#And I Had To Be A Monk Or Else Be A Slave Too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-world-of-palara · 1 year ago

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The Black Rose of Tyr Pt. VI

Sarai did not know how long she had been unconscious, but she had eventually woken up in a cell on a cold stone floor. She knew it was a cell because there were blue lanterns scattered about the areas around her that illuminated her surroundings, and they were surrounded by bars. Judging from the other people of different races in other spots around her, she was in a slave pen. The drow had taken her alive to be used as a mule for their dirty, backbreaking work. That much was painfully obvious. She sat upright and propped her back up against a pillar nearby, and she let out a long sigh. She was in horrible pain all over, but strangely she felt no pain in her left arm. She took a look toward it…

And it was gone.

She was still delirious from the entire ordeal. Seeing no arm where one should be sent her into a panic. Her breathing came fast and ragged as she stared at where her arm should be. She did her best to calm down but she couldn't. Soon, she was set upon by someone that was in the cell with her, doing their best to hold her down. They weren't trying to hurt her but rather keep her under control, gently and reassuringly, taking her hand and holding it firmly yet softly.

"Please calm yourself. The guards will come beat you if you make too much noise."

The hushed masculine voice spoke to her in a calming tone, and Sarai squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could. The person was strong enough to hold her down and keep her from thrashing about in her panic but the grip was also as gentle as a parent's to their child. It was more like a hug than anything else. The words helped to settle her after a bit, and the person's calm grip on her was able to keep her body under control.

"Deep breaths, friend. I am sorry, but your arm is gone. Take your time."

The man's voice came again. She breathed deeply over and over, her hand gripping his own, and she tried her best to calm the tremors in her body. Sarai's eyes began to focus again and with the light from the lanterns, she could see that this man was a rather small human man, but despite his size, his strength through the softness of his touch was great enough to hold her trembling body under control, signifying that he was a monk of some kind. He was fully bald and had a thick, unkempt beard that reached his chest in length. One striking thing about the man is that his eyes were covered by a a band of cloth.

"You've been asleep for quite some time since they laid you in here."

"Where… a-am I?" Sarai asked in a whisper.

"Daruma, the drow city deep beneath the Ironstone Mountains in the abyss. They captured you to be a slave."

A frustrated growl came from Sarai's throat as she calmed. "Damn it… They took your eyes as well?"

The monk shook his head. "They did not. I am a Monk of the Sightless Path. I carved my own eyes out long ago."

"Hm. It seems I am… not so lucky, then."

She remembered her arm had been thoroughly crushed and destroyed by the two devastating blows made by the Skrios cultist captain. It was most likely beyond all repair, and the only hope for it would have been powerful healing magics. Considering it was gone, she could guess the drow did not wish to waste their time and magic on healing a lowly slave's arm.

"I am Agmoss." The monk spoke once more, finally introducing himself.

"Sarai Rose."

"You are the one the mystic spoke of. A Sevlrass woman with one arm, red eyes, and a rose branded into her palm."

"A mystic? Why would one speak of me, knowing of…" Sarai clenched her fist, "...this?"

Agmoss leaned in close to her. Despite his visual impairment, he knew exactly where she was. He spoke in a low whisper. "We are to wait for a lunar seraphim woman however long it takes, and we are to enact an uprising with her aid."

Sarai stared at him for several long moments, contemplating what he had just shared with her before she finally nodded slowly. She didn't know why, but she quickly trusted the monk. "Then we will wait."

After that day she awoke, it was soon made clear to Sarai of why the drow had taken both herself and even Agmoss captive. While both were still strong, their impairments made the drow slow to put them to any meaningful work. Instead, they were used for entertainment for their corrupted overlords in the form of whipping targets. Each day, the two had been stripped and mercilessly whipped across their bodies, each drow spectator hoping to hear them scream out in agony and beg for it to cease.

But the two were strong, and they held strong against it for the entirety of their time as slaves. Agmoss had been there two years before Sarai had been captured, his story being that he allowed himself to be captured after showing how capable he would be as a slave. But the drow sought to break him due to that strength, and he would have none of it.

Sarai was treated much the same as him. She was whipped nearly day after day across her bare back and legs, and each pass she made by commanders or nobles she was whipped in the back, arm, or legs to "entertain" them. Even when she was doing a task she was told to do, they would whip her for their own entertainment, trying to make her scream out from the pain. The most she or Agmoss ever gave them were short grunts from unexpected lashings. Their will and pain tolerance had continually frustrated their drow overlords. Agmoss never acted out of line before, but Sarai made things difficult for herself by protecting other slaves from abuse, at one point being whipped across the jaw with a strike that left a large gash. After Sarai arrived and protected the other slaves, Agmoss began to as well.

Sarai had no choice but to trust the monk, trusting that the lunar seraphim would one day come and they could act out some sort of plan to break themselves and the other slaves free. It was just a waiting game, and by herself Sarai would be unable to break free and escape. She just had to endure. She had to stay strong. She had to stay unbreakable to the abuse of the corrupted drow. She had to trust that Tyriel would see justice done, for her and all of the slaves that she had grown to know. She had to stay completely focused on that goal.

During her time in enslavement, her depression had risen once more despite the focus she tried to put into the end goal of the planned uprising. It was hard for her to keep herself occupied while trapped in a pen at nearly all hours of a day or night. It was hard to keep track of the time, and it was hard to keep track of her sleep. During that time, Agmoss had been the only person she opened herself up to and she told him of her past one day, and that she hoped that she could bring justice for her family and friends one day. The monk listened intently and heavily sympathized with her, and told her that he had lost his own family to bandits as well. He told her that what they did led him to become a Monk of the Sightless Path so he would not have to witness any more atrocities with his own eyes again. After the two shared their stories with one another, they learned more of other slaves they shared the pens with as well.

Many were dwarven warriors that had been taken in the recent skirmishes. Some were mercenaries that had been captured trying to aid the dwarves. They were fed, but not anywhere near as well as they should be fed. The ones that were struggling more with malnourishment, Sarai and Agmoss gave them a bit of the food from their bundles. It was harsh for them all to suffer through.

Sarai and Agmoss both kept up exercising to keep their bodies in shape. It was all they could do to keep occupied in their time in the slave pens when they weren't being put to work or whipped. Although, Agmoss had his meditations as well to keep his mind clear and calm. It was something Sarai had learned to do as well, to help aid against the turmoil that were her inner thoughts. It somewhat worked, but the temple of her mind had thoroughly been desecrated.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, months turned to years. Sarai's hair, fallen out of its usual braid, grew unkempt and tangled. Some nights she suffered through nightmares, and was promptly beaten for screaming from them and making noise during curfew hours. Each month passed in the wait for the lunar seraphim to arrive, and it had eventually turned to five years. Sarai and Agmoss both still held strong, although the time had worn on them and they had grown tired more often than not. They were tired but their wills were not shaken.

One day, the door to the slave pens was opened and a very fit and muscular human-looking woman was thrown in. She didn't fall to the ground, instead she held her footing, glancing back at her captors for a moment before turning her gaze back to the slaves. She didn't seem very concerned, despite the bruises and cuts across her body from whatever battle she was in before the drow captured her. She scanned the pens for several moments before her eyes widened upon the sight of Sarai and Agmoss. A smile spread across her lips and without a thought, she stepped over to the two and sat down in front of them, her smile wide.

"You are the ones I am meant to find."

Before Sarai's eyes, her body began to change into a different form but keep the same physique. Her skin became a dark shade of blue, and across her skin showed what seemed like silvery-blue spots, much like stars spread out and in long patches, with larger star-like freckles under her eyes. Across her skin between all of the star-like freckles were tiny black ones. Both orbs became fully white, the irises and pupils blending in with the sclera. Her hair turned shorter to around shoulderblade length, silvery-white and slightly poofy and wavy like clouds. She grew two pale silvery-blue horns protruding from the back of her head above her neck, curving around her head above her ears, ending in tips pointing upward above her eyes. Lastly in the center of her forehead was an emblem of a silver crescent moon. The horns and the emblem were glowing a lunar light, nearly like the glow of the moon.

"And you are… the one we were meant to wait for, I take it. I can feel your celestial energy. I am Agmoss. I have waited for seven years. Sarai has waited for five."

"That long? Damn!" The woman's quiet curse hissed out, "I only recently met the mystic that told me of you both. I wish I had learned sooner."

"How will we escape?" The question, almost in a desperate, pleading tone came from Sarai.

The lunar seraphim's body changed once more and she was soon back in her disguised self. "We have to wait a few days. I'll keep my disguise up, and then we'll get out of this cell and I'll send a signal to the attack force."

Agmoss grunted a bit. "How will you do that?"

"Through a mind link I created with someone. They'll let me know when they are ready."

"And how can you hold your disguise without the drow discovering you?"

"The magic of gods is beyond the detection of mortal means and warding magics."

"That is very useful."

Sarai rolled her neck a bit and stared at her hand. Her bandages had fallen deteriorated and left her hand bare. The burn on her palm pulsed with a dull pain and she grimaced before clenching her hand into a fist.

"We've waited this long... We can wait a few more days."

Agmoss turned to the seraphim. "What is your name, friend?"

"My name is Luna. I will tell you both the plan we have…"

The plan was much bigger than Sarai or Agmoss anticipated. With the corrupted drow's constant battles against the dwarves of Khandaral to invade and conquer, actions had to be taken. The council of Khandaral had sent requests for aid to multiple kingdoms and they had received it in the form of numerous mercenaries from Artristan and Sanguine, many of them from one of the most well known guilds in Artristan and the fabled Sanguine Knights.

During the days leading up to the assault, Luna told Sarai and Agmoss about herself. She told them of how she was a barbarian mindstriker from a tribe in a far off continent to the east that she did not name, because it had no name. She had left to venture the world in search of knowledge many years ago when her parents passed away of old age. She told them of the ship she was captain of for a time, sailing across the Moonfire Sea and hunting pirates for coin as she learned more about the world. She had since moved on from her seafaring life, letting her former crew of the time continue on their bounty hunting, and she had eventually come to the central parts of the world to continue her grand search for knowledge of all forms.

Agmoss did not have much to tell about himself, and Sarai did not wish to tell anything of herself or her journey. Luna understood her wishes, and didn't pry into it

Soon it was time. Luna received the word in her mind, and she relayed the information to her new allies and the rest of the slaves, who she had quietly informed of the situation over the past few days. The entirety of the dwarves relished in the thought of fighting and taking their freedom back. The non-dwarven mercenaries were slow to trust this sudden plan to escape, but the attitude of the dwarves was infectious, and they soon joined in silent celebration for the days leading up to now.

Luna stood up and dropped her disguise, standing to her full six foot and six inch frame, and she rallied the slaves behind herself, Sarai, and Agmoss. Luna focused her mind and sought out the mind of one of the drow, projecting her consciousness into the drow's mind and without much resistance, took it over for the time being. She used the drow's memories against her and as the drow, traveled to the armory, and took two sabres. Then, she took her unwilling vessel to the slave pens where she tossed the sabres into the cell, and Luna severed the connection.

The drow's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed, unconscious but alive. Luna opened her eyes and picked the blades up off the ground. She equipped them and took the blades from the sheaths, each blade a silver color with lunar blue runes along the sides, silver crossguards, and black leather-wrapped hilts. Both blades matched the other in every aspect. Luna held the blades in her hands and activated their enchantments, causing the runes to glow bright and cause blazing blue flames to erupt along their edges. With two quick motions, she sliced the bars of the cell door at the top and bottom, and she led the slaves out and into the streets of Daruma, and then ran to do the same to the doors of the other pens. Agmoss had no need of a weapon, and Sarai grabbed the shortsword the drow had on her. Luna led the slaves through the city toward the armory where they met little resistance, and they quickly arrived inside the building where many of their weapons and armor had been stored.

Sarai looked for her zweihander but could not find it and she cursed as she remembered she had seen a massive drow warrior had claimed it as his own. She then began to search around the armory for the blade she remembered the captain of the cultists five years ago had carried. The blade that her father carried, and his father before him. If she could at least find that here then she would be content for the time being. While everyone else equipped themselves for the coming battle, she searched endlessly for the blade and finally found it in the hands of a dwarf appraising it. She quickly strode over to him and grabbed the sword's sheath, and she pulled the weapon from his hands without a word of warning.

"What- Oi!" Flabbergasted, the dwarf turned angrily toward her, before he realized who had taken it, "I found that first!"

"It is my father's ." Sarai replied in a low, cold tone, poison dripping from every word.

The dwarf quickly decided to back down. "R-right, I'll just… go find another."

Sarai's scowl slowly faded and she sighed as she wrapped the sword's belt around her waist, and she was even able to find her cloak of elemental protection. She then found the empty sheath to her bastard sword and her own shortsword, and she equipped those as well despite not having the blades at the moment. When she finished all of that, she found the dwarf and apologized to him, explaining a bit more about the shortsword, and then regrouped with Luna and Agmoss. Luna had gained another pair of sabres, both looking much like the others but with different runes along the sides of the blades. They were runes of aquatic magics, much like the runes of the other sabres were of fire magics.

Luna opened her eyes, having finished communicating telepathically with her allies outside the city, and she smiled. "The liberation of Daruma is beginning! Fight for your freedom, and the freedom for these corrupted drow!"

A collective battle cry sounded through the slaves, and they all left the armory. Sarai was one of the first out of the building, and she could already hear cries of alarm throughout the district closest to the caves leading to the surface. She nor the others had time to go aid their unknown allies, as a group of drow passing by on the way stopped and engaged them in combat. If they were to use non-lethal means, then Sarai was of little use unless she only used the hilt of her father's sword to strike the drow, or just punch them. Still, being of little use was preferable over being of no use.

The battle for the drow city of Daruma had begun. Sarai, Agmoss and the other slaves were led into battle by Luna while her allies and dwarven attackers had slowly pushed into the city. The drow did not expect the assault to take place, and least of all the slaves to break free of the pens and revolt against them so easily.

For any drow that came near Sarai, she decided to just try to punch them or slam her arm into their chests or necks with wicked lariats, knocking the air from their lungs when she could hit them. She wasn't able to hit many due to their skill and athleticism, but those she did hit were incapacitated easily thanks to her strength. Thankfully for her, Agmoss, Luna, and the other slaves were able to defend against the drow and incapacitate as many as they could. Some weren't so lucky though, and they had no choice but to kill them.

Agmoss was a powerful force against the drow. While he had no sight, he was trained for years to sense the energy that dwells within all matter, living or not. The Way of the Sightless Path granted Agmoss great sensory awareness and, despite his diminutive size, he was powerful and quick due to the rigorous training all monks subject themselves to. At times when he focused further on single targets, he could even sense their movements before they even made them, allowing him to easily counterattack.

Luna was quite the formidable ally as well. She wasn't using her flame enchanted sabres, instead she held her other sabres and made very good use of the enchantments in them. With each swing of her blades, whips of water lashed out and struck at the drow before they could even get to her. Not only that, from time to time when she focused her energy, she slashed her blades in unison and created crashing waves of water across the ground, slamming multiple drow into walls with such force that few of them were knocked out. That was without mentioning her barbarian strength, iron-like flesh, and her ability to strike directly at her enemies' minds with her psychic abilities.

The battle in the city continued on for a few hours. While Luna's allies fought toward the citadel against the western wall, Luna herself led Sarai, Agmoss and the slaves through the city streets to free any other slaves they found. They had much success in freeing who they came across, as the drow guards were spread thin through the city and mainly focused on the attacking force. Some were able to take spare weapons and join the fight, while some were freed of their anti-magic bindings and worked to heal any injuries as best they could as they got used to being able to use their magic once more.

The battle was over within the day. With the assault from the outside along with the assault from within, the corrupted drow had been defeated after the rather short but decisive battle. Sadly, even though the attackers did their best to use non-lethal force, many drow had been killed. But, the Heralds of the Abyss in the city's citadel had been killed, and the citizens of Daruma would have the chance to recover and move forward with their lives, and mourn those they've lost.

The thoughts running through Sarai's mind though were of her zweihander. She didn't have to search long it turned out, as she was soon met by a half-storm giant warrior by the name of Cronus Stormwind. He had recovered the weapon from the drow who had turned out to be the commander of Daruma's fighting force as well as a Herald of the Abyss. He had learned it was hers because of the twin warriors that walked with him in order to point her out, the same ones that Sarai had fought alongside five years ago.

"This is yours?" The massive warrior stated as he looked between Sarai and the blade in his hand.

"It is."

"Here you go. The Herald that had it was strong. It's a heavy blade."

Cronus handed the sword hilt-first toward Sarai, taking one last moment to admire the style and heft. Sarai took the hilt of the zweihander and lifted it into the air. It was just a bit heavier than she remembered, but that was due to her not being used to the weight after five years of slavery. She took a few test swings away from the others, testing just how out of practice she was with it. Cronus stared in disbelief at how she seemed to easily handle its weight with a single arm. He seemed immensely impressed by the raw strength she displayed as he knew how much the aegisteel zweihander weighed. He could tell she was even stronger than her already impressive physique showed.

Sarai put the sword on her back and as it should, it stuck in place without issue. She was then approached by the twins, who handed her bastard sword and shortsword back to her. They had explained that they returned back to the tunnels one day and recovered them in order to return them to her one day. First she took her shortsword and inspected the blade before she sheathed it, and then she did the same with her bastard sword. Now that she had her weapons once more, she felt much better. She thanked the three warriors for returning her weapons, and she began to walk away as she tried to decide what she wished to do for the time being.

She knew she needed to rest and recover fully from the brutal treatment of the corrupted drow in the last five years, and she had to figure out something to do for her left arm. For that, she knew what could be done with armor, magic, and a person's soul, but the problem would be in finding a blacksmith and an enchanter skilled in soul enchantments. It would be much different than the bound enchantment for her zweihander.

As luck would have it, she would find the solution to the first issue fairly quickly. In the days after the battle of Daruma, she returned to Khandaral where she spoke with the armor smiths and she was able to find one who could forge blood-infused armor. Not only that, the smith knew someone who could point her in the right direction to a person who can work with her soul to bind the armor to her shoulder as a prosthetic. It didn't solve the second issue, but it was a start. She gave as much blood as necessary for the armor and waited for the week it took to forge, and returned to the smith who was more than proud to show his work off to her. Her right arm had been measured for the specifications for the armor. The metal was fully black with smooth edges along the arm, forearm, hand, and fingers with the plates of the hand armor having small curves to them. Along the inner elbow, palm, and inner fingers of the armor was black leather with gaps in the sides.

