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shesjustanothergeek · 4 months ago

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The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Eight: The Lord of the Tides

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! I'm posting a chapter within two weeks and not a month? What sorcery is this? Anyway, thank you for staying with me through these chapters. We're getting to the juicy stuff here soon, which will be very angsty. I also want to remind everyone that this is a dark fic that deals with suicide, SA, and severe mental illness. You'll hate some of these characters and their actions and have questions about them as the story progresses, but everything has a reason, and it'll all tie together eventually. Just have faith, babes.

Chapter Warnings: misogyny, eugenics, mentions of and trauma related to COCSA, suicidal ideations, severe mental illness, self-deprecating thoughts, and sexual harassment.

The Great Hall echoed with the clamor of anxious voices. The petition summoned all the court members, seemingly attempting to embarrass your family publicly. Although hearings like these did not necessitate the presence of all the Lords and Ladies, they were all there, rendering the open space oppressively stuffy and cramped. The Iron Throne commanded attention with its imposing presence. Fashioned from the melted swords of Aegon the Conqueror’s enemies, it formed a seat that threatened anyone who ventured too close to its pointed metal surface.

Daemon was conversing with your mother, and his strong fists clasped over his stomach as he leaned in to speak into her ear. Luke stood by her side, picking at his slender fingers while cowering beneath his cloak. You felt sorry for your younger brother. He didn’t want to be the Lord of the Tides and despised the idea so much that it became a fear of the sea. Part of you believed that Jace should inherit the Driftwood Throne since he was the second-born, but your mother’s advisors pressured that if Jacaerys married you, he wouldn’t be able to rule the Seven Kingdoms and High Tide, so Luke was next in line.

Your stepsister Rhaena was seated on the other side of you and Jace. You glanced at her slender form, noticing her white hair knotted into thick, cylindrical locs piled atop her head. She nodded toward your brother, who looked at his shoes with an undignified pout. You stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Jace’s body. He tried not to show how your gentle actions comforted him in front of the onlookers, subtly leaning into your side.

The hairs on your neck prickled as if someone was watching you closely. You caught a glimpse of your eldest uncle’s sullen face meeting yours. Aegon’s looming stare was fixed on you and your connection with your brother, his lips curving into a frown. Some of you wanted to return his stare with mockery for his audacity, but you held your decorum, fearing what his anger could entail if you went too far. Years ago, you experienced his kindness, leaving an irreparable scar on your soul.

You sensed the anxiety rising at the mere thought of having to confront your eldest uncle once more. Despite six years having passed, the wounds still feel fresh. Clutching Jace tightly to your side, you battle the overwhelming temptation to seek solace within his luxurious robes as a torrent of memories came rushing back as the petition commences.

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds,” Otto Hightower spoke, his voice booming across the Great Hall, “we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As the Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“The Crown will now hear the petitions.”

Aegon felt a surge of frustration as he watched you avoid making eye contact, unable to bear the sight of you being affectionate with someone else. You had been his closest ally until Aemond’s actions shattered everything. With a scowl, he directed his gaze toward the ground and decided to converse with you about the years past. The eldest Prince was resolute in his determination to make you see that he was not the one at fault.

“Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon,” the Hand spoke, announcing the challenger to the room.

The individual accountable for this incident stepped up, adorned in an opulent doublet of rich velvet in a deep navy shade, almost black. He briefly acknowledged the presence of Lord Corlys’s wife. As he drew nearer, you found yourself in the presence of Ser Vaemond for the second time in your life. His facial hair displayed a striking blend of salt and pepper, evidence of the many decades of life experience that distinguished him from you.

“My Queen,” he greeted with a nod, “my Lord Hand.” Luke visibly bristled at his Great Uncle’s voice, retreating further into his cloak and your mother’s comforting presence.

If the Gods were fair beings, they would strike Lord Vaemond down where he stood for daring to spout treasonous lies before the Court. The mere petition was a ploy to publicly embarrass and cast doubt upon your mother’s claim as heir to the Iron Throne. This was why he chose to pounce like a lion in wait for its prey onto the opportunity of his older brother getting injured. It was as if Lord Vaemond had already declared his brother dead before he returned to his bed. You were raised by a second son and understood too well of their lusts for what the eldest sibling had.

As you tightly gripped Jace’s hand, you made a solemn vow to take the necessary action, not just to protect your family but also for the greater good of your kingdom. This would be the first time you would employ your extensive knowledge of herbs and medicinal practices for a malevolent purpose, but you were willing to do whatever it took for their sake. Throughout history, many distinguished individuals have fallen victim to choking on wine or food, which has proven fatal for even those of lesser stature.

“The history of our noble houses extends past the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Old Valyria, our House became the last of their kind.” You glanced at your mother while Vaemond droned eloquently, her regard downcast with a disapproving smirk. “Our forebears came to this land, knowing they would fail; it would be the end of their bloodlines and name. I have spent my entire life defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’ closest kin, his blood,” the second son petitioned.

Out of the corner of your vision, you spotted Princess Rhaenys, her stare boring holes into the back of her good brother’s skull. Your worries that the Queen Who Never Was would not side with Luke and his claim lessened as you noted the irritation on her face, the fury at Vaemond’s claim that he had the right to be Lord of the Tides and not her, as if her rule during Corlys’ absence meant that the Driftwood Throne was not in safe hands until Luke was ready.

Otto stared at the man with a neutral expression, but his eyes betrayed his genuine emotions. Arrogance and pride shine through, revealing his bias. “It’s a true, unimpeachable blood of the House of Velaryon that runs through my veins.”

“As it does in my son’s, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon,” your mother interrupted, causing everyone in the room to direct their attention to her. “If you cared so much about your House’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and your own ambition-”

You sucked in a nervous breath, your gaze flickering to your mother as you scratched at your scalp. She knew better than to interrupt during a petition to the Crown. She would have scolded you for such an act. Perhaps since it wasn’t her father, she felt the ability to speak out of turn was appropriate. Even the daughter of the King wasn’t allowed such liberties.

“You will have a chance to make your petition, Princess Rhaenyra,” the Queen interrupted, causing your simmering vexation to spike into a rolling boil. “Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing him to be heard.”

You understood Queen Alicent’s opinion but couldn’t quell the rise of frustrated tears at her words. It was not her place to order your mother. She was a wife to the King, a consort, and whatever jurisdiction she had was given to her by a man. She held no real power, and remembering that would do her well.

