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kazanovah · 3 years ago

Text

Pairings: Bonten trio x f!reader

Warnings: mature themes 18+

Synopsis: after losing everything to the military she served for, reader is hell bound on seeking out her vengeance.

MNDI 18+

Part 1| next|

Your life has been nothing but utter chaos. Trapped between abusive parents and the horrendous bullies that stalked you like a lion hunting it's prey, it seemed you could never catch a break in life as you constantly fought for your right — the right to be treated like a human being.

Nothing in your life had gone right until you met him, Ren Saito. He had been your saving grace from the chaotic mess that had become your life as he had been the first one to show you kindness after he had transferred to your high school. He was gentle, he listened to you, and most of all he saw you for who you really were.

So when he proposed and you happily pledged your life to him, you also pledged your allegiance to the military as well. Because to put it quite simply, you would simply do anything for your husband right? No matter the cost, and til death do you part.

Five faithful years of marriage, and five horrifying yet faithful years to the military. You ranked up quickly, filling into the role of lieutenant in your second year and being able to command a squadron of men into battle. Of course you taken many lives, seen many die, but you've somehow managed to save just as many, if not more and that thought had always been so rewarding.

Until the night your life came crashing down around you. The events that unfolded that bloody, merciless night will forever haunt your mind and plague your dreams where they would turn into gruesome flashbacks of what had happened to you. The things so pitifully awful that it earned you an honourable discharge, and you had found yourself coming home alone, now a widow - and it had been that way for the last three years.

"Your martini, miss." The bartender said, breaking you from your thoughts as he set the glass down on the wooden flounder before sliding it over to you. You look down at the drink, with two olives and ordered extra dry - just to your liking and smirked the slightest bit.

You had developed a habit of drowning your sorrows in the most unhealthy ways, and there was no one around to stop you.

"Thank you." You said, flashing the younger male a toothy grin and smirking internally when you saw his flustered state.

Flirting is becoming easier, maybe I can strike back sooner than I thought, you thought to yourself as you bright the glass to you red painted lips before taking a long sip of the alcohol, the warm fluid trailing easily down your throat.

As you looked around the bustling nightclub, that was when you finally saw them.

A group of veterans who you had served with and commanded, walking into the nightclub with a group of formally dressed business men. You couldn't deny the way the business men were sinfully hot, and you found yourself tracing the rim of your glass with your index finger as you watched from afar.

A male with a pink mullet looked like he was about to pass out as he stumbled a little bit behind the group, and you squinted as you made out the faint outline of diamond shaped scars on the sides of his lips.

Interesting, you thought. I swear I've seen him before.

You didn't have very much time to reminisce as you felt your blood beginning to boil when you saw the man responsible for your misfortune, and you gripped the glass so tight you feared it would break between your fingers. You had to bite on your tongue to keep from calling out to the man, and you felt yourself itching towards the gun holstered to the inside of your thigh.

Not here. You told yourself. You knew that you were going to get your revenge on them, you knew that you were going to bring justice to your husbands name, but you also knew that you needed to be smart and trail them for just a little bit longer.

After all, you've already waited three years, whats a few more days?

Downing the rest of your drink, you ordered another and just continued to sit at the bar, periodically looking over to watch the group of twelve men conversing amongst themselves. You could tell the business men were wary of the veterans before them, which was odd considering the publicity and honours we would get from passing civilians, but they had every right to feel that way about them.

After all, they took everything from you and who's to say that you were their only victim?

After about an hour, you saw them getting up to leave so you slipped a wad of cash which was definitely way more than necessary, and stood up from the bar. You causally followed behind the group, but not too closely that they would notice you. When you saw the group parting ways, you decided to follow the group of unsuspecting businessmen towards a limo parked in the lot, pausing to duck between two vehicles when you saw the men stopping.

"Do you think they're legit?" A tall, well built male with a deep scar running along the side of his face asked, uncertainty clear in his deep tone.

"I don't know Kakucho, but what other choice do we have? We're running out of options." The smallest male said, running his fingers through his platinum white undercut in minor frustration.

"Thinks we should follow em." The male with the pink mullet slurred, earning a scoff from a tall male with a scar going down his left eye and you watched as a puff of smoke from his lit cigarette filled the air around him.

"I think you should go home and sleep this off." He said, his gruff voice was full of annoyance and you watched as he brought his right hand up to flick the pink haired males forehead.

"Hey! Watch it, Omi!" The male who had been flicked said, dramatically bringing his hands up to his forehead.

"Would the both of you cut it with the sibling rivalry?" Another skyscraper of a man asked, his lilac eyes and matching hair stuck out like a sore thumb and you realized that he was one of the three men you found to be the most attractive out of the both of them.

"Like you and little miss priss over there are any better." This comeback came from a male with long, flowing white hair who was currently looking down at his manicured nails in boredom, and you could have sworn you saw the tick marks forming on the purple haired males forehead.

"Enough. All of you. Get back to headquarters, aside from you three. Make sure Sanzu doesn't choke on his own vomit." The small white haired male said, earning a collective "yes boss," from the men with the matching mauve eyes.

When the rest of the group split and got into the idling limo, you waited until the two conscious males grabbed their friend who was on the verge of passing out before lobbing each of his arms over their shoulders and beginning to walk out of the lot with them. You noticed they had matching tattoos on the columns of their throats, and you made a mental note about the odd symbol.

This is interesting. If you follow them you might find out some more information. You thought, and you made sure to keep your distance about a block and half away at all times whilst you followed them through Roppongi.

When they made it all the way into a high end apartment, you called it quits for the evening and walked a few blocks before hailing a taxi to come and take you back to your home - somewhere you hated being due to it being so empty, yet so full of the painful memories that you've once shared with your now dead husband.

Upon walking into the door, you were immediately greeted by your two 'service dogs,' who you relied on heavily over the last three years. The larger one of the two Belgian Malinois was named Sarge, and he had served with you overseas and accompanied you on every mission. The other, the smaller female who's bite force was just as strong as her male comrades, was named Lina and you had gotten her to help you grieve the things you've lost.

Instead of going upstairs and going to bed in the wee hours of the morning, you had changed into a pair of sweatpants and a black t-shirt before wandering into your office and plopping down in the comfortable chair before opening up your computer and compiling the results of the data you had collected.

When you thought back to the businessmen you had followed, you noticed that two of them had matching tattoos on the collars of their throats, and you couldn't help but realize you had seen that symbol before. A quick google search quickly told you that they were in fact a part of a crime organization that was feared by the entire country - well, everyone except you.

You know that the underworld can be a dangerous place. Full of drugs, gambling, prostitution, arson, murder - you name it, the underworld most certainly has it. But you also knew that the real danger in the world, the really vile and disgusting people, were the ones controlled by the government. The ones who were meant to serve and protect.

Now knowing that a crime organization was getting involved with the government and or the military, you sighed. This was great news as you would be able to find out more information to use against your old squadron, but you also knew that this meant you would have to prolong your vengeance mission even longer now.

With a huff of annoyance, you got to work researching anything and everything you could about Bonten and their crimes. It was obvious they were untouchable to the authorities, but it made the situation even more confusing and you ran a hand through your hair in frustration as you let your mind wander.

Fucking Bonten.

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

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Hell Within Reach VII. Chrollo x F Reader

Rating: M (for now…) Word count: 3k. Misc Info: Your Nen | Survosia

[Hell Within Reach index]

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Synopsis: No longer able to return to your home country, which lays just beyond the borders of the known world, you found yourself stranded in an unknown land. After weeks of aimless wandering, an encounter with the Phantom Troupe’s leader gives you a new set of opportunities.

The Spider had recently lost a member and was in need of a new leg. Takes place four years prior to the main events of Hunter x Hunter.

When Chrollo told you that he wished to speak in private, you could never have anticipated this.

You expected him to bombard you with more questions, voice his concerns, or perhaps even test to see where your allegiances lie. This would be the most daring heist the Troupe had ever done and time was the clock was ticking. Logic dictated that every spare second should be utilized to the fullest, scrutinizing plans for potential holes and preparing for the job. The leader of the notorious Phantom Troupe would surely have valuable insight on how to pull everything off.

That’s why this current predicament doesn’t make sense. Other members were hunting down straggling threats, gathering information, and guarding a valuable asset. So why are you two at a bustling shopping mall as if it were the most natural thing?

“Has anything caught your eye, [First]?” Chrollo inquires from his spot a few feet from you.

Could this be a test? There must be a greater meaning to this supposedly innocent outing. He drove you over an hour to get back into civilization, far removed from that abandoned town and dilapidated church, and into the nearest city. The car ride itself was mostly him asking questions about you rather than about the job. Your favorite foods, input on current events, information that held no real importance in your opinion. The change in atmosphere from serious to casual gave you whiplash.

There’s no one following you from what you can sense, so the question couldn’t have that double meaning behind it. Is he truly asking for your opinion and nothing else?

“I can’t say I particularly care for shopping,” you admit, scanning your eyes over the surrounding area for the umpteenth time. Nothing is out of the ordinary. Young couples are walking hand in hand, children are tugging their parents to the toy stores, and employees from the food court are trying to bring in customers by offering free samples. You suppose it would be an excellent place to blend in while tailing someone, but you’re confident enough in your abilities to pick up on any lurkers.

“Neither do I,” Chrollo places the book he was examining back onto the kiosk’s shelf. He had given the limited selection the same treatment, skimming over its contents, only to return it.

“Then why…?” The words die on your tongue, in fear of appearing unprofessional. Chrollo told you that it was fine to voice your concerns — welcome, even — but years of being told otherwise cannot be undone so easily.

“I’ll tell you in a moment. First, I was wondering why that store over there had you so entranced.”

He nods to the spot in question. It’s a chain frozen yogurt establishment that you’ve seen around Yorknew before, yet the concept was most bizarre. So he noticed how your eyes lingered on the bright neon sign?

“Ah, that. I’ve always wondered what motivated a person to freeze yogurt. It does not add to the nutritional value, does it?” You put a gloved hand to your chin, considering the proposition. There were no venues such as this back at home. Yogurt was meant to be a protein, antibiotic-filled snack, not a dessert. The people or Yorbia were nothing if not fascinating with their ideas.

Chrollo can’t help but smile and you stare, tilting your head. “Did I say something funny?”

“No, it’s—” He takes in a deep breath and shakes his head, the smile ever-present. It feels different than the ones you’ve seen on him before. “Alright, perhaps a little. I never could have expected that to be the reason behind your staring. You looked to be in such deep thought.”

That’s because you were in deep thought, but you digress.

“I think it would be easier for you to experience it yourself rather than for me to explain it,” Chrollo walks away from the kiosk and you follow after him. Did he mean to make you try it? In that case, so be it; growing more acquainted with Yorbia’s cuisine could serve you well. Wait, what are you thinking about? There’s work to be done. Preparation to consider, and here you are, standing in front of a humming machine that faintly reminds you of a science fiction novel.

“You pull the lever down after deciding which flavor you want,” Chrollo demonstrates this by doing just that, a stream of artificially green-colored substance falling into his bowl. This looks like a biohazard. What appeal is there to a brightly colored treat such as this? In the wild, these shades were adapted by prey to ward off predators to show that they were venomous.

Most peculiar indeed.

Now you were faced with innumerable options. Chocolate, vanilla, cheesecake, was that cotton candy…? No, this must be a crime against the common good. However, you refuse to back down from this challenge, you’ll conquer this task and come out on top. Grabbing a bowl as Chrollo did, you go to each station, adding an ounce or so of each flavor to your cup before reaching the end.

He’s now at what is dubbed the topping station, sprinkling chocolate shavings on top of his dessert. You decide to try one of each topping as well. That way, you could better understand the appeal to this place. It’s a spot that draws attention like a moth to a flame. The line is long despite it being a weekday, which must signify its cultural importance.

Chrollo stares at your abomination of a cup for a long, drawn-out second, his visage unreadable. “Interesting choice.”

“In retrospect… I may have gone a little overboard.”

“No, I doubt it.”

You don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice. Was this truly the same man who was giving out orders to a group of ragtag murderers hours before? Chrollo’s ability to compartmentalize his personality has never failed to impress you.

Next up is the matter of paying. Your malevolent creation came to 3,500 Jenny, a price tag you didn’t so much as blink at before taking your wallet out to pay. The customers behind you, a teenage girl and her younger sister, had been chatting while you were rung up. You were always taught the importance of eavesdropping on your surroundings in case there was valuable information. In this instance, it was little more than an innocent discussion. Something about a piano recital the oldest has to practice for this weekend.

Would Estella have taken you out to places like this if you were born into a different life? Saved up her paychecks from working odd jobs, just to treat you? Would you have even accepted her benevolence? Her obsession with spoiling you and Ash to the point of infantilization was always off-putting. She didn’t need to try and force the maternal role upon herself. You were just fine without it, yet she never believed you, a choice that wedged you further apart. Whether that was her intention or not, you had no way of knowing; people like her and Chrollo act with a bigger picture in mind that you’ve never been able to see.

It’s easier to focus on what’s directly ahead rather than what may be around the corner a few turns up.

The cashier goes to hand your change back and you put a hand up to stop him.

“I’m gonna bring a big ol’ sign with your name on it for the concert!” The youngest exclaims.

Her elder sister gives a sheepish laugh and ruffles her hair. “Please don’t. I think I’d just about die of embarrassment.”

You nod your head in their direction and assume the cashier will pick up on the implication, leaving the remaining cash in his hand.

After that, you joined Chrollo at a free table in the noisy food court. He’s already begun to help himself to his frozen yogurt, though there was never a moment you didn’t feel his eyes on you, not that you aren’t used to it by now. The intimidating mountain of sugary goodness that you created was akin to Frankenstein’s monster, a conglomerate that was never meant to be. An insult to both god and man alike. Gummy bears hang for dear life to the caramel syrup atop the multicolored peak, but gravity is ultimately victorious, and the fallen soldiers plop sadly into the rest of the mushy abyss.

Needless to say, your appetite isn’t being aroused.

“I don’t believe this is edible,” you hang your head in disappointment. You were too caught up in the moment to consider the long-term repercussions. Was this how it felt to be a mad scientist, blinded by ambition, to the point of overlooking common morality?

“Here. Open your mouth for me.”

Chrollo holds a spoonful of his frozen yogurt in front of your lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You part your lips to protest, heat flooding your face, but it’s already too late. He takes the opportunity to place the plastic spoon into your mouth. Mint flavor bursts on your tongue, accompanied by hints of rich, smooth dark chocolate. It tastes good, you decide. He did a much better job putting together a respectable bowl than you did. Is your boss seriously feeding you in public? The surprises of the past week just continue to tally up. You’ve learned that Chrollo can be playful when he so chooses, yet this is a new level altogether.

