#And people die in war even if we like them and know their names

[forgotteneilionora]

OOC | Swords of Stafford

ok so our beloved kate just postedd the following

and it made me picture eilia, [ princess leia style, being like 'idk what ur talking abt' ] right to roderick's face when he demands the location of the stafford swords -- even tho they blatantly just had (two of) them during the war ladksjflkjsdfjkdsf -- while she still thinks that both her sisters and one of the swords have slipped away from between roderick's fingers alskjdflkjsdfjk

no, but it ~also reminded me that we never quite finished up talking abt the swords in question (my fault entirely!) but the rest of that's [ here ] and before that [ here ] and we've def talked abt it elsehwere in drips and drabs, such as establishing that they were meteor sowrds etc

anyway, since we also got talking general family stuff there <3 i thought id make a new stafford sword post so we can get down to business w the swords themselves <3

ok so here's what you/kate said last re: the sword of kings:

SWORDS I love the idea that the missing sword isn't really a stafford sword but a founder sword... any house could lay claim to it! (ooo what if each house has their own name for the sword so no one really knows what it was originally called!?) could we retcon the story slightly and perhaps add something in about the sword being claimed by someone who is there to save Astaira in its time of need? or reunite the kingdom? i dunno something along those lines i feel like would help play into the idea of rian/his dad that THEY should find this sword to rule astaira! and if/when roderick hears about it hes like... well i obviously need that to prove to all these HEATHENS that I am the one who is here to save their backwards country! And then there can still be the two stafford swords w/ siobhan running around w/ one which would still be a THING since its a symbol that could unify people and obvi that's bad for our favorite power hungry emperor! ;)

ok so obsessed w this line of thought!!!!

side note: this really ~does actually lend some credence to roderick's hope to gain legitimacy in astairan eyes by claiming the sword, doesn't it? bc...that's what the sword is for basically lakjsdfkljsdf still feel like the sword would betray him in some way or become a corrupt mirror to its usual self or smth in the hands of the wrong person but yeah!! this is just kinda happenstance for him ofc bc he always has this philosophy more bc he sees these ars trophies/symbols of power (plus he's a lil supersticious lbr) etc but this time he lowkey lucked out bc it really ~does lowkey confer some power alsdkjflkjdsf ofc it might kill him or drive him mad or smth who knows but anyway here we are a;ksdfjlksjdf (meanwhile the astairans still laughing at him bc he's going around w morningstar strapped to his side, still thinking its evenstar alksjdflkjsdf heehee)

i do still think the og wielder was def a stafford and it was forged from a falling star via ayla etc like we said but!! we've talked before abt how perhaps malconaire, lorcan, and stafford (and perhaps one or two others) were originally ancient kings in their own right and ultimately united to take down the gods as one etc so i can def see where the first king of a united astairan realm could easily have been a stafford and yeah!!

but yes!!!!!1 anyone being able to claim it feels soooooooo on point re: astairan values etc!!! and i def like to think that's still a thing!!! and yesssss! i love the idea that its for whoever is like willing to put astaira ahead of themselves or whatever, and not just abt bloodline!! and, like, what if its og wielder died thrusting the sword into the lock against the gods basically yknow that ultimate act of putting others before self etc kinda thing?

ok ok so this is WILD!!!!!!! what im abt to suggest laksjdflkjsdfj so no worries if you're like nahh lets not alksdjflkjsdf but like...ok so if a prev king stafford ~did die w the sword like...what if the sword isn't ~just a symbolic sword, what if its legit magical in some way (id guess a conjecting to air/night/sky or some kind and/or maybe souls? which're sometimes compared to aether anyway sdlakjfklsdjf) like...its got powers but its lowkey fueled by the spirit of its wielder/past wielders so like...its light and bright in the hands of a good soul, but turns dark and cold in those of one of ill intent, or whatever, and kinda drinks part of the soul, so you can randomly get some vibes from its prev wielders or whatever???? idk!! lakjsdfkjlsdf ANYWAY!! also @thelongforgottenrealm is this kinda concept even a thing in this world? hahaha

(not that anyone of ill intent truly could dislodge it from its current spot, but if someone of good intent did dislodge it, and it ~later fell into bad hands or whatever idk)

ok so we also left in our og thing some questions re: the name! our two biggest contenders were constellation and celestial. what do we think?

def feel like i came into this w some other thoughts on this topic but uhhhh idr them now so we'll just go w this! a nyway id love to hear all ur thoughts and ideas!!!!!!! <33333

[ssreeder]

*Semi-spoilers*

Sreedy, why do you not love me? Why must you hurt me so? I am on Chap 12 and still get get over the death that happened in Chap 6. Like this felt like the Boots betrayal all over again. You made me like this character. Then *boom* dead.

You couldn't even give them a cool death? Not one where they could sacrifice themselves for the greater good?

Then... AND THEN.... you didn't even talk about them in your Author's notes?! (Because of this, I'm holding on to the delusion that they are still alive-somehow)

In my mind, Sokka was just confused. Or this character had a clone or something. They are not death (I have to believe this for my sanity)

When I catch you, Ricky, when I catch you.... 🫵🏽😑

Alright, off to the chapter 🫶🏽 (still am obsessed with the story)

I feel like Shens death either hits people really hard or not at all. You’re spiraling in the ao3 comments about him is seriously so funny. You’re not the only one who isn’t over his death & I am so sorry! (I’m not actually sorry haha Shen was always gunna die but I did allow him to make it all the way to book 3! So yayyyy?)

Ok!! So I actually purposely didn’t give him a dramatic death because unfortunately he was a common foot soldiers and people viewed him as expendable because of that & he was tossed aside like garbage the moment his purpose was served.

& YOU CANT CATCH THE RICKY THE RICKY CATCHES YOUUUUUU MWAHAHAHA :D

thanks for the ask Dr sue lou I hope you continue to enjoy hehe

[batcavescolony]

S4 E3 Supernatural

Now THIS is a good episode. Castiel took Dean back in time to 1973! We find out Sam and Dean's maternal grandparents, Samuel and Deanna Campbell, and Mary are hunters. On top of that, Azazel is playing match maker so he can have his little psychic children be the best of the best, and he made a deal with Mary to revive John after he killed him. Also as if Azazel hasn't killed enough of Sam & Dean's family they killed Samuel and Deanna too. Oh this is so interesting, then Castiel taking Dean back, saying destiny can't be changed but Sam is going down a dark path and either Dean stops him or angels do.

[arts-and-drafts]

I decided to start compiling speech patterns and such for the Hermits I watch the most, because being a fic writer is hard sometimes 😭 then I thought “why not share it here?”

so here’s my very rough analysis of my most viewed Hermits, this is just what I’ve managed to gather so please don’t call me out for what I’m missing

-

Scar

Rarely stutters in normal speech. Maybe pauses if he’s started a sentence and doesn’t know where it’s going, but he doesn’t tend to trail off unless something interrupts his train of thought

Stutters a LOT when he’s startled. Also makes ‘hoo!’ noises repeatedly before he finds his words

Lays on the charm THICK when he’s trying to convince someone over literally anything; compliments their looks, their handiwork, and then pitches his proposition in smooth segue. Not one to entertain haggling though (however he DOES do a ‘look if you’ll pay full price I’ll throw in xyz’ thing). King of upselling even the most mundane things.

His tone is cheerful most of the time, no matter what he’s saying. He’ll actually often say very disturbing things with a light voice (ex. when discussing how to retaliate ie “what should we do about him?” “we could kill him! :)”)

Builds and locations somehow are always capitalized in his voice?? Like he says them differently. I can’t really explain it (when he talks about Aqua Town or Scarland or The Big Dig)

Literally has an evil laugh when he thinks of a way to prank someone or mess with people

Hums in thought quite often, and uses “huh!” quite often when confused or finding out something new (Mostly with redstone)

His farewell is almost always “Byeeee, have a great time!” even if the conversation he left was not a pleasant one. I’m almost certain he does this in tense situations just to get under other people’s skin and really push how unbothered he is

Doesn’t tend to insult people, the farthest he’ll take it is backhanded compliments

That said he is not afraid to outright threaten (“I will murder them.”)

References media a lot, both for concepts for builds and in speech (ie his greeting “Well hello there!” is from Star Wars)

Number one exclamation is “Sweet Baby Jellie!”

(More under the cut!)

Grian

Cold opens, both in videos and conversations (rarely says “hello, how are you, etc” when encountering someone, but he does say farewells/‘thank you’s)

Likes to sneak up on people and scare them if he realizes they haven’t noticed him yet, usually does so by getting real close and then yelling (“HEY!”/“HI!”/“WHAT’S THAT?”)

Uses the name of whoever he’s talking to pretty often while speaking to them (“Well, Mumbo, you never know”/“So, Scar, as you can see here-“), same goes for often addressing his audience (“you all”/“you lot”/“you guys”)

Usually pretty focused (when he wants to be) but oftentimes takes a minute to laugh at things he notices in the natural environment (An accidental face in a build, a mob in a strange place, etc)

Takes the lead in a conversation if nobody is the clear leader, but generally only speaks when spoken to if someone else has risen to that spot

Clarifies instructions after something is explained, both to his viewers and to anyone he’s grouped up with (most often seen in the Life Series)

Uses “Pardon?!”/“Beg your pardon?!” most often when surprised or startled (he’s very British), also sometimes uses “Sorry??”

Things are way more funny to him when he’s tired

Deadpans a lot in conversation ie “why not do xyz?” “Well because we’ll horrifically die 😑“

This man is allergic to committing to the bit unless he’s the one that initiated it

Not one to sugarcoat (“how is it?” “well to be honest it’s miserable”)

Number one exclamation is “WHAT?!” (though he often uses “oh my GOODNESS” quite a bit)

Mumbo

The start of nearly every episode is almost a pitch, does the same when bringing up an idea to others (“I have this idea”/“I was thinking”/“I noticed” etc)

Often laughs a little at himself when he speaks

Also often brings up how inexperienced/unqualified he thinks he is with literally any task he’s doing

Gets very distracted with the smallest things

Uses similes a lot when trying to describe a concept (“I’m thinking a this-type thing”/“Something like a [xyz]”/“Imagine like a [thing]”)

His voice gets higher when he’s startled or panicking

A very vocal thinker, which makes sense because he’s a MC Youtuber, but he also just. Seems to think out loud regardless

Comments a lot on the feel of things (“Oh this feels menacing”/“This looks like it’d mess you up”/“This makes it feel very intimidating”), often with building

Extremely modest. However will celebrate when he does something right in redstone/building (“YES! Oh my days, that took forever”)

Once and a while will have a rare banter moment with people he’s comfortable with (ie teasing and making fun)

Related to above, he gets very giggly when he’s hanging out with people he’s familiar with (Grian and Scar most often, but also Iskall)

Number one exclamation is “What on earth?!”

Joel

Greets people most often with “How you doing [name]?”/“How are ya [name]?”

He’s very northern. He often leaves out words in his sentences bc that’s just the way his dialect is (“What you doin’?” vs “What are you doing?”)