As if Alicent heard your thoughts, her amber eyes flicked to you. You felt your stomach lurch as the bread you had earlier threatened to decorate the stone floor. You did not like the Queen after what she did to your mother and her obsession with you. Her possessiveness was something you never understood, nor did you want to. Whatever the Queen had twisted and distorted you to be inside her mind was not something you desired to give fruit to, disregarding her pleading looks as you focused on the Lord before you.

Ser Vaemond turned to stare smugly at Rhaenyra, continuing with his rant of blood purity and superiority. “What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you, but you still wouldn’t recognize it.”

A tugging at your bell sleeve brought your attention to Jace, noting how you unconsciously scratched at your scalp. Suddenly, you realized that in the moment’s intensity with Aemond, you had dropped your headpiece in the hall. Swiftly nodding that you were all right, Jace began to stroke the back of your clenched knuckles in a silent gesture of support. Your hand had long forgotten its comforting touch as it blanched from ire.

“This is about the future and survival of my House, not yours,” Vaemond finished, staring hard at your Luke as you cringed.

Jace did not let the Lord or the three people frighten you for long, subtly shifting to block him and all other stares from view like the moat of iron spikes surrounding Maegor’s Holdfast. Why were they all looking at you? The Lords and Ladies. Alicent, Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena. You silently willed them to stop, but it was for naught.

The Lord turned from Luke, his prideful grin duller as he addressed the Queen and Hand. “This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my House and line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor,” Vaemond finally concluded, taking a few steps back, “the Lord of Driftmark, the Lord of the Tides.”

“Thank you, Ser Vaemond,” Otto concluded atop a throne that was not his as the second son gave one last grimace toward your family.

With the retreating of the Lord, you were given the perfect view of the Green children, the eldest still very much disinterested in what was happening around him, shifting on his feet as if he was itching to leave the room, which you supposed was true. The second child was attempting to dissociate from the world around her, uncomfortable with the animosity between the two houses, her golden dress the opposite of her appearance. The third and final member seemed to match his Mother and Grandsire, an air of superiority radiating from his toned body that sent shivers to your core.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” the Hand called, “you may now speak for your son, Prince Lucerys Velaryon.”

Your mother approached before the steps of the Iron Throne, her body language openly depicting her ire at the whole matter. Her complete disregard for the seriousness of the situation caused you to crack a smile, looking at Jace in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“If I am forced to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding this court that nearly twenty years ago in this very room-”

Your mother’s remarks were cut short by the creaking of hinges, the grand doors to the Great Hall opening to reveal the rhythmic tapping of a cane.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of The Andals, the Roynar, The First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Gasps echoed through the expansive room as all eyes turned to your mother. She gazed in astonishment as her father appeared in public for the first time in years. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, half his face concealed by a golden mask, made his way across the grand throne room, causing a stir among the onlookers.

You recalled that six years ago, there was only a tiny sore on his cheek, such a minuscule gash that festered and grew to eat away at his flesh until you could see the rotting teeth within his skull. Tears pricked at your eyes as you listened to the steady tapping of your Grandsire, your heart unable to watch the hunched figure.

The Hand seemed more shocked than any. His stoic face of pride morphed into one of stunned surprise as your Grandsire made his way to the bottom steps of the Iron Throne.

“I will sit on the throne today,” the King rasped, his entire weight resting on the dragon head of his walking stick.

“Your Grace,” Otto reluctantly acknowledged, gaping wide as he took his place next to his daughter and her children.

A kingsguard quickly rushed to the side of his ruler, briefly assisting before Viserys weakly shoved him away. You couldn’t watch this—watch someone once so full of joy and love for his kin struggle to walk the stairs of his ancestors as you nestled your face into Jace’s shoulder. The sound of fallen metal echoed in the room, bringing your attention upward. Your Grandsire’s crown had fallen onto the stairs before the throne as a quiet grunt of discontent puffed past his chapped lips. Daemon was behind his brother before anyone was the wiser, assisting the last remnants of his late parents’ love to his ruling seat and placing the golden Crown of Jaehaerys on the remaining tatters of silver hair.

While you indulged in a lavish meal of quail and lamb on the breathtaking island of Dragonstone, you could aid him, but unfortunately, you were unaware of his plight. Overcome with remorse for not setting aside your troubles to support your Grandsire, you shed tears uncontrollably.

“Sister, you’re crying,” he whispered below the shell of your ear. You nodded silently, whipping away the stray water that collected on your warm cheek.

Jace knew your strong aversion to displaying any hint of vulnerability through tears. He recognized that you viewed it as a manifestation of a perceived girlish weakness that you deemed incompatible with your role as heir to the Seven Kingdoms. He felt helpless as he witnessed you, unable to offer the solace he longed to provide.

Staring at both of you with a fierce scowl across his narrow pink lips, Aemond believed you deserved to experience pain. However, he struggled with his emotions, attempting to quash the pang piercing his dark heart. Aemond envisioned himself as the unyielding pillar, braving the tumultuous waves during a tempest at sea. He saw himself as your shelter from the salty waters, ready to wipe away any tears that adorned your skin. Jacaerys was far from being a man deserving of a princess, unlike…

The Prince’s chest rumbled with a grunt of discontent as he resisted completing his thought despite knowing the truth in his heart. Upon hearing the sound, Aegon glanced at his brother with a perplexed expression and followed his line of sight with a mix of understanding and bitterness, forming a frown on his face.

“I must admit my confusion,” your Grandsire spoke, his frail voice reverberating through the high walls of the hall. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.” You did not need to look at Vaemond to see his outrage. You could sense it from where you stood twenty paces away, your tears slowly drying as you gazed at the disappointed Queen. “The only one present who might offer keener insights into Lord Corlys’ wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”

Everyone turned to the woman as she processed her cousin’s words. “Indeed, your grace,” she nodded, taking a moment to look at her brother-in-law.

Eyes followed the Queen Who Never Was as she spoke, her voice so smooth and elegant you felt envy for it at the back of your mind. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark passes through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed.”