What ulterior motives hide beneath the surface of his calculated gaze?

“I believe I said I’d tell you the purpose behind this outing,” Chrollo pulls his spoon back as if it were the most casual thing, dipping in to prepare a bite for himself. “If we are to pass as a believable couple, we’ll need to practice, wouldn’t you agree?”

Practice? So that was the motivation he had all along? He could have told you that from the start. You would have been more amiable in that case, if not a touch less flustered. There’s something else that’s troubling you. A faint suspicion that has held your mind prisoner the more you entertain it, with questionable validity.

“I… can see your point.”

You don’t know what else to say. Whether it’s the cold treat that’s suddenly frozen your tongue or the overall embarrassment, your mind has gone blank. Fortunately for you, Chrollo doesn’t allow for an uncomfortable silence to settle in and moves onto his next point.

“It’s just as I feared. You’re too stiff with me,” he takes a bite of his yogurt. “An important detail like that would be noticed instantly and endanger the operation. So tell me, [First]...”

Chrollo rests his head on his hands and gives you another one of those bone-chilling smiles, entirely different than the one before. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“I wouldn’t describe it like that,” you breathe out, internally begging your heart to stop racing more than it has in months, “Rather… I’m not familiar with… this.”

You motion between the two of you to get the point across.

Now it’s Chrollo’s turn to lose his schooled facade for the briefest second. He furrows his eyebrows together, leaning slightly across the table to get a better look at you, searching for something.

“Are you saying that you have never been in a relationship before? Somehow, I find that difficult to believe.”

There is no escaping the past, is there? Your relationship with Karina was unconventional to say the least. It was an on and off affair that lasted a few months. Everything was done in secret, aside from the rare occasions she convinced you to accompany her to nearby villages, in which you’d diligently keep an eye out for danger. You felt enough eyes from afar to deduce your father was having you monitored, but that didn’t come as a surprise. He’d let you use your little downtime as you pleased if it meant keeping you complacent.

Chrollo sits back in his chair after pushing his personal intrigue down. “Regardless, we’ll need to figure this out if this plan is to work.”

“I understand. Whatever it is that you think will help, I’ll do.”

Acting was not a foreign concept to Chrollo like it was to you. There was no reason for your training to include anything above basic deception, as you were assigned to work behind the scenes. Intimidation was the method you would use in the times it was necessary. That wouldn’t work here, not with the level your father and his servants are on, a different approach would be required.

There’s a question itching in your mind that you haven’t been able to shake.

You were able to suppress it during the past day when you had work to distract yourself with, but now that you’re spending time in leisure, the whispering persists. It’s a narrative that you have mixed feelings over. Whether or not it was a misconception or reality could only be confirmed by the mysterious man sitting in front of you, who after all this time together, you’re still far from understanding.

“You said before that I had permission to speak my mind freely, am I correct?”

He answers without missing a beat. “You are.”

You fingers twitch on your lap.

“Tell me, Chrollo. You always intended to steal from my family, didn’t you?”

Nothing on his face changes to betray his thoughts. From the looks of it, he’s weighing over his potential answers, all the while never breaking eye contact with you. No doubt trying to decide on the best answer to placate your accusatory tone. There’s no bloodlust or ill intent behind it — yet the air is tense enough to give the impression that was the case. You get the feeling that the answer is crucial to you both. For you to have a better grasp on Chrollo’s goal, and for him to recognize he can’t pull wool over your eyes. Or to be more specific, that you wouldn’t allow him to do that. Not for this job. Not when it was so close to home, literally and figuratively.

“So you could tell?” Is what he settles on saying in response.

Something deep inside of you threatens to crack.

Of course, it wouldn’t make sense for the leader of the Phantom Troupe to gallivant about with you for no ultimate purpose. The talk about your home country weeks ago on the roof, his interest in your sibling’s photo and subsequent questions, everything was a means to an end. That had to be it, right? You refuse to fan the flame of your hopes, only for it to be extinguished as it was with Karina.

She may have been able to trick you into believing she cared, but you would not allow him to do the same.

You’d like to say that his confirmation has put you at ease. That now you know your relationship is a clear cut, some strings attached exchange, another leader for you to take orders from. It’s what you’re most familiar with. A routine you can fall back into, a black and white world to accept without question. This is what you know best. What you do best.

It may be a different continent, and a different set of circumstances, but there’s no doubt that your place is the same as it's always been. Neither has your abhorrence for double meanings and hidden agendas changed. If your time with Karina has taught you anything, it’s that charismatic individuals are more dangerous than any fight. Their ability to spin a web of deceit is something to both be begrudgingly revered and wary over.

“It’s inconsequential,” you smooth a wrinkle out in your blouse. “But I will say this. You can use me as an instrument for whatever mayhem you orchestrate to your heart's content.”

There’s a dull surge of pain in your gloved hand that you ignore to the best of your abilities.

“In return, I have a single condition. Do not try to play mind games with me. If you want something, say it. It’ll be a waste of time for us both otherwise.”

It was his mistake for granting you the leniency to say whatever you pleased. Naturally, you would act within reason, and you hope this proposal isn’t crossing a line. It isn’t dripping with animosity. You’ll continue to gauge his leadership abilities from how he handles this.

Chrollo’s dark eyelashes flutter shut, that questionable smile on his face yet again. “If I want something, say it, huh?”

He mulls over the prospect for some time. You sit perfectly still, legs crossed, and shoulders perfectly aligned. Neither of your faces reflects a semblance of human emotion. The surrounding world becomes a blur, an insignificant collection of mass, fading into obscurity. All that matters to you now is ensuring he knows your stance. Manipulation is not something you will allow yourself to be subjected to again. If that means resigning from the Spider altogether, then so be it; being alone is nothing new. You’ll keep that particular trump card tucked away for if the debate gets heated.

His round, gray eyes open, the lack of light inside them apparent.

“You’ve got a deal.”

That settles that. No longer will you tolerate skirting around topics and leaving things to interpretation for his satisfaction. You could stomach it before when it didn’t involve such a personal circumstance, but for you both to work together well, his penchant for mind games needed to go on the backburner.

“Now then,” you stand with all the elegance of a royal, footsteps not making a single sound while you seat yourself next to Chrollo, your determination burning anew. “Do it again. I’ve always been a fast learner, I see no reason why this would be any different.”

He must be slightly taken aback from your close proximity and newfound willingness. “You want me to feed you again?”

You nod, no hints of shame present.

“Or as many times as it takes for me to become a natural. I will warn you, that I settle for nothing short of perfection, so please excuse my thoroughness.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh imagine #hxh imagines #hell within reach #my stuff

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kyubicled · 4 years ago

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< [INDEX] >

"King Jaehaerys would reign the longest of any Targaryen king, and while he sat the Iron Throne, the realm knew a time of unrivaled prosperity and unabated tranquility. Whilst this history is meant to be focused upon the Spartan and the Starks, it is important to remember that King Jaehaerys I was greatly influenced by the Spartan and the Maiden's work, and is thus relevant to understanding the full measure of just how those two enigmatic figures have so thoroughly changed the realm as a whole. Though the first few years were spent in repairing the damage Maegor the Cruel had done to the realm, and reconciling with the Faith as well as the North, this was only the beginning of a long, illustrious career for the monarch. Once he had secured peace for the realm, he instituted massive reforms to the system of taxation, which while unpopular at the time, helped to fill the royal coffers and fuel the Conciliator's future endeavors.

The first, and arguably his most ambitious project, was the construction of the Realmroad; the vast, expansive network of paved highways criss crossing throughout the realm. The inspiration of this mighty endeavor could be attributed to the famous tour of the North that Jaehaerys and his sister-wife, Good Queen Alysannee, shared early in their reign. The North had, for thousands of years, been the most advanced of all the Seven Kingdoms, due to the great knowledge passed to them from the Maiden of Light. One of the greatest technological feats of the North was it's ancient and famous system of paved roads, which had been built three thousand years prior over the course of the reigns of three Kings in the North; King Rickard the Road-Layer, King Yoren the Road-Paver, and King Robbart the Road-Finisher--and was further expanded by subsequent generations. From the Nightfort to Moat Cailin, from the Rills to the Karhold, from Deepwood Motte to Widow's Watch, this vast system of roads stretched from coast to coast, connecting all but the most remote of the North's holdings, all leading back to that grand and old capitol of the North, Winterfell itself. While it was an immense undertaking, and an undoubtedly even more laborious task to keep it maintained, the Northerners had discovered that keeping the roads in good order promoted trade and travel unparalleled across the north, giving rise not only to great wealth, but also the migration of peoples to found settlements along the roads. Towns which, over the centuries, only grew in number and size, some eventually becoming large enough to be called cities in their own right. White Harbor was the great port of the North, conducting a great deal of trade with the South, the Free Cities, and even as far as Qarth and the Jade Sea; and is home to the great Manderly fleet, the largest and most fearsome of the Western world. The town surrounding Winterfell had long since expanded into an outright city centuries before, it's thatched huts and hovels transformed into great stone houses. While not quite as large as other cities in the North, it was still easily seen as it's crown jewel--ancient, austere, and glorious.

But undoubtedly the most incredible of these cities was known simply to the Northerners as the Dawntown, which surrounded the fabled Forward Unto Dawn. Many ages past, according to the histories of the North, the Forward Unto Dawn had been a center of unrivaled production, which had helped the Starks make the North the greatest kingdom of the West. However, most of it's strange machines had long since fallen silent, and the Northerners so revered it that they refused to disturb the great structure of steel save to preserve it from the ravages of time--indeed, to attempt to enter it without the consent of the King in the North is a crime punishable by beheading even today. The city surrounding the hallowed structure was, and arguably still is, the largest in Westeros. While not as beautiful as Winterfell, nor as wealthy as White Harbor, it is undoubtedly the most vibrant and bustling settlement in all the West. Here, the Spartan and the Maiden's influence is felt most strongly. A city of great peculiarity, it is singular in the fact that it is, in fact, not subject to the Starks of Winterfell. Bran the Builder had supposedly granted the land surrounding the Dawn to the Spartan, that he might rule in his own right and not be made subject to any lord or king. Regardless, the Starks maintain that the Dawntown is wholly independent of their rule, though the city-state had nonetheless sworn allegiance to the Starks. In the walls of the Dawntown, all men, regardless of station or birth, are treated as equals before the Spartan's Law, a truly progressive and comprehensive legal code which reigns supreme over the whole city. Maesters, scholars, artisans, physicians, and men of all walks of learning travel from the four corners of the known world to study and congregate here, basking in the wisdom of the Aglow Lady, who left behind countless tomes of knowledge, all of which are securely and safely cataloged and kept in the Great Library--a depository of knowledge equaled only by the Citadel's, though many claim the knowledge of the Dawntown is less fragmented and more impartial than that of the masters of Oldtown.

Awed by the sights they saw there, Jaehaerys and Alysanne were eager to bring similar prosperity to the South, and they began regularly corresponding with King Brandon Stark, who would come to be one of their closest friends. With his financial support as well as the aid of the latter's road-workers, Jaehaerys began the project of building the Realmroad, a task which would not be completed until well after his death and well into the reign of his grandson, Viserys I. Jaehaerys, with the council of his good friend and Hand of the King, Septon Barth, also oversaw the construction of a great system of sewers, likewise inspired by the Northerners' advances in sanitation. King Jaehaerys had learned from the tomes the Maiden had left him that the cleanliness of a city was paramount to making it prosperous--he had only to see the difference between the North's cities and the Souths to see that truth. In the first century since it's founding, King's Landing was a far-cry from the austerity of Winterfell, nor as rich as White Harbor, nor as bustling as the Dawntown; but Jaehaerys endeavored to make it of nevertheless equal state to them. It was an arduous, tedious task, as it required in many cases the utter demolition of entire sections of the city, but here, too, King Brandon came to his aid, loaning great sums of money to the Targaryen coffers to see to the restitution of those dispossessed of their homes, and commissioning the Dawntown to quarry the materials Jaehaerys would come to need. It was a great expenditure to the whole realm, and took the better part of the Old King's reign to undertake, but when all was done, King's Landing was nearly unrecognizable; the stench of human waste had evaporated, and the outbreaks of sickness dramatically fell in frequency. Much more of the city was comprised of stone buildings as well, and in no time at all, King's Landing had become the crown jewel of the South, truly a capitol worthy of a great dynasty.

With this openness between the North and South came also the spreading of knowledge. Jaehaerys, more than likely inspired by the Dawntown's governance and the idea of a intellectual court, filled his own with scholars, maesters, artisans, and doctors, and was a great patron to both the Order of Maesters and the Night's Watch. Merit, rather than birth, had become the standard by which to earn the king's favor, and while many nobles balked at this, none could deny it did the realm a great service, as the Conciliator and his court brought about the greatest period of plenty the realm had ever known, and a time when the North and South worked more closely than ever before, as well as the time where relations between the two were warmer than ever before.

This golden age would carry on after the Old King passed on after many years on the throne. The full fruits of his labors would ripen during the reign of his grandson and heir, King Viserys I, who completed his grand-sire's endeavor of building the Realmroad, and would come to rule the Five Kingdoms at the very height of the Targaryen dynasty's power. But in the shining brilliance of this time of prosperity and peace, Viserys had been blinded to the division within his own court that came late in his reign. As to the events of what happened during the Dance of Dragons, the Targaryen civil war which had nearly destroyed the realm, a comprehensive history by Grand Maester Munkun does exist, which details the events in the broader scope of the war. For the sake of the relevance of this particular history, the focus of which being the Starks and the Spartan during this time, we shall primarily focus on the actions of the North and the Master Chief during the Dance. Both the Black and Green factions had feared from the beginning an intervention by the Starks on behalf of the opposing side, and were terrified even more the possibility of escalating such a war between the realms to the point it would warrant the Starks to call on the Spartan to aid them. For though the Targaryens counted in all seventeen dragons--the highest number they would ever reach--the memory of the Spartan slaying two of the mightiest of all their mounts, Vhaegar and Balerion the Black Dread themselves; and of the humiliating and decisive defeats he rendered unto both Aegon the Conqueror and to his son, Maegor the Cruel, had haunted the Targaryens to that day. Covetous of the North's superior armies, both Princess Rhaenyra and King Aegon dispatched envoys to ask for his aid. Rhaenyra's eldest son, Jacaerys Velaryon, flew on dragonback to Winterfell, and plead his mother's case to King Cregan Stark, the Old Man of the North. Earlier that very morning, however, he had received a raven from King's Landing in which King Aegon asked for his support in securing the peace for all Westeros.

