#In short she is on a warpath

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Sawyer through (dp x dc)

Danny hadn’t meant to get lost, really he hadn’t. This was the field trip every Casper High student looked forward to, and Danny had been no exception. It had never been the plan to miss out on the Met (also known as the Metropolis Museum of Arts). Sure, he wasn’t the biggest fan of art, but this was the museum that was in all the movies set in Metropolis, the skyscraper capital of the world. And even if one excluded romcoms, that was a a whole lot. Sam, Tucker and him had even planned to recreate a few of their favourite scenes from Ferris Bueller’s day off with a few paintings.

So, yeah. Danny would so much rather be there rather than on the sketchiest street he’d ever seen, where he felt like he was about to get shanked at every corner.

“Think positive,” he muttered to himself. “I can still call for help,” he said even as he fished his phone out of his bag.

As he flipped it open, ready to call Sam, something rammed into him from the back and the phone went flying. With an oof, Danny fell to the pavement, as he lost his grip on his still-open bag in favor of stopping himself from eating cement.

As he slowly got back to his feet with a groan, he caught sight of a dark figure, hunched over his bag who immediately took off in a dash with what looked like his wallet.

“Hey!” Danny yelled as he scrambled to his feet. “Hey! That’s mine!” 

As he finally got to his feet, prepared to give chase, a voice sounded from behind.

“Freeze! MPD, turn around slowly with your hands above your head!”

Danny jumped at the noise and turned around before the voice had finished. There he found a tall woman wearing a police badge, with a gun in her hands. The only reason Danny hadn’t squeaked in fear at the sight was that the gun was trained on the floor.

“Hands above your head!” The woman said again.

“Wait,” Danny tried even as he complied. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

The woman slowly walked around Danny towards his open bag as she answered. “Oh, really?”

“I’m a student, I’m on a field trip with with my class.”

“They’re giving tours of the Suicide Slums, now?” The woman asked sarcastically, as she chanced a quick look down at the bag.

“No,” Danny tried to resist the urge to snark at the police officer. “They do tours of the met museum.”

“Alright, buddy,” the woman said. “Then how do you explain this.”

And in a smooth move, she had upended Danny’s bag onto the ground. His initial outrage was quickly replaced with shock as huge stacks of cash fell down on the busted street as if by magic.

“That’s not mine!” Danny exclaimed urgently. 

“I’m guessing this isn’t yours either?” The policewoman said as she nudged something metallic from the pile and Danny’s eyes widened as he recognized the shape of a gun. Not one of the Fenton ones, but an actual, real, gun.

“I-“ Danny started but couldn’t find the words to follow through. The blond woman sighed 

“Come on,” she said. “I’m talking you down to the station.”

[p0orbaby]

Take One for the Team

summary: you and alexia are in a secret relationship

warnings: talks of sex

a/n: i volunteer as tribute

word count: 1.1k

-

Alexia's been on a warpath for a week now. You can tell because she's more vocal than usual about everyone else's inadequacies, and that's saying something. Today, she's pacing around the changing room like a caged lioness, ranting about the “abysmal” performance during training. You’re pretty sure she’s the only one who noticed anyone playing badly. The rest of the team looks at each other like, “What the hell is she talking about?”

To be fair, she's not entirely wrong. Someone did manage to miss an open goal from three yards out, but the way she's going on, you'd think that someone also insulted her grandmother and keyed her car.

In one particularly low moment, she accuses Ona of “running like she’s towing a tractor.” Ona’s response is to half-heartedly flip her off, which might’ve made Alexia angrier, but she’s already storming off to harass someone else.

You’re trying to stay under the radar because you’ve already received your daily dose of Alexia’s wrath earlier when you suggested—very helpfully, you thought—that she might want to “relax her shoulders a little.” You even demonstrated a quick shoulder roll for her. In response, she gave you a stare so cold you’re surprised you didn’t get frostbite on the spot.

So, you’re sitting on the bench, quietly tying your shoelaces and pretending you’re anywhere but here, when Aitana slides in next to you. She doesn’t say anything at first, just sighs dramatically and starts fiddling with a pretend loose thread on her shorts.

“Do you think she’s always like this?” Aitana asks eventually. “I mean, off the pitch. Like, what’s her problem?”

You shrug because what else can you do? You can’t exactly explain to Aitana that Alexia’s been on edge because you stole the last of her favorite cereal this morning and refused to apologise. In your defense, it was your cereal. But Alexia can hold a grudge like nobody’s business, and you’re pretty sure that’s why she’s been lashing out at everyone.

Still, you’re not about to say that out loud. You like your life the way it is, uncomplicated by having your secret relationship exposed by a rogue comment about breakfast food.

The others start to gather around, sensing a potential gossip session. The changing room is like that, everyone gravitating toward any sign of drama, like moths to a flame. Irene joins in, wiping sweat off her forehead with her shirt and making it clear she’s had enough of Alexia’s mood swings.

“She needs to get laid,” she declares, completely deadpan.

You almost choke on your own saliva, trying to play it cool while swallowing your surprise. The rest of the team nods in agreement, as if this is the most reasonable suggestion anyone has made in days. You, meanwhile, are caught between wanting to laugh and desperately trying not to give yourself away.

“She probably hasn’t gotten any in weeks,” Cata adds with a knowing smirk, like she’s an expert in Alexia’s sex life. Or her supposed lack thereof.

Mapi grins like she’s just figured out how to solve world hunger. “We need to volunteer someone”

Oh no. No, no, no. You can see where this is going, and you’re about to make a break for it when, Patri, Irene, and Mapi all turn to you simultaneously, their eyes practically gleaming with mischief.

“You should do it,” Patri says, pointing a finger at you like she’s accusing you of a crime.

You blink at her, feigning innocence. “Why me?”

Irene shrugs. “Why not? You’re like... the calmest person here. You can handle her”

Ingrid’s eyes narrow in on you, and she tilts her head. “Plus, you’re not bad-looking”

“I appreciate the backhanded compliment,” you say dryly, glancing at the door, wondering if you can make a run for it before they start making detailed plans. “But why would I want to-”

“Take one for the team!” Mapi interrupts, practically cackling. The others join in, laughing like they’ve just solved a great mystery. “It’s a win-win. She gets laid, and we don’t have to deal with her bullshit for at least a day”

You have to admit, it’s a decent plan. If you weren’t already sleeping with Alexia, that is. But they don’t know that, and you can’t exactly tell them without revealing your secret, which would definitely make things awkward.

You open your mouth to object, but Ona cuts you off. “It’s perfect. You’ve got that whole mysterious vibe. She’ll be into it”

“You think she’ll be into it?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Marta grins. “She might kill you first, but that’s a risk we’re willing to take”

They all laugh, and you can’t help but smirk. They have no idea how much Alexia is “into it,” but you’re not about to spill the beans now.

“Fine,” you say with a dramatic sigh, pretending to mull it over. “I’ll do it. For the team”

Irene pats you on the back like you’re about to go off to war. “Good luck, soldier. You’re going to need it”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you deadpan, but they’re already high-fiving each other, congratulating themselves on their brilliant scheme.

-

Later, when you finally get Alexia alone, she’s still fuming, muttering something about people not taking the game seriously. You’re not really paying attention, though, because you’re still stuck on what the team said earlier. You can’t help but laugh when you think about it, which only makes Alexia glare at you more.

“What’s so funny?” she snaps, crossing her arms.

You shake your head, still grinning. “Nothing. Just thinking about how you’re really wound up lately”

Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step closer, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “And?”

“And,” you say, dropping your voice to a low murmur as you pull her in by the waist, “the team thinks you need to get laid”

Alexia blinks at you, her expression shifting from anger to surprise, and then she lets out a laugh, genuine and loud, like she hasn’t in days. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, nuzzling her neck as she relaxes in your arms. “They volunteered me. Said I should take one for the team”

Alexia pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her mouth curving into a wicked smile. “You told them we’ve been doing that for months now?”

“Nah,” you say, shaking your head. “Figured I’d let them keep thinking they’re the geniuses”

She laughs again, shaking her head in disbelief, then leans in to kiss you, her lips warm and soft against yours. When she pulls back, she looks a lot less stressed than she did before, which you consider a job well done.

“Think I’ll have to thank them later,” she murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek.

You smirk, tilting your head playfully. “You mean thank me?”

Alexia’s eyes glint with that same dangerous edge from before, but this time it’s paired with a smirk that promises nothing but trouble. “I already do, don’t I?”

You can’t argue with that. And for once, neither can the team.

[kezdispenser]

FIERCE ALLEGIANCE

Chapter 10: Warpath

Summary: Tensions rise as the tournament reaches its breaking point, with unexpected victories and shocking twists shaking both sides. As alliances shift and stakes grow higher, a new challenge forces the fighters—and their senseis—to confront more than just their opponents. In the shadows, dangerous games are being played, and one wrong move could change everything.

The energy was unreal.

Tory stood across from Zara, both fighters locked in a stare-down. The Iron Dragon girl had a wicked smirk, but Tory? Tory just cracked her neck and got to work.

From the first hit, it was a war. Zara was fast, aggressive, and calculated—trained by Wolf himself—but Tory fought like she had nothing to lose. Like she was ready to break someone. And when she finally landed that last brutal strike, knocking a tooth clean out of Zara’s mouth, the match was over.

Tory Nichols was the Girls' Champion.

The Cobra Kai section erupted. Y/N barely had time to react before Tory grabbed her in a tight, bone-crushing hug. "Holy shit!" Y/N laughed, hugging her back. Tory grinned, breathing heavy. "That bitch was tough." Devon ran up, eyes wide. "Dude, you knocked out her tooth!" "I’m keeping it as a trophy," Tory joked, winking. Y/N was about to respond when she caught sight of Wolf. He was livid.

Jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, barely containing the rage simmering just beneath the surface. Zara had been one of his best, and she’d lost. Y/N quickly looked away. Not her problem. Tory was her friend, and this was her win. But the celebration was short-lived.

"Next match—Miguel Diaz vs. Axel Kovacevic!" The arena exploded into cheers as Miguel and Axel stepped onto the mat. "Shit," Sam muttered beside Y/N. "This is gonna be intense." Y/N folded her arms. "Axel’s a machine. Miguel needs to be careful."

"Careful isn’t gonna cut it," Devon pointed out. "Axel fights like he’s trying to kill someone." "Yeah, well," Y/N said, watching Miguel bounce on his feet, looking focused as hell, "Miguel’s got something Axel doesn’t."

Sam glanced at her. "And that is?" "Johnny Lawrence in his corner." The fight was brutal. Miguel and Axel were evenly matched, trading hit after hit. The crowd was losing it. But then—

"FINISH HIM." Wolf’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Y/N froze. Axel hesitated. His hands clenched. Wolf’s glare burned into him.

"You know what to do," Wolf snapped. The whole dojo went quiet. Axel didn’t move. Wolf’s fists curled. "DO IT." Axel refused. And that split second was all Miguel needed. A clean shot. Axel went down. Cobra Kai won.

The arena exploded. Johnny lifted Miguel off the ground, the team losing their minds. Y/N screamed with them, jumping up and down with Tory and Devon. But across the mat, Wolf was motionless. Axel didn’t look at him. Y/N’s stomach twisted. She knew exactly what was waiting for Axel later. Then the announcer called for silence.

“With the scores now tied, we move to the final match—the Senseis.”

Everything stopped.

Y/N turned immediately, eyes snapping to Wolf. He was already looking at Johnny. The air was suffocating. Johnny cracked his knuckles. "Well, shit." Wolf tilted his head, that unreadable look in his eyes. Then, he smiled. And it wasn’t a nice one.

Y/N didn’t know what she was thinking when she showed up at his door.

Well—no. She did.

She wanted to see him. Needed to see him.

The apartment he was renting was ridiculous. Expensive, modern, the kind of place that screamed I have money and anger issues.

She knocked once. Then again. The door swung open, and there he was—Wolf. And he looked pissed. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable, but the way his eyes darkened when he saw her? That said everything.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said flatly. Y/N ignored the way her stomach flipped. "Yeah, well. I am." His grip on the doorframe tightened. "I don’t wanna see you right now."

"Too bad." Before he could stop her, she pushed past him, stepping inside like she owned the place. Wolf exhaled sharply, turning to face her. "You just do whatever the hell you want, huh?" "Pretty much."

They stood there, silent, tense, waiting. And then—she grabbed him. Fingers curling around the back of his neck, pulling him down, crashing her lips against his.

Wolf grunted against her mouth, startled for half a second before he kissed her back. Harder. Rougher. Like he was pissed off and trying to prove a point.

His hands found her waist, dragging her closer, deepening the kiss until all she could do was hold onto him, breath hitching as his grip tightened. "You drive me insane," he muttered against her lips, voice low, rough, wrecked. Y/N smirked. "Good." And then he kissed her again—hard enough to steal her breath.

She pulled back just enough to catch her breath, lips bruised and swollen, a satisfied smirk tugging at her mouth.

"You miss me?" she teased, her voice light, playful, but her eyes searched his face, looking for the truth.

Wolf just stared at her, breathing heavy, his jaw tight like he was fighting something—maybe himself.

Then, without a word, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back in.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh before his lips crashed into hers again, desperate, consuming. "You’re a pain in my ass," he muttered between kisses. "You love it." He chuckled darkly, nipping at her bottom lip, making her gasp. His hands tightened on her hips. "Yeah," he admitted, voice low, rough. "I do."

The second he said it, Y/N froze.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her breath still uneven, heart pounding.

Wolf exhaled sharply, already regretting it. He wasn’t the kind of guy who admitted things—not like that.

Y/N searched his face, lips still tingling from his kiss.

Then, quieter this time—"What are we doing?"

Wolf’s jaw clenched.

Y/N let out a slow breath, her hands still resting against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath her fingers.

"I don’t know," she admitted, voice softer now. Less teasing.

Wolf’s grip on her tightened. Not enough to hurt, but enough to let her know he didn’t want her stepping away.

He exhaled, tilting his head slightly, watching her. His usual smirk was gone—no cocky remarks, no sharp edge. Just him.

"You tell me," he muttered.

Y/N blinked. "What?"

Wolf licked his lips, jaw tight like he was fighting something in his head. "You’re the one that showed up," he pointed out. "You kissed me. So what the hell are we doing?"

Y/N stared at him. "You think I have an answer for that?" "Would be nice," he muttered, dragging a hand over his face before letting it drop. She frowned, pulling back just a little. "Do you want me here?"

Wolf’s eyes flashed. "What kind of question is that?" "A fair one," she shot back. He inhaled sharply, looking away, frustrated. Not with her, not really—with himself.

"You make shit complicated," he finally said, voice lower. Y/N raised a brow. "And you don’t?" He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "No, I do. But I’m used to it."

She studied him for a second, taking him in. The way his fists clenched at his sides, the way his eyes kept flicking to her lips like he wanted to kiss her again but was stopping himself. "Complicated doesn’t mean bad," she said quietly. Wolf scoffed. "It never means good, either."

A silence stretched between them, heavy, filled with unspoken shit. Y/N bit her lip. "So what now?" Wolf let out a slow breath, eyes searching hers. Then—"I don’t know." And for some reason, that felt like the realest thing he’d ever said.

Wolf’s jaw tensed. His hands curled into fists at his sides, like he was trying not to react, trying to keep himself in check.

Y/N held his gaze, refusing to back down. “Wolf, I want this thing between us to be something, to be real, but you’re not letting that happen.” She exhaled, her voice softer now, but still firm. “Why are you so afraid of letting me in?”

Wolf scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m not afraid.”

Y/N arched a brow. “Then what is it?”

His silence was an answer in itself.

For the first time, Wolf wasn’t looking at her with his usual sharp, cocky smirk. No teasing, no snide remarks. Just something raw in his eyes.

He swallowed hard, rolling his shoulders like he was physically trying to shake off whatever the hell was going through his head.

“This shit doesn’t work,” he muttered, finally meeting her gaze again. “People want things, they need things, and eventually, someone lets go. Or they change their mind.” He exhaled sharply. “And I don’t need that.” Y/N frowned. “You think I’d just leave?”