The atmosphere in the room was charged with a tumult of emotions. Anger, betrayal, shock, and relief swirled around the Great Hall like a powerful storm. Ser Vaemond was furious, deeply hurt by his good sister’s words. To him, being a true Velaryon meant everything, and he couldn’t bear the thought of his bastard nephew, born from a woman pretending to be virtuous, tarnishing his family’s name and the honor of the realm. He was resolute in his refusal to accept this situation. Vaemond’s bloodline was solid and pure, unyielding like the sea.

“Princess Rhaenyra has informed me of her desire to marry her son Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Princess Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

The speed at which your head whipped towards Jace was almost otherworldly, nearly causing you to stumble. His face reflected your shock, his mouth hanging open like a fish before he turned to glance at your mother. A serene smile graced her pink lips, and she quickly lowered her gaze while placing a protective hand over her swollen stomach.

Apart from your mother, no one else seemed to share the same sense of pride. The Queen’s expression soured even more than you thought possible, and the Hand remained stunned by the sudden turn of events as you withdrew your hand from Jace’s.

Aegon had suddenly perked up at the revelation, uncharacteristically grinning as he watched the drama unfold while Aemond observed your misfortune with barely concealed satisfaction. You couldn’t pinpoint why he had an abrupt interest in the conversation. He no doubt enjoyed the misfortune of others, even if it was his kin.

“Well,” the King spoke, his breathing now calmed, “the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

The entire family breathed a sigh of relief, their shared sense of burden and responsibility slowly dissipating as they watched the weight of the future shift onto the Greens. In that moment, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt for not shouldering the load yourself. Princess Rhaenys, with an almost irritated yet dignified stride, stood beside her eldest granddaughter, her presence exuding a complex mix of annoyance and pride.

Though you hadn’t moved from your spot beside your twin, you felt like a league away from him, gaping blankly at the glistening steel swords running over the steps like a river. The longer you studied them, the more they began to contort, seeing viscous crimson liquid melt down the blades. The future you had planned with your brother was impaled to the hilt.

A scoff cut through the moment of joy, your head directed to the sound. “You break the law, centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir,” Vaemond spoke, venom laced within every syllable. “But you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

Your brown orbs flickered from the man to the King. “Allow it?” Viserys echoed, testing the word on his dry tongue. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

The thick, oppressive silence enveloped the scene, defying even the sharpness of Darksister’s blade. Every individual present held their breath, their anticipation palpable as they waited to witness the outcome.

“That is no true Velaryon and certainly no nephew of mine!” the second son shouted, causing everyone to jump in fright.

“Go to your chambers,” Rhaenyra ordered you and your brothers before swiftly turning her attention to Vaemond. “You have said enough.”

None of you obeyed.

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson,” your Grandsire declared. “And you are no more than the second son of Driftmark.”

“You,” Vaemond stated, taking menacing steps forward, “may run your House as you see fit, but you will not decide my future. My House survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides.”

He turned to your family, feet firmly planted with the grip on his longsword. Your look stared fire at his, jaw clenched as he spat his vitriol. “And Gods be damned, I will not see it end on account of this…”

You arched your head to the side, eyes widening in defiance as you silently urged him to speak the words that yearned to escape his lips. However, he disregarded you, considering you nothing more than a mere girl in a world dominated by men, a lost cause. You resolved to shed any lingering guilt about your intentions at that moment.

“Say it,” Daemon’s soft and menacing timbre whispered.

Onlookers scrutinized with bated breath as Vaemond considered his words, his gaze flickering from your father to you, Jace, your mother, and Luke. A sneer slowly pulled his lips, righting his posture as he bellowed.

“Her children are bastards!”

You inhaled a near-inaudible growl from your throat as you took a charged step forward, only to be yanked back by Jace before you could do something you would regret. Soft murmurs sounded, the Greens all sharing the same look of begrudging disappointment. Jace seemed just as furious as you, his lips curling into a snarl.

“And they,” he glared at you, then at your mother, his jaw tensing, “are whores.”

Your gaze immediately flicked to Aegon and then Aemond, your body independently moving as the crowd gasped. Aemond’s eye was no longer bright purple but a near black, shining like dragonglass shards. Despite this window into his soul, his outward appearance reached an unusual sereness. Thin lips parted as you noticed the faintest twitch, a tic you realized indicated his rage.

“You have said your piece, Lord Vaemond,” Queen Alicent declared, fists humbly clasped over her clothed emerald green stomach. “The king has affirmed his decision, and you will do well to respect it without saying lies about the young princess.”

Did people know of what happened between you and Aegon and that of your brother?

They couldn’t have. You took steps to ensure your image to the public aligned with their ideals. You studied in the Citadel, for Seven’s sake! Your mind raced with the possibility of your secrets being discovered, the chance that the realm would know of your sins before marriage. At the time, it did not seem to be a mistake as you and Jace believed you would be married, but now, just as it seemed like all things did, it slipped through your fingers like the sand that lined the shores of Blackwater Bay.

Aemond watched as you mindlessly attempted to run toward Vaemond like a combat-trained man. He thought it would be entertaining to watch you claw the Velaryon Lord’s eyes out and contemplated in admired silence how reckless you could become when enraged, wondering how far that wrath would take you.

You were unable to hear the sound of raised voices expressing articles of treason, threats of violence, and the unsheathing of a sword until you felt blood splatter on your cheekbone, seeing the sliced head of Vaemond Velaryon laying a few paces from your feet. Jace pulled your face to his chest as you gasped in shock, clutching his arms like he was the only thing keeping you grounded in this moment of grotesque insanity.

“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon declared, looking at the limp corpse below.

Studying his uncle in brief awe, Aemond’s violet eye flickered from the decapitated corpse to that of the assailant. He moved to see Jace’s feeble attempt at protecting you from the gore that lay leaking into the stones, mouth curling in disdain as he scoffed. Your brother was to be the one to protect you from harm, physical or emotional, yet he was incapable of doing that.

Momentarily, Aemond thought of coming to your side, knowing that he was a worthy enough man to be what you needed, and if not that, then only to spite Jacaerys. He shook the fleeting thought away with a grunt, scorn filling his heart.

“Disarm him!” The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard yelled, his fellow members drawing their weapons.

You chose who you thought worthy that night on Driftmark when you stood by idly as Luke ripped his eye from the socket.

“No need,” your stepfather cooly protested, wiping the blood of his kin from his blade and exiting the room.