It must have been by no means an easy decision for the King in the North, who was reluctant to involve his people in another squabble in the South. Yet he felt some familial sentiment for the boy before him, as he was descended from the only child of Queen Wylanna, a daughter who alone of all her siblings had survived Maegor's cruelty, and married into the Velaryon line following the ascension of Jaehaerys I, and thus giving the following Lords of the Driftmark, and subsequently Prince Jacaerys himself, distant kinship to the Starks. Jacaerys even vowed that a daughter of House Targaryen would wed a son of House Stark, in a proposed Second Pact of Ice and Fire. Unsure of what to do, but knowing his decision would be crucial to the future of the North, King Cregan chose in that moment to follow in his grandfather Benjen's wisdom, and entered the halls of the Forward Unto Dawn, to seek the Spartan and the Aglow Lady's council. When he reemerged, he declared that the North would remain neutral, though he did dispatch ravens of his own to both Dragonstone and the Red Keep, calling on both claimants to the Iron Throne to settle the matter in a Great Council and resolve the succession in a peaceful manner.

But the infamous death of Rhaenyra's second eldest son at the hands of Aemond Targaryen, and the retaliatory murder of Aegon's eldest son and heir, would shatter any notion of peace between the Blacks and Greens, and soon all the South was awash in dragonflame as the dynastic dispute transformed into a war of annihilation. Cregan's decision to stay out of the war would earn him some derision from his vassals, but would ultimately prove to leave the North untouched by the conflict. But as more refugees came flooding in from the South, and reports of the Targaryens' dragons burning and sacking the countryside become increasingly dire, Cregan could not help but feel pity for the smallfolk, and became convinced that something had to be done to end the violence in the South. For the second time, he entered the Forward Unto Dawn, and news quickly spread that the Warrior Made Flesh and the Maiden of Light had emerged from their slumber, and coming out the Dawntown's great ironwood gates, led at their head by the Spartan himself, was an army unlike any Westeros had ever seen. For the soldiers which marched from the Great Arsenal carried weapons of unprecedented might called 'muskets', and even larger, monstrous contraptions called 'cannons'. Both of which appeared to be archaic imitations of the Spartan's legendary thunder weapons and the great war machines he rode into battle, respectively. The science behind these weapons remains a closely guard enigma of the Dawntown to this day, much to the consternation, dread, and envy of the rest of the known world--for any attempt to learn it's secrets have led only to the vanishing of many spies, and the consternation of many a blacksmith or maester attempting to unlock it's secrets. The Spartan marched this force south to the Neck, gathering along the way a force of Northerners eager to march south with him to ease the burdens of their families in the coming winter, who would become known as the Rogue Wolves. Upon arriving south of the Neck, near the Twins, he declared he had come to defend the people of the South from further suffering at the hands of the squabbling dragonlords, demanding each side to reach an armistice and end the violence immediately, and that any further harm done to the smallfolk would result in him bringing an end to the fighting on his own terms--namely, defeating both the blacks as well as the greens.

Publicly, Cregan never endorsed the Spartan's actions, indeed decrying it as an unlawful and unauthorized move on the Spartan's part, though many believe he may have had a hand in the events, as he made no move to stop the Spartan, nor punished the men who had followed him into war.

Almost predictably, the Targaryens' vainglory got the better of them, in spite of the initial terror they felt at the news of the Spartan's return, and went right back to their warring. At this point in the Dance of the Dragons, Rhaenyra had just suffered a defeat at the Battle of Rook's Rest, and had planned to ship her two younger sons off to the Free Cities for their protection. However, enemies of her husband from the Kingdom of the Three Daughters had intercepted them, and only her nine-year-old son, Aegon, had managed to escape on the back of his wounded and dying dragon, while his younger brother Viserys had been made a captive. Prince Jacaerys himself rode off on his dragon Vermax to rescue his brother, and led the Velaryon fleet against the enemy. There, his dragon was caught by grapnels and dragged into the sea, and nearly drowned. He himself would have met his end at the hands of Myrish crossbowmen if not the waves taking him to a watery grave... when a terrible roar filled the air. To the utter shock of all, the Spartan had flown his great Steel Bird from out of the sky, using his armaments to soundly crush every ship which dared to oppose him, before lowering his ship and rescuing Jacaerys from the Blackwater, and freeing his dragon from the driftwood and netting which trapped him. It is unknown why the Spartan chose to save the boy's life--some speculate Cregan had asked it of him, in remembrance of their shared blood, while other state it was simply the Spartan's nobility that caused him to rescue the young prince. The Spartan then used his flying machine to scour the fleet of the Three Daughters, cutting his way through hundreds of men with a small band of hand-picked soldiers at his side, until he found and rescued also the young Prince Viserys, and then immediately flew to Dragonstone, where a stunned, confused, but ultimately relieved Rhaenyra was returned her two sons. But the Spartan did not stay to hear her gratitude for his bold rescue, immediately flying back into the battle, where he turned the tide in the blacks' favor single-handed, and prevented the greens' fleet from sacking the Driftmark. After ensuring the Gullet was safe, and the sorry remnants of the enemy was well on their way back across the Narrow Sea, he then left without another word.

News of the Spartan's intervention at the Battle of the Gullet soon spread, and the greens became panicked at the notion of the Spartan seeming in favor of the blacks. With Aegon burnt, broken, and poppy-addled from his injuries sustained at Rook's Rest, Prince Aemond and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Criston Cole, immediately marched north, and after securing Harrenhal, marched further to face the Spartan's army--when baffling news reached them. Reports came in that an army of riverlords, led by Elmo Tully, had mustered at Riverrun and was on their way to meet Aemond and Cole's host in battle... only for the Spartan's army to halt them, before scattering them to the four winds. As Elmo was a supporter of Rhaenyra, it astounded and confused the greens as to why the Spartan would thwart an army loyal to the blacks. The truth of what had happened was that the riverlords, on their march, had turned to pillaging many villages to sustain their army, as well as sacking whatever holdfasts had not declared for Rhaenyra, even burning fields to deprive the greens of crops and food. When word had spread to Riverrun of the Spartan's intervention off the coast of Dragonstone, Elmo had assumed the Spartan had declared for the blacks, and therefore marched with confidence to meet the greens' host. However, when word had reached the Spartan of the riverlords' beleaguering of the smallfolk, he immediately wheeled his army around and confronted them, demanding they disband and return to their homes, as well as surrender all persons and spoils they had taken from the people. When Elmo and his men refused, and instead demanded the Spartan swear allegiance to the blacks' cause, the latter set his army against the former. The following clash, remembered today as the Battle for the Crossroads, was a battle only in name--more accurately, it was butchers work. The riverlords outnumbered the Spartan's smaller army by nearly one-and-half, and whereas Elmo commanded a cavalry force of over a hundred knights and four-hundred mounted men-at-arms, the Spartan had no cavalry whatsoever. Elmo thus thought to simply rush the Spartan with his sheer numbers, and advanced his infantry forward. This was the first mistake Elmo Tully would make that day. As soon as his foot were within range, the Spartan unleashed his cannons, blasting into the riverlords' ranks with explosive missiles and tearing apart their vanguard with seven devastating volleys. What few unfortunate or foolhardy riverfolk who pressed forward were met with the thunder of musket fire, and many men, terrified of these new weapons and of the fact they had not even reached the enemy without being torn to shreds, turned tail and fled. Elmo, seeing that his infantry was on the verge of collapsing into a mass rout, gathered together the whole of his cavalry, and charged the Spartan in a great thunder of heavy horse, steel plate, and all the chivalry of the Trident.

It would avail him nothing but the death of many riverlords. The Spartan's cannons bombarded the Tully cavalry, killing lords and knights with the same brutality as they had with their levies. Even worse, the horses were frightened by the noise of the cannons, and crashed into one another in panic, causing terrible disorder and killing many in the charge. Then came the musket-fire, which tore through steel armor and horse like parchment, wreaking even more devastation and havoc on Elmo's cavalry. When the riverlords finally closed in, they sought to at last take their revenge on the Spartan's men, believing their lack of pikes and spears would make the Spartan's army easy prey for the stampede of red steel and war horses. But then, as they came to bear down upon the Spartan's center, they saw that the musketeers had fixed long blades upon the ends of their thunder weapons, which, combined with their tight formation into squares, negated any and all advantages the riverlords' cavalry possessed. For their horses refused to charge into the bristling lines of blades, and their armor availed them not against musket-fire. Elmo and many of his knights were cut down or captured, and seeing the best of their knights so utterly devastated, the rest of the Tully army routed, fleeing for the hills and forests and back to their homes. A score of noble houses were ended that day, torn and pierced and blown to pieces alongside the levies they had march to war. Among those few who were captured was Kermit Tully, son of Elmo, and, with the death of his father, the new Lord of Riverrun. The Spartan treated the young lord with surprising mercy and respect, tending to his wounds as well as the wounds of what Rivermen lay wounded in the battle that had not been slain, and granting merciful ends to those too far gone to be saved. Shortly after, he made a pact with Kermit--in exchange for the young lord putting up his sword and disbanding his armies, and allowing his men to return home, the Spartan would release Kermit as well as all other prisoners taken, and would march south to defend the Riverlands from the greens, who would doubtlessly seek to consolidate the Trident for the cause of Aegon, and put the riverlords to the sword for siding with the blacks. Kermit, left with little other choice, agreed to the terms, and returned to Riverrun shortly after. Many noble houses of the Trident would despise the Spartan for years to come for the humiliation and devastation he rendered them that day, but the smallfolk would remember that he had gone to war on their behalf, and at every turn took pains to see to their safety and survival, as he brought great amounts of food to replace that which their lords had deprived them, and saw to the safe return of their fighting men, whom he sought out in the wilderness and guided back to their homes as best he could, as well as helping to train and outfit them to defend their villages.

The greens, upon hearing of these accounts, were wary as to the intentions of the Spartan, and could not discern to which side he had taken in the war--for while he had come to the blacks' aid in the Battle of the Gullet, his victory over the riverlords had doubtlessly aided the cause of the greens. Ser Criston Cole felt it best to avoid engaging the Spartan, and to depart south and aid the Hightowers in their campaign in the Reach. Prince Aemond, though, believed that the Spartan had to be dealt with, to ensure he did not interfere further in their war, as well as to prove the strength of the greens over the blacks by dispatching the enemy that the riverlords had failed to overcome. But regardless of what course they intended to take, dark news reached them: Rhaenyra had descended on King's Landing with her dragon, and had claimed the defenseless capitol as her own. In a black rage, Aemond mounted his dragon, known to history only as Cannibal, and rain fire and death down onto the countryside. Cole, unable to stop him, marched the army back towards the capitol, intent on retaking it from the blacks, but feared that Aemond's reckless fury would only invite the Spartan's wrath. He would be proven right not even a week later, when the Spartan tracked down Aemond and Cannibal in his Steel Bird near Fairmarket, as the Prince intended to set it aflame with dragonfire. Aemond arrogantly sought to triumph where his greater sires had failed, and chose to meet the Master Chief in battle when all sense dictated he flee like the Seven Devils were upon him. Surely enough, the Spartan handily defeated them, his thunder weapons tearing through one of Cannibal's wings, and sent both dragon and rider plummeting into the Blue Fork--an end seen by many as all too fitting, as it was the same fate he had inflicted upon his cousin, Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Whether or not the crash had killed him, or if he drowned in the Blue Fork's waters, is unknown; but smallfolk downriver would find his bloated corpse days later, still strapped in his riding chains atop his dead dragon. They stripped him of his armor and silks, and dumped his naked body back into the river whilst they carved his dragon to make a feast of it's flesh and a fortune of it's scales and bones.

The Spartan would remain in the Riverlands, seeing to it's defense and overseeing shipments of food, supplies, and munitions being sent from the Dawntown down the Kingsroad. The Old King's commitment to the construction of the Realmroad would greatly benefit the Spartan's cause, ensuring that the smallfolk were given food and goods where needed, and that his army was replenished of their necessities. And true to his word to Kermit Tully, he took up the task of defending the Riverlands when an army of westermen, led by Jason Lannister, a supporter of the greens, came from the River Road with the intent of taking the Trident in King Aegon's name. But the Spartan had no intention of meeting the Lannister host on their own terms. Instead, in a feat of daring and audacity, he came upon Jason's host in the dead of night, accompanied by but two of his most trusted men, riding in his great battle carriage known as the 'Warthog'. Using the great thunder weapon mounted atop it, they smashed into Jason's camp, causing great mayhem and barreling through as swift as the north wind, until they came across Jason's pavilion, which the Spartan hurled two of his thunder-stones into. In an instant, Jason was killed, and in the mayhem so too were several of his chief commanders. Before the Lannister host could properly retaliate, the Spartan had fled, leaving the whole of the Westerlands shaken and in disarray in one terrible moment. The westerlords still chose to press on, hoping to avenge the death of their liege lord, but when they came to bear against the Spartan's army at the Battle of Wayfarer's Rest, they met the same fate as Elmo Tully--all the more impounded by their lack of leadership--and the Lannister army was sent reeling back in a chaotic rout towards Casterly Rock. Instead of pursuing the shattered Lannister host, where he likely could have pressed as far as Lannisport and lay siege to Casterly Rock itself with no significant resistance, the Master Chief remained in the Riverlands, content to have merely repelled the invaders. Indeed, he wrote to the now-widowed Lady Johanna Lannister, and offered a truce with House Lannister provided they withdraw their support of the greens. As an incentive, he released all captives taken during the battle, and also forewarned her that Dalton Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, was likely to attack the now-weakened Westerlands. At first, she wished only to avenge her husband's death at his hands, and did not heed his warning, which would cost the Westerlands dearly when the Red Kraken fell upon Lannisport and sacked it, and proceeded to raid the coasts with no significant force to stop him. When the smallfolk of the Westerlands cried out for the Spartan to come and save them, however, Johanna relented, and called for his aid in halting the Iron Fleet. It is inferred that she recognized House Lannister was in desperate need of allies, and with the greens more concerned with battling the blacks to the south-east, and the Lannister army scattered, the Master Chief stood as the only local force capable of stopping the ironborn raids, and that if she did not act, the people would have likely rebelled against Casterly Rock and turn to the Spartan for protection, as he had so ably and reliably done so for the Riverlands.

