was not one of them.

Dean stepped back from the possible danger he was standing next to. You and Sam didn’t waste a second pulling out your guns and pointing it in the direction of where the arm was. The older Winchester waited a moment to see if anything else crawled out. But it seemed you were safe for the time being. Dean opened up the flaps of the makeshift pod wider. A fully grown woman tumbled out and to the ground in doing so. Charlie let out a soft gasp as Dean swiftly grabbed for his weapon if the stranger decided to try and do anything stupid as a way of greeting you all. You slowly made your way forward as Dean leaned down to push the woman on her backside to get a better inspection of her.

She appeared to be human at first glance. What you found most odd about her was the taste in clothing. They weren't from this decade, or from this century for that matter. You were a little bit tempted to slightly nudge her with your foot when she remained on the ground with no sudden movement. After a few more seconds she started to come around to consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered open as she inhaled a deep breath for the first time in God knows how long. The first question that popped in your mind was who the hell she was.

You and Charlie did a little digging in the archives to discover the mystery visitor was someone you thought was a fictional character in a movie and book series you remembered fondly from your childhood. You made your way back to the control room with the file in hand to see Dorothy was recuperating from her well over seven decade slumber. She sat on the floor with a blanket Sam had provided for her as he tried to get some sort of information out of her. You dropped the file to the computer and briefed Dean with what you and Charlie learned. You stared down at the sepia toned photograph Dorothy sitting on her motorcycle. She sure wasn’t the Judy Garland version you had pictured in your head when you read the books as a child.

"Holy crap! The first case invested in this bunker involved Dorthy. She and the witch came into this room, and they never came out." Charlie read off the details of the file she hadn't gotten a chance to go through in finer detail. You let out a quiet sigh from how excited she was getting over the hunt you stumbled upon. "This will never stop blowing my mind!"

"Okay, pace yourself, Toto." You whispered to her.

“Oz is real!” She exclaimed with too much eagerness for your personal liking from the situation you were dealing with. You shook your head from the way she was handling all of this. She nudged you with her arm, trying to get you amped up as she was from the things you were learning. “It’s part of the fairy world.”

“We have to find her.” Dorothy stated. You knew damn well who she was talking about, the wicked witch. Didn’t explain who put her in the glass bottle and left her on the shelf undisturbed for all these decades. The same bottle Dean must’ve accidentally spilled over when he was trying to take off the back panel of the computer.

“No, we have to talk before anyone does anything, okay?” Sam tried to get the woman to focus on the questions she ignored just moments ago. She remained silent, tugging the blanket closer around her body. “Dorothy?”

“Talk? Typical Men of Letters, standing around, having a nice little chat with your noses buried in your books while your little secretaries take notes.” Dorothy rolled her eyes when she glanced in the direction of you and Charlie, thinking standards for how women were only capable of being nothing more than glorified paper pushers. You scoffed at her presumption that was the farthest thing from the truth. She had a lot to catch up on.

“We’re hunters.” Dean told the woman.

"And who are you calling a secretary?" Charlie came to both of your defenses at the sexist title.

“You’re not secretaries? You’re Women of Letters?” Dorothy looked surprised much as she sounded when she asked a question that felt almost impossible. You nodded your head, only making her become more baffled about her surroundings. "W—How long have I been out?"

“That’s why we need to talk. Look, you’ve been gone for over seventy-five years. Now, according to our file, you came here to kill the wicked witch and then you disappeared.” Sam gave the woman a quick refresher to help jog her memory in hopes it might fill in the gaps of information that the file couldn’t provide. “What happened?”

“We couldn’t find a way to kill her. So I did the only thing that I could.” Dorothy explained to all of you that led her to the demise, and how you found her the way you did. “A binding spell that came at a price—her soul with mine.”

“So you’ve been frozen with the witch for all this time?” You asked.

“Yes.” Dorothy answered. She pushed off the blanket and got up to her feet, growing frustrated from all the precious time you were wasting on silly questions that weren’t going to lead the search for the witch any faster. “Look, the witch cannot be killed. If I am awake, then so is she.”

“Wait, if she’s here, why didn’t she kill you?” Sam wondered.

“She can’t.” Dorothy explained.

“You’re protected by the witch of the North’s kiss.” Charlie jumped into the conversation and told you the reason why. She smiled from her knowledge that she had a feeling was going to come in handy. "It was in the books."

“Oh, forget the books! They’re not important. I’m protected. You aren’t.” Dorothy turned the focus onto an important detail that couldn't go without saying from the danger all of you were under. ”Now, the witch came here looking for something. I have no idea what it is. But we have to find her before she finds it.”