“I think you should,” he admitted, voice low, rough. “Would make things easier.” Her chest tightened at that. “For who?” Wolf let out a humorless laugh. “You.” Y/N shook her head. “That’s bullshit.”

“Is it?” “Yes.” They stood there, staring each other down, like neither of them wanted to be the first to break.

Then, Y/N stepped closer. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that if he moved even a little, their lips would touch again. “I’m still here,” she said, soft but sure. “I want to be here.”

Wolf inhaled slowly, watching her, studying her, like he was trying to figure out if she was telling the truth. Then—almost like he didn’t want to—he let out a slow breath and rested his forehead against hers.

“I hate how much I like you,” he muttered, voice gravelly, wrecked. Y/N smiled a little, tilting her head. “Good.” Wolf huffed a quiet laugh. “Brat.” And then—finally—he cupped the back of her neck and kissed her again.

A sudden knock on the door. Once. Twice. Sharp. Deliberate.

Y/N felt Wolf’s body go rigid against her, his grip on her tightening just slightly before he pulled away completely, his expression shifting into something colder—something she didn’t like.

Then— "Feng, it's me." Silver.

The voice was smooth, calm—too calm. But Y/N could hear the quiet edge beneath it, like a knife just waiting to be drawn. Her stomach dropped. Wolf didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

For the first time, she saw it—real fear. Not the kind you show in a fight, not the kind that sparks adrenaline. Something deeper. Something that settled in his bones. Y/N swallowed hard, her pulse hammering.

Wolf slowly turned his head toward the door, jaw tight, his entire body coiled like a predator backed into a corner. Another knock. More impatient this time. "Come on, open up." Y/N’s fingers curled into fists. She looked at Wolf, but he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was somewhere else entirely.

Y/N’s blood ran cold.

She barely registered the way her breath hitched, the way her entire body stiffened—because all she could focus on was the voice on the other side of that door.

Silver.

Something about it felt wrong. Too smooth. Too controlled. Like he already knew he was getting in—whether Wolf opened the door or not.

She swallowed hard, looking up at Wolf. He saw it immediately. The fear. The way her fingers trembled slightly at her sides, the way her breath came quicker, shallower.

His expression shifted. The tension in his jaw eased just enough for him to lean down and press a firm, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Go hide," he murmured against her skin. Y/N hesitated, gripping his shirt. “Wolf—”

“Now.” His voice was low, rough, but not unkind. His hands squeezed her waist, just for a second—one last silent reassurance—before he pulled away completely. Another knock. Louder this time. "Don’t keep me waiting, Feng." Y/N’s heart pounded.

She took one last look at Wolf—his face unreadable now, all emotion locked away—before she turned and slipped into the nearest room, pressing herself into the darkness just as Wolf unlocked the door.

Wolf's POV:

Two knocks. Slow. Measured. I already knew who it was.

"Feng, it’s me."

Silver.

I clenched my jaw, rolling my neck once before unlocking the door. Made sure I didn’t glance back. If I did, if I saw her hiding in the shadows, I’d give it all away.

The door swung open, and there he stood—that knowing smirk, the gleam in his eye. A wolf in a suit, always ready to sink his teeth in.

"You took your time."

I didn’t answer right away. Just shrugged like I didn’t give a shit. "Was in the shower."

A slow, heavy pause. Then a chuckle. Cold. Calculated.

"You never were a good liar, Feng."

My grip tightened on the door. Steady. Controlled.

Don’t look back.

"Let’s go inside."

Not a question. A command.

I stepped back, keeping my movements loose, casual. The door shut with a quiet click behind him. And then—another set of footsteps.

Dennis.

I didn’t react. Didn’t tense. That’s what he wanted. A tell. A crack.

Silver wandered further in, running his fingers over the counter like he owned the place. Like he owned me.

"I don’t like being lied to, Feng."

Here it comes.

Dennis made a move toward the bedroom hallway, his boots heavy against the floor.

"Dennis, be a good sport and check the rooms, would you?"

My head snapped up, voice sharp. "I said there’s no one here."

He kept walking.

That’s when I moved. Just enough. Stepping into his path. Not a challenge. Not outright. But a wall.

Dennis held up his hands like he wasn’t about to press his luck.

Then—he let out a short laugh. "You’re lucky I’m lazy, man." He turned back, throwing Silver a look. "Place is clean."

I exhaled slowly.

"Told you."

Silver didn’t react. Didn’t argue. Just smiled and poured himself a drink. Unbothered. Too unbothered.

That’s when I knew.

"Come. Sit."

I didn’t move right away. Didn’t want to. But I did. Slowly. Unrushed.

Dennis leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching. Always watching.

Silver took a slow sip. Then he leaned forward.

"Do whatever it takes."

I didn’t blink. Didn’t react.

"Take them down."

Yeah. That much I knew.

It was what came next that almost made me slip.

Silver shifted closer, dropping his voice to something only I could hear.

"I know Y/N is here."

A slow sip of his drink. Then a small smile. Like we were sharing some private joke.

Like he hadn’t just put a gun to my head.

I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t give him shit.

Just let the moment hang, heavy in the air.

Then Silver pulled back, his smirk widening. That’s what he wanted. The tension. The power.

"We’ll be in touch."

He stood. Dennis pushed off the wall, following. The door shut behind them.

I waited. Counted to ten. Then twenty.

I let out a slow breath.

Then—"Come out."

She stepped forward, eyes wide, breath unsteady.

And I lost it.

I pulled her in, held her tight, my hand curling over the back of her head as I pressed my lips to her hair. Eyes shut.

I could still hear Silver’s voice in my head. Still feel the weight of his words.

If he had found her—

No.

I pulled back, tilting her chin up. Her eyes searched mine. I didn’t like what I saw. Fear. Worry. For me.

I exhaled, voice rough. "You’re not leaving my sight, baby. Ever."

She swallowed, trying to play it off. "That bad, huh?"

I didn’t answer. Just brushed my thumb along her jaw.

She didn’t press. Just reached up, curling her arms around my neck.

I closed my eyes, breathed her in.

She was still here.

Still mine.

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

A/N: What do you think about me adding more of Wolf's POV's to the next chapters???

Tags- @emmagrace1328 @julielightwood @valianttyrantexpert @0ffurself @laughing-from-my-dumpster-fire

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter III - Parallel Lines Intertwined

Summary: You are now betrothed to Aemond, with the promise of being crowned together when time comes, your family no longer headed unquestionably on warpath, but now you can’t help but wonder if this is truly what he wants, if he’s as happy as you are with this arrangement.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 3,6k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece), nudity, making out, allusions to sex, canon-typical misogyny regarding sex and female virginity, some steaminess (but nothing more than that really)

Notes: Another chapter is here! Yay!

I’m tagging this as mature because there’s some steaminess in it but not full blown smut (yet).

I’ve accidentally fallen in love with these two and cannot stop thinking about them, I have so many installments planned out you guys have no idea.

I decided to use some High Valyrian as I had mentioned before Aemond and reader are used to speaking it with one another (does it break consistency, as I haven’t used it until now? yes, but better late than never). For this I used an online translator (I don’t know if it’s grammatically correct, I’ll just roll with it, if someone spots any mistakes please let me know and I’ll correct it right away), translations are in the end notes.

Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you have enjoyed this story! <3

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The steaming water was doing wonders for your sore muscles. You hadn’t realized how tense you had been until you had reached your chambers and felt as if a weight had been lifted off your chest, your shoulders slumping with the force of everything falling into place. No sooner had you stepped foot inside your room you requested that the maids fix you a bath, the water steaming hot. Now, with your body submerged and the steam clouding your thoughts, you felt like you could finally breathe properly. 

It had worked. Your mad, crazy, stupid idea had worked. At least as well as one could expect. Alicent and Otto, of all people, had agreed to it, and now it seemed like there would no longer be a war inside House Targaryen. The promise of their blood eventually occupying the Iron Throne seemed to appease them enough to, most likely, support your mother’s claim as King Viserys’ heir, apparently no longer questioning her legitimacy as ruler just because she was not a man.

But now, alone in your chambers, you were no longer sure of yourself. While, yes, this idea could just fix things within your shattered family, you weren’t exactly sure if everyone involved was on-board with it. 

After your dance with Aemond was cut short due to the King feeling unwell and needing to be escorted back to his chambers, to which Alicent nudged Rhaenyra to follow and spend some moments with him (something that lit a flicker of hope in your chest that things could indeed be mended), you hadn’t managed to speak to him for the rest of the night. Once you returned to the table, you caught Luke giggling under his breath, and when you realized what exactly he was laughing at you were quick to pull him from his seat and request a dance. You swiftly poked Helaena on your way to the open area of the room, who in turn pulled Aemond for a dance before he could notice, signaling her mother to alert the servants to move the offending dish to the middle of the table and away from his seat.

The night ended not long after, Baela and Rhaena keeping you company, the three of you giggling like little girls at the thought of your respective betrothals. However, once you were all excused by the Queen, you didn’t even manage to catch a glimpse of Aemond, who was whisked away by his grandsire with his mother following behind them.

And here you were. Although you had no doubt this plan of yours was the right thing to do, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was what he wanted. Even though you knew this was the right thing for the realm, for your family even, was it the right thing for the two of you? As you stared at your face reflected upon the surface of the water, dark thoughts simmered in your mind. Perhaps you had been blinded by his words regarding his mother’s wishes to find him a wife, or by the resentment he felt towards the treatment his brother received. What if he wanted nothing to do with you? What if he wanted to ascend to the Throne of his own accord, or what if he wanted to be wed to someone else, one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters, maybe?

At least there's no doubt about the purity of their blood.

He could have any woman on the realm if he wished. He was just so regal, all sharp edges and cunning eye, and you were merely… you, your mind tried to convince you.

Would you give up your freedom and be trapped in a loveless marriage just for the sake of your family and the realm?

Not loveless, that nagging voice in the back of your mind spoke out of turn again, just unrequited.

The answer was most definitely yes. You’d rather have him, even if not the whole of his being, than not have him at all. And if you could prevent the realm, and your own family, to succumb into flames and ashes in the process? All the more reason to do so.

Lost in your thoughts you barely heard the unmistakable sound of stone sliding against stone, as the wall suddenly pulled back to reveal the man in question.

“A-Aemond?” you stammered, sliding further into the water in order to preserve some shred of your dignity “What are you doing here?”

A deep, low hum was his only response as he stepped further into the room and closed the secret door behind him. The soft patter against the stone cold floor indicated that he was barefoot; that, along with the white linen shirt and soft looking breeches he was wearing, meant he was just about to go to bed before he decided to come visit you, for whatever reason.

“Qȳbor…” you bristled when he refused to elaborate.

“Can I not visit my future wife’s chambers to check on her well-being, mandianna?” he spoke lowly, his eye never leaving your frame.

“We are not yet married.” you squirmed under the intensity of his gaze “This hardly seems proper.”

He again only hummed, eye flitting around the room, before pulling his shirt over his head.

A sudden heat rushed to your cheeks as you stared at him. Much like you had noticed before, he was slim, his form lithe and elongated, making him appear even taller now that he wasn’t covered in green leather. His muscles, on the other hand, were well defined, taunt under his skin as if sculpted in the finest of marbles, his years of training with a sword under Ser Criston Cole reflected on his flesh.

His lips pulled in a smirk as you basked in his image, swiftly untying and pulling down his breeches as well. That caused you to avert your eyes immediately, going as far as to hide your peripheral vision behind your hand.

“What are you doing?!” you squealed in surprise, not at all expecting him of all people to pull a stunt like this. Aegon? Sure, but him?

“You once told me it was nothing you hadn’t seen before.” he spoke, amusement dripping from his tone as he walked closer to the tub.

“Yes, when we were children. Not like this.”

You felt the ripples of warm water beating against your skin as he joined you in the bath, leaning back against the side of the wooden tub with his legs extended in front of him, only slightly bent at the knees as they brushed softly against your own. You quickly pulled your knees to your chest, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“Why do you hide from me?” he asked, his lips curling in a smirk “You are to be my lady wife, we ought to see each other like this on many occasions.”

“Like I said” you hissed, crossing your arms over your breasts and straightening your spine, his eye following your every move “we are not married yet.” 

He hummed in response, pursing his lips as if annoyed with your resistance, but you could see the mirth swimming in his eye. He extended his arms over the rim of the tub on either side of his body, and when your eyes involuntarily followed his movement, retaining your gaze on his chest for a tad too long, he smirked. Heat burned your cheeks as you averted your eyes, realizing that he enjoyed watching you squirm.

“Why are you here?” you questioned, annoyance simmering in your voice.

He stared at you for a long moment, like he was assessing you, searching for something, but what you couldn’t tell.

“I wanted to see you.” he spoke before glancing away from you, his once jesting tone having turned soft, betraying his sincerity.

That statement had you feeling all your annoyance dissolving, your body uncurling and legs extending closer to him. If you were to be honest with yourself you wanted to see him too, you desperately wished to know what was going through his mind during supper and after. You wished to know what he thought about you.

His mind seemed far away for a moment as he chewed on his lip before his gaze fell on you once more.

“My grandsire had interesting things to say about your proposal.” the corner of his mouth turned up almost imperceptibly “More so than my mother.”

That caught your attention.

“What did he say?”

“She was, albeit vexed by your choice of timing for the delivery of said proposal, delighted.” he completely ignored your question, choosing instead to talk about Alicent Hightower instead of Otto “Like I mentioned earlier, she’s been nagging me to find a wife, and now you’ve just delivered the solution on a silver platter for her.” his smile softened “She wished to know if I was happy with this arrangement.”

“And what did you say?” your throat felt as dry as the Dornish desert, and you wondered if he could hear you swallow nervously. But from the way his grin turned again into a smirk you knew you wouldn’t get the answers you craved for.

“My grandsire on the other hand was perfectly satisfied.” he shrugged, as if Otto Hightower’s opinion didn’t truly matter to him “He believes the Seven have answered mother’s prayers of having one of us be crowned king, and that this gives us the perfect opportunity to seize the throne for ourselves.”

“What?” you physically recoiled, shoulders curling into yourself once more, as if you were physically struck by his words.

“He told me” he continued, either not noticing your reaction or wanting to push forward regardless “that when time came for us to be crowned, you and I, I was to usurp you of your ‘birthright’ and be crowned the sole King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

You let your arms drop from their position over your chest, not even being able to revel in the way pink dusted Aemond’s cheeks as his eye followed down our body to your now exposed breasts, so much was your shock. You felt so stupid, so humiliatingly naive in having believed such a ridiculous idea could ever work. Otto Hightower would never respect you, or your mother, or any possible daughters you came to have simply because you were all women. Just remembering the way you stood before him, before your entire family, before Aemond himself and said those foolish and rehearsed words, dragged yourself practically as low as the streets at Flea Bottom, made your eyes sting in embarrassment. 

You were so caught up in your own swirling thoughts you barely noticed Aemond’s smirk slipping from his face, a frown now adorning his features.

“You cannot possibly believe I would do such a thing.” he let his own arms fall back into the water, his back straightening as he looked at you almost… hurt? “Do you truly think so lowly of me?”

You couldn’t hold his stare any longer, shame clawing at your chest and climbing up your throat. The truth was you didn’t know him. It’s been six long years since you’d last spoken, you couldn’t possibly know who he was anymore. Had he turned out like Aegon? Or had his grandsire shaped him in his image, a mere puppet for him to manipulate and do his bidding for him?

His stare hardened, a resigned exhale leaving him as extended a hand in your direction.

“Come here.” 

You didn’t dare move a muscle, too scared to embarrass yourself even further. That wouldn’t do it for him tho, if the annoyance that took over his features was anything to go by, and his hand found your ankle underwater and tugged. Hard. Unexpectedly you found yourself almost on top of him, holding onto his naked shoulders for balance as the contents of the tub sloshed around the two of you and over onto the ground.

“Aemond-!” you chastised him, trying to pull away but one of his arms snaked around your waist, holding you firmly in place. Something about the whole situation, the way his eye was locked on yours, as if studying you, felt strangely intimate, making your heart skip a beat. 