Says his th’s like f’s (“somefing”/“nofing”/“finking”) ((Stress also does this))

His jokes/teasing are very deadpan (“I made you this extra thing, because you’re trash at this”)

Actually gives gifts of resources very often, and always leaves it with a little note and signs his name

His voice gets higher pitched when he’s defensive/being extremely cheeky but other than that his tone rarely changes

This man. Flirts so much. If any other person initiates even the slightest of flirty banter he takes that and dials it to eleven I cannot believe this is a straight married man sometimes

Joel commits to the bit 100% of the time (slightly related to above), unless of course it’s jokes about his height

Makes a point to compliment himself if he gets the chance (words most often used are “handsome” “strong” and “humble”, as well as comments about his muscles and physique)

Insults his enemies diminutively (“look at you down there, tiny idiot”/“You’re wrong and also weak”) ((seen most often in Empires SMP)

His most often used insult is “idiot”

When he’s flustered/frustrated he uses “bloody” a lot (ie “bloody heck” or “this bloody thing” (loves to toe the PG line), also uses “blooming” (“bloomin’ heck”)

Most often used exclamation is also “WHAT?!”

Bdubs

Opens videos very jovially, talks almost like a radio host

Breaks down his builds down to the block, spends a lot of time discussing his block pallet choices and giving tips while he builds

Uses the affirmation “sure enough” a lot, and often addresses himself as “Ol’ Bdubs”

Talks affectionately about other hermits often (“[name], the absolute sweetheart, left me some materials”, “[name], you angel!”)

Adding to above, “angel” or “sweet angel” seems to be his most often used affectionate terms

Switches on a dime, though, if he gets offended (which of course causes others to poke fun at him even more)

Calls mobs “stupid” a lot when they don’t do what he wants (but takes it back if he says it to one of his horses ex. “Come here, stupid—wonderful, I mean, beautiful”)

THIS MAN IS THE #1 HORSE ENJOYER. He gets a horse first thing every season and rides it everywhere, and they’re always a focal point of his theme or builds in some regard

Pauses whatever he’s doing to sleep as soon as it’s possible, and gets very antsy if he can’t do it for some reason (“One moment, time to shreep!”)

Related to above, EVERYONE messes with him if he’s trying to sleep in their presence ie breaking his bed over and over, and he gets increasingly more frustrated when it happens

Rarely is soft spoken or quiet, he projects his voice and uses a lot of emphasis in his tone

Either straight up screams (and peaks the mic 😭) if he’s startled or scared, or yells “oh my GOODNESS!!”

Number one exclamation is “HEY!”

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Ok, I don't really post here, but there's a Merlin AU idea that's been rattling around in my skull like it's a pinball machine and I need to get it out, so here we go:

Imagine an AU where Balinor doesn't die and banishes Kilgarrah before sneaking away so Uther doesn't catch him and can't put his newfound son in danger. Of course, both he and Merlin are heartbroken about having to be separated again after just finding each other, but they work out a way to keep in touch and occasionally meet in secret.

And this is all well and good, and everything in the show just kinda proceeds as normal up until about season 4, where we have the knights of the round table well-established in Camelot.

It'd make sense that after a few years of travelling around with Kilgarrah, Balinor would be pretty well-known and well-feared throughout all the five kingdoms as "that dragonlord who escaped the purge and now travels around on the back of a giant dragon", and people all over Albion are kinda terrified of the guy.

Rumors say that he never smiles, that he can kill a man in a split second without even utterring a spell, and can decimate kingdoms with the dragon under his total command. That makes for a formidable figure!

And then one day, Balinor is trying to sneak into Camelot to visit his son (he heard Merlin got hit by a dorocha and wants to make sure he's ok!), and the knights see him and freak out because holy shit that's one of the deadliest guys in Albion!

They're in a tense standoff, with Balinor threatening to call down the dragon on them if they don't let him through. The knights are all ready to give their lives to at least buy the people in the castle time to evacuate, when suddenly Merlin and Arthur make it to the standoff. Arthur immediately starts strategizing with his knights on how they're going to negociate with the sorcerer in an attempt to make sure that they aren't all slaughtered.

Meanwhile, Merlin just laughs and pushes through the rows of knights blocking Balinor's path to the castle. The knights, being very fond of Merlin and not wanting to see their kind little friend be brutally murdered by one of the most terrifying men in exsistence, are trying to grab Merlin and pull him back to safety or shouting at him to get back, but Merlin manages to avoid them as he walks up to Balinor.

For a horrifying moment, the knights and Arthur think that Merlin is about to sacrifice himself for them, but Merlin breaks into a huge grin, yells "Dad!", and runs right into Balinor's arms.

(Merlin and Balinor reason that now that Arthur's king, they might as well start easing him into some of Merlin's less shocking secrets)

And even more shockingly to the knights, Balinor hugs him back, asking Merlin all about how he's been doing, how are his studies under Gaius, etc etc.

And all of the knights just bluescreen. Because the math isn't mathing on this one. Hunith + Balinor = MERLIN?! Does not compute.

They're all pondering how could someone as joyful, friendly, and kind as Merlin be the spawn of a terrifying man like Balinor?? They just cannot comprehend it. The manservant who they all know and love came from this sorcerer who's name is synonymous with the threat of death and destruction??

They're all jolted back to reality however when Balinor asks Merlin if he wants to come back to Balinor's newly-renovated stronghold in the mountains (that's only accessable by riding a dragon) to learn more about one day becoming a dragonlord. And suddenly, the knight understand why Balinor's here. He wants to kidnap Merlin from them and twist him into a terrifying sorcerer to carry on Balinor's legacy!

It all basically dissolves into a long game of high-stakes tug-of-war between Balinor and the knights + Arthur, and Merlin's just enjoying spending time with his father and his friends.

Balinor will just casually crash one of their quests while riding Kilgarrah and "kidnap" Merlin while the knights fight to keep Merlin with them.

Balinor eventually gives Merlin Aithusa so he can get practice raising dragons, and the knights see it as some evil scheme to make Merlin betray Camelot and attack it from within, but damn it Merlin's already adopted the damn thing so now they're stuck with a baby dragon.

IDK if I'd ever write a fic about it since I'm pretty busy writing another fic rn, but I thought that it was a funny idea to throw out there!

PS: if anyone wants to read my current project, where I'm giving Sir Leon more anxiety with each chapter after a kinda-botched magic reveal on Merlin's part (and Merlin may or may not be an eldritch god), feel free to check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54027337/chapters/136771564

Thank you all for sticking with my incoherent rambling! :D I hope you have a great day/night!

Also, please let me know if you guys wants to hear more of the ideas that pinball around in my head!

[mrsparrasblog]

I just listened to "My Tears Ricochet" and had an idea.

TW: Angst *laughs in free therapy*

So, imagine the boys need to fake their deaths. How macabre it is that they attend their own funerals, wanting to watch their loved ones. (These are standalone scenarios they don't fake their death together)

Price: You were his wife for all these years, always waiting for him to return. The funny thing was you could clearly remember the last argument before he left.

"Love, just one more tour, and I'm coming back to you. Then we can start a family and all that, but the boys need me."

"It's always the last tour with you. When is it really the last?"

"This time, I promise."

To some extent, he was right. You thought it was his last tour, but it wasn’t fair. You knew it was over when you got the call from General Shepard. Your husband was dead. You lost the love of your life, and all you got were his dog tags and a check large enough to end world hunger. You slapped your friend after she said at least you were financially secure now.

Price watched you from behind a tree. He saw how you clung to his grave, hugging it tightly and lying on it as you always used to with him. Your dress was dirty, and the tears wouldn’t come anymore.

When Laswell and Nik approached you, you screamed at them, blaming them for not protecting your husband. You trusted them, and now you couldn't bear to let anyone else near his grave. John wished he could comfort you, tell you he would come back to protect you, but he couldn’t. Instead, he sent Simon, who endured all your insults, screams, and even a punch to his crooked nose until you were ready to move on.

Kyle: You and Kyle were born on the same day, in the same room, in the same hospital. It was like a movie; he was your best friend since forever, your first everything, and you were his. It was a love like in all those movies. The only thing separating you was the military, but you stayed home waiting for him. Not even war could separate you. Last year, he brought you that ring. You remember lying in bed, cuddling him as he promised you that you were allowed to die first. He knew you wouldn’t survive his death. So he made the silly promise that you would die first. He thought it was the first promise he ever broke to you.

Kyle had to be held back when he saw you crying at his grave. “Guess I’ll find you in the next one, love. Sleep well.”

Ghost: He was never good at love, and he was sure no one would come to his funeral. No one knew "Ghost," and Simon Riley had been buried since 2009. But then he saw you, the cute medic he always tried to push away. He was afraid of hurting you or corrupting you. How could he have known that pushing you away wouldn’t stop you from loving a dead man?

All the conversations came flooding back:

"Here, Lt. I made you red velvet cookies, your favorite."

"You're going to sit down and let me fix that, idiot."

"You're beautiful, Ghost."

"You're enough."

"It's kind of silly to be in love with someone whose name you didn’t even know. I hope you find your peace, big boy." You placed lilies on his grave and left. In that moment, Simon Riley realized he was loved, and he would burn the world down to come back from the dead just to return to you.

Johnny: Contrary to popular belief among the team, Johnny wasn’t a whore. He was a loving husband and father. That was written above "Sergeant" on his grave, at least.

His funeral was crowded with people who wanted to pay their last respects. Most of them were blue-eyed MacTavishes. Then there was you, holding your three-year-old in your arms. He didn’t understand why everyone was crying or why Dad wasn’t there anymore.

Johnny watched you sit at his grave, sighing as you talked to your husband. "James doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he misses you. He wanted me to give him a mohawk. It looks ridiculous, just like you. I know you’re rocking it in heaven. Just please wait for me, okay? Don’t want you to hoe around in heaven," you chuckled, holding back the tears. "You watch us from there, right? Can’t miss the birth of your princess, can you?"

[breadbrobin]

the trees

clarisse la rue x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[fem!daughter of apollo reader]

summary: you have a very specific skill set that helps your team with capture the flag, and clarisse thinks it’s fascinating. in fact, she thinks you’re as fascinating as you think she is.

warnings: swearing, arguments, fighting, PINING, heights i guess (reader is up a tree), possibly ooc clarisse but not too much i hope.

word count: 2.5k

(so the brainrot has (inevitably) spread to clarisse. there’s gonna be a part two to this as well, so lmk if y’all want it (tbh i’ll probably post it anyway but still). oh and also i love her and i am a clarisse apologist and lover until the day i die)

(sort-of-enemies to sort-of-lovers, but more like idiots to pining idiots (in a tree))

(part 2 here)

———————————————

archery wasn’t the only thing you were good at, but it was by far the best thing you were good at. a daughter of apollo: master of archery, mediocre of music and magical at making weird ass noises. bird calls, animal sounds, imitations—you name it, you could do it.

and those were useful tactics in capture the flag, for sure.

annabeth chase was a master strategist, and you had to give it to her: she remembered everyone’s strengths, weaknesses and alliances while you couldn’t even remember what you’d had for breakfast that day.

as always, you were tucked up in a tree, around halfway up. you weren’t too high, so that you could speak and people wouldn’t automatically know you were above them, but you weren’t too low so they couldn’t see you.

you kind of liked being in the trees now. after three years of capture the flag and around six months of freaking out every time you climbed above ten feet, you were finally used to it. it was almost calming; a way for you to relax after a stressful day and pretend that nothing around you existed.

until the red team came by, that is.

that’s what you were waiting for. the flag was around fifty feet to your right. your job was to be a lookout and a distraction.

it was your favourite part of the game, getting to trick people and shoot arrows at them when they came too close, allowing the blue team members around the bottom of your tree to pop out and disarm their opponents.

it wasn’t a trick you used every time—not even the ares cabin are that stupid—but when you did use it, you had the time of your life.

there was a snapping branch to your left. you straightened up from where you were leaning against the tree trunk behind you and peered through the leaves. you were perched on a thick bough, hidden by leaves and branches, but able to see enough through them that you could do your job.

you could hear voices, but you couldn’t see anyone.

you listened carefully. you knew that voice.

you realised with a start who it was.

clarisse la rue.

fucking clarisse, man. she drove you insane. and not for the reason she drove most of camp insane. no, unlike almost everyone else, you were attracted to her. in fact, you were, annoyingly, in love with her, you’d have to admit. it was infuriating.

you could hear her cutting through the forest. it was strange. she didn’t usually come for the flag. usually, she hunted in the woods and caught stragglers. she didn’t want the glory as much as she wanted the fight. to her, winning the battle seemed more important than winning the war.

regardless of why, you could hear her voice. she was talking to her siblings below you, creeping through the foliage.

the sun was warm on your face and you send up a brief prayer to your father.

from your lips slipped an almost perfect impression of your blue team guards. you’d used this trick last game, but clarisse hadn’t been there, so she wouldn’t know. “i can’t believe they put us on guard duty again.”

they all froze in their tracks, looking at each other, then ahead in the opposite direction from the flag.

you held in a snicker. “ugh, yeah, it’s the worst. i mean, why can’t we do anything fun? i wanna fight clarisse!”

you could see the smirk curling on her lips and you had to stop yourself from blushing.

you continued this cat and mouse game. the ares kids below you fanned out, aiming to surround you. it would have been a smart move, if there was actually a flag there and not just a tree.

slowly, they inched in, then leapt out.