After the smith wrapped the armor up and she paid him for his work with her pay for helping against the formerly corrupted drow, Sarai prepared to leave Khandaral, back to the cold city of Warshire. The dwarves and drow of the cities of Khandaral and Daruma respectfully celebrated their newfound peace, and the freedom of both the slaves and the drow. Sarai felt she had no place there, being as she was only a mercenary, so she left without a word to anyone. As she exited the city and into the cold mountain air, it was daytime. Her eyes took some time to adjust to the light, and when they did she was met with the sight of a great airship in the sky, a great war galleon bearing the name " The Blizzard's Howl " painted on the portside of the captain's cabin, under the large windows of the top floor of the room.

"Are you leaving already?"

Sarai quickly turned to face the source of the voice, her hand quickly going to the hilt of her bastard sword.

"Easy, friend. I don't mean any harm."

She was face to face with the leader of the mercenary guild that had helped take Daruma from Barathrum's control, the dark elf named Aurora, leader of Dawnfire . Sarai wasn't quick to take her hand from her sword, but she eventually relaxed and looked the woman up and down. Aurora wasn't a fighter at all, as her dainty and slender frame showed, but Sarai knew exactly who she was and what she was capable of doing.

"I am moving on. There's no place for me here." Came Sarai's reply to the elf.

"That's ridiculous. To my understanding, you came to Khandaral to aid the dwarves, just as Dawnfire have. You deserve to stay as well."

"You are more than welcome to stay in my place. I'm leaving to find a soul enchanter."

"Oh, you don't need to search far," Dawnfire's leader said with a grin, "I know a great deal of soul enchantment. I have studied the essence of souls for a very long time, and being a Lifebringer, I have the knowledge of many things having to do with souls already."

Sarai narrowed her eyes, her fingers idly settling on the pommel of her shortsword now. "That is very convenient. Forgive me if I am not so easy to trust it."

"I suppose you will have to take the chance, if you know who Dawnfire are."

Sarai could admit she knew of Dawnfire and all their exploits throughout much of the known world. She knew she could trust Aurora, despite not wishing to at first. It was hard though due to all that had happened in her past. After all, she immediately trusted Agmoss, and she immediately trusted Luna. She could tell Aurora caught her hand movement, but had made no defensive movements herself in retaliation to that. After several tense seconds, Sarai sighed, her shoulders dropping, and she let her fingers fall from the pommel of her shortsword.

"What can you do?"

#fantasy world #the world of palara #fantasy #fantasy character #original character #sarai rose #inspired by dungeons & dragons #inspired by dark souls #inspired by berserk #recovery #revenge #angst #hurt & comfort #dark fantasy #child death

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crimsonscloud · 2 years ago

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welcome to where i fixate entirely too hard on liam jelco, a character that the killjoys fandom is either not fond of or forgets entirely. you're gonna be seeing a lot of his name around this blog. yes, he is That Character for me.

this examines the plot threads jelco's connected with, makes a few theories, and explores why none of this ultimately went anywhere (and where it could have gone.)

strap in, folks, because we'll be here a while.

(also, just in case, heavy spoiler warning for seasons two and three, for people who are just starting and have yet to watch those.)

introduction.

a recap for those of you that don't remember him: officer liam jelco appears in the second season of killjoys, and in six episodes total counting a brief appearance in season three.

he is introduced in wild, wild westerley, sent to oversee company operations after old town was bombed in the previous season and to manage the containment fence that keeps the town walled off from any outside help. he is also apparently recognized as interim governor, based on a line in johnny be good where he is addressed as "governor jelco". jelco meets the killjoys when he sends the rac a warrant for several escaped prisoners from westerley, and they use the warrant to get back into old town. at the end of the episode, he reveals that his actual responsibility is to teach old town a lesson and to punish them for their rebellion against the company.

we later learn that this is actually much more complicated, and that he has a much bigger role to play... if only canon had let him, that is.

part one: the hullen conspiracy.

the hullen are the driving force behind the show's evolving myth arc. their motives for invading the quad are unclear at first, but it's eventually revealed that their sole interest in the quad is its plasma. they want to use the plasma to make soldiers. these soldiers would then be handed over to aneela, who would use them as part of her army to conquer the quad and eventually other systems. heart-shaped box reveals that there are multiple hullen already in old town, seemingly hiding... or waiting for something.

the hullen also have a longstanding deal with the nine ruling families of the system. delle seyah alludes to this when talking to pawter in johnny be good, claiming that events have been in motion before they were even born. khlyen confirms that the deal was made centuries ago in how to kill friends and influence people, and that the events in old town are the beginning of a handover of the system from the nine to the hullen. the nine chose to trade lives for money over time rather than getting assimilated immediately.

in heart-shaped box, johnny learns from artura senbek (a company engineer) that the company set up a containment fence in the town of greenwell, then observed the effects on those inside. the sick, old and very young died in a single day, and the survivors were taken away. we aren't told where, but we can infer that they were most likely taken to be turned into hullen.

we also don't know how long ago the greenwell experiment happened, but since senbek was sent there and she says she was thrown into old town afterwards for asking too many questions / was also the one who put the containment fence controls in jelco's office, we can assume it happened recently and that it was before old town was bombed.

senbek and johnny's conversation also tells us that the engineers who built the walls didn't even know what they were really building, just that they were ordered to. when asked, senbek says that the technology came from "somewhere else." full metal monk clarifies that this "somewhere else" was arkyn -- the same moon where we know the hullen have facilities to make more hullen, and where aneela first began the experiments to turn other hullen into slaves centuries earlier. season three's the wolf you feed also places the creation of the red 17 program, or its precursor, prior to when the hullen's deal with the nine was made. also, the computer that controls spring hill's security systems is described as looking "like the tech on arkyn, just newer."

coincidence? i think not.

in full metal monk, pawter realizes that the containment fence is part of a technique the company developed when the quad was first being colonized, referred to as "execution eugenics." the process goes like this: set up the wall, then introduce a contaminant to kill off the weak, leaving only the strongest stock behind. greenwell was an early test of this program, and old town is next. earlier in shaft, she discovers files in jelco's office revealing that the company plans to take the program to every single town on westerley.

why is this important? by this point, we've learned from sabine in heart-shaped box that only some have the stuff needed to survive the mental and physical transition. the company doesn't want to take chances, so what do they do? they cull the herd. the weak are killed off, the strongest survive, and the survivors have a better chance of living through the process.

pawter and johnny suspect that the contaminant is in a shipment of "special" company rations they learn are being brought in, but fall under the effects of the wall's mood controls before they can investigate further. jelco confirms their suspicions before killing arune, pawter's political ally she brought in for support, and framing the two for it.

"oh, and you're right about the rations, so good for you. but it's about so much more than that."

there is indeed more, but we'll get to that in a minute.

part two: the nine.

in talking about jelco's involvement in the conspiracy it's also important to note his connection with the nine. in shaft, pawter's father tells her that jelco is operating under orders from the nine, and a scene in full metal monk shows us that he's specifically working under delle seyah. other episodes in the season show us that delle seyah is both aware of and is helping mastermind the hullen takeover of the quad.

what's interesting about the scene between jelco and delle seyah is that it gives us a glimpse into what their working relationship looks like. he's noticeably hesitant to move the plan ahead of schedule, a reluctance he shows nowhere else. it's even apparent in his body language. he's tense and seems almost nervous in front of her; she's much more calm and collected than he is and implicitly threatens him if he can't keep johnny and pawter from interfering.

"they want to know what the wall is for, show them." "that's ahead of schedule, no? do we have authority?" "i'll worry about the schedule. you worry about me if you don't make this problem go away."

(look at him. he's got anxiety.)

this scene tells me that for all jelco knows about the conspiracy, he isn't really in direct control of any of it, and is still ultimately a pawn in a larger game. he has to follow her orders, and anything he does or tells anyone else to do probably came from her first. we can also see this in johnny be good, where he berates a few scientists in a manner that is reminiscent of how delle seyah behaves towards him in the above scene.

"as i'm sure you can appreciate, we're on a strict timeline here, and it's fools like you that are slowing us down. no more excuses. you do realize that i can very efficiently demote you."

bit weird coming from the same guy that seemed hesitant to speed the timeline up.

his dynamic with delle seyah also adds a layer to the method he uses to deal with johnny and pawter. you'd think that since he's armed and has caught them unawares, he'd just kill them too after shooting arune to get them out of the way permanently, right? but he doesn't. instead, he frames them for the murder and says he'll pass the evidence on to the remaining heads of the nine. blackmail material. not his usual style, but who do we know that loves blackmail? delle seyah kendry, that's who. i'm certain she told him to do it this way on purpose, with the added benefit of getting rid of another potential obstacle since arune's family was previously killed during her coup in season one. killing two birds (or three) with one stone.

also speaking of that scene, we aren't shown how jelco knew about pawter setting up a meeting with arune. arune makes it clear to her that he's taking a huge risk to meet with her in the first place, and they're meeting at the royale, which tells me pawter didn't exactly go the legitimate way to set the meeting up. we saw how trying that worked with jelco earlier in the season. pawter might be seyah now, but there are limits to what even she can get around, given jelco's own position and the backing he has from her opposition.

jelco also points out that arune used pawter's entry pass to get in and that he knew pawter was already in the building. this makes me think he probably followed them at a distance and waited to make his move until he was sure they didn't know they were being tailed. then he waltzed in, knowing the wall was making everyone too doped up to care that he brought his (armed) entourage with him, had them dispose of arune's bodyguard, got close, and took him out.

sneaky bastard.

part three: a cog in the machine(?)

johnny be good is a good episode to look at here because it reveals some interesting things about the scope of the company's plans, when combined with everything discussed in part one.

dutch and co. break back into spring hill, with dutch planning to kill him after the containment fence is shut down. right off the bat their plan hits a few snags; the compound has apparently been left unguarded because it's in the middle of a "system wide changeover." changeover to who? it's not said in the scene itself, but we know later on that this refers to the hullen.

and then it turns out jelco doesn't even have the clearance to shut down the wall by himself even if he wanted to. he was never given it... but delle seyah has it, and she's not interested in giving it to pawter. the fact she has it and he doesn't is weird but it makes sense combined with the scene i mentioned earlier; he's following her orders and is working on her timeline, whether he wants to or not.

then we get to this scene.

"what the hells is going on? those beds, the plasma?" "how should i know? i'm just a cog in the machine."

for a cog, jelco sure as hell seems to know a lot, and he knows it.

we already know from shaft that the company's plans for westerley extend to every town on the moon. but this conversation is the first time dutch is hearing about that, and she puts together what the audience is starting to realize: more walls in more towns means more labs. more labs means more hullen. the company is making an entire moon of hullen. and jelco would be at the center of it.

"it's a whole new program. i set up the wall, deliver the rations, then i move onto the next town. the next wall, apparently."

this implies that, had the use of the containment fence in old town been successful, jelco would have been kept in charge of the program for much longer under delle seyah's direction. this also means that he would have a lot of authority over the project, but only as much as she would give him. as he says, he and everyone else involved are just middlemen. that's not just him saying that -- he's really referring to how the power structure of the conspiracy works. remember how i mentioned the engineers weren't told what they were building when they built the containment fence? and sure, jelco is more powerful than most "middlemen" are, but he's still right.

and then we get to what is, in my opinion, the most interesting part of what he says.

he claims that there is more plasma than what's in the labs. when prompted by dutch he tells her that westerley is "just the beginning" and that "there's more [plasma] than you could possibly imagine." he says he'll tell her where it is, but only if she spares his life. after some hesitating, she accepts.

at first glance, this might sound like a convenient lie he invented to save himself. except... later events show that it isn't. there are indeed other plasma sources in the quad, and in the rest of the j star cluster. the plot of how to kill friends and influence people, which directly follows johnny be good, is about finding one of these sources. season three confirms that there are more than even that, and that the hullen are spread across systems due to there being so many.

starts to make you wonder how much jelco really knew, if he knew about that. since the show goes on to prove he was correct several times, i don't think it was a lie or a lucky guess when he said it. he knew and was counting on dutch realizing he was necessary.

just look at his expression here. he's not waiting for her to shoot him. he already knows she's not going to.

part four: the disappearance of liam jelco.

i want to preface by saying none of this is intended as a mean spirited jab at the writers or even others in the fandom. it's just my opinion / observation.

this is where we get into one of the biggest questions i still have about the way the show was written.

why doesn't any of the above actually go anywhere?

to answer this question, i took to consuming pretty much every bit of behind-the-scenes content for the season i could get my hands on. interviews, twitter discussions, reddit comments, all of it. and none of it had anything approaching a satisfying answer.

what i did find surprised me.

jelco is often written off by the fandom as something of a joke or forgotten entirely, and i think part of this stems from how the writers treated him. after reading archived interviews and such, i got the sense that michelle lovretta never really intended to make him into a complex character the way that she did with other antagonists in the series. i think that she viewed him as more of a plot device than a character in his own right, and never intended to round him out at all beyond sticking him in the protagonists' path as an obstacle whenever it was relevant.

but picking apart his role in the myth arc has led me to believe that he could have been more. the groundwork is plenty there already, there's just no payoff.

the show stopped perceiving him as relevant, and so did the fandom.

an interview lovretta did after the airing of heist, heist baby also got my attention. in it, she says that jelco was originally written to be killed. she doesn't give any specifics of who or how, but she does say that johnny be good was the episode that his planned death scene was shot for before reshoots were done, giving him a more unclear fate so that he could be brought back later. in the aired episode, he vanishes suddenly after being left aboard lucy offscreen.

what this tells me is that fancy lee was his intended murderer. supporting this is the weird vague-ness of fancy's dialogue at the end of the episode when dutch realizes jelco is missing.

"i let him go, but we had some fun first."

what does that mean?

and why would fancy choose to let him go? doesn't that seem a little out of character to anyone? no clear answer is ever given, by the characters themselves or by anyone working on the show. the only indication we're given as to what happened is the fact fancy is seen cleaning blood off of his blade at the end of johnny be good, and jelco reappears with a scar on his face that looks like a knife wound, suggesting it was the result of a fight with fancy offscreen.

in the same interview, lovretta also partially credits adam barken (writer and co-exec producer for the first three seasons) with creating the storyline that jelco was given after his death scene was cut. this "storyline" occurs largely offscreen and is contained within an episode that feels largely disconnected from the rest of the third season.

"that's totally to adam barken's credit, along with of course writer julie and the actors themselves. last year we shot jelco's death scene in 209, but also shot a version where we could leave it more open ended (the version we went with in edit). that's because adam was really excited about the thought of what jelco might do next. he pitched out that jelco might run back to borna, make a deal for her protection, and eventually fall in love but have to work at wooing her. we've had that in our back pocket ever since."

the wording here tells me that neither barken nor lovretta ever intended on using any of the elements previously established with jelco. when he reappears, absolutely nothing is mentioned of anything he told dutch, which, oh by the way is the very reason she didn't kill him and that he's still alive to marry borna in the first place. it's like everyone, in universe and out, just forgot that was a thing all of a sudden... except that the writers didn't just "forget". they either didn't see the potential in exploring that again or didn't care. it's frustrating.

what would have been nice to see instead was a scene where they talk about that, particularly as the killjoys are about to go to war with the hullen. elaborating further on what he knows about the plasma would have been a good way to bring him back into the fold while keeping him relevant to the direction the show was taking. he could've stayed a recurring character without losing his importance, and this also would've paved the way for him to have more compelling character development in a similar vein to other antagonists, like delle seyah.

the groundwork is right there, but no.

what we do get is a jelco who (poorly) plans a heist to steal something pretty for his wife, panics when the consequences of his actions come for him, and admits that his wife punches and yells at him but still stays with her even when d'avin is literally trying to tell him hey, that's an abusive relationship and you should leave. it leaves such a bad taste in my mouth now whenever i see someone in fandom talking about how "fitting" it is for him (and i admit i used to be blind about that too, but my feelings about it have changed since.) it's such a far cry from the "prickly and charming, but also dangerous" type lovretta initially said she characterized him as all the way back in wild, wild westerley. it isn't fitting at all.

they spared jelco from being killed off, realized they didn't know what to do with him, and instead of capitalizing on any of the things that were previously established with him, they created a new story that ultimately resulted in him appearing for a single episode, being turned into a joke, and then being discarded, never to be mentioned for the rest of the series.

what a waste of potential.

#killjoys syfy #character analysis #meta #killjoys meta tag #liam jelco #over 3k words... this got away from me and i will not apologize for it #the kj fandom: *existing*#me: *drops this*

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tsukiyohanayome · 2 years ago

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The Cursed Slave ch.1

an: I have no idea how long it's gonna be or whether or not I'm gonna ditch it, since I'm already upset with this fic as my proofreader shits on me and took more than 3 weeks and I didn't hear anything from them since. But I'm very invested in this fic. It's supposed to be a slowburn with eventual smut bc its Sukuna and my brain is rotten. wc: 1.6k tw: slavery??

Sukuna has always had a preference for the innocent ones.

It wasn’t because he wanted someone to take care of or because he liked to be gentle, no. It was rather the opposite. Innocence was fun. Fun to break. He delighted himself in how they always crumbled under his touch, succumbing to what they’d sworn their life to always run away from. It was amusing to play with his victims, play with their emotions, and make them addicted to his presence, his mere attention and physical contact. Addicted to the point of madness.

A slave. An empty shell of what formerly was a human. Why did this happen to me, you wondered, as one of them yanked you harshly by the chains connected to the collar around your neck and handcuffs on your wrists, causing you to fall. – "Pathetic maggot" – he scoffed, lifting your body and throwing you over his shoulder – "Can’t even walk, we probably won’t even make any money off selling you." – he said, carrying you over to the bidding area.

You didn’t care. You didn’t care who is going to buy you or how much they were going to pay for you. It’s not like it matters. You don’t exist. Since that very day when the purge happened in your village, you were dead. They killed you with everyone else. Burned you down with all the houses, crops and memories. Except they didn’t. You and the group of other village girls and young women were spared and took prisoners to be sold. Were you really spared, then? They all were taken with different men, making it impossible to plan any way of escaping as you were completely alone. Where would you go, anyway? Every person you used to know was long gone.

The room is cold and damp, circle shaped with a pedestal in a middle. Filled almost to the brim with monks buying slaves for their kings, as well as nasty drunkards, wanting a toy for their own sick pleasure. The moment you entered the room, sickening catcalling noises hit your ears and you wanted nothing more than to disappear. Your oppressor dragged you on the pedestal and then spun you around, like a little rag doll causing the group of those disgusting barbarians to whine even louder and the auctioneer hushed them to start his speech. – “Gentlemen, please! This one is our last for today, so calm down and we all can go home. Starting price is 1000 gold pieces!” – You hung your head. Your life was worth just a bit more than a couple loaves of bread now. Stinging tears started forming up in the corners of your eyes, as there was a brief silence in the room. Were you worth even less? Will they kill you, if no one buys you?

