#“at your behest I have been summoned”

[archived-diegesis]

"κατόπιν εντολής σου, με κάλεσαν"

"Είσαι ο Δάσκαλός μου, που με κάλεσε πέρα ​​από τη μαραμένη σύλληψη του χρόνου...Γεννημένος όπως είναι η νέα σελήνη για να ασχοληθεί και να σκοτωθεί με τη ζοφερή σου εντολή..."

She couldn't help the grin that took over as she shook her head

" Nah, no worries I'm doing a bit - I can speak modern English just fine. Are you my Master? "

[elronds-meleth-nin]

Healing Hands

This is just a short little fic, based on this post here. The tall, broad High-King demanded a drabble aside from the ones I'd already started about him, so what else could I do? He is the High King, after all. 🥰👑

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Gil-Galad (RoP) x Half-Elven!Reader

[A/N: This is just fluff.]

Warnings: Spoilers for RoP s2e8, non-graphic descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood, soft!Gil-Galad, affectionate teasing, romantic tension, healing injuries, Gil speaking Quenya, battle aftermath, minor angst with a happy ending.

~*~

Did she truly think she was being subtle with such a limp in her step? The High King and his Herald had led their soldiers and the survivors of Eregion into a valley, establishing around it a protective, magical barrier using the rings of power.

Together, the pair had healed Lady Galadriel, but as they settled her in a soft, flat spot to recover, Gil-Galad saw his lady, clad in her own black-splattered armor, attempting to limp away unnoticed.

"Go. I'll stay with Galadriel," Elrond volunteered quietly, and with a grateful nod of acknowledgement, the King hurried through the trees after her. He hadn't even remembered seeing her struck, but obviously she had been if she was limping.

She didn't get very far. At the edge of a small clearing, he found her sitting with her back against a tree, struggling to remain conscious. His breath caught when he saw how pale she'd become. She'd clearly been hiding this for quite some time.

Without a thought beyond healing his lady, Gil-Galad dropped to his knees beside her and began slicing a window into the leg of her trousers. The cloth parted easily at the behest of his dagger, and at the waft of cool air over her skin, her eyes fluttered open.

"Ereinion?" Her voice was so shaky and quiet. "I'm sorry. Didn't...want to bother you..."

"Hush, I am here, now," he murmured as he beheld the broken-off shaft of an arrow embedded in her leg. She'd lost quite a bit of blood if the dark, drenched fabric of her trousers was any indication. Thankfully, the arrow was not lodged too deeply, and she'd left enough of it exposed for a healer to grip in order to remove it. "Fool of a girl, you should have come straight to me."

She let out a weak laugh at his affectionate scolding.

"Calling your favorite patient a fool? Ondórëa ingaranya," she murmured cupping his cheek and drawing his eyes to her own. There was no real acidity in her tone. Gil-Galad took courage in the fact that she still had enough clarity of mind to tease him. He had, in fact, healed her before, but the injuries were always insignificant and superficial. And, she'd never actively hidden them from him before.

What cause had he given her to do so? Had she been embarrassed?

Without hesitation, he turned his head just far enough to kiss her palm.

"I humbly beg your forgiveness, meldanya." He hoped that she knew he referred to more than his playful jab. He also knew that to call her such, to allow such a slip, would be tantamount to a confession for which he was not certain that he was prepared. But, to call her anything less than his beloved would be a lie. Furthermore, to do so in the aftermath of such rampant death and destruction would summon within his heart guilt in such quantities that he could not abide.

Turning his attention back to her leg, he laid his palm as lightly as he could over her thigh. He whispered in Quenya, allowing the magic from his ring and from his own healing abilities to seep into her skin and numb her pain. Working quickly, he removed the arrowhead and pressed his hand over the wound, murmuring some of the same healing spells he and Elrond had used on Galadriel.

Fortunately, though, this was not a cursed wound as the former had sustained from Morgoth's crown, nor was it as severe. Her skin glowed readily beneath his touch. Within moments, the skin bound itself shut and his lady shuddered in relief as a trickle of light penetrated the canopy of trees overhead to mingle with their own.

Her hand had fallen limply away after mere moments, but Gil-Galad retrieved it once his work was complete, grasping it gently between his own blood-stained fingers. Her pulse beat steady and strong in his grasp, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he breathed a sigh of relief. She would be alright. She had survived.

"Did you mean it?" She breathed, and he was so surprised that she was conscious that his eyes snapped immediately to hers. Despite the dirt and grime coating them both, he felt entirely exposed beneath her gaze - vulnerable and transparent before her.

He relished the sensation of being known so completely. To everyone else, he was Gil-Galad, the High King of Lindon, the bastion of strength from which his people drew their courage when darkness threatened.

To her, he was simply Ereinion. The feeling was more pleasant and intoxicating than he could possibly express.

"You called me your beloved," she continued. "Did you mean it?"

How could he deny it? He loved her. He had for centuries. Since the moment she set foot in Lindon nearly three hundred years before, Gil-Galad had surrendered to the realization that his heart would settle for no other. Her light was beyond compare, shining into even the most uncertain parts of his heart which he hid from all others. She drew him out so easily, comforted him simply by smiling in his direction. She was his strength, his courage, his most luxuriant pleasure and joy.

But, he was a king. Because she knew him, she also knew better than any other how taxing his position was. Over time, he'd convinced himself that she would not wish to bear the burden of ruling by his side, so he'd remained silent - reluctant to steal her own contentment and joy by forcing the responsibilities of a ruler upon her. She deserved to have a life unburdened by the weight of a crown.

In his secrecy, however, his heart had grown accustomed to a more profound loneliness than he'd ever previously known. On too-silent nights in his chambers, he longed to hold her close and whisper poetry in her ear - he'd composed more verses in her honor than he'd expected his heart to harbor. On tranquil mornings before the rush of the day's duties began, he ached with the need to see her curled peacefully in his arms as the light of the sunrise spilled in through the windows.

No longer. After today's battle, Ereinion could no more hold his tongue than the pair of robins who sang so freely in his gardens each morning.

"Yes. With all of my foolish heart, I meant it," he admitted, his heart singing with every word, and she lifted her free hand, threading it lightly into his hair. The King savored the feeling. Never before had she touched him so brazenly - he'd made it clear that she was more than welcome to, of course, but she never availed herself of such liberties.

He bent lower, hoping to encourage her by making his person easier to reach. He felt her bare wrist brush against the tip of his ear - sharper than her own, thanks to her half-mortal parentage - but he could not hide his blush nor the light groan she tugged from his chest.

"You have tempted me...enchanted me since our first meeting. I have eyes only for you, but if you do not feel the same, I swear on my honor that I will not torment you further." The King's oath came from the most sincere depths of his heart. For her, he would. Much as it would pain him, if she wanted nothing to do with his feelings, he would bury them deep so that only he would feel the ache. She would suffer no discomfort at his hands.

Her lips met his, stopping his spiraling thoughts in their tracks, and all his worries fell away beneath the most delicious relief. They were as soft and sumptuous as they looked - as he'd imagined them to be - and Ereinion didn't hesitate to return her affection. He may have healed her leg, but with that once simple act, she had healed the King's heart.

~*~*~

Elvish Words (Quenya):

ondórëa ingaranya = my hard-hearted/pitiless high-king

meldanya = my beloved

~*~

Taglist:

@bigblissandlove1 @gandalfthepimp @horta-in-charge

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 3 - If you could’ve seen

Dp x DC: Regent!Jazz, Vigilante!Jazz

Masterlist Part 2

“If you could’ve seen how I looked yesterday, a hopeless disaster, but I’m getting better at being faster.” -Never Look Back by The Nearly Deads

Jazz wasn't so proud to admit that she had many regrets about her life choices.

Taking the Crown was a fine line between terrifying and glorifying, with the many scars and callouses Jazz now bore from the hours of training (at Pandora's behest) a misgiving that was required for the sake of survival.

Hurting her little brother was the heaviest weight on her chest.

It hadn't been that Jazz meant to cause Danny pain from escaping Amity Park, but he'd already died there once from the portal and almost a second time when her parents the older Fentons captured Phantom in a thermos and strapped him down.

They had crossed a line, the point of no return, and Jazz was done trying to fix her broken family. The moment they cut into Danny while he screamed "I'm alive, I'm alive!" was the renouncement of their right to their own lives.

Jazz had enacted Vengeance for her little brother, the hero in death he shouldn't have had to become. For all the Unquiet Dead and Neverborn ended by the Fentons.

For her lost childhood. For her lost humanity.

Slash, slash, slash went the Regent's sword. Blood spattered the walls of the lab, mixed with the ecto already there from a fight for one's existence.

One slash, two, three Blood is on your hands already. 

Frostbite would later, admist the ice and snow of the Far Frozen, that as a Liminal Jazz had triggered a rage state due to both her emotions and her unintentional ecto-starvation.

It wasn't enough to absorb it from the environment anymore, not with the Crown and summoning her ecto-sword. She would have to consume raw ecto to replenish her levels and diminish the chances of another blackout rage.

(Frostbite and Danny would never know that Jazz was fully aware of her actions.)

(She just didn't care anymore, Danny was more important.)

Danny had healed over the few months they were in Gotham, his incision wound now a grotesque Y-shaped scar over his scrawny chest that would never fade. His ecto-levels were improving with constant exposure to a natural portal, corrupted as it was, and slowly he was gaining back his sense of self.

Jazz didn't talk much anymore, but Danny was all too happy to argue with her- about her ripping him away from his haunt, killing his parents, his friends, and going out as a vigilante almost every night.

(As she had guessed, Danny was relieved that the Joker was dead and not a ghost.)

(He'd never know that Joker had returned as a ghost, but the Regent crushed his core before he could even form words.)

(Both Sam and Danny approved of her trophy though.)

At the other end of Crime Alley, tucked away in a safe house, Jason Todd was dying.

Well, so he thought, as his heart ached in his chest and beat so fast it could almost rip itself from his rib cage.

(If he was a lesser man, he might’ve gone crying to Bruce for help, but not in this life.)

Jason had collapsed on his bed in full gear, sans helmet, as the pain began to wrack his body. Was he truly dying again?

(He wasn’t ready to. Not again.)

And to think his night started so well.

He’d woken up a few minutes before his alarm went off, the hazy dregs of sleep trying to lure him back in, back to the rather nice dream he’d been having.