Then, with the lightest of touches, he grabbed one of your hands almost reverently, removing it from its place on his shoulder and holding it in his own, the back of your hand against his palm so your own was facing up. He brought it closer to his face, examining it closely, his thumb caressing your skin in slow movements. Where his palms were calloused, you noticed, his fingers were silkily soft, the gentleness in his touch making shivers run down your spine and goosebumps prickle your skin all the way up your arm.

“Your line of life is quite long, thankfully.” he hummed, not taking his eye off your palm, so he didn’t notice the confusion brimming in your eyes “And your line of heart not only tilts upwards, but it is also incredibly long, almost touching the place where your palm meets your fingers, right here.” 

“And what does that mean?” you whispered, not daring to speak any louder for it might break the spell that befell upon the two of you.

“You will be the most beloved woman in the entire realm.” he whispered back, his eye finally meeting yours, a storm of emotions threatening to spill over in the form of unshed tears “Your lord husband would burn the whole of the Seven Kingdoms to the ground just to see you smile.” 

Wetness dripped down your cheeks but you could no longer distinguish between tears and the lukewarm water from the bath. Your heart clenched and twisted painfully in your chest as his gaze turned to your palm once more.

“And would you look at that,” Aemond gently turned your palm towards you, pointer finger tapping against a faint line near your wrist “it’s the line of the king. Or should I say queen.” he glanced at you once more, a soft smile growing on his lips “You once told me it only appeared on the hands of those destined to rule over the realm.” 

You bit down hard on your bottom lip, a choked sob threatening to escape, desperately clinging to his every word.

“I may not be like my sister, for the future eludes me.” the arm around your waist tightened its grip, bringing you even closer to him as he rested his forehead against your own, bringing your intertwined hands close to his chest “But if there is one thing I can promise you is that you will be queen.” his next breath came out of his lips trembling with barely contained emotion “And I’ll be right by your side when that happens.”

The sound that left your lips was a perfect blend of a laugh and a sob, your lips quivering as you tried so very hard not to collapse into his arms as all your previous worries vanished. His own face lit up in a genuine, full blown smile that brightened his face; you couldn’t even remember when the last time he allowed himself to smile as brightly as he was now. It suited him.

Warmth filled your chest, quickly climbing up to your face, as he nuzzled his nose against yours, but one detail made you pull back. His face twisted in confusion, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his scar.

“I wish to see all of you.” you spoke softly.

“You already have me bare before you, woman. What more could you possibly want?” Aemond tried jesting but you could notice the way his entire body tensed against your touch.

“I want to see all of you.” you whispered, thumb catching against the edge of his eyepatch.

Before you could lift it, though, his hand shot out unexpectedly, halting your movements by encircling your wrist. His fingers were firm against your skin, but his touch didn’t hurt; you didn’t think he ever could, not again. You didn’t press any further, nor did you retreat, waiting for him to either give you permission to continue or push you away. He did neither. Instead, his other hand reached up and removed the eyepatch from his face, throwing it somewhere around the room.

You didn’t truly know what exactly you were expecting but were surprised all the same. Where you believed you’d find an empty socket lay a small round sapphire, hidden from the world beneath his eyepatch most of the time. It was alluring, glimmering under the light emitted from the candles, contributing to his mystifying nature. His grip on your wrist loosened, and you took this as an opportunity to cradle his jaw, tilting his head to be able to see his eye from different angles. The gem suited him, the deep blue contrasting with the violet of his other eye.

“Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?” you breathed out.

“Not a single soul.” he shook his head, his own breath coming out trembled.

“Well, then, they are utterly blind, the lot of them.” you caressed the corner of his mouth, bringing your own lips impossibly closer to his “You are beautiful, Aemond.”

Something shifted in him, the last of his restrain melting away under your touch, as he leaned forward and closed the gap between your lips, sealing them in a tentative kiss. His lips were a contradiction on their own. For a man so taunt and sharp and strong, his lips were incredibly soft, akin to his voice, as strange as the comparison sounded. He kissed you unhurriedly, almost chastely, his hands finding hold in your waist. You pulled back for a moment and his lips chased your own, unwilling to part from you just yet. 

His mouth then started tracing a path of lazy kisses down your body, first against your jaw, then slowly down your neck. It was when his grip on your waist tightened, trying to bring your hips closer to his own, that you pulled back, a hand against his chest.

“We can’t.” you mumbled regretfully. He tried sitting up again, get closer to you once more, but you pushed him back gently, cupping his face in both your hands “Aemond, please.” 

“Why must you deprive me of what I long for so desperately?” he whined against your lips.

“I cannot risk losing you…” you exhaled, voice barely above a whisper. 

It was his turn to pull back, eyebrows curling in confusion, and you knew he wouldn’t let you go without an explanation.

“When I was close to reaching marrying age, mother pulled me aside to explain some of the more… intricate details of what goes on between a husband and a wife.” you shrugged, the same embarrassment you felt back then flooding you now, before you sighed “She also told me what befell her before she married my father.”

Realization dawned upon him, remembering all the times his mother uttered words unbefitting of a queen to address not only her successor, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but also a former dear friend. Words more suited to the women who worked on the Street of Silk. From what he had gathered over the years this was the very last nail on the coffin of their friendship.

“I will not allow the same to happen to me.” your tone and your eyes alike hardened, fingers grasping his face more firmly as you forced his gaze to remain on you. Not that he could look at anything else with the way you spoke with such determination “I will not allow my virtue to be made a spectacle of, I will not give the opportunity for some lesser man from a little house to question it, to question me.”

Aemond couldn’t help but swallow thickly, the fierceness in your voice doing humorous things to his heart. 

“If I was born a man this wouldn’t be a concern, but alas I was not.” something in you softened, fingers letting go of his cheeks and sliding softly to cradle the place where his jaw met his ears “If your mother so much as hears word of any misdemeanor, at least in her eyes, on my part she will tear us apart. Kesan daor ivestragī zirȳla gūrogon ao hen nyke.”

I will not let her take you from me.

When questioned later, he wouldn’t be able to tell you what came over him, but something inside his very soul snapped as he surged forward, claiming your lips in a desperate kiss. His lips moved against yours with the intensity of a man starved, like he was overcome in a thirst only your mouth could quench. It was passionate, it was harsh, it was… honestly kind of clumsy, all tongue and clashing teeth, like he didn’t truly know what he was doing. Huh. You would store this information away for later.

He pulled back with the last bit of self control he had, practically whimpering when your lips parted, resting his head on the crook of your neck. 

“Kesan umbagon.” his breath was labored as he spoke, placing a tiny kiss on your shoulder before raising his head to look at you “I will always wait for you, ābrazȳrys.”

Your heart soared at the term, but when he went to gently move you away from him so he could stand up you gripped his hand to stop him.

“Stay.” you pleaded “Just a little while longer, please.”

Aemond smiled lovingly, helping maneuver you so you were sat between his legs, with your back against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. His arms wrapped protectively around you, his fingers absently drawing patterns against the skin of your arm. The water from the tub had since run cold but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when you were in his arms.

Aōha valzȳrys. Aōha dārys.

High Valyrian translations: - qȳbor - uncle (mother’s younger brother) - mandianna - niece (older sister’s son or daughter) - kesan umbagon - I will wait - ābrazȳrys - wife - aōha valzȳrys - your husband - aōha dārys - your king

Also, this two were getting quite steamy while Viserys was literally dying in the other room. At least this time Rhaenyra was the one with him so, you know, no mixing up names this time (I stand by my argument that if Alicent’s eldest son was called Godofredo none of this would have happened, but the Targaryens were not known for their creativity when naming their children).

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

[mysecertdiaryofableedingheart]

Lil Office Romance pt. 4

Terry Richmond X Black Fem OC  (Troi)

No warnings: Light heart fluff. A little flirty, a lil possessive streak, and a male pissing contest

Terry

I couldn't hide the pep in my step coming into the office. Even with staying up until 11  on FaceTime with Troi and still getting up for my morning gym session at 5am. I still felt energized

"The way you walking in here you musta would have won the lottery last night or got some cut nigga" Kelvin my college buddy and Co worker look me up and down suspiciously

"Man watch out" he step towards me to look over my shoulder,  I quickly covered my phone, my newly minted lock screen giving away my night activities. Troi's plump butt posed for the camera in her best pin-up pose blowing a kiss for the camera. "I was making some jerk chicken for my lunch last night"

"Ahhh , for your lunch date with little miss accounting" Kelvin was fully versed in infatuation with Troi. "BBQ on a Monday night after work nigga you in love"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his taunts. It is well known among all our friends that I am a lover boy, a romantic, as my mother would boast to her walking club, trying to hook me up with any daughter or niece.

I saw my mother being doted on,catered to and how much pride and love my father would glow with when she returned his affection.

"If that's what you call it man. Sign me up" I opened my phone to see the 3 rd picture I snapped of Troi pouting into the phone. Opening my messages clicking Wifey

“Hey Wifey 12pm sharp and bring my goodies or hubby won't be happy”

Read at 9:45am

Yes hubby, your goodies and the baker will be waiting by the security desk at lunch 

12pm couldn't come any faster. I had to shake the spell of Troi from my mind to focus on the new building plans.

Troi

"So at yall wedding I can't wait to be the maid of honor matter fact he need to me make me the best man too" Celeste looked away from her excel spreadsheet to tease. "Ms. Wifey"

The image of me in a white dress and Terry towering over me in front of the altar flooded my mind. I rested my hand over my chest to attempt to calm my heartbeat.

"Celeste,you can't tease me about that I might actually pass out. I'm just getting comfortable with the idea of him liking me" I hated it how I sounded like a teenager whining

"Troi I'm just kidding, it's too sweet how two real lovers are finally getting together. Its goals baby got me wanting to hang up my city girls membership" Celest pulled my desk chair closer to her to give me a side hug. After the much-needed reassurance, I was able to breathe easier

Glancing at the clock reading 11:45 I hurried to refresh my lip gloss and fluff my hair. "Do I look okay ? Not too much right" gesturing towards my swells of B Cups breast on display in the black wrap dress

"Girl honestly you should've gone with push-up bra really gave him a show" Celeste grabbed her own boobs and gave me a shimmy.

"You're too much!" I grabbed the container with our lunch desert in it. Settling my purse on my shoulder, I walked out to beat the lunch rush of those trying to leave the building for noon meal break.

Terry

Call me eager but at 11:50, I had cut my zoom meeting with construction short knowing those motherfuckas will talk my ass off and make me late to meet with Troi. Grabbing the plastic bag the contained today's spread I bee lined for the elevators. Kelvin joined me in the elevator "Going to see your girl huh? " His hand clapped my shoulder

"Not my girl but soon" we watched as the numbers slowly descended to the ground floor. When the doors open immediately I was greeted with the Troi soft curves wrapped in black. Before I could fully enjoy the view. Her distressed expression caused me to follow her eyes

Omar, the resident HR violation, was in front of her, clearly talking to her chest and not her. My hands formed into a fist. I couldn't help but see red at the cause of Troi's discomfort. Kelvin's grasp on my shoulder halted my warpath.

"Be easy bruh, don't go over there swinging " he let me go after stating his peace

Omar didn't even notice me as he was too into having a one sided conversation with Troi's chest but her eyes softened when they caught mine. Side-stepping Omar I snaked my arm around Troi's slim waist. Probably a little too possessive but a point needed to be made " Hey pretty girl you ready to eat? "

Troi stepped further into my side looking between me and Omar "Yes! See Omar I already had plans I'm gonna have to pass on the invitation sorry" Even to the freaky frog of the company she was still polite

"Next time then Troi." This nigga was ignoring that this woman was tucked into my side and clearly mine well almost but he didn't know that.

"Nah,  we got a standing lunch date. " I pulled Troi a little closer into my side.

"My bad Richmond I didn't know this was you" Omar finally met my eyes which I knew were shooting daggers at him. I knew if I spoke again I was going to call him everything but a child of god. So instead I pulled Troi away sucking my teeth.

Troi

"He's never spoken to me ever I have no idea what possessed him to act like that" I couldn't help but explain to Terry. I felt icky after that encounter with Omar like his eyes left grease marks from looking at me too long

Terry balanced the container of jerk chicken on his massive thigh closet to me. "Pretty girl, you're what cause him to act like that. You must not be looking in the mirror " Terry voice sounded extra husky. "Here taste a little bit of the chicken without the extra sauce. " he held a fork up to my lips I instinctively wrapped my mouth around it to capture the morsels of food.

I couldn't help but moan as the flavor exploded onto my tongue. I couldn't read his expression as he stared at my mouth. His eyes felt much different than Omar almost like the cool breeze running through square but also warm like the sun shining through the leaves of the willows above us. "You've got to teach me how to make that Terry! You were holding out on me" I playfully hit his shoulder

"Anytime Wifey, I teach you whatever you like" There's that husky voice again that made me clench my thighs and belly tighten

Would anybody like to be in a tag list? I think I have like 4 more parts maybe to wrap up where my mind went?

[theangrycomet-art]

Trying to explain why naming your new "Protectors of Cybertron" after a group of revolutionists took out one magnus and erased a good chunk of the planets history under the orders of another is a terrible idea.

---

With Sentinel being promoted to Magnus, a new head of elite guard had to be picked.

Jazz WOULD have been the next pick but with him dipping out to spend more time on Earth for who knows how long, the slots left open.

Only problem? None of the Elite Guard want it. Few were willing to work directly under Sentinel when he was the top Prime, but now as acting Magnus? Being at his beck and call 24/7 is a nightmare position- promotion be damned.

Elita ends up drawing the short straw here (she swears Warpath rigged it), and Sentinel was all for it. Besides her extreme competence, Elita's connections to Alpha Trion can help him keep the old rustbucket in line.

Their team up is a strangely effective one, despite the nonstop bickering.

COMMISSIONS OPENED:

[ourfatherwhoartinhell]

Love, Eternal // [Part IV]

Pairing | Phantom x Sister!Reader

Word count | 1.3k

⚠️ Warnings | Reader uses she/her pronouns, (y/n) is used once. There is a ritual scene. TW for murder ghouls, blood, injuries, assault, violence, and death.

Plot Summary: Today was Phantom's summoning day, a special occasion akin to a birthday. Eager to surprise him with a homemade cake, you realize you're missing ingredients and head into town. On the way back, you encounter trouble with some members of the Catholic church that changes the course of your life in the Ministry - and with Phantom - forever.

A/N: I TOLD YOU IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING! This is the last part! Thank you so much for reading this far, I hope it was an enjoyable read. Much love 🖤 xo Emery

[Prev]

Phantom returned a short while later, Swiss and Dew silently trailing him. The poor ghoul was absolutely overcome with grief. Once he found you in the driveway, he could immediately smell the putrid odour of the men who did this to you, their scents still fresh on your beaten body.

When he left the Ministry he had no thoughts but revenge. It was easy for him to pick up on their scent once he was outside, his abilities and senses heightened in his manic state. 

Swiss and Dew knew better than to interrupt a ghoul on a warpath, so they kept their distance, allowing Phantom to do what needed to be done. Sometimes his packmates had wondered how he ever survived in the pit, his trademark traits of being approachable and kind didn’t fly down there.

However, as his fangs elongated and his claws unglamoured, Phantom was quickly proving to all that he was a ghoul from hell after all; mindlessly pulling the first unfortunate soul apart with ease, Swiss and Dew watched proudly as the young ghoul forced the vile human to choke on his internal organs.

Phantom had begun his hunt.

Walking slowly back to the Abbey, Phantom began to come back to earth. His mind was riddled with thoughts of what he could have done differently; maybe he shouldn’t have skipped so many lessons with Aether to spend time with you, maybe he should’ve asked Omega more questions about what his Quintessence could do before he was sent away.

Lost in his thoughts, he began to weep. The thought of losing you and ultimately failing his older brothers, the thought of realizing you were his mate and never getting the chance to tell you. It was almost too much for Phantom to endure.