- “1500!” – shouted one. Strange relief, followed by terror when he continued – “she will make the cutest housewife for me and my men!” – a loud, repulsive smack of his lips filled your head and your stomach dropped. You’ve never been a religious person, but you found yourself praying to any possible god that was out there. Please, please, please NOT him. – "2000!" – Said another. Your body started shaking involuntarily as the bid went higher but you couldn’t dare to look, at who was going to be your next owner. You prayed for all of this to be just a sickening nightmare.

Your blood ran cold when you heard soft but a firm voice say “two million” and, as shocked as the rest of the attendees, you looked toward its source. It was a monk, dressed in a dark blue robe, with chin-length white hair. Your heart started racing, as maybe, just maybe the person you’ll be sold to, won’t be your death, judging by the stoic look of your bidder.

Everyone was too shocked to proceed, the auctioneer sold you to the monk right away.

Grabbing your chains, the oppressor from before was about to drag you to the monk only to be stopped by their raised hand. – “Now, now. There’s no need to be this harsh.” – They spoke elegantly. The tiniest flick of fire lit in your heart, giving you a promise, you desperately tried to hold onto. Were you actually saved now?

The monk came up to you and you lowered your head, not daring to look at them. You’re just an object, after all. You’re not worthy to look at anyone without permission. A hand touched your chin lifting it and you yelped softly at a sudden, gentle contact. They looked into your eyes and smiled. – “Come on, we need to make you look appropriate before you can see the Master. My name is Uraume. Let’s go to your new home.” – Home. You wanted to both laugh and cry at that word. Your home. Flashbacks of the purge immediately hit you and you couldn’t hold the tears that rolled freely down your cheeks.

Your village was your safety. You led a simple life of a young adult woman and helped your parents with daily errands, the farm and the crops. Sometimes you also would help other elderly neighbors as not many of them had kids on their own. The population structure in your village was rather an old one and you didn’t have any plans of changing that. You just weren’t interested in any village man you knew for your entire life. Every single day was the same, but you couldn’t care less. Of course, you longed for some thrill in your life, like from those tales your mom used to tell you. About a young village girl who met a prince and they lived happily ever after. Sometimes you even let yourself fantasize and think about “bad guys” coming to the village and a charming prince appearing out of nowhere, to save everyone and falling in love with you instantly. It certainly was something, that should only be a mere fantasy, right?

Your village was a safe place, after all. Every full moon a sacrifice in the shape of a cow, pig or calf was taken away to the place you would rather not think about. But it kept your village safe. Something, certain someone was protecting your home and you never wanted to delve into details.

You’ve heard a lot about neighboring villages being seized by brigands but nonetheless, the villagers weren’t scared. They said the sacrifices they’re giving suffice and so you were calm about your life as well. Until one day your fantasies became true. But partially.

You woke up to the horrific screams of villagers and the smell of smoke. Looking out through the window you could see the fire, dangerously dancing on the rooftops of the houses you knew so well. You could hear voices you know, screaming, begging for help. Feeling the urge to stand up and do something, help them, fight! Fight? You are a common village girl who can’t even hold a bow properly. Cursing yourself mentally, you opened the window as silently as possible and you slid through. You had to hide, somewhere. But, to your misfortune, the second your feet touched the ground a pair of arms grabbed you, a hand covering your mouth to silence your cries, and you’ve been dragged somewhere.

All the things they’ve done to you and everyone and everything…

Your prince never showed up…

- “Hello?” – a snap of fingers in front of your face brought you back to reality. Before you stand the same, white-haired monk that just bought you. Their dark-pink eyes looking intently at you – “I’ve asked you a question. What is your name?”

Your name? No one’s asked about it in so long, you almost forgot what it was. Did it even matter anyway? You whispered your name, barely audible though – “But I’ll answer to anything my new Master chooses to” – you add immediately.

The monk smiled lightly and reached for a key, that the auctioneer must’ve given them when you were lost in your thoughts and unlocked your handcuffs and the collar, and started walking towards the direction of your soon-to-be-home. A hiss left your lips as you grabbed your wrist to massage the bruised skin. How long were you chained for? Weeks? Months? You don’t even know, time lost its meaning long ago. – “Are... Are you not worried that I might escape?” – you asked sheepishly.

You could hear them chuckle shortly and they looked at you over their shoulder, without stopping – “I know you have nowhere to go, I know what happened to you. Besides, I’m taking you to the safest place you could ever be at. If you’re wanted there.”

The last bit leaves a dreadful chill running down your spine. But… How did they know what happened? You had so many questions forming up in your head and somehow, you felt like you can trust them. Uraume, was it? – “Ummm… U-Uraume…?” – you started, suddenly regretting using their name like this and all you wanted was to crumble into dust. You shut your eyes, waiting for a punishment that didn’t come and only heard a hum in response. Opening your eyes you saw the monk facing you now, their eyes tinted with concern – or so you imagined. – “I… What… Who… Who is going to be my new… New Master?” – you hate how this all sounds on your tongue. you knew you were going to hate them. You just wanted to be free. Not to be someone’s puppet, you wanted to live life again. “I know you have nowhere to go” the echo of Uraume’s words hit you instantly as if to mock your situation.

They smiled at your question, turned away and started walking again. – “Your new Master? It’s Ryoumen Sukuna.”

Your stomach dropped.

©tsukiyohanayome 2022 no next chapter date bc I have no idea and I'm just starting my new work, but I'll try my best to upload it next month or so

taglist: @sakuraryomen01 @xxnghtclls @dr-skazkaif you want to be on the taglist drop an ask or comment here

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #ryoumen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #uraume #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #sukuna fanfic #jjk x reader #sukuna smut #the cursed slave

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brianhanes · 2 years ago

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Why Star Wars Attack of the Clones Wasn’t That Bad

A lot of times Attack of the Clones get slack from Star Wars (especially Original Trilogy fans) but it honestly was a decent film even if it wasn’t great for Star Wars standards.

1. The Prequels faced a very high standard

As previously mentioned, the Original Trilogy is one of the best trilogies of all time. Many consider it to be the best trilogy in cinema history. They were known for having great acting, stunning graphics, and a compelling story. This means people expected to see all the same from the Prequels and anything it fell short on caused people to ignore it’s strengths.

I’d honestly argue Attack of the Clones had better pacing than A New Hope. I’m not saying it was a better movie but for me, many of the scenes that took place in the middle of the film (in the Death Star) were dull. We also need to keep in mind the Vader vs Ben Kenobi duel was poor and the movie made stromtroopers look like a joke with them constantly missing. But nostalgia can fix many things. Don’t get me wrong, the start of the ANH was very strong and the end of it (trench run and celebration scene) brought about some of the best moments in cinema history.

2. It reduced the sting of Jar Jar

The main reason and many viewers enjoy Attack of the Clones more than the Phantom Menace is because of Jar Jar Binks. That character had constant, over-the-top comedic scenes that just weren’t funny. Many thought he killed the movie and Attack of the Clones was at least watchable in most scenes. More so, it made such an annoying character become a mature senator. He ended up being more mature than Anakin!

3. People Took it Too Seriously

This honestly is the biggest reason people didn’t enjoy the film as much as they could have. Attack of the Clones is easily one of the funniest if not the funniest Star Wars movie of all time. I watched it as a kid, so I was able to see this, and I watched it again as an adult and enjoyed it even more. It isn’t a Rogue One type of story and shouldn’t be treated that way.

4. We get to see Anakin simp as soon as it starts

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When I rewatch, this scene always has me cracking up. Perhaps some people had gotten so old that they forgot what it was like to be young. If you understand what it’s like to be a teenager and young adult, then much of what Anakin does should make you laugh. I’ve known so many Anakins in my life and honestly don’t know what we’d do without them bringing flavor in this world.

Anakin loses it with Obi Wan all because he’s flipping out about some girl. But it’s not just about that, he’s a young man who wants to prove who he is. Like many recent high school grads in the work force and college graduates. Anakin at this time was 19, still a teenager who wants to rush too quickly which gets him into trouble. I myself have had to learn this lesson so many times, to slow down.

Every time I hear Anakin impulsively say, “WHY??!!” I bust out. Even Jar Jar gulps in fear when he witnesses Anakin’s outburst. And pay close attention, you’ll notice Anakin is still staring at Padme when everyone else has moved on. Lucas knew exactly what he was doing lmao.

5. Anakin is so realistic

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People like to make fun of prequel dialogue even if they believed Anakin was a decent or good actor, but I have another argument, the dialogue wasn’t even that bad. At least not as bad as many people were making it out to be. For me, realistic acting is never bad acting because the point of acting is to mimic reality.

Let us think about Anakin’s past shall we. In the last movie he was a slave. Taken away to join a group of detached monks for ten years. For all his highschool age and younger years he never learned how to deal with women he liked. He never kissed a girl, probably had no idea what flirting was, and wasn’t trained on dating etiquette. Whether people would like to admit it or not most of us wouldn’t figure out and many of us still haven’t in better circumstances found out how to talk to people we are attracted to.

I knew awkward adults in college and high school when it came to women. Why then is it strange for Anakin to be awkward when they who at least had more opportunities to learn about dating approaches were just as awkward?

PADME!!!

6.The first conflict was fun

I did not watch Attack of the Clones in theaters, it was a bit before my time. The first Star Wars movie I watched in theaters was Revenge of the Sith, but I was still quite young then. I don’t know how people initially reacted when the saw the movie. but it had a strong start. There was a conflict, we knew a bounty hunter wanted to hunt down Padme. Anakin had simp tension, and an epic chase ensued throughout the Corsucant streets.

7. Anakin killing the Tuskens was also realistic

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Remember when I said Anakin was only 19? There are soldiers who at 19 snapped and wiped out villages. Killing men, women, and children. More so, Anakin himself is a former child soldier. Who was recruited at 9. Jedi in the Clone Wars TV series fight at 14. Anakin in a legends comic killed someone at 10 years old. Perhaps that could have been more fleshed out, but when you are fighting at such a young age your mind is at risk.

Not to mention they just killed his mother in cold blood. I also loved the scene itself. Seeing Anakin rage and slash up Tuskens was great. I thought his acting was amazing. He was clearly ticked off and people often blame others when big incidents happen (like how he blamed Kenobi). Some people criticize Padme for staying with Anakin knowing he slaughtered tuskens of all ages. But Padme’s reaction was realistic.

I recommend people watch a movie called “What’s Love Got to Do With It?” about Tina Turner. It’s incredibly underrated. Women stay with abusive men all the time. In this case, she had a clear way to justify it because they killed his mother and Tuskens had terrorized the local villages for years. The Tuskens themselves have probably cleaned out households, so while Anakin’s actions weren’t justifiable they are not surprising and remember Anakin is from Tatooine.

For all we know, he may have heard bad stories about them for years even while he was gone away as a Jedi. He might have been anxious about his mother well before the movie.

8, Jango Fett vs Obi Wan

This fight was epic and Jango gave us everything Boba didn’t in ROTJ, an amazing fight! Jango was the first to really show us that you don’t have to be a Jedi in Star Wars to take them on.

9. Jango vs Obi Wan in Space

Ok honestly, this was one of the best dogfights in Sci-Fi history. There I said it. It was phenomenal 10/10 the entire time. And it even did things to make it stand out as a showdown such as...

10. Seismic Charges

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Jango’s use of a homing rocket was also a nice addition to the space showdown.

11. No Dull Moments

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How anyone can watch Anakin riding that animal until he gets bucked off without laughing is beyond me. It’s gold and the CGI only makes it more comical.

12. The sand joke

Big deal, Anakin said sand is rough, course, and irritating. Is that not true? Sand really has all of those qualities. Is it more irritating that he said everything is smooth on Naboo, perhaps but is it that big of a deal. I’ve heard plenty of people make weird statements before and remember this is a monk who was not able to party, date, or do anything wild.

If you live a socially deprived like you might make lame statements too. All we can reasonably expect Anakin to do well is fight well and he did that. Outside of that, we could somewhat expect him to conduct himself professionally, but there is always an immature person out there. Like many young people, rock stars, class clowns, and others. There is always that person, why can’t it be Anakin.

13. The Droid Factory

This was a visually stunning scene with great action. We also got a good humor bit with R2 and 3P0. They are always 100 percent on character. Their argument about leaving the ship was noteworthy as well.

Also mentioning humor, when Obi Wan said he wanted to be left alone and Anakin literally wanted to ditch him after he was captured, I was in stitches. Seriously felt like a comedy skit. Padme of course does the mature thing and emphasizes that they need to rescue Obi Wan and lets Anakin know that she’ll be looking for Obi Wan. Anakin then has no choice but to also look for his master.

Maybe he was seriously, lol. Perhaps he had been nagged one too many times. Perhaps he was yanking her tail and knew Padme would insist. I guess Kenobi would have to hope that was the case.

14. The Arena creatures

A great nod to Star Wars in general. Creatures have always been an essential part of Star Wars and Anakin never missed his mark. Especially when Anakin took command of one of them. That was iconic.

15. The Arena Battle

Here Lucas did something really novel. In other depictions, we always only saw one or two Jedi around. Lucas gave us a scene with 200 Jedi fighting together as a group against a massive droid army. Like the Battle of Hoth, speeder chase, Mustafar duel, Phantom Menace duel, and Battle over Coruscant this was a staple moment in Star Wars.

Though the scene itself might not have been cinema gold, the idea was. it really deserves to get remade more in Star Wars video games. I hope to see more scraps like this in Tales of the Jedi’s next seasons.

17. C3PO switched out

Hilarious, who’d ever imagine fighting him? Him nearly blasting Gunray made it even better.

18. The Clone Troopers

One of the most beloved aspects of Star Wars. What later became a staple of the Clone Wars 2003 miniseries and 2008 Clone Wars series. It all started here and there was something special about the early clones. While the second phase of clones was my favorite (episode 3 timeline), I really enjoyed the uniform, professional, and mysterious vibes we got form the early clone troopers.

19. Count Dooku

One of the most iconic, beloved, elegant, and unique Sith Lords of all time emerged. Dooku is a staple Star Wars character (like Maul, Vader, Grievous, Jango Fett, Luke, Obi Wan) who is listed in many fans top 10 Star Wars characters. Not only is he an amazing villain but he makes for a great anti-hero or anti-villain in the Tales of the Jedi tv series. And they picked someone who was 80 years old yet still seemed powerful at all moments and someone who they can still make a lot more content about in a new show.

20. Mace Windu

Mace Windu is a classic prequel character. He has been shown in countless tv shows, comics, and novels. He is known for his dogmatic nature, being a mighty force user, and exceptional duelist. Mace really shows us what it’s like to look at an intimidating Jedi Master. His showing against Jango Fett further displays his dominance.

Dude is just OP!

21. Yoda in action

I’ve heard that people reacted by cheering in the theaters while watching Yoda’s first lightsaber duel. I remember watching the documentary and seeing how the Prequel devs created a unique acrobatic fighting style for the legendary Jedi master. He dueled in a way that made him seem terrifying and inspiring despite his size.

He showed he had the force feats and saber skills to easily match a lethal Sith Lord who just beat two top tier duelists. This was another groundbreaking moment in Star Wars much like Obi Wan’s duel with Grievous and the fight in the Phantom Menace with a double bladed lightsaber user.

22. Geonosians

Star Wars has many fascinating cultures and races such as the Wookiees, Ewoks, Mandalorians, and Twileks but what makes Geonosians particularly inspiring is their insect like appearance. More so, most of them seem to have an ability to fly and they have unique weapons that make them lethal warriors. The vicious nature of Geonosian warriors was further explore in the Star Wars Republic Commando video game which came two years after the release of Attack of the Clones.

23. Kamino

I don’t know how I skipped this but I skipped it. Kamino was an awesome water world. Similar to how Mustafar was an awesome fire planet and Naboo was stunning. Bespin was a gorgeous land in the clouds and Hoth was a nice arctic tundra. Kamino is another fine addition to Star Wars’s collection of intriguing locations.

24. It builds up beautifully with Revenge of the Sith

Especially the scene where Anakin has his vision and his mother dies. It really explains the peril he feels when Padme is also at risk. Anakin didn’t have a lot of people that he loved that weren’t involved in the Jedi Order. And that really matters because all the Jedi that he knew (even the ones he liked) constantly reminded him (whether intentionally or not) of the rules and obligations he desperately wanted a break from.

The scene where Anakin vows to never again let someone he loves die and how he reacts to his mother’s passing is huge. It really lays out why he isn’t willing to risk Padme’s death in Episode 3 and how his biggest issue is an inability to accept that some things are beyond his control. Furthermore, it laid out the foundation for the story of Darth Plageius the Wise.

My rating of ATOC is 7 out of 10 stars but I honestly enjoy it more than that rating.

25. Obi Wan’s sass

Ok how did I miss this? Anakin doesn’t get to hog all of the comedic points. Kenobi definitely deserves to join in on this fun. If you didn’t notice his blatant sarcasm during the “rescue attempt” I really don’t know what to tell you.

26. The Fireplace Scene

One of my friends mainly agrees with me, he tells me most of the scenes in this movie are decent. Some were a bit cringey but they made sense (like how Anakin acted around Padme) but the fireplace scene was just atrocious. I’m going to argue with him. I’m going to argue it was delicious. But seriously, this is an all or nothing scene.

Either you love it or hate it and I love it to pieces! Perhaps not so much if you care about Anakin’s dignity, I mean he really went way to far here. Like I said, the sand quote wasn’t embarrassing, it wasn’t an odd thing to think though uncommon to express. But the I CAN’T BREATH, you’re in MY SOUL TOURMENTING ME! That would get a man ghosted very quickly.

Still, fighting in the battlefield and almost getting killed alongside each other might change things. I mean, maybe Padme was intending to ghost and friend zone until that happened. Being a hero, slashing droids in half, that definitely can win a woman over.

And to be fair, if a woman meets with you in a nice gown and you’re supposed to “protect her” I’m not quite sure what her real motives are.

27. Deathsticks

Brilliant, brilliant, absolutely BRILLIANT! Seriously, drugs in Star Wars were makes it feel much more real. But what’s even better about this is Kenobi himself uses his trademark jedi mindtrick to convince a man to clean himself up, stop selling drugs, and change his life. That’s inspiring, Lucas was dropping golden nuggets and making people laugh in a Star Wars movie.