Your eyes could not leave the bleeding form of Vaemond Velaryon, the top half of his dreaded white hair discarded as the crimson liquid pooled around him. Viserys groaned above, collapsing onto the Iron Throne like a sack of bones from the effort of living. Alicent and your mother ran to his aide.

“Niece.”

You expected to see Aemond come and continue his taunts from before, but instead, you saw Aegon standing before you, his square face etched with worry. You would have thought him handsome had he not done what he did and become the man he had become as you merely stared at him, your mind blank and body numb.

How could he show you such concern, knowing how much pain he caused you? What could you say to him after everything that transpired? After he effectively distorted the pure view of your world into betrayal and anguish. He most likely wanted to use you as he did to the maids of the Keep. You thought you might as well let him. That was how you felt now that the one man you willingly gave your body to with the expected outcome of marriage was bound to another. That same disgusting sensation you had the following days after your assault came rushing back as if you were that scared little girl again.

You did not want to feel that weak again and parted your lips to speak the venom he deserved to hear. Suddenly, you found your throat too dry as you swallowed the air instead. Aegon extended a hand to yours in what you believed to be a comforting gesture, fingers brushing each other as terror surged through your limbs.

Your sights glanced at the corpse as the hilt of Vaemond’s sword glinted in the light. You could end this here and now. End the torment. End the constant uncertainty that would be your mother’s secession. Your demise would be of no consequence.

“Sister,” Jace called, his tone clipped and brown eyes wide. The same eyes you had looking back at you. “Mother wants us in our chambers to prepare for supper.”

You recoiled as if your limb was scorched when you swiftly pulled it away from Aegon. With a curt nod to your twin, you allowed him to take you. Walking out of the Great Hall, you made a conscious effort not to glance back, keenly aware of the intensity of Aegon’s piercing stare as it followed the contours of your womanly form. You were sure that this encounter wouldn’t be the last, and the prospect of it propelled you to seek solace in the comforting embrace of your twin.

The twilight had descended upon King’s Landing, casting the city in a hazy glow. Despite the late hour, the flagstone streets teemed with activity as revelers roamed for company, their laughter mingling with the clinking of coins. Meanwhile, you found yourself clutching a goblet of fiery spirits, hoping to steady your frayed nerves as you sat between your imposing eldest uncle and your sweet twin.

The dining hall exuded an air of palpable tension, with hushed conversations among family members punctuating the room as servants bustled about, preparing for the day’s last meal. Everyone waited in quiet anticipation for the arrival of the King, their faces adorned with joyous and restrained smiles, marking the festivities of new beginnings. However, amidst this atmosphere of hopeful anticipation, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of disquiet. In mere hours, it seemed as though everything you had worked for was unraveling before your eyes.

You were intended to enter into matrimony with Jace just as Visenya married her younger brother Aegon. As twins, you shared an unbreakable bond, with one heart and one soul inhabiting two bodies. No other individual in existence was as ideally suited for you.

As you watched your brothers’ interactions with their betrothed, you couldn’t help but notice the sour expression on your face. Each brother was dutiful and respectful, engaging in hushed conversations with their betrothed about the future and what it might hold. You felt a mix of confusion and offense as you pondered why Jace had swiftly embraced being bound to another after spending years with you as his unspoken wife.

Your eyes locked with Aemond’s from across the opulent room as he conversed with his brother, a sly smirk on his lips. He seemed to revel in your displeasure at taking your brother from you. With an exasperated sigh, you leaned back in your ornate high chair, surveying the sumptuous spread of food before you, each dish tempting you with its rich aromas and vibrant colors.

Growing increasingly impatient for your Grandsire’s arrival, you couldn’t resist the allure of a plump, purple grape sitting on the nearby platter. As you reached for it, your mother reprimanded you.

The air was heavy with the scent of wine as you had already consumed three cups before the arrival of the King, his face wearing a grim expression. Your Grandsire was brought into the grand hall, seated on a makeshift throne, and everyone in the room rose in respect for his position. His crown, a symbol of his authority, had been long forgotten as he was placed between the Queen and your mother. You noticed sores on him that you hadn’t seen before, standing out more prominently in the grandeur of the dining hall. The sight made your eyes prickle with the threat of tears, and your stomach churned with unease.

Despite being seated, he leaned heavily onto his cane, the weight of his extravagant Targaryen robes bearing down on his frail body. You fought back tears, refusing to show any vulnerability in front of those who held little respect for you.

“This is an occasion of celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our Houses,” your grandfather began, a thick rasp to his voice. “A toast to the young Princes and their betrothed. May you find yours yet, granddaughter.”

You sat there, forcing back your tears and lifting your glass as the joyful cheers filled the room. The dreams you had shared with Jace seemed to shatter with each sip of wine. Despite the celebratory atmosphere, Jace’s fleeting smile towards Baela deepened your sense of loss. It wasn’t their engagement that bothered you, but rather the uncontrollable circumstances that had brought it about. Still, some of you couldn’t help but resent the pair.

A sudden rancid sweetness wafted into your nose as you saw Aegon lean over you, wrapping his hand around the back of your chair and whispering to your twin.

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman,” he teased with a lopsided grin. You observed him with wide eyes that danced from your uncle to your twin, hyper-aware of every breath and twitch of his limbs.

Jace stiffened beside you as he clenched his fist atop the table, barely containing his ire. It was only a matter of time before he lost his patience. You saw his hand move to connect with yours like always when he was stressed, but you moved to place it on your lap, instinctively turning your face away from his.

“It seems your twin doesn’t share the same sentiment,” Aegon softly declared so only the two of you could hear, lips moving into a downward smirk as he watched the silent dispute between siblings, victoriously sitting upright in his seat.

“Let us toast Prince Lucerys as well. The future Lord of the Tides,” your Grandsire continued as you felt the touch of another. Your posture became stiff as Aegon’s fingers wrapped around yours in a vice-like grip, no doubt only to spite Jace as you struggled to break free without causing attention.

Taking advantage of the momentary quiet, your eldest uncle mocked Jace again, moving your hand so he could see it. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?”

Rage welled inside your chest at Aegon’s words, and you feared as you looked into your brother’s eyes that he would spill your affairs in anger. Without thinking of appearances, you dug your nails into Aegon’s hand, causing him to yelp as he released you.