“ahh!! you caught us! i’ve been impaled!”

they looked around in fear and confusion but clarisse looked straight up. she always did.

“hey, angel, nice voice,” she mocked. “wanna come on down?”

you shook your head. “no, thanks, i’m comfortable.”

she raised and eyebrow, seeing your arrow drawn and pointed directly at her. “that’s not necessary.”

“isn’t it?” your arrow flew and, though she hit it away, you teammates came pouring out of the foliage, having been waiting for your signal.

a fight ensued. it looked like it was going well for a short while, then the tides turned.

they weren’t as caught off guard as they usually were. hell, clarisse was even smiling!

with what looked like very little effort, the ares campers effectively destroyed your teammates. they were left disarmed and defeated, and you were stuck in a tree. typical.

as her siblings took their weapons, clarisse looked up at you. “you wanna come down now?”

you shook your head. “rather not. the view from up here is pretty good.”

she muttered something to herself, but you couldn’t hear her. then she spoke up. “what if we come up there?”

you drew your bow back immediately and an arrow pierced the dirt right in front of her foot.

she looked down at it, then back up at you, an amused smirk on her face. “right, silly me.”

that surprised you. she was usually cold and cruel in capture the flag, always taking no prisoners and leaving no survivors—in a technical sense. you’d seen people nursing their minor wounds after the games when your siblings forced you to help out in the infirmary (not that you’re much help in there, but regardless), and everyone heard the stories they’d tell of clarisse appearing out of the ferns and attacking ruthlessly. so why was she not being so ruthless today?

she was certainly cruel in her fight against your team members, but any other day, she would have thrown her spear at you or thrown one of your arrows back, or even climbed up anyway. instead, she just smirked up at you, content to wait.

“where’s the flag, bows?” she asked, using a nickname she’d only used a few times, one that referenced both the bows you used and the bows you sometimes put in your hair.

you shrugged. “dunno. they don’t tell me anything. i just get out here and told to be annoying.” your traitorous eyes flickered to the direction of the flag. you’d never been good at lying.

and curse her, clarisse noticed. she always noticed when it came to you, it seemed. whether it was catching you in a lie, catching you when you were admiring her or catching your every move when sparring, she always noticed.

she nodded at her siblings and they moved off. “i’ll wait here. try and flush our squirrel out.”

if they were confused or surprised, they didn’t show it.

once they were gone, clarisse plucked the arrow from the dirt and studied it. “this is new.”

“sam from hephaestus made them,” you said meekly. why would she stay behind? it didn’t make sense. you weren’t a threat, or even a good fight.

her face darkened. “oh. and where is your boyfriend now, then? hm?”

your cheeks flamed. “he’s not my boyfriend.” and it was true. he wasn’t. despite the fact that he liked you and made things for you all the time, your heart was decidedly with another. and she was right below you, tossing your prized arrow aside like an old tissue. “he’s on your team anyway. you should know where he is.”

she smirked again. “oh, yeah. i remember now. that’s right, i sent him to try and get our flag. he didn’t even make it five steps before he was attacked.”

her bitter laugh made your heart clench. was it pity for sam or your feelings for her, or both? you weren’t sure. either way, it was starting to get on your nerves.

it was silent for a long time. she looked up at you every few seconds, then at the tree, like she was gauging how hard she’d have to push you for you to die on impact. her eyes were sharp and her smile was sharper, and fuck you were attracted to her.

you cleared your throat and broke the silence, hearing fighting off in the near distance. you would go and help, but the only way for you to do so would be to tree-hop all the way to the flag, and while you could do it, it wasn’t the best idea. “why did you stay h—what are you doing?” you aimed an arrow at her.

“relax, angel, we both know you won’t actually shoot me.” she was climbing up the tree. fast. “and don’t worry, i’m not gonna push you out or attack you. i don’t like looking up at you.”

call you stupid or whipped or whatever, but you believed her. you lowered your bow but didn’t lessen the tension on your string. she’d almost reached your branch when you swivelled around to face her. you moved fast, your arrow returning to its holster and you body facing the trunk of the tree with your legs swung over each side of the wide bough. your dagger was swiftly removed from its holster and pressed under clarisse’s chin.

she laughed at you.

you faltered slightly. “what?”

“nothing,” she snickered. “i just saw it coming. now scoot back.”

you dropped your dagger and shifted backwards, glad the bough was strong.

she clambered onto your branch easily, sitting facing you with her back against the tree trunk, a smirk on her face.

you sighed bitterly. “you see everything coming.”

she shrugged. “pretty much. but so do you.”

“that’s the gift of divine premonition,” you grumbled. it could be useful sometimes, but all you really got was a sense, a feeling or, occasionally, a single frame of a moment. right now, though, your senses were so clogged with her vanilla-strawberry and leather scent, and with her, that you could hardly think, let alone experience a minor prophecy. not to mention the fact that if you did, you’d probably fall out of the tree.

she shrugged. “isn’t that useful?”

“yeah, when it actually works or doesn’t make me pass out.” you shrugged. “it’s temperamental.”

she hummed in thought, leaning back and crossing her arms. her knees were mere centimetres from yours.

“what are you doing up here, clarisse?” you asked.

she shrugged, but you could see a shift in her demeanour when she said your name. it was like the muscles in her shoulders relaxed for a moment, then tensed again. “didn’t want you to escape.”

“so you let your other prisoners escape?” you gestured to the ground, where your teammates were sitting around fifteen feet from the tree in a circle, plucking the grass.

clarisse raised her eyebrows at you in amusement. “oh, i think they’re fine. they’re too scared of me to do anything, anyway.”

you narrowed your eyes at her. “i don’t think you’re that scary.”

she rolled her eyes. “sure. but everyone else does. so you’re wrong.”

“it was my opinion. my opinion can’t be wrong if it’s my opinion.” that was another thing: you were never one to start an argument, but by god would you escalate it.

“your opinions wrong if i say it’s wrong,” she huffed, her jaw tight.

“not how opinions work, babe,” you said lightly, using your dagger point to carve away at the bark beneath you.

she smacked your hand to stop you. “you’re gonna dull it!”

“the point is already dull!” you protested, poking your finger to show her. it indented, but didn’t draw blood. “see?”

“so, what, you threatened me with a butter knife? i’m offended.”

“it’s the idea of it that cuts deeper anyway. the primal fear of being gutted by a dagger. in capture the flag at least.” you shrugged, carving a wonky flower in the bark. “it’s more about threats than action.”

clarisse rolled her eyes. “and what if a monster comes and attacks you, and all you’ve got is this blunt dagger?”

“you ever seen an archers muscles?” you turned slightly and flexed your shoulders. you could see her eyes follow the sharp lines of your shoulders and back. “i’ll use force. force is more effective than sharpness. you know that.”

“and yet, my weapons are all still sharp.” she snatched the dagger from you and pulled out a whetstone from a pocket in her cargo pants. she began sharpening your blade.

“hey, don’t—“

she smacked your hand with the flat of your own blade when you reached for it, and you withdrawn with a hiss, shaking your hand. she laughed. “i guess force is more important, huh, angel?”

your cheeks were hot. “don’t call me that.”

“why, you worried you might like it?” she looked up, teasing. her eyes narrowed at the look on your face and then she grinned. “you do like it.”

“no. shut up.”

she laughed again, but it was a little softer than usual. she looked back down at the dagger. “did sam make this for you?”

“yeah, w—clarisse!” you gasped as she dropped it off the bough. or, more accurately, threw it off the bough. “what was that for?”

she shrugged. “it’s not that good. i’ll get you a better one from the ares stash. don’t worry.”

you glared at her. “that was mine, though!”

“it was blunt and poorly made,” she protested. “it wasn’t good enough for you.”

the way she said it made you think there was a double meaning there.

“he’s not good enough for you,” she said, softer, proving you right.

your eyes were wide and your cheeks were flaming. “what?”

“you heard me.” her softness was staying, it seemed. if you weren’t mistaken, her hand was reaching for yours. “he’s not. you know he’s not. why do you like him?”

before you could respond, a horn blew in the distance and cheering erupted from around the forest. red team had won.

clarisse didn’t look happy. she leaned back—you hadn’t even realised she’d leaned forward—and glared at the bough between you both.

“congratulations,” you said softly. “you deserved the win.”

“yeah, we did.” her voice carried very little enthusiasm.

you studied her face for a minute, like you were committing every feature to memory. “clarisse…”

she didn’t respond. instead, she swung her leg over the bough and started climbing down. only when she got two branches down did you begin to follow her, hurrying in your attempt to catch up. you couldn’t. no matter how good you were at something, she was better.

she nodded at you as she walked off, your foot caught in a tight spot.

once you’d finally got down, your teammates were surrounding you. some asked you what had happened, some accused you of being a double agent for them, some asked if you were okay.

you answered them all absently as you all walked back towards the stream, but your heart wasn’t in it. what the hell was going on?

you’d reached the stream by the time you realised you’d left your dagger behind, and you were back at your cabin, trying to fall asleep, when you realised that it didn’t bother you at all.

(part 2)

[mylittleredgirl]

lennier “from birth, I was raised in the temple and studied the ways of the religious caste, six months ago I came here” is pretty funny when you think about it.

not only is this his first job, it’s his first time living outside a monastery. imagine spending twenty years or so never meeting anyone who isn’t also in a minbari monastery, and then one of the nine-most important people on your planet plucks you out of divinity school sight unseen to come work for her. so they put you on a space transport and now you live at the United Nations International Airport (*soon to be the Independent Galactic War Outpost International Airport) with the most cosmically relevant people alive. and all This is happening.

maybe that’s to his benefit actually!! everyone else has to have their moment of reckoning when they realize “we are living in unprecedented times and, regrettably, it seems i am a named character in biblical-level events 😐” while lennier, fresh from minbari religious mythology and history class (one subject), is like oh yes they warned us about the biblical events! how fascinating to experience them in person.

his direct supervisor is the second coming. it turns out that he personally knows Jesus George Washington from a thousand years ago who he’s been praying to this whole time. then he’s right there in the front row when the First Ones get kicked sternly shamed out of the galaxy and there’s a civil war on his planet because society broke down and it’s still his first job!

honestly we’re too hard on him for being a dramatic disaster in season five when 73% of his life experience outside the temple has been directly related to the End of Days (the rest is administrative errands and that time londo took him to a bar). every person he knows is unhinged. he has never seen normal life even from a distance. it’s a lot to expect him to handle an ordinary thing like “falling in love with your milf boss who’s the first lady of the known universe and is also like if the pope had a massive well-trained space army personally pledged to die for her” with anything less than shakespearean levels of drama.