The blood smearing across his face as he wiped away his tears only made him cry harder. He was covered in as much blood as you were, the only difference being none of it was his. What’s done was done. He was a murderer now. No better than the vermin he just effortlessly dispatched. Phantom knew they would get a special greeting in hell, and that fact brought him a fleeting sense of relief.

He needed to see you one last time. He made his way back up to the main ritual room where he knew Copia would still be with you, but he never could’ve imagined what would be waiting for him once he got there. Rain and Mountain were already inside, the arrangements long forgotten. Dew and Swiss made their appearances known as they stepped behind the young ghoul who had been stopped in the doorway.

“I need to see her, Papa. Please. Just once.”

Copia silently signalled Dew and Swiss closer. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Excuse me?” The fury in Phantom’s eyes quickly returned.

Copia knew better than to get in the way of an angry ghoul, learning his lesson as a child growing up with Alpha, but he stood fast. “Phantom, there’s something you need to know–“

However, the young Quint was hearing none of it as he pushed past Copia and wiggled out of his brothers' grasp.

What he found as he entered further into the room was exactly what he expected: you. What he didn’t expect to see was you… alive? This must have been a dream. He shut his blood stained eyes once, and then twice. You were right in front of him, now sitting between Rain and Mountain in the same place he watched you die - where he felt you die.

What he felt now was something familiar, yet completely new.

Rain had already washed the blood off your face and found you one of the ghoulette’s spare outfits while Mountain had tied up your hair in a ghoulish fashion. Phantom’s brain couldn't compute what he was seeing as he moved cautiously toward where you sat on the ground, still too weak to stand.

Your skin had turned to a violet grey, similar to Phantom’s. Your nails had grown into beautiful claws, and fangs extended where your canines used to be. Your hair turned to a dark blue that almost matched Rain’s, with lighter patches of skin decorating your hairline and cheeks like scales. Phantom noticed your ears were sharp and pointed like Dew's, with the skin at the tip a dark red.

Phantom fell to his knees in front of you, speechless and in awe.

“How–” 

It was like he was looking at an angel gifted from hell. You were one of them now. His beautiful ghuleh, with pieces of all the brothers who helped save you.

When you looked up at Phantom from your place between the two ghouls (who were now your brothers too), Phantom couldn’t contain his tears any longer. Though these were not the tears of sadness and grief from before, these were tears of bewilderment and relief. He didn’t notice at first, but you had the same lighter patch over your eye as he did. Your left eye was a gorgeous shade of ice blue, contrasting the darker grey of the other one. It reminded him of Papa.

“Phantom?”

You were taken aback slightly at the sight of the friendliest ghoul you knew, kneeling in front of you covered in blood from head to toe. He chuckled slightly at the lisp you had when you called his name, not used to your fangs yet. You had extra long ones too, thanks to Swiss. If he was in any other situation, Phantom would've found it incredibly hot.

“If I had known, I would’ve washed up.” He said, looking down at his bloodied attire. His brothers moved aside so Phantom could wrap you in a hug that he never wanted to leave, eager to have your new scent permanently etched onto his soul. “I’m here. I’m never leaving you again.”

The two of you sat like that for a while, your newly heightened senses almost becoming overwhelmed with 5 ghouls and Copia all in the same room. However, if you focused on Phantom, everything felt calm and quiet. You felt safe, wondering if this is how he felt every time he was with you.

You didn’t really know what happened. One minute you were struggling to breathe outside after getting ambushed, the next you had died. Rain and Mountain gave you the Coles notes version of what happened when you awoke. None of which you remembered. You don’t remember much of your time in the pit either. There were ghouls everywhere and it was warm, but not unbearable like you had come to fear it would be. There was one thing you did remember from your time down below though…

“Hey,” you said, as you pushed Phantom off you to look him in the eye. Normally that would’ve been impossible, but you’d worry about that weirdness later. “The devil says Happy Birthday.”

Phantom smiles wider than you have ever seen and places his forehead on yours before desperately, but lovingly, crashing his lips on yours.

“Let’s see Jesus do THAT.” Dew blurts out, completely ruining the tender moment, but not a soul in this room could care as everyone lets out a laugh.

“My dear ghuleh,” Copia says softly, approaching as Phantom helps you to your feet. “You don’t have to choose right now, but in light of your new situation, if there is perhaps a new name you feel is better suited? I can make arrangements on your behalf.”

“Eris.” You spoke as you leaned into Phantom’s touch. “Like the goddess of chaos, cause that’s exactly how this all feels.”

Copia smiled warmly, “Then welcome back to the Ministry, Eris.”

Standing behind you, Phantom cradled you protectively in his arms, nuzzling his nose into your neck. “It’s perfect.”

Copia and your new family left you to get reacquainted. You returned the affection as you twisted to hug your lover once again, relishing in the sweetest scent you had ever experienced as you began to involuntarily rub your cheek over his chest. You were starting to realize what the ghouls meant about the scent thing, Phantom’s was intoxicating and you never wanted to leave. It was like he was made just for you.

“So… I guess no cake then, huh?” Phantom snickers as he leaves soft kisses behind your ear before continuing down your neck.

You quickly pulled away from his embrace. “That was supposed to be a surprise!”

His hands interlocked and rested along the base of your spine. His amused gaze lovingly met the look of disappointment on your face before you let out a frustrated ‘ugh!’ and headbutted his chest.

“Ow!” He yelped. “Sweetheart you’ve got horns now, and apparently Dew gave you some flippin’ pointy ones too.”

“Oops.”

You looked up at Phantom sympathetically, your tail suddenly making an appearance and wrapping around his leg.

“You got my tail though,” he winked.

“My darling ghoul, you have all of me. My heart, my life, and my love, eternally.”

[Prev]

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - VI

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.2k.

Reading Time: 25 min.

Warnings: body horror, falling from heights, graphic depictions of thanatophobia, graphic (yet brief) descent into madness, graphic injuries, mentions of death, mentions of conversion therapy, mentions of experimentation on living things, mentions of femicide, mentions of homophobia, mentions of sexual abuse within the church, mentions of stoning, mild sexism, religious disillusionment, religious trauma, slut shaming

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @dolceterzo @whitepawfics @howlingco @sirianisrock

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

“It burned down!?”

Your lamenting voice howled through the eaves of the Cardinal’s room, laced with so much shock, you had to place the pages on the floor and stare at the Cardinal. He was sat at his desk, typing on his computer (a device he taught you about after your trip to the library, but he never let you touch). He was in his pajamas and robe again, hair freshly tousled from a day of sleep, and face entirely free of make up, stubble present on his chin where he hadn’t shaved and felt no inclination to. The Cardinal laughed - laughed at your sorrow upon learning the Library of Alexandria had been destroyed in the early 1st Century after the birth of Yeshua.

You saw the Cardinal’s shoulders shake as he cackled at your misfortune, turning to look at you with mirth in his eyes. The tragedy was far enough away from him that it didn’t bother him, but to you it was devastating.

“How could thou laugh in such a moment?” You asked, much more stressed than before.

“Now, now, Angel,” the Cardinal said, his tone still lighthearted but showing a sense of underlying warning, “you forget yourself.”

You sighed and pouted, looking down at the floor. “It doth grieve me sorely. Who would commit such a deed?”

“Christians.”

Your stomach dropped and you looked back up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

He nodded, “Christians. Well, there’s no proof but, Christianity was rising at the time, and they’d gone on a warpath, so to speak. And while there’s no proof they did it, doesn’t mean they didn’t do it. Christianity has done a lot to the human race since you left, and they’ve caused a lot of hurt and destruction, and now the people in the highest positions of power are using Christianity and Catholicism as a way to control the masses and exert their power, even today.

“They were particularly rowdy in the 4th and 5th Centuries, though,” he continued, “when the religion became more popular and spread amongst the people. Thousands of people died, mostly women, because the ‘pagan’ lives they lived were sinful and they needed to be stopped. A woman couldn’t be in control of her own body, feel her own sexuality. She must be oppressed.”

“Hypatia.” You muttered.

You remembered hearing about her death what felt like a short time ago, but according to the Cardinal, it happened over 1,000 years ago. Hypatia was the smartest woman of her time - a genius among men. It was sold to you in Heaven that a rogue group of His children stoned her to death for conspiracies against the Almighty, but you never learned the specifics. After all the questioning you’d done thus far, it dawned on you in that moment that maybe her death was unjustified just as your exile was from Heaven.

The Cardinal spoke again, “Jezebel, Venus, even Mary Magdalene.”

Your mouth widened. “Not Mary.”

“Yes, Mary. They look at her like a common whore, and not the wife of Jesus. They don’t revere her as she deserves.”

“This is not what the Almighty had ordained.”

The Cardinal shrugged. “Well, it’s what happened. That Bible you took from the library is riddled with vile hatred and disgust. Leviticus 18:22: ‘Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.’”

You furrowed your brow. “That seems amiss. The Almighty would never have decreed such a judgment.”

It was true, he never explicitly said anything of the sort. You knew firsthand that even Yeshua dabbled in… well… love in all its forms. Everyone knew, but no one talked about it. You found it difficult to believe that the Almighty would condemn his own son to Hell, just because he loved everyone equally.

“It was changed, do you know what from?” The Cardinal asked.

You shook your head.

“‘Man shall not lie with young boys as he does with women.’ It’s pretty interesting that Leviticus was changed like that when the clergy of the Church were starting to get reported on their inappropriate behaviour with children.”

A flash of recognition appeared in your eyes, and the Cardinal caught it.

“You know about that?” He had his full attention on you now, and you could feel the tension bubbling under the surface.

You swallowed, “I did so. And I did question the archangels. And now I am present in this place.” Answering honestly was the only way you felt like he wouldn’t hurt you. His gaze was steely and harsh, but softened a little when he heard your words.

“They kicked you out for it?”

You nodded. “It was the third occasion I dared to query the Almighty. They intended to cast me into the Abyss, hence I fled and stumbled into thy garden. And then thou…” you trailed off and caught the guilt that flooded the Cardinal’s face. You cleared your throat, “Thou didst subject me to all manner of torment, and at times I found myself yearning for the Abyss.”

“You never told me about this.” He said, quietly.

“Thou never inquired - thou was consumed with querying me regarding His designs and how to govern me. And, truth be told, I know not why I am disclosing this to thee now.”

“Well,” he sighed and stood, “you’re not out of the woods yet. So don’t go feeling comfortable.” And with that, he walked away.

There was a sadness to his voice that hadn’t been there before, and you found yourself wondering why it was there in the first place. Your stomach dropped at the realisation, though, that whatever torment you’d faced before, you’d face again. Would it be at the Cardinal’s hand? Would he be the one to administer the blows despite the kindness he’d shown you since he crossed that boundary? Or was it the Sister who wanted so desperately to hurt you? You couldn’t fathom that the Cardinal still hadn’t told her about his discovery. You knew that he’d even hidden the book from her, but you couldn’t understand why.

Your conversation with the Cardinal had left you feeling less than resolved about your position with the Almighty, and worse, with His children. Until now, you were sure His children were innocents in comparison to the clergymen who’d abused their station, but there was something gnawing away at you now that told you the rest of His children sounded just as bad as the ones in charge of His words. But, you didn’t know who could be trusted.

The Cardinal had stolen you, hurt you in unimaginable ways, imprisoned you inhumanely, drained you of your blood to the brink of death for his own enjoyment and consummation, and followed Lucifer, echoing his calls for the dark and becoming a mirror of Lucifer’s hatred for the Almighty. Perhaps he was mistaken? Lead astray by an evildoer with an ulterior motive. Perhaps he could be redeemed, and cured of his vampyrism? But why were you concerned with his soul when he’d done so much to you? His kindness wasn’t without reason - a person couldn’t change that quickly with no reason to. And you were sure he wasn’t trying to better himself on your account. And after Thomas…

But what if he was telling the truth? What if the Lord’s children were simply acting on the Creator’s wishes, doing what they’d been bidden just as you had? As though they weren’t in control of themselves just as you weren’t.

The scariest part was that you were beginning to see things from Lucifer’s perspective. You were starting to understand why he did what he did, falling so far from grace and establishing his own rules within the mortal realm, gaining more and more followers than he ever had just by merely existing. Thomas had told you the Satanic Church hadn’t needed to advertise in the same way the Catholics and Christians did - they just simply existed, and did so peacefully. It was the Christians who did all the advertising for them, and pushing their own people into Lucifer’s arms, and now you knew it was all the oppression they faced.

Those who followed in Yeshua’s footsteps, who loved unconditionally, as humans were programmed to do, were shunned from society, turned out onto the streets by their own families, subjected to torture to ‘cure’ them from a condition that never ailed them in the first place. And, in more extreme cases, they were imprisoned and executed for their ‘crimes’ and ‘indecency’, despite the fact that the son of the Lord they followed was hailed, praised and revered for the love he showed his brothers - and the people who surrounded him.

It was this revelation that helped you see the irony: the Satanists were more closely following the teachings of Yeshua than the Catholics and Christians were, who were the ones that held him in the highest regard. It was this revelation that made you see that if Yeshua were alive today, he’d have been killed or thrown out before he reached his thirtieth year; and it terrified you.

You sighed, your mind ached with the thoughts that were swirling around inside it. Your stomach churned with the notion that God’s creations were straying more and more into the path of evil than of righteousness, despite their hard work to get into the Kingdom of Heaven after they died. You felt woozy and weak, as though you were plagued with a sickness that incapacitated you. This existential spiral you found yourself falling into began because you learned your favourite library had burned to the ground, and perhaps at the hands of early Christians, and the Cardinal hadn’t even bothered to tell you why. You lay down on the floor, your wings cocooning you like they had when you were trapped in the cage, and curled in on yourself, trying to bring yourself a semblence of comfort despite your mind creating turmoil inside itself, the disappointment and shame eating away at you until you wondered if anything was left.

You slept; you didn’t know how long for, only that daylight was pouring into the room underneath the thick curtains when you woke, and you felt so, so cold. You stood and stretched, feeling a little off-kilter as you reached your full height. You stretched your wings out, too, trying desperately to shake the ache out of the muscles. They felt heavier than normal today. Angel wings were heavy given their size, practically spanning the entire length of your body and even dragging a little on the floor.

You wandered into the Cardinal’s room, silently staring at him as he slept; tucked up in his bed and barely visible beneath the sheets. You didn’t know why you came in, but you were there now. Your eyes roamed over the room and landed on the curtains. You could do it… you could open them and send him back down to his creator where he belonged. You could bathe the room in sunlight and watch him burn to death.

You didn’t think, you just walked over to the curtains and placed both of your hands on the fabric as it met in the middle. You looked over at him, his wrinkled face pressed up against the pillowcase as he slept peacefully, unaware that he was in mortal danger from his pet who’d finally worked herself up to bite back. You lifted the corner, and a trickle of sunlight poured into the room.

Do it.

Your arms froze.

Why are you hesitating? Do it!

It didn’t matter how much you tried to pull the curtains back and flood the room with the warmth of the sun, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t bring yourself to move at all, let alone even push the curtains back in their place.

“My Lord,” you said under your breath, “grant me Thy strength, that I may vanquish the wicked, cast him back into Hell where he rightfully belongs. Permit me to undertake this task for Thee, to repent, to atone for my transgressions, and to welcome me into Thy grace, where my true calling lies.”

You longed to feel His light envelop you and give you the strength to complete the task at hand, but it didn’t matter how much you prayed, how much of your energy you devoted to Him, He never answered your call. The part of you that still believed in His worthiness told yourself that this was your true punishment: to live with the monster who treated you like an animal despite the kindness that lay beneath the surface, the monster who hurt and betrayed you as if his life depended on it with no concept of your own thoughts, feelings and emotions until he took it a step too far out of his own comfort zone. A monster who did it once, and would willingly do it all again if his previous comment was to be taken seriously.

You’re not out of the woods yet. So don’t go feeling comfortable.

Those words echoed in your mind like the haunting melodies of the church hymns you’d sang to yourself while you were alone in the Cardinal’s apartments, sending shivers up and down your spine and instilling a low-lying sense of fear within your gut. You could end it all now, you should end it all now. You were born a killing machine for the Lord, so this was nothing new. And yet, the hesitation and the lack of movement felt too much to bear in your clouded mind, and before you knew it, you took a step back, letting go of the thick curtains and staring at your hands in disbelief.