(Feminine build in bloody armor, a teasing grin, soft lips against his own.)

He didn’t even have patrol that night, his one day off a week he could just relax as Jason, not Jay Peters or Red Hood- only for it to be ruined by the emergency alert on his phone announcing that his murderer had broken free again.

Fucking Joker.

Old familiar rage simmered low in Jason’s gut, but much to his surprise, his vision didn’t tint neon green. No haze of being on the verge of a blackout rage at the mere thought of his murderer.

Nothing.

(What was going on?)

It wasn’t as if the Pit Madness could just be gone, right?

Right?

(Jason Todd was no a fool, the Madness was still there.)

(Just… sedated. Like it didn’t need to boil to the surface anymore where it concerned his murderer.)

And for the first time in a very long while, Jason felt like himself again.

Until the agony began.

A/N:

{I swear I try writing something that’s not angst for once and this is what I get. Great. Well as long as someone likes it, right?}

{Oh and sliding in an AU for Jason too! Not Halfa!Jason, because I’m not a particular fan of how I would write it. But something more akin to what he was when he dug himself out of his grave pre-dip in corrupted Ectoplasm ala League of Assassins.}

[rose-icosahedron]

The Prodigal in Book Of Hours is Gwendolen Farouk*

(explaining my friend @clintonlighthouse's theory as I understand it)

*this does not mean Gwendolen Farouk is The Prodigal** **This will be explained later.

This post contains major spoilers for the ending of The Lady Afterwards and minor spoilers for the beginning of Book of Hours, as well as discussions of cannibalism and filicide. If you are familiar with either of these characters, you know why.

Part one: Who is The Prodigal?

"Brancrug, March 7th, 1936,

'There has been no Librarian at Hush House since the fire - seven years now. Suitable candidates are very difficult to find, but perhaps we have found one in you. Take care on your journey - the seas around Brancrug are treacherous…'"

To construct a theory about a character, you must know who they are.

As the newest Librarian of Hush House, the player-character of Book of Hours wakes up on the shore of St Brandan's cove following a shipwreck. They are then tasked to figure out what is left of them, and The Prodigal finds that they still have their Chor and Phost (elements of the soul), as well as their journal. They will also remember their reason for choosing to come to hush house: Their parents are trying to eat them, an inevitability of when any immortals have children.

"My parents were Long - which is to say immortal - and Long are not permitted to make children. Their punishment is this: now that they know I live, they cannot rest until they devour me. Here in Hush House, I will be safe. It is even possible that I might learn to shape a weapon to defend myself." (Memories: the Prodigal)

Later on The Prodigal will solve a very minor Lantern challenge allowing them to read the hammered copper journal and be reminded of their origins, and the player will be told that "The Prodigal's dearest wish is sanctuary".

This is most of the information that can be gleaned about The Prodigal, and the rest of the information that can be gained about them specifically is in relation to their future: the different victories they can gain. These are about The Prodigal's future, however, not their past, so we do not need to dwell on them here. In fact, we should take a look into the past at Gwendolen Farouk.

Part two: Who is Gwendolen Farouk?

"You've been summoned to Alexandria, a city of coloured lights and curious histories. An old friend needs you to track down a woman. She's probably in trouble. Probably trouble herself.

Cherchez la femme, the saying goes. But what does the lady look for?" (5)

In the table top roll playing game The Lady Afterwards, a group of players (playing as alternate versions of some of the main characters of Cultist Simulator). Look for a woman named Audrey Leigh Howard at the behest of one Loretta Farouk.

In the process of their investigation, they learn Loretta has a daughter named Gwendolen. Records of her family show inconsistencies and it is eventually revealed that Gwendolen is actually the daughter of Audrey Leigh Howard and her lover Everett, two Long planning on eating their daughter in order to sate their hunger.

However the players may choose to intervene for Gwendolen's sake, leaving many endings for Gwendolen's story. The game runner's guide provides many potential endings, and since Gwen is to become The Prodigal, these are what we care about.

Maybe the players fail and Gwendolen is eaten, maybe she is whisked away by one Madame Matutine, maybe the player's give her magical water saved for her by her aunt so that she may be forgotten by the world and live in safety. Or maybe, none of those things happen.

Gwendolen gives the players a hastily written note musing about her future, thanking them for her survival and saying she might want to study and find some sort of peace and safety from her parents.

Becoming the Librarian of Hush House would of course be that, but how would she get there in the first place?

Part 3: Connecting the Dots

"A letter to me from St Rhonwen's Trust. The Trust's connection with Hush House is probably benevolent, but persistently obscure." (A Letter to The Librarian)

"Perhaps we have found a suitable candidate in you." The first thing the player reads when they play Book of Hours is a piece of text (the quote at the beginning of this essay) that is divided into two pieces. We have already touched on the second half, written in first tense, which states that the Librarian was in the shipwreck. However we have not touched on the first, which is written in quotes and second tense, states that it is hard to find a suitable candidate for the Librarian of Hush House but that you might be one.

Across the game, the combination of quotes and changed tense is used to represent things that are either said to the Librarian or direct transcriptions of text the Librarian has read. This, combined with the fact it is placed before the Librarian's memory of their shipwreck, implies that it was read or heard by the Librarian prior to their decision to head to Hush House, and is probably their invitation to the position.

The author or speaker of the text is left ambiguous, but later on the Librarian receives a letter from St. Rhowen's Trust asking if arrived and saying their will send a yearly stipend "as previously promised". It seems then that the Trust was the one to select and invite the Librarian.

The connection between St. Rhowen's Trust and Hush House is explicitly stated to be unknown to the Librarian, although when meeting one of the former Librarian's, Dr. Serena Blackwood, the Librarian mentions the Trust has worked with her as well. That connection is also left ambiguous, but a clearer connection is available in the Lady Afterwards game runner's guide. "Serena Blackwood is the founder of the St. Rhonwen Trust, a charitable fund established for the advancement of education, chiefly through scholarships for promising young talents." (32)

Beyond this, within The Lady Afterwards, Dr. Serena Blackwood is noted to be protecting Gwendolen and have an interest in her, as well as the Trust is stated to have provided Gwendolen a scholarship to the Egyptian University.

While this could be enough to make an argument for Dr. Blackwood setting up Gwendolen with a position at Hush House once it becomes available, or at least recommending her the position, there is even more evidence found in Gwendolen's letter to the players if she survives.

This quote both further states Dr. Blackwood's interest in Gwendolen, as well as her willingness to help her, given that she is "offering her time to think". A position at Hush House would be exactly what Dr. Blackwood wants for Gwendolen, both safety and a chance for her to achieve something.

Gwendolen could become the next Librarian of Hush House, and if she did she would match every detail of The Prodigal: A child of two Long on the run. More than that, Gwen is intelligent and innocent, intending not to become Long even if she does want to study the Mansus, both aligning with the pieces of the soul---Chor and Phost---The Prodigal has remaining. Beyond that, The Prodigal's diary is for lack of a better term flavored like Gwen's story, being made of copper (which Forge Long's blood, like Audrey, is said to resemble) and requiring completion of a Lantern (like Everett) mystery.

(I find it fitting that Gwendolen, so haunted by her parents, would have a journal reminiscent of them. Not only is it in some way about them; but Gwendolen was haunted by visions of a Lighthouse which she later interpreted as her parents calling our for her, they would still call for her in her dreams.)

This ties up almost everything, however it does leave one thing un-answered: Gwendolen doesn't always survive, how can she be in another game?

Part four: The Genius of the Secret Histories Timeline and Video Games.

"The attention of the Hours is drawn to the bloodiest wars. Afterwards, the Histories are braided like hair." (a Forbidden Epic)

Gwendolen does not always survive, but The Prodigal is not always the Librarian, in fact The Prodigal is only the Librarian one twelfth of the time.

This reveals a detail of all of the Secret Histories games. Any run possible within any of the games could be canon to the others. (I just think it's neat).

Part five: Conclusion

Every version of The Prodigal is Gwendolen Farouk, although not every version of Gwendolen becomes The Prodigal (Not mine, for example, since she ended up with an assistant and missing and arm. Sorry Gwen). And I just spent the evening of my first day back to school writing a 1.5K word long essay about a game series. Goodnight.

(Essays work like fics, if you want to encourage me to write more insane essays at inopportune times, tell me what you thought)

[mancer-in-the-abbey]

hi mancer!! so i was just perusing my own alpha ghoul tag and came across your soulmate au ficlet (that i ADORE) and was wondering if you had any more soulmate headcanons or thoughts for the other papas or ghouls. only if it itches your brain, of course!

♡- @ghuleh-recs

HOOOOOOOMYGOD I am so sorry this has taken me so long to get to 😭 I was completely out of the fandom there for a hot minute but I’m back now that I have the time to write again. Thanks so much!! I’m so glad you liked it, that means the world to me, genuinely!

Part of the reason this took so long is because ohhhhhh boy, let me tell you, the story of Copia’s soul marks is a train wreck since I am a DIEHARD for Copia x Polyghouls. Here’s a link to the original concept for those interested, this got a bit long so I’m putting most of it under a read more :)

Now anyway:

Copia, unlike Terzo, was not born with any soul marks. In fact, he lived the majority of his life completely blank, no sign of any soulmate to begin with.

This, while certainly uncommon, isn’t the most unheard of. Sometimes people just… don’t have a soul mate. This is an especially prevalent phenomenon amongst The Clergy, who celebrate a lack of soulmate as a sign of being favored by The One Below, a true freedom away from fate as written.

And this is all well and good, but for Copia it was just one more difference between him and his brothers, all of whom have soul marks. I mean, even Secondo had a soul mark! Secondo! And HE doesn’t?? Feels a little personal. Imperator tries to comfort him on the subject in her own way, but phrasing it as having “no distractions from your duty as part of the church” really just makes him feel more alone than anything.

Be that as it may, Copia spends the majority of his adult life under the impression that he has no soulmate. It hurts some days more than others, but it is something he learns to accept over the years.

Until one day, after a completely mundane shift at the treasury, Copia strips off his Cardinal uniform to find his entire right forearm almost completely black, with trails of galaxies and stardust spiraling up from his wrist before petering out at the elbow.