The Red Kraken at first only laughed when he heard the Spartan was coming to stop him, not believing in the legends of how the Spartan had summoned a great storm to sink the ironborn in ages long past. The Spartan would correct him as he swept up and down the Westerland coast, using his Steel Bird to attack any ironborn ships it could find, thwarting raids on coastal villages and reclaiming territories the ironborn had seized, rescuing captives taken into thralldom, and sending many ironborn back into the sea and down to their Drowned God. The Spartan gave a single warning to Lord Dalton, ordering him to turn his fleet back to the Iron Isles and cease his attacks on the coast. When Dalton refused, the Spartan hunted him down and slew him in single combat. In an occurrence far too convenient for many to believe was mere coincidence, King Cregan Stark dispatched Lord Mormont and his great fleet southward from Bear Island, under the pretext that he did not wish to leave the Northern shores at risk of the now-unleashed ironborn. Carried aboard that fleet was a formidable army and siege equipment doubtlessly meant to take the Iron Islands while their fighting men were away. Between the string of defeats the Spartan rendered them, the bitter power struggle that followed the death of Lord Dalton, and the threat of a Northern invasion, the ironborn at last conceded to peace, and withdrew back to the Iron Islands, with nothing but bitterness and humiliation for spoils to take home.

With the Riverlands, Westerlands, and Iron Islands pacified, the Spartan had greatly reduced the strength of both the greens and the blacks, and both sides were now terrified of what his next move would be. As more and more lords struck their banners and laid down their arms, and as more and more of the realm came to know peace, the Spartan's honor and his commitment to protecting those caught in the fires of war made him a hero to the smallfolk, while the causes of both Rhaenyra and Aegon were seen in increasingly negative lights, the devastation caused by the Dance of Dragons doing nothing to endear either to the people. Princess Rhaenyra, perhaps sensing this, dispatched her son, Prince Jacaerys, to treat with him. On his mother's behalf, he offered the Master Chief lavish sums of gold, the hand of a future Targaryen princess, and even to nominate him to the station of Protector of the Realm if he would aid her cause, citing she only wished to restore peace to the realm. The Spartan famously retorted to the prince that, if Rhaenyra had truly wished for peace, she would have listened to King Cregan's advice by meeting with Aegon at a Great Council, and settled the succession peacefully, rather than drag out the war and inflicting more suffering on the people, before sending the prince back to King's Landing with a firm refusal to take either side in the war. Rhaenyra reportedly trembled with rage at the Spartan's rebuttal at her offer, and at the perceived insult of her warmongering. But she had more pressing matters to attend to--the Hightowers had taken the city of Tumbleton with the aid of two turncloak dragonriders, while King's Landing itself was being laid siege to by Criston Cole. Another dragon rider came to meet with the Spartan--this time, Prince Daemon Targaryen, the Rouge Prince, and Rhaenyra's husband. He told the Spartan of how Cole would take the capitol if he did not intervene, and of the butchery Cole's men would undoubtedly mete out upon the inhabitants of the city if they breached the gates. The Spartan knew this was merely an attempt by the blacks to have him destroy their enemies, but nevertheless felt that the inhabitants of King's Landing should not be made to suffer any more than they already had due to the war, and ultimately agreed to march his army to the relief of the capitol. The Spartan's arrived ahead of his army alone, but Cole knew he had little hope of winning a battle against both the Spartan and Rhaenyra's dragons, the latter of which which had been strangely held back during the siege. Instead, he challenged the Spartan to single combat, stating that they should decide the outcome of the battle with a contest of arms rather than sacrifice thousands of men. On that, the Spartan agreed, and accepted Cole's challenge. Before their duel could begin, however, three of the five dragons in King's Landing were suddenly unleashed, led by Rhaenyra and her husband Daemon, and began incinerating Cole's army. Rhaenyra had laid a trap for both the Spartan and Cole, and hoped that the sheer number of her dragons would succeed where the likes of Belarion the Black Dread and Vhaegar had failed.

They would not.

While Cristen Cole and most of his army were indeed bathed in dragonflame, the Spartan's armor proved impervious to the dragons' fiery breath, and while he had been separated from his Steel Bird and his thunder weapons, he would demonstrate then and there that he had no need of it. First came the unmounted Dreamfyre, who had once been the mount of late Queen Helaena, whom had died but the night before. Perhaps the most tragic confrontation that day, she swooped down low to the ground to snap the Spartan in her jaws, only for him to leap above her, before slamming a crushing kick downwards into her neck, and breaking it and killing her instantly. Then came Daemon, riding his dragon Caraxys, who blew fire down onto the Spartan. The flames proved useless, and the Spartan jumped so high into the air men claimed he seemed to almost fly, and delivered an uppercut which crushed the dragon's throat and sent it falling to the ground. Daemon, who had never fastened his riding chains, leaped from his saddle, and in his hand was Dark Sister, the Valyrian sword of Visenya, Aegon the Dragon's sister-wife. Wildly he swung his sword in the air even as he fell, attempting to land a killing blow on the Spartan, but it was for naught, as even Blackfyre in the hands of Maegor had failed to breech the Spartan's armor. Not even deigning to kill Daemon, the Master Chief simply left the Rogue Prince's fate to the fall, and when all three impacted the ground, Damon and his dragon were both dead, while the Spartan landed on his feet, seemingly unharmed even from so great a fall. When Rhaenyra saw her husband's broken body, a black dread filled her alongside the rage and grief of losing her husband. But another, arguably even worse blow befell her that day--when her two eldest sons saw their mother in peril, they both mounted their dragons and flew to aid her, and joined the fray. Whatever screams Rhaenyra had shouted to save them availed her not over the roars of the dragons, and she could only watch as Princes Jacaerys and Joffrey both met their fates that day, the Spartan slaying their mounts from under them and sending them crashing to the ground.

Whatever Rhaenyra planned next is unknown, as an uprising in King's Landing erupted, led by a man only remembered as the Shepherd. Seeing the Spartan destroy all but one of Rhaenyra's dragons, which the Shepherd had convinced the people were monstrous demons, the smallfolk rioted in the streets and chanted the Spartan's name. They demanded vengeance for Queen Helaena and her murdered sons, under belief their beloved Queen had been likewise killed by Rhaenyra, and proceeded to overwhelm the goldcloaks and black soldiers in the city with sheer numbers and madness. First flinging open the Dragon Gate to welcome the Spartan as their savior, as he had been decades before when he ended the tyranny of Maegor, they called on him to once more save them, this time from 'Maegor's Teats'. Realizing that only two precious sons remained her, the princes Aegon and Viserys, and that the city was all but lost, Rhaenyra flew her dragon Syrax back to the Red Keep, before fleeing to Dragonstone with the two of them, abandoning the city and all of her supporters therein. Within a few hours, the Spartan's army caught up to their leader, and with their help, the Master Chief quelled the riots, restored order, and peacefully occupied the city. The smallfolk rejoiced, hailing him a liberator, and as they had when he had slain Maegor, again pleaded he take the Iron Throne and proclaim himself king. But he again refused to take the crown, stating he had come to protect the people, not rule them--even though, in the eyes of many, he would have made a great king. He instead busied himself with helping to undo the damages inflicted on the capitol over the course of the war, as he and the Algow Lady worked with the Small Council in the re-opening roads, rebuilding damaged properties, attending to the sick, poor, and injured, and helping to see food delivered to the city. Once the city was in good order, he then marched his army west to confront the green army camped in the ruins of Tumbleton. When the Spartan saw the atrocious state of the city, and of the reprehensible behavior of the green army, he demanded they lay down their immediate surrender. Ser Ulys White and Ser Hugh Hammer, the traitorous dragonseeds whom had turned their allegiance and saw to the city's fall to the greens, both refused and instead mounted their dragons to challenge the Spartan. The greens mourned little when he dispatched them as he had all the dragon riders before them, as the dragonseeds were not much loved by them, and they themselves were terrified of the Spartan's fury, and the green army disbanded. The Spartan only returned to the capitol after he had seen to the pacification of any and all black forces remaining in the Reach, but when he returned, he found the long-missing King Aegon II camped outside the city walls.

The Spartan learned that he had been spirited away to Dragonstone when Rhaenyra had claimed the capitol, and when she had returned to House Targaryen's ancestral seat, his men, whom had secretly occupied Dragonstone since, captured her, while his wounded and dying dragon Sunfyre had fallen upon Syrax, killing her with the aid of his men, before he turned Sunfyre on Rhaenyra herself, and the once gleaming and magnificent dragon bathed her in a blast of dragonflame before swallowing her whole, whilst her two sons were made to watch as their mother was devoured right in front of them. King Aegon believed his victory was total, and sailed to King's Landing and sit on the Iron Throne. But the city's gates were closed to him, and with no dragons and scarcely an army left, he could not hope to take it. Enraged that even with his half-sister dead he was still barred his perceived birthright, Aegon demanded the Spartan surrender the city and bend the knee to him, or else he would call on an army of sellswords from the Free Cities, and take it by force.

No one knows for certain why the Spartan did what he did next. Some believe it was Aegon's arrogance, or the threat of seeing the capitol sacked, or the barbarity he had inflicted on Rhaenyra's sons by forcing them to watch their mother's gruesome death, or perhaps it was the simple desire to see the war ended there and then. What is known is that, as Aegon stood before him, and before he had even finished his tirade of threats and demands, the Spartan suddenly struck Aegon with a slap to the face, except his otherworldly strength afforded his backhand slap to Aegon's cheek with such inhuman force that Aegon's entire head jerked violently to the side, and a loud, sickening crack filled the air, his neck broken instantly. Thus died Aegon II, the second Targaryen king to die at the hands of the Spartan. Following this, the Master Chief immediately took custody of Rhaenyra and Aegon's surviving children, two sons and a single daughter, respectively. Aegon, as the eldest son to survive the Dance of Dragons, would succeed his uncle and sit on the Iron Throne. But until he could come of age, a regency needed to be formed to govern in his stead. The Spartan also sensed that, despite the war's end, the sentiments of the blacks and greens still lingered among many nobles, and he deemed it unsafe for the children to be left vulnerable to the South's intrigues. To those ends, he first assigned seven regents from both sides to govern the Targaryen regime, while the young King Aegon, his brother Prince Viserys, and Aegon's only surviving daughter, Princess Jaehaera, were transported to the North by the Spartan himself, to be fostered by King Cregan Stark until Aegon was old enough to return to the capitol and rule the South in his own right. Aegon would eventually marry Jaehaera to unite the greens and blacks, and the Spartan's medicines saw to it both she and her future children would be healthy and of sound mind. Thus ended the Dance of Dragons, and with it the apex of House Targaryen's might. The period in which Cregan fostered the Targaryen children would be known as the Years of the Wolf, where the North helped to keep the South at peace through the rumor of their force of arms. Cregan would come to be a great influence on Aegon's future rule, and the latter would consider the former something of a second father figure. The Targaryens would have to again rely on an alliance with the Starks to ensure their dominion, as the few Targaryen dragons hatched thereafter would never reach the size of their forbears, indeed dying off during Aegon's reign.

As for the Spartan and the Aglow Lady, the both of them returned to their slumber at the Foreward Unto Dawn after sending their army back to the Dawntown, with the Rogue Wolves coming to live out the winter alongside them. The Spartan would be immortalized with a new moniker for his exploits in the Dance, and for bringing about the end of the age of the great winged beasts of House Targaryen--The Dragonslayer."

--A History of House Stark and the Spartan, Volume III, by Maester Benjymen

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oh-to-be-a-seeker · 4 years ago

Text

Tanaka Naruaki Profile

IDENTITY

Name: Tanaka Naruaki

Gender: Male

Age: Variable on content

Birth Date: 22 April 18xx

Species: Human

Blood Status: Pureblood

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Alignment: Neutral good

Ethnicity: Japanese, and slightly Filipino

Nationality: Japanese

Residence: Tokyo, Japan, before his relocation to London, England

Myer Briggs Personality Type: ISTP-T - “The Virtuoso.”

~~~~~

THE MAGE

1st Wand: Cherry wood, fox spirit whisker core, 12 ¼ inches and quite flexible

2nd Wand: His father’s; technically stronger than his first wand, but he rarely uses it. Bloodgood wood, oni horn core, 11 ⅔ inches and swishy

Animagus: N/A

Misc Magical Abilities: Parselmouth

Boggart Form: A gaunt, skeletal form of his mother, rotting away and blaming Naru for her death and the decline of their relationship

Riddikulus Form: His mother flops down as though boneless, although Naru has considerable difficulty facing down boggarts

Amortentia (what he smells like): Black licorice, the spray of a waterfall, and a cherry orchard in blossom

Amortentia (what he smells): Early morning dew, burning incense, and his mother’s udon

Patronus: Jaguar

Patronus Memory: A day he spent in his first year at Hogwarts, by the lake, with a few of his new friends who had managed to make his life not so lonely anymore, and make him feel at home so far from the only place he had ever known

Mirror of Erised: Him and his mother, happy at home in Japan, eventually including his aunt as part of their family

Specialized/Favourite Spells:

Confringo

Incarcerous

Obliviate

Wingardium Leviosa, mostly for pranks

~~~~~

APPEARANCE

Faceclaim: Ito Kentaro

Voiceclaim: Ito Kentaro

Game Appearance: N/A

Height: 5′10″

Weight: 130 lbs

Physique: Slim but fit

Eye Colour: Brown/black

Hair Colour: Black

Skin Tone: Tawny

Body Modifications: N/A

Scarring: Naru has a scar on his left hand between his index finger and his thumb from a giant storm petrel nip he received in his early childhood, when he was being ferried back and forth between his home and Mahoutokoro

Inventory:

his wand (later, his father’s wand as well, once he acquired it)

a photograph of him and his mother when he was a young child

class textbooks and notes

his old Mahoutokoro robes, still very carefully folded

(he somehow never has any money on him, it’s something of a bad habit)

Fashion: Naru doesn’t like to dress extravagantly, he finds it pretty stuffy and uncomfortable, so he likes his clothes to be as simple as possible, which is generally something like a button-up with a few buttons left undone and some breeches

~~~~~

ALLEGIANCES

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Ilvermorny House: Thunderbird

Affiliations/Organizations: The Tanaka family; the Genji family; Mahoutokoro School of Magic; Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Slytherin House

Professions: Mahoutokoro student (7-14), Hogwarts student (15-17), Auror (18-)

~~~~~

HOGWARTS INFORMATION

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: ◆◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Charms: ◆◆◆◆◆◇◇◇◇◇

DADA: ◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◇

Flying: ◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆

Herbology: ◆◆◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

History of Magic: ◆◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Potions: ◆◆◆◆◇◇◇◇◇◇