“You can play the jester as you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed,” Jace noiselessly snapped in return as your uncle hummed in acquiescence, cradling his injured hand and wounded pride.

Aemond’s eye was trained on the scene before him as he intently observed the three of you. His face remained a practiced impassivity; the only sign of his inner emotions was his finger wrapping on the table. Aemond took a sip of his wine to disguise his chuckle. His brother should know better than to test you. Even as children, you were not one to take things idly.

“It both gladdens my heart,” the King spoke, his voice straining without much effort, “and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table, the faces most dear to me in all the world.” Viserys looked toward his left, your mother, stepfather, and brothers in his sight. Your hand gripped the stem of your glass, ignoring the heated glares from across the table. “We’ve grown so distant from each other in years past.”

You forced yourself to hide the scoff at his words, taking another long drink. And why would that be? Perhaps it was because of the Queen’s unwavering grudge against your mother that festered into a hatred of her mere existence, his son raping you at such a young age you didn’t understand what it was, or the permanent injury of a young boy that never received the justice he deserved.

Viserys paused his speech, wheezing and supporting his weight on the table as a hand came to remove his mask. The sight was nothing you could have imagined. The space where his bright purple eye should be was a hollow hole of partially healed and rotting flesh. The wound on his cheek had eaten away at the skin and muscle, revealing his decaying grey teeth.

“My face is no longer handsome if it ever was.” Phlegm was stuck within your Grandsire’s throat, creating an almost repulsive noise as he spoke. “Tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father...”

Aegon met the regards of a man who was his father only in name. His glare was dark, filled with anger you had never seen before, yet Aemond couldn’t bear to look at what he became—his father’s desperation, his mouth curling into a sneer.

Pain radiated suddenly from your lap, stare snapping to see your eldest uncle’s hand unexpectedly gripping your thigh, his digits digging into the flesh. It was in retaliation as you attempted to pry him off, but it was useless as Aegon secured his grip, no doubt leaving bruises in his wake. You bit your lip, concealing the painful scowl that curled your lips and arched your brows. It was hard to focus on anything other than your skin aching to be free of your body, not wanting to cause a scene.

“...who may not walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold your feelings in your hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong as long as the House of The Dragon remains divided.”

Aemond’s single violet eye turned to you, your stares locking with thousands of unsaid emotions, unsaid truths as you fidgeted, trying in vain to remove Aegon.

“Set aside your grievances!” Viserys declared passionately, startling those at the table and causing you to break your revere momentarily. “If not for the sake of the Crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

Silence fell across the table as the King stumbled into his seat, the metal of his mask and cutlery clanging as Alicent dutifully came to his aid. Your mother stood abruptly, not giving the room to process the King’s words as her chair scraped against the stone floor. With a goblet in her hand, all eyes turned to her.

“I wish to raise my cup to her grace, the Queen,” she started, her eyes downcast. You watched your mother skeptically, brown orbs flickering from her to Alicent. “I love my father, but I must admit no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife.”

The Queen stared at her old friend, so full of emotions. Years of harbored pain and resentment from events you did not know, bleeding from her chest and onto her finely tailored green dress.

“She has tended to him with unwavering devotion, love, and honor; for that, she has my gratitude. And my apology,” your mother concluded, returning to her seat.

You felt like you were intruding on an intimate moment between lost lovers, the happy moments of their history flashing before each of their minds’ eyes. Turning to Aemond again, you realized he did not remove his stare from you. His ametrine eye was a glassy pool, yet his face was stoic to everyone. You were sure you mirrored him, though you were not as skilled at hiding emotions, your chin slightly quivering.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We’re both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we allow,” Alicent confessed, her voice barely stuttering. “I raise my cup to you and your House. You’ll make a fine Queen.”

Otto’s disapproving stare did not go unnoticed by you, and Aemond reflected on his expression. Each person raised their goblets individually, taking sips in honor of their current and future Queen.

Aegon threw his drink back twice, going for a third time, but stopped once he caught sight of you. Droplets of Arbor Gold slipped past your lips, and you lurched forward to see the liquid before it ran down to the aperture of your chest. The Prince swallowed audibly, his throat clicking as his trousers grew tight.

Memories from your childhood of meals spent with your eldest uncle where he would wipe whatever remnants you had on your mouth came flooding to mind. You realized then that these gestures were not ones of kindness but a sick, disgusting act that he used to groom you and take pleasure from. Gripping the pristine knife that rested atop the fine mahogany table, you dreamed of having his blood spewing from between his lips as you plunged it into his neck.

Taking another swig of your wine, you felt nothing but dry air hit your moist tongue. Aegon noticed it, smiling in an almost feline nature as he took the glass from you.

“Worry not, niece. May your mouth never run dry in my presence,” he declared and went to the pitcher between Baela and Jace. “I regret the disappointment you will soon suffer,” you heard him whisper into your cousin’s ear. “But if you wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

The clatter of cutlery sliced through the air as your brother stood, all eyes turning to him. You tried to placate Jace as he clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white and ignoring your kind touches. Everyone watched with keen eyes as on the other end of the table, Aemond stood, seeming to size up with your brother like a cat arching its spine. Placing your cup of wine in front of you, Aegon sat, dragging his fingertips across your neck and making you shudder in disgust.

Realizing that Jace had captured the attention of everyone surrounding the table, he cleared his throat, stalling for time. You glanced at him with an uneasy feeling, looking back to Aemond as he refused to sit.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth,” Jace began, and you struggled to keep your incredulous expression at bay. “And as men, I hope we may be friends and allies. To you and your families, good health, dear uncles.”

He concluded the toast as he and the rest raised their cups to their worried lips. Playfully, albeit awkwardly, Jace punched your eldest uncle in the shoulder as you struggled to keep your laughter at bay, sinking your teeth into your lip.

“To you as well,” Aegon begrudgingly replied, and you flicked a mocking look at him. He refused to meet you.

The screech of a chair sounded in the dining hall, and you turned your head to see your sweet Aunt Helaena abruptly standing with her cup in hand. “I would like to make a toast to Baela and Rhaena. They will be married soon. It isn’t so bad. He mostly ignores you, except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Daemon’s chuckle pierced through the unease, the three full goblets of wine gone to your head as you stifled one of your own, hiding it behind your digits. Aegon refused to meet anyone’s gaze, finding his half-eaten plate much more interesting than the people before him. Helaena looked to you for support, ensuring that what she said was good as you smiled. You forgot how much you cared for your aunt and admired her thinly veiled jab at Aegon’s lack of duties.