So Copia quietly freaks the fuck out because “unholy shit what the fuck is this I’m never going to be able to wear short sleeves again” but eventually he puts two and two together to realize this must be a soul mark, which must mean his soulmate was either JUST born (ew) or was just summoned from Hell (much more plausible and much less ew.)

And Copia is utterly ecstatic! He has a soulmate! Praise Satan! Dude spends the rest of the week giggling to himself about it, so much so his brothers think he’s got an honest-to-Asmodeus crush on someone and all of them are desperate to know who their favorite little rat has got their eye on.

At their behest, Copia promises to show them what exactly he’s been so excited about at their next game night. On the night of, he strips off his uniform and rolls up his sleeve-

Only to find more patterns bleeding up his elbow where there once was blank skin.

Taking off his button-up shirt reveals that the spiral of stars and nebulas had grown into drops and rivulets of water, creeping up his right arm like rain on a window and spilling into a pool on his deltoid.

Copia, nearly has a fucking heart attack while the rest of his brothers stare in awe at the art, holding his arm this way and that so the patterns are visible in the dim light of the game room. As they start to brainstorm who the tattoos might match to, however, Copia cuts in, not wanting to rush into finding his soulmates.

For one, if they really were freshly-summoned ghouls like he thought, they’d likely not be familiar with the concept and starting out the gate with such a proclamation would scare them off. For another, while Imperator might have a soft spot for Copia and is much less the monster some make her out to be, she would still likely have opinions about her little Cardi suddenly being cosmically tied to a bunch of lowly ghouls.

So, it was decided that Copia would be patient about things, opting to hide his soul marks under his uniform till the day came where they lit up into color on their own. He didn’t care how long it took; just knowing there were two special people out there cosmically meant for him gave him more private joy than he’d ever had before.

It was another year before anything new happened, and when it did Copia was so busy that he didn’t even notice until someone pointed out a weird shape poking over his clavicle.

It was an awkward affair, angling himself just right in front of the mirror as to get a view of the full mark, but sure enough, a new pattern wound it’s way up his right shoulder, across his upper back and collarbone, and down the left. This time, the mark took the form of angular tree branches decorated with leaves and flowers.

This tattoo, unlike the others, did not remain a mystery for long, as Copia was very enthusiastically introduced just a day later to Primo’s new assistant: the single tallest earth ghoul he’s ever seen, with muddy brown hair, a sharp but sturdy build, and antlers that branched in a way not unlike the wood etched in his skin.

It may not have been love at first sight, but something deep inside Copia told him that this was the one, that this ghoul was one of the ones he would share his heart with. He wanted to start off strong, say something smooth and flirty that might entice the ghoul in front of him to seek him out in the future.

Instead, of course, Copia stared and stutterd like a broken steam engine. He left the encounter thoroughly embarrassed and Mountain left thoroughly confused as to what about him had this higher clergy member so frazzled.

It wasn’t the greatest of introductions. But it would get better, right? They were soulmates, it would HAVE to get better eventually.

Still, it left Copia even more reluctant to take any action. After all, his track record with social interactions was almost famously lackluster, and with that introduction being as bad as it was, it didn’t exactly give him much confidence.

And so the months started to slip by. Weeks of work and bureaucracy flew past as he and his brothers grew older, as Secondo was forced to abdicate the position of Papa, as Terzo rose to take his place, as Copia’s career stagnated with no clear aim forward. Weeks on top of months stacked into two whole years of watching the world turn, sneaking the occasional wistful glance at that tall, proud figure toiling in the garden and the green house.

There was a minor shift in the monotony after the incident with Alpha and the remaining band ghouls of the previous era. With most banished back to the Pit and the lucky few remaining forced into retirement, the Ghost project was in need of new faces if it wanted to survive. For the first time since Ghost’s revival in the mid 2000’s, auditions were open to all branches across the globe, with specific summonings reserved in the case that no satisfactory replacement could be found. Copia, though not related to the project personally and already burdened with a SUPREMELY busy schedule, offered his ear and opinion to Terzo throughout the process.

It was through this that he first came to know the ghouls named Aether and Dewdrop: not in person, no, but in the form of headshot photos and audition recordings.

Later, once both were hired onto the team formally and moved to the Italian branch, Copia got to meet the two in person, however the interaction was brief. Taking up a position as head of the Treasury in a desperate attempt to shake the monotony of a dead-end job left him with little time to spend around the Ministry’s crowning achievement. The most he could hope for was that he didn't embarrass himself too badly in front of these new ghouls, although why he cared so badly about the opinions of two strangers, he couldn't tell.

And so, another year passed. Copia found enough time to peek in on one or two of the band’s practices, but never long enough to speak after, never mind get any of the band ghoul’s names.

And then, very suddenly, Copia was forced to give the Ghost Project his undivided attention.

The days after his brothers deaths were a complete blur of anxiety, grief, shock, and the overwhelming need to keep going before anything else could go wrong. When it was time to summon replacements for the ghouls lost in the aftermath, he was barely able to pull himself together enough to perform the rituals correctly, and even then it wasn’t perfect.

One five-way hybrid ghoul, two ghoulettes, and a water ghoul later, Copia was drained mentally and physically. 3 summonings in rapid succession would take the wind out of anyone, but such unorthodox summonings to boot had him light-headed. Honestly, he was just thankful the last one was normal. If there would be a spectacle every time he summoned, he might actually vomit.

He barely even remembered taking off his uniform when he went to sleep that night.

The next day, Copia very blearily woke up and found he forgot to remove his glove from his left hand. He goes to take it off. And then is startled into jarring clarity when he finds his whole left arm looks like it was dipped in pitch black ink up to his elbow.

A mirror reveals the full damage: the complete black blurs and smears into a gradient of grey, going from dark to light the further up the arm it gets, interspersed with rays of light through water. Turning around reveals his back to be a collage of clouds, going from wispy and light trails at the top to large, fluffy ones hanging near the bottom.

Copia stared at the images on his skin for a long while, moving them this way and that. Then, with very shaky hands, he picked up his phone and made a call to Imperator, letting her know he'd come down with something and needed a sick day. He’s still recovering from such a stressful summoning, you understand. He'd be right as rain tomorrow. He just needed a day to process everything going on.

————————————————————

Meanwhile, with the band ghouls:

Swiss: Hey so like this new flesh suit came with a free rat skull tattoo? It's got some shit written around it about never walking alone too? Any idea what to do with that?

Cumulus: Yeah, me and Cirrus have one of those too! Except the words are different for both of ours. Hers is all about bewitching. Mine's... something, something, sun, moon, stars in the sky? Is that normal?

Aether, Dew, and Mountain, all making eye contact with each other knowing damn well what those "tattoos" are and that they all have similar marks too but not wanting to freak out these Fresh Out The Pit new ghouls: Yeah haha that's totally normal, don't worry about it too much :)

[telltalecoyote]

Summoned by Rytlock Brimstone to face punishment over the previous night's deeds, Cassius grapples with guilt and remorse for the crime that led to the injury of a fellow soldier at the behest of his sire's strange dream for the legions. Very short story below!

AKA Cassius did a bad thing and now he faces the consequences

(This is a VERY early scene I was thinking about a LOT as I do my play-through of base game)

With no sleep the night prior, Cassius had been sitting at his desk for hours, head planted firmly in the palms of his paws, a summons was delivered not long ago and laid before him, very pointedly left on the blank side as he hoped it would simply disappear.

“Tribune Brimstone.” The signature at the bottom of the summons read, not ‘Rytlock,’ or the even more informal ‘Ryt’ that he was known to use with Cassius for short notice and that alone made stomach drop further than it has in any of his recent field assignments.

He knew what this was about, and the astonishment lingered. Despite covering up his tracks and his sire's, he had even made it seem like no crime had been committed at all. Cassius thought to himself, "What was I thinking? It was treason on both our ends. I was an idiot for believing him, I deserve whatever happens."

His mind raced back to the promises of last night, of revolutionizing the legions, his sire's assurances that no cub would face the horrors he had endured nor have to grow up struggling with no support for similar situations as his. Cassius, however, knew it was too good to be true. A good man was comatose because of him, and he felt responsible. "Change the legions, might as well make me Khan Ur while you’re at it."

The walk to Brimstone's office felt agonizing, minutes stretching into an eternity due to his overwhelming guilt. Rounding the stairs, he tried hard not to glance out over the balcony and over towards the Asuran portal where it all transpired, but he couldn't resist.

With a curt nod to the charr standing guard outside the Tribune’s office, Cassius stalled a moment and took a deep breath, hearing from his flank; “Brimstone’s pissed, hate to be the guy who got on his bad side.”

“Agreed.” Cassius couldn’t tell if he was being mocked or not, but it mattered little. As he entered the office, it felt as if the air was sucked out of the room once it was just the two of them, despite having half expected to find his sire dragged in here as well, bound in cuffs.

“Ryt–” Cassius started, hands folded behind his back in respect as he straightened up, he could anticipate the anger in the Tribune’s voice.

“Brimstone, Witherpaw, it’s Tribune Brimstone.” Rytlock growled, Cassius couldn’t see his face as he stood by the office’s window, back turned. “You know why you are here, did you think I wouldn’t know?”

Cassius gulped. “...Sir, It was a mistake, I don’t know what went through my mind–”

Rytlock spun around, slamming his fist against his desk, causing a ruckus; startling and silencing the younger charr who still stood firm. “Are you stupid, Witherpaw? Or do you just think I am?

Cassius didn’t respond, grimacing as he couldn’t find the strength to meet his superior’s gaze.

"You were such a good soldier, did everything I asked,  went above and beyond with little asking from me," Rytlock's gaze unmoving, "And yet, you were so eager to throw everything away like this? Because your sire filled your head with lies?" 

After a brief pause and no response, he continued. “Even I used to think Ash was stupid to let someone as arrogant and sloppy as Oberon be a spy, but maybe I was wrong if he was able to pull the wool over your eyes, of all people!”

"I apologize, sir. It’s just, he’s my—Oberon, he gave me reasons to trust in what he was doing, even if not for those purposes, he would have no reason—or even ability—to use that information for harm, you’ve said you trusted my call in these sorts of situations." Cassius spoke up, his voice notably quieter.

“That was before you got your fellow charr hurt.” Rytlock didn’t yell this time, and yet it felt even worse. "Do you know what power that words can hold for charr like him; charr even worse than him? Thinking like that is dangerous, Witherpaw." 