[q8qwertyuiop8p]

Does Silco Know?

I'm surprised by the number of people I've talked who believe Silco is unaware of what Singed is doing to Vander, that it is all happening behind his back. Here I wanted to go over the reasons why Silco almost certainly played a roll in Warwick's creation, and perhaps even ordered it.

Weapon of War

Silco needs terrifying, never-before-seen weapons if an overwhelmingly underarmed Zaun is to scare Piltover into submission- it's why he has shimmer created and why he instructs Jinx to create Fishbones. It is likely that Warwick is intended to be another one of these wildcards.

Money and Strength

Singed's funding comes from Silco, so it would be difficult for him to hide such an audacious project. Singed also doesn't have the strength to carry shimmer-Vander's corpse away to his lab, but Silco's thugs do.

Holding On

Silco's biggest flaw is his inability to let the past and his loved ones go, and the way he, like Jinx, destroys what he loves. Silco romanticizes the betrayal and reminisces of the time he and Vander fought together. He refuses to give up on Vander, even forgiving him for the drowning and trying to reconcile. Vander has moved on, he refers to Silco as "brother" only in the past tense, but Silco continues to call Vander brother, even after the failed reconciliation and his "death." When Silco finds Jinx on the bridge, he tells Singed to keep her alive, even insists that "she can't die," despite being warned that the process will be torturous and it would be more merciful to let her go. He can't bring himself to do this because he loves her too much, too selfishly, to give her up to death or topside. Would it be that much of a stretch to suggest he did the same with Vander?

Hallucinations

After the explosion, Jinx hallucinates Vi, Mylo, and Claggor because she knows she killed them or indirectly caused their deaths. Jinx's bomb also helped to bring about Vander's demise, and she saw Vander's corpse. Despite this, she doesn't hallucinate him- not until e9, when she is already in a severe psychotic episode and Vi yells his name. Plus, in the concept for her minigun, she has scrawled "THREE LIVES" into one of the barrels. Mylo, Claggor, and Vi, but what about the fourth? It seems that Jinx may be aware that Vander is still alive, but how could she know unless Silco also knows?

When she finally does hallucinate Vander, she hallucinates scribbles of Warwick on or representing him.

So, if Silco knows, why would he talk to Vander's statue and not Warwick?

A- Privacy

Talking to Warwick means talking in the presence of Singed, who we see in e8 Silco doesn't trust. It's bad enough before you remember that not only does Silco say that Vander, who the undercity turned against, was right all along; he reveals that he is in the same spot Vander was in and is going to make the same decision; he is going to choose Jinx over Zaun, the same choice that lead to Vander's downfall. Silco is not going to risk Singed knowing that.

B- Pain

Throughout the show, Silco disassociates from pain, both his own and the pain he causes others. You can see this from the way he romanticizes his trauma, flinches and looks away at the cat being ripped apart, and reacts to the death of Renni's child. You can also see this when he kidnaps Vander- the blank, distant expression on arrival, the way he looks down and away when Benzo dies and Vander is punched, and how his good eye shines on the verge of tears. But he doesn't cry and he never does, because in his situation, to feel pain and empathy is a death sentence- the perfect way to prove your weakness and turn your allies against you. After all, it was his empathy towards Jinx that caused him to love her, and it was his love for her that turned Sevika and the chembarons against him. If killing Vander's friend and knocking him out was that painful for Silco, imagine how much worse it would be for him to see Vander disfigured, barely alive and in a constant state of mind-shattering agony, being sliced open and pumped full of chemicals. Singed had to drug Silco to keep him from going crazy over Jinx's similar transformation. Silco simply cannot bear to face the pain that he puts Vander through.

[maryannecrimsworth]

Too far gone

Pairing: Vi x Zaun's rebel/healer! Reader

Summary: An old friend of Vi decides to return to Piltover after the conflict between the top and bottom side starts again. Her friend only didn't expect to see her sided with the enforcers.

Warnings: mention of violence, a bit angsty, the end is cute tough, not proof read

It's been a long time since you set foot in Zaun. That city, your city, has destroyed you in every possible way — you were betrayed and forsaken for everyone you ever cared for.

Now, the city was filled with ghosts and monsters, shadows you ran away from multiple times.

You were a healer, once. You were someone Zaun's trusted even though you were so young. Your remedies and potions were required at each battle between the topside and the bottom side. You've saved families about to perish by the shots from the enforcers, you've cured addicteds from the Simmer. You were the fountain of joy and hope the warriors of Zaun needed — until the war suddenly ended.

Your leader, Silco, disappeared for days and Vander was the only one left. He, shaken by the death of Felicia, made a deal with Piltover and settle down. The war was lost, we were left with crumbs once again.

Vander new I was willing to fight, but he blamed it on my youth. I did not know the price of war, of independence: I did. I saw my parents die for it before he gave up on them. Vander gave up on every life lost on the battlefield. He gave up on the future of his people.

You made sure to tell him that. Perhaps it would be enough to wake him up, to make him fight again. But he would snap, furious and scared, and tell you to go away. He didn't want a rebel in his family, you were too dangerous and you were risking everything.

Vi, Powder, Mylo, Claggor — you were a threat for all of them, even if you're a child yourself.

So you listened, you left. No one came after you, and everyone know how the streets treat a lost child.

You try hard not to remember theses days, when you were left begging and running for your life. Suddenly, no one remember your medical skills or your potions, they all wanted something else from you. Something...you could never give.

You never wanted this, to turn your ability into weapons: but you had to. In order to survive, your potions became poisons as you fought for your own survival. Still, the rumors about you took over bottom side and Vander turned out right. You were a threat, after all.

That's when you started to be treated like a monster — you'd walk the streets covered in torn clothes, and people would move away from you because they knew. They knew who you were.

You really did think that was it, that was the worst that could happen to you. You were completely alone and feared, you had no longer a home, no longer a nation. You had no people.

But, then, you were fooled once more. That was on you, one could tell, because Singed showed his true colors from the beginning. Yet, he appeared in your life as a master, and not only that, he also was there for you. He looked you in the eye.

You worked really well together until you understood what he was trying to make. Not cures, not remedies, but weapons, monsters. He was a reckless scientist, greedy for knowledge no matter the cost. You did. You mattered the cost and started to stand up to him. You got in his way — and you payed for it.

That's why you left. There was nothing for you in Zaun anymore. Not Vander, not Vi, not Silco or Singed. They were all busy, determined, too occupied for you.

You enjoyed your new life in the colonies. Helping miners, healing little children, you had your purpose. There, no one really cared about what you did in the past, as long as you helped them. So that's what you became: a helper, a healer. And it gave you joy for a long time. However, the past never stays on its place, and soon the news of the conflict between top side and bottom side reached the mines. The Counsil has been attacked by Jinx — Powder's new name —, Silco was dead, the enforcers were doing illegal raids all over Zaun.

By the time you arrived, half the people you knew in town were arrested. Caitlyn Kiramman, the new commander of the Enforcers, was hunting Jinx and everyone connected to her as if they were all criminals. As if zaunites were monsters — just like Singed.

You helped many people to escape to the colonies. The one who weren't willing to fight, the familes trying to live in peace, you escorted them out the war.

You made potions for the people infected by the enforcers' gas, the same poisoned air that made your parents sick for so long.

As a shadow, still covered in torn clothes, now unrecognizable, you helped anyone in need.

Now, you only did not expect this: you saw Vi as an enforcers. Fighting, side by side, with the Kiramman girl, chasing who once was her sister.

You knew a lot of time has passed, both Vander and Silco were dead, but this — Violet sided with the same people who killed our parents, Jinx became a symbol of Zaun's independence.

Something was wrong. Something changed while you were gone.

You could not stop thinking about Vi, wearing blue up to her neck, moving around as if she wasn't a part of Zaun. The image of her on that uniform haunted me for day, no matter how busy you tried to be.

Finally, you gave in and decided to take action on your paranoia. You would talk to Violet.

When you went after her again, she was fighting in the boxing league. That was, at least, ironic: there were people being hurt and arrested outside the ring, but she chose to fight for money. You took a while to recognize her: she was drunk, black paint all over her face, her hair was dark and dirt most of the time.

You've never seen her like this.

After gathering courage, you followed her to her one-room apartment and got in after one of hers fights. She was too dizy and exhausted to notice your entrance.

You started to look around, pacing quietly over the dirty floor while you investigated it all. There was a worned out punchbag ranging on one side of the room, on the other there were bloody bandages and dressing all over the filled trash can. There were old food, dirty clothes, empty bottles of alcohol — it was a complete mess.

After you studied the room, you turned to Vi's bed in order to watcher her. However, it was a empty — she was standing behind me, getting ready to a punch. You dodge for only a few inches, falling on her bed as you had to move away from her.

— Get the fuck out of here! — she shouted, boucing and shaking, still affected by her injuries and drinking.

— Fucking hell, Violet! — You grabbed her wrists before they could hit you and pinned her to the bed. — It's Y/N, damn it!

She squinted her eyes in an attempt to recognize you.

You let her go with an angry scoff and lowered your hood so she could she your face.

— Forget I came here. It was a mistake. — You mouthed as you walked over to the door.

You were ready to leave when she held your hand.

— Is that really you? — she whispered, unsure of herself. — I thought you were...Oh God, you're alive!

Vi pulled you over to her with strength, stopping you from dodging from her embrace.

— You're drunk, Violet. — You whispered as her touch lingered over your body. — You'd wish I was dead if you were sober.

— No, no...that's not true.

You grunted as you took one of your potions and handed it to her.

— Let's see if it's not. Drink this, it will make you feel better.

— Did you make it sweet for me, honey?

— Fuck off, Violet. You're no longer a kid, just drink it up.

With a cocky smile, she drank it, and you saw her expression change before your eyes. Once her eyes were bright again, once her mind was clear from the pain and the drinks, she stood up and attacked you.

Only now you noticed she had grown taller than you.

Her wrist was pressing your neck and her fist was ready to strike you — her eyes were shining with anger and her teeth were gritting.

— Here we go...

— Spare me, Y/N! You're not a victim here. You came to poison me, is that it?

— I could have — You glanced at the empty bottle she just drank from, her gaze weakened for a second. — But you're doing it all by yourself.

You moved your feet in order to make the empty alcohol bottles on the ground tinkle.

Vi pushed you away and came back to bed.

— What the hell are you doing here, then?

— I came to see with my own eyes. — You tidied your clothes. — I've heard you became blue....— Your eyes analyzed her from head to toe, a smirk of disdain tighten your lips. — You're just a drunk emo though.

— Fuck you! You know shit! — Vi shouted in response.

— You're right. I missed a lot of things since I...— Since Silco punished you, you thought, but couldn't bring yourself to say it out loud. — I came back to help. Zaun's fight against Piltover should've ended a long time ago.

— It's easy to come back now after you ran away. You trying to became a war hero now, so people will forget what you are?

— Don't worry, Powder's doing it just fine by herself.

Vi grunted, furious, her gaze now avoiding yours.

— Powder's gone. There's only Jinx now.

— I don't believe that. — You spoke calmly

— No? — her whisper sounded vulnerable, almost hopeful.