Supper commenced, and you wasted no time feasting, eating the savory vegetables cooked in butter and smothered in rich spices. Smoked cheeses, both hard and soft, found their way to your plate, nearly moaning at their hearty combination with slices of meat. The frigid environment from before left and was replaced with the warmth of laughter and music. Even the old King himself wore a smile on his cracked grey lips.

You ignored the piercing regard burning your face, focusing on your mother and stepfather. Daemon whispered something into your mother’s ear, gently grasping her lithe fingers as she giggled, and a blush bloomed. The sight caused an ache to rise in your chest. The hollowness of your heart knocked on your ribs. You longingly desired to find a love like theirs. Your brother was stolen from you to secure all your inheritances, and while you understood it, nothing could make the hurt lessen.

Ignoring the fist cinching around your lungs, you downed your half-empty goblet of Arbor Gold, summoning a servant to refill it. You did not want to feel like this anymore—the ache, the throbbing in your head and heart. It was too much to bear. In the times of your melancholia, days were spent with a swirling storm of thoughts and memories of your childhood in the Keep—the bullying, your rape, to that of Driftmark filled with blood and boyish screams. They plagued your mind like a disease, culturing into an amalgamation of sadness, rage, guilt, self-mutilation, and isolation until you no longer wanted to live.

Jace rose from his seat with a groan from the wood and excused himself from his betrothed. You thought he might offer you a dance; he knew how much you loved to do so, but the idea sank like the food past your lips as he went to Helaena, extending a hand. Aegon stared at the pair as they went to the open space, his face one of surprise as you brought your cup to your lips, swallowing a smirk. It served him right. His treatment of Helaena, or lack thereof, was appalling. Though he may not be in a marriage of love, she was still his sister and the dreamy-eyed Princess deserved more.

A glimmer of gold suddenly drew your gaze, jolting you from contemplation. Viserys' magnificent mask gleamed in the flickering candlelight, his head tilting to one side as he visibly battled a wave of pain. Without hesitation, Queen Alicent signaled for the guards to accompany him back to his chambers. You observed with a concerned expression trailing behind as they carefully took the ornate wooden throne out of the grand dining hall.

You caught Aemond’s gaze. It was impossible not to as it flicked from Helaena dancing to you. He looked like a barely concealed storm about the burst, as if he debated whether to slit your throat because of your existence or continue what he had started in the corridor. Your uncle had changed so much within six years that you didn’t recognize him, and you supposed it was the same for you. Two people who grew so close were suddenly torn apart by an unfinished tragedy where anger was left to decay until its rot took control.

You worried that things would never be able to be put aside like your Grandsire wished if this wall of silence and grudges was not destroyed. Hate between your families would stay the same and cause the successful usurpation of your mother’s rightful throne. Deciding to swallow your pride and hurt, you stood, wanting to extend the broken branch of goodwill to Aemond, but Aegon refused to let you move. His arm pushed you back down into your seat with a look that sent tears of shocked terror into your eyes. You felt helpless under his gaze as a thinly veiled look of madness replaced a toothy grin gleaming in the candlelight.

“Won’t you give the courtesy of a dance, niece?” he asked with a dangerous lilt that hinted at something more. There was no room for refusal as he hoisted you from your chair. This was undoubtedly a jab at Jace for inviting Helaena as you watched your twin halt his movements.

Ever since Aegon was a boy, he has been awful when sharing what he thinks is his. You recalled the many times you would ask to play with his wooden toys only to get smacked in the head with it or worse. It was as comforting as it was unnerving that parts of him were still the same.

Eyes flicking at Aemond, you pleaded for him to stand and make good on his promise to protect you from your eldest uncle, but he remained still, unmoving like the statues you compared him to. You were right here, mere steps away and by his side. He could insert himself and put an end to Aegon’s torture. After all, you would be indebted to him if he did, and what more could Aemond possibly desire than to have his bastard niece that he so despises at his mercy?

“Aemond still hates you for what Luke did,” Aegon softly declared as you moved your attention to him. “I’m not. My ire is directed at those who caused this hatred to fester between us. You and I were friends once.”

“Indeed, once. ‘Twas long ago now,” you quipped with venom like the pit vipers in Dorne.

Your uncle was a skilled dancer despite the plethora of alcohol he drank, twirling you with a grace you did not possess as you stumbled from nerves and firewater. Aemond did not know where to focus, gaze flicking from Helaena and Jace to you and Aegon so fast that he felt disoriented. He didn’t understand why he was so concerned. It wasn’t like he could do anything to separate you and his brother without acquiring Aegon’s jests hours later, yet he couldn’t control his anxiety as his finger nervously tapped the wooden table.

Bringing you close as you tripped, Aegon pressed your body against his as you felt the real reason behind his words, swaying to the music that made you want to scream and pull your hair from its roots.

“Things could return to how they were before. We could ride our dragons together, visit far-off lands, and spend our days in the Godswood eating those orange cakes you like. We’d be friends and even more so. Would that not be splendid?” the eldest Prince suggested with a grin.

There was nothing for you to do but endure this for the sake of appearances as you caught sight of a pair of amber eyes watching you, a slight upturn to her plump lips. Queen Alicent knew what her son did to you yet observed with a smile that you could interpret as one of maternal love. It enraged you. She was no better than her son. You hated her beyond words for the times you ever thought of her more than another Lord who cared not for the struggles of women.

Aemond no longer held his attention on you but that of Jace and Helaena, seeming to be unbothered by your childhood rapist and bully putting his hands in places that would be a sin. He would not save you now. It was up to you to defend yourself once more.

“You ended whatever smidge of camaraderie we had when you debased me at the top of Maegor’s battlements,” you spat as you moved away from him, only for Aegon to bring you back into another elegant dance. The Prince rolled his purple eyes, the indigo circles underneath them becoming prominent.

“We seem to have different recollections of that night,” he exasperatedly sighed as if you were nothing more than a child bothering their parents with unfounded fears. “I recall how we as children laughed and drank beside each other and how you said, yes, as I slipped my hand betwixt your thighs.”