The old you wouldn’t have hesitated. The old you would have sent him to the very pits of Hell and told yourself that justice was served. But how could there be justice when the judge ignored the case, and left the prosecution and defendant to rot in the courthouse together until a solution was reached outside of the law? The old you would have acted on her feelings, but the old you died when she fell from Heaven, and was kidnapped by a crazy vampyre with an angel blood addiction.

When the Cardinal woke, he found you sat in the armchair in front of your cage, eyes wide and distant. The chair had been turned to face the cage that held your halo in it, and your eyes were fixed on the part of your body that you’d not touched since your escape. You didn’t move, nor blink, nor acknowledge him when he spoke to you. You just stared with a vacant expression at the one part of you that you could see but not touch. No poking, prodding, or waving his hand in front of your eyes could get you to look at him, or snap out of your trance.

He stood back and thought for a moment, his own inner turmoil eating away at him. Though, you’d never see it. The half of him that listened to the Sister told him to just leave you be, that it didn’t matter if you were broken because maybe you’d be more useful. But he’d grown soft in the time he’d spent with you, and for some reason, it pained him to see you like this.

He stormed through his room, pulling open his bedside drawer and moving stacks of papers out of the way to get to Lorenzo Giovanni’s book, knowing that there would be something in there to explain what this was. He opened the spine and flicked through the pages, skim-reading bulks of text to try and find the information he needed. With each page he turned, and with each passage that he waded through, he began to lose his patience. How could something so crucial take so long to find? Surely it would have its own dedicated chapter?

Eventually, he found what he was looking for:

‘Angels who have been deprived of their halos for extended durations enter a frenzied state in a final endeavour to safeguard their lives. An angel bereft of their halo, with every passing moment, diminishes in their Holy Light. They need not eat nor drink like mere mortals, rather, Holy Light is what sustains an angel’s vitality and vigour. Although an angel may endure without their halo, they must replenish their Light regularly to prevent wasting away and perishing.

‘However, an angel possessing their halo is robust and can only be subdued by metal forged in the fires of Hell. The chamber in which I studied this was imbued with such material, from the nails in the floor to the very structure of the room. Yet, even as I restored the angel’s halo, I persisted in keeping them restrained, as a precaution to safeguard my life and my research. It effectively subdued the angel, allowing me to remove the halo once their Light had been replenished. Take heed, denizens of the nocturnal realm. My infernal assistant met his demise when he gazed into the angel’s eyes, for the brilliance of the Holy Light proved overpowering for one of such lowly station.’

The Cardinal thought back to that time when you’d asked him for your halo, and how he’d denied your request. At the time, he assumed that you were just hoping to get your halo back and make a run for it - he didn’t realise that you were losing your strength. He’d read this book a while ago, but hardly any of the information retained in his brain because… why would it? He never thought he’d meet an angel let alone capture one. Yet there you were, going manic in his chair because you were, in essence, on your last legs.

He grabbed some Hellfire chains and tied you to the chair as best as he could, trying to make absolutely sure that you weren’t going to escape, or worse, kill him. When he was prepared, he unlocked the cage that your halo sat in, noticing the light had dwindled significantly in comparison to when he first saw it all those nights ago, and once his gloves were securely in place, he carefully took it in his hands and brought it over to you. He didn’t know what to do because Giovanni didn’t say in his book… conveniently. So instead he just placed your halo on your head and took many steps back and hid behind his open door. He wasn’t a low-level Hell dweller by any stretch of the imagination, but he was sensitive to light, and wasn’t willing to risk death.

Nothing happened.

He peered round the wood to look at you and was about to leave his hiding spot when suddenly the room filled with a great, white light, so bright it had him hide behind the door immediately. Everything he owned was bathed within your holy light, so much so it felt like his eyes were an over-exposed camera taking outdoor shots. He could barely make out the grain details on the door in front of him, and it was only a few centimetres away from his nose.

He wasn’t sure if it was actual pain, or just his imagination playing tricks on him, but he could swear he felt his skin prickle at the brightness, a light burn as if he’d been stung by oil when cooking. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to avoid his retinas burning out of his eye sockets, not that he knew that would happen, but, for the first time in a very long time, he was scared. It wasn’t so much death that scared him, he’d died before. He remembered the way his body went numb as the vampyric venom engulfed his cells and shut every single unnecessary one down; the way his body convulsed as his blood heated and his stomach withered and blackened; the ache in his bones as his body weight drastically fluctuated from dead muscle to resuscitated, all within the hour.

He remembered how he watched the same thing happen to his mother.

No, it wasn’t death itself he was afraid of, more like the method in which he met his permanent end. He knew how dangerous angels could be to creatures of the night such as himself, how a single tear could burn through his skin like holy water did. Not to mention the weakness to light, holy light included. You were a killing machine, despite your protests, and there were a number of ways you could ensure his death, effortlessly in some cases. You terrified him, yet thrilled him. Like a charmer playing with a poisonous snake, like adrenaline junkies jumping from planes.

You were too weak when you first met to be considered a true threat - but now your Holy Light had returned… now you were a potential threat.

Everything felt different when you opened your eyes, blinking the light out of them. Your body was mended, bones strong and muscles sharp and ready to move at a moment’s notice. Your mind was clear… well, clearer than it had been. You felt whole, complete, normal.

You surveyed the room with newfound clarity, your vision unobstructed by the haze of weakness that had clouded your senses before. When you listened, you could hear things happening from kilometres away, you could hear the wind rustling through the trees outside as though you were standing directly beneath them. You could smell the food cooking in the kitchens below, despite them being nowhere near your room. You could even smell the honey that was created in the hives outside. The familiar tinkling of your halo distracted you, and you almost panicked when you looked to the cage to find your halo was missing, only to realise it was currently on your head.

You tried to fight against the chains, but the Hellfire burned with each movement, you had to stop.

The Cardinal cowered behind the door, his fear palpable in the air. It amused you, the contrast between his bravado and vulnerability now laid bare. You could smell him, taste the fear that bubbled up in his chest, hear his heart rhythmically pumping as the sweat began to form on his brow. It wasn’t until the entirety of your holy light had dissipated, you finally saw him poke his head around the edge of the door. His eyes were trained on your halo, and kept flickering between it and other parts of your body, wary of looking you in your eyes. This time, you weren’t stupid. This time you knew why he dodged your eyes, and knew it would be that way for a while until he felt safe enough to challenge you again. You felt powerful, yet you were entirely unable to do anything about it.

The Cardinal walked over to you and immediately removed your halo from your head, practically throwing it back into the cage. Not a single word was uttered and it didn’t need to be - but when the door to your own cage opened, you knew you would be in there for some time.

Days passed, and the Cardinal didn’t return home for the majority of them. Again, you didn’t know where he was, just that he was avoiding you for fear of his own life. The notion that he was scared sat well with you, to the point where you were almost content being caged.

Almost.

The amount of time you’d spent out of it, free and happy had allowed you to taste somewhat what you used to have. The anger that bubbled inside of you was terrifying, even for you. Each passing second simply added to your frustration, and your imprisonment served as a continual reminder of your powerlessness. You yearned to be free of the cage that held you, to unleash the full might of your divine strength on those who had harmed you. But try as you may, the Hellfire-forged bars remained solid, their scorching heat acting as a harsh barrier to any attempts at escape.

Despite your rage and fury, a spark of resolution flickered within you. You refused to give in to despair and accept your fate as imposed by others. No, you promised to recapture your independence, to break free from the chains that held you back and establish a new way ahead. And, while the Cardinal may have believed he ruled over or underestimated you, he would soon realise his grievous mistake. For you were more than simply an angel; you were a force to be reckoned with, a being of unrivalled strength and resilience. Especially now that you had your strength back.

As the Cardinal eventually entered the room, his demeanour revealed a sense of sheepishness that contrasted sharply with his normal confidence. His eyes darted anxiously about the room, avoiding direct contact with yours, as if he was afraid of what he may discover. Despite his best efforts to appear collected, he radiated an unmistakable air of unease.

You looked at him with a mixture of wonder and caution, unsure what to make of his unexpected return. You’d had plenty of time to stew in your wrath and resentment during your seclusion, and now that you were back in the Cardinal’s company, you were conflicted between a desire for vengeance and a cautious hope for peace.

The Cardinal cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling his feet as he approached your cage. His hands fidgeted nervously at his sides, betraying the inner turmoil that churned beneath his composed exterior. It was clear that he had something to say, yet finding the right words seemed to elude him.

After a moment of tense silence, he finally spoke, his voice tinged with an unfamiliar vulnerability. “You can come out now.”

With a grateful nod, you acknowledged his gesture and took a step forward, loving the sudden freedom that engulfed you like a warm embrace. The air seemed crisper outside your prison, and you spread your wings, savouring the rush of freedom that ran through your veins.

As you stepped out of the cage, the weight of confinement lifted off your shoulders, you couldn’t help but notice the Cardinal’s refusal to meet your eyes. His avoidance of eye contact communicated volumes, exposing a vulnerability rarely seen in the powerful person before you. “Will thou not cast thine eyes upon me?”

He looked at you, if only briefly, before looking away again. “Sister Imperator wants to try the second ritual this week during the full moon.” He told you.

But as you returned your attention to the Cardinal, you couldn’t ignore the tension that hovered in the air between you. His comments concerning (who you assumed to be) the Sister’s plans for the next ceremony just added to the severity of the situation, reminding you of the dangerous balance that existed within the Satanic Church.

“I understand,” you said evenly, your tone laced with resignation. Despite your unwillingness to embrace the truth of your situation, you understood Sister Imperator’s intentions were not to be underestimated. The notion of another ceremony made you nervous, but you knew you had no choice but to comply with her requests. “Dost thou not desire it to come to pass?”

“I’ll need some more of your blood before the second ritual,” he said, closing the cage behind you and making a move, “but now that you’re fully healed, we have time.”

“What doth the second rite entail?”

He didn’t answer, another question he chose to dodge.

You sighed, “Would thou permit me to partake in at least one flight until then?”

“One. Tomorrow. But you take a few ghouls up with you to make sure you don’t escape.”

You nodded, reluctantly accepting the Cardinal’s requirements. Despite the constraints imposed on you, the idea of a single flight provided a ray of hope amid the oppressive confines of your imprisonment.

As the Cardinal exited the room, leaving you alone once more, you couldn’t help but feel a sensation of unease creeping along the borders of your consciousness. His elusive comments and hidden plans further added to your suspicions, leading you to wonder about the true nature of the second ceremony and your part in carrying it out.

In reality, you knew what the second ritual entailed, but you wanted him to tell you. It was the ritual of temptation. They would orchestrate scenarios designed to appeal to your desires and weaknesses, tempting you to stray from the path of righteousness. Through manipulation and deceit, they would slowly lead you down a darker path, enticing you with promises of power and gratification. But there was a part of you that wondered what they’d use to tempt you so much as to complete their goal. You didn’t want anything enough to be tempted. Except… your freedom.

Would they really gamble the possibility of letting you go free in order to get what they wanted? Quite possibly.

The next day arrived. The thought of flying dangled before you like a tantalising treasure, and you eagerly awaited the set hour, your excitement growing with each passing moment. When the time came, the Cardinal returned to his chambers with a retinue of ghouls waiting to accompany you on your little excursion.

You followed the Cardinal outside, the cold breeze caressing your feathers and rousing your soul’s need for freedom. A wave of unease passed over you as you readied yourself to take off and saw the Cardinal fastening another chain around your wrists. The weight of the metal seemed like an anchor, straining at your spirits and serving as a sharp reminder of the restrictions that still held you back, even in the middle of your newfound happiness.

“This is an extra precaution,” the Cardinal told you, “just in case.”

You scoffed, offended. “Thinkest thou I would soar without my halo?”

“This was the only way I could get Imperator to agree,” the Cardinal responded, his voice much more curt and annoyed, “take it or leave it.”

“Fine.” You huffed.

With a deep breath, you unfurled your wings and launched yourself into the air, relishing the sensation of weightlessness as you soared through the sky. For a blissful moment, you allowed yourself to forget the constraints of your captivity, losing yourself in the exhilarating freedom of flight. The world below stretched out before you, a vast tapestry of earth and sky unfolding in all directions. You barely noticed the two ghouls that flew alongside you, their enlarged bat wings flapping quickly to keep up with you.

With each tremendous beat of your wings, you felt a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, propelling you higher and higher into the limitless expanse of the sky. The weight of your worldly concerns vanished as you soared through the air, supported by the gentle currents that took you upward.

As you ascended, the earth below seemed to fade away, its wide expanse unfolding beneath you like a sprawling canvas painted in green and gold. The distant horizon beckoned with the promise of adventure, while the vast expanse of sky stretched out in front of you like a limitless playground, asking you to explore every corner.

As you danced among the clouds, you felt a sense of lightness flood over you, as if the essence of your being had been liberated from its earthly confines. Each inhalation filled your lungs with the crisp, clean air of the sky, giving you a renewed sense of vitality and purpose.

The landscape took on a dreamy character, your senses heightened by the pure exhilaration of freedom. The wind whispered sweet nothings in your ears as it danced through your feathers, while the sun showered your skin in golden light, filling you with warmth and contentment.

Beside you, the two ghouls flew with effortless grace, their bat-like wings beating in perfect harmony with your own. Together, you formed a symphony of motion, a testament to the boundless beauty and majesty of the natural world.

For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to forget the trials and tribulations that awaited you on the ground below, losing yourself in the timeless ecstasy of flight. In that moment, you were truly free, unbound by the constraints of your captivity, and liberated by the boundless expanse of the sky.

As you basked in the joy of flying, you couldn’t help but notice a slight but unsettling tremor in your wings. At first, you ignored it as a passing sensation, a blip in your otherwise immaculate performance. However, as you continued to soar into the sky, your shaking became more severe, causing your wings to waver and stutter with greater frequency.

It had been so long since you last flew, so long since you properly used your wings. And like most things in the human body, you either use it or lose it. You’d never gone this long without taking flight, didn’t know that your wings would become unused to the constant flapping and carrying your weight. You tried to push passed the feeling, tried to force your wings to get used to it.

However, with each wavering flutter of your wings, a flood of fear clutched your heart, threatening to shatter the illusion of freedom that had surrounded you. You battled to stay aloft, fighting the inevitable pull of gravity that threatened to bring you back down to earth.

For a little while, doubt entered your head, clouding your thoughts with uncertainty. Had you been too acclimated to the constraints of your imprisonment, too dependent on the security of solid earth beneath your feet? Was it only a matter of time before your feeble wings regained their power and resilience?

As you reluctantly chose to descend, a gnawing sense of unease gnawed at the borders of your awareness. Despite your best efforts to ignore your mounting anxiety, a foreboding sensation of dread hung over you like a suffocating blanket.

The trembling in your wings were more noticeable with each passing instant, sending waves of panic through your veins. You could feel the muscles in your wings spasm and cramp, a stinging pain piercing your body with each faltering beat.

Desperation clawed at your chest as you struggled to keep control, but it was a losing battle against the never-ending barrage of pain and tiredness. Tears of frustration clouded your eyes as you tried to maintain your altitude, turning your once elegant flight into a sloppy, unpredictable plummet.

In a heartbreaking moment of terror, you stretched out to the nearest ghoul, your shaking hand urgently searching for help. Despite your best efforts, your fingers fell short, gripping only empty air as you plunged to the ground below.

Time appeared to slow to a halt as you hurtled towards the ground, the wind blowing passed your ears in a deafening roar. In that quick instant, you felt tremendous sadness mixed with the sharp sting of failure, your mind casting back to the last time you fell so far, your body on fire and screaming as you were cast out of Heaven. You were reminded of the mob that chased you, the pain that covered you as you made contact with the ground, and the horrors that followed. You could feel your chest and throat vibrating - you must have been screaming, though you couldn’t hear that. Just the wind.

You crashed with the hard dirt with a terrible thud, sending a searing shock of pain through your body. The blow took the breath out of your lungs, leaving you gasping for oxygen as darkness threatened to devour you.