Transfiguration: ◆◆◆◆◆◆◇◇◇◇

Electives:

Care of Magical Creatures

Divination

Quidditch: Seeker

Extra Curricular: N/A

~~~~~

RELATIONSHIPS

Tanaka Hiroto: Naru’s father. He was an infamous Dark wizard that terrorized the East Asian wizarding world for multiple years, as he was expelled at the age of 17 from Mahoutokoro for being discovered to practice the Dark Arts. Hiroto hid his identity and lived as Tanaka Minato in Tokyo until his wife, Kirika, discovered his true identity. She, an employee of the Japanese Ministry of Magic, revealed to the Ministry that she knew Tanaka Hiroto’s location, which culminated in a duel of epic proportions between Hiroto and the Ministry that resulted in his death. Naru was only three years old at the time, and has no recollection of his father. However, Hiroto has still managed to act as a dark cloud hanging over his son for most of Naru’s life.

Genji Kirika: Naru’s mother. Unfortunately, he and his mother maintained a very strained relationship for a good portion of his life, despite, deep down, both loving the other very much. Once Naru began attending Mahoutokoro at the age of seven, he was often resentful that he felt ostracized and lonely because the other children were scared of him from hearing about his father’s reign of terror. It was a frustration that he often took out with his mother to find someone to blame, and what with her job at the Ministry and Naru spending more and more time at Mahoutokoro as the years progressed, they simply didn’t see each other enough to heal their fractured relationship--one that simply soured further as Naru grew up into a stereotypical rebellious teen. When Naru was nearly fifteen, Kirika was tragically murdered by another wizard practicing Dark Arts, and leaving too much unsaid between them became Naru’s greatest regret.

Genji Sara: Naru’s aunt. After his father’s death, his aunt moved away from Japan, across the world to London, England, where she began working for the British Ministry of Magic. Naru, consequently, didn’t remember meeting her at all until he met her again after his mother’s abrupt death led to Sara being his only living relative and, consequently, legal guardian. Because Sara lived in England, Naru was forced to do as she had and move across the world from Tokyo to London, which also meant his transfer from Mahoutokoro to Hogwarts. The two didn’t get along very well at first, which can be attributed to Naru--it was only after his first year at Hogwarts that he came to terms with his mother’s death and began the process of trying to move on, and let himself start to grow close to his aunt and grieve with her. By the time he was seventeen, Naru and his aunt had a very good relationship.

Yamashita Shotaro: Naru’s rival. At Mahoutokoro, Shotaro was typically the instigator of conversations involving Naru’s relation to the infamous Tanaka Hiroto, which inevitably led to them consistently conflicting over the years. Shotaro was another reason it was particularly difficult for Naru to make any good friends, because he tended to scare people off with mentions of Naru’s ties to Dark magic.

Rival: Yamashita Shotaro (Mahoutokoro)

Enemy: TBA

Dormmates: TBA

Pets: Adzuki, his aunt’s bull mastiff. Growing up, Naru was never allowed pets, but moving to England taught him that he loves dogs.

Closest Canon Friends: N/A

Closest MC Friends: TBA

~~~~~

BACKGROUND/HISTORY

Pre-Mahoutokoro: Naru was born in Tokyo, Japan, to Tanaka Hiroto and, at the time, Tanaka Kirika. He was a quiet child, and certainly a mother’s boy when he was young--obviously, this was especially true after his father was exposed as a Dark wizard and killed when Naru was three. Only four more years passed, mostly cheerful ones during which he and his mother were quite close and happy, until he began attending Mahoutokoro at the age of seven.

1st Year: Naru began attending Mahoutokoro, and quickly discovered that he did not really like school. Once people learned his surname, he felt as though students began going out of their way to avoid him, finding him suddenly ‘creepy.’ It was a lot for a seven-year-old to handle, and impacted him negatively.

2nd Year: Much of the same events as the first year, though this was the year Naru was nipped by a giant storm petrel on his hand, a wound that scarred over. Furthermore, it was the year he was revealed to be a Parselmouth, the rumored sign of a Dark wizard. The year was also the beginning of the decline of his extremely close relationship with his mother.

3rd Year: The first year Naru finally began to make some friends, as children matured and realized it was an unfair judgement to compare Naru to his father immediately. His school life began not being completely horrible.

4th Year: Naru began Quidditch training, something Mahoutokoro was incredibly serious about. He was only ten years old, but had been recognized for talent, and trained over the stormy waters in pelting rain to join the team in two years. Being scouted for Quidditch also increased his social standing.

5th Year: Naru’s first year boarding at Mahoutokoro, which meant an absurd amount of training for his first year in Quidditch next year and a lot more conflict with his usual antagonist, Shotaro. For eleven-year-olds, they got into trouble quite often.

6th Year: His first year on the official school Quidditch team, as the new Mahoutokoro Seeker, which somehow led to even more training than he’d been doing originally. Subsequently, as Quidditch was his main focus--something the school supported--Naru didn’t get the best grades, which caused some issues with his mother at home.

7th Year: The ten-year anniversary of his father’s death, and weirdly, his all-time high of social standing. Being amazing at Quidditch, a very serious topic in Japan, had earned him more friends than his actual personality. The more people Naru had to interact with daily, though, the less comfortable he got, as his father was still something people brought up regularly and he was learning that too many people at once could be a bit overwhelming for him.

8th Year: Another uncomfortable year of being well-known at school--being liked for Quidditch and being gawked at because of the identity of his father. Unbeknownst to Naru, it would be his last year at Mahoutokoro. At the very end of the school year, just after Naru came home, his mother was tragically murdered, and he had to move to London to live with his aunt, which meant his transfer to Hogwarts.

Pre-Hogwarts: Naru spent the remainder of his 8th year summer in London with his aunt, mostly ignoring her attempts to get to know him better and talk about Kirika’s death.

5th Year: Naru began his first year at Hogwarts having to integrate into a student body that had been growing and forming friendships among themselves for five years, as well as being only semi-fluent in English and having to learn it as he progressed through the schoolyear. He was sorted into Slytherin House and tried out for the Quidditch team as soon as he could, becoming the Slytherin Seeker. His only relief was Quidditch, as well as the knowledge that very few people at Hogwarts knew anything about his father.

6th Year: TBA

7th Year: TBA

After Hogwarts: TBA

~~~~~

PERSONALITY

Impulsive: Naru isn’t one to plan, and is very prone to spur-of-the-moment decisions that don’t always end the best for him. In fact, his impulsivity got him into trouble pretty regularly at both Mahoutokoro and Hogwarts, and with his guardians.

Caring: Although he’s arguably obtuse and slightly emotionally stunted, Naru’s capacity for love is enormous, and he cares an immeasurable amount for the people he loves. Although he’s bad at showing his affection through words, he tries to show it through gestures such as taking care of something that had been bothering someone, or buying someone a gift, or cooking someone a meal.

Protective: Naru also developed very protective tendencies that only grew stronger after his mother’s death, and he would do anything to prevent the death of another loved one. He tries not to limit anyone’s freedom with this trait, but it does mean he’s very often on guard and keeping an eye out to make sure everything is in order and everyone is safe, and rarely relaxes.

Observant: Naru is particularly good at noticing things; moreso than most. He pays attention to small details, and treats insignificant things as though they are important. This typically means he’s quite good at deducing things about people based on body language, or spotting a hidden door, or something tucked away in a corner. It also means he pays quite close attention to his friends and family--for example, noticing a friend prefers a specific flavor of pastry, and making sure there’s always some left for them.

Secretive: It’s not that Naru actively keeps many secrets, but he also likes to keep things to himself, especially when he’s concerned people might judge or dislike him for revealing anything. He’s a tough shell to crack.

~~~~~

MISC

Naru wants to move back to Japan someday, but he’s not sure if he’ll ever leave England

he absolutely loves dogs, something he only learned after meeting his aunt’s bull mastiff, Adzuki

Naru was sorted into Slytherin based off of his cunning, not his ambition--he’s not the most ambitious, or proactive

he never loses his Japanese accent, but his English does significantly improve during his time at Hogwarts, mostly from help from his British friends

in London, at home with his aunt, they speak Japanese, so Adzuki’s commands are all in Japanese

when asked about what Mahoutokoro is like by Hogwarts students, Naru will often make up completely fake facts about it to confuse them

“We don’t have any Quidditch coaches, we learn from storm petrels. That’s why we keep winning the Cup.”

Naru became an Auror after Hogwarts to chase down Dark wizards and officially leave his father’s legacy behind

at fifteen, he received an inheritance from his father in the form of his wand

Naru is unable to produce a Patronus using any memories from Japan, because the only ones potentially powerful enough were with his mother

#hogwarts legacy #hphl oc #hphl #hogwarts legacy mc #hphl mc #tanaka naruaki #naruaki tanaka #this was sadder than i intended #but at least he has a dog

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neocity-sarai · 4 years ago

Text

Redemption [PART 3]

❃ pairing: reader x mark lee, reader x haechan (divergent! au)

❃ alerts: making out, suggestive content, language, violence/ injuries, death, blood, angst, light smut

❃ song rec: beating heart by ellie goulding

When morning comes, the sun that streams through the windows of Haechan’s suite seems taunting rather than comforting. You sit up on the bed, beginning to get dressed in the protective gear that Evelyn gave you a few nights ago. You shudder from the memory of last night’s events: the way Rex was injured and the way Haechan made you feel when his lips were pressed on the hollow of your neck. You ghost your fingers over your lips, almost wishing what it would be like if you didn’t hold yourself back.

Like on cue, Haechan opens the door before making his way over to you. Somehow, he looks different. His hair is gelled up, exposing his forehead while he’s dressed in black vests and black arm bands that wrap around his wrists. Daggers sit securely in the sheathes that are tied to the side of his pants.

“Y/n?”

“Haechan.”

Haechan looks concerned, judging by the way his lips are pressed into a thin line and the way his brows are furrowed.

He pauses before continuing, “Hear me out. I think you should stay.”

You huff with impatience, hitting the bed, “How many times have we been over this? I already told you that I’m not staying. I’m not letting you fight my battles.”

“But what if you get hurt? What do I do then? What if you end up dead?”

“Then let me. Isn’t that what you said? Taking the system down is what you're made to do? Prepared to die for?”

Haechan’s eyes darken, flashed with hurt, “I said that but you’re different- they didn’t take your family.”

“God! Haechan, it’s no different! They took away my family, the only faction I’ve ever considered a home, they even took Mark away! They’re probably all dead now!”

The room is too silent, too still. You don’t even register the moisture in your nose, tears running from your eyes.

You stare down to the ground, Haechan standing a few feet away from you. He doesn’t know what to say either. He turns around, his back facing you as he forms fists with his hands.

His voice is quiet but stern, “Who’s Mark?”

Sitting on the bed, you grip the comforter tightly. You mutter back at him, “He’s just- He- that’s not even important. My point is you’re not the only one who lost people. I did too. Now, it’s time to go home. I can’t stay here any longer.”

“So, what you’re saying is that there was someone else? All along?”

You flick your eyes to Haechan’s figure, anger burning through your heart, “Are you really going to start right now?”

Haechan’s voice cracks, choking a bit, “Y/N, do you even care about me?”

You’re beyond shocked at this point. You stare at him, tears hot and fast down your cheeks. Your voice squeaks- you hate how it makes you sound weak, “You’re standing there and asking me that? Of course, I care about you. If I didn’t, do you think I would’ve stayed? I would’ve helped you and Rex? After we almost-”

Haechan cuts you off coldly, “I don’t know, it seems convenient that you stayed, it’s not like you could’ve gone anywhere else. Were you just using me for food and a warm bed?”

Haechan��s words break the dam entirely. Your chest hurts as if he has pressed his dagger into the axis of your heart. You can’t believe you’re hearing such words that come from Haechan’s mouth. You can’t bring yourself to say anything else. Haechan steps towards the door, not even sparing a glance to look back at you, “I’ll be waiting by the weaponry with Evelyn. The choice is yours. I can’t force you to do anything.”

With a slam, Haechan leaves you alone in the brightly-lit suite. Breaking down, you don’t even try to suppress any of your sobs. It wracks your whole body, shaking from the lack of air in your lungs. When you seem to get a hold of yourself, your eyes turn angry despite being swollen and red from the tears. You feel the rim of your nails against your palm, your heart beating fast. You decide right then and there, you’re ready to come home. You shouldn’t have stayed as long as you did even if you loved Haechan. Even if your family and Mark aren’t alive, there isn’t a point to living a life at the Arms peacefully knowing Jeanine took everything from you. You’re prepared to take back your home, even if it means dying there.

[11 AM]

Like Haechan had said, the rest of the Arms are by the weaponry. You spot Haechan and Evelyn conversing ahead of the pack as they’re both loaded with rifles and guns of all sorts. A burly man looks down at your small figure, “You coming with us?”

You try to straighten your back to seem larger than you are, “I am. Give me a hefty one.”

He chuckles at you, “Guns aren’t toys little girl.”

Without any hesitation, you grab at the handgun that is in a holster at your belt- pointing the gun straight at the man, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

The man freezes, his eyes widened and his hands put up at you, “Alright- I’ll get you one, jesus fuck.”

The other members of the Arms have their hawk eyes on you, glares shot in your direction. When the burly man hands you a gun fit for a sniper, you smile at him daintily, “Thanks Reg.” before putting your handgun back in it’s holster. You are not in the mood to show any mercy at this point.

Slinging your larger gun over your shoulder, you see Evelyn standing on one of the tables in the warehouse-like room as the crowd of soldiers gathers around her. Her voice is bellowing, “Arms of Arson! You have come to be with me today for the moment we have waited all our lives for. We’re going to take back what’s rightfully ours!”

The crowd cheers wildly, weapons hoisted to the air in pledging allegiance to Evelyn. She sweeps a hair out of her face, a wicked grin slashed on her face. You take note of the smear of lipstick under her lip. Next to her, Haechan stares down at the ground as he clutches his gun tightly, eyes sharpened and glaring.

Evelyn continues, “When I started the Arms, I knew I wanted to take down the system. I knew they took your families and your homes. This is our time! The moment we’ve been waiting for! Know that this might cost you your life, though, it will never be in vain when we reach the new world! A world ruled by us!”

The cheers are ear-deafening, people stomping on the ground and people hooting Evelyn’s name. Still, no matter how many people surround you, your eyes always land on Haechan. Part of you still wants to talk to him. It’s the first time you’ve admitted it to yourself: You love Mark, but you also love Haechan. You love them in different ways.