28. Little Boba

This was honestly a nice touch. Boba at this point in the story a goofy little kid, it added personality to his dry yet cool persona we saw in the OT. Which was appropriate for the Original Trilogy, but it is important to know that people are people, there is a reason they act however they do.

Boba Fett yelling, “Get him dad. Get HIM. FIRA.” It wasn’t that bad and hey he was a kid, just rooting for his father. Boba also showed maturity by doing as Jango ordered without hesitation and being able to operate the Slave 1 on his own even managing to use it to hurt Obi Wan.

The most important scene here was him witnessing his father’s death, it completely explain how he became such a ruthless and cold bounty hunter later. But like his father Boba had some values, unfortunately AOTC didn’t do a good job showing the values Jango had or how he passed them down to his son.

29. Dexter’s Diner

It was a nice dive into a more casual aspect of the Star Wars universe. I felt the same way about the glimpses we got into Coruscant, the Jedi Temple, Naboo, and the public transport in the film. The nice thing about Star Wars is getting different themes and narratives each movie. it can’t be all doom and gloom like Revenge of the Sith, Rogue One, and you get it.

30. Look at what it led to

I pretty much wrapped it up but I want to add this. I’m not focusing on projects that came out Revenge of the Sith, which in my opinion was the best movie lore-wise (not in general) in Star Wars history. Attack of the Clones and the Phantom Meance may not be the best Star Wars movies by any means, but they were decent (well TPM is decent without Jar Jar) but lore-wise I think the Prequels as a whole are on another level to anything else Star Wars.

Star Wars Republic Commando (2004)

One of the best video game series of all time. It was outright phenomenal and delved more deeply into the mysterious, sci-fi, war, and clone aspects of the Clone Wars that Attack of the Clones introduced us to.

Star Wars Clone Wars (2003) Volume 1

This series was epic and action packed. It really showed us the huge battles, vast frontiers, mysterious worlds, great array of vehicles, and different climates that were shown in Clone Wars battles. This is a distinct vibe from the later Clone Wars which has more of an episode 3 vibe. The biggest difference is by then both the CIS and Republic are much more developed and begin to fight in more populated and crowded worlds.

The 2008 Clone Wars series initially gave us a blend of both feels that were in Episode II and III but eventually (post season 3) became more centered on the Episode III tone of war. The same was true with the second volume of the Clone Wars (which makes perfect sense) but the first volume is largely regarded as the favorite. And what really made it special was that peculiar vibe the era had, you never knew what you were going to encounter.

When invisible droids engaged Yoda on Illum or when Ventress dueled Anakin something about it was so new and fresh that isn’t easily implemented in other eras. And for good resaon, they all have something special about them.

Star Wars The Clone Wars (2002)

It was a phenomenal vehicle based video game that existed in a Star Wars setting. It had a compelling story, epic battles, unique vehicles, and diverse multiplayer modes. This game just showed how much potential the AOTC era had.

Star Wars Republic (2002-2004 content)

While Republic initially came after The Phantom Menace and many of it’s great comics were inspired by the character Quinlan Vos, much of it’s content that came after 2002 was influenced by Attack of the Clones. But likewise Attack of the Clones was influenced by the comic series.

Many people though Aayla Secura was created in Attack of the Clones, but she actually first appeared in Star Wars Republic back in 1998. Still, the Clone Wars timeline brought many interesting storylines to this series.

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hrtiu · 4 years ago

Text

There’s Only One Bed on Slave I

Thanks to @flybynite19 for the idea!

Fennec had worked for a lot of people over the years, so she was used to dealing with her clients’ idiosyncrasies. Still, she’d never worked with someone quite like Boba Fett before.

She’d heard of him, of course. Anybody who was anybody in the hired gun game knew the Fetts. Ok, maybe some of the young hotshots wouldn’t, but they were all dumbasses whose opinion was of no value to Fennec or anyone else. Boba Fett was bounty hunter royalty, and like any proper monarch, he was a little bit mad.

It took about a month for Fennec to recover from Boba’s life-saving “intestinal enhancements,” as he liked to call them, and Fennec knew that as soon as she was operational, they’d be getting to work. Boba was like a snake, waiting still and silent in the burning sand for the perfect opportunity to strike. And that opportunity had finally arrived.

“Where to?” Fennec asked the first morning Boba declared her fully recovered. She got to her feet and snapped the cover over her cybernetic stomach shut, ready to conquer systems and topple dynasties.

“Wherever my father’s armor is,” Boba said, gathering up supplies from around the small hut he called home with the unhurried confidence of a man who expected others to wait for him.

“And that is…?”

Boba looked up at her, his scarred face serious and unyielding. “My contacts have tracked the man who currently possesses my armor to Corvus. We’ll pick up the trail from there.”

“Fair enough,” Fennec said. “How are we getting off-planet?”

A slow smile crept across Boba’s face. “I’ve got that all figured out.”

They packed their few personal effects and extensive weapons collection, then Fennec followed Boba out of the hut and to the tall sand dunes beyond his residence. He held a small remote up towards the monochromatic dune and clicked it with all the solemnity of a monk performing a sacred rite. Fennec watched on, unimpressed, then a rusted, formidable-looking patrol ship rose from the dune, the sand falling off it in tawny curtains. Her eyebrows rose a half an inch—the most dramatic outwards expression of surprise she’d shown in years.

Boba showed her onboard, not bothering to look back or lock up his hut behind him. The quarters were cramped and timeworn but well-maintained. Boba must have brought it out of the sand periodically for regular upkeep over the years.

They stowed their things away, mostly in the armory as a large percentage of their belongings was made to kill people, then Fennec followed Boba to the cockpit and they took off. Fennec looked down over the desert planet as it slowly receded behind them, feeling strangely reborn at the sight of the planet where she’d died becoming small beneath her feet.

Boba set the coordinates and Fennec leaned back in her seat, her eyes glazing over as she stared into the cerulean sea of hyperspace. Her future was uncertain, in some ways more uncertain than it had ever been, but she was at peace. Working a job, fighting someone else’s fights—that’s where she belonged. That was a life she recognized.

“We’re still several hours from Corvus,” Boba said. “You should get some rest. We might run into the man with my armor as soon as we set foot planetside, and Mandalorians aren’t known to give up beskar without a fight.”

“Fine by me,” Fennec said, getting to her feet. “Where should I bunk?”

“The pilot’s quarters are right up that ladder,” Boba said, pointing behind him without looking.

Fennec’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the ladder, mentally going through the quick tour Boba had given her when they’d first embarked.

“Isn’t that your bunk?” she asked, still making her way back to the ladder.

“Only one bunk on the Slave I.”

Fennec’s hand stopped on the first rung of the ladder, her lips pursing. “I’ll sleep on the passenger deck.”

Eyes still on the console in front of him, Boba Fett sighed. “We’re both old mercs with bad joints. It’s only a few hours to Corvus. It’s a big bunk.”

Fennec’s fingers closed around the rung and her lips pursed tighter. “Fine.” She’d kill him if he tried anything, life debt or no, and she was pretty sure he understood that.

She climbed up into the pilot’s quarters and crawled across the bed, the low space not allowing for much more movement than that. There were fresh sheets, a sturdy blanket, and two cloud-soft pillows already laid out, and Fennec eagerly made herself comfortable. She wondered vaguely at where Boba could have possibly found such nice bed linens on Tatooine, then fell fast asleep.

---

Fennec’s eyes opened on a plain durasteel ceiling less than a foot above her. The lights of the ship had been turned down low and the hum of hyperspace thrummed pleasantly through her body, urging her to close her eyes again and go back to sleep. Conceding defeat, she rolled over onto her side and pulled the blanket tighter around her, fully prepared to once again embrace the oblivion of sleep. Then she saw her bedfellow.

Boba Fett lay flat on his back, eyes closed and hands resting peacefully atop his stomach. The dim light of the cabin cast shadows across his face, the darkness seeping into each crease and crevice of his scars. Fennec reminded herself that she’d known he’d be joining her—that she’d agreed to the arrangement and understood the boundaries. It was still quite the trip to actually witness Boba Fett sharing her bed.

Deciding she wouldn’t get much sleep staring at him, she tried to roll back onto her back, where only the durasteel ceiling would keep her company. The maneuver twinged something in her stomach, and suddenly her gut was burning in pain.

“Agh!”

Boba’s eyes flew open and he surged upwards, banging his head soundly on the low ceiling. “Dank farrik! What is it?” he swore.

“Nothing! I-” Fennec cut off, gasping in pain. “Something went wrong in my stomach.”

“Let me see.”

Boba rolled over towards her as Fennec opened up the panel in her tunic that covered her exposed wiring, the lancing pain overriding any questions of propriety or embarrassment.

“It looks like it’s the motivator,” Boba said, his face hunched low over her torso as he attempted to do repairs in the tiny bunk space.

Fennec bit hard on the inside of her cheeks, her eyes watering from pain and her hands fisting in the blankets. “Just… get it fixed.”

Boba nodded in agreement and practically buried his face in her abdomen, his sharp eyes darting to and fro as he attempted to locate the source of the malfunction. After far too many minutes of agony, Boba’s surprisingly nimble fingers clicked a wire into place and the pain instantly abated. The tension in Fennec’s muscles took time to unwind, and she slowly went through her body one tendon at a time, releasing the built up pressure.

“You alright?” Boba asked, still hovering awkwardly with his nose just inches from her cybernetic stomach.

“Yeah. Much better.”

He started to pull away but Fennec reached out a hand, her vice-like grip on his wrist halting him.

“I’m not useless, you know,” she said, her jaw taught. “I can still fight. I know it.”

“Do you think I would have brought you if you were useless? Do you think I would have bothered to save you at all?” Boba asked, smooth brows furrowed over his honey-dark eyes.

“I can sleep on the deck without a blanket. I can push through the pain if I malfunction. I’m not faulty.”

Boba’s eyes narrowed on her and his mouth twisted more than the scarring already warped it. “Fennec. We’re both faulty. That’s why I picked you. And that’s why we’re both taking the bunk.”

He started to settle back into the sheets, but Fennec didn’t release her hold. She tugged on his wrist, bringing his face close to hers and staring intently into his eyes. She’d heard that the eyes were the windows of the soul, but Boba’s amber eyes revealed nothing. Her gaze drifted to his scars, following the one stabbing right between his brows, then trailing up the one that reached from the end of one eye and up to the very center of his forehead. His red-white-tan-mottled skin didn’t look quite so discolored in the dim light, and she thought he’d actually fared better than most of their peers from her early days of work. Maybe they both had.

Firmly, but with an air of intrepid experimentation, Fennec reached a hand behind Boba’s neck and pulled him to her, pressing her lips to his in a stiff and unyielding kiss. His mouth was softer than she’d expected, and she felt his lips turn up into a smirk before she pulled away.

That smirk convinced her she’d made a mistake, and she started to retreat, her hand slipping away and her eyes avoiding direct contact with his.

Before she could make her escape, Boba cupped her face in his hands, the patronizing smirk on his face morphing into something gentler.

“Oh, I think we can both do better than that,” he said, his nose brushing hers.

He kissed her slowly—almost lazily—but with a control and tension that promised more. It was just enough to remind Fennec how good a touch could feel—the softness, the heat, the breath. She made the beginnings of a response, her mouth opening under his and her fingers testing gingerly at his chest. Then, by mutual agreement, they separated.

Fennec opened her eyes and this time, the smirk on her face matched his. Understanding passed between them, a recognition of kindred spirits in a galaxy of strangers. She couldn’t say where this was headed, and she knew he couldn’t either, but she felt instinctively that they would be on the same page.

Fennec turned onto her back and stared up at the durasteel ceiling again, her eyes closing and her breath slowing.

“Rest up,” Boba Fett said from beside her. “We should only have an hour left before we land.”

“I’ll be ready for it,” she said, resting her hands across her torso. The smirk on her face turned into a full-blown grin.

She didn’t think Boba Fett was going to be like any of her previous employers.

#bobannec #the bobannec plague #star wars #the mandalorian #boba fett #fennec shand #fanfic

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thestarkerisobvious · 4 years ago

Text

White

inspired by the incredible artwork of

@cutepandaprincess

“White. So white. I’ve never seen anyone that shines so white.”

Tony only trusted her because everyone trusted her, including Fury. Well… that wasn’t entirely true. Nat trusted her, and while Tony Stark never thought he would give a second glance to anyone claiming to “see auras,” still Nat’s word carried a lot with him.

Round and soft and cheery and freckled and grey, she didn’t seem like a witch (although supposedly she had been lean and ravenhaired and darkeyed in her day. Or so she claimed. But then she got older “and wiser” and gave it all up as too much effort.) In any case her ability to see into the future was invaluable in bringing in that last souped-up badguy with the ridiculous name, and so Tony had invited her to the New Year’s Eve party along with the rest of the team. And if he sidled up to her at said party and tried to subtly get some relationship advice, well, no one had to know.

And if that entire party was just an excuse to get Peter in his arms on New Year’s Eve?

Well, no one needed to know that either.

And there was the boy now, standing by a window surrounded by the best scientific minds at the Avengers compound, laughing and joking and looking entirely edible. That crystal glass wasn’t even holding alcohol… even though the kid was well within drinking age. But when Tony finally got the witch to realize who he was trying to describe (he couldn’t exactly describe him as “the most delectable piece over by the window”) she said the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear.

“Oh, oh. So white, Tony. I’ve never seen anyone that shines so white. It’s like clouds… like flowers… like stars…”

…but then she only got distracted describing the gentleman on Peter’s left who was responsible for adapting some nanotechnology but was apparently having marital troubles. It wasn’t easy, keeping the witch on topic. But Tony poured her another glass of Champaign and did his level best.

“And what does it mean… a white aura… exactly?”

“White means purity and virginity, and peace. Red auras are usually determination and passion… that’s you darling. That’s you through and through. The pink is friendship and unconditional love. The green aura is often the peacemaker, or else someone at harmony with themselves, but more often that not one who can help others harmonize with each other. Not the purple aura, of course that is one who is far too independent…”

And that was it for the rest of the evening.

He didn’t make his move. Even though he had been planning his move since the moment he realized the boy wanted him to make it. Even though he had been planning this entire party ever since that moment. Even though the point of the party was to have Peter there on New Years Eve when the countdown came.

Even though Peter Parker cornered him when the countdown started. Even though, at midnight, he suddenly had an armful of Peter and a New Year’s Kiss right on the corner of his mouth. Even though Peter had held himself there for a moment, just waiting for Tony to move his head a fraction of an inch and close the distance. Tony could feel the boy waiting.

Could feel the boy’s disappointment when it never came.

He didn’t make his move. Even though Peter must have laid awake all night in the guest-room waiting for him. Peter had been invited to stay the night on the premise that, after the party, he wouldn’t be safe to drive. Peter hadn’t had a drop to drink that night, but played along with the premise.

But he played along alone.

Tony wasn’t going to make a move.

How could he, when the witch had laid it out for him so plainly?

Peter was white. Peter was pure. Peter was virginal. Peter was unsullied.

How could Tony possibly be responsible for corrupting that?

* * *

And so Tony resigned to live in utter misery. Resigned to never accept that beautiful gift that Peter was making it clear that he was willing to give – a gift that Tony was entirely unworthy to receive.

For years he lived with that misery (okay he was being a drama-queen. It was six months.)

By day Ironman and Spider-Man still worked together with perfect precision, taking down badguys with a witty quip or clever badinage or a droll rejoinder, until villain and minion alike raised a flag in surrender. At night they worked side-by-side or back-to-back in the lab, finishing each other’s thoughts with eerie precision and perfecting technology at lightning speed. Late-night lab sessions often ended with Peter sleeping in the ‘guest room’ rather than webslinging his way home in the early hours of the day.

Tony still steadfastly called it the ‘guest room’ even though it was very quickly becoming ‘Peter’s room.’ Steadfastly called it the ‘guest room’ even though Peter once joked that more of his clothes were there than in his dorm. Tony steadfastly referred to it as the “guest room” for the same reason he steadfastly refused to visit the “guest room” no matter how many times Peter slept there. No matter how many Avengers joked that they were practically living together… no matter how many suspected that they were already a couple. Tony was steadfast. Because Peter was too pure for him. The witch had said so.

He even asked her… once… when she was brought in to consult on a terrorist-cell case that they were considering. She guessed his name wrong twice, then asked him delicately why he wasn’t with “that beautiful boy” she had met at the party. “I thought that was your night… he certainly thought it was.”

“Did you see us together? See our auras?” Tony asked cautiously, daring, for a moment, to hope.

“That lovely, angelic-white aura? Oh yes sir. Well, I saw many futures for him, so very very many. He has such a storied future, that boy. But I saw the two of you together… oh just for a fleeting moment I caught a glimpse…”

“And it changed, didn’t it,” Tony said, his voice dropping. His head dropping. His hopes dropping. Why did he bother to ask? He already knew the answer. Had reminded himself of it night after night after lonely night.

“Oh yes, certainly. You’re very red, Mr. Stark. Very red. Painfully red. I knew it the instant I saw it… when I saw you together… together you had become so pink… not subtly pink... vibrantly pink...”

* * *

In times of weakness, Tony reminded himself of that conversation. Of a witch who, when she looked at Peter in a roomful of people, saw a white aura so blinding that it took her breath away. Virgin. Pure. Unsullied. And if Tony came anywhere near it he would taint it, like blood on white silk.

He started trying to avoid the boy, he honestly did. Stopped scheduling time together in the lab. Stopped laying awake longing for the boy in the ‘guest room.’ But crime refused to acknowledge Tony’s resolution, and criminals kept throwing them together in the most ridiculous situations. Alien sex pollen made things so awkward as to be almost unbearable. Pretending that Peter was his sex-slave when they went undercover to get info on the Mob Boss? Tony Stark suddenly had the patience of a monk. When they traveled to Sokovia to investigate the arms deal? There might only be one bed, but Tony had plenty of floor to sleep on. And when his head injury left Peter with amnesia? Well the less said about that the better.

Whenever Tony even considered giving into temptation, not for his own sake but for Peter’s (the boy who was making his desires crystal-clear) Tony remembered. The witch’s words. White. Pure. Tony could only sully him. Like blood on white silk.

* * *

Peter graduated early, because of course he did, and Tony gladly accepted the boy’s invitation to his combo-graduation-party-dash-housewarming-soiree in his brand new small apartment that he had rented across the street from Stark Tower. Was he surprised, when he arrived with wine and a dozen roses, to find he was the only one invited? Maybe he was. Or maybe he realized it was too late.