Rytlock spat, his glare burning holes into Cassius who struggled to maintain eye contact. "Thinking like that is what creates defectors, it always does, like... like moths to a flame, THE Flame!"

Behind his back, Cassius’ claws dug into his arms as he weathered the assault. Cassius was much younger than the tribune, but he was no cub. Yet, he felt like a child being scolded by his father, a pet being punished by its owner, he couldn't help but take this treatment on a personal level rather than the interaction between military personnel like he should have.

Eventually, Rytlock sighed. Cassius had been one of the tribune’s most loyal legionnaires in what felt like ages; he didn’t wish to give Cassius more reason to turn on him, that would be a waste of talent. "I could have you executed on the spot, but for both our sakes, we can say this was just another crime being pinned on his back by a rival of his. I trust you."

Cassius kept his head low, and despite the words of reassurance; he simply was too afraid to look up. "More importantly, I already have an inkling as to where and to whom that information is going; it won't prove to be any more trouble for me as far as I am concerned. I am simply disappointed in you." 

"You won’t screw up like this again. I have a few assignments coming up that call for my attention, I know I can trust in you to join me." Rytlock grumbled, he approached Cassius and hooked a claw under the younger charr’s chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. “There, you will listen and do EXACTLY as I command.”

"Yes, thank you, Tribune Brimstone," Cassius gulped, noting the change in Rytlock’s tone—stern, reassuring, and familiar. "Anything you ask."

[themotherofblood]

Did I Take It Too Far

Tywin Lannister x Reader

Tears of Gold - 27

The sun had found it’s way to the Red Keep this morning, allowing for some warmth in the chilled cold morning winds. You’d sat out in your gardens alone this morning since your sons had decided to sleep for longer. Your plants luckily hadn’t withered yet, many at court believed it was your good heart and some whispered rumours of greenseers and black magic.

You’d basked in the warmth of the sun as your uncle sat across from you, scribbling away at the many parchments of poetry he wrote for his daughters. He’d even written in for you, a slightly macabre one, it spoke of blood and lost time yet symbolically beautiful.

“Your husband has named me judge, for Tyrion Lannister’s trial.” Oberyn wiped the ink from his hands.

“So I’ve been told. I suppose you have earned your vengeance. Even though it is the wrong Lannister.” You shrugged, still packing soil in the clay pots.

“Would you rather I kill your husband?”

“Uncle…” You shook your head at his antics.

“Just giving you the option darling.” He smirked at his jokes.

The trial often scared you, you knew it in your heart and soul that Tyrion had not killed Joffrey, for one thing; he had nothing to gain from it, other than petty vengeance which brought you too the other fact; Tyrion was far too cunning to leave suspects if he truly murdered his nephew. Your husband however wanted to see none of said facts, he was biased and the seven hells know he wanted Tyrion dead.

“My lady, my lord, there has been summons for a council meeting.” Podrick bowed infrint if you and Oberyn.

At the behest of Tyrion, you had taken Podrick as a squire for Fredrick, he might finally teach the boy how to fight. However his loyalty made you want to command Fredrick in knighting him.

You walked with Oberyn to the council meeting, he helped you up the stairs of the tower, needing to take short breaks in between. Your husband much aware of your condition appeared to have no ill regard towards your tardy appearance. You sat onto your chair, letting if a sigh of relief as you rubbed your growing belly, Cersei as usually held a disapproving glare towards the members of the council.

“There is an urgent matter to be discussed, my lord.” Lord Varys spoke first. “The Targaryen girl in the East seems to have survived, she is also rumoured to be travelling with three baby dragons, and her last whereabouts are reported to be Qarth.”

“Then we hire better assains for the job, I'm sure the master of coun can facilitate for such an amount.” Cersei looked at you with a sneer on her face.

“Last I was told, she was a child? I don't she has grown in the past summer. What are the five and ten? A child!” You shook your head in disapproval.

“She has two advisors at her side and a small horde of Dothraki,” Varys informs the council,

“And Dragons.” Cersei added

“Baby Dragons,” You corrected her “It would be years before they’d be large enough for her to ride.” You claimed, highly irked by being asked to facilitate the murder of a child.

“What of Mormont? Was he not spying upon the girl for the crown.” Tywin questioned

“He seems to be loyal to her cause, my lord.” Varys informed your husband.

The subject of the murder of Daenerys Targaryen was dropped for your sake, you were sure they would try to sway you once more to hire assassins; from your knowledge the girl held her household in Qarth with no intentions of conquering Westeros.

Your husband’s head however, she would be just another name in the hordes of people that wanted Lord Tywin Lannister dead.

You had proclaimed for another lunch, much to discuss about Tommen’s ascension as the Tyrell’s fell into yours and Tywin’s scheme of increasing their support and dowry. Margerey would be set to wed the boy after an appropriate mourning for her unconsummated marriage.

In attendance were you and your husband sat at the heads of the tables, Cersei along with Tommen and your uncle Oberyn with Ellaria. An effort to dwindle the turmoil between the families. A smaller yet awkward conversation ensued with hard tried responses, you hoped no one would begin talks of politicking; the best way to begin yet another argument within the Martell’s and Lannister’s

“She was to sail to Essos, before…the wedding.” Oberyn snidely remarked, enjoying his third cup of wine. His tolerance to it was rather unmatched, he would put Tyrion to shame

“Essos is it?” Tywin looked to you, giving you a civil nod to elaborate further.

“We have a family manse there, Summer Shore. In fact, you should take Myrcella there. I’ve heard the waters there are glorious.” You smiled at your uncle.

“A whore’s city no doubt?” Cersei grumbled as she sipped on her goblet, looking at Oberyn unimpressed.

“Our ancestors had the palace and city built.” You defended, sounding offended at her remarks.

“A woman wasn’t she? A Targaryen courtesan?” Cersei sneered, clearly making attempts to undermine your blood

“Some believed she was a Queen, riding a three headed horse.” Oberyn glared at her.

“The histories are a fickle thing, my lady. Some believe the Mad King had bed every lady for the vassal house.” Ellaria japed, clearly making a remark about Joanna. That is where Tywin drew the line as his hand clenched into his goblet. Clearly the mistreatment of his late wife at court was a highly sensitive matter.

You had found yourself in your own chambers later in the evening, sipping onto a tea laced with minuscule amounts of milk of the poppy. You entire body had began to ache yet again, still battling the effects of your sixth month. Your handmaidens had been rather helpful with your sons, it hurt your surely about not being able to mother them yourself and yet your body would give out from the council meetings and the reports from the city watch.

“The aches have returned?” You husband’s voice boomed from behind you, the grimace on your face turned to a pained smile, shuffling your feet off the chaise of him to sit. He waved you off, letting your feet rest on his lap as he reached forward to rest his palm against your bum.

“I have called for advanced surgeons from Essos.” He looked over your pained state.

“We have Pycelle…?” You frowned and yet remained grateful at your husbands efforts to remedy your discomforts.

“That old stout seems to be incapable of determining your condition, he says you are well which any daft person could give you one look and know that you are suffering.” Tywin complained, as his other hand rubbed up and down your calf.

“My mother laboured for my birth too,” you reassured him, however you to feared the birthing bed this time. “I have enough fight in me to put King Jahereys’s seed to shame.” You japed

“Dear god, I have three that I can barely tolerate, two that insist in throwing food at one another and you want another eleven?” Tywin scoffed, the corners of his lips curling up.

“I apologise for what my aunt said at the lunch.” You face fell into an apologetic gleam, as your reached forward to rest your hands atop his palm.

“She had not mentioned something I haven’t heard a hundred times over.” Tywin dismissed you sympathy, fussing over a cushion and placing it behind your back.

“Which brings me to…” Tywin shakes his head in frustration “You are to remain abed during Joffrey’s tombing and Tommen’s nuptials.”

“What! I can’t- Tywin those responsibilities would fall to me considering Cersei ever works.” You huffed in annoyance.

“No- this is my final word Y/N, other than council meetings and if you wish to promenade. No further responsibilities other than looking after yourself.” He commanded, your pleading eyes unmoving of his decision.

“What of the trial? I am on the council.” You argued.

“You are unwell, other might foolishly drown in your pretences; I do not.” He shook his head, much of his frustrations radiating off of him.

“I know, it helps me to think otherwise,” you reasoned “For I know if I sat here toiling in pain my mind will begin to believe the tragedy bestowed upon me.”

“And what is that tragedy?”

You gave him a look of knowing annoyance, he was clearly aware of what your were insinuating and yet pretended to be deaf.

“If this babe should- if I would survive.”

After months of considering the possibilities you had finally voiced your fears, nipping at your lower lip ad Tywin’s frown deepened.

“Nothing is going to happen to you, or this babe.” He proclaimed like his word was gospel.

You spent that night curled in your own bed, shuffling and huffing unable to sleep, even Tywin read through nearly the end of Joanquil and her knights as you struggled to find slumber. Somewhere along the night, his body had caved to his exhaustion, you stared at his face as you mindlessly rubbed your belly, afraid of future possibilities.

You did not want to lose this child however you did not want to lose your life either. You’ve barely lived, barely fought for your ground, barely loved someone and mothered his children. You thought of your sons, wondering if the birthing bed did indeed take you. Would Tywin be cruel to them as well? Should the child that might rip through your womb survive, would he torment it too?

You had to live, for the sake of this child and your sons. You had to will strength into your body for the gods could only ponder on the question of what Tywin Lannister might become after losing yet another wife.

[crazyforbarbatos]

Obey Me x Supernatural : You’re summoned to the Devildom but Winchesters are your brothers

A/N: This was wild but I enjoyed writing this SO much! I have more ideas for Obey Me x Supernatural!

Warning: Swearing

you were on a hunt with Sam & Dean

just investigating some ghost business

and next thing you know, you’re being teleported away

last thing you hear is Dean aggressively yelling for Cas

and Sam tries to grab you but he’s too late

and now you’re standing in some room

surrounded by a bunch of dudes

well alright

this was not how you wanted your Wednesday to go, but you’re not mad

they were all kinda hot

WAIT

is this what heaven looks like?

did you die?

shit, one of your brothers are gonna sacrifice themselves to bring you back

Damn it, Dean/Sam!

It was your turn on the sacrifices

“Welcome to the Devildom!”

Devildom?

So this wasn’t heaven?