Another woman by Evelyn points to the exit, “Move out!”

Like an army of soldiers, everyone marches together in unison towards the path that leads through the forest. You take the time to decide what you’ll do when you get there. Will you try to head for your family first? Will you try to find Mark? Could he help? If you find Mark, he can help you find your family. It’s worth a shot, he has to be alive.

By the time the army of Evelyn’s soldiers makes it out of the forest, you find yourself in a familiar spot. Even in an ocean of people, the wall still looks as melancholy as ever. As always, there’s no one guarding the wall- it makes things easier. Evelyn turns back to the crowd, barking orders, “We’re splitting up. The plan is to be smart about this. Most likely, Erudite, Dauntless, and Candor are the most guarded. Smaller groups will head to Amity and Abnegation. My team, we’re going directly for Jeanine. Kill anyone who defends her.”

Without a second thought, you step forward as you wave your hands around, “Evelyn, everyone in dauntless is under a sim- how can we just kill them?”

Haechan doesn’t look shocked. In fact, he scoffs at you and it makes you wince. Evelyn’s expression is stern, “Dauntless soldiers killed my sister, we show them no mercy.”

“So one life for so many? How is that fair?”

You feel isolated the moment the crowd steps away from you, parting like two oceans as Evelyn makes her way to you. Evelyn towers over you, her eyes lit with fire, “My sister was my whole world. They murdered her for being more than one thing- uncontrollable. It’s an injustice. They all deserve to burn.”

You bite your lip, stepping back from her a bit. You can't bring yourself to say anything else. Evelyn runs her index finger along your chin, “Keep up y/n. You can fight with us or do your own thing. It doesn’t matter.”

She turns back, the surrounding soldiers muttering curses and insults at you. Everyone starts to march after Evelyn, passing you as you stand in your place. You can’t save Dauntless. But maybe, you can reach people who can.

Getting past the wall isn’t a difficult feat. There’s so many soldiers in the Arms that any guards stationed are gunned down in a matter of seconds. You manage to catch up to Evelyn, Haechan, and her entourage of elites. Haechan notices that you’re next to him, moving a bit away from you with indifference.

“What do you want y/n?”

“Haechan, please.”

“Don’t make this hard on me.”

“Just tell Evelyn that this isn’t right. Killing everyone won’t solve anything! What’s a world of rule when there aren't innocents? Why kill the people who have nothing to do with her sister’s death?”

For a moment, Haechan stops walking. People whisper as they pass you both, their eyes lurking on you. Haechan looks angry, “You really don’t understand do you? I won’t convince Evelyn so you can run back to whoever. It’s the faction system that’s the injustice, not just the people who brutally murdered her sister and my parents. I mean, look at you- you can’t even admit you’re one of us.”

You stare at him, venom on your tongue, you remember his words. “You’re divergent y/n.” They echo in your mind. Shaking your head, “Fine. I knew you wouldn’t help me, I thought that if you cared about me- you would at least try. You’re so blind to see that there are innocent lives on the line. I’m sorry Evelyn and you have suffered. Making others suffer won’t solve that. It can’t bring them back.”

You turn away from Haechan, advancing beyond Evelyn and her troop. Haechan calls your name, his hands curled into fists. Evelyn stops him firmly, “Let her go. She’s gone awol. She won’t stand with us, we don’t need her.”

Though Haechan shuts his mouth, he wants nothing more but to chase after you and tell you he’s sorry. He wants to tell you that he doesn’t want to doubt your care for him, he just wants to protect you is all. He’s done a bad job of showing it.

Tears prick at your eyes, your legs aching for running so hard. When you manage to make it into the Dauntless sector- the first thing you do is make your way to your family’s home. So far, the sector looks empty, almost like a ghost town. No Dauntless children play on the street and no elderly sit on their lawns. You hide behind one of the houses, your gun pressed against your chest as you spot some Dauntless guards patrolling some of the homes. You manage to maneuver your way through the allies to get your house, pulling on the handle of the side door that leads into your home. Expecting it to be locked, you jut the butt of your gun onto the rusty lock, making sure not to make too much noise. You quietly slip in, the comfort of your home enveloping you. Everything’s the same. The family photos on the wall in your living room, the furniture, and all. Everything is in the same place as your family left it. Though, there’s no sign of them. You call out, “Mom? Dad?”

There’s no answer. You walk upstairs, your fingers tracing the grey wallpaper that’s starting to peel. When you make it into your loft, there’s a familiar feeling that encases your heart. You feel safe in this house. You call out for them again, “Mom? Dad? You here?”

You step into your old bedroom, the one that you grew up in as a little girl. It’s still the same. Your bed is made, pictures and drawings hang above your desk as a string of crystals hangs on the frame of your window. You smile down at your pile of journals and books that your uncle gave you in the past. Flipping the pages, you take note of all the doodles you made in your notebook- how it was your dream to become one of the dauntless leaders. Then, that’s when you feel a presence against your neck. You feel someone’s body press up against yours, lips barely brushing past your ear, “Well, hi, y/n.”

You recognize that voice. You drop your journal, turning around so that your back is pressed to the rim of your cedar-wood desk.

“Mark?”

You’re met with the view of Mark. He looks mostly the same as when you first got separated. His cheeks are still prominent, muscles carved out more, and features slightly more darkened. His skin looks tanner. His hair is now a darker black color, his lips pink and smooth. You’re not sure if you should hug him or cry. Though, there is something that sticks out to you. You gaze into his eyes, his hands trapping you by the desk- fingers grasping the rim. They seem changed. You notice the amethyst ring that encircles his pupils. It glows when he stares back at you. His tone isn’t as warm as it was before, “So you decided to come back.”

You gulp back the lump in your throat, “I was figuring out a way to come back. What happened to you?”

Mark gives you a smirk, his eyes sharp, “Nothing, y/n. I’ve been here. You left, Jeanine’s been taking care of everyone. We’ve been better than ever.”

You frown at his response, “I left? Do you remember what happened that day?”

The boy in front of you chuckles, a hand running through his jet black hair. The crystals cast light onto the strands, causing them to look a shade of hazel.

“I remember that you abandoned me and Jeanine took me under her wing, she taught me the ways of the system. Society isn’t fair to people, only the strongest get the choice.”

It’s hard to fathom the Mark you knew has disappeared. The warm innocence that wrapped his personality seems to be absent.

“You don’t really believe that do you? What did they do to you? I didn’t abandon you, Mark, I didn’t.”

Mark comes as close as he can to you, his eyes unwavering from yours. His whisper comes out in a husky tone, “You did, you left me and I-”

For a moment, Mark pauses. It looks like he’s fighting something inside of him, the way he starts to grit his teeth and tighten his grip until his knuckles turn white. Mark grimaces, pressing his fingers to his temples.

You take it upon yourself to get Mark to remember. He has to remember. You place your hand over his, causing him to freeze. He stares back at your hand and back to you, eyes widened and lips parted.

“Just close your eyes.” you say.

Hesitantly, he follows your orders. In a small, swift motion you stop before your lips land on his, watching Mark hold still. Then, when you crash your lips onto his, Mark whimpers from the sudden impact. He’s stiff before relaxing into it, gliding his lips along yours. You grip his hand as your other hand moves to cup his cheek. Small noises come out of Mark’s lips, yearning for your taste. You missed him. Though you were apart, you never stopped thinking about Mark. He bumps his nose against yours as your teeth knack together from the lyrical, syncopated movement. Mark thinks you taste sweet, plush and soft. Pulling away, your voice barely comes out in a whisper, “Do you remember now?”

Eyes half-lidded, he blinks slowly, “Y/n?”

You clutch his arms, hands squeezing tighter, “Mark? Do you remember?”

“Oh my god.”

Mark collapses into your arms, his figure heaving in your grasp. You realize he’s crying when you feel tears on your shoulder, sniffles apparent from the boy resting his chin on yours.

“Hey. Hey, I’m here now. I’m sorry I left you alone.”

Mark lifts his head up, eye-level to you, “I missed you.”

You reach up to touch Mark’s face, “I missed you more than you know. What happened?”

Mark shakes his head somberly, “It’s no good. Jeanine and Erudite have taken over all of the factions and now it’s just some messed up slave system. She made me one of her pawns- I had to do her dirty work, things I would never-”

You intertwine your fingers with Mark’s. He looks down to his feet, tears trailing down his cheeks. His doe, brown eyes replace the robotic, violet eyes he had a few short moments ago. You sigh at the sight.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to help you.”

Mark nods, yanking down the collar of his black sweater. Your heart stops from the sight of so many puncture marks. They must be from injected syringes that cause Mark to be under Jeanine’s simulation.

“Jeanine did this to you?”

Mark doesn’t say another word. You can tell by his frown and his warm eyes that he would never hurt anyone. Instantly your blood boils with anger, “I’m going to kill Jeanine.”

He snaps his head back up, “You will?”

Nodding, you place your hand on your gun that sits on your desk, “I brought some friends along with me. They’re here to bring the system down.”

Mark is shocked, his jaw completely open, “That’s why you were gone?”

“Yes. It’s the resistance. They’re real Mark. They’re real.”

Instantly, Mark presses his forehead against yours, “Your family is safe too, you know. My family is hiding out with them in Amity. I was able to get to them in time before you know-”

You lean to kiss him again, his words in between his kisses, “Just.” his lips on yours, “In. Case.”

You part from him, “What is it?”

He slowly nods, “Just in case we don’t make it, I just want to spend some time with you. The simulation controls me within intervals. I’m not safe y/n. I’m a danger to you.”

“No, you’re not. We’ll handle it together.”

Immediately, Mark smashes his lips onto yours once more. You feel the temperature of your bodies rise, Mark more passionate than the last. It ignites a burning sensation in the pit of your stomach. It makes your toes curl, Mark’s teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he makes a groaning noise. Mark picks you up, forcibly wrapping your legs on his waist- it causes you to yelp. He places you on top of your desk, back against the wall. Pulling back on Mark’s hair, you allow him to find purchase on your waist, kissing burning marks on your neck. Your chests are heaving from colliding, Mark hastily ripping his sweater off of him. You do the same, lust filling the air suffocatingly. You let Mark undo your protective layers and the belt of your pants- leaving you naked from him. Your body shakes from the sight of Mark discarding his pants and under layers, his calloused hands tracing around your thighs. You’re sure his nails make crescents in your skin. Before Mark continues, he proceeds to carry you like a koala to your bed, setting you down as delicately as he can. Mark relishes the face you make, showing him how much you want him. He chuckles, “Did you miss me that much?”

You huff out, “Of course I-”

Suddenly, you feel a force sink further and deeper into you, it causes tears to gloss your eyes and for you to gasp. Mark tosses his head back, enjoying the pleasure when he shuts his eyes. When he begins to move back and forth, you grip the fabric of your blanket as hard as you can, “Oh my god, M-Mark, please-”

“Say it, y/n.”

You shut your eyes too, your skin hot as flames, M-“Mark, I-I love y-you.”

“I know that y/n. I know, and I love you too.”

When you’re both tired, Mark collapses onto the bed next to you- both of you still high on ecstasy of feeling each other’s touch, each other’s closeness. After that, you spend an hour admiring Mark under the sunset lighting, sweeping his hair out of his eyes and kissing his cheeks.

“We should get going, it’s time.”

You nod, proceeding to get dressed. Still, you blush at the sight of being unclothed in front of Mark. Slipping your pants on, Mark presses a kiss to the base of your nape- teeth grazing the spot. You laugh at him, “You still want more?”

“I can never get enough of you y/n.”

“There’s time for that later.”

“I’m taking you up on that.”

Both of you exit your home, guns in hand and alert for any soldiers that might come your way. Mark whispers in your ear as both of you crouch behind a wall, “If the time comes, I go too far under during the sim- you know what to do.”

You glare ahead of you, “It won’t come to that. I’ll make sure of it.”

[Erudite: 7PM]

“There it is.”

You allow Mark to lead you to Erudite’s headquarters, something he’s grown to know like the back of his hand.

You whisper, “What’s the plan?”

Mark crouches beside you in the shadows, “Jeanine is on the 10th floor of the tower. All we have to do is get up there without being seen.”

You gaze around the tower and the glass pyramid structure that is Erudite’s main sector. People dressed in blue and white suits breeze through the glass tunnels and floors of the tower, eyes down at their electronic devices.

“I got it. I know what to do.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, Jeanine doesn’t know I’m here. She also doesn’t know you’re helping me. You can just walk in there and not be suspected. For me, I’ll take out an Erudite member and wear the uniform. I don’t think anyone knows my face.”

“Except Jeanine?”

“Right, except her.”

Mark nods, “Let’s go then.”

“Cover for me.”

Mark swivels his head back and forth, aiming his gun around any exposed areas where enemies might attack from. You hide by a silver sculpture before waiting for anyone to walk out of the double doors. On cue, an Erudite man exits out onto the street as you slam the edge of your gun to the back of his head- his body falling in time for Mark to catch him. You retreat back into an alley nearby as you strip the man of his uniform. Once you’re dressed, you grab the man’s tablet before nodding at Mark, “Let’s go.”

Once you’re in Erudite, it’s everything you’ve imagined it to be. It’s a wide space with high, reflective ceilings. Long, silver tables hold different devices of liquids bubbling are round-shaped glasses and twisty tubes that tangle in a network. Some are dressed in lab gear, recording their discoveries with every second they glance at the lab equipment. Mark whispers to you, “Don’t stare too long, people will catch on.”

Thankfully, no one recognizes you yet. You and Mark take the first elevator that you see up to the 10th floor. Though some people enter your elevator, you put on the best fake smile that has ever graced your lips. Arriving at the upper deck, walking past Erudite council members and science students, you finally make it to Jeanine’s office. Her name is spelled out on a gold plaque, marking her as the leader of Erudite. You eye Mark for a little longer, “I have to get her to stop the simulations. This isn’t right.”

“Are you ready to do this if she refuses?”

“I have to be.”

Mark opens the door first, telling you to stay behind him for a bit.

“Who’s there?” Jeanine sits at her desk, pressing buttons on a floating, virtual screen that glows white.

“It’s Mark.”

“Ah- what brings you in?”

When you step out from behind Mark, you pull out the handgun that you hid under the navy blue trench coat before aiming it right at Jeanine. Jeanine freezes in her spot, eyes unmoving.

“I found you Jeanine! Shut down the sim, now!”

You press your finger dangerously on the trigger, “I’m not asking twice Jeanine!”

At first, Jeanine’s gears turn in her mind, “If it isn’t y/n? Long time no see?”