Too late to tell the boy “no” when he melted into Peter’s kiss. When he gave in to those powerful arms and let Peter mold their bodies together. When he obediently let Peter lead him to the couch and sat, pushing the cream cushions aside so Peter could climb into his lap.

“But you have to tell me the truth,” he whispered between kisses. Whispered as best he could. “I know you’re a virgin…” He didn’t whisper how he knew. How he had been on the phone with a certain woman with a crystal ball the day before he bought the white roses…

“Um, sorry?” Peter said, pulling up, blinking. Then he grinned. “Tony… no. Nope. You missed that boat a while ago. Sorry.”

He giggled a little at Tony’s expression, then kissed the slack mouth with a chuckle low in his throat. “Dude… you worry way too much.”

Underneath Peter’s gentle hands, Tony couldn’t deny that it was true. His worries melted like snow under Peter’s warmth. Under Peter’s knowing kiss. They moved together in each other’s arms just as confidently as they fought in the clouds, Tony moving underneath Peter in sure, knowing strokes. Peter peeled off his shirt and pressed his pale skin to Tony’s mouth, moaning his name. Holding each other close they moved like moonlight on the water, breathing sighs as soft as feathers as they came in each other’s arms.

And that freezing fear? That chilling panic that always came when the sex was over, that always made Tony cover himself up and pretend to hibernate, all to avoid looking his partner in the face? That fear melted just like snow in white sunlight. Tony opened his eyes and looked up into Peter’s own, shining like stars.

“I should have known you would make it easy,” Tony breathed. He wasn’t sure if his words made any sense, but Peter seemed to understand. He stroked Tony’s cheek and smiled a knowing smile.

“I told you, you worry too much.”

“Agreed,” Tony chuckled drunkenly (even though that hadn’t touched the chardonnay) and nuzzled his nose into Peter’s hair. Honey curls tickled his nose, and he was oddly reminded of dandelion fluff, the kind he used to blow away as a child when he made a wish. He blew now. He wished now.

“I love you Tony Stark,” Peter whispered, holding him close. “I wanted to tell you at Christmas. I wanted to tell you New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh I know, angel,” he said, and when he felt Peter relax in his arms he had no doubt.

“I’ve always known it,” he murmured as he moved them off the sofa and down to the floor. “I’ve always known,” he whispered, laying Peter’s back to the floor and bowing his head to lick up the milky-white droplets still clinging to Peter’s stomach. “Mio angelo, il mio paradiso. I’ve always known.” He pressed a kiss to the pale skin in the center of Peter’s chest. What he was thinking should have alarmed him then, but it seemed so simple now. An hour ago he had been reminding himself of the words of the silver-haired woman, now all he could think about were young men and diamond rings.

“I love you Peter Parker,” he whispered. It came so easily…

…and only then did he realize. Only then did he understand.

“Pure, and virginal.” the witch had told him that night. “White means purity, and virginity…

“…and peace.”

* * *

“Why are you calling me you ridiculous man?” she scolded when Peter was snug in bed in Tony’s bed, even as the white light of dawn lit up the penthouse. “Listen to your lover. You worry too much.”

“So you know,” Tony said, even as he struggled to explain why he had dialed her number in the first place. She was supposed to be advising the Avengers on criminal activity, not relationship advice.

“I’m going to burn white sage over every inch of your domicile. I’m going to strap a quartz crystal to your forehead,” she groused. “I’m going to stop toasting to WORLD-peace and start toasting to TONY-peace.”

“But you told me, that night, you told me that when you saw us together you saw stained-white…”

“No, I told you I saw vibrant pink. Who in heaven’s name thinks of pink as stained-white? You’re absurd.”

“But you… you never told me what pink meant.”

“Oh for gods’ sake man… pink means friendship.” She spoke more patiently, as if explaining it to a child. “That’s why I thought you were so lovely together, that’s why I always thought it. Because you had been friends for so long…”

“But you said something else that night, I just didn’t remember…”

“…I said several things that night silly man. I told you I had seen so many futures for him, and one of them was with you. And that was rose-colored loveliness, if that’s what you wanted to know.

“And rose is friendship. Friendship. And unconditional love.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Mio angelo, il mio paradiso = “My angel, my heaven.”

with many thanks to @mrstarksbaby

#Starker #Peter Parker/Tony Stark #TheWitchway writes stuff

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years ago

Text

Contending the Flame IV

Author’s Note: Hope everyone had a safe and fun Halloween! Not much else to say here as we start to delve deeper into Ivar and the Nuns new relationship and the two different worlds they come from. Thanks as always for being so awesome!

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 2217

Warnings: Language, Master/Servant dynamic

His brothers had kept a close eye on Ivar since acquiring his new thrall. He still played at the leader of their army, but he had refrained from shutting them out of power entirely. Any chance they had at lending a commanding voice they took. Hvitserk's strategy of giving their little brother a distraction was paying off.

The changes in Ivar's behavior were minuscule. Only Ubbe and Hvitserk took notice. It was the same when they were children when someone would give a new gift to Ivar. It would be a stretch to say he was happy, but his vengeance had quelled. For the moment it was enough, and they could focus on securing lands for their people while Ivar was preoccupied.

It was strange for a thrall not to be seen waiting over their master's every whim, but it seemed Ivar wouldn't permit you to leave his quarters. The other slaves they had acquired tended to him during meals, and when he walked the streets with his guards, you were always absent. Ubbe walked alongside Hvitserk contemplating this.

"What do you think he has her do for him?" Ubbe wondered aloud.

Hvitserk's brows puckered in thought. "Don't know. I can't imagine they have much to talk about, and I know the one thing they aren't doing."

"What do you mean?"

"C'mon, think about it," Hvitserk jested with a smirk. "I suppose that must make him a good fit for her. She'll remain a virgin after all."

Ubbe latched onto Hvitserk's arm, pulling him to a stop as he gave him a harsh look. "Those are dangerous words, brother. Remember Sigurd. I don't want to see another brother dead because of Ivar's fragile grasp of his anger. He has poor sensibilities when it comes to that matter. It's unfair, but it's not his fault."

Hvitserk shook off Ubbe's grasp and rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. "Right, that was stupid. I do pity him, though I don't think he'd want it. Who knows how he'll be when we start having families of our own."

Ubbe grunted. "He'll probably resent us, more than he does already. I think I understand why he keeps her away from everyone. Besides our mother, no one has ever taken to Ivar's company outside of obligation or familial bond. He's lonely."

"And it's not as if she can refuse," said Hvitserk. "But she's a Christian. That's got to account for some strife between them."

They continued on their way towards the center of the city. Food was beginning to run scarce, and it seemed the Saxons were holding steadfast on starving them out. While Ivar was willing to take their army to its limits to play Aethelwulf's game, Ubbe and Hvitserk were devising their own plan to negotiate land. They just needed a little more time. Many things rested in the hands of the nun, as unaware as you were.

"I just hope he hasn't harmed her," Ubbe said while they passed through the market.

Hvitserk looked grim, a heaviness settling on him that had replaced his usual cheer. "Ivar did always break toys. We have to hope that Christian isn't as weak as she looks."

ooOOoo

You were growing accustomed to your new station. As a woman, it was your lot in life to suffer, and you took your new situation as a test from God. The heathen, Ivar, he had made no bid to harm you. That wasn't to say he was good company to keep. He had taken to trying to instruct you in a handful of words and phrases of his language. Some of the words were difficult to form with your accent, and when you mispronounced things, he would grow irritated and throw things at you. Uttering dark curses in his tongue, you were certain he had insulted you as well, but it was better than a flogging.

At night you continued to pray, your back to your master, and the words spoken only in your head. You were sure they reached God, even without a rosary in your grasp or the piety to kneel. In your heart, you struggled to keep hope alive. If this test was to be your final judgment from God, its purpose remained clouded to you.

It was late when Ivar returned, and you had remained awake for his arrival. You now slept when he did, short and inconsistent hours of the night, only to be woken before the dawn. He did not rest well. Be it from his duties or pain you could not say, but he never faltered from exhaustion. This pattern must have been his usual routine, life at war.

Ivar's eyes sought you out the moment he came through the door, and you returned the stare. He had only just started walking in his new contraptions, a set of iron braces that he had created from pride. His determination to walk was admirable. You had never witnessed such a fighting spirit before, and you were certain it was a blessing from God.

"Something you wish to say?" Ivar interrupted your thought, a scowl on his face from your lingering gaze on his legs.

"It is a good thing," You said while rising from your corner of the floor. "I believe God has blessed you."

Ivar snorted, blue eyes rolling at your absurdity to insinuate such a thing. He took a slow seat on his pallet of furs and started to remove the braces. "Really, and why would that be?"

"You are not the first cripple I have met, but you are the most assiduous."

You could see him test out the word for himself, a lack of understanding passing over his face. "I'm not sure what that means, but I like how it sounds."

"You have an unrelenting heart. Strong-willed and resolute in your goals. I find you impressive."

He halted what he was doing, and took a long, considering look at you. "I've been this way for as long as I can remember. It is the way if I am to be seen as a true Viking to my people."

"So there are others like you?" You asked as you approached him with careful steps.

"There are not many cripples among my people, no. A child born with a deformity such as mine is left to die. I would have been if not for my mother. She was softhearted, and couldn't bear my loss."

You didn't want to have any strong sort of feelings towards your captor, but to learn that he had been left to die as a helpless babe engulfed you in sorrow. "It isn't wrong for a mother to feel pity for her child," You murmured, showing how distraught you were by such a story. "You don't sound grateful for her mercy."

Ivar's face hardened at your sentiment. "Mercy is for Christians. I would have done the same as my father. I loved my mother, but there are days I resent her for her choice. Her gifts failed to foretell the agony I would endure at the hands of compassion."

"What gifts?"

"She was a Vülva, a woman seeress of our people who has visions of the future."

You frowned at such a concept. "That sounds like sorcery to me."

"I forgot your people fear magic and witchcraft," Ivar said in a teasing tone. "My mother would have hated you. She was too steeped in the beliefs of our own people to have care about your sensitive notions of God. My father would have liked you though."

You blushed at the idea of such a great man holding you in favor. Though you didn't hail from Wessex you had heard the stories of the Viking King who fought for Mercia and befriended King Ecbert. "King Ragnar? Why do you think that?"

"He was often amused and curious about your God. Maybe you would have reminded him of Æthelstan, his Christian monk." Ivar resumed the task of taking off his braces, wincing in pain whenever a particular part pinched or pulled at his legs. "Here, come help me with this."

Startled by such a request, you moved with haste and uncertainty. Ivar showed you which parts to unclasp, and you would mimic his actions with a gentler touch, stopping entirely when he would let out any sound of discomfort. You were certainly slower at the task than if he completed it himself, but he seemed to enjoy watching you work over him, and you were grateful for the distraction.

"What about your family? Where are your mother and father?" Ivar asked while leaning back on the strength of his arms.

"They're both dead," You said, pausing only a moment to collect yourself before continuing on his braces. "I was born in Rendlesham, in East Angles. My mother was a whore, and I never knew who my father was as a result of that. When she died, I was orphaned to the streets until the church took me in. Being of such low birth standing, I turned to the church as my ray of hope."

You could feel Ivar frowning at you, but you did not waver. "Did you not want to be something more than a nun?"

You breathed a laugh. "Such as what? Saxon women are not allowed to be warriors."

"Yes, but isn't there a way you could have improved your situation?"

"No," You said bluntly. "Blood is everything. Those who are of Royal standing will always be in power, and through marriage, their line continues. The best I could have hoped for was a marriage to a farmer, and he would have to have been a poor one. I would have raised his children, and likely died young from childbirth."

"I see now why you're a nun," said Ivar. When you chanced a look up at him, he appeared troubled by your story. "Those Saxons in power are greedy. They keep all for themselves and give nothing back. What chance is there of an honorable death for those forced to live a life of poverty?"

"If you die without sin, you go to Heaven. We have no need for honor."

"A life without sin," Ivar hummed. "As if any man is capable of such purity."

"A Priest is," You argued back. "It takes a nobleman to obtain such a pious position in the church."

"Is it noble for these men to keep silver and gold in their churches while children run through the streets, no better than dogs?" Ivar had sat forward, his eyes emboldened with the wrath of a demon. "I have seen your noblemen of the cloth, and they died screaming the same as any sinning heathen of mine."

You lost your balance, falling flat on your bottom as you gazed up at Ivar in terror. "What did you do to them?"

"The things I've done to your priests," Ivar paused, a calm washing over him. "It would make Loki grin."

The suffering of your people seemed to fall down on you like a star collapsing from the night sky. When he spoke, you could almost forget that Ivar was your enemy, but he had now made it clearer than ever where the line in the sand was drawn. You were just a slave, a Christian slave, and how soon would it be before he tired of you? You did not wish the same fate to befall you as it had for the priests, whatever it had been.

"I have not dismissed you," Ivar tutted when you began to walk away to your corner, unaware yourself that you had begun to do so. You craved distance from him, even if it was only a few feet away.

At first, he tried to manage his composure, calling you back with his voice deliberately even. When it became clear that no amount of coaxing on his part would work, he started yelling in his language. That word came up again, 'Ólaug'. It had been peppered into a number of your one-sided conversations. If he had tried to brand you with a new name, you would refuse. He would not take who you were.

Your fight ended with him throwing one of his crutches at you. It landed just before you, and you were able to contain your flinch. Ivar scoffed at your non-reaction and threw himself back onto the furs. He had finished disrobing and gave you the courtesy of his back, which appeared to be covered in a new etched design each time you saw him. Matched against your own untainted skin, it was a reminder of how different the worlds you came from were.

When you were sure Ivar had fallen asleep, you moved to get under your own thin pile of wool blankets. They were scratchy and held none of the warmth of the furs, but it was not the worst sleeping conditions you had ever weathered. That night you prayed for the lost Priests, and for God to take away your suffering. You didn't see a way out of your situation, but if God acted through you, you were certain to find your answer. Content to keep faith in your heart, Sister Mary Catharine slept, ignorant to the matter that Ivar was awake and watching you.

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#ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar the boneless #vikings #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar ragnarsson #history vikings #vikings ivar #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson imagine #ivar the king #ivar imagine #vikings imagine

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whumpbby · 4 years ago

Text

I finished typing and now I feel I have to preface it with a: this is all a monologue about Jedi and Force and Lucas’ inability to show the good story he wants to tell - just a warning. This is in no way meant to contradict the other post with that quote floating around or argue against it - just my own rambling coming to a conclusion I keep struggling with when it comes to SW universe and the ways it makes no sense to me and how I feel deep in my bones that Lucas is a crap storyteller.

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I don’t know why, but for all the interesting concepts Lucas talks about, Anakin’s fall never sat well with me. In time I came to the conclusion I would respond better if the Jedi culture surrounding it wasn’t so contradictory to itself.

And if he wasn’t so heavily leaning on the concept of the ‘pure love’ that is unconditional and undemanding and ‘unselfish’. Tldr: that love does not exist outside of poetry and romance dramas and imagination. Like every other emotion humans feel, love is conditional.

Take the first trilogy - I got that. The Jedi were largely missing and there was not much lore-wise, but the vibe it gave was measured and peaceful and mindful, and all the things that stood against the Empire - that represented the Dark Side in a very concise way. It wasn’t too nuanced, so we could buy it in this very simple ‘princes kidnapped b ya dragon’ story. This is as good as Lucas gets.

But then the prequels happened and Jedi became this weird, extremely specific, but conflicting idea. They are not supposed to take sides in politics - except when they do. They are not supposed to kill - except when they do, with freaking relish. They are not supposed to love or hate or allow emotions dictate their ways - oh, except when they do. And they can have sex - just not sex with someone they want to settle down with (oh boy, is that a signifier of a story written by a guy or what?). All seems to be ‘except when they do, as long as it can be adequately justified to make them look good’.

And I do have an issue with the idea of ‘Anakin was too old to join, he was already attached to his mother’ which is, when you think about it, is insane. Learning to control your emotions and letting go of your wants, Buddhist way, fine.

Aiming to train children to not be attached to their parents? What? How young a child has to be for that attachment forms? How is a meditation and repeating mantras going to help a 5-year old who is missing their mom at the temple? How do you even expect to train a child out of missing their mom??? How is it NOT better to get an older child that can reason above the instinctual and hardwired need for their mother?

But let’s say Anakin’s attachment to his mother was ‘selfish’ from the beginning - but, that’s the thing, was it? Was it really? They were slaves and she was his only family, okay, obviously that made his attachment stronger and more layered than, say, a normal middle-class Coruscanti kid who could love their mom without constant fear that any day they can be separated forever by someone who didn’t give a shit. In that sense, yes, Anakin was desperately attached to his mom and afraid of loosing her - there was fear in him. Right, I’m there with you, Yoda.

But the movies show us that the way Jedi seem to approach these hard subjects is by not approaching them at all - oh, well, we can’t take him in. He had a difficult childhood and there are issues attached, get him out of here.

In a galaxy full of races and issues and the Force being tied to any and all creatures in any and all circumstances - this was the hard line Jedi were drawing. In essence, either only accepting kids young enough to not remember their parents (and I see absolutely no issues whatsoever that could happen here, nope) or with childhoods perfect enough not to have any issues whatsoever. Anyone else? Adults that discovered Force when they were older? Kids like Anakin with hard childhoods? Creatures that were either culturally or chemically wired differently enough that the tight reins Jedi held over their emotions weren’t possible for them? Nope. Go away. You are a bad person in the making.

If you spend a moment contemplating, you will realise this is such a white privileged guy way to think about it. And if you stick your head into the microwave for a couple seconds, you can almost understand how Lucas thought this is something profound and mystical.

No that I think about it... I always thought Sith were freaking clowns - their philosophy makes no sense, their ‘rule of two’ is hilarious, everything about them is just so badly designed and thought out, and who would ever decide to join of that creepy cult of their own volition? It made no sense!

But, as an answer to the egalitarian and contradictory ways of the Jedi - Sith make all the sense to exist. And let’s forget about the Light and Dark (that I don’t believe exist above the ways of personal emotional expression that in time trains the Force around a person in certain ways - like a person can train their brain in and out of anxiety ofr example), but focusing strictly on philosophy - yeah, being a Sith makes sense when any other way is barred form someone by no fault of their own. And barred with an excuse they are a bad seed anyway.

“You fear/hate/desire hence you can’t access the Force with us” = “Well fuck you, then, I will access the Force in my own way, using these exact emotions!”

