He looked at me one last time. “There are so many things that I will never say.”
explain this quote?
“I wanted Eve to be different,” Grayson told me. “I wanted her to be you.”
“Don’t say that,” I whispered.
He looked at me one last time. “There are so many things that I will never say.”
the eve line is crazy but it's good context. there's so many layers to grayson's feelings for avery, so many moments between them where he has been holding back. rejecting her at the end of the first book. touching her wound. kissing her in that interview. "what are we doing?" "nothing" in the maze. saying that he'd help her "as a friend". holding her hand when she found the postcards. their last conversation at the end of thl before she went to see jameson. the wine cellar. harvard. kissing that random girl and then telling avery about it during that game. eve. even their first few interactions.
he's felt and thought and held back so so much since day 1 and i'm sure he wants to tell her so much, for her to understand really how much he loves her, but he won't now. he opened up a bit at the wine cellar and during this conversation, and admitting that he wanted eve to be her is definitely something very raw and uncomfortable and vulnerable to admit, but that's the most he can do anymore. he's done now. avery doesn't reciprocate his feelings, and she's dating his brother. even if he didn't expect it to change anything, inappropriate doesn't even begin to cover what it'd be like for him to go into detail about how he feels about her. at this point it'd really be sabotaging the friendship he can still have with avery by making things more awkward and angsty than they naturally already are. and it'd be disrespectful to her too, in my opinion. his bottled up feelings for her are not her responsibility. what is she supposed to do with any of that information? even that admission about eve could be considered too much. it's unfair. he didn't say any of the things he felt during any of those moments when they happened, wasn't really honest about his feelings for her when he could be, and now it's too late to start with that and he knows it. so now he's got to keep all that to himself and deal with it by himself forever 🤷♀️ it's the responsible thing to do.
Reference ~ Chapter One ~ ♪ "Violet" ♪
Heavy downpour of rain cascaded down below weeping skies, trembling with aches roaring amongst Othard city-scape. This story is gray, from time; before…
When they first met.
Softly a footstep rippled against a puddle left in aftermath. Until arriving indoors to an inner-sanctum, where native magpies chirped happily. Eastern-garbed Seeker blindfolded, but not senseless as one of the swarming envoy magpie flew above dropped a contract that would forever change the course of history, his hands-skillfully swiped.
This particular individual served within an elite-group of assassins known as Black Miracles, underground where secrets are bred in a shadow organization. Specially-lethally designed to exterminate or hunt; mankind. Often they solved-plights that Doma citizens sought fortune with mere whispers, a jar was created in the space-and-void thought barren of nothing; and sometimes remedy and salvation was granted as alternative fortune.
Duzan-tai-gachi, a foretelling katana, rumors said it could cut-through-anything; was stolen by treacherous pirates stowing near a coast in Ruby Seas, a crucial weapon for arms, The Far East would need to further utilize in their efforts against the Imperial-noose in this period.
Fingers-done tracing the braille, understood. Vanishing like fellow-air, his excelling reflexes, heard and moved gracefully not even droplets of rain stood a chance to drench him or deter his pace. Overlooking a cliff where the treacherous sea-vessel took station under canopies of tree-shade; leafs blown taken from creaking branches.
A small-pixie companion peeked her-eyes out of his sleeve and gave a yawn! Awakening, Flicker, who acted as his ‘Sight’ for bound-style.
His-motionless tone and verbiage simplistically gave volume, “How many signatures do you detect below?” Commanding an estimate.
She peered-forth and squinted, her eyes-zooming inward, aether dancing-around them, creating a distinct aura. As she began counting them… Something odd-occurred, never happening prior that frightened, even the magical-being.
The fluttering pixie had eyes-dart back at her of powerful brilliant-violets orbs. “T-t-there’s someone unique in there! They perceived my snooping! I counted a hundred-thirty-nine; before seen Master!” It could be worrying that his own outline was seen back. Most would derail from this mission, dangerous to advance.
Emotionless discarded and donning a mask. “Very well. I’ll just have to slaughter them before they anticipate further thoughts.” There wasn’t any maliciousness in conveying, killing was nothing more than breathing.
He pricked a thumb and swiped it across a scroll quickly, and a Hingashi Kite appeared. Gale-winds of the storm, tempest were felt in not only the perception of his incredible-Miqo'te genes, but analyzing when to act with timing and trajectory.