Damn it.

Didn’t Sam and Dean both go through hell literally in Hell?

did you touch some bewitched object?

well it’s alright, you’ve got your bag on you filled with everything you may need to protect yourself

“This has been a nice meeting, but I would like to go back.”

yeah from the exchanging of glances, that wasn’t going to happen

fuck

well, you were probably fine

you pretty much talked through the going-ons of the red head

oops

“My name is Diavolo.”

Diavolo? Alright

Kinda sounds like Diablo

that’s suspicious

“I’m the ruler of all demons, and here all know of me.”

???

what was this dude even going on about?

Crowley rules hell

“And someday soon, I’ll be crowned king of the Devildom.”

Where the fuck was Crowley anyways!?

Wait first things first

“Why am I even here?”

“I will explain it to you.”

Well.

Wait until Sam & Dean find out that you’ve met the hottest men in the entire world

“This is Lucifer-”

Excuse you?

Lucifer?

The one who possessed your brother?

“He won’t be when I’m done!”

you’re literally restrained by one single fellow who just kind of picked you up by the scruff of your shirt

you just see red

“LUCIFER YOU MOTHER FUCKER! YOU TORTURED BOTH OF MY BROTHERS! I WILL KILL YOU!”

and you saw Lucifer transform?

What the heck?

this was new

and honestly you don’t understand why the blonde one is laughing hysterically to the point he falls to the floor (you learn later that this is Satan)

it boils your blood

???

You’re so lost

and pissed

“Tell me what is going on, why Lucifer is her and not in his prison or else I will use my holy water.”

It isn’t long before the big buff fellow (who you learn later is Beelzebub) put you down at the behest of Diavolo

and for your safety, you draw a salt circle around yourself

you listen to Diavolo explain the Devildom and that you were summoned to be a transfer student

well, that’s not very hell, is it?

actually this doesn’t sound like your world or your version of hell at all

and this Prince of the Hell, er, the Devildom was…good?

What?

and he wants to reunite the three realms?

honestly you had to commend the guy

“If no one’s going to attempt to kill me, is there any way I can get in touch with my brothers? They’ll find a way to get here and I don’t imagine that’d be pretty.”

“No apology?”

“None, Luci. I don’t trust any of you.”

“How about we do some introductions.” (Diavolo)

[jefarawol]

I can only assume you have good reason to be so bold. Why, one might even think you were planning to summon a primal. Because that would do much to explain the sizable shipment of crystals you recently received from your smuggler friends─whom our Ishgardian allies have since detained, lest you wonder.

I'd like to hear more about the Griffin. The real Griffin. Your performance earlier didn't fool us!

Ah. The famous Scions of the Seventh Dawn. I should have known better than to think I could conceal the truth from you lot. You are right. I am not the Griffin. But I speak with his voice, and it was at his behest that we procured those crystals.

You are wrong, however, if you think that we procured them to summon a primal. We used them to reach an accord with the Amalj'aa. In exchange for crystals to summon their god, they will aid us in the fight for Ala Mhigan liberation.

You've got to be joking! Have you gone completely mad!? When people find out you helped the lizardmen summon Ifrit, they'll turn on the Resistance! Ala Mhigo will never be free!

This isn't a faerie tale, girl. We don't have the luxury to play at being honorable heroes. It's because the likes of you wouldn't sully your saintly hands that Ala Mhigo's been under the yoke for the past twenty years! But the Griffin won't stand for it, and neither will we! We're ready to do whatever it takes!

What proof do you have of this arrangement with the Amalj'aa?

What, aside from a lack of crystals? None. But the beastmen have a great big pile of the things, if you fancy looking. You might want to hurry, though─it'll not be long before they summon their god. Search our camp if you don't believe me. We have naught to hide.

If there is a cache to be found, Yda and I will find it.

Then let us be off... But before we do, are you perchance the Warrior of Light?

I am.

Aye, I thought so. You should know that a great many who have joined us did so because you saved them─because you showed them that one brave woman can make a difference. You saved me too, once.

I did?

Helped a friend over in Quarrymill make some medicine I needed. But that was a lifetime ago... On behalf of my brothers and sisters, I thank you. You gave us hope where there was none; courage and strength when all was lost. We shall not squander your gift.

I know that look, Yda, and I do not like it. You cannot seriously be contemplating taking up arms with that band of cutthroats?

I... I just...

If the Griffin and his men have their way, it is only a matter of time before the situation in Ala Mhigo comes to a head. Your homeland's future teeters on a knife-edge, and any reckless action, however small, could have irrevocable consequences.

You mustn't lose sight of that, Yda. When the time comes, we must all make our choices, but we must do so in full possession of the facts. Now let us away��there is work to be done.

Quarrymill, he said? Do you remember...?

Vaguely, I recall helping some, to garner trust to speak to the people here, but his name escapes me.

Forgive me. You cannot be expected to recall every name and face, and besides, it's not as if it matters. I have long admired how you live in the present. How you focus on the problems at hand and always keep moving forward.

So let us keep moving forward together, Jefara. We must find and secure those crystals─this is no time for looking back.

[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 25

Cw: refrences to the Battle of Rook’s Rest, murder

Gif by @julie-streep

Taglis: @mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9 @sweethoneyblossom1 @ewanmitchellcrumbs @aemondx

“Let me go, he would not dare hurt me.” Aemma speaks up, despite being queen the adults speak over her as if she were a child.

“No. That is out of the question, Aemma.” Both say and yet she says her piece before they could stop her.

“I am with child.

He would not risk the death of his heir, gods know Queen Alicent went at great lengths to get me in the family way.” Aemma speaks up.

“And if he orders his men to kill you, what then, the babe dies inside you.” Her grandmother argued, this time with her lord hand agreeing with her.

“He will not, I will be escorting her there under a peace banner.” Aemond comes dressed in his riding leathers, ready to leave now that Vhagar has answered his summons.

Only took the better part of three weeks and a kidnapping attempt to get Vhagar to stop coiling with any dragon she got her claws on.

“Why should we trust you? You are his heir if he dies without children. Who is to say you will not kill her?” Her grandfather is incensed, unaware of what everyone knows.

Strange how her secrets felt so public and yet many were still in the dark.

“Because he is the father of my child, the pox rendered Aegon sterile. At the Queen’s behest Aegon found a man to do the job for him.” Aemma answered, hating it had come to this. “She did not expect Aegon would seek out his own brother.”

His brother who she had already been half in love with by then and he with her.

“His cause cannot afford his line to die out. They would not follow a second son even if the elder is unfit to be king.” Aemond answered, a hint of bitterness seeping through his façade.

She had heard many of his tirades against his brother, she had fanned the flames a bit, she must confess.

But then again it does not take much to dislike Aegon.

Had his mother made attempts to correct his behavior instead of trying to yell or beat sense into him, all this could’ve been avoided.

“No, we cannot let you surrender before the first battle, your allies will think you weak.” Her grandfather refused her suggestion with no second thought.

“Not unless I have made a widow out of her.” Her grandmother is adamant in having the last word. “We will lose anyways, why not cut off the head and make them scatter?”

It doesn’t matter that Aemma is queen and her husband Lord Hand.

She has chosen to die in her place and will not let anyone stop her.

“No, I forbid it.” Grandfather said as if she were still a child under his care and not his wife and equal. “Send more ravens to Daemon, we wait for him.”

Staunton begged his queen to come save him, but it was her against the green’s army. It would be a suicide mission.

If she lived, she would be captured and possibly executed for treason, if she lost, the cause dies with her.

Aemma has never seen anyone as expendable, but her council has decided someone must die in her place.

Her grandmother, to her alarm, volunteered.

If it were up to her and her alone, Aemma would surrender before anyone else dies for her.

But she could not do that, the ravens have flown, the banners called, and blood spilled in her name.

As ill prepared they were for this battle, it would be cowardice to admit defeat without having ever tried.

To give up without a fight would say those loyal lords and ladies died for nothing.

Fell, Hayford, Harte, Buckler, Caswell and Darklyn.

All those families were reduced to a handful of children kept under lock and key by the same people who killed their fathers and brothers and uncles and cousins.

Stokeworth, Rosby and Butterwell had bent the knee fearing a similar fate.

She cannot turn back no matter how much she wished.

Her mother is dead.

She is queen now.

“We cannot wait for Daemon and the longer we drag this out more lives will be lost. Stokeworth bent the knee as did Rosby, Duskendale still burns, we cannot afford to lose Rook’s Rest to them.” Grandmother argued against his suggestion to wait, to lose Rook’s Rest and let Daemon and Jace lead an assault from the north. “Aegon is still green enough, none of his opponents have been seasoned dragon riders. If anyone must go, it must be me.”

“Don’t do this, Rhaenys.” Grandfather has no argument besides that one.

Do not go, only death waits for you there.

“It has to be me.” She gave him a reassuring squeeze of his hand.

Aemma had grown up on their love story, how he came from the ends of the earth to prove to King Jaehaerys he was worthy of her.

If only she was not dying because of her.

Aemma doesn’t want more people to die.

If the battle is lost, she will give up her crown either way when they come knocking at Dragonstone.

Why not do so now and spare her grandmother?

Alicent was so fond of saying a true queen counts the cost to her people.

No crown is worth so much death.

Now she knows why her grandmother chose to let it be instead of fighting for her rights.

It is not worth it once you see the piles of bodies at your feet.

“And when the Usurper’s armies overwhelm you? What then?” Her grandfather continued his argument.

“I will take him into hell with me. Fear not, husband, I know the cost and I am willing to pay it.” The Red Queen answered. “We do not need to win; we only need to take their king.”

Until word of my death has come, do not let them leave.”

Those are the last words of the Queen Who Never Was.

His ambition would be the death of him and his, he remembers his mother saying when he refused to accept Viserys as Prince of Dragonstone for those short moons Jaehaerys still lived.

He only has his grandchildren and the bastard boy he passed off as Laenor’s ---Addam in truth was Laenor’s son, conceived to hide his nature some months before the wedding, Alyn may be Corlys’ or Vaemond’s, his mother is not sure--- left.

Word of Rhaenys’ death has yet to come, the fight may still be ongoing, but Corlys knows his wife of nearly forty years is dead.

When the Greens advance on to Dragonstone, it will be over.

Or so they will think.