— No. People don't change, not really. They just become versions of themselves we did not expect. Maybe, we didn't even see it, but it has always been there...

— So you were always a traitor? And I did not see it?

Her words stroke you like bullets.

— I betrayed no one. — your voice shook with anger.

— Yeah? Tell this to Claggor, to Mylo! They waited for you for months, months!, and you never came back. — Violet stood up again, moving closer to you as she hissed. — You betrayed us, you left and started working for Silco!

— What was I supposed to do, uh? — You shouted back. — Vander sent me away, he said I was a threat to you all. Should I've stayed? Should I've let my parents' death mean nothing?

— It won't meaning anything, ever. It's just death.

— Hell no! It meant something, they died fighting! — You'd regret your next words, but it was too late. — It's not my fault you can't say the same about your family.

Vi's punch got you before you could even try to move away. It stroke you down, the taste of blood invading your mouth.

— How many years have you been dreaming about this? — You asked, smiling with bloody teeth as you stayed on the floor.

— You were part of it, weren't you? You made the Simmer, you made the poison that killed Vander. — she grunted under her breath, fist closed and dripping with blood. Your blood.

— What? — You cleaned your face. — No, I never agreed with Simmer, I'd never get this far. I tried to stop it.

— Yeah, sure. — Vi snorted, her back turned to you.

— I did! I tried to stop Singed as soon as I understood what he was trying to do. I did but...I failed. I wasn't strong enough, I wasn't smart enough. Silco and him made sure I remembered that.

Something in your voice — probably the weakness in it — made Vi turn around. Her eyes were worried, analyzing your expression.

— What does that mean? — She asked urgently. — What they did to you?

Violet kneeled down by your side, grabbing your hands still dirty with blood. You were wearing gloves made out of an old fabric, so did the rest of your clothes. You had to dress like this after that happened.

— No, Violet, stop! — You started to resist her touch once you realized what she wanted. She wanted to see you. — Please, stop it!

— We used to mock people who dressed like stupid ghosts, we said they're afraid of their own shadows. — She was much stronger than you, no matter how hard you fought. — They're hiding like coward. But we're not coward, we didn't hide. Do you remember that? — Her voice was as strong as her hands, now tightening around your sleeves. — You're not a coward, so why you're dressing like— Your clothes were ripped by her grip before she could finish her sentence. Yours hands and arms were revealed for a few seconds until you jumped away and hide yourself with your cape.

— Please, don't look. — You begged.

— They did that to you? — Vi's eyes were on your hands, desperately gripping your cape. You could see the trembling of her gaze.

— Please, please, don't come closer. — Ignoring your words, Violet cornered you carefully, her hands in the air trying to reach you.

— What happened?

You were trembling, your legs faltering with shame and guilt. You shrinked down at every step Vi gave in your direction, hugging yourself with shaky hands.

— They tried to make me enjoy it. They tested it...on me.

— Oh, honey. — You fell down as she finally reached you. You dropped on the floor, crying as Violet held you. She was not afraid, she was not disgusted by you. — I had no idea. I...I thought you wanted this.

You sobbed under her touch, hiding your face on her chest.

— No! No! I was trying to create a cure for it! — You grunted with the last strength you had left. No one knew about this. After so many years, Violet was the only who saw you. — I'm sorry I left, but I...I was ashamed. I became a monster.

— No, no. Why you keep saying that? — Vi lifted you face, even though you kept shrinking between her arms. Now she could she what they'd done to you: your eyes were not the same. They had a dark shade of purple, with colorful vein popping out around your gaze and neck. You hid it very well but now, so close to you, she could see it all.

— You're not a monster. You're Y/N.

You moved your face away from her gaze, covering your head with you naked arms. The bruised, marked and full of scars arms. The one she carefully held and kissed.

You sighed as you felt her warms lips on your bruised skin.

— Don't. Don't do it, Violet, it's disgusting. — you pleaded as she kept kissing your skin.

— We all have scars, honey. That only thing that matters is what we do with them. — she held your chin. — You've spent too much time hiding yourself. You hid from yourself, from me. I'm not letting you do this any longer.

— No, Vi. No. Too much has happened, I don't deserve it.

— I don't believe in that shit. You're not too far gone, you're here. You're still Y/N, my honeybun.

You laughed at her sweet words.

— You haven't changed after all, uh?

— And you missed me!

She kissed you, smiles on both of yours lips.

No time could change what you felt for each other.

[alicesivory]

Old Habits Die Hard [4/?]

Previous Chapter // Main Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pairing: Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond

WC: 3370

Summary: Aemond ventures beyond the Wall.

“Your hair looks nicer when it’s braided now.”

It seemed that the she-wildling could not keep her mouth shut. Rolling his eyes, Aemond changed the subject quickly, “How long ‘til we reach your people’s camp?” Aemond asked. “Just keep the horse in a steady pace up ahead and we’ll reach them in no time,” she answered him whilst comfortably sitting in front of him, between his arms that held the reins of the stallion. The reins were relaxed, and the stallion responded effortlessly to his light guidance through the cold and dark forest. The forest stands in eerie silence, its dense canopy casting a perpetual twilight over the twisted, gnarled trees. Shadows dance menacingly across the forest floor, where fallen leaves and branches lie in disarray, as if disturbed by some unseen force. The trees themselves seem alive, their bark scarred and contorted into grotesque shapes, carrying with it the faintest whisper of forgotten secrets, and the occasional creak or groan of the wood echoes through the stillness, adding to the sense of foreboding. 

No wonder they call this the haunted forest. 

“What lies in these woods?” Aemond asked once again. “Wild animals, mostly. But we don’t really hunt at night. It's a bad omen,” she replied. “Sometimes we see them at night, that’s where they emerge.” Her words made Aemond wonder, “Who do you speak of?”

“What do you think the walls were made for?”

Aemond thought for a moment. 

“To keep your kind away from entering the realm,” he said, hesitantly. Not quite confident with his answer. For he knew that the wall’s purpose was more than just keeping a few wildlings out of Westeros but, he does not know what. “It wasn’t even built because of us. My people were separated from yours because we were unlucky enough to live beyond the wall when it was built,” she explained. “It was the others that they were afraid of.”

“Others? Other tribes?”

“No. The undead.”

Chills ran down from Aemond’s spine.

The White Walkers. 

He has read countless books about the white walkers and the long night. How the battle for the dawn unfolded, yet all he knew was that it was all a myth. A fairytale. Stories to scare your child so they would sleep for the night. He recalled how the White Walkers were first written and mentioned during the Age of Heroes. Born of powerful and untested magic, they were created to protect the Children of the Forest during their war with the First Men. What once used to be puppets and soldiers for the Children of the Forest, the magic within the white walkers took a turn and rebelled against their creators and brought nothing but destruction to the realm. 

“But they were nothing but old stories. Fiction, even,” Aemond protested. 

“They are far from fiction, snow-hair.” 

The wildling looked back to him, surprisingly close since they were cramped at horseback. 

“What did they call you back there? I couldn’t recall. Was it Almond?”

“Aemond,” he grunts. 

She chuckled, “I like snow-hair better.”

“And what of you?” Slowly speaking her name which seemed foreign to his tongue. 

“Close enough,” she shrugged with a smirk, looking back into the road. Aemond wondered once again of the undead she mentioned. Were they lurking behind the old trees of this very forest? Were their lives at stake when they stepped their foot to this forest. “They took my brother,” she said, capturing Aemond’s attention. “The undead?” She nodded at his question. “He seemed to forget about time that day. But what kind of child remembers time, really? They wanted to play all day. So he did, running inside the woods without me or my mother’s attention, wanting to become a great hunter who enters the forest with no fear like my father. And he never came back.” 

He felt sorry for the girl, for he himself had felt the same kind of grief when he heard of Aegon’s death. Especially when they could’ve done something to prevent their deaths. “Sometimes I wonder if they buried him at all. If they did, I wonder where they buried him,” she said, spacing off into the distance. “There is no sympathy from the dead. Nor do they care for the living,” he said to her. “I know. But I’d like to think they did. He was just a child.” 

The whole ride quickly became gloomy and sour as the pair battled their grief as bad memories and remorse overcome their thoughts. “Does that stop you from hunting in the forest?” Aemond asked, trying to bring peace to her. “No, not really. I think I became eager to hunt here. Maybe one day I can find him well and just…cleverly hiding between trees,” she said with a bitter chuckle, sensing her denial of her brother’s disappearance. A sense of protectiveness washed over Aemond, knowing what it felt like to see light in the midst of darkness. Denying the truth to comfort yourself. He knew of that feeling. 

“Maybe one day you would. One day.”

Crack. Swish. 

“What was that?” 

Crack. Crack. Crack. 

“A wild beast?” Aemond asked. 

A figure emerging slowly behind the tree as they pass. “That is no beast,” the wildling alarmingly said, taking over the reins and snapped it making their horse gallop through the dark forest. “I would’ve preferred it to be a wild beast so we can take it home, yet you and I know that is no beast, snow hair,” she spoke as the harsh winds of the north hits their faces. Aemond looked back, seeing two..three...four figures catching up onto them. 

“How do we escape them?” He asked. 

“Hold on tight.” 

She took a turn in a swift motion, galloping off the road going between trees. In hopes for them to stop gaining on them. The wildling kept snapping the reins ordering the horse to go faster with only the moon being their source of light. “C’mon…c’mon…,” he heard her grunting as she took a glance behind and saw some still following their tracks. Galloping between trees, their horse finally took them to safety at the edge of the forest, to a clear opening. 

Making Aemond have a clear vision of the undead. 

Their skins were pale, almost blue. 

They look like humans yet they were not at the same time. 

The creatures frightened him more than anything else, but as they neared the edge of the forest, the White Walkers ceased their pursuit and vanished behind the trees. Aemond exhaled deeply, relieved that they had escaped the forest unharmed. Suddenly the horse neighed, abruptly stopping. Making both of them grunt in pain when they nearly fell. “What’s wrong?” The wildling asked the horse before an arrow striked a tree behind them. They looked around, trying to find any signs of life. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond hissed when she stepped down from the horse. “Where’s my dagger?” She whispered, ignoring his previous question. Aemond sighed, tossing her the dagger beneath his black cloak. Catching it with ease, she spoke into the air,

“It’s only me! Gruff? Yuri?” Aemond was curious about those people she called out. Were they one of her people? Who were they?

“Blimey kid, you scared the shit out of us!” 

A loud booming voice suddenly said, emerging from the snowy ecosystem. Their thick fur coats also seemed to be efficient for camouflage. Aemond saw how his peculiar she wildling smiled brightly when she spotted her friend, running towards the tall red haired man giving him a tight hug making them both laugh as he picked her up in his arms. 

Aemond rolled his eye.

“Thought you were gone for! We saw those creepy dead people- thank the gods!” The red haired wildling said, ruffling her hair. “Oww! No! Do you think that low of me, old man?!” She asked with a laugh, shoving the man away from her. “Oi, I'm not that old, young lady.” Locking her head once again with his arm. “Yuri! Look who just came back from the dead!” The red haired shouted, now another wildling emerged from the opening. His hair was blonde, almost as light as the hair of the Lannisters. “We really thought you were dead, kid,” Yuri said, patting her shoulder. 

Who were they? Why were they awfully close with her? 

From what he witnessed, a young woman could only interact like this with the opposite gender if they were siblings or wedded. Even he never saw any of his wedded acquaintances interacting this way. Were they her siblings? They don’t seem to resemble one another, were they bastards? Did they came from different mothers?

Aemond cleared his throat, stepping down from his horse, interrupting their reunion. 