Gasping, you shoved Aegon away as his hands traveled past your navel, suddenly hearing a chair screech in response. Aemond stood with his body squared toward the two of you as the room went silent. All twelve faces turned to him. You stared with bated breath as Aegon slipped his hand across your back, returning to his chair and taking a nonchalant sip of his drink.

Would Aemond finally stand against Aegon for all the wrong he committed to the both of you?

Pleading wordlessly, your body flushed as he stared unabashedly, tears of intensity pricking your eyes. The light of hope inside your chest was snuffed out as the servants brought a roasted pig onto the table. Luke could not contain his immature giggles as it was placed before Aemond, reminding him of the cruel jape he, Aegon, and Jace did. Whatever anger Aemond felt at his older brother soon turned into one of injustice for what Luke did all these years ago. You thought your younger brother knew better than this and sighed in defeat, all prospects of an amiable future between the Greens and Blacks disintegrating.

“Final tribute,” Aemond began, a lethal sway to his words. “To the health of my niece and nephews. Jace, Luke, Joffrey, and the Gods’ Light.” Your uncle’s single eye traveled to each of you, a stare so severe you felt yourself recoil inside of your being as you ran an unconscious hand through your scalp. “Each of them is handsome, wise, virtuous, and…”

Aemond stuttered as he came to you, making the fatal mistake of losing himself within the depths of your comforting irises. He could see the water collecting at your lashes as your eyes turned into murky pools, threatening to drown him if he stared for a moment longer. He directed his attention at Luke, his ire becoming apparent as memories of your brothers and Aegon’s laughs bounced off the Dragonpit walls, soon turning into screams and red covering his vision. He felt the pain of losing an eye as if it was happening again and tightened his fist around his goblet, forcing the pain to fuel his rage.

“And strong,” Aemond concluded as you released a disappointed sigh, focusing on anything but your uncle. “Come! Let us drain our cups to these four strong children.”

You understood what he was trying to do without speaking. His hurt was so fierce that it blinded all sense, leading him to react rashly. Aemond was forcing you to choose between your family and your affection for him, a situation that the Prince knew would play out as before. You knew what was expected of you; it was the same as last time. You would always choose your family over him. Duty was a sacrifice; you must sacrifice the memories of a bright-eyed boy with freckled cheeks and a love for reading and stolen kisses. The Aemond was no longer there, and you needed to accept that.

“I dare you to say that again,” Jace proclaimed, his chin held high and shoulders back. Your brother was ever the picture of a strong king, sending a warmth to your heart that was crushed with reality.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?” Aemond jabbed back as your head snapped to him. He could make whatever cruel taunts he desired at you but would not bring your brother into this.

“A man lies dead for spouting such lies. What do you think will happen to you?” you snapped a vicious clip to your words. Before Aemond could respond, your brother stormed to him without a second thought, chest to chest, as his fist slammed across Aemond’s cheek.

Gasping in surprise, you went to the two of them as you saw Luke’s face become one with a plate of food, hesitating for a moment until your twin was shoved to the ground. You marched toward Aemond with fire in your veins and an intent to harm as shouts erupted from your mother and Queen Alicent for everyone to stop. You all ignored them, Aegon swiftly coming behind you, lifting and swinging you by the waist as if you were no more than a doll. Jace tried to reach for you, but your uncle spun around, giggling in your ear at your attempts to break free as you became nauseous.

You realized this was all a joke to Aegon. He truly did not understand that what he did to you as children was wrong.

Aegon couldn’t hide the excitement in his stomach at having you so close once more as you squirmed in his hold, burying his nose into your neck with a grin. He wondered if you would writhe like this if he had you naked between his bedsheets.

Soon, the guards draped in metal armor and red robes pulled Jace and Luke away from their uncles as Aegon came face to face with Daemon. Unlike Aemond, your eldest uncle was not one to challenge others to fisticuffs as his laughter ceased. Your stepfather need only to flash your uncle a look for him to let you go, raising his arms in surrender as Daemon observed you to ensure you weren’t hurt.

“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” you heard Queen Alicent hotly scold Aemond, looking behind his lithe shoulder to where your mother held your body close to hers.

Scoffing, your uncle cocked his head, staring down at his mother with a challenging look. “I was merely expressing my pride in my family, mother. Though it seems my niece and nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs,” he enunciated pointedly, glancing to where the three of you were restrained.

“I’ll cut out your tongue!” you shouted as Jace broke free from the guards, coming behind you in support. Daemon halted you in your tracks, his touch gentle yet firm as he placed a hand on your arm. As you paused to regain your composure, you couldn’t help but notice the deep creases on his forehead, a sign of his genuine concern. You shrugged off his touch, refusing to succumb to paternal overtures because he intervened when Aegon was rough with you.

Your mother looked to the floor, a dejected expression on her porcelain features you couldn’t understand before she spoke to the three of you. “Go to your quarters. All of you, now.”

As you and Jace made your way out, you couldn’t help but notice the tense standoff between Daemon and Aemond. Your stepfather, casually leaning on his hips with one hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister, exuded an air of calculated confidence.

Standing in the doorway, you felt a flutter of anxiety in your heart, wondering what would unfold between the two men. You were curious to know if the two Targaryen men decided to brawl and whether you would go to your uncle or stepfather. There was a palpable sense of anticipation as Daemon glanced at where you stood, expressing a knowing look deep within his lilac eyes. He had already sent one person’s loved one to the Stranger. What was one more?

Sharing a look of frustration from you to your stepfather, Aemond grunted in displeasure, following your steps out of the dining hall. Jace checked himself into your shoulder as he forced you forward, refusing to let you dwell on the scene behind you.

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I know we're upset with Aemond's behavior, but it'll make that character arch much sweeter. We can only have the enemies-to-lovers trope with them being enemies first! I feel bad for the poor MC. First, she's forced to return to the scene of a traumatic experience, forced to see her rapist, and then finds out the man she thought she was going to marry her whole life is engaged to someone else! Baby girl is going through it. Let's get this girl some therapy. (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)

We're starting to see how Aegon and Alicent might have begun to harbor some unhealthy traits regarding our reader. Don't worry. It'll get much worse from here on out! Thank you so much for reading!

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storiesoflilies · 1 year ago

Text

Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N - Things are getting political up in here! Sounds like a great opportunity for character development hmm? Enjoy guys!! Ko-Fi.

Next part - Chapter 6.