“Quit the games! Less talking!”

Before you can move to press the barrel to Jeanine’s head, she bursts out into laughter. She starts to cackle maniacally. Now, you understand why. You feel another gun press on the fabric that covers your back. No. No. This can’t be real.

Jeanine speaks, “Thank you for bringing her to me Mark. You’re very useful.”

You turn your head to look back at him, Mark’s eyes the same warm brown. Was he under another sim? It can’t be, his irises aren’t violet.

“Mark? What is she- what?”

Mark gives you an egotistical, arrogant smirk, “You just got yourself fooled y/n.”

By now, your jaw is wide open. You tear your eyes away from Mark to Jeanine, “I don’t understand.”

Jeanine walks over to you, stooping to your level from her heels, “I was one step ahead y/n. That’s all there is to it.”

Craning your head to look at Mark, he still keeps his gun on you. You pray this is some sort of act- some sort of play in Mark’s plan. When he doesn’t waver, you begin to raise your voice, “Were you planning to turn me in this whole time? I don’t even recognize you anymore!”

He looks to the ground, not wanting to meet your eyes. You’re appalled. You’re even disgusted. In normal circumstances, you’d try to give Mark the benefit of the doubt rather than jumping to conclusions. Even if Mark had an explanation, he’s still here- threatening to kill you in the command of Jeanine.

A virtual screen becomes projected into the air from a button Jeanine had just pressed. You feel your heart sink when many camera views show what’s happening in other sections. Evelyn leads a whole squadron of a hundred soldiers into Dauntless, the other elites leading their troops in Erudite and Candor. They all move like pre-programmed robots, slashing down and killing everyone in their path: dauntless innocents under a sim, erudite members, and others. It’s a mass slaughter. Neither side would stop for anything. Jeanine chuckles, “See, y/n. This is human nature. We fight for control and we kill each other to get it. No matter the side, everyone wants power.”

Biting your lip, blood sits on your tongue. You curl your fingers around your gun, gripping the handle of it. “Jeanine, I’m not asking you again. Shut down the sim!”

Jeanine smooths her hair back, not one out of place, “You’re in no place to make demands y/n. Mark?”

In a flash second, Mark puts you on your knees as he presses his gun to your back still. You question whether or not you should run for it and take Jeanine out first but Mark would have the advantage since you’re kneeling right in front of him. Mark walks in front of you, purple swirls clouding his vision before he pins you to the ground. One hand holds your wrist and the other points his gun at you, “I’m sorry y/n.”

Jeanine doesn’t even spare a second glance. She just faces the window, watching the faction system and the Arms bring the world into destruction. Clamping your eyes shut, you feel the cool metal of the barrel on your forehead. You pray that your family gets out safe and that your friends do too- even Haechan, the boy you wish you could talk to one last time. You even pray for Mark, the person who will end your life here and now. Surely, this is as far as you can go. When Mark is close to releasing the trigger, you hear the door swing wide open. A voice screams, tackling Mark to the ground and off of you as Jeanine watches in shock.

Haechan struggles to hold Mark down.

The mahogany haired boy screams at you, “Y/n! The syringe!”

You look to the metal stand next to Jeanine’s desk, a violet-colored syringe sits in a canister. Making no hesitation to grab it, you point your gun at a stiff Jeanine who presses her back against the wall. She doesn’t look so tough anymore. You amble to her,shooting one precise bullet into her foot. It causes her to scream while she falls to the ground, blood staining her prim-proper white socks. She grunts in pain which is enough to make you laugh, “Not so high and mighty now huh Jeanine? You underestimate me, don’t you know I’m divergent?”

You stab the syringe into the juncture of her neck, causing her to lose consciousness for a few moments. Then, like an instantaneous reaction, Jeanine lights up before blinking her eyes several times- stuck in a daze from the simulation you’ve induced on her. You grab her by her hair, not caring how painful it is, “Shut the sim down! That’s an order!”

“As you wish.”

Like a man made invention, Jeanine nimbly moves her fingers across the virtual screen as you hold her figure up so she doesn’t collapse. The screen reads: “Cancel operation: Simulation Dauntless?”

“Proceed cancellation.”

When Jeanine presses a glowing red button, the people on the screens seem to pause their fire and bloodshed. Various dauntless soldiers, initiates, and leaders stop where they are- their faces riddled with confusion. Same with the other faction members- they beg Evelyn and her troops to spare their lives. For a moment, Evelyn looks around as if she’s checking to see if anyone is watching. Immediately, she resumes as she had before. Like no spare thoughts exchanged, she continues to gun down the dauntless soldiers in front of her despite their release of the simulation- bodies falling like dominoes. Jeanine still stands entranced, staring at the virtual screen.

“A little help here!”

You swivel around to see Haechan trying to force back Mark’s ravaging hands in an attempt to choke him. Looking back at the screen and back to Mark, the simulation should have stopped. Once Jeanine put the exit code, Mark should’ve gone back to normal. No, she gave him a different kind of sim- a stronger one. You shake Jeanine violently, “Where the fuck is the antidote to Mark’s sim?!”

Stiffly, Jeanine points to an amber-colored cylinder in the same compartment as the violet ones. Your fingers fumble trying to slide the tube of liquid into an injection gun before stabbing it into Mark’s neck vein. He lets out a pained groan as he collapses and falls on top of Haechan. It doesn’t take much time for Haechan to push him off, a grimacing smirk on his face, “I always gotta save your ass don’t I?”

You launch yourself into Haechan’s figure, arms wrapping around him, “Thank you. Thank you for saving my life.”

Haechan shakes his head, “I’m still mad at you. Don’t forget that.”

Next to you both, Mark rises from the floor as he wipes his face with his hands, “What happened?”

He adjusts his blurry vision as he sees you hugging Haechan, “Y/n?”

Awkwardly, you detach from Haechan and crawl over to Mark, cupping your hand to his cheek, “Are you normal Mark now?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I was under sim again- wasn’t I?”

Slowly you nod, “You almost killed both of us.”

Mark freezes in his place, eyes widened with shock, “I-what?”

“It’s over now. At least, I think it is. Jeanine gave you a sim that disguised you. She made you seem like you weren’t under one when you were. I was scared.”

Mark looks like he’s about to burst into tears when he places his head in his hands, “I’m so sorry. I would never want to hurt you. I would never. I can’t.”

You hold his hand gingerly, “Let’s talk about this later.”

You hear Haechan speak from behind you, “This is a nice reunion but we should really get going- there’s a war going on out there.”

Once you gather your things and you’re ready to leave, Haechan motions a hand at Jeanine, “Should we just leave her?”

You reply to him, “What else can we do with her? Take her to Evelyn?”

“I think that’s the only option we have.”

With that, you, Mark, Haechan, and Jeanine hurry off to find Evelyn. Near the headquarters entrance, you spot staggering figures emerging from the foggy mist of gun smoke and bloodlust. You recognize it to be Evelyn’s body as well as a couple of her entourage next to her. They’re gnashed with the blood of war and soot from fighting, hands dirty with red. Evelyn bellows loudly, “Traitors!”

Haechan holds up his hands, “Evelyn, it’s not what you think alright! Just listen!”

Evelyn still stands where she is as she holds her bleeding wound from her arm, her gun still pointed at you. You’re all surrounded. Haechan tries his best to explain, “Evelyn, hear me out! Y/n stopped the sim! There’s no more reason to kill any more innocents!”

Evelyn stifffens, her teeth grit out of burning fury, “Is this your way of defending her? I’ll have her head for killing my sister.”

Without a second thought, Evelyn fires a Jeanine causing Jeanine to crash to the ground. Though you’ve never liked Jeanine, she had more use than to be killed off so quickly. You could’ve used her to sway the faction system- to gain information. Evelyn and her soldiers make their way closer to you, her eyes blazing with animosity, “I should’ve known you would interfere. You lowly girl- you should’ve stayed out of it! If I acquired control over the sim, the Arms would have ruled Chicago! But you had to screw up our plans!”

You scream back at her, “Who even are you?! How are you any different than Jeanine?!”

“Don’t compare me to that bitch!”

Like an immediate reaction, Evelyn fires her gun at you- it’s so fast that you don’t have time to react. It’s all happening too fast, too sudden. There’s not enough time to think. Before you can even move your feet, you witness Haechan’s body come crashing down in front of you- a silver bullet piercing the flesh of his heart.

“HAECHAN! NO!”

You dive to the ground, cradling Haechan’s fallen body. Blood starts to spread like wildfire across the fabric of his vest, blood trailing down his lips, “Haechan- listen to me. Stay with me okay?”

Haechan can’t even answer you, his eyes are squeezed shut from the pain. Blood stains your hands red. Evelyn aims her gun at you once again, “You two better stay out of my way!”

In another quick second, Mark leaps towards you in one big stride before firing at Evelyn. The sound of the whining noise makes your head dizzy. You feel dehydrated and exhausted, you almost might collapse right there. But, you can’t.

With a thud, Evelyn sinks to her knees as she clutches her chest- eyeing the crimson that comes from her wound. Falling to the ground, her body shakes from the coughs that slip out of her throat. You press your hands down on Haechan’s flowing wound, your chest heaving from aches. “Stay with me! Haechan, don’t shut your eyes!”

Haechan’s eyes are fluttering, his breath turning shallower and shallower by the second. Mark drops next to you, setting down his gun. You don’t even realize the tears that start running down your cheeks, your nose running too. Haechan manages to gather every last bit of strength in him, “Y/n?”

You gaze down at him, clutching his hand in yours. Lifting his arm, he touches your face- blood smearing your cheek. You can’t even care. Your voice is extremely shaky and frail, “I’m here. We’re going to get you out of here! Just stay-”

Haechan swipes his thumb across your cheek, “P-princess, there’s n-no time.”

You shudder at the memory of Haechan’s pet name he gave to you when you first met. You choke on your own saliva, “Don’t say that! We can-”

Haechan blinks slowly, “I’m s-sorry for e-earlier, I n-never meant to hurt y-you.”

You place your hand on his, molding into his touch, “I know. You’d never hurt me, I know.”

Sobbing, you cry harder. Haechan looks to Mark, his mind becoming loose and disoriented, “You’re the g-guy who-o saved me back then.”

You look at Haechan and back to Mark. Mark’s eyes are glossy with tears, leaning closer to Haechan’s body, “You were that kid I found in that closet that day?”

When you look back to Haechan for his answer, his eyes are wide open and bereft of life. His skin feels cold and dark, his soul disappearing into nothing. That’s when you break down. You practically scream into Haechan’s chest, clutching his cold hand in yours. Your hair is matted with sweat, your hands are covered with Haechan’s blood. Thankfully, Mark doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t judge you. He lets you cry it out and lets you collapse into his chest, holding you until there are no more tears left. By the end, you’re sure that no matter where you go or how long you live, you’ll always remember the boy who smiled at your playful jokes. The one who would let his dog lead him into the forest. The boy who saved your life. The boy who caught you from a tree.

It’s imperative to say that the day the faction system fell was a painful memory. All the lives that were lost and the amount of destruction to Chicago was a result of humans trying to control all other humans. The plan was never to fight for anyone’s freedom, not for the good of the people. The goal was always power. Revenge. It killed them. So, in Haechan’s name, you and Mark decided to do something for the people that day. Climbing to the top of Erudite’s broadcasting tower, you blared your voice onto the streets, within the neighborhoods, and through every building in between Chicago. Though your hands were shaking, you tried your best to sound strong. At least Mark was by your side, his hand on your shoulder comfortingly.You began, “I am sure most of you must feel lost. You must feel hurt. You must feel afraid. These are all things I am feeling right now. Though, right now- what we need is unity. We don’t need to kill any more lives that can be salvaged. We need not injure those that can be healed. This is a time of rebuilding and we’re going to start from the ground up. Not only will the faction system be abolished, but the Arms of Arson are welcome to stay if you abide by our rules. Not the rules that give one person power but a democracy that gives us order and peace for the good of the people. The choice is yours.”

[7 months later]

After the war, some of the members of the Arms chose to stay. Though they joined the resistance, not all of them wanted revenge. Not all of them wanted to serve under Evelyn. Weeks later, you and Mark had brought together council members from each of the factions and settled on a peace treaty that abolished any chance of one person becoming a ruler over Chicago. Over time, people got used to coexisting without labels or categories. They didn’t let their group name define who they were, rather, the people they would become. What was left of Dauntless was announced to be top of security in Chicago in which you and Mark headed as former Dauntless leaders. Accomplices of Jeanine and corrupt members of all factions were put on trial by Candor, Abnegation and Candor voting democratically on their punishments. You made sure no Divergents would be touched. No matter the age, no matter how big the percentage of divergence, Mark built a security branch that was solely meant for protecting Divergents. Everything seemed to fall into place after you and Mark reunited with your families- your parents praising you for how proud they were. For once, you embraced it. You held onto the fact you didn’t fit in one place. You wanted to be strong but also kind, intelligent, honest, and selfless without being ostracized.

Not long after, Mark asked you to marry him. It wasn’t all that romantic but it was sweet. You had been on security detail on a Wednesday evening but he had gotten your friends Lucas, Selene, Taeyong, and your other colleagues to be in on a candle-lit ceremony that he set up in his old dauntless suite. You said yes, kissing the cheek of the boy who lived next door.

Looking back, throughout all the hardship comes prosperity. This was something that was encompassed by many people in your life: Mark, your friends, your family, and even Haechan. They’d all be engraved in your memory for as long as you lived, no matter where you went or how Chicago would change. There was one thing that stuck to you though. A mantra that was repeated during the days of the faction system: “faction before blood.”

Mark rests his chin on your shoulder, gazing out into the skyline of his suite balcony, leaning in to kiss you deeply- lips dancing on lips. You hold up your obsidian colored band on your ring finger, “How did I get this lucky?”

He pulls you tighter to him, arms wrapped around your waist, “I don’t know, how did I?”

You knew then, it wasn’t factions nor divergence that prevailed. It would always be love that would set you free.

[PART 1: Simulations] [PART 2: Borderlands]

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depizan · 4 years ago

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I would like to use existing planets as much as possible for settings, but I constantly run into problems with that.

One problem is that Wookieepedia lumps all Sith Empires together, meaning that you can’t use their index of Sith Empire planets to see what was a part of any particular Sith Empire (like, say, the one in SWTOR).

The other problem is that, while there are a lot of fan made maps purporting to show the galaxy as it is in SWTOR, they often don’t tell you where they got their information from (and a lot of the time, it looks like they didn’t realize Wookieepedia’s little problem). Also, fan maps tend to be kept up to date, which means they show the state of the galaxy (or someone’s theory thereof) as of the expansions, not the base game.