“Ah yes- Gruff, Yuri, this is ehm..Aemond Targaryen. The man that I spoke of to the both of you,” she said. The red haired, who was named Gruff looked Aemond from head to toe. “Gruff and Yuri are my hunting friends. We’ve been hunting together since we were children and fun fact, we have the same grandsire.”

Gruff slowly approached the one eyed prine, keeping an eye on him. Aemond straightened his back to appear taller, gripping the handle of his sword, preparing himself. Once Gruff stopped in front of him, their noses bumping into each other, he spoke, 

“Did your mum fucked a snowman?”

“I beg your pardon–,” Aemond stepped closer, ready to draw his sword out.

“–Alright that’s enough!” She quickly stepped between the two men. “What Gruff was trying to say was, how is your hair silver?” She asked. "My father, my grandsire, my great-grandsire��all of them had silver hair," Aemond hissed, his gaze fixed on the red-haired wildling. "How did they end up with silver hair?" the red-haired wildling asked, crossing his arms. Aemond couldn't believe how absurd this conversation had become. Frustrated, he let his hands drop. "We're from old Valyria," Aemond explained with resignation. "It's simply a trait we have—silver hair is just part of who we are."

“Valyria? What’s that?” The blonde wildling asked curiously. “It's a place far from the north, Yuri– Now come on! We must bring him to the Chief.” Walking past them, she held the horse’s reins and started walking ahead. Gruff purposely bumped Aemond’s shoulder as he passed through the one eyed prince. Aemond rolled his eyes again, resigned to the childish behavior of these people, before catching up and walking alongside her. Compared to the two wildlings, he found her more tolerable. At least she didn’t ask pointless questions.s. “I have told our Chief about you,” she said. “I am sure he will take it easy on you,” she said.

 “Does he takes it easy with anyone else?”

“No, not really. He’s quite rude if you ask me.”

“As rude as your friend there?” Aemond chuckled bitterly.

“You’re in for a ride,” she chuckled, patting Aemond’s shoulder. 

As much as Aemond would like to worry, he could not as he knew that she was the one who brought him to her people. For her people needed him, not the other way around. He hoped that this agreement would be the means for her to fulfill her promise and return him to Westeros once and for all. Additionally, he couldn’t help but notice her diminutive stature compared to his own—she barely reached his shoulder, smaller than any lady from Westeros yet possessing a fierceness and demeanor that defied conventional femininity. A smirk tugged at his lips.. 

And there he saw it. In the vast expanse of snow-covered terrain, a tribe lives a nomadic life, their existence marked by resilience and adaptability. Their tents, typically made of sturdy animal hides or woven materials, scattered across the field. The tents are insulated with layers of fur and cloth, designed to withstand the biting cold. The camp itself is a lively hub of activity despite the harsh environment. Smoke curls up from several central hearths, where fires are kept burning to provide warmth and to cook meals. The scent of roasting meat and simmering stews mingled with the crisp, cold air when he stepped closer to them.

Like when he first entered Winterfell, all eyes fell upon him, following him as he walked side by side with her. “It seems you have captured the people’s attention,” she teased with a cocky smile. “Why is it because of my hair or my eye?” He asked. “Neither. It’s your attire.” Aemond looked down to his clothing. Of course, he’s still dressed like a member of the night’s watch.

“We hate the crows in here, so it’s better for you to strip those clothes after you meet our Chief,” she said, giving him a wink. Before he could protest, a snow hit his cloak, making him flinch. Turning around, he saw a couple of children running around, even snickering at his presence. “Careful now boys!” She chuckled, greeting some of those children. “Never seen a crow, huh?” She crouched down, talking to the children surrounding her. 

“He only has one eye!” One of the children tried to whisper to her. “Scary, isn’t he? Tell you what, I’ll let you pick on him when I’m not around,” she said to the kids, making them snicker and giggle in excitement. 

She was really good with children. 

Throughout his life, he rarely sees his mother or even his sister being this natural with children. It makes him wonder if she has one. 

“For the meantime, can all of you keep an eye on our horse?” Offering the rein to the children, in which they eagerly accepted before taking the horse away. Aemond curiously kept his eye on the horse as the children led it away. “Don’t worry, they are very gentle with horses. They know their purpose,” she reassured him before she started to walk once more. 

Approaching one of the biggest tents in the area, the spearwife stops beside him, “If the Chief likes you, you’ll live another day.” Before smiling mischievously stepping inside the tent. Slightly on edge, he hesitated to follow them inside. But he would not cower in fear and enter anyways. Reminding himself to keep himself in check if he wants to go home. He stepped inside, his eye falling onto a man sitting in his chair as his companions surrounded him, whispering to each other. 

“Chief, I would like you to meet the crow I spoke of. This is Aemond Targaryen,” she introduced him. Aemond nodded with respect to their chief, an older wildling who carefully inspected Aemond, standing up from his seat. “Targaryen,” he said. “A peculiar tribe. Was it true that your family had power over dragons?” The Chief asked in which Aemond instantly nodded, “Yes, my Lord.”

All of them chuckled humorously. 

“Lord? I’m flattered to be called a Lord,” the chief said in humour. 

“So, where is your dragon now?”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Aemond spoke. 

“She was killed at war.” A sense of bitterness, trying to mask his grief and sadness for Vhagar’s death. 

“A shame,” the Chief said. 

A pregnant pause.

“I want everybody out of this tent.” Aemond’s eyes widened. Was he going to be murdered? Did he not fulfil the Chief’s expectations? 

“But Chief–,” 

“–Especially you, girl. I shall talk to you when I’m done with this crow.”

Aemond instantly locked his eye with hers. Even her expression was unreadable as she hesitantly turned around to exit the tent. She gave him a nod, giving him support before leaving him alone with the Chief. Aemond turned his gaze back to the Chief who was crossing his arms inspecting Aemond from head to toe. 

“The girl likes you,” the Chief chuckles. “If it wasn’t for her you’d probably be dead by now. Killed by those crows.” Aemond kept his expression stoic as he brushed off the Chief’s words. “Speaking of crows, she told me you were forced to be one. Was that true?”

Aemond nodded.

“Yes, Chief.”

“What was your crime?”

“I was called a traitor to the Starks. Yet I beg to differ, for it was them who were traitors,” Aemond bravely said. 

“Traitors to whom?”

“The Throne. My brother.”

“Your brother? Your brother sat on a throne?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“That makes you a prince, then.”

A title he deeply missed. Aemond stood proudly, straightened his back as he kept his chin up high. 

“I am–,”

“You were.” 

“For you are currently not in Westeros, my boy. You are beyond the wall. Everyone beyond the wall fights for survival. For nature does not care if you’re a king or a criminal. And so far as I know, you stand before me,” the Chief said, telling Aemond to abandon his title as prince. “Where does your loyalty lie, boy?” The Chief asked, stepping closer to the one eyed prince. “To the crows?–”

“–No,” Aemond spoke with no hesitation. 

“The Starks?”

“Never.”

The Chief hummed in agreement. “The girl told me you wished to be rewarded. To go back to your family.” Aemond nodded, wishing nothing more than that. “So you’re loyal to your family,” he pointed out.

Aemond nodded. 

“Good. A man should always stay loyal to his family.”

He poured his drink onto his cup, “But will you stay loyal to us as you serve my tribe? And lead us to victory?” Aemond looked down, seeing the cup lent to him. Offering a friendship– an alliance– trust. Trusting a wildling. It seemed impossible for him, but he recalled simple questions by those wildlings about his hair. They were a simple tribe, living out of the complicated politics of Westeros. He could outsmart them easily and they’re offering him friendship. 

She paced back and forth in front of the Chief’s tent, waiting for the Targaryen to exit the tent unharmed. “You seemed stressed, kid,” Gruffed snickered, crossing his arms as he took notice on worried expression. “Of course, I am,” she said, stopping her steps abruptly. “May I know why?” He chuckled.

 “Is it because of the crow?–”

“–He is not a crow. He loathes the crows as much as we do.”

Gruff chuckled amusingly. 

“And? I bet Chief will tolerate him–,”

“–What if he doesn't? What if he beheaded that man and puts him on a spike?!–”

“–So what? What if he were beheaded? You should not care for that outsider—,”

“–I don’t care about him! I-I-I just want what’s best for our people–,”

“–You like him,” Gruff points at her with a mocking laugh. “I don’t! You pig!” She shouted defensively, quickly slapping Gruff’s arm repeatedly. “You do! You like that snow haired boy!” Gruff kept pointing at her as he teased her. The young she wildling grunts in frustration as he denies her feelings for the Targaryen. “If you speak of this one more time, I will kill you in your sleep, Gruff.” 

“Oooh you’ll kill me in my sleep, eh? Right, sure you don’t like that boy, surely if he one day betrays us will you kill him in his sleep?”

“I will. And I’ll cut off his cock and hang it in front of your tent,” she speaks bluntly. 

“Right, you sure you won’t use that for anything else?”

Her face turned red before she threw a hard punch across the red haired’s face. Groaning in pain, Gruff still laughed at her being so flustered with his words. “Why do you like him anyways? Is it because of his hair? His eye? Ooh his other eye, the sapphire?” Gruff asked, sitting up curiously looking at his friend. “For the last time, I do not like our new comer,” she repeated herself. “Keep telling that to yourself, kid. If I see silver haired babies one day–.”

The tent opened, Aemond stepping out of the tent.

Unharmed. 

“Ah, so he gave you a chance to live another day,” she said quickly, changing her once worried demeanour into the confident young wildling she is. Aemond could only nod, towering over her. “I shall, and I will.” 

His purple eye fixed on hers, “Where can I find new clothes?”

a/n: stay tuned for the next chapter and I apologize if this is not my best work but😊✨

[iamluzgar]

Okay I have thoughts on Veilguard and why I liked Rook and the whole positivity thing. Hear me out.

Spoilers:

One of the main topics of Veilguard (it has many imo) is the question of leadership (which is connected to the question of identity too). It's a question that is asked through Solas at the beginning as to why Rook should be given information regarding the gods.

None of the reasons are "because I'm special". None of them are "because I killed an Arishok" nor "killed an archdemon" nor "because I was blessed by whatever god you want". The purpose of Rook is that they're a rando, so far away from what heroes look like in Thedas. The only stuff you can answer to Solas is "I'm good against odds" or "there was nobody else to do it" and a third one I haven't picked yet that's probably as underwhelming.

Rook did one good deed Varric saw and was like "uh unpredictable and defending people, neat". Solas has been dealing with politicians/politics/big names all of his life, they are assertive people, leaders in the sense of leading faceless soldiers to war for a cause. Rook is none of that, they're the antithesis of this actually and that's the whole point of Varric choosing them.

What IS a good leader actually? The purpose of Rook as a character was to grow and make players wonder. If we look at how "Varric" treats them during the game, and the options, it becomes kinda obvious that Rook is meant to be unsure/not feeling like they deserve to be there/not in their right place. I saw many criticisms about the game for that, but it is MEANT to be like that. We see other leaders, through Solas, Elgarn'nan, etc etc... Every time we see what they do, what they think regarding their faction, how they treat their people. The whole game explores what the fuck is a leader.

I think Veilguard wanted us players to wonder, if we got into Veilguard tomorrow recruited by Varric etc, who would we be as a leader? I think anyone, and even people with leadership positions IRL, would feel awkward and unsure once in a setting to fight gods, having the weight of the whole world on their shoulders. We weren't meant to play "any" character like we used to in other DA (and even then I'd argue Hawke is always kinda the same dude too but I digress), we were meant to play Rook: the rando who got there by Varric and who is unsure about leadership because wtf is happening. This is an honest characterization, what would genuinely and obviously happen. We'd feel inadequate and useless. But the game doesn't tell you "ah you're shitty for feeling inadequate and useless because you have none of what makes a great war leader", it tells you "okay, you have nothing giving you an advantage against your enemies... You're average. What's the best you can do with what you have?"