“Have the queen examined, Maester. She believes she might be with child,” he orders the maester feigning discretion. “You may attend to her in her rooms, she should be in there.”

If she was pregnant, they could assuage their allies and buy enough time to truly wage war in case Aemond backs out of his deal with Aemma.

An heir consolidated her position and gave them time, the one thing they did not have now.

Eight moons are enough to stage a coup.

This truce will only be a temporal thing.

They had allies yes, but all too far away to do any good.

Their allies at court and in the coast had nearly all been captured and put to the death by the Kingmaker’s sword, their best fighter was in Harrenhal looking for proof the Rivers Woman was Rhaenyra’s murderer.

If she killed Rhaenyra, who was to say she wouldn’t kill the children in their beds?

Who could say she would not kill Aemma and the babe inside her at the Queen’s orders now that she is her servant?

I will kill them all, I will torch the fucking castle to the ground. They killed my wife and my daughter, and for that they must pay, he had vowed.

But killing the men of House Strong wouldn’t do anything, the witch sleeps in the dowager’s bed according to rumors.

Only way to get in there is through the infamous Lady Misery.

Lady Misery who told them about Aegon’s presence in the march up the coast with the Kingmaker.

Lady Misery who lost her only child thanks to Ser Otto’s meddling and wants her pound of flesh.

Eight moons is enough to avenge their dead and destroy the Greens once and for all.

[shdwtouch]

okay listen guys. we modded our origin run, right ? added 5e spells at the behest of our spellcaster, and then today I clock this spell.

a shadow spirit that embodies the emotion of fury, despair, or fear, huh ? just imagine if shade were to be consumed by the curse... letting out a shriek of rage, grief, or fear... and a shadow matching that emotion just... erupts from the darkness, as if summoned by her cry. imagine. like a fucking banshee.

also, to posit the concept of her being consumed by the curse. the curse is loss, right ? darkness, loss. losing yourself, losing your soul, losing your identity to the dark until you're literally just a shadow of your former self. until there is nothing left but darkness. I feel like shade being consumed by the curse would be the course of her faith in shar, blinded as she is by it. but she was already lost, that's why she's connected to the land, that's why she can survive in it. so what does she have to lose ? sure, shar would remove her pain, her emotion, but what does that leave behind ? nothing. because her identity was already gone. so we see the reverse. shade, consumed by her grief, by loss, by her anger and uncertainty. because everything else had already been taken from her, lost to the shadows.

also, I won't lie, I just want shade to be angry. she deserves to be angry. I want her to stalk the darkness enraged, enveloped wholly in her emotion. I have so many feels about this, I can't even put them to words ; A ;

[dawnswine]

once ,  there  had  been  a  boy,    his  heart’s  aspiration  had  been  an  inherited  one.  knighthood  &  valor  had  been  spoken  of   in   a  dream -   like  luster,   his   father’s  smile  engraved  in  his  memory  inundated  now  by  the  pungent  aroma  of  iron  &   death’s  ineludible   fate.    once ,   he  had  shared  his  dream  with  another  ,   spoken  across  the  intermittently  crackling  of  fire,   a  gaze  transfixed  on  the  mantle  of  stars.   his   hand  forms  a  fist  &  he  vows  himself  to  gallantry;  the  other  smiles  at  him ,  now  -   his  smile  is  gone.    how ,   through  the  passing  of  a  solitary  dawn  waning  to  dusk,   had  everything  been  taken  from  them.   he  held  his  father  ,    he  was  cold  -  too  cold  ,    the   whisper  of  death  dulls  eyes  once  teeming  with  fervor  for  this  world  of  theirs  ,   the  one  he  had  passed  onto  his  sons.   diluc’s  throat  was  raw  ,  the  ache  so  intense  it  hurt  to  breathe,  each  intake  a  shudder  of  agony.  how  long  had  he  screamed ,   the  immensity  of  his  lament  rose  to  celestia  in  its  behests.  he  had  given  &  given ,    benevolence  that  had  never  once  faltered  so  how  was  it  ?   that  with  the  faith  of  the  people  in  their hands  could  they  take  his  life. “   this  -  it’s  your  fault.”  because  there  had  to  be  someone  to  blame.     the  traitor  whose  shadow  encroached  on  their  home  ,   whose  visage  had  once  shone  with  a  zeal   akin  to  his  own  was  cast  now  in  the  wretched   tenebrosity  of  a  foul  atrocity.    he   should  have  cried  ,   his   soul  pleas  with  him  for  mercy  &   he  will  hear  not  of  it.    diluc’s  footfalls  are  heavy  with  intent  ,  gloved  hands  furl  around  the  hilt  of  his  sword -   his  father’s  sword  &   he  raises  it  ,   he  summons  his  adversary  with  austerity  that  burned so  hot  it  threatened  to  consume  him  to  a  cinder. “   stand   up  ,   face   what  you  have  done.”   his  cadence  trembles  &   his  legs  quake  with  the  severity  of  his  anguish.   his  father’s  voice  ,   subdued  ,   stifled  to  almost  silence  recites  their  initial  meeting  -   the  boy  who  had  no  home  &   the  family  who  had  accepted  him.   the  sentiments  of   boyhood  ,  treading  carefully  the  path  between  reticence  &  gaining  his  trust  -  the  first  time  his  brother  had  spoken  to  him  ,  the  first  time  he  had  spoken  of  his  dream. “  or  die  here.”   the  fire  is  hot  ,   so  hot  it  renders  his  leather  gloves  to  molten  black  ,  seeping  across  his  knuckles  -   burning  -   burning.    how  he  to  , was  burning.  Kaeya ‘s  eyes  meet  his  ,   a  glacial  rendition  of  recognition  ,   of  terror   &   before   he  can  retreat  ,  can  scramble  away  like  the  vermin  he  is  -   diluc’s  blade  comes  down  upon  him  ,   incandescent   with  the  fury  that  ate  away  at  him.

i promise a dabble & here's a song to go with it.

[shipcestuous-two]

My Cousin, My Lover: The Rosales Saga by F. Sionil Jose

(Hi! Former lurker/anon here. Behold my humble contribution to this blog. I’ve been sitting on this for a while now and I wish I could talk to more people about it. Too shy to do it IRL).

Francisco Sionil Jose (1924–2022) was a Filipino writer. Declared a National Artist for Literature in 2001, he’s best known for The Rosales Saga, which is composed of five historical novels centered on the town of Rosales. Other people have commented on the saga’s main themes: Philippine history, colonialism, class struggle, etc. I’m only here to talk about the cousincest.

In My Brother, My Executioner (published 1973), the main character Luis Asperri marries his paternal first cousin, Trining. Before we proceed, here’s some background. Luis is the illegitimate son of Don Vicente Asperri (rich landowner) and Nena (used to work for the Asperris as a domestic helper). Trining is the daughter of Don Vicente’s brother, who along with his wife died when their house was burned by angry peasants. A servant saved Trining, who was then raised by Don Vicente. Luis didn’t join them until he was 13. Prior to that, he grew up in a village with his mom, grandpa, and half-brother. But then Don Vicente, who had no legitimate sons, called for him. His mom was angry for obvious reasons but let Luis go.

Fast forward a few years to the main point of the story. Luis, now living in Manila and the editor-in-chief of a magazine, is summoned back to Rosales. Reluctantly, he goes back home with Trining, now a student at a convent school (not sure if high school or college). She’s very proud of her cousin and brags about him to her friends, who tease that she’s in love with him. But he doesn’t pay attention to them, much to her disappointment. Now that they’re going home, she’s looking forward to spending more time with him, but he just wants to hear what his dad has to say before going back to his job.

So they go home. Don Vicente’s now getting older and sicker, so of course he wants Luis to be his heir and continue the family line. At some point, he asks Luis about women and says, “I want you to have a look again at your cousin.” Don Vicente talks about how Trining is pretty and rich, and tells his son not to worry if his current feelings for her are only like a cousin’s or even a brother’s. He also tells him not to worry about the church - “We’ll get a dispensation from the bishop later.” Granted, since the book’s set in the ‘50s and these are rich propertied people, there’s the “keep the money in the family” angle, but I found it hilarious that the old guy shipped his son and niece. Anyway, dad and son have a disagreement about their lives as landlords vis-a-vis the poverty of the peasants, so Luis cuts his stay in Rosales short.

Prior to that, he did view Trining in a platonic light. He felt comfortable enough to change his clothes in front of her, for example. But over time, he starts appreciating her less platonically and they go all the way when they’re back in Manila. A bit of a love triangle develops between Luis, Trining, and Trining’s friend, but the cousincest wins out. Trining says that even making love feels natural with them, while Luis comments (maybe with some sarcasm?), “What a nice, compact little family we are." 

They get married in Rosales at Don Vicente’s behest. Trining wants to meet Luis’ mom and is sad that the rest of his family couldn’t go to the wedding. Again, context: during the story’s time frame, the Philippine government was trying to suppress the Hukbalahap insurgency. Remember Luis’ village? People there were accused of harboring "Huk” rebels, so the army attacked it. When he finds out after the wedding, he goes searching for his family, but he only finds burned-out remains where the village used to be. Trining insists on joining him in his search, but it proves fruitless. 

As you may expect, the story ends on a sad note. Trining gives birth to a baby boy, but it’s premature and implied to have birth defects. She herself is fine, but sad because the doctors also removed her uterus (“Oh, Luis, I wanted to give you a dozen children!”). Then Luis (who becomes the new landlord when Don Vicente dies) gets a note telling him and Trining to leave before the day is over. Alarmed, she wants them to sell everything and move to Manila, but he tells her not to worry. Bad move. That night, the “Huks” attack the estate and Trining is shot. Before she dies, she tells Luis to give their son a happy childhood. This…doesn’t happen. It’s implied that Luis is killed, too. We don’t know what happens to the baby.

The relationship had cute parts and potential. Imagine: prim and proper Catholic girl x the brooding intellectual guy who fought with a priest and wants to fight for the poor. We could’ve seen how they first met, the little moments when they were growing on each other without them realizing it. The way it was, Trining seemed way more into Luis than the other way around. But the novel’s main point was always the class struggle, not the romance. Oh well. Maybe some fanfiction writer could fix that…?

The other novel featuring cousincest is The Pretenders (published 1962). I haven’t read this, but according to TV Tropes, the main character Antonio Samson (who, like Luis, starts out poor in a village and gets a job involving writing) has a son with his cousin Emy. However, these two don’t end up together.