Like, Sith are clowns, but Jedi suck in their own very special way and their fall was just waiting to happen.

I get a strange feeling that Lucas created Jedi as a class of a warrior monk in DnD and then scrambled to create their enemies out of the simplest contradictions. Light-dark. Love-Hate. Peace-Fear. Etc. But because Jedi were so simple - once they started to gain popularity and he had to expand their lore and layer on the philosophy, he hit a wall. Or rather, the bottom of the kiddy pool. Because a ‘warrior monk’ is not an a ‘good’ class, but he wanted them to be mostly warriors, but also a force of good in the galaxy, because Star Wars is the same simple story repeated again and again with a new set of characters (regardless of how much fake politics is thrown in to obscure that fact) so this whole universe is basically built on giving Jedi reasons to fight and kill, and adequately justifying them. And then the Dark Side had to catch up by being more ridiculously evil at every turn - accidentally unmasking the way Jedi philosophy falls apart under closer scrutiny.

So like, to make a full circle, the one thing the prequels did well was to show Anakin’s fall (and I am not gonna argue, it was effective and he is a villain of this story) but they also presented - I think against the creator’s intention - why it was pretty much inevitable. Not because Palpatine was there to whisper poison, or because Force itself strived for ‘balance’ (even though the latter is a hilarious idea I love to contemplate) - but because Jedi, as presented in the movies-media around them, as a philosophy and way of life is inherently contradictory and unsustainable from the point of being a, well, a breathing, thinking being. The ‘selfish love’ argument would work so much better if it wasn’t presented with an example of a kid who was born a slave and the people who saw it as a strike against his character, and did very little to address the specific issues that could arise from that before it was too late.

Would it fucking kill them to let go of their strict training routine and ensure that his specific emotional needs were met? That Shimi was, I don’t know, NOT A SLAVE. They seem to interfere into politics just fine when need arises - but not when it’s a sandy planet in the ass-end of the universe no one cares about. Then no, we can’t liberate one slave. That would be acting in self-interest - not in the interest of not allowing one of the strongest members of out order to fall into the ruin we have forseen form the beginning.

It would work better is if Anakin’s ‘selfishness’ was presented as his inability to let Padme leave him for someone else/just leave him - not to be unwilling to let her die.

Think about it for a moment - he wasn’t presented with the idea of Padme leaving him. With the idea of his mother not loving him anymore. He was firmly and, form his point of view, believably, presented with the idea of both of them DYING. Which actually happened to his mom, solidifying the fear in his mind.

Yes, he was not meant to go on a rampage and kill the ones who killed Shimi - but wasn’t he? The Jedi are not against killing. Only killing in self-interest I guess - when self-interest is not one’s life and their political affiliation or their ‘job’ at hand, that is. Revenge is a no-no, but a military retaliation is a yes-go. Can’t kill anyone who wronged me - but I can kill those who wronged a person who gives me orders. How does that work within a Jedi doctrine?

How, in good conscience, can you present this scenario, George, and then try to spin it into this big philosophical bullcrap about unselfish love???? Jedi murdered people over political squabbles - but I guess that’s okay because they weren’t invested??? And that’s better?!?!? George! What the fuck! You are such a bloke my head hurts!

In case of Anakin, Jedi were essentially Elsa’s parents. I pretty much despise Elsa and the film she crawled out of, and I personally don’t like Anakin as a character either, so this is not stanning in any way, but their issues scream ‘I was raised by well-meaning idiots’ and shows the level of botched storytelling I just can’t reconcile.

Which, you know what?

Luke, who spent years studying Jedi ways and taking them into himself?

I can believe than this Luke would try to kill his nephew at the barest whiff of the Dark Premonition instead of helping him manage his motions in a somewhat healthy way - that seems to be exactly what a real Jedi would do, after all.

#star wars #rant?#thoughts?#rambling #jedi suck blue balls #and so do sith #sw #lucas should never write on anything that isn't a post-it note

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nekojitachan · 5 years ago

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Okay, so this is... IDK what this is. I guess this is the bare bones of my take on The Old Guard with the Monsters/AFTG.

Uhm, warning for people dying/violence, not in very nice ways, some of them (Nicky’s is vaguely tied to canon if you think about it).

*******

Somehow, it didn’t come as a big surprise to Anders when he and his twin came back to life after being killed by the raiders who’d stormed their longhouse, along with everyone else. The strangers had sneered at him and Aron, the ‘living’ vessels of their people’s twin gods, then invoked the name of their own unknown god as they shoved their bronze swords repeatedly into their flesh. Anders had a small knife he’d hidden beneath his robes, but he hadn’t been able to put up much of a fight against trained warriors.

(He’d repeatedly asked to be taught to fight, but Tilda had just laughed and ignored him, too busy soaking up the attention she garnished as the mother of a god’s vessels. Too busy drinking fermented berries and milk to care about how Knut, the elder, mistreated them.)

No, unlike Aron, Anders considered being unable to die (well, to remain dead) a curse instead of another sign of the twin gods’ favor, proof that the Fates took great pleasure in tormenting them. They didn’t age and they healed no matter how badly they were hurt, yet they weren’t immune to starvation, cold temperatures or other things which made life difficult.

They had no choice but to constantly move on, with no family to take them in and strangers suspicious of them if they remained in one place too long. Aron soon grew bitter when he realized that no woman would want him anymore once she continued to age and he didn’t, and it was much the same for Anders if he felt an attraction for another man.

It went on that way for almost eighty years, the two of them isolated from the rest of the world by some terrible curse, until they were driven from sleep one night by the image of a teenaged boy with long, dark auburn hair and pale blue eyes, beaten and bloodied, being held down by two men while an older man with similar pale eyes and red hair cut close to his scalp grinned as he slit the boy’s throat.

Only the boy didn’t remain dead, because the next image showed him alive (and covered in blood) as he stood by a pyre with a woman’s body on it, then as he scavenged through the ransacked sheep farm for anything useful he could find before he took off running. Anders stared at his twin as the images faded away, at the shock in hazel eyes the same color as his own, and knew they shared the same thought as well as appearance; it wasn’t just a dream, and they were no longer alone.

They set out to find the redhead, but the young man proved as elusive as a dream. Anders took to calling him the rabbit, because it felt as if they were chasing such a creature through a forest during the night, fumbling along like a bunch of clumsy fools while it vanished with ease into the thick foliage. The occasional dreams were of little help, because as soon as they figured out the redhead’s location in the dream, he always was gone by the time they finally got there.

Anders was going to cut his tendons a few dozen times when they finally caught up to the flighty bastard.

So six hundred years later, when they had another dream of a tall youth with black hair and green eyes being killed in battle, they wasted no time tracking him down to the island of the Celts. Caoimhín wasn’t a runner like the rabbit and refused to leave until he (along with Anders and Aron) almost ended up as a solstice sacrifice.

Funny how almost being set on fire while alive motivated one to see the world.

Anders began to regret the whole ‘let’s save a fellow immortal’ thing after a decade or two, when Caoimhín proved to be an annoying know-it-all. If the tall bastard wasn’t so good at fighting… he did come in handy whenever Anders managed to ‘upset’ the locals for interfering whenever the assholes were selling slaves (especially children) or mistreating servants – which was often. Aron yelled at him for having the subtlety of a raging bull, but the Persians got on his nerves, as did the Romans, and the Huns and the Franks, and… well, any bastards who thought because they had a bit of land and enough people with pointy weapons that they could boss everyone around.

(Caoimhín said he had a problem with authority. Aron said he was an asshole.)

And through it all, the rabbit. Kept. Running. And. Running.

They finally ran into another immortal who’d been ‘reborn’ a couple decades before when in Damascus, of all places, as Salah ad-Din fought Europe’s Crusaders, and learned that perhaps there was a reason why the rabbit kept his distance. Riko was a viper in human form, and after he did his best to dismember Caoimhín, Anders ‘killed’ him in front of some of Salah ad-Din’s men, leaving them to believe that the other immortal was a djinn when he ‘came back’ to life.

The three of them had no problem abandoning Riko in Damascus, wrapped in iron chains and sealed in a cave.

They kept wandering and fighting what seemed to be hopeless battles, especially with the rise of the Catholic Church. There were times when Anders (now Andrew) wanted to retreat from the world, to find an isolated, empty island and never leave it, but there was Aron (Aaron) and Caoimhín (Kevin), who weren’t quite ready to give up, and a damn rabbit with the clearest blue eyes he’d (sort of) seen who haunted his dreams and taunted him by always being just out of reach.

Then in the 1600s, the three of them dreamed of a new immortal born in the New World, one beaten and starved to death by monks. Unhappy about the thought of the long voyage, Andrew and his fellow ‘monsters’, as he’d come to think of three of them, headed across the Atlantic. It took them almost four years to find Nico, the son of a native woman and a conquistador, who’d been killed because of his attraction to men. The young immortal broke into tears to finally be with his ‘own’ kind, to be safe at last, and was a cheerful presence.

He was even more annoying than Kevin.

They spent a few years wandering the New World, but were drawn back to chasing the rabbit once again; he’d gone to ground in China, leading Andrew to hope that for once he’d stand out and be easy to find, but the damn bastard had developed an almost inhuman skill for learning the local language and blending in wherever he went. Kevin grumbled about him being a damn chameleon, while Aaron wondered if perhaps he’d truly died and they were hunting a ghost.

For some reason… that thought bothered Andrew.

Things carried on as they had before, only it seemed that every time Andrew turned around, the world had changed in some manner. A new country had formed, an old government had been overthrown, a new religion had been invented, yet another senseless war broke out, someone created an invention that upended things in a startling way…. He still remembered how for so long everyone had used bronze swords until someone had figured out how to smelt iron, how there’d only been longhouses and small farms until all of a sudden towns and then cities began to appear.

Change was inevitable, as was the fact that humans would twist some of those changes into something bad.

Still, he never thought that those changes would lead to things that would enable him and his monsters to travel the world in days (and then hours) instead of months or weeks, that wars would break out that spanned continents and could destroy entire cities in minutes. The four of them saved what they could, but soon it became impossible to keep up, not just because there were so many lives in danger and so much being destroyed, but because they could no longer fade into the shadows with ease with things like digital records and cameras in existence.

They learned as much as they could about modern technology; Nico (Nicky) and Aaron took to social media without any problems, while Andrew and Kevin picked up some hacking skills. They bought the best fake IDs possible and did everything they could to leave no trace online.

Yet they couldn’t stay in one place very long, not when they kept working, when they used the skills they’d honed over centuries to help people in need. Which was why they were traveling from France to England via the Chunnel; Andrew refused to give up his customized Maserati just yet, so they’d take the car with them on the train.

They didn’t expect any issue with their papers, especially since they’d used them a few days ago, so it was a surprise when a customs official in Calais frowned when he scanned Aaron’s while the machine beeped several times. Then the same thing happened with Nicky’s. Andrew tensed and tugged the cap on his head further down as he prepared to fight while Kevin did the same; their weapons were hidden in the special compartment in the Maserati, but they were good at improvising.

However, before they could react more than that, a familiar voice called out in French to the customs officials, one Andrew recognized with ease from his dreams over the last three millennia; the rabbit, dressed in a customs uniform, his dark auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail that trailed just past his shoulders, tapped the official who held Aaron’s documents and said he’d check it out, that there was an issue with the scanners. He purposely didn’t look at any of them as he did something to the scanner then ran the passport again, which beeped once in an ‘all clear’. Then he went to do the same for Nicky’s as the fool gaped at him.

As soon as Andrew was cleared, he stalked after his quarry, who to be fair didn’t try to run (for once). He grabbed the other immortal by the wrist and spun him around, part of him noticing that the rabbit was only a couple inches taller (which was a welcome change, considering how for the last few centuries, everyone towered over him). About to curse the bastard out for leading him on a merry chase for over three. Fucking. Millennia, he found himself stunned silent when the rabbit smiled.

(Maybe he should have considered what would happen when he finally caught the redhead.)

*******

Yes, Andrew, what does happen next???

I’ve never taken the Chunnel, so sorry if I messed something up there (I wrote what I did to fit the story). It’s a bit vague, but the twins are Scandinavian Bronze age, Neil is England Bronze Age (around Middle Bronze Age), Kevin is Ireland @ 600 BC, and Nicky is Mexico @ 1600′s. I debated having Andrew and Aaron separated, until I saw the twin gods thing. They were together, but per Tilda’s crappy parenting, they had a very rough childhood with Andrew protecting Aaron.

Mary raised Neil (Ram) to be cautious/wary of strangers. I’m thinking Nathan was a sea raider and... well, he came back years later and that time, he wiped out the farm. Neil heeded his mother’s lesson a little too well, but over time he finally came to learn that Andrew and the others weren’t all bad and finally stepped in to help them (and in a way, protected his own hide).

#aftg #aftg au #the old guard au #neil josten #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #kevin day #nicky hemmick #riko moriyama #the monsters #neil is very very good at running #andrew is very very frustrated by that fact #andrew should have thought about what happens next after catching neil #oh boy

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angesradieux · 4 years ago

Text

Good Death

Summary: Caught up trying to survive in his new world, Athelstan hadn't had time to properly grieve the loss of his brothers and his life in England. The chill of autumn in the air brings with it a painful realization and he finds the pain has become too much to ignore. He tries to distance himself from his master to keep it hidden, but when Ragnar notices his slave is not himself, Athelstan has no choice but to tell him why.

The sensation of eyes watching him sends tension creeping up his spine. He rolls his shoulders, willing himself to relax, because he refuses to acknowledge it. Athelstan is exhausted and he doesn’t want to talk to Ragnar. Or anyone else for that matter. Yet, he hears the characteristic, heavy footsteps of his master that inspire a jolt of panic. His head shoots up and he looks around.

Where is Gyda? Surely she’ll find something for him to help her with. Or Bjorn. There must be somewhere else he can make himself useful. He stands, determined to find something quickly, but the distance between them closes before he can skitter off.

“Priest.”

Athelstan doesn’t turn around, finding something or other to suddenly become incredibly interested in. “What is it, Ragnar?” Already, his voice has an edge to it.

“I’ve not seen much of you lately.”

“There has been work to be done,” he answers tightly.

He flinches away from the hand that seeks a place on his shoulder. Ragnar frowns. “You’d stopped doing that.”

It’s true, Athelstan had grown more comfortable with his role in their lives, settling in as something of a companion to them. Today, he is too raw, and yet he doesn’t have it in him to argue. “I’m sorry.” He steels himself, but Ragnar makes no move to touch him again. Whatever response he was looking for, that doesn’t appear to have been it.

“You look tired. Why don’t you come inside?”

“I can’t. I have to…” He gestures vaguely around him. Honestly, he isn’t even sure what he’s doing anymore. Just that it must be more important than his master’s need for company. What about Arne? Or Torstein? Floki’s usually lurking somewhere. Any of them must be more interesting company than Athelstan.

And yet Ragnar doesn’t relent. “Leave it. There are others who can see to it.” He’s at least generous enough to humor Athelstan and pretend that he’d been engaged in something worthwhile. “You’ll be of no use to anyone if you run yourself into the ground.”

Athelstan closes his eyes for a moment. “Alright.” Finally, he turns to face his master and tries to smile, if only to fend off the concern in the Northman’s eyes. He doesn’t want Ragnar’s concern—it will only make him even more overbearing than he already is. Perceptive as he often is, Ragnar seems entirely incapable of understanding that sometimes his company simply isn’t wanted.

He plods along after his master in silence and obeys the unspoken command to sit beside him in the hall.

“You’ve not spoken of your God for some time,” he prods.

“You’ve already heard all the stories I have to tell,” Athelstan counters.

“You’re being difficult.”

Athelstan’s lip curls and his eyes narrow. Still, he says nothing.

“You’ve never minded my curiosity before.”

“Ragnar, please. I can’t. Not today.”

“You’ve not been yourself lately. Why is that, Priest?”

Athelstan presses fingers to his temple. He’s too tired for this. “I will begin a fast tomorrow,” he finally says. “I would ask you not to interfere.”

Ragnar tilts his head, scrutinizing his priest. “What is a fast?”

Had he not explained it before? He supposes there hadn’t yet been a need. Perhaps he also assumed his master would be familiar with the concept. In hindsight, however, the gods of the Northmen don’t see terribly interested in seeing their followers abstain from much of anything. There is so much excess in everything they do it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the notion of a fast might be foreign.

“For the next few days, I will not eat,” he explains through a heavy sigh. He can already see the argument on his master’s face.

“Why would you do something like that?” Athelstan purses his lips. “What do you have to gain from weakening yourself like that?”

“I have to,” he insists. “It is only a few days. I will still be able to work and it won’t do any harm.” Maybe it was stupid to have said anything. If he’d just kept his mouth shut and gone about his business, Ragnar might not have even noticed. But it would have been foolish to hang his hopes on that—his master is perceptive and has eyes like an eagle’s. He may not understand everything, but there is little he doesn’t at least see.

“What purpose does it serve? I’ve told you before, Priest. I don’t like those in my household to go without.”

“Yes, but at the time you were hardly concerned with my comfort.” If he wanted to douse the fire of Athelstan’s temper, he’d chosen a poor memory with which to do so. Ragnar wanted to use him that night, when he’d spoken those words, and the ale he offered had been just another weapon to turn against the monk. Ragnar opens his mouth the speak, but Athelstan cuts him off. “My brothers are dead, Ragnar. You may have forgotten, but I haven’t.”

“Priest—”

“This is the only way I have left to honor them,” he persists. “Don’t take this from me, too.”

Read the full fic here

#Athelstan #Ragnar #Vikings #vikings fanfic #angst

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sirensmojo · 5 years ago

Text

Fluke - Uhtred Of Bebbanburg x Reader

Summary: You're sold to Uhtred on his way to Bebbanburg you're described as a Seer with great power. Thus he tried not to, he ends up paying for your freedom.

Warnings: fluff, slight mentions of abuse, confused!Uhtred

Word Count: 1,409

Masterlist

"She's a Seer, Lord" "I'm not in need of a Seer," the man grunts, his nostrils dilated as he starts walking away. "The woman can see things," the merchant tries again, running behind the Dane. "Is that not the minimal requirement for being called a Seer?" A brawny arms guy steps side to side with the merchant, patting his shoulder with his palm.

"Maybe she'll curse you, Finan, for making fun of her." A man dressed in monk robes chortles. The so-called Finan glances at you before murmuring in the monk's ear, "you said my name on purpose, didn't you baby monk?" His big arm embraced the neck of the other man. The latter starting to whinges.