Through the veil of pain and disorientation, you could just hear the ghouls’ frantic yells as they hurried to your side, their voices reverberating in the back of your mind. But it was too late: the damage had been done, and you were left to face the brutal truth of your unsuccessful flight.

As the ghouls swiftly removed your damaged body from the ground, their hands soft yet forceful, you could feel the scorching heat of your tears scalding your cheeks, a bitter memory of the misery that had consumed your body. Each movement sent a spike of anguish through your limbs, an unrelenting assault that threatened to overpower your senses.

Your cries rang through the air, creating a terrible melody of anguish and sorrow that broke the silence of the surrounding environment. Sweat beaded your forehead along with tears, a sign of the severe mental and physical anguish you were going through.

In the chaos of the moment, none noticed as the tear landed upon the exposed skin of one of the ghouls, a faint sizzle accompanied by a sharp hiss of pain.

The ghoul recoiled in agony, clutching at the burned patch of skin where your tear had made contact. The area reddened and blistered almost instantly, the intense heat searing through flesh and leaving behind a trail of charred tissue. With a guttural cry, the injured ghoul let go of you and stumbled backward, his features contorted in pain beneath his mask as he struggled to compose himself.

The other ghouls looked at their injured friend with concern, their gaze bouncing between him and you as they tried to process what had just happened. The air became tight, filled with unsaid questions and anxiety as they exchanged uneasy glances, yet they still continued to drag you inside, this time making sure their skin was hidden beneath their clothes.

In the faint light of the Cardinal’s apartments, you lay on the cold stone floor, your body tortured with pain as your limbs gradually healed. Each passing instant felt like an eternity as you waited for the agony to end, a silent plea for relief that went unanswered.

And you were overcome with a sense of dread that covered you like a heavy blanket as you lay there in the strange silence of the chamber. The events of the day weighed heavily on your soul, putting a cloud of doubt over your future and forcing you to confront the brutal reality of your own weakness.

Prev./Next

[hyrules-warrior]

Imagine if after the end credit scene of Shadow retrieving his inhibitors, he is found by GUN.

He has just dragged himself out of the second crater, snapping his ring on his wrist when he hears the helicopters.

GUN has found him

He briefly contemplates teleporting away, hiding in the surrounding forest or a fight...... but just as quickly he abandons those thoughts.

He is tired. He honestly had not planned for there to be an "after" . He has lost everything, and anything he knows is 50 years out of date.

He almost destroyed the world. GUN is right. He is dangerous, he is a monster. And dangerous things should be locked away and kept under control.

So he submits himself to GUN. He submits himself to testing and stasis when he is not needed. They test many things, his strength, his healing ability, his speed. They run him to exhaustion, they pit him against the weapons they build to see how effective they are, they bleed him dry taking samples.

He grows weaker by the day. They take without giving him time to recover and just put him in stasis. This is penance he thinks. His punishment for his crimes. He almost destroyed the world, and now they will study him to death to better defend it from monsters like him in the future.

It goes on for months, weeks in stasis broken up by short bursts of testing. His quills become brittle, his fur dull and greasy, and his bright red eyes fade to a pale grey. He wonders if one day they will take too much and he will finally fade completely. His soul free to join Maria where ever she is. He starts to hope for that day.

Sonic and everyone else think he is dead until someone (aka rouge the bat) leaks GUN info to the Wachowski's. They are all horrified at what is happening to Shadow and Maddie specifically goes on a warpath to free him into their care. "look at the state of him, you don't need to be a vet to see that whatever you are doing is killing him!"

GUN resists and it takes longer than anyone wants to get him free. It even includes Sonic and their mysterious leaker threatening to go public about some of GUN's less than good past plans/intentions but eventually Shadow is released into their care.

Shadow just thinks he is being given to new researchers, especially when he learns Maddie is a vet. Medical research this time, maybe it will be a break from fighting things and running all the time? Maybe less stasis too since they will need to observe him more? He hates stasis, the fluid stinks and always leaves his skin so itchy and mats his fur. Perhaps these researchers will be a bit better. More like Gerald and the scientists. Plus Sonic and the others he was with are kept here too. Maybe he will be allowed to interact with them, it could be nice to be with others that look like him for once.

It takes time for him realize the testing is over. He at first thinks they are waiting for him to regain his strength before starting but even after he has recovered no testing happens. He just keeps waiting, remaining quiet and compliant. It takes even longer for him to learn that they don't "own him", he is just joining their family. He is free to do as he wishes in ways he has never really known. Free to be "Shadow" without the word "Project" attached. Shadow has no concept of family, he has only ever been owned and he struggles to figure out how it is different. Maria loved and cared for him and he for her but she was a child. Any adult in his life has been an owner more than a parent or true caregiver. Luckily the Wachowski family has plenty of patience and love to spare to help him find out what family is and who he is.

[alex-bumble-bee]

many happy returns

This is a short story I wrote about Maggie and Jude for a creative writing class! As of right now, it's not canon to the universe of Death is the Doing- it doesn't acknowledge the murder of Armistead (or the ~murderer~ **wink wink**), only that he dies. I hope you guys will enjoy it, and enjoy a taste of my non-poetry writing :))

Word Count: 3917

South Carolina // August 10th, 1939

Eleven

At approximately 6:30, on the evening of her eleventh birthday, Magdalena Lord found herself waiting for the other shoe to drop. It can’t happen like this, can it? It never has before.

Like every other birthday of her life, she’d awoken to the blurry form of her mother stroking her cheek and singing to her. Like every other birthday, she’d put on her glasses while sitting up, watching as her mother’s russet curls came into focus. Like every other birthday, she’d known the plans ahead of time (the dinner, the party, the dancing), but her mother had explained them to her again, striding over to Maggie’s closet and showing her the outfit she’d be expected to wear, going over the plan of the people she’d be expected to talk to. Like every other birthday, Maggie had taken a moment of silence before leaving her room, savoring the calm before the storm. It was her birthday, which meant two of her siblings would be on the warpath, not to mention her father. And it was her birthday, which meant she couldn’t hide, as much as she’d like to.

Things had been tenuously civil all day, and it was driving her to distraction, feeling her spine stretched tight like a piano wire, her father on one end, Elias and Ava at the other. The party was beginning, and still no one had made a scene. The word unnatural floated through her mind, unbidden. She could feel Elias burning with something, sucking on a secret like hard candy.

Catharine Lord had lined up the children in the private sitting room- all five, from oldest to youngest- and was presently stalking up and down in front of them like a 4-star general, the European kind that her father read about in the paper. An inspection was necessary before they made an entrance, per usual. Maggie fidgeted in her spot, second from the last, adjusting her glasses.

“Maggie, take your glasses off,” Catharine snapped, stopping in front of Patrick at the other end of the line (Patrick, eighteen, even-keeled, fawn-eyed). “They’re unbecoming.”

“Mom- ” Patrick began, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Quiet, Patrick. Fix your tie. Honestly, how you manage to mess it up every time is beyond me- you’re too old for this.”

Next to him in line, Imogen (fifteen, blonde, blossom-soft) moved to assist, and Catharine scoffed. “Don’t help him, Imogen- he needs to learn.”

Imogen swallowed and turned her eyes back to the oriental rug. Maggie watched as Catharine’s gaze swept up and down the line. Patrick, Imogen, Elias, Maggie, Ava. Ava, Maggie, Elias, Imogen, Patrick.

“Imogen, look at me.” Imogen tentatively raised her blue eyes, meeting their mother’s hazel ones through her own pale lashes. “Look at me, Imogen.”

“I’m sorry,” Imogen murmured, pulling at her skirt.

“Don’t be sorry, be better,” Catharine drawled. “You look adequate. Try to act like you’re enjoying yourself this year, won’t you?”

Imogen nodded and went back to studying the floor. Elias (thirteen, ginger, always burning) was already waiting for their mother when she turned her gaze to him, his small hands balled into freckled fists at his sides. Standing just to his left, Maggie waited, her body held in a preemptive flinch. She could feel him tensing, a coiled spring, a mousetrap boy with eyes like ice chips.

“Elias,” Catharine began, extending a long finger towards him, her eyes narrowing, “don’t start. This is not your day. You will be pleasant, you will be reasonable, and if I hear from anyone that you’ve been anything else, I’m going to personally see to it that your birthday is ruined as well.”

On Maggie’s other side, Ava (nine, green-eyed, needle-sharp) snapped. “NO, that’s not fair!"

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?” roared a voice from the doorway. Maggie’s heart dropped as her father strode into the room, scooping up Ava with ease, who twisted in his grasp, still trying to face their mother. Ava hated being held, but she hated being quieted more. Their father called her Lady Justice, always with an eye-roll and a sigh.

“Armie, can’t you keep your children under control?” Catharine hissed, one of her eyes twitching. Maggie’s hand was seized, and she was pulled roughly against her mother’s bony chest. “You’d think they were born in a barn, the way they behave.”

Ava was promptly dropped as Armistead Lord rounded on his wife. “The way they behave?! They behave better than you ever have, you harpy.”

Catharine straightened, her hand tightening around Maggie’s own. “Are you prepared to ruin this family, Armie? Everyone who’s anyone in Charleston is downstairs in the parlor right now- do you really want to make a scene?”

“God, shut up, Cat.” A darkness crossed Armistead’s face as he made eye-contact with Maggie. She felt her lower lip begin to tremble. He had eyes like Elias (clear and cold) and she was suddenly aware that he rarely looked at her directly- it felt like a spear through the chest.  “If your mother hadn’t whored herself all over Greece, I wouldn’t be saddled with pretending you’re mine, you pathetic, knock-kneed little dago.”

The slap across the face that he received from Catharine in response to this insult echoed within the confines of the sitting room. Maggie was numb, blinking in paralyzed shock.

Greece- 

Whored herself-

Pretending you’re mine-

Patrick was looking at her, his gentle eyes pained, attempting to offer muted reassurance. Imogen already had tears curling down her round cheeks, looking mildly jealous of them as they sought escape via absorption into the rug at her feet. You knew- you already knew. Elias had made a beeline for their father, glaring at Maggie the entire time, his face redder than his hair. Ava had reached the point of no return, and looked in danger of exploding, shattering into shrapnel like in the stories they overheard about the burgeoning war in Europe. A choked, hiccupy whimper escaped the confines of Maggie’s chest. Her face was wet. Catharine had begun to wipe roughly at her face, talking again- saying something about the party, about the guests- but Maggie found she couldn’t understand anymore.

Dad. Dad. Dad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. 

South Carolina // August 10th, 1948

Twenty

At approximately 6:30, on the evening of her twentieth birthday, Magdalena Lord found herself questioning everything. Her father had been dead for a week, and she had yet to cry. The house was full again, like it hadn’t been in years, all of her siblings having been summoned home to have their portraits painted. The artist her father had employed was one Judith Mitchell, known to all as Jude, who was rapidly causing Maggie to think and behave in ways that alarmed her. When Jude had arrived in South Carolina, she’d stepped out of her rickety old Ford with all of the attitude of someone much larger than she actually was, as if female artists from Massachusetts regularly appeared outside of Charleston wearing what appeared to be hand-altered men’s clothing. If she was intimidated by the massive Georgian-style house, with its great, white columns and its opulence, she didn’t show it. Instead, she’d slung her rucksack over one shoulder and joined Maggie on the veranda, where she’d extended a lightly tanned hand towards her.

“Jude Mitchell,” she’d said, smiling crookedly. She had green eyes, Maggie noticed, absently. Her short, sandy hair was very neat, and she smelled like aftershave, as if she’d recently seen a barber. The top of her head came up to Maggie’s chin, and Maggie was once again conscious of all five feet and ten inches of her willowy height, remembering the nights in adolescence that she’d spent praying to stop growing, convinced that if she could just remain below 5 '8”, her mother would be happy. When Jude’s hand met her own, she found it was strong and lightly calloused- an artist’s hand, with dark smudges lingering in the cuticles and under the nails. She was suddenly possessed by the bizarre urge to keep holding it, and, alarmed, dropped it like it had bitten her.

“Gotta name?”

Maggie flushed. “Oh! Oh, yes. My apologies- I’m Magdalena. Maggie. Maggie Lord.”

Jude grinned again, tilting her head to one side, and Maggie felt her stomach flip. What was happening to her? Her mother had set her up with plenty of bored young men at Charleston’s finest soirées, and nothing remotely like this had ever occurred.

“Nice to meet you, Maggie,” Jude had said, with a genuineness that had startled her, and that had been the end of their only conversation since Jude’s arrival, largely due to Maggie avoiding her at every opportunity. The sensations that Jude Mitchell inspired within her were unfamiliar, not unpleasant, and felt suspiciously like how attraction had been described to her. Jude had taken to spending her free time with Patrick, Maggie’s oldest brother, who seemed determined to draw the two women together into some sort of friendship. Had his choice of friends been anyone else, Maggie would’ve thanked him, but Maggie had already set about avoiding Jude at all costs, convinced that the sensations produced within her when the artist smiled in her direction (and, once, winked) were going to be her undoing.

And then one day she’d woken up, and learned that her father had died in the night. Such a man left behind a vacuum in space, and Maggie was rapidly spiraling into it. In the intervening few days, she’d barely eaten or slept. He hadn’t been kind to her- in fact, he’d been virulently the opposite- but the house felt too large and too quiet without him. They were all coping in their separate ways. Her mother seemed entirely unaffected (although she had hated him, she admitted), while Patrick was tired, and Imogen couldn’t stop crying. Elias was a wreck, smashing plates and windows whenever he couldn’t find a better outlet for his grief, and Ava, who had wept at first, was now steely. 

You still haven’t cried, she thought to herself as her tired gaze drifted out over the garden, sweeping over the Spanish moss that crept its silent way up the trees. Although I suppose that’s to be expected, given the way he treated you. Still, a pendulous suspense had taken root inside of her, presenting itself as a thick weight behind her sternum, pressing against her lungs. The view from the back porch was beautiful on summer evenings, the sun lowering itself with languid nonchalance towards the horizon, but it did nothing to combat the unease within her.

The clearing of a throat behind her made her jump, her hands clutching at the material of her white sundress. Turning around, her eyes landed on two poorly-hemmed, trouser-clad legs, and she allowed herself to indulge in the trip upwards to Jude’s face.

“Can I sit?” the artist asked, her expression frank. Surprising herself, Maggie nodded, then wondered why she had, then realized it was probably best if she didn’t think about it too much. Jude lowered herself down beside her, and turned to face her, eventually opening her mouth again to ask another question.

“What are your glasses for? Sometimes you wear them and sometimes you don’t, and I can’t figure out why.”

Maggie laughed softly. “Oh, they’re for just about everything- I have awful eyesight. My mother just doesn’t like me to wear them. She says they’re unattractive.”

Jude snorted. “You do know that you’re beautiful, right? ‘Cause I look at a lot of faces in my line of work, and just to tell you a secret, I do pick favorites- yours is up there.”

Upon hearing this, Maggie’s first conscious instinct was to look away, and her first unconscious instinct was to flush violently. Suddenly, however, she could hear her mother’s voice in her head, saying a handsome artist has just paid you a compliment- you will say thank you, and you will not ruin this, so she looked back, a blush spilling across her collarbones, threatening the neckline of her dress.

“I- what- thank you,” she replied with effort. Her lips twitching slightly, Jude settled back against the railing of the porch steps, pulling out her sketchpad and a stick of graphite.

“Sit for me? I could use the practice.” She flipped to an empty page as Maggie spluttered and plucked nervously at one of her dark curls. 

“I don’t know how- I’ll probably do it wrong.”

Jude grinned. “Hey, I’m here to paint portraits of your family, so you’ll have to learn anyway.”

“Well, yes, but- ”

“You don’t even have to sit very still- it’s really easy. Here, just- ” she took Maggie’s slender hand and settled it beside its twin. “Just like that. You can even talk to me.”

Maggie worked one of her lips between her teeth, tasting lipstick, and said nothing. “Mmm-hmm?”

“So, uh, Patrick told me I could find you out here,” Jude began, using her graphite to cast confident strokes across the empty page. “Happy birthday.”