There is another F. Sionil Jose-written story (not one of the Rosales books) that features incest, but I think it belongs on the other blog.

If you made it to the end of this long post, thank you :)

--

This is a wonderful contribution to the blog! Thank you so much or writing up all of these details about Trinning and Luis. It’s a pity the relationship isn’t explored more, but the development sounds wonderful. I particularly love that Luis’ father wants him to marry Trinning and that Luis isn’t enthusiastic at first but comes around later. 

The ending makes me sad. But particularly that the child has birth defects irks. As we all know, unless the family was already inbred the risk of such things is not much higher than a non-cousin union. Anyway... 

Thank you to all the family sagas with incest, and thank you to all of my followers who have read them!

[thewolfisawake]

A letter would arrive for The Bastion of the Veil. Written in an elegant, scrawling hand, it invited their top hunters from each branch and a delegation of hunters from noble families to a grand revel hosted by King Camhlaidh Moireasdan, ruler of Seelie.

A line of embossed silver outlined the edges of the card, and printed upon the back was inked a design of an elegant and ornate silver sword.

"How beautiful," Kirika noted the design of the invitation. There was certainly thought that went into it as the silver glinted under the light, "And quite the honor. The Seelie Court is quite...tricky, peek-a-boo...elusive...! Elusive, aren't they? And to extend it the Bastion in itself is surprising."

"Is it? It has gone around the grapevine that the king served within the Bastion while he traversed this realm. For what reason and why us, I cannot say. Although I have also heard that someone in this room may know."

"I would like to converse with that person since I know not that reasoning," Rune replied with a pointed look Rukiya, "I will consider it but likely will pass."

"Pass? But how often can someone say they've gone to the Seelie?"

"Any number of gullible or deluded humans," Rune quipped, "although I can think of someone who may be interested and need to hear back from them before I can make a decision. Am I to assume you that you are bringing your protege, Rukiya? And anyone from your side, Kirika?"

Rukiya chuckled, "I have considered it but I don't know if Faye is quite ready to deal with the nature of their inhabitants. But I do admit, I would love to see her all dolled up."

"As for me, I do have someone in mind in the Asian branch. It'd be quite the venture for her and she is of a family of small but present prestige. She is also an exorcist," Kirika informed with a small nod.

"An entourage of exorcists, my how strange that must be to a land intertwined with nature and its power," Rukiya said, "surprising no blackbirds have been invited considering they're runned ragged as much as we are."

Kirika piped in, "Well, the Bastion probably does not want to make a bad impression with King Camhlaidh."

Rune remarked, "Too late for that."

--

Despite his desire to turn tail and run, Crowe kept an even keel as he strode through the manor. It seemed much less full than it once was. Probably because most of his generation were full-fledged hunters. But, unfortunately, it seemed that the Nomikos are already pondering about marriages and children. Particularly whom would serve as a boon to have within their fold and the timing of such an endeavor. It was one of the few conversations he was not necessary to be in on.

"Oh young master," came from one of the maids, "we hadn't heard about your arrival or we would've greeted you at the door. Shall I prepare a set for you?"

"Don't bother. I'm only here at the behest of the master of the house. I'll be gone shortly," Crowe replied. The maid gave a brief curtsy in response before scrambling to be anywhere but this wing. Whether it was to be a civil matter or not, she wanted no stake when it came to

He reached the door at the end of the hall and opened double doors to a parlor and inside were a few of the faces of his cousins and their parents. And at the head of it all was their golden boy, whose gaze was immediately on him.

"Crowe, I see you have answered summons this time," Chares observed.

"Probably still salvaging from that tournament blunder no doubt," was a badly concealed whisper. Crowe knew the risk of keeping information quiet but that didn't make it any less bitter the blow it did for his reputation.

"You were lucky enough to catch me between assignment," Crowe answered, "as difficult as it may be for some , I do have obligations in tandem with my rank."

The warbler's smirk turned to a clenched jaw. Crowe seated himself across from Chares as the man decided to continue.

"As we were discussing, there was a particular correspondence that was delivered to the Bastion."

"Would this correspondence happen to be an invitation?" Crowe asked, sensing where this could go.

"Exactly that," Chares said, as he produced a copy of the invitation, "the delegation of noble families have yet to be formally solidified however I have little doubt in our family being within their ranks. Grandfather has requested for two members to attend in his stead. And since most of us are present at this meeting, it'd be ideal to come to a conclusion by the end."

So basically, who will fill the second seat, Crowe thought. There was little sense in having one of the most accomplished families not invite their heir apparent. Especially when this revel was an opportunity for the still fairly new king to extend with those that'd likely be in charge during his reign. While Chares could handle speaking for the family, this was also opportunity for the second seat to schmooze with those invited to the revel. Which considering the Seelie had been away from anyone for centuries...there were sure to be many grasping for the chance...and those that grasp at those.

Personally Crowe held no interest in the affair. If he was going to send the Nomikos to the Underworld one of these days, the last thing he needed was helping them get an in with some fae or some other tricksy race. But as a blackbird...it was opportunity. Intel gathering of the guests and even the land was rich. And while he did manage to avoid outright disapproval from his actions at the tournament...anything he could get here would help smooth things over with his superiors.

Ugh, the thought of it on top everything else tired him further. He was too young to feel this old. But unfortunately for his position, there was no respite to be had. So he discerned whom actually was in attendance and started to formulate what offer he could present or what favor he would be calling on as he raised his hand to put his name into the running.

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

To Love a Ranger Chapter 3- Aragorn x OC

Aragorn x Issa

Description: Issa volunteers herself to join the Fellowship of the Ring, and Aragorn shuts it down the moment that they're alone.

Word Count: 2k

When Issa woke up the next morning Aragorn was already gone. Though sad she didn’t get to spend the morning with him before their duties, she forced herself to get up. She had to attend Lord Elrond’s council in less than ten minutes. So, she hurried to get dressed and began making her way to the court quickly. 

“I was wondering when I would see you again, mellon nin (my friend),” she heard a familiarly soft voice behind her, making her stop mid step and smile. 

“Legolas,” she greeted, trying to keep her excitement down and remain civil as they rested a hand on each other’s shoulder in greeting. It immediately went out the window, however, as the Elf pulled her into a hug afterwards, making her laugh. 

She and Legolas met almost forty years ago through Aragorn and they became fast friends (despite the age difference). He and Aragorn had met when Legolas sought him out personally at the behest of his father thirty years prior (though none of them knew why). To put it simply all three of them were good friends, close as could be. 

“It’s so wonderful to see you again,” Issa muttered happily. Legolas pulled back to look at her with a smile. 

“You haven’t aged a day,” he said, which made her roll her eyes jokingly. “No really! If it weren’t for your hair growing out I would think that you were stuck in time.” 

“Oh please, save the false compliments. We both know that my hair growing out is not the only thing that shows my age,” she laughed, his arm wrapping around her comfortably and they talked about his journey as she led him to the court in which Elrond’s council would be held. There was a group of seats situated in a half circle facing a small plinth, most of which were filled with Elves, Dwarves, Men, Gandalf and Frodo. Issa led Legolas to Aragorn, who was already sitting down. The Man stood to greet his friend then all three of them sat down as the last of the guests trailed in and took their seats. Once everyone was ready Lord Elrond, who sat on the other side of the plinth and the half circle, stood up. 

“Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction, no one can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom,” he paused and looked at Frodo, who sat beside Gandalf. “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.” The boy stood silently, walked over to the stone plinth in the middle of the circle and placed the Ring on it as carefully as he could. Issa’s eyes closed and her breath hitched as the Ring suddenly began whispering to her, and she knew what she was looking at. It was the Ring of Sauron - the One Ring. She understood why Elrond called upon the peoples of Middle Earth now. She felt Aragorn reach over and take her hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed one of the Men across from her covered his mouth in shock. 

“So it’s true,” he muttered, shocked. Several people turned their heads to him as he stood up and continued.

“In a dream, I saw the Eastern sky grow dark,” he paused, then began walking towards the Ring. “In the West, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, your doom is near at hand. Isildur’s Bane is found.” He glanced at Elrond, who shot Gandalf a concerned look, before reaching for the Ring, as if he was in some sort of trance. “Isildur’s Bane…”

“Boromir!” Lord Elrond reprimanded, jumping to his feet. The sky suddenly darkened, and Gandalf began speaking in Black Speech. The Dwarf that sat across from Issa shouted in surprise at the sight as the Man, Boromir, jumped back. Elrond held his head in pain, and Legolas grimaced as he closed his eyes. Finally, the clouds cleared away and the sun reappeared in the sky, which made the Princess sigh in relief. She watched as Elrond grew angry at Gandalf for speaking such a language, but the Wizard merely brushed it off.

“The Ring is altogether evil,” Gandalf concluded as he retook his seat. Boromir, however, refuted it by saying that it was a gift and that his land, Gondor, should be given the weapon to use it against the enemy. 

“You cannot wield it,” Aragorn spoke from beside her, standing up. “The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.” Boromir scoffed. 

“And what would a mere ranger know of this matter?” He asked scathingly as he stepped closer to Aragorn. 

“This is no mere Ranger,” Legolas snapped as he stood abruptly. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.”

“Aragorn, this...is Isildur’s heir,” he muttered. 

“And heir to the throne,” the Elf added. 

“Havo dad, Legolas (Sit down, Legolas),” Aragorn instructed in a calm voice, prompting Legolas to sit down (albeit begrudgingly). 

“Gondor has no King,” Boromi said, turning to the Elf. “Gondor needs no King.” He sat down after speaking, staring at Aragorn disdainfully. Issa’s grip on Aragorn’s hand tightened a bit as she willed herself not to say anything. She didn’t take kindly to her fiance being talked to and looked at in such a way, but she knew that she’d be disappointing Aragorn if she said something about it. The Man seemed to understand that because he offered her hand a gentle and grateful squeeze in response as Gandalf spoke up. 

“Aragorn is right,” he stated. “We cannot use it.” Lord Elrond nodded and stood up once again. 