"I'm not in need of a woman! Plus I'm not here to spend any silver," the man with the accent stopped from walking and faced the seller, frowning. His icy stare seems not to hold back the man in front of him, because he came closer, patting the warrior's chest with his index finger.

"You don't understand, she's a gift, to you, Lord." The Dane's eyes flickering between you and the merchant before him. "I've recognized you, Uhtred son of Uhtred. Take her as a gift from a humble citizen to you, Lord." Uhtred let himself being brought closer to the case you were sitting on as was watching you from afar, with a faltering gleam in his eyes.

Your eyes drop downcast as the two men approach. The gusty breeze pulled away of your face a strand of hair, revealing your glowing complexion to the warrior. You raise your chin after shutting close your lids, taking a deep breath in.

He watched the scene with an unfocused gaze, the rays of the sun perfectly falling on each of your traits. The lamps of the Dane twinkle with sparks animating them as he gawks at you. When you opened your lids and connect straight to his heathen soul, Uhtred's posture changed, heavily and slowly balancing his weight on his feet each step closer he takes.

How could a slave be so unfazed, radiant, and endowed with an abyssal stare that bares a foggy taste of unfathomable?

"Your dad and I were close friends back in our youth, but we lost sight of each other when he became a King." The warrior shifted and scratches his wrinkled nose, his head tilting to the side as the words left your master's mouth.

He was rethinking the offer, to the displeasure of his men, standing helplessly at the back. "Lord," the rat-looking man called, eyes filled with worries. "We have had it with Seers, Lord," Finan raised his brows at Uhtred.

"How much?" Asks the Dane. "It is a gift, Lord," the old man repeated for the ultimate time. He then starts shuffling your way. "Eight pieces of silver," renewed Uhtred as he got to his purse and toss the pieces on the chest of the slaver.

"Thank you, Lord," he stutters, a smile brightening his dirt-covered face. The three other fellows watched, exhaling to voices their displeasure.

Uhtred frantically steps to you and seizes the rope that wrapped your hands together before slices it with his blade. He carefully grabs your arm and makes you walk past him, followed by his men.

"Hope she's not as powerful as Skade," Finan hisses for himself. You stayed quiet, even if asking who Skade was itched your tongue. You're clearly unwanted among them, but you're finally able to hear something else than a raspy screeching cry trying to bargain you.

The troupe carries its way to an inn, obliging you to enter behind them. Once inside your new Lord pointed a bench, "you wait for me here, understood?" His eyebrows rose, only to see your nod. You go to the table and sit down, grabbing a cup of ale and lift it to your chapped lips.

You knew what was happening, your new master is talking to his men, trying to resonate with them, even if they don't seem convinced in whatever he was saying. You saw the one with the Irish accent, Finan, strongly blowing before swigging his mug in one go, whereas the one with the monk robes was talking still to Uhtred.

"You're alone, miss?" A call draws you back to reality. A newcomer was perching fair next to you, too close. His lips divide into a distorted smile which reveals his yellowish teeth that clearly require more hygiene. He stinks alcohol, his breath, onion, and sour chicken.

You hardly swallowed and sip some more ale, before you decide to talk back. "No, I'm with them," you signed towards the counter and the four men. "Oh, I see, all take their turn with you," the drunken man vigorously bounces his head up and down.

"Excuse me?" You muttered. "Orh, I won't complain about you being their whore, but who's taking care of you now?" He shrugs as he bends to you, dangerously close. "The ale," you scornfully returned, securing your head backward to avoid the putrid stench emanating from his being.

"This sit is not yours. You better be off" The man grunts and grumbled insults as he took his body out the sit. "Whore," he launches at you. You nodded in approval and grinned, "yet, not yours." Uhtred slid alongside you and poured some extra drink inside your cup before helping himself.

"You're not going to ask me why I buy you?" "I do not wish to know," you snap back as soon as the liquid ends its race down your throat. "You don't know yourself," you continued, heeding he wasn't going for any response.

"Did this man laid hands on you?" He awkwardly swifts away your remarks. "What if?" You rear your eyes to his face. He winces and wriggles on the bench, trying to be comfortable despite the sweltering atmosphere you set, "listen, I don't want anything from you. I mean, whatever you used to do before, it stays there. Now you can choose who you want to be," he declared, swallowing another sip of the white drink.

"I was cursing people," you sing, muffling a laugh. Uhtred looks at you at the corner of his eyes, a gleam of reluctance in them. "Nothing more, I can assure you," you nudge him with your shoulder. You glimpse at his face, gauging his reaction. "I indeed was a Seer, not a slave. I ended up there in mysterious circumstances I must admit," you playfully coughed, a hand cupping your chin.

"I did not like it," you hassle to add as you read into his eyes. Uhtred gasps loudly, fiddling with the empty cup of his. "I didn't ask," he strives to justify himself. "You didn't need to," you affirmed. His stare raises to you, he wondered if you could read his thoughts.

"I cannot," you drop your drink on the table. "Then, how...?" He motioned his hand. "Experience. When a bunch of people knocks at your door always waiting for you to respond to their deepest wants, you kinda learn some tricks," you shrug.

"We don't have to talk about that," he says. "I'm Y/n," you crash your drink on his in a thud before finishing it. The man looks at you, overrun by the recent events. "I'm a warrior" "Yeah I know," you napped. "Seems like your men are not appreciating my company," you press your hands to your cheeks as looking down.

"It's not that," the Dane breathed, "We just got through some stuff with another Seer." "Skade? well, it's true we are all wicked and covet for occasions to make hell the life of whoever comes asking for our help." You give a dismissive wave of your hand. Uhtred makes a steeple of his fingers, eyes fluttering in confusion, "I mean, you just reported you were cursing souls ere being enslaved." "Perhaps I was forced to? You didn't try to know why"

He breathes in with his brows raised, trying not to lose tracks on this atypical conversation. A hand on his neck, his lashes fluttered.

" Alright," he stood back up, straight like a tree, with his eyes trembling. The corner of your lips curved up at the view, and you get up. "I am Uhtred Of Bebbanburg, the Danes know me as Uhtred Ragnarson," he presented himself, bouncing his weight on his other foot. "I'm Y/n, aka, The Seer," your pupils expanded, reamed into his pagan's heart.

#The Last Kingdom #uhtred #Uhtred Ragnarson #uhtred of bebbanburg #uhtred x reader #uhtred dane slayer #another seer for uthred #he gets to meet a fierce woman #confused uhtred

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xbellaxcarolinax · 5 years ago

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Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 2- The Storm

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 1267

Warnings: None so far!

AN: I swear, Ivar will show up in the next chapter 😅

1- Taken

...

The bread was stale but she took it eagerly out of the woman's hands. It had been days since the captives were fed, as their food supply was running low. The woman's large blue eyes stared deeply into hers, and she had a smile on her face, as if satisfied.

The woman pushes her long blonde hair behind her shoulder, wrapping herself tighter within her woolen shawl, offering another crust of bread.

"Helga." She says, pointing at herself. The girl swallows the piece of stale bread gratefully, looking up at the kind woman.

"Artemis."

Helga smiled brightly, showing her teeth before patting the top of the younger girl's head and walking back towards the wild man with the kohl lined eyes. They began to speak among themselves, and from the sounds of it, he was reprimanding her, but she merely swatted at his shoulder before snuggling against him with a smile.

She later learned that the wild man was her husband, and his name was Floki.

More days passed and Helga had grown a fondness for the girl as she was the only captive on their boat that was a woman. It continued in that way, Helga offering her small scraps, sometimes even singing a little tune. Other times, she taught her a few words and phrases in the northern tongue.

Quite liking the company of the older woman, Artemis does her best in learning the difficult language. It was a way to pass the time, and no one really stared at her quite so much as before. In turn, she attempts to teach Helga her own language, though the older woman struggled.

Weeks went by, and Artemis found herself accustomed to the sounds the Helga produced, the words not sounding so thick and harsh in her ears as it once did. With their time almost always spent together, the younger of the two was able to recognize simple conversation.

"We are almost home," Helga tells her one morning. The journey to the north had taken months, but to Artemis, it felt like years. She licks her dry lips and burrows as far as she could in her cloak. The closer north they sailed, the colder the winds were.

"Your home, not mine." She replies, bitterly, the foreign words feeling strange on her tongue. Helga ignored her tone, only offering a kind smile.

"Your pronunciations are better. With more practice you will be fluent in no time," Artemis snorts in response. She didn't really care for fluency, in fact, she didn't care about anything at all anymore, but she nods in response if it meant she'd be treated better.

Artemis scans her eyes over the horizon, watching as the clouds turned from a soft white to an angry gray.

"A storm comes." She tells Helga. The woman looks up, causing the others on the boat to notice the change in weather.

"Thor will protect us." Helga simply says, handing Artemis a small ration of salted meat.

"Not our god." Artemis mumbles, making sure she said the words right. She takes a bite of the salted meat while pointing towards the monks. Some slept in their weak state, while others hung their heads low, muttering their prayers. Artemis admired the strong faith the monks had. She felt her devotion could never match theirs.

Helga sighs, annoyed with the simple statement, and looks at Artemis with a stern expression. Helga was never angry.

"Thor will protect us." She says with finality in her tone. Artemis thought she would leave in her anger, but Helga chose to remain beside her, though it was as if her presence wasn't there anymore.

Artemis grumbles, looking towards the angry gray sky with pleading eyes.

If it is your will, Lord, drown us.

...

She didn't know how long she passed out for.

The last thing she remembered was rain, strong rain that encouraged the salty waves to crash down upon their ships with a ferocity she'd never seen before. She remembers hearing Bjorn shouting out orders, as his men huddled all the captives together into one congested mess. She panicked along with the others around her. The sound of the crashing waves was the last thing she rememebered before someone knocked her head against the mast.

Then it was total darkness.

"Is she dead?"

The male voice seemed to rattle inside her head. It was distant, yet so close that it felt like a buzzing in her ear. Despite the ache in her head, she could almost detect the hopeful tone in the voice. It took her a moment to force her eyes open, lurching forward to take in a shuddering breath. She blinks to clear her vision, fighting away the lightheadedness that came with her sudden movements.

She coughs, blinking her eyes a few more times. In her confusion, she didn't fight off the hands that suddenly gripped her cheeks.

"She's alive." Helga cries out, a blurry version of her bright smile coming into view. Floki was kneeling behind her, a clear frown forming on his lips. They were both soaked, as was everyone else on the boat. The storm had caused much damage and disarray. It was awfully quiet.

"Artemis, child, I told you, Thor would protect us." Artemis glances at Helga before looking up towards the clear skies. It was as if a storm never occurred.

Most of the men stood at the head of the boat looking out towards the sea with smiles despite what had happened. They must have been nearing their homeland.

Artemis turns to look at her surroundings, immediately noticing the remaining monks were fewer than before.

"Some willingly jumped off the ship," Helga begins to explain, "Others were washed away." The captive girl sniffs in response. She hadn't known any of the monks personally, but she was saddened by their untimely deaths. Perhaps they had made the right decision.

"Your god has no mercy." Artemis finally speaks, her words coated in sorrow. She struggles to shift her body, her wet cloak feeling like a heavy burden upon her shoulders.

"Thor had no need to protect them," Sneered Floki, "It is a wonder why he even spared you."

"Floki!" Helga scolded, shoving the man away before pushing Artemis's matted hair away from her face in a motherly fashion, "It doesn't matter now, you are safe," Helga was a kind woman, there was no denying it, but Artemis didn't want to be coddled by her. She had a growing resentment for them. She grunts when one of the young men on the boat moves forward to kneel between them, tying fresh rope around her already bruised wrists.

"You're a fighter, aren't you?" He mutters to her, flashing her a toothy grin. She focused on his smiling green eyes as she slowly dissected his words. She didn't think she was a fighter. She thought herself unlucky.

The young man reaches over to pinch her cheek, laughing when she scowls in return.

"Hvitserk, stop your teasing." Helga scolds him, slapping away his hand. The man, Hvitserk, shrugs, smiling again as he winks at Artemis before taking his place beside Bjorn at the head of the boat.

"It's ok child, you are safe." Helga begins to reassure her, ignoring the way her husband sucked his teeth at her gentle ministrations.

"She is meant to be a slave, Helga, you coddle her too much."

Artemis lowers her head in defeat, opting to stare at her bounded wrists. She sniffs again, feeling the tears well up at the rim of her eyes before releasing a shuddering breath.

"I should have drowned."

#ivar #alex hogh andersen #vikings ivar #vikings #ivarxofc #ivarfanfiction #ivar imagine #ivar lothbrok #helga #floki #bjorn #hvitserk #ivar's heathen army #ivar the king #ivar x oc #ivar the boneless

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hitoshishins-hoe · 5 years ago

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Heaven

Barbarian!Bakugou x Fem!Reader

—

Alright y’all! So I got a ton of great feedback on my fantasy au headcanons, and I was asked by several people on discord to write a one-shot based on my Bakugou headcanon, and so that’s what I decided to do! It is a bit long, and I may have gotten a little carried away, but I hope you guys like it! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

—

Warnings/Triggers: swearing, slightly ooc Bakugou (I love soft Bakugou ok), nsfw, loss of virginity, unprotected sex

Tengoku - Translates to “Heaven”

Tenshi - Translates to “Angel”

Inari - Japanese goddess of prosperity

Word count: 5k

—

‘Forever’ was never in the cards for Bakugou. He planned on living fast, hard, and rich. Kicking ass, pillaging, taking revenge — but running into you made him realize maybe there’s more to life than just vigilante work.

—

“Get your ass up shitty hair, we have a city to burn!” Bakugou slaps Kirishima awake from a deep sleep.

“Bro chill! I can’t shift now! I have to save my energy to burn said city! Why don’t we travel by foot? There’s a city nearby, maybe we can sleep on an actual bed for once?” He stretches awake, now getting dressed.

“Nah fuck that. We can go if you want, but I’m setting up camp, I’m not staying in some nasty fucking inn.”

Kirishima sighs, but agrees. It’s not like he had much choice anyway. After all, Bakugou was his only family in this world.

After eating breakfast, the two men packed up their belongings and began the trek to Tengoku, a small village about a half a day’s hike into the mountains.

—

“Y/N! How are you my dear? What’s that you have there?” You look up from the small fragment of wood in your hand, having just finished carving the tail of a dragon.

“Oh, good morning Tenshi! I had a dream last night about a dragon. He was red and huge, and he had a scar over his right eye.” You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck unconsciously.

“Y’know, where I come from, those dreams that seem to be too real for comfort are just prophecy for the future.” She smiles warmly.

Your (E/C) eyes catch a glint of sunlight at that. “Really? You really think I’ll meet a dragon someday?” You smile off into nothing.

“Of course I do! You’ve wanted to see a dragon since you were about knee-height. And, well, every dragon has a rider, don’t they? Maybe a nice young man will come along with it. You’ve been here too long, go out and meet someone!” She laughs, knowing you’d grown up in the small village and had never left. You had no reason to.

“Very funny, Tenshi. I’ll tell that to my dream-dragon.” You roll your eyes, focusing back down at the half-carved fragment in your hand.

She laughs and makes her way down the small unpaved road that ran through the town, mostly lined with small tents with fresh produce, vendors, and entertainers.

–

Tenshi was the town’s founder, having come from ‘across the sea.’ She’d never tell anyone more than that. No one knew her name either, but everyone had affectionately coined the name ‘Tenshi,’ meaning ‘Angel’. She was well into her 80’s at least, and she acted as the chief and village grandmother to those who needed it.

You on the other hand were an artist. Having been raised in Tengoku by monks, you lived a quiet life. Soon into your childhood you picked up the craft of carving. You’d found a small arrowhead along the creek that ran through town and starting working away at a chunk of wood you found nearby. From then on it became a hobby, then a craft, and now an art form. You started selling them to passers-by on their way to other destinations, and it brought in enough money to buy you a permanent room at the inn with plenty to spare.

After Tenshi leaves, you go back to carving the dragon, each scale identical to the last.

“How much for that one?” You yelp at the gruff voice immediately in front of you. You collect yourself and glance down at your half-finished dragon.

“O-oh! This one? Well it’s not finished yet, I’m about halfway finished with carving and I still have to dye it! Can I offer you one of my finished pieces?” You gesture to the small table in front of you.

The man just shakes his head, motioning to your hand. “I want that one. How long’ll it take?”

You think for a moment, and tell him maybe another 1-2 hours before the dye would dry once the carving was finished.

He nods and grunts, making his way behind your table to the grass behind you. You look at him confused, but let it go since he’s not bothering you.

You quickly glance behind you, offering the man a small smile. “I’m (Y/L/N) (Y/N) by the way.”

He looks up at you. “Bakugou Katsuki. Pleasure.”

You turn around sitting down in the small chair behind your table, hunched over while you carve. The man behind you doesn’t speak, and neither do you. It goes on like this for roughly an hour, until he breaks the silence.

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” He asks you.

You look up from your piece and sigh. “No, but it’s always been my dream, literally. I had a dream last night about a dragon. That’s what this carving is based on. There were lots of little details I remember about it. Like how there’s a scar along it’s right eye, across it’s chest, and on it’s left wing. Oddly specific, huh?” You laugh. “Our villages leader, Tenshi, says that sometimes those dreams that feel too real to be a dream are actually prophecy. Cool huh?”

Bakugou’s eyes widen a bit, realizing you’d just described his dragon, Kirishima.

“What is it?” You ask, noticing his change in demeanor.

“I–” he pauses, mulling over his next words. His slack jaw turns up into a grin. “You want to meet a dragon?”

Now it’s your turn to look confused. “Y-you know one? Seriously?” You pause for a minute. “You’d better not be fucking with me.”

He chuckles “Whoa whoa princess, who says I’m fucking with you? He’s a shifter, not a full-blooded dragon but shit’s all the same to me. Finish up that carving for me and I’ll take you to him.”

Your eyes light up, feeling the sincerity in his voice. You immediately turn back to your unfinished piece, continuing on the hundreds of intricate scales. You two strike up a conversation after, both retelling stories from childhood, up to now.

–

Through talking with him you learn that he really had it rough growing up, never having a true family, much like you. He was always moving towns, doing everyone’s dirty work with little to no pay. One day he was abducted and sold into slavery at the ripe young age of 15. The man he was sold to was one of the most foul men to walk the earth. The only nice thing was his slave-mate, Eijirou Kirishima.

The two teens quickly became friends. Spending every day and night in shared quarters really gave two people time to get to know each other. Shortly after Bakugou was purchased, Kirishima confided in him that was actually a dragon-shifter. No one else knew, or else he’d either be thrown into a bidding-war, or murdered. Some envied owning a shifter, while others thought they were a sin against the balance of life itself.