How would you deal with the rest of the story, with all the understandable vulnerabilities and insecurities you have? Rook dealt with it by supporting the people they thought were better/adequate/fit the hero box they didn't. Because they do, all of them have something narratively special about them. Rook supported them so they realized themselves as heroes, so that they didn't die in the final fight. Which... All comes back to the positivity thing. I know I would do my pep talk to my team, because that's probably the only thing I'd think I'd be good at, and I know they would certainly need it considering the weight on our shoulders. It is what I do in my daily life in the face of struggles.

Rook is meant to be that. They're meant to be the supportive leader, because they have an absolutely disastrous view of themselves and, as a character, fit none of the boxes meant for Heroes. But in dealing with the hands they had, they made heroes out of special people. And those heroes saved the world. And Heroes could include Solas depending on your ending imo.

Veilguard tells you that's the kind of leader you can be, even if you don't think you're adequate in your life, even if you have vulnerabilities, even if you're facing enemies who have a tremendous advantage over you. You, as an individual, can support the special people around you so that they realize themselves and become heroes, even if you're average yourself.

NGL I can't wait to be in 2034 when people realize Veilguard is actually a great game.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Chosen

I used to love Otome games.

Used to love the genre, predictable as it could sometimes be. It was bright. Fun. A colorful bit of escapism built on love and power fantasies. I read the books. Watched the animes. Engaged with the fandoms freely and with an enthusiasm I can barely remember now.

It was a lifetime ago.

Before I... before, like a monkey's paw wish, I got granted every OI fan's DREAM. I somehow, someway, died and was reborn. A genuine isekai all of my own. I laugh now... I really do... I was so fucking EXCITED.

I was a FOOL.

The world is not a story. PEOPLE are not characters. You can not push the "right" social imput buttons and have a happy ending pop out. Time moves as it always has and always will. Day by day. And? Just because you are HERE? Does not mean you are SPECIAL.

I was old enough to know that, thank the Gods. Or I would have made a likely terrible mistake. Probably a fatal one, by now.

How, you may ask? Surely if you are reborn, you are special! Important to the "plot"! HA. Ah yes, the all forsaken PLOT. That damnable thing, chaining out fates and making us dance, like toys, for the Gods amusement. No, I was merely a replacement part for one worn out and broken down. A soul that gave up.

This dance repeats, you know.

They aren't done with us yet. Not bored of us, all the twists and turns we might take. She could not keep fighting. Keep raging. And so she was replaced. Now I live... a changeling in her place. Knowing my role yet careful to defy it. But... oh...

Oh, how almost IMPOSSIBLE it is to defy it.

I am supposed to HATE her. The Protagonist. The Chosen One. Saintess and beloved. The God's special little thing. Showered in adoration and silks, pampering and protection. While we all DIE. In this, their STUPID fucking Holy War, that we CAN NOT WIN, against "The Dark".

How HELPFUL, my liege. How incredibly SPECIFIC. Is "The Dark" the demons that tore apart my squadron a fortnight ago or the undead that rose and devored an entire village of terrified innocents? How do we STOP them? END this infinite string of atrocities?

Oh? "Only the SAINTESS can push back The Dark"? Well then! It's a good thing she safely tucked away in the CAPITAL THEN, isn't it!? Far from the front lines where we NEED her! Thank the GODS she's getting her chance to play "fuck, fuck, marry!" with the nation's finest while we all DIE!

I remind myself again, desperately, I am not allowed to hate her.

If I hate her, I become an antagonist in this little play. Doomed to die a gruesome and needless death. My men need me. The people need me. The live and breathe and fear for their lives. At the mercy of cruel God's who do not care.

I almost... It is enough that I almost wish my Master was here. But no, HE stayed back at the Magic Tower. Lost interest in me the second the merest HINT that his beloved pet prophecy might be about to be fulfilled. I was his student for most of my life. Chased up and down that mind-bending hellhole for years, giving my everything to meet his every standard.

Does he even remember my name?

Ha ha... gods, as I stare down at the battle map, one of so SO many... I feel brittle. How long will we fight? How many of my men must DIE, before that God coddled BITCH gets off her ass and comes to do her JOB?! We've lost Redwell. Lakehill is covered in ghouls. And no one we sent near the forests of Mirth ever reports back.

But at least the crown prince is getting his fucking birthday party while his people starve. While they run for their lives. Cower from demons and the damned. Because his Twue Woooove~ can't be allowed to put her dainty little self in DANGER now CAN she?!

I'm seething. Furious. Nails digging into the wood on the table before me. I know I should be planning... but I just... gods, I just so ANGRY. So tired. How long can this continue? Am I going to die here, just so those fuckers can DRAMATICALLY "save the day" at the last second? As though they had not let thousands die? Only for it all to begin again? What am I supposed to d-?

Like a roll of thunder and an earthquake combined, the non-physical world SHAKES.

Weight. POWER. Like a mountain appearing from no where, to drop down upon us all. It is CRUSHING. And every bit as dark as being buried beneath tons on soil and stone. My legs nearly give out. My grip on the table before me the only thing keeping me up and alarm bells start clanging outside my tent.

This is it.

I don't know what's about to happen, but I can FEEL it. I... I can not possibly hope to win. It's over. I know, in my heart, I will go out there and fight. Die. Because I refuse to die cowering. Because maybe it'll make a difference for my friends, for the others, for those that yet live. Every monster I slay is one less they fight.

But... this is it.

It's over.

I wish I felt braver. Glorious and filled with light. A beacon of hope, perhaps. But all I can offer is fear and anger and SPITE. Locking my knees so I can stand. Blinking away the tears so I can grit my teeth and bare them. Grabbing my staff so can go a die with the others. Today I shall burn the world. I promised myself.

Take them with you.

Take every last one of those fuckers WITH YOU.

The battle is ugly. It always is and always will be. I heal where I can but kill faster the most can blink. Waves of fire. Blood turned to ice turn to shrapnel bombs turned to flying storms of blood ice shards. Wind attacks and void pockets. Puppets made of mud and rock and bits of armor. The blood of the fallen only making it all that much stronger, that much more terrible.

Magic in war hold no beauty.

I wish I never had to see it again.

"Grandlearner, you've been practicing." A rich voice observed from behind me, sounding pleased. "Good~"

Between one instance and the next, the crushing ocean of power moves between the far side of the battle field to right behind me. I move, spin. Fire my strongest short-range piercing in the desperate hope to gut the man now far too close. I... am effortlessly countered.

He didn't even have to move his hands.

There, standing in the heart of an open battle field, is a man in impeccable fomal clothes. Spotless, dispite the ash and dust, the blood and gore. Almost inhuman in his otherness, compared to the death and suffering surrounding him. He looks like a proper well-to-do gentleman ready for a stroll. The sort of ambiguously ageless bachelor that had haunted the royal university's halls every time I was sent there, to collect something for the Tower.

Too old to be some boyish flirt, too young to be a rougish mistake. It feels false. Mocking. Like a mask held up by some grinning beast. Something older then it seems, effortlessly blending in with the Power of the current age, all the better to play them like fools.

Then the words register and my blood runs cold.

"Learner". It's what a Master calls their personal magical students at the Tower. There are lineage, of a sort. Like bloodlines, almost. Since most never leave. A way to pass on your teachings. Your name and traditions. It's not like we often have the chance to have biological kids. Too busy with our studies. So it's considered effectively the same.

My Master's Master. Who was said to be one of, if not THE, greatest Mages of the last thousand years, possibly longer. Said to have simply vanished one day. Rumored to have "lost his mind" and left the Tower for places unknown after some great argument. Foremost expert on The Dark.

Now standing h...here. Right... Right here. With the enemy army. Of dark and terrible things. The very abominations he once studied "academically". Oh gods. It doesn't take much to put two and two together.

"I've come to collect you, my dear." He says, the very picture of charm as my men scream and suffer around him. As they fight for their lives against his monstrosities. As... as they LOSE. "It has come to my attention, that my unfortunate disappointment of a student has been neglecting his duties to you."

He sweeps his hat gallantly from his head, holding it against his heart at just the right angle, as though offering to merely take me for a stroll. Picture perfect etiquette. As though this were high society and not a warzone. The disconnect stuns me for long moments. "Collect" me?

He strolls forward. Expensive shoe leather somehow unstained by the terrible muck of the battlefield. The blood and mud, the spell water and ash. Amusement rolling off every line of his form, as I try to keep the distance between us. As I struggle against the sucking filth to keep my feet under me.

"I would like to say I am surprised... but honestly? I am not. He always WAS easily distracted by shiny trinkets of little worth. The shinier the better. Like an empty headed little magpie. Disgusting really, how little he values loyalty. I DID try to instill some values. Hard work. Good, honest, study. Some modicum of rationality..."

"It did not work." He sighs, stepping over the fallen body of my Cordelia, my reserve healer. Gods, please no, I told her to RUN... "Unlike myself of course. I, my dear, know EXACTLY what your worth. How you have been WASTED on that little ingrate. It truely has been a theme with him, hasn't it?"

"Tossing aside anything who doesn't fit his perfect little vision. His Master, his Learner, nothing is sacred to him. All he shall ever care for is his little divine tart, won't he?"

The grin that spills across his mouth is like poison through veins, it terrifies me. His face is arranged in a mask of pleasantry. But the look in his eye... that look was coldly covetous. The sort of hunger that would sooner kill than release its hold. It wasn't lustful, I was a child too him. An infant. But I was, perhaps, all that remained. The last piece of his lineage he could possibly still steal away. Corrupt.

I refused.

It... it did not matter much, in the end.

Every spell, he counters. Every attack, he matchs with effortless neutralization. The well of his magic is like the sea. Deep, dark, and crushing. I rage against it, even knowing I stand no chance. I... I have to TRY. I can do no less. Even as I slowly collapse.

Water and ice, electricity and transformation, wind and fire. I try to EXPLODE HIS ORGANS for the Gods sake. In the end, with nothing left, the well of my magic nearly bone dry... I swing at him. Put my back in to it. A staff is a staff after all. It even has a pretty hefty rock in it. It'd probably take out a few teeth.

He, of course, catches it.

Bastard.

He looks CHARMED. Utterly delighted. As though my defiance and struggle are some cute little game. The tantrum of an adorable child that does not wish to submit to their nap. The world swayed as my body begs me to just pass out. To escape within myself. Recover. My legs can no longer hold me. I glare. At last, long last, I let myself HATE.

If that BITCH had just DONE HER JOB. I would not be here, at the mercy of a mad man. While she frolics about, in her happy little tale of love and misunderstandings? I have suffered. People have died! The world has fallen to slow and crumbling RUIN.

Gloved hands cupped my cheeks.

"That's it, little one~ My precious child. Get angry. RAGE for me. Let Master see your fire~" thumbs stroked my cheeks. Looming and entirely too close. There is a glee in that eye, a madness. "We are going to set this world FREE. You? Oh dearest you are utterly PERFECT. Master will take care of everything, understand? All you have to do?"

"Is give in."