I keep ending up with three choices: stick to the main canon worlds, make an executive decision as to whose territory an existing minor world falls into, or invent a world. The first makes for a very tiny galaxy. The second is somewhat time consuming, as I often have to check out a lot of minor worlds, trying to see if there’s an actual canonical allegiance in the right time period and whether there’s any useful information about it in canon. (Basically, I try to find what I want in the part of space I want. Much squinting at questionably canonical maps.) And the third... mostly the third makes me wish there were a fanon version of Wookieepedia, where we could all upload our invented planets to share - creating a consistent galaxy, even if it isn’t strictly canon. (Hell, shared technology and background events and even fanonization of the allegiance of canon worlds could be fun.)

Star Wars canon likes to be so vague that writing fanworks is nearly indistinguishable from writing original works. (Or maybe this is the case of most fandom universes, and I only notice here because it’s the only fandom universe I’ve tried to write in. Though, I can’t help suspecting that other Star- franchises are a bit more clearly defined.)

#Mac vs swtor #Mac vs galactic maps

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therpsource · 6 years ago

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WORTHY ENOUGH

lord voldemort has lured fenrir greyback and his savage pack into doing his bidding, but across the Irish sea is an untapped resource: a community of werewolves desperate for shelter and security, and to live quiet lives in the shadows. those on the front lines of the war have other plans, and to remain neutral will be a guaranteed struggle.

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jcinknetwork · 6 years ago

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WORTHY ENOUGH

this and more on halys, a member-driven au marauders jcink site, set in mid-1980 at the height of the first wizarding war. we’re gearing up for a major site event, so now is the perfect time to join our community & build our AU from the ground up!

→ INDEX | GUIDEBOOK | CANON LIST | REQUESTS | SUBPLOT: WEREWOLF ALLEGIANCES

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historicity-was-already-taken · 7 years ago

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Fierce Historical Ladies post: Vladka Meed

Part 9: Meanwhile, in Poland...

Part 1: The Ghetto • Part 2: The Aryans • Part 3: Vladka, on the Wall, with Dynamite • Part 4: Uprising • Part 5: Aftermath • Part 6: The Labor Camps • Part 7: The Red Army • Part 8: Not an Epilogue

NOTE: This post is about the construction of Holocaust memory in Poland between about 1946 and 1983. The issues addressed in this post informed much of Vladka’s later career, and are freakishly relevant in light of laws passed in certain countries, certain murders and rhetoric taking place in others, the results of certain educational surveys, and the very uncomfortable cab ride in which the driver told me that all Jews should be killed. Odd time to be posting this, tbh. Anyway.

As you will remember from Part 8, Vladka and Benjamin left Poland for good upon as resurgent anti-Semitic violence made it clear that they had no future in the country of their birth. For, in the immediate post-war years, Polish Nationalists had finally achieved their dream: a Poland in which Roman Catholic ethnic Poles were the majority. But, this dream only came to fruition under Communist rule within the Soviet sphere is influence, not within the bounds of Polish self-determination. With the destruction of the Polish Nationalist underground during Operation Tempest, and the 1944 withdrawal of US and UK support for the Polish government-in-exile, the Communist regime could operate with interference from neither the West, nor the Polish Nationalist parties.

1946 ceremony memorializing the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. Yitzhak Zuckerman stands on the left-hand side of the speaker. Image courtesy of Yad Vashem.

As the 1940s rolled on, the Polish government set out to craft a narrative of the war years which downplayed the contributions of Polish Nationalists to World War II. Government officials memorialized the Jewish dead and set up monuments to their martyrdom, while persecuting Poles who had fought the Nazis as representatives of the Armja Krajowa and similar groups.

1948 unveiling of Nathan Rapaport‘s Ghetto Heroes Monument. Image courtesy of Yad Vashem.

Memorial service at the 1948 unveiling. Image courtesy of Yad Vashem.

Monument close-up. Image courtesy of Yad Vashem.

In the eyes of those Poles who fought and/or supported the fight against the Nazis, this indicated nothing less than a Jewish takeover of the government, intended to suppress all memory of Polish action and oppression under Nazi rule. This led to a period of what was perhaps the worst anti-Jewish violence in the history of Polish-Jewish relations.

Between 1944 and 1947, Poles murdered between 1,500 and 2,000 Jewish survivors as they returned to their homes. Poles bombed the few remaining Jewish institutions in the country, and perpetrated pogroms against their Jewish neighbors. In Kielce, July 1946, a Polish mob attacked a communal residence set up for Holocaust survivors, murdering 42 and wounding more than 100 people. After the Pogrom, many Jewish survivors—like Vladka and Benjamin—concluded that they had no future in Poland, and left. The Jewish population of Poland shrank to under 80,000 individuals. When the government sentenced the perpetrators of the Pogrom to death, Poles protested, arguing that the Pogrom and others like it had been nothing more than Zionist plots to stimulate Jewish emigration. Anti-Semitic violence continued through the 1950s. Between 1956 and 1960, another 40,000 Jews left Poland. By the 1960s, only 30,000 Jews remained.

In 1956, an official named Mieczyslaw Moczar began to accumulate power. A member of the Polish United Workers Party and General in the Polish People’s Army, Moczar was influential in the parts of the government which controlled the police and security forces. In the 1960s, he became leader of the state-controlled veteran’s association, the Society of Fighters for Freedom and Democracy (the Związek Bojowników o Wolność i Demokracje, or, ZBoWiD), an organization with at least 300,000 members. At the same time, Polish political culture was moving away from the hard-line anti-Nationalist Stalinism of the 40s and 50s, to a climate more open to Polish nationalists. In this new climate, veterans of the Armja Krojowa and similar were now able to assert themselves in public. They took up government positions, many of them in the same departments which fell within Moczar’s sphere of influence, and, as the changing climate moved to the ZBoWiD, its ranks swelled as it opened membership to all veterans of Polish organizations which fought the Nazis.

Through his roles in the government, and in the ZBoWiD, Moczar built a power-base for himself made up of newly accepted and emboldened Polish nationalists and Home Army veterans. With this base, called the “Partisans,” behind him, Moczar launched a campaign to take control of the memory of the war years, pulling it from the custody of the earlier hard-line Stalinists into the hands of the Polish Nationalists. This meant pulling it away from a body which emphasized the plight of the Jews, to a body desperate for recognition of Polish action and victimhood.

The campaign began in earnest in 1966. In that year, the prestigious Wielka Encyklopedia Powszehna, the Great Universal Encyclpedia, printed an article which differentiated between Nazi labor camps, in which prisoners were worked to death, and death camps, which existed solely to exterminate prisoners, the majority of which were Jews. The state-controlled press picked up on this, and pundits from every corner of the country were incensed. They accused the Encyclopedia staff of erasing the history of Polish victimization during the War, while emphasizing suffering of the Jews. As a result of the controversy, a new article was printed, this one presenting all Nazi camps as inherently similar, and all existing to murder all victims equally.

In June 1967, days after the Six Day War, Polish leader Wladyslaw Gomulka, having noted that some of Poland's Jews seemed excited about Israel’s victory in that conflict, made a speech warning of the presence of a “fifth column” in Poland.1 A little over a week later, he made a speech which containeing references to the consequences of the presence of a people with “two souls and two fatherlands” within Poland. The result, as intended, was a widespread perception of Polish Jews not as Poles (not that they every truly were viewed as Poles), but as untrustworthy “Zionist” agents. In 1968, an official named Tadeusz Walichnowski, one of the leaders of the Nationalist faction of the Polish United Workers’ Party, published a highly influential, best-selling books called Israel and West Germany.

The book.

In this book, Tadeusz Walichnowski accused the State of Israel of committing genocide under the tutelage of 1,000 former Nazis. This relationship between the Nazis and the Zionists, he argued, dated back to the pre-war years. The Zionists, he continued, needed the Holocaust to happen in order to build support for the creation of a Jewish State, and collaborated with the Nazis to make it happen. Therefore, the real victims of the Nazis were the Poles, while the Holocaust had been nothing more than a German-Jewish, I mean ”Zionist,” conspiracy against the Poles.

Ceremony marking the 25th anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, April 1968. Image courtesy of Yad Vashem.

In March 1968, in a seemingly unrelated turn of events, the government banned a production of Adam Mickiewicz’s play Dziady, due to perceived anti-Soviet themes. Students at Warsaw University went on strike in protest, and the police—rife with Partisans—came down hard on the protesters, jailing or exiling many of them. Seizing on the moment, Moczar made his move. Taking the rage of 1966, the “fifth column” fear mongering of 1967, and the conspiracy theories of 1968, he tied them all together, and placed the blame for the student protests on Zionists.

In his framing of the situation, these Zionist agitators were representatives of an anti-Polish conspiracy in which agents, both at home and abroad, actively worked to to mutilate the memory of the war years, defame the actions of the Polish Nation, and erase wartime Polish martyrdom. Major actors in this conspiracy, he argued, included West Germany, historical institutes in Israel, and centers of “Zionist” activity in the United States—you know, like the organizations Vladka worked with while giving Holocaust lectures. Under Moczar’s leadership, police and security forces instituted a search for Polish officials of Jewish descent. Tadeusz Walichnowski created a card index of all those in Poland of Jewish descent, using a system potentially stricter than that used in the Nuremberg Laws to determine descent.

Beginning in March 1968 and continuing through 1970, across Poland Jewish employees were “unmasked” and dismissed from jobs. Afterwards, it was impossible for them to find work in Poland. Further, these Jews were only allowed to leave Poland under the condition that they give up their Polish citizenship. From there, the government gave them only one thing: an exit permit valid only for travel to Israel.2 As a result of this expulsion-in-all-but-name, another 20,000 Jews left Poland. The Partisans perceived this as “proof” of the Jews’ true, Zionist, allegiance.

The legacy of the Anti-Semitic Campaign lasted through the mid-1980s. In accounts of the war published between about 1968 and 1985, the fate of Polish Jewry during the war was presented as indistinguishable from that of the Poles. Even the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising was discussed only in the context of Polish aid rendered to Jewish fighters.

By the late 1970s, early 1980s, there was a new generation in Poland, one removed enough from the war that it could look back on Polish history not as something personal, but as something to be learned. Slowly, students and members of the intelligentsia became interested in Jews, Judaism, and Jewish History in Poland. The silence of the post-1968 era was replaced with a collective interest in a long-gone, multinational Poland past. This younger generation of Poles fely comfortable mourning the Jews, and Polish historians and intellectuals felt as though they were able to engage in dialogue with their Jewish and Israeli counterparts. However, this was not simply the product of a generational shift. In Ocotber 1978, Pope John Paul II, born Karol Jozef Wojtyla in the Polish town of Wadowice, ascended from Archbishop of Krakow, to Pope. During his tenure as Archbishop of Krakow, he had been an important figure in parts of the Catholic community interested in learning about Jewish culture and history in Poland.3 As Pope, he visited Auschwitz and spoke specifically about Jewish victims of the Nazis, identifying them not as enemy nationals, but as the older brothers of the Catholic people.4 He pushed for interfaith dialogue, and remembrance of the specific Jewish experience of World War II.

In 1983, the Polish government, now long past the anti-Semitic campaign, and operating in a new atmosphere of inquiry and dialogue, arranged an elaborate commemoration of the 40th anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. The government invited thousands of Jews and Jewish organizations to attend. However, Marek Edelman, the last surviving leader of the ZOB, called for a boycott of the proceedings, arguing that Poland's martial law and censored press went against everything the Uprising stood for. A state-organized mass commemoration of the Uprising, therefore, could never be anything more than a propagandic farce. As a result, an unofficial memorial ceremony was organizaed, with Edelman’s blessing, to take place a few days before the government’s. Several hundred people attended. Standing before the monument, they made and listened to hurried speeches, laid flowers, and said Kaddish. And then they were dispersed by riot police.

Days later, in front of an audience of thousands, a Military Guard of Honor laid a wreath at the base of the monument to the Warsaw Ghetto Fighters.

1983 memorial ceremony. Image courtesy of Yad Vashem.

This is not where the story of the Polish relationship with Holocaust history and memory ends, but that’s where I’m going to end the the present discussion. Because, in January 1978, right before new forces took hold of the the memory of Poland's Jewish past, Vladka and Benjamin returned.

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1 The “fifth column,” for those unfamiliar with it, is a form of xenophobic, racist, and otherwise bigoted rhetoric used to target minorities, immigrants, refugees, outsiders, and anyway else deemed unworthy of membership in the nation-state. As applied to Jews, it cast them as inherently untrustworthy, loyal to each other (“International Jewry”) over any state in which they resided. It led to a lot of scapegoating during the Dreyfus Affair, the aftermath of the Franco-Prussian War, and the Hitler-era American nativist line that Jewish refugees were German spies. After 1948, the trope shifted to convey that Jews living anywhere outside of Israel were loyal to Israel before all else. To illustrate how this works, allow me to give you an anecdote: at a grad school happy hour I toasted “l’chaim” before downing my shot. A colleague across the table sneered at me and toasted “Free Palestine” before downing his shot. This colleague was making assumptions about my politics and loyalties as a Jewish person despite knowing nothing about me or my politics. This is fifth column thinking. And then, of course, there's our best friend, the cab driver. This all dovetails nicely with Jewish Conspiracy, and Protocols of the Elders of Zion type shit. To provide examples of how this applies to other groups, the 45th President of the US likes to insinuate that all Hispanic immigrants represent MS-13, and that all Muslims are anti-American terrorists. This is fifth column rhetoric in action. It's gross and highkey ethnic-cleansey. 2 Subtweeting all of Eurasia and North Africa here okay like if you hate the State of Israel and do not want it to exist, then maybe don’t kick out your Jews and/or treat them so horribly that their only choice is go to Israel as a result of international immigration policies/your fucking exit permit???? I mean, I know why, but... 3 In the late 1970s, liberal, educated classes of the Polish Catholic community began to take an interest in Jewish history in Poland. One of their organizations, the Warsaw Club, organized annual Weeks of Jewish Culture. On these Weeks, they would pay visits to the Jewish cemetery in Warsaw and work on restoring its tombstones, attend lectures on Jewish culture, and participate in similar activities. 4 There's a whole clusterfuck involving a convent opening in a former Auschwitz gas chamber because Lol Memory, but that happened outside of the 1946-1983 time frame of this post, so that's a memory clusterfuck I will not be discussing here.

#history #polish history #jewish history #cold war #memory studies #longreads

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