Bakugou and Kirishima continued working for their owner for another 3 years before they decided to make their move. Over time they’d taken careful note of other slave owners in the village, their schedules, how many spaces they owned, family or no family. They also managed to pilfer small amounts of money, both from their own master as well as others.

After some reassurance from Bakugou, Kirishima was able to shift and light the village ablaze. They created a network of safe houses so the other slaves were able to reach safety before all the slave owners were burned into oblivion.

They never looked back after that.

–

You look on with awe as Bakugou relays some of his and Kirishima’s adventures, as they continued to make their way through small towns, identifying rotten people, and “taking care of them.”

“W-wow,” you finally muster. You look down at your now finished piece, turning it in your hand. “You both sound incredible.”

He chuckles at that. “Yeah, well, what can I say. We’re both pretty damn cool.”

You laugh faintly, turning back to place your figurine into a small tin of crimson dye, allowing it to sit there for several minutes.

You both sit in silence as you pull the dragon out of the dye and set it on a drying rack.

“You mentioned you grew up in this town, right? Why haven’t you left yet?” He asks, standing to his feet.

You think for a minute. “I guess I haven’t really had any reason to. It’s quiet and everyone knows me here, ya know? Sure we don’t have the best food, or the best artisans, but it’s nice here.” You reply, turning to the table in front of you.

“You realize how fucking talented you are, right? You could make four times what you make here if you were to travel to different towns.” He says sounding slightly irritated. “Don’t you want to see what else the world has to offer?”

You grow quiet, the faint smile fading from your face. “I never said I didn’t want to, but leaving everything I know, on my own completely, terrifies me.” You look down at your feet, letting out a shallow sigh.

“You can always tag along with Kirishima and I you know. I’d never oppose to a beautiful woman on my arm.”

You look at him with wide eyes, cheeks flush.

“Y-you just met me, you’d really take a chance on me? What if I’m a murderer or something?” You laugh nervously.

He lunged forward at you, pinning you to the ground. You let out a soft grunt as you hit the ground, his hand pinning your arms above your head as he straddles your hips.

“If you were a murderer, you’d never let someone get the upper hand, right?” He gives you a shit-eating grin as you huff in protest.

“Besides, don’t you want to ‘live a little?’”

Your face cheeks deepen red in embarrassment, noticing the slight bulge in his pants so close to your heat.

He notices your blush and snorts, hauling himself off of you, pulling you up with him.

“How much longer on that dragon?” He asks, nodding to the drying rack. You dust yourself off, trying to hide your fading blush as you go to look at the dragon.

“Ah, looks like it’s done!” You reply excitedly.

You pick it up and look it over, proud of your handiwork. You then reach for Bakugou’s hand, uncurling his calloused fingers and setting the figurine in his open palm. He brings it to his face and inspects it, eyes lit with curiosity.

“This is fucking incredible, (Y/L/N).” He says, awestruck.

You let out a quiet ‘thank you’ and stand quiet for a moment. “You can call me (Y/N), you know. I’m not a fan of formalities.” You reply.

Bakugou nods. “Yeah, me neither. Just call me Katsuki. And how much do I owe you for this?” He asks reaching for his coin pouch.

“No no no! Don’t worry about it!” You exclaim, waiving your hands at him. “Please, as long as I can see a dragon I don’t need payment. It’s fine, really.”

He grunts out a ‘fine.’ And stuffs the figurine into his cloak. “Want to go see that dragon now?”

You nod eagerly, packing up your stocked items and throwing them into a bag. “Let me drop these off at the inn on our way there,” you tell him as you put up a “closed” sign on the table.

You two travel down the now mostly empty road, dusk quickly approaching as you reach the inn. You run up to your room to put your stock away, jogging down the hall as to not keep Bakugou waiting. You grip the dresser in your room, panting as you’d worn yourself out a bit. “Katsuki,” you mumble, enjoying the way his name rolled off your tongue.

“Yes?” You hear Bakugou’s voice from behind you. You yelp, running out the door before you could muster up an embarrassing excuse as to why you were saying his name in the mirror.

He chuckles and follows you closely, eyes now wandering to your figure. You had on a plain dress, though it looked a tad small, only accentuating your curves. He wanted to devour you right then and there, but that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly, would it?

He eventually takes the lead, leading you to his small camp about a half mile outside the town. You two arrive about 20 minutes later, as the sun dips behind the mountains.

“Kirishima! We have a visitor!” Bakugou yells at the tent, a tall red-haired man poking his head out.

“Dude, I-” He stutters, gesturing to his small protruding horns and scales on his face. You miss this exchange as you’re admiring the surrounding forest, since you’ve never been this far up the mountain before.

“It’s fine, she’s fine.” He states gruffly, turning to you, oblivious to his state. His eyes soften as he sees you looking around the forest, admiring the sights. You notice him looking and look down at your feet, embarrassed. “C’mon, Kirishima will show you tomorrow, why don’t you sleep here tonight?” He nods at the small fire Kirishima had going.

You sheepishly agree and make your way over to the tent, Kirishima now sitting by the fire. He extends an arm to you. “Hi! I’m Kirishima Eijirou! You can call me Kiri.” He grins, mouth full of jagged teeth. His smile is warm, and you return it in kind. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), please call me (Y/N),” you shake his hand and sit by the fire.

“Hey Bakugou, I gotta, uh...eat,” Kirishima says. “Go eat then,” Bakugou replies, sitting down between the two of you. “Don’t wait up,” he mumbles under his breath, the shifter understanding immediately.

“Well (Y/N), it was nice meeting you! I’ll be gone for the rest of the night, but I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” He smiles, running off in the opposite direction of Tengoku.

Shortly after Kirishima leaves, you heave out a sigh and flop backwards onto the grass, looking at the stars. Bakugou looks down at you, still amazed at how oblivious you are. He eventually lays his head next to yours, grunting as his head hits the ground. “Ow,” he grumbles, having hit it harder than he intended. You laugh at the whack sound his head makes, spinning into a fit of laughter when he starts whispering profanities at the ground.

“Hey, what are you laughing at, princess? You think it’s funny?” You wipe away a tear as your laughs turn into sniffles.

“Maybe a little bit,” you laugh again.

“Uh huh. You ticklish, sweetheart?” he smirks, your face paling at his threat.

“Shi-,” you barely get anything out before he has you pinned, hands attacking your sides.

“N-no! Please s-stop! I can’t take it!” You cry, the tickling so intense your eyes fill with tears.

“If you want me to stop, make me,” he smiles smugly.

Having gained a new wave of confidence, you take your knee up to his groin and rub against his bulge, eliciting a moan from Bakugou, distracting him just long enough to flip your bodies so you now straddled him.

Now he’s the one to be taken aback by your sudden change of attitude. “Where’d this come from?” He asks, his hands settling on your hips.

You lean forward, your hands finding his chest underneath his heavy pelt as you bring your face just inches from his. “You were the one that said I should ‘live a little’, right? That’s what I’m doing.”

He smirks, hands gripping tighter to your thighs. “Alright then brat, show me whatcha got.”

You lock your lips against his, his breath hot against your nose as you start to grind against him. He lets out a breathy moan, giving you enough space to slip your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss. It’s not long before the bulge in his pants is now straining against the fabric.

You slowly remove his pelt, revealing a well-built but scarred chest. You move your lips to his neck, gently sucking on the skin just beneath his jaw.

“Fuck,” he groans as you suck on his sweet spot. You trail your kisses down his chest, leaving love bites in your wake.

“You done this before?” Bakugou looks down at you, your hands now grasping the waistband of his pants.

“N-no,” you stutter. “I only know what the entertainers in town have told me.” he replies with a weak tch as you continue.

You undo his belt and slip his pants along with his boxers down around his ankles, his cock springing free from the confining material. Your eyes go wide at the size of him, never having seen a dick in person before. Noticing your hesitation, he smirks down at you.

“What, don’t tell me you’re gonna back out now,” he laughs tauntingly. “We’re just ge—fuuuuck!” His face tenses as you lick a long stripe against the underside of his cock.

You slowly coax his hardened member into your mouth, throat clenching as you slowly start sliding it in and out. You start at a steady pace, using your hand where your mouth can’t reach. Bakugou moans as you grow used to the size of him, taking more of him into your mouth inch by inch. Bakugou slowly starts to buck his hips up into your mouth, beginning to face fuck you as your throat clenches with every thrust. Your eyes brim with tears as the tip repeatedly hits the back of your windpipe. Your core begins to ache with neglect as Bakugou’s hips begin to stutter.

“F-fuck, I’m going to come,” he breathes as he thrusts into your mouth a handful more times before your mouth is filled with his salty seed.

You slowly slip his cock from your mouth as you gulp down the liquid, wiping your mouth as you do so.

He chuckles, smug grin returning to his face. “Not bad for a first-timer,” he says, flipping you both so that he’s now straddling your hips.

He leans in next your ear and whispers “My turn,” as he bites down on your earlobe, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

He kisses up your neck and jaw to your lips, pressing his body to yours. He momentarily breaks the kiss, his hands snaking under your dress, pulling it up over your shoulders, revealing your bare chest.

He trails kisses down your neck softly sucking, leaving love bites as you did to him. One of his hands makes its way to your already hard nipple, lightly tugging on it while his tongue swirls your other bud, eliciting a small moan from you.

He continues his assault down your front, kissing your soft curves as his lips reach your waistline. His vermillion eyes meet yours as his fingers hook the band of your underwear and slide them down until they’re discarded on the ground, his lips never leaving your body.

He kisses your inner thighs, sending shivers up your spine, your mouth now agape as your core aches with want.

“Already so wet for me,” he coos, warm breath fanning your now bare cunt.

You moan, shifting your legs open wider, giving Bakugou better access. He kisses your now soaking heat, slowly prodding you open with his tongue.

“Pl-please go slow,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his slightly damp hair.

He reaches a hand up to your face, slowly stroking your cheek reassuringly.

“Don’t worry princess, I know what I’m doing.” he replies, sliding his hand back down to your waist.

“Let me know if you’re ever in pain, okay? I’ll stop immediately.”

You give him a curt nod as he slips his index finger into his mouth, turning his attention back to what’s in front of him.

He slowly slides his finger into you, causing you to clench in discomfort. He stays still for a moment before he slowly starts sliding his finger in and out of your heat, already dripping with your arousal. After a short while he adds in a second finger, his eyes continuously flicking up to your face to gauge your reactions.

Your eyes are clenched in pleasure, soft moans and mumbles of his name falling from your mouth. “K-Katsuki,” you start, slowly opening your eyes.

“Yes, (Y/N)?” He asks, still sliding his now coated fingers in and out of you.

“Please fuck me,” your cheeks flush at your outburst.

He smirks at that, sliding his fingers out of you, as you sigh at the loss of contact. He licks his fingers clean and pulls himself up to you, kissing you more fervently this time.

You taste yourself on your tongue as you moan, Bakugou slipping his tongue into your mouth. He reaches down to himself pumping his cock several times, long since hard again. He lines up with your entrance, breaking your kiss momentarily.

“Are you ready?” he asks, meeting your gaze.

You eagerly nod, as he does as well. He slowly slides himself into you, as you wince with pain. His eyes never leave you, even as your eyes close as you focus on the mild pain as he slowly stretches you. You start to relax as he bottoms out, stilling there for a moment to give you time to adjust.

After a heavy sigh from you, he begins to move, slowly at first, barely sliding several inches in and out of you.

“You can move, Katsuki,” you breathe.

He grunts in agreeance as he picks up the pace, balls slapping against your heat as he nestles his face into the crook of your shoulder.

It isn’t long before you feel a knot in your stomach, on the verge of coming undone.

“Katsuki, I–” you moan, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he continues to pound into you.

You come with a flash of white, clenching around him as your vision blurs. The feeling of you squeezing around him so tightly sends Bakugou over the edge not long after, a strangled moan leaving him as he paints your insides white.

After several more thrusts he slips himself from you, collapsing next to you, quickly pulling you to his warm chest.

You two stay like that for a bit, both lightly panting from your orgasms. You slowly curl yourself into him, his arm wrapping around you as your sigh.

“My offer still stands. You can come with us, you know.” He breaks the silence, as you slowly look up at him.

His eyes meet yours as you quickly turn away, cheeks pink with slight embarrassment.

“I feel like I’d slow you guys down,” you sigh, readjusting yourself as the cold night air starts to register. “Besides, I don’t know if I’d even be useful.”

He rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t ask you along if I didn’t want you there. I feel like you’d be able to help funnel people out while Kirishima and I handle the rest. You’re good with people, right? You’d be able to do a lot of fucking good, (Y/N). And besides, your work is too damn amazing to stay locked away here. Don’t stay cramped up in this little town the rest of your life. Do something, you know?” He says gruffly.

You lay in silence for a moment, processing his proposal. You pull yourself to a sitting position, and Bakugou shortly follows suit.

You turn to him, pulling his face to yours and kiss him gently.

“You know what? Sure. Why not?” You grin, filled with fresh resolve.

He smirks at that, pulling you back to his chest as he lays back down in the cool grass. He reaches for a discarded item of clothing and wipes the both of you up. He throws you your dress and you slip it back on, as he finds some clothing to put back on as well.

Using each other for warmth, sleep takes you both, sunrise still a handful of hours away.

—

You awake with the sun, hazy oranges and purples dancing behind your eyelids as the sun drags up over the horizon. You pull yourself up, stretching as you yawn away your drowsiness.

You look down at Bakugou, his mouth slightly agape as he slowly stirs awake. You smile, thinking about all the things you hoped to do. Sight-seeing, exploring new foods, selling your trinkets to new markets of people; the opportunities seem endless.

“Hey! Glad to see you’re awake! I stopped by earlier but you two were still passed out, so I went into town and got some food!” You hear Kirishima’s voice to your left, his arms full of cloth sacks, presumably filled with food.

“Good morning,” you reply, voice still thick with sleep as he hands you a bag.

He sits to the right of you, Bakugou stirring on your left as you open the bag and start eating.

Bakugou eventually sits up, rubbing his eyes as Kirishima hands him a sack as well, Bakugou muttering a low “thank you” as he still struggles to wake up.

The three of you sit in silence for a while, as you all finish up your food.

Bakugou is the first to speak up, setting his discarded wrappings on the ground beside him. “(Y/N) here’s going to join us, she can help evacuate people as we do the rest.”

“Sweet! You’ll fit right in!” Kirishima smiles, wrapping an arm around you.

“I do have to collect my things from town, and say goodbye to everyone, but I’m ready to go after that!” you smile back, taking a sip of water.

Bakugou stands up, taking everyone’s discarded food wrappings and throwing them into a sack as the three of you clean up camp.

As day breaks, the three of you make your way into town, conversing along the way.

Before long you reach Tengoku, the sun now high above your heads as you make your way to the inn. It doesn’t take long to pack your small number of things. You don’t have much more than a week’s worth of clothing, a hand-carved hairbrush, and a handful of figurines, as well as a couple of knives.

The three of you walk back to the front desk, returning your key to the innkeeper, exchanging pleasantries and a tearful goodbye.

You slowly make your rounds around Tengoku, wishing everyone well and promising you’d be back.

The hardest person to leave is of course Tenshi.

At present she’s at the local shrine, paying her respects. The three of you stop at the bottom of the steps, as to not disturb her.

“Can you guys give me a minute?” You ask hesitantly, placing your bag on the ground. The pair of men nod as you slowly make your way to the top of the shrine.

“Hey Tenshi,” you start, gently placing a shaky hand on her shoulder. She opens her eyes and stands from her kneeling position and turns to you, tears welling in her eyes.

She smiles softly, taking your hands in hers. “I was just praying for you,” she says, slowly rubbing circles into the backs of your hands. “I spoke with Inari this morning, and she told me what you set out to do, and I’m so very proud of you, (Y/N).” she gleams.

You smile and bring her small frame to yours in a tight embrace, failing to hold back tears.

“You'll be back,” she says as you both pull away. “I know you will.”

You smile at that, knowing she knew better than anyone what the future holds.

You make your way back down the steps, eyes still slightly puffy as you reach Kirishima and Bakugou.

“You good?” Bakugou asks, handing you your duffel bag.

You nod, assuring him you’d be fine. Kirishima hands off his bags to Bakugou and starts to stretch out his limbs as Bakugou drops the bags next to you.

Your thoughts are pulled to Kirishima as you see him out of the corner of your eye stretching. You give him a sideways glance, slightly confused at what he was doing.

Bakugou observes you and snorts. “Hey I promised you a dragon, didn’t I? He can’t transform if his damn limbs are stiff.”

You mouth an “oh” as Kirishima takes a deep breath and his skin begins to darken to a crimson red.

A tail slowly protrudes from his lower back as he begins to grow in size. His arms lengthen to match his legs as they progressively become longer and thicker, ends coming to sharp onyx claws. His face elongates into a snout, his mouth lined with the same jagged teeth he adorns in his human form. Wings twice the length of his now massive body protrude from his back, varying shades of crimson and black, a scar running along the crease of his left wing. He shakes himself out, his scales catching the sunlight, reflecting tinges of black and purple.

Honestly, you’re awestruck. You’ve never seen something so massive and beautiful in your life. Bakugou’s eyes never leave you, admiring your face of wonder. You slowly make your way around to Kirishima’s front, his eyes catching yours as he brings his face level with you. Your eyes immediately land on his notable scar over his right eye, and you reach out to it, brushing your hand over his face. You walk back around to his side, dragging your palm against his scaly skin as you walk back to Bakugou.

“W-wow,” is all you can utter as Bakugou chuckles.

“He is somethin’, huh? Let’s get going.” He replies, hoisting you onto Kirishima’s back.

He tosses you the remaining bags and pulls himself up as well, settling himself directly in front of you. You take one more glance back at the shrine, Tenshi now waving at you. You wave back, flashing Tenshi a toothy grin. You then turn to face Bakugou, your arms snaking around his thin waist. His muscles tense under you as he slaps Kirishima’s back, signaling it was time to go.

Without time to register, Kirishima shoots up into the sky, your hands finding purchase on Bakugou’s pelt as you hold on for dear life. As quickly as it starts it’s over, Kirishima leveling out amongst the clouds.

It’s breathtaking. The heat of the day melts away as the air pressure drops, the clouds breezing by. You feel like you could float on endlessly, and with Bakugou at your fingertips and Kirishima securely beneath you, you feel like you’re in heaven.

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