Next -->

[moonastrogirl]

💘 Some important tips for each Nakshatra : Never to Do Tips 💘

DISCLAIMER The author name is at the end. I do not remember where I found it unfortunately (it was in my notes app for months fr 😭) tho I know I am supposed to share my knowledge as much as I can and not be a gatekeeper so here it is . I hope it will help you (if you know the author let me know too with the name down below) 💜

Ashwini : Never loose an opportunity to help people in your life, you will meet and learn some very important techniques from a reputed and respected person.

Bharani : Do not share your secrets with anyone. Self control is must.

Krittika : Stand by Truth. Do not entertain, liars, fakers or cheaters or not even try to possess those traits.

Rohini : Don't get too much attached with anything, attachment will cause havoc.

Mrigashira : Do not get disconnected with your parents or family.

Ardra : Learn to work under distractions and pressure. Stay calm in chaos.

Punarvasu : Never disobey Dharma (purpose), always stick to your commitments, you get divine support of universe.

Pushya : Do not ignore your family or your dear one needs while handling bigger responsibilities or social cause. Take out time for them.

Ashlesha : Never misuse your power & Never Curse anyone.

Magha : Never ignore your Pitris (your ancestors). Always do charity in their names.

Purva Phalguni : Avoid getting too much indulgent in pleasures, do your duty faithfully.

Uttara Phalguni : Never break your relationship & Be Kartavya Prayan (loyal).

Hasta : Never get carried away with failure, that's ladder of success for you.

Chitra : Never doubt your potential & don't act impulsive, else you will end up hurting with self.

Swati : Do not poke powerful authorities. Try to stay away from leg pulling.

Vishaka : Never leave the Marg of Bhakti (total faith and devotion) & Keep remembering Bhagwan (the Most High/God).

Anuradha: Never get distracted with too much darkness, sooner or later it's worth experiencing.

Jyeshta : Never misuse your authorities & power, one single mistake can ruin everything.

Mula : Don't get panic, when burdened with lots of negativity, that's the process of bringing clarity, like storm before calm.

Purva Ashadha : Not every war is to win, some are supposed to lift you up. In both victory or defeat you gonna be the same.

Uttara Ashadha : Following Dharma (career/purpose) is right but having a superiority complex can harm you in longer run.

Shravana : Tied up with lots of responsibilities & helplessness, we are born to live or die for a divine purpose, just give your best.

Dhanishta : Never boast or avoid beating the drum of success before its completion.

Shatabhisha : Never sell your soul for gains and profit. Things will turn negative for you.

Purva Bhadrapada : Never rush into conclusion cause what looks on the surface might not be real, try to see deep within. There lies solution.

Uttara Bhadrapada : Simplicity beautifies you, wear it and own it.

Revati : You are the Messenger of God & Bhakt (faith/worship/love). Showing path to directionless people is your real gem. Never sell superstition or blind faiths.

Author :

Mann ki Baat Trishna

Note from the author : Above points are just an observation with my best of understanding.

[brunettemarionette]

𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

↠ female reader. no description of features. no mentions of size.

a/n: pictures made by me, spoilers I guess if you haven't watched Deadpool? No warnings just fluff and dumbassery.

Some time after Deadpool & Wolverine, they get back together, and you're a total surprise for them despite the two wanting a baby before Vanessa died.

"So... are we having a Sonny or a Cher?"

Not being called either of those names and definitely not being called anything 'strippery'... or Wade Jr, Wada, Darth Wader and definitely not Todd, either.

No matter how much Wade worried about being like his dad, all that went out the window when you were actually born.

"I've only had a daughter for a day and a half, but if anything happened to her, I'd kill everyone in this room and then myself... come back to life fuck shit up and die again. Rinse and repeat."

Wade leaving you with Blind Al as a babysitter (sometimes she wouldn't even realize you're there).

"Wade, you can't just leave the baby with a blind person." *Surprise Pikachu Deadpool * "...ableist..."

I feel like Wade, at some point, either dropped you or you fell when you were a kid, but it's for the best since that's how he and Vanessa found out that you're a chip off the ole' block when you heal super fast.

Despite what Vanessa thought when they first agreed to make a baby, they did, in fact, make a 'super baby.'

Always following your 'Uncle' Logan around no matter how much he tries to get rid of you.

"'Babypool' go-... play or something, okay kid?"

Growing up surrounded by mutants means you never think you're different or a freak but instead becoming very protective of your mom. After a talk with your dad about your mom dying, you realize just how fragile people are.

Surprisingly, Wade makes a great girl dad. He does the tea party thing and, of his own accord, puts on the dress and clip earrings; he serves tea to the plush bears and scoffs when others mock him.

"Clearly, you people have no class."

As you got older, you started to look more like your mom, but no matter what situation you found yourself in, you could stop the snark, so much so that it earned you the nickname 'Mini mouth' – Wade was so proud.

Wade took you to the roof of the building to 'bond,' which Vanessa knew was him teaching you how to fight – something she was okay with until you both fell off the roof... more than once.

Them both knowing that despite wanting to give you a normal childhood and life you were going to be some kind or 'hero/antihero'. So they roll with the punches, and Wade makes sure you know exactly what you need to know about it.

"No, spermpool, red is my color. Just ask your mom when we-"

"Ew, Dad... and don't call me that."

On that note, investing in headphones was something you picked up the older you got, asking the store which ones cancel noise the best and then buying earbuds to go with them.

"Minipool, Girlpool, not-as-good-deadpool, Wishpool... ow... okay! We'll think of a better name for you!"

Despite you and your dad both being mercs who have been killed or hurt in every which way, your mom still rules the house. That's how you two find your katanas confiscated when you started playing 'Star Wars' during Thanksgiving.

Your dad makes a lot of Batman and Robin jokes when you're working together, only after he made a weird Batman and Catwoman joke until he realized why that was gross. So you became his Robin.

For someone so laid back about love and sex, Wade is very protective when it comes to you. Seeing the bad guys flirt with you, his deadpan snark reaches a few levels higher than his norm – it doesn't help when your mom hypes up your catsuit.

"I told you we should have gotten her a costume like what the lady three floors down wears."

“Red, that's a Muumuu.”

Being impulsive is like an inherited trait from both of them, which just makes up a chaotic household, and yet you all love every minute of it.

"One of the best things my dad ever gave me, not by choice, are these two gold-plated 50 caliber desert eagle pistoleros...."

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲 𝗦𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘀

The Nights by Avicii

GDFR by Flo Rida

X gon' give it to ya by DMX

𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗧𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗲𝘀:

Chaotic parents x Inherited Chaos (you)

Matching Family Energy

Dumbasses (wade, you) x Oh, those are my dumbasses (vanessa)

[lu-is-not-ok]

quick question, how we feeling about hong Lu's new id after the trailer? I am personally so fucking hyped

Oh there's a lot I am feeling. Not just about Hong Lu's new id, but I am feeling things about them regardless.

I don't usually do full analysis on walpurgy trailers, but I want to at the very least plop down some observations I noted.

One - THERE IS A NEW TRACK IN THE SECOND HALF??? I can tell it's not originally from Ruina. They added. A wholeass new track. For the Church of Broken Gears fight. Fucking Incredible Honestly.

Two - Nothing too interesting going on with the Full Stop Heathcliff voice lines we got. It's mostly reiteration of the ammo-preserving ideas we got from Ruina's Full Stop Office reception, but we do get a little bit of lore through the full name of one of the ammo we see being used - Atelier Logic-made high velocity pulverisation round.

Three - Gameplay trailer for Full Stop Heathcliff. Three-coin Skill 1. One-coin Skill 2. One-coin Skill 3. Special Skill 3/Skill 4 that uses a cinematic as fuck animation of a unique bullet, my guess is that this Skill is used for either the last Ammo or through some other unique conditional. Evade that causes a followup attack from Full Stop Hong Lu. Retreat mechanic similar to Devyat IDs, but in this case upon running out of Ammo. Upon return, Heathcliff uses another Skill 1 - I'm guessing this is to showcase that this retreat is a Reload mechanic.

Four - Full Stop Hong Lu voice lines. So can we talk about the middle line? "I don't think the Head wants people to die anti-climactically. But what is an anticlimatic death anyway? We can put all kinds of meaningful labels on deaths, but it's still death at the end of the day." Hey. Hey Hong Lu. What the fuck are you talking about? This is terrifying because this could have two equally as likely explanations. This could be a Baoyuism, a musing about Daiyu's death being meaningless. OR. This could be a Daiyuism, a musing on the nature of death not unlike that of the flower burial scene. And the fact that both fit scares me.

Five - Gameplay trailer for Full Stop Hong Lu. Two-or-three-coin Skill 1. Four-or-five-coin Skill 2. Maybe four-coin Skill 3. Hard to tell if every gunshot is one coin or not. Then, we get something that I fucking called - Full Stop Hong Lu has an alternate Skillset for when he runs out of Ammo. Three-coin Skill 1. Three-coin Skill 2. Three-coin Skill 3. Next up, clashable Counter with two coins and what seems like a Reload. Then, a similar followup attack, in this case Full Stop Heathcliff shooting as a followup to Hong Lu's attack. And another followup attack mechanic, except in this case while Heathcliff has retreated - he can snipe enemies from afar.

Six - Quick note on Magic Bullet Outis E.G.O animation: I don't think what we're seeing is one continuous cinematic of one E.G.O use. I think this E.G.O will display different animations and have different effects depending on the amount of uses, aka depending on the amount of Magic Bullet Ammo. Similar to how Magic Bullet Outis ID's Skill 3 changes depending on the amount of Magic Bullet Ammo.

Seven - Magic Bullet Outis E.G.O Voice lines. Cause holy shit there's a lot of them.

Awakening:

"It really is as you say; this is a magic bullet that will never miss." - This is obviously a reflection of how the bullet is given through a deal with the devil... which then makes me think. Was Outis's role in the war also a deal with the devil? Was there someone in her life who willingly gave her the position of commander?

"There's no going back when I've already come this far by firing the bullet. Even if this road I walk is an inevitable path to inferno." - A reflection of Outis's own feelings. She feels like after what she's done, she can't turn back and change, even if she knows that continuing down this path will spell her doom. It's an insecurity we see be partially unearthed in Canto 7.

"The despairing heart is burnt black, never to fade away. Only its shearing cold floods within." - Perhaps a hint to her deeper feelings. Despair is what led her to taking the deal, and in the process she had to burn her heart and leave it with nothing but cold within.

"Though it was despair that I sought, the bullet's trajectory... is predetermined!" - Something something this flow cannot be stopped. Outis feeling like no matter her motivations she can't change what she's doing because she's in far too deep.

Corrosion:

"A bullet was fired, a magic bullet that will never miss." - Interesting how in these she completely dissociates herself from the bullet firing. Perhaps it's a reflection of how she deals with the crimes she's committed. Detaching herself from them, seeing them as just something that happened

"No justice, no malice. Only a finger that pulls the trigger." - Not just personal dissociation, but a dissociation from any emotions. Trying to say there is No real motivation for the bullet, it's just something that happens regardless. There's no malicious intent, but no righteous justice either. Just calculated violence.

"I'll be left alone in this inferno at the end of the road." - Girl you are so abandonment issues. This could be a reflection of both how she's worried about whether anyone is waiting for her to come back, but also an insecurity about whether anyone will accept her for knowing what she's done.

"Though I may lack the will to move forward... ...the bullet's forward-momentum cannot be stopped." - Reflection of how Outis, despite not wanting to continue down this path, feels like she has no choice. This flow cannot be stopped. Unable to change, she continues on.

To me, the awakening is a reflection of Outis when it all began. When she took the deal at the start of the war. The corrosion on the other hand is a reflection of Outis how she is now. One who is distant from the past, and yet unable to move on from it.