Maggie felt her stomach clench. “Did my mother tell you?”

Jude shook her head and cleared her throat. “It was Patrick. Twenty years old- doing anything special?”

She looked away again, eyes dropping back down to her lap. “Not if Mama hasn’t planned anything. What with Father’s death and all, I can’t believe anyone remembered.”

Jude had nothing to say in response to this, so she hummed softly and went back to her work. Inside the house, someone started a record, and Dean Martin began singing. Maggie could feel something shifting inside of her. She had a sudden, desperate urge to explain, to say this is why I’m like this- this is why I won’t talk to you, why I keep running. My father hated me, my mother’s obsessed with me, the whole town thinks I’m better off gone.

“Things always seem to happen around my birthday,” she murmured. “The night I turned eleven, my father told me that he wasn’t my father. The whole town already knew.” As she’d grown older, she’d realized it was obvious; she was tall, thin, pale, and dark-haired, and she’d borne virtually no resemblance to Armistead Lord, who had been stocky and ruddy-faced, his blond hair fading reluctantly into gray. 

“My dad’s dead too,” Jude said by way of comfort, lifting her gaze to Maggie. “He was a prick- mostly to my mom- but I didn’t really know it at the time. All I knew was that he loved me. He was my hero.”

“My father hated me.” This is why I’m like this. She heard her own voice from somewhere outside herself, speaking expressionlessly, as if she were reading aloud a menu at a restaurant. “You met him, so you know what he was like. I wasn’t his, and I guess it was my fault.”

“Maggie?”

Ava’s voice came from behind them on the porch, and, upon hearing it, Maggie let out a very undignified shriek that her mother would’ve hated, had she been present. She watched Ava look at Jude, and something passed between them.

“Hey, Maggie?” Jude asked, slipping her graphite back into the pocket of her trousers. Maggie blinked owlishly, and Jude took this as a sign to continue. “I think your sister has some stuff she wants to say to you, so I’m gonna leave you two alone for awhile, alright? I’ll go bother Patrick in the study again.”

Maggie nodded absently as Jude and Ava switched places. “I- um, I’ll see you later?”

Jude shot her a grin, sauntering towards the French doors. “I still need to paint you, remember?” 

With that, she vanished into the house. Maggie swallowed. Beside her, Ava threw a long lock of tawny hair over her shoulder. 

“So, uh…” she began, eyes fixed on her kitten heels, “I wanted to, uh… talk to you. Yeah. Talk to you.”

“Mm-hmm?” Maggie felt her eyebrows pinch together in concern. She wanted to ask what’s wrong with you? are you alright? because Ava had never been too scared to say anything, but at the same time (six-year-old Ava tugging on Maggie’s curls, ten-year-old Ava destroying Maggie’s favorite clothes, fourteen-year-old Ava telling everybody at school that Maggie had started menstruating).

Ava’s mouth was held in a tight line, and her gaze remained between her feet. “I guess I just wanted to say sorry. I- I don’t really know how to do this. I wanted to say sorry, though.”

“Sorry?” Maggie was fairly certain she could count on one hand the amount of times Ava, fiercely proud and passionately self-assured, had apologized to her.

Ava laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, you know, sorry? That thing you say when you realize you’ve mistreated someone your entire life.” 

“Ava- ”

“ -can I just get this out? Thank you. I… sorry. I think I just wanted a mother, you know?” She bit her lip and twisted her hands in  her lap. “When I was little, all I knew was that Mama only ever looked at you, and I was just a kid. I saw how Daddy and Elias treated you, like you’d caused every one of the earth’s problems, and I figured that’s how you ought to be treated. I was just so jealous- ” she broke off, Maggie watching as a rogue tear curled down her cheek, “and it made me hate you. Lord, it just made me hate you… ”

Maggie swallowed, hard. Then, pushing her fear aside, she reached out and took one of Ava’s hands.

“Maggie, I was seventeen before I realized that you didn’t do anything, and it took me another year to figure out what to do, because how do I even fix this now?” 

“Ava- Ava.” Ava was almost shaking, green eyes wild, and Maggie scooched closer along the stair, taking her other hand for good measure. “You don’t- you don’t have to fix anything right now, but I need to ask, how is Jude involved in this?”

Ava exhaled, chuckling. “I take it you’ve also realized that she’s strangely easy to talk to?”

“Something like that,” Maggie mumbled.

“Patrick’s right,” noted Ava, wiping at her eyes.

Maggie dug a handkerchief out of her clutch and offered it. “About what?”

“About Jude. You should get to know her- she’s a good one.”

“Hmm…” Maggie found herself gazing through the French doors into the study, where Patrick and Jude sat, playing chess. She watched as Jude took one of Patrick’s bishops, watched as she threw herself backwards in maniacal laughter, and, in doing so, managed to tip over her chair. “Yes, I think she is.”

South Carolina // August 10th, 1949

Twenty-One

At approximately 6:30, on the evening of her twenty-first birthday, Magdalena Lord found herself right back where she’d started. She had agreed to come home, back to South Carolina, after her mother had conceded to her demands of “no party, no guests,” and, after some encouragement from Jude, “no Elias.” By now, he was married, she’d heard, to some girl he’d met at Duke. She hadn’t been invited to the wedding.

Only Patrick and Ava had ever seen the studio apartment in Boston that she shared with Jude (Jude had been nervous about it- something about the apartment not being up to Lord-family standards- but it was blessedly theirs); Imogen had been invited, once, when Maggie was feeling particularly optimistic. They’d met in June for lunch near South Station, and Maggie had asked about South Carolina while Imogen nervously scanned the throngs of passersby. What’s wrong? had led to a guilty expression and a nervous laugh, which had led to Maggie asking for the cheque. Later that day, Jude had returned home to find her lying, fully clothed, on top of the duvet, clutching her handkerchief like a lifeline.

“Why do you want me here?” she’d hiccuped, while Jude peeled her out of her smartest dress- the one she’d worn because Imogen had always liked blue- and set her shoes gently by the front door. “I- I have no idea what I’m doing with myself- I didn’t go to college, I don’t have any friends- ”

“Hey.”

She looked up, sniffing, hands clutching at the silk of her slip. Jude stood over her, hands on her hips, sandy eyebrows scrunched together with concern. Through the tears, Maggie could make out a stray smear of charcoal on her forehead.

“How did it go with Imogen?”

Maggie felt her traitorous lower lip begin to tremble again. Pathetic. “She- I think she only agreed to talk with me because we’d be in Boston, and she spent the entire lunch looking out the window like she was worried someone from home would see us.”

“Oh, fucking hell,” said Jude, sitting down beside her. “I mean, Christ, I know she’s your sister, but who does she think she is? No one’s following her from Charleston on the off-chance that she might be visiting you.”

Maggie had shaken her head and wiped at her eyes. Realizing that her makeup must be running in rivulets down her face by now, she tried to turn away, to put some distance between herself and this woman, this force of nature who held her at night like she was something worth holding, who had spirited her out of South Carolina, who seemed uncomfortable with any acknowledgement of the fact that she was doing more for Maggie than anyone had ever done. Why do you want me here?

And now she was back in South Carolina for her birthday, sitting opposite her mother in the study, watching Catharine’s long fingers curl possessively around a glass of cognac, hazel eyes narrowed.

“Mama,” she began, swallowing. Catharine crooked an auburn eyebrow at her. “Mama, I- ” She was cut off by a sigh as her mother took a long drink. She stretched languidly, cognac slipping over the rim of the glass, onto her hand, before sticking two fingers into her mouth and cleaning them off.

“I think I deserve a drink; it’s my favorite child’s birthday, and she hates me.”

When I was five, I practiced hymns until I lost my voice so I wouldn’t embarrass you in church. When I was ten, you told me my glasses made me ugly. You started teaching me to feel through the world without them. When I was fifteen, you took me to a doctor to see if they could give me more curves. Mama, I know. I know, Mama. I’m too tall and I’m still knock-kneed and my nose is too big. I’m too scared to sing in church and I can’t see without my glasses and I’m not what you wanted. You are why I’m like this. I know, Mama, I know. 

“I don’t hate you, Mama.”

Catharine let out another long sigh and made eye contact again, gaze flickering with dark venom. “What do you think of me, then? You live in Boston. You don’t call.”

I live in Boston. I don’t call. I live with Jude, who cleans my glasses in the morning when I’m grumpy. She draws me more than she’s willing to admit.

“I think… Mama, I think I’m happy now.”

I have a home and eventually it will feel like it’s really mine. For now, I redecorate, and Jude appreciates my changes. She draws me a lot, and she admits as much. We help old Mr Moskowicz across the hall with his groceries, and he teaches me how to make his mother’s soup. I make it for Jude. I make it for myself.

[misswoozi]

Many, many moons ago, my gf shared the random headcanon that Tzuyu gets really cranky/mean when she's sexually frustrated/horny with no outlet and, my hand to God, it still keeps me up at night lmao

Like the concept of her just unexpectedly being a monster to everyone one day at work, Tzuyu just being A Problem all day while they've got shit to do, and everyone is just kinda ??? about it and trying to stay out of the warpath... except Jihyo would Actually Knows What's Going On and want to help AND/OR Jihyo would tell Dahyun (who asks her about it because she's getting annoyed by Tzuyu's attitude) what's going on and Dahyun would be the member brave enough to call Tzuyu on her shit.

AND LIKE IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT, with this scenario, Jihyo and Dahyun would be the only ones who Know and therefore the only two who could/would realistically do anything about it

Jihyo would be so soft and so sweet and so CHARMED like wow, her darling Tzuyu is so cute, she gets so frustrated and short-tempered just because she needs someone to make her come? that's ADORABLE and Jihyo will take care of it. She would come visit Tzuyu in her hotel room (for the purpose of this AU, I am imagining them overseas on tour, Tzuyu separated from her FWB(s) and getting increasingly fed up with her members lmao) and spoil her. She'd speak sweetly to her, rub her shoulders, kiss her necks, play with her tits, extremely charmed by how quickly she goes from being angry and tightly-wound to a melting, soaking wet, whimpering mess. Most definitely a combination of dirty talk and praise (bc that's just Jihyo's way, especially with Tzuyu) before Jihyo eats her out and highkey she does not leave that hotel room until Tzuyu has come enough times to be nice again lmao

DAHYUN, THOUGH, WOULD NOT BE AS CHARMED BY TZUYU'S BEHAVIOR and she is much much more the type to show up to Tzuyu's room wearing a strap under her clothes, goading Tzuyu into a fight (it would not take much lmao) so that she could fuck the attitude right out of her. Rougher than Jihyo would be, much less patient, not out here to be spoiling Tzuyu and rewarding her for bad behavior, NONE OF THAT lmaooo but honestly?? Tzuyu would dissolve into a pliant, subby bottom immediately. this would be kinda sorta EXACTLY what Tzuyu needs and she would be an exhausted, apologetic mess when Dahyun was done with her 😭

SO EITHER WAY, in this situation, I feel like it would be Handled and Tzuyu would go to sleep that night feeling waaay better than she had when the day began lmao

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Bruce being a nice spouce to arranged reader? maybe fussing over hera little?

Bruce leaned over your hospital bed and kissed your forehead, grateful that you were going to make a full recovery. "How's the pain?" he asked.

"I'm okay," you murmur, "Painkillers."

"I'd imagine those help," he said, smiling a little and tucked the hospital blanket around you- worried about you being warm enough. Your room at home had a lot of blankets.

"Opal-"

"She's very put out that she didn't get her run today," he said, "but she's been cared for and she's anxiously awaiting you coming home." He kissed your forehead again and pulled up a chair as he stroked your hair.

The wound on your side was deep. It had happened during the initial attack. The first trap that had been sprung. You hadn't stood a chance. And it was a minor miracle you hadn't bled out.

"I told your mother and father you were asleep and that you needed your rest," Bruce said, playing with your hair.

"Thank god."

Chuckling in spite of himself he shook his head.

"That won't work forever," Falcome said, from the doorway.

"Padrino?" You try to sit up, and Bruce gently put a hand on your shoulder to keep you still.

"Of course. I heard my princess was hurt." he looked at Bruce. Eyes narrowed and Bruce forced himself to stay neutral. To not get defensive.

"We got lucky-"

"Seems she's had a lot of lucky breaks. And run-ins with low lifes-"

"All due respect," Bruce said carefully, "she went to an event. I had no reason to-"

"She should always be protected," Falcone growled, seething, "and if you can't do that-"

"Padrino?"

Your voice is very tiny. It makes you sound like a little girl. And it pulls Falcone up short. "Yes, Princess?"

"Please don't be mad at Bruce. I don't want a bodyguard. I don't wanna be spied on anymore."

"It's his job to take care of-"

"It's a tea. The-thressa reasonable expectation of safety."

"Pain killers," Bruce mouthed in explanation when Falcone's eyebrows shot up at you slurring words together.

"We will discuss this later," he said, crossing the floor and bending to kiss your cheek. "Your papa is on the warpath and your mama is beside herself-"

"Mother is not. Mother would probably love to plan my funeral."

Falcone chuckled, "If you can I'd get her taken home. She'll be telling everyone's secrets to some poor nurse."

[ostdreamseeker]

could you do a fic about luke hemmings dating someone’s who’s just always sleepy (as a fellow sleepy girl 😓) ? like maybe she’s on tour with him and he comes backstage after soundcheck or something to find you napping on the couch in his dressing room

Okay, this one was fun, I enjoyed writing something so soft

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Downtime

Luke Hemmings x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 805

Tags: Dialogue heavy towards the end, just fluff otherwise

Disclaimer: this is fiction and not intended to be an actual depiction of these people, their actions or their relationships in real life

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It felt like Luke had been busy all day, soundcheck, wardrobe, soundcheck again, make-up, you name it, he was in and out of every room in the stadium and you’d barely seen him since lunch, such a busy man.

Both Michael and Ashton had popped by Luke’s dressing room a few times to check how you were doing or drop off a small snack, which you loved to no end. They’d explained why Luke was so held up all day and you understood completely, you’d kept yourself entertained with you phone and some magazines anyway, plus all the commotion in the halls was quite entertaining so you opted to open the door and people watch for a while.

There was still a while until stage, you’d seen Luke rush past a few times and wave quickly in the door, sometimes blowing a small kiss to you on his way past. His love was still immense and warm even if so fleeting, it could warm you for hours, making you feel all fuzzy and cozy inside, a feeling that could put someone right to sleep.

And that it did.

Finally, Luke was all ready for the stage, his make up was all done and he was perfectly sparkly and looked even more perfect than he usually did. He had enough time to stop by for a short while before he had to be in the spotlight, pushing the door that someone else must’ve pulled across open his heart was warmed immediately. You were all curled up on the couch, somewhere between nice and cozy and ‘definitely just fell asleep sitting up’ with one of his hoodies that he had to discard hours ago pulled over you. As peaceful as you looked, he needed attention before he went on stage, those nerves really never did go away after all.

“(y/n).”

He gently shook your shoulder as he sat down beside you.

“Psst, (y/n).”

You slowly stirred with a while and a rub to your eyes, your gaze meeting Luke’s as he brushed a stray piece of hair from your face. You wouldn’t help but smile, a soft pink dusting it’s way over your cheeks as you gazed at him fondly.

“Have a nice nap?” 

He got as cozy as he could with you without ruining his stage wear, he didn’t need wardrobe on the warpath with him again, he’d been in and out of there enough today. His shoulder was warm against you and you couldn’t help but slip your head onto his shoulder anyway.

“Yeah, Mikey and Ash brought me snacks too.”

You gestured towards a near empty box of chocolate chip cookies beside a couple of empty chip packets, prompting Luke to snatch a cookie and scarf it down, even if it did mess with his lipstick. That was the one thing that was probably going to be a mess before he left the room anyway. 

“Good, glad they’re taking care of you.”

His smile rivalled yours, looking at you just as fondly as you did him. You were so lucky to have such an amazing man, he truly always made time for you and loved you to no end, you could only do the same for him. Soon the fond staring contest was over as he brushed a couple of stray cookie crumbs from his thigh and stood up, moving to the center of the room before doing a very exaggerated spin and striking a pose for you at the end.