“All right, all right. Charlie, dig into the files. See if you can find anything that puts a dent in a witch.” Dean instructed a set of plans to somehow get this situation under wraps. “Sam, Y/N and I will have a look-see. Come on.”

“I’m helping.” Dorothy declared, clapping her hands together.

"Yeah, I don't doubt it. But for right now, why don't you rest up and help the smartest person in the room?" You suggested to the woman. You glanced over in Charlie’s direction to catch the smile that began to creep on her lips from the subtle compliment. The young woman admitted about her longing for magic and all sorts of adventures, you had a feeling Dorothy could provide some during her stay. “Have fun, girls.”

You and the boys searched much of the grounds as you could together. Neither one of you wanted to take a chance at splitting up and going up against the wicked witch alone if you were unlucky enough. You didn't know how long it had been after she escaped or where she was hiding. You went through several different locations before making your way to the dungeon shortly after, wanting to be sure your other house guest was still locked up tight. The wicked witch and the king of hell teaming up together wasn't how you wanted to spend your night.

Luckily for you the king of hell was exactly where you had left him earlier today; locked up tight in the chains that secured him from trying to make a foolish escape. But he wasn’t innocent as he looked slumped back in the chair. Crowley was all too causally whistling a familiar tune from a movie you had seen several times in your lifetime enough to recognize the reference. It was the song. “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Dorothy sung it before she was swept away to Oz by the tornado. You cautiously looked around to make sure if the wicked witch wasn’t here, and when she wasn’t like how you suspected, you dropped your gun back down to your side.

"Wow. If it isn't Dorothy and her pals, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man. Your new houseguest—so misunderstood." Crowley informed you of what you already were about to deduce on your own. He waited a moment for either one of you to get the reference he slipped in, but when he was left hanging, you responded with silence. “Neither one of you saw 'Wicked'?"

"Sorry. I haven't exactly had the chance to visit Broadway lately. I'll make sure to get right on that after we wrap all of this up." You said, rolling your eyes. "What did she say to you?"

"Something along the lines of..." You weren't sure if the demon was trying to be cheeky with you when he hissed, bearing his teeth and all.

"All right, well, I'm gonna get some holy oil and a lighter, dick bag." Dean said to the demon, not even the least bit impressed by the childish behavior that meant nothing to you.

"I know what she's looking for." Crowley said. He tried to use his knowledge for leverage to get something out of you. You narrowed your eyes on the demon as he raised his brow, wondering if you were going to play long to hear the answer.

"What does she want?" Sam questioned the demon.

"I'd be happy to tell you, as soon as I get to stretch my legs." Crowley gave you a smug smile you wanted to smack off his face. The demon knew he had you backed into a corner, the only thing you could do was give into his petty demands. Or continue chasing your tails.

You let out a frustrated sigh. The boys weren't too pleased either as to what the demon was asking. But you gave in with a nod of the head. Dean approached Crowley with the key to unlock the chain around the demon's neck, all while holding the knife to stab him with if he tried anything stupid. Crowley behaved the entire time. He slid off the collar and let it drop to the ground, you and Sam never lowering your weapons as he did so. He let out a groan of relief from being freed for the first time since you forced him down here.

You gave the demon an impatient look as he took his time enjoying the freedom that wasn’t going to last for too long. He moved around his stiff neck and finally pushed himself up to his feet to stretch his aching legs. Crowley even had the audacity to let out a chuckle and smile at his victorious win.

"All right." You spoke up, wanting to get the demon back on track to the reason why you were even letting him off his leash. "What does the witch want?"

"Give me a mo.” Crowley said. “I still need to air myself out."

You pointed your loaded gun at him and shot off a round straight into his chest, showing him you weren't in the mood to keep playing his little games. "I think you're out enough."

“Rude.” The demon muttered, taken back by your hostile behavior.

Crowley inspected the bullet wound in his meat suit and shook his head, you ruined his outfit even farther as well. You were about to warn him where the next bullet would go, the demon compiled before you could get a single word out. He reached for the crumpled piece of paper at the edge of the table and unfolded it to show you a single word written down. You furrowed your brow slightly, not sure what to make of it.

“Key?” Sam read off the word. “What key?”

“I haven’t the foggiest. Had to send her off on a merry chase before she could melt me.” The demon said. He gave you a smile from the corny joke you once again didn’t find the least bit funny. “Told her you boys kept the keys in the kitchen. You do have a kitchen in this crap hole, don’t you?”

You had the first potential lead at finding out where the witch was before she could get her hands on this supposed key. You and the boys quickly made your way to the kitchen in some kind of hope that you might be able to catch her, but you were too late. All she left behind was the mess she left trying to find the damn key she was doing everything she could to find.