Laughing drunk freebooters on the deck were festively continuing their putrid vices. Descending and atop them with a shadow-drop, they saw a kite above. Before their eyes-caught up, the lights dimmed out, he let himself go from the kite’s handles, and was on their table, kunai-knives, needles and strong-tempered wire linked to those projectiles, swept underneath his sleeves from various directions, piercing their throats, jugulars, every vital and alongside, severing them.
A curvaceous courtesan who was getting rowdy sea-dog drinks walked upon poor time, she saw crimson ichor being washed away, the rain was frighteningly his accomplice, the puddle-of-red reflected his true murder-design. She couldn’t bellow aloud, a death-palm wrapped around her mouth, another callous-leather-gloved hand squeezing around her throat, tight-too-much-so. Expression's fear wrinkled her facially… Then… absence, null, but silent-peace, strangled and manhandled.
He was just a loyal-bound blade of servitude, no attachments anchored him. Who molded him into such a proficient-weapon, broke, rebuilt, and then broke him again until he was forged; meant to horrifically slash, he-zoned away from his identity. Becoming Doma’s hidden blade, The Black Miracle; resident night-fright, his-assassin moniker; Shadow Father.
Before disappearing from his deed, fire erupted from below the floorboards, he barely dodged unscathed, his tail-singed and soles alongside garb, strand hairs engulfed to embers. Instinct kept him solid.
Quick-but-not fast enough to slaughter-everyone as intended. That presence aboard who peered back, unthinkably walked up above, her aroma drove him wildly in familiarity and attempted to evoke; tranquility, and even open to possibilities of allure. Beyond all that emotionless, senses were being drawn-back for the memory, he wore so many masks and bore many scars, to forget, manipulatively disciplined.
You are nothing but steel…
You will execute for peace. You are formless, stainless.
You’re too sharp and have no delicate edges.
You slaughter in one-blow decisively.
You hold no-weights, your identity-matters not.
For you are The-Blade!
Remembering this poisonous teaching, he was whipped, brutalized, his body-soul-mind-spirit forged, conducted in a method, to become strictly something conditioned, for War. A thing; the technology, advancements of all of Garlemald would be fearful to know; as an enemy not even precious machinery could stay guarded.
Flicker pried out of his sleeve gaining some distance but telepathically linking to him, “Careful, Master! She’s got spirits! They’re… they’re everywhere… even the ones-you-slew.” Silencing and restoring composure from his flash-back once again being his own bane of emotion, blinding himself.
Her bare-feet walked on the dock, connected with nature’s blessing, life to death, in the fullest. A totem-hanging on her waist. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault, I should’ve figured they’d bring someone to retrieve that blade! I’v-” Before she could explain; that reasoning beyond their thievery was to remove the Voidal curse placed on that blade! If anyone unsheathed it, they would’ve gone on a mad killing-spree and struck all allies.
She was round-kicked in the gut-sent reeling back and upchucking saliva, her breathing labored and consciousness staggered. The assassin lunged-forth with a piercing-charge but was blocked by an earth-spirit who defended her, conditionally and lovingly. The fire-element sent another blast towards him that caused his tail-senses to react with a bolted dodge.
The-pirated angry spirits that were slain became malevolent and wicked, to the point they were manifesting pure-hatred toward their executor. He took punches and blows, from-the-unseen in-between worlds as-if air-was fighting back. Visibly-soundless blows cracked ribs heard, his teeth-gritted, palms grabbing the hilt of his true-sheathed Hingashi-forged, blade, aether exuding out of him before pulling out with a spinning slash, true-compact steel like he wielded, neutralizes spirits-demons, once again he slew and their heads dissipated, as so-did their forms, but they would manifest again, in time.
This occurrence wasn’t normal. Most often people vanquished will dissolve to the life-stream typically, but not always. Some spirits-souls, become lost or fragments! And as-such, become damned, malevolent-incarnates, they curse, and will-sink into where they often were slain with irritation if not given proper guidance or closure. By a-proper mender.
That woman was responsible, that strange-totem on her waist, strange-aura emitted from it. Flicker shouted out at him.You’ll have to kill her or destroy that thing on her buckle!
Regaining her stature a little wobble in her legs and shaking, she spat out blood, giving a look at her palm of her condition; feeling it; embracing, “I don’t like to hurt others, but I’ve no choice! You’re too dangerous!” Taking a fighting-pose, her lips pursed apart.