“You only have one choice. The Ring must be destroyed.” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” The still unnamed Dwarf questioned as he got up and grabbed his axe. Everyone watched as he brought the axe down on the Ring. A loud gasp escaped the girl’s lips as an invisible force that protected the Ring knocked the Dwarf back and sent a small shockwave through the rest of the group. Issa was knocked back in her seat, nearly giving her whiplash in the process. There were several exclamations of surprise as everyone attempted to gather her bearings. Issa’s eyes met Aragorn’s as he stared at her concernedly. 

“Are you okay?” He asked worriedly. The girl merely nodded before turning back to the plinth. Her eyes widened and she became scared when she noticed the Ring still sitting in the middle of it, still intact. 

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess,” Lord Elrond spoke gravely. “The Ring Was made in the fires of Mount Doom, only there it can be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you...must do it.” There was silence as everyone processed what he said. Boromir shook his head before placing his hand against his temple. 

“One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its back gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep and the Great Eye is ever watchful. ‘Tis a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this,” he shook his head with a soft sigh. “It is folly.” 

“Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?” Legolas questioned as he stood once again. “The Ring must be destroyed.”

“And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it,” Gimli grumbled brashly. 

“And if we fail, what then?” Boromir shot back, also standing up. “What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?” Issa frowned at him as Gimli shot up. 

“I will be dead before I see the ring in the hands of an Elf!” He exclaimed, which prompted the other Elves to stand in Legolas’ defense. “Never trust an Elf!” A massive argument ensued for most of the attendants. Issa was no better, jumping up and starting an argument with Boromir about how it was foolish to attempt to take the Ring for himself, with him stating that he’d be much better off with it compared to any of them. She only stopped when she heard a quiet voice speak out. 

“I will take it,” the Hobbit, Frodo, said. “I will take it!” His repetition is what finally caught the other’s attention. Everyone stopped and turned to face him in surprise.

“I will take the Ring to Mordor, though I do not know the way,” he concluded. 

“I will help you bear this burden Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear,” Gandalf responded kindly, walking over to stand beside the Hobbit. Aragorn, who hadn’t participated in the arguments, stood. 

“If by my life or death I can protect you, I will,” he spoke, also walking up to Frodo and kneeling before him. Gandalf and Elrond grinned at him. 

“You have my bow,” Legolas continued as he approached the small group. 

“And my axe,” Gimli added, repeating the Elf’s actions. 

“And my sword,” Issa said softly, walking over to him. Everyone looked surprised by her addition to the group. No one more than Aragorn, though. She ignored the look he gave her and instead offered Frodo a small smile, which he returned gratefully. Once she was standing beside Gimli, everyone’s attention turned to Boromir as he made his way over to the group. 

“You carry the fate of all of us, little one,” he said matter-of-factly as he did the same. “If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.” They were then surprised by none other than Samwise shouting as he ran out from behind the bushes. 

“Mr. Frodo’s not going anywhere without me,” he said, moving to stand beside Frodo with his arms crossed. Elrond didn’t seem surprised to see him. 

“No, indeed it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.” Issa was further surprised when both Merry and Pippin ran in from seemingly nowhere. 

“Wait! We’re coming too!” Merry called as they reached them. 

“Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission...quest...thing…” Pippin trailed off awkwardly. 

“Well that rules you out Pip,” Merry teased. That admittedly made the girl smile. Hobbits were rather funny creatures. Lord Elrond stared at the group for a moment, then a small smile appeared on his face. 

“Ten companions, so be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring,” he spoke with finality. 

The meeting ended soon after that. Lord Elrond offered all guests to stay for the night as the Fellowship prepared to leave in three days' time (allowing them time to pack supplies and such( before he and Gandalf walked off to discuss something. Aragorn was the next one out, and Issa became concerned when he didn’t even spare her a glance. She and Legolas shared a confused look before he gestured for her to go after him (and hopefully find out what was wrong).

“Aragorn, is everything okay?” She asked upon catching up to him. The Man didn’t answer at first, but instead waited until they arrived at an empty corridor before suddenly turning to her. Issa would have run into him if she hadn’t caught herself. 

“You are not coming on this quest,” he said simply. It took the girl aback as she hadn’t been expecting it. At first she thought he was just messing with her, so she laughed. 

“What are you talking about? Of course I’m coming with you,” she said, her smile fading when Aragorn shook his head. 

“No, you are not,” he repeated. “It is too dangerous for you, and I will not chance something happening to you. This decision is final.” With that he gingerly moved past her and walked away, leaving her to watch after him in shock and hurt.

[cloudbattrolls]

Starfall

Chimer Latrai | Civitrecce | A Few Nights Prior

Across the sea in another world, a deal was struck. A demon saved a man from a deadly poisoning at the behest of his kismesis. As payment, it took away the creative potential of his business; the business that had kept the man alive, else the empire would have culled him after the lifelong injuries he had sustained.

No highblood was supposed to live as such a frail embarrassment, decreed imperial law. Not unless they were useful enough to spare.

So long, of course, as that usefulness didn’t run out.

—

Chimer Latrai floated in her personal pool, mulling over both the next meme she wanted to post on her blog and the best way to advance the current architectural debates about invasive data collection.

There was seriously no point to sensors that could place a troll’s hue within a caste or so; expensive and time wasting, and for what? To better target them for advertisements and to try to expose any hemoanons for profit?

She’d argued that if sensors of that level were necessary, they should only be placed around high security areas. There was no reason to let every random business that could afford it exploit them.

That obviously didn’t solve the problem of those high security areas selling the information anyway, but that was another issue entirely. One thing at a time.

Back to the meme. Which was related to the other topic at hand.

‘What if you wanted to mind your own business, but the corner store said you NEED to buy this garbage drink brand?’

Could use some refinement, but she’d pass the idea on to one of the trolls who ran her blog. Her memecrafters, as she liked to call them, did great things with her basic ideas.

Too bad she couldn’t swear in them, but she had to keep the thing appropriate even for wrigglers. It was better for her overall image, plus it was more professional anyway.

Corelo would appreciate that; not that she’d even told him about her blog. Funny kid. She liked him a lot, even if he was technically a gang boss or whatever. It was hard to resent him for whatever no doubt messed up stuff he got up to when he wasn’t working for her when he was just a cute little guy with a bow tie.

“Miss Latrai, please report to the acquisitions office. Miss Latrai, an urgent matter requires your presence in acquisitions.”

She blinked at the intercom announcement. Huh? She wasn’t expecting...well, nothing for it.

The fuchsia quickly swam to the edge and got up, dripping on the polished steps as she turned on her hot-air dryers. They made a low noise as they blasted her, blowing her hair around and rippling her fins. She quickly changed into a more suitable outfit, not completely dry but not wanting to keep her staff waiting.

One short elevator trip later, the doors opened with a ding and she stepped into the acquisitions floor.

“What’s u - oh, wow, you look stressed.” She said, as the teal who’d summoned her hurried up, glasses askew and face sweaty. The woman looked like the very definition of the word harried.

“Miss Latrai, it’s - I don’t know how to explain it, I’ve never seen anything like this before - “

“Take a sec, uh...Hyraal?” She said, trying to remember the woman’s name. “I’m sure whatever it is isn’t world-ending. Like the last few things almost have been. Right?”

“Harryl.” She was corrected, absentmindedly, as she was led to the main display screen.

“Sorry, my bad.” Chimer replied with an apologetic smile, but her employee wasn’t even looking at her.

Chimer’s smile died as she realized why, to be replaced with an expression of deep confusion. Her fins fluttered as she looked the information on the display screen up and down, sure her eyes must be playing tricks on her. The rectangle of liquid crystal was several feet tall and wide, with data laid out in the finest resolution available.

“This is a prank, right.” She said, looking at the nearest technician, a yellowblood with an undercut. He shook his head.

“No, ma’am, it’s quite real. You received ownership of Starsight tonight half an hour ago, and as far as we can tell, it’s completely legitimate. All the proper documents are in order, but we haven’t been able to reach the owner - uh, former owner - for comment. Mr. Abnale seems to have gone AWOL.”

Chimer blinked. “Which one is he again? That sounds familiar.”

“Jameth Abnale. Cobalt, eleven and a half sweeps, placed as the business head after the old owner was culled for embezzling funds from fleet, totally remade it and raised its profits by a significant margin. He’s uh...well, he’s actually fair game for any imperial hunters now, because he was legally declared unfit after some injuries he had when he was young. He was granted a cull exemption, but it was tied to his position, so...” The technician trailed off awkwardly.

Chimer sighed. “So whoever did this wants him dead. I don’t know how they pulled it off so seamlessly or why, but I can’t think of another reason. Convoluted-ass way to do it, but that’s where we are, unnecessary schemes and plots central. My real question is, why me? Do they have it out for me too? Plus, I’ve never been involved with him. I remember who he is now, seen him a few times, but we’ve barely talked.”

The fuchsia shook her head. None of this made any sense, but hell, she supposed that fit in with the rest of her life. At least this wasn’t a supernatural mystery, she’d be standing in the corner staring at a wall if that bullshit reared its head again.

She looked at Harryl, who’d managed to calm down a bit.

“Okay. I want investigations on this, obviously, and we need to put out a statement about it. The corps are gonna be on me like vultures to a dead cholerbear, but we can at least do damage control until we have a plan.”

Harryl scribbled down notes, clearly already thinking about said damage control. She was in acquisitions, but nervousness aside Chimer knew she had a keen eye for both property management and news presentation.

The technician bit his lip.

“There’s one more thing, ma’am…we don’t seem to be able to try and transfer the documents of ownership. The option won’t even come up, and trying to modify it to do so just…doesn’t work.”

Chimer stared blankly.

“Wow, don’t like that. That is both weird and vaguely upsetting. Hey, here’s a business! Not one you wanted or that aligns with your morals whatsofuckingever, but a business regardless. Keep working on that, maybe you’ll find something. Get a technopath if need be.”

The yellow nodded.

Harryl looked up, frowning.

“Yeah me too, girl.” Deadpanned Chimer. “Welp. This’ll be fun.”

Her phone vibrated, and she looked at it.

“Oh hey, guess who’s here. I swear he can sense whenever anything happens like spider-troll does.”

This was probably out of the anon’s wheelhouse, but he usually cheered her up with his overly serious demeanor. He was just too fun to joke at. She could use that right now, even aside from his pretty sick mathematic and planning skills.

Both Harryl and the technician looked confused.

“Who, ma’am?” They said almost in sync.

“My favorite pasta boy, Corelo.”