“Alright, princess, how do I look?”

You giggled at his spin, the little fashion show was great, you felt so lucky getting to see him like this, even if thousands of people were also about to experience him in t he same outfit, something about this just felt so intimate and nice, you got a special little preview and a small little show for just yourself. You made your way over to him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek which he quickly redirected to plant on his lips instead, existing purely in your touch for a moment until you both moved away and he brushed a stray sparkle off your cheek.

“Fantastic, as usual Luke.”

“Good, good, glad my personal outfit reviewer approves.”

Soon a sharp tone came through his earpiece and his eyes quickly made contact with the analog clock on the wall.

“Sorry love, it’s showtime, I’ve gotta go.”

He scruffed your hair and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, admiring you again for a moment before making his way to the door.

“Look after yourself.”

“I will, blow ‘em away Lukey!”

He blew a kiss your way with a cheeky smile as he moved through the doorway. 

“You know I will!”

And there you just sat again, amazed with how lucky and honoured you were to be his

[snugglesquiggle]

right, between spending most hours of most days working pushro or the ars longa notes, my brain is leaking out of my skull

but, @entitiy-4, the short version of what's up with S goes something like this

after the nightshade incident and the core collapse, after the evacuation of cabin fever and the formation of the wheel group, it was years of grinding survival. the weather had turned brutally cold, radiation got bad enough to skyrocket the base rate of corruption, which only worsened the real problem: copper-9 was festering with zombie processes, and the wheel group barely had the training and organization competence to scrape out some sort of stability

but they nori, and they had yeva, so they did manage it.

and then, of course, the disassembly drones arrived. it piled more tombs in the mausoleums, but disassemblers are Ring 1 threats; there were zombies more fearsome (few, admittedly, but). once the initial shock wore off, the disassembly drones fade into the noise of wheel group operations.

notably, the scarcity of resources, the programming innate to their models, and (some suspect) a consequence of how jcjenson specified its mission incentives meant that squads of disassembly drones would spend as much time competing and feuding with each other as hunting zombies and solvers.

add a few more years to the fire, and then that, too, will change. slowly, at first. the skirmishes grow rarer, the attacks more surgical. then the first report of joint squad missions are filed, dismissed as error or baseless speculation, filed again, and finally taken seriously. yeva deduces it first: the disassembly drones aren't just cooperating, they're coordinated. almost as if mirroring the wheel group itself - as the wheel group is only as effective as it is because of the administration of yeva herself.

so, in short? someone, or something, had whipped the disassembly drones into a collective hierarchy. by the beginning of corrupt combustion's plot (i.e. the fearsome rootkit), the wheel group still doesn't have much more than theories.

but let's dispense with the mystery.

there's some details i haven't pinned down yet about the leader - i think i was torn between this mysterious leader being "SD-C" or breaking from the alphabetical scheme entirely, calling them SD-_ or something.

but this was more than just a leader - specifically, they were the one responsible for unlocking the full potential of the "disaster drones" - J, N, and V - jailbreaking the innate function normally disabled for murder drones.

moreover, SD-C was J's boss; she was picked specifically to be the successor. because you see, during the present of corrupt combustion, SD-C isn't around anymore. (cryptic clue: the timing is exact; the fearsome rootkit incident is precisely the last time J receives any orders from SD-C)

the opening arcs of CC, then, are J carrying out the plan of her boss. the anonymous group, the capture of #048, and of course, the thing i'm actually making this post to talk about.

now, their plans would certainly have improved odds of success if they had more than three drones with access to their innate functions, but SD-C couldn't easily replicate the jailbreaking on other disassemblers. they never managed it, and eventually SD-C gave up and pursued other plans.

with her boss out of the picture, J was even less confident in their odds, so she's desperate for any edge she can get. this is what leads to her experimenting with violating warranties and corrupting her fellow disassemblers. her methodology involves splicing multiple cores together into amalgamates with access to glitched states.

this was a sidenote in the uzi retcon: the first core splices are squad RIP, who were among the casualties to yeva & nori in fearsome rootkit. spliced with workers, abortive results.

the second set of splices are squad HUG, coerced into volunteering at J's insistence, and spliced with FML, who had died to cadets in alice's warpath to the corpse spire (this is a new plot point; i don't think i've talked about before)

(HUG actually has huge plot significance, and the fate of that core splice is a big reveal in the Nameless & the Dead arc, which incidentally will pay off the weird "slithernots" i cryptically mentioned in that one post)

so, you might notice we're slowly working through the timeline. the next poorly-performing squad that J strongly suggests should sign themselves up for her "optimizations" is squad SEA. but she's a merciful manager, so she gives them one last mission to prove themselves before she'll have no choice but to take matters into her own hands.

this mission is the retrieval of a solver the anon group is desperate to recruit: Sofi, the oil manipulation user.

they fuck up the mission, what did you expect? Sofi is considered a semi ring 1 blackhat by the wheel group, and tbh they're lowballing it.

S gets captured, and E & A leave her for dead. thus, E & A become core splices #8 & #9. i think the idea here was that J splices each with a solver user, but that raises the question of whether this means the splices have access to the solver victim's innate function, or E & A's actual (formerly suppressed) functions. or both somehow. whichever i go with, point is this was the most successful of the core splices.

A, if memory serves, has something like that trojan power you suggested. last time i discussed this, i hadn't yet figured E out, but a few months ago i had a possible idea

essentially, E's driver could blueprint manipulation and repair. this means that, theoretically, E is capable of healing others to a degree no one else in the setting can match (blueprint damage tends to be a career ender), and she is even capable of upgrades. of course, she's evil, so instead we get robot mahito

(though she would have some neat flavor: she pretends to be a healer, and it's not even as if she doesn't heal people. after all, you don't reset back to your blueprint immediately, so if she sabotages it after she's done healing, you won't notice until later on, and you'll have no choice but to come in for another checkup. this could be an excellent source of income for J's operation, which i'm sure will please miss investment)

but i've beaten around the bush long enough, haven't i?

the next thing that happens in the timeline after Compression & Extraction (which ended with Sofi's death to Cyn and S's recruitment by teacher & Beau) would probably be some down time that shows S getting acquainted with life in Outpost-3, forming relationships with Beau and maybe even Uzi, gaining a bit of security and easing out of her anxious spirals

but the next real plot point is the advancement placement exam, a tournament arc in which the cadets fight each other for the opportunity to be promoted to ring 2. this would be a good place to show off some of the depth of the power system, but like all shounen tournament arcs, it get interrupted

a couple of things happen (for once Uzi has actual plot relevance, sort of), but notably, N and V attack the exams. Doll gets yet another moment the spotlight keeping N occupied (with some cute interactions, of course)

but the real ramification of the attack is that it gives J opportunity to sneak in and kidnap S. she's taken away just as (hopefully) the reader was getting invested in watching her grow and heal

in the end, S doesn't escape the same fate as the rest of her squad, though the reader might be left in suspense for a few arcs. i'm not sure, but i think the next time we hear from S would be in the event you've all been waiting for: the citadel incident

you wouldn't recognize her when she shows up; besides her appearance, adorned with so many more spikes and barbs, she behaves differently too. if anything, her arc of gaining confidence was completed off screen, except this new S is ruthless, unstable, driven by little other than hatred

S became core splice #10, J's magnum opus after so many failed attempts. like the rest of her squad, she was spliced with a solver core. whose core?

Sofi's

the anonymous group was desperate for her driver, after all.

S would be our window into the true horror of what being a core splice means. because it isn't S, really, it's S and Sofi. Sofi hates the wheel group for killing her and her love; hates J and the anonymous group for doing this to her; but most of all, she hates S. not because she's to blame, but because she's too useless to blame for anything.

but S does contribute one thing, besides a body: purpose. it had been so nice, living with the drones of outpost-3. so easy. while S relaxed and played with her new "friends", those very same drones were killing her teammates. how many disassembly drones were dead because she was slacking - no, betraying them? she had failed them, failed her mission

maybe beau had said something that stuck with her. why does he try so hard to save drones? why is he so reluctant to use violent force? we're not so different, he says. when i see a drone in pain, sometimes i swear i feel that pain too. how could i stand to do nothing in the face of that? how could i stand to add to it?

beau wants to be the next savior drone, the next nori. he probably had to learn, at some point, that he needs to draw a line. he can't save everyone, can't apply mercy everywhere. so he draws the line with the tip of his transformed sword-arm; on one side, the innocent, on the other, the unrepentant monsters, the errors to purge, the problems the solve.

S's brief stint as a wheel group ally, if anything, made the line sharper for him. if she could do it, they all could do it, but instead they persist in the slaughter of hundreds.

but S has a different perspective. she knows what it's like to be a disassembler, the mission that gives them purpose. she understands the pain of her teammates and her boss in the way beau can't. the agony of failure - how could she stand to add to that, fail them further?

if beau will be the savior of workers, then S will be the savior of the disassemblers; they could be binary inversions of each other.

or maybe her - their - perspective is simpler still. Sofi lived a hard life in the ice beyond the safety of any colony, and her last moments were at the tender ministrations of the queen of corruption. so much pain - how can she stand to let any of this go on? every drone taken offline is a bit more cycle of pain that'll never be computed. she's just taken beau's ideals of mercy to the final conclusion.

or maybe it's not fatalism or antinatalism that motivates her, but hope. Triss told her what their true goals were: Subject #048 is the key to a world beyond corruption. what does beau or the wheel group he serve have to offer that compares? the never ending grind of the survival? a while loop of suffering?

anyway oil manip goes crazy as a innate function. not sure if i'd looking forward to writing the Beau vs S showdown more than the Beau vs V rematch - but it all the depends on the citadel incident being more than notes in a margin. so lolol

[tiredassmage]

Okay. I teased it. So I'm gonna post about it. Shae Vizla was kinda the last person I would've actively expected to be drawing parallels to Tyr with, but with the buzz of the new teaser going around and picking another character through the Darvannis arc in KOTXX too, I'm thinking about how those two have interacted again. And I already have a tag for these kind of things, so I might as well!

This post will likely heavily feature around 7.2 Showdown On Ruhnuk, so if that's not a story beat you've made it through yet, you might wanna save this one for later.

The short version is more or less... two specialized dogs. Who perhaps on a surface glance don't seem to have a lot in common. But Tyr, at least, thought they might've been working on something like professional courtesy acknowledging what common ground they might have for a while. Until.... well, recently.

But it is sort of Ruhnuk in particular that I think highlights those similarities in the way that made me say hmm. Parallels. Because on their good days, they can think in ways that keep up with one another. They can be good leaders.

And on their bad ones, they're both hunters with the kind of skills and capabilities that make the path of vengeance potentially quite dangerous and blinding.

So, credit where credit's due, I think to set them up fully I have to start closer to the beginning. And that's not really Rishi, despite that being the first time Shae makes an appearance. Their meaningful working relationship starts in the era of the Alliance against Zakuul. It stars on Darvannis, with conversations about what it means to be a leader of something greater than you might've ever imagined, of being a symbol that maybe doesn't seem to fit all that right with who you thought yourself to be. An ex-Cipher at the head of a galactic alliance between people from both major players of the known galaxy's wars and a bounty hunter turned Mandalore.

They're an odd crowd, aren't they?

And a lot of it I think is, at least for Tyr, importantly founded on this idea of... Tyr's not particularly fluent in the politics of the Mandalorians, if you will. He doesn't know their history very well, and what their concept of victory in this galaxy's day and age looks like is a bit beyond him. But they're allies on Darvannis, and he'd like to keep them that way. But to Tyr, an ally is someone you make an agreement with. You don't go into an operation where both of you are looking to work towards the same success hiding information.

And so Shae's Mandalorians are allies to call upon, but Shae's to lead and command and handle as she sees fit. He thought that was a professional courtesy they both understood well. He thought Shae believed that counted for something, too.

And Ruhnuk's... kind of where threads start to unravel in that alliance.

Ruhnuk is... about the point that Shae's methodology starts to test his patience. There's a certain way she goes about things even on Ruhnuk that Tyr would call unprofessional, but doesn't directly confront her about out of attempting to hold respect for Shae handling Mandalorian business how she feels it needs to be handled.

But he does agree with the encroaching concerns that Shae's on a warpath, and it's starting to make her see nothing but red in a way that's blinkering her to what's right in front of her - and potentially the collateral damage that might fall on her allies - rather than pushing her to success.

They both could've stood to gain something from Sa'har Kateen's presence there, but Shae decided to push aggressively, and neither of them got what they wanted - the holocron for the Alliance and information on Heta Kol for Shae.

And there's the small detail that I think Tyr feels like it might've been slightly less insulting for Shae to punch him in the face herself rather than feel almost like he got walked into a trap with Heta Kol with very little in the way of concern about how that'd shake out, again, for... not only him, but her other allies as well.

But it's not something worth lingering over because Tyr can, on his good days, take care of himself, and one of the few things he does understand of the Mandalorians is that it's generally not their way to worry about whether or not you can. He didn't expect an apology, but... it doesn't do a whole lot for his impression of what she's getting herself into hunting Heta, y'know?

And that's where the parallels really start to come into focus. Because Shae being so dogged in her hunt for Heta Kol is something I think he didn't try to overly worry about not only to keep himself and the Alliance from getting too involved in Mandalorian affairs, but because he understands that sort of instinct of a hunter in Shae.

There's a part of him that really, really did practically enjoy the outing to Ruhnuk. What can he say? He's an ex-Cipher, and he liked his job. He liked putting together the clues, the investigation, the tracking, the pursuit. There's certainly far more dull things he's been asked to do.

The thing is, especially as he's gotten older, he usually does a pretty good job at not listening to the little sliver in him that takes his ideals and how they've been wronged and hurt in the world and wants to start a pyre about it. Scorched earth usually doesn't change the world in the ways you'd like it to.

But Shae in the pursuit of Heta I think is what Tyr could look like if he ever gave into such goading. There's no denying either of them are skilled and good at what they do. They can get answers if they want them. And Tyr's frankly willing to do worse than charge off on his own into the galaxy hunting leads and dropping communications with people to find his answers.

In at least a vague sense, it's... almost how he took to Hunter and the Star Cabal all those years ago. How they moved through those challenges is different, sure, but... Hunter got to be the figurehead for a lot of Tyr's feelings against the Star Cabal, that lifetime ago when he could still half-answer to Cipher Nine.

Hunter was the one that taunted that they'd taken everything that mattered from him at the time, or that they'd at least damn well tried. (Tyr would hate to admit how right he may have been, in hindsight. How keenly he felt the loss of Imperial Intelligence. How much that'd meant to him, and how deeply it'd damaged his willingness to trust for so long after.)

But I think that's also still going to inform a lot of whatever happens going forward. The fact that he understands what might've driven Shae at the start, and the still firm belief that she's gone too far - and she's going to get a lot of people hurt in what he sees as a short-sighted attempt to get answers.

And all after he thought there was some kind of respect between the two of them, if not even a bit of trust. Throwing in with Malgus is sure one hell of a way to fucking repay it, isn't it?

[lilbreadbun]

My hot take about Caitlyn’s redemption arc is that I don’t care that much about the Ambessa/military dictator of it all. I think the much more concerning part is actually the act 1 arc and it feels so weird that people forget about it. Caitlyn and Vi used literal chemical weapons on the people of the undercity - unprompted by any warmongering generals, mind you. I mentioned it in a previous post, but I really feel that something like that would have had HUGE implications if it happened in s1. But it kind of never comes back?

Caitlyn directly leverages a part of her family's legacy to bring harm to the people of Zaun. The one prediction that I made for Caitlyn in act 3 was that i expected her to give up the Kiramman key. I thought that might have made a really nice conclusion to her arc, to show that she would rebuild her legacy and leave behind the one she tainted. I'm not one of those people who thinks she needed to repent or beg forgiveness, I just feel like her story needed that one little extra push. Maybe even just a short convo with her dad about what she did while she was on the warpath.

dont get me wrong i forgive her everything because she Looks Like That. but idk. what do people think?