“Soul-Integration: Earth"
He took a sword-stance, which his blade-charged lightning swirled around him, in blinding-speed he would-take once again another plunge forth, it didn’t matter if any of her element-spirits were blocking him. He’d blitz and take that damned-head!
The accomplice of the assassin, the rainstorm taking place, struck lightning and fed into his aetherial charge!
Blowing-through, uprooting and tearing the-deck of the ship, lightning-set-ablaze and struck the sail, burning it; rain-weather sought to quell. His powerful-strike was rooted and grabbed-shockingly, by her hand that was earthly-attuned and imbued, startling to him, the soles-of-her feet had become-gravel clad-boots to absorb electricity and nullify it, entirely and reinforce her physical-strengths ten-fold. She delivered a counter-punch uppercut that shattered his mask and broke into his face, following with her long and powerful legs, thighs credibly known of the Seeker and kicked him in the ribs if they were-cracked from earlier onslaught, it broke just now!
His air-gone and wheezing lungs took placement, sanguine-drenched down from his nose-broke, he realigned with a snap.
She fused herself with the Earth spirit? What-was this woman?!
“MASTER, I’VE HEARD OF THIS!”
“SHE’S A SHAMAN!!!”
Coughing and hacking up internal-injury, the Black Miracle, blindfolded visage revealed mask-shattered, but some of his tribal-marks showing his distinguished face.
They knew another.
Gasp of realization came from her, tackled off her feet the Integration breaking, detecting her stance-wavered showing signs of weakness to exploit, falling back on the wood below crashing with him over-top her, he aligned his blade up to the skies and was going to pierce it-downward into her heart, in that instantaneous moment fire-erupted, his-blindfold, was extinguished purposely, her delicate hands grabbed his cheek; comfortably, an ilm-away from puncture, her composure didn’t waver, his unyielding and dazzling golden eyes-open and the world unraveled to truth.
Time felt removed.
With all that was ingrained, emotionless, nothingness.
How could he forget the one-person who combated him many, years ago, strangers that passed by in their moments-in-life, and for some reason, she conveyed something out of him and extracted it to make him; change his destiny and create a dynasty to live for a greater-good.
He was Shadow, mysterious and deadly, but unbiased-slaughtered he sacrificed his identity without even being born from the Nationality to make amends for the atrocities of a Nunh formerly, he became emotionless not trusting his raging ire of old; transforming to cold steel; removing former color until it was midnight-black.
She was Light, warm, non-discriminating, embraced notions, exhibiting pure heat. Just her presence-alone, felt like you were able to confide-in, she sacrificially served as a heroine ahead-of-time and threw herself at the task of any troubled-spirit, soul, and brought eternal-heaven before them.
Exiled and Freed from their Tribe Sept-branches they entangled on fate-paths long-ago and had but a simple conversation, but there was something that felt-so intimate between them and joy-easiness, that type of feeling; you cannot conceive, can’t put currency on it and try determining the value, or place-why, it just exists!
Love meant to be.
When gaze met; constellations opened, peering futures, hearts awoke, hers longingly and that blade himself, alongside wielded, surrendered clanging against the planks.
“I know you.”
"Yeah, and I know you.”
Her smile sheathed his steel-composure.
For the first-time again… his heart-beat thrummed.
Reminded his identity-of-former, beyond obligated masks wore.
How problematic after a succession-rate of 100%
Mission,
Contract,
Failed...
Moon ⋆˙⟡
⋆ she/her. 20. dominican. lover of character analysis.
⋆ SIDEBLOG!! interactions and follows from main. you'll know.
⋆ strict and woke and more than a little insufferable.
⋆ the number one averygrayson shipper in tumblr dot com and the world. caribbean lyra kane truther since day 0. eve blake and emily laughlin's one and only scholar.
⋆ written by olivia rodrigo and olivia dean <3
⋆ a lover and a hater and a yapper and a thinker and a—
⋆ asks always welcome!
NOW this is why I needed off-white paper so badly.
My quest to turn @incomingalbatross's one-shots into an anthology book advances. This looks so much nicer than bright white printer paper. Smaller font though. I want smaller font.
Also have no idea what to do with the chapter headers. That's a "I want to hit the presses today so I probably should figure that out in the next fifteen minutes." problem.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