The witch tore every inch of the room apart; pots and pans were scattered all over the floor, food you had left out to enjoy later laid spilled on the counters. It looked like a tornado blew in here. You let out a groan of frustration and dropped your arm holding your gun back down to your side. Not only did you have this mess to clean up after you solved this Wizard of Oz, the wicked bitch was still on the loose and most likely tearing apart another room.

"Damn it, I just cleaned in here." Dean grumbled in frustration.

"Really?" Sam sounded like he was in disbelief at hearing his brother was capable of cleaning up after himself.

"Surprisingly, yes. He's become very domestic since we started living here." You said. You made your way into the kitchen when it was made clear your problem was long gone, but still lingering about and causing more chaos in her path. "Looks like we got a witch problem."

You took a moment to examine the damage the witch left behind and how long it was going to take for you and the boys to clean up. You were still on high alert, nearly shooting at the person who came into the kitchen from one of the few doorways. You dropped your gun back down when you saw that it was just Charlie and Dorothy back from their own tasks you hoped had been more successful than your dead end.

“Sorry. We raided your gun range. Made us some poppy bullets.” Charlie explained to all of you. She showed off the revolver and shoved a hand inside her pocket, pulling out the one thing you had against the wicked witch. You raised your brow in curiosity and reached for one to inspect it for yourself. “They won’t kill the witch, but they will stun the crap out of her.”

Dean examined the bullets for himself Charlie had made on her own. He had to admit she did a good job on figuring out a potential weapon against the witch. She always managed to impress him from how she could handle herself in stressful times. “That’s my girl.”

“There was only enough for five bullets, so…” Charlie told you the downside about her genius invention. You dealt with worse circumstances as you loaded the bullet into the chamber for the moment you might need to use it. “Make each shot count.”

“Now we just have to find her before she finds whatever the hell’s she’s looking for.” Dorothy said.

“She’s looking for a key.” Sam informed the two women.

“How do you know?” Charlie asked.

“Little birdie told us.” You said, leaving out the source where you found out on your own. You really didn’t have time, or in the mood, to explain the reason behind having the king of hell chained up in your dungeon. “Ring any bells, Dorothy?”

“Unfortunately. It’s the key to Oz. There are magical ways into Oz—tornado, eye of a hurricane, whirlpool—but this key will turn any locked door into a portal to Oz.” Dorothy explained what made this one in particular so special. And why the witch wanted to get her hands on it so badly. “Insert key, twist, and presto, you’re in Oz.”

“How did the Men of Letters get the key?” Sam asked.

“I have no idea, but if she finds it, she’ll go back and finish what she started. She’ll destroy all that is good in Oz. She’s got armies of witches, flying monkeys.” Dorothy painted all of you a grim picture of what the future might look if you weren’t faster than she was. “Many will die.”

"What's this key look like?" Dean asked her. Dorothy pulled out a small leather bound journal from the inside pocket of her jacket and flipped to a sketch of the key. You furrowed your brow slightly when it looked familiar to you. "I've seen that key. Found it when Y/N and I were doing inventory."

“Where is it now?” Dorothy asked.

“My room. We got to get that key. Alright, Charlie and I will go look in my room.” Dean formulated a plan before all of you split up to go your separate ways. “Why don’t you guys buy us some time?”

You nodded your head in agreement. You watched as Dorothy and Sam made their way to the more open area of the bunker to get a better chance at finding the witch. You lingered behind for a moment as you called out for the redhead’s attention before she could get too far. Much as you trusted her ability to take care of herself, there was still a part of you that wanted her out of danger. You were dealing with a powerful witch and no real means to stopping her.

“Safest place in this joint is the dungeon.” You informed her.

“You have a dungeon in this place? Of course you do.” She smiled at the new room she learned about, wondering exactly might be hiding in there when given the chance to explore it one of these days like the rest of this place.

“So maybe you should…” You hinted around what you were trying to say without coming right out with it. You wanted more than anything to make sure she was safe. But you should have known she wasn’t going to back down from the very thing she admitted to you about stumbling across again. This hunt was her dream come true.

“I am not hiding, especially in a dungeon. Wicked witch, a key, a quest? Did you not listen to anything I said before?” Charlie was walking on cloud nine from the adventure she stumbled upon. She broke out into a grin and playfully punched the man standing next to you in the shoulder. “Let’s do this, Dean.”

You shook your head in annoyance as the woman made her way to Dean’s room to find the key, ignoring your last attempt at calling her name. You knew at this point all of your warnings fell upon dea ears. You let out a sigh of defeat and made your way to wherever Dorothy and Sam ended up, Dean quickly catching up with Charlie before she could get herself into too much trouble while snooping around his bedroom.

[Next Part]

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