-•-

Chapter 5

Y/N sat pensively atop her brother’s obsidian throne, her fingers drumming against the arm rest as she listened intently to every word spoken.

“They are beneath you, sister. Don’t overthink it,” said Geto as he donned a fresh haori for battle, its fabric woven from the threads of the savage fate of the clash between the divine and free.

From a shroud of shadows, Y/N had silently overseen Geto conducting his court for the past month; immersing herself into how Curses lived and behaved. Her brother had become quite obsessive with preparing her to sit on his throne and pass judgment in his absence, so she had dutifully stood behind him as he publicly proclaimed her as his sister and second in command to the entire court. Amidst Y/N’s observations, she had discerned the chaotic babbling and single-minded pursuits of violence and sin among the kingdom’s denizens, and Geto’s reasoning became crystal clear – they really were beneath her, for she possessed the mental fortitude and intelligence to think straight.

“And how do you know they won’t disrespect me because I’m Fallen?” she asked pointedly, her arms crossed as she watched her brother turn over his katana in his hands. “You are their King, not me.”

“These skirmishes have been an issue for a while now, and Geto has been aware of it, but last night marked the first open act of rebellion against him,” Suda announced grimly.

“It is precisely because I am King, that they wouldn’t dare,” he replied coolly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Who else is better to sit on my throne when I am gone, besides my sister?”

And so here she was, on her third day replacing Geto at court, listening to those in his inner circle discussing various issues both large and small within her brother’s kingdom. Y/N doubted her ability to be the one to pass judgement, especially given the prejudice against her being a Fallen seraph, but she had no choice now. She could only hope to avoid worsening the already turbulent politics within the Hells, a notion that seemed to be far-fetched given the current situation. Toji hadn’t come to visit her during that entire month, she felt nothing through their bond either, and Y/N wished he would just teleport then and there to offer guidance on what to do.

“How many dead?” Miguel inquired, standing cool and collected at the right side of the throne, his dark skin beautifully accentuated by the blue flames flickering in the throne room.

“Only ten. They were villagers guarding their food stores,” Suda replied, clutching tanned scrolls of paper to her chest.

Y/N frowned, her fingers ceased their movement, and asked, “Where were the soldiers guarding that village? It’s close to the border with Jogo’s kingdom, no?”

“You’ve been watching and learning for the past month, same as I,” he continued, a small smile on his face as he tried to encourage her. “I trust your judgement, you now understand what needs to be done.”

“And if I make the wrong choice, and start a war? Then what?” She huffed, her gaze darting anywhere but Geto. It was childish, even pathetic, of her to try and shirk responsibility, and she knew it.

Suda cleared her throat uncomfortably, casting a wary glance at Y/N, and continued slowly, “They allowed Jogo’s forces to pass freely into the village. They claim that Geto is a false King who cheated against Hajime, and they refuse to acknowledge him as their King.”

Her brother sighed, his jaw tightening, and an angry spark of flame ignited into a full blaze in his eyes. Geto gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze as he growled, “As your brother, I am asking you to do this for me. Don’t make command you as your King.”

The unspoken words hung heavy in the air, as clear as day, that this was only due to Geto being a Fallen. Y/N knew it, and so did the rest of the council, who all had their eyes trained intently on her. Her heart pumped wildly in her chest, the heavy burden of expectations and responsibility falling onto her shoulders like a heavy cloak.

“I will do this Suguru, I just don’t think I’m ready,” Y/N replied, her voice steady despite his words cutting through her like a hot blade, and she stood just a little taller.

But she was almost used to it, and understood his thin patience; it was a delicate line drawn in the sand, and he teetered on the brink of plunging over into the side that was mayhem and insanity. In the three months since her arrival, Geto hadn’t ascended to Earth, instead focusing on overseeing her recovery and managing his court affairs. Y/N had noticed his frustrations subtly at first; sparring had become gradually more and more aggressive, as each of them were desperate to land a blow on the other. Each clash between them were Geto’s sole outlet for pent-up anger, as he crashed into her with the force of gale winds against a mountain. These sparring sessions were the only outlet for his anger, and she knew he was still learning about their new world too, and that he hated being a novice in unfamiliar territory. Therefore, she couldn’t help but be sympathetic with his desperate longing for confrontation.

Y/N drew in a deep breath and enquired, “Where are these soldiers now?”

“They have fled, but I can try to locate them,” Suda answered.

“Do it, and find out who else knew about these plans but did nothing. They are just as guilty,” she spoke louder, steeling her throat to prevent her voice from quavering. “Larue will go with you. Once you find them, report back to me immediately.”

Suda nodded, gesturing for Larue to follow her. The pair disappeared into a portal, leaving just Miguel, Negi Toshihisa, and the twins with her in the room.

“You’ll be fine. May I offer just one word of advice?” he muttered, as a portal materialized behind him. It was not a question, but she nodded anyways.

“How many more do you think would openly betray my brother?” Y/N asked, her eyes sweeping over to Miguel.

“There has been… discontent, that’s for sure. Hajime’s death was sudden, and there are certainly those still loyal to him. So I would say a fair few; they simply wait for more to rally to their cause,” he said, his words echoing with such wisdom that she questioned just how old he really was.

“Geto may be gone for days, and he cannot pass judgment on those who have betrayed him,” she muttered, mostly to herself, deliberating on what her brother would do in her place.

“Do you know what needs to be done?” Miguel asked, but it wasn’t a question.

He was testing her, goading her almost, to see if she was vicious enough to bite, and bite hard at that. She gave him a harsh look, and her hands tightly gripping the armrests of the throne.

“Don’t be so fucking nice,” Geto all but growled, a wild gleam in his eyes as his body yearned to tear apart flesh and spill holy blood. “You’re one of us now, act like it.”

And he was gone.

Y/N nodded stiffly; she was sure.

“Girls, get me my katanas.”

-•-

A few hours passed before Suda and Larue finally returned, both their faces filled with an ill-looking tension, and the blonde Curse sported a nasty looking wound on his right bicep.

“Did you find them?” Y/N asked, feeling a foreboding sensation creep from her toes to her head.

Suda grimaced, “Yes, they have rallied together and taken over the village, and are holding the residents hostage. We tried to negotiate, but they refused to listen to reason.”

Larue rotated his right shoulder, as if was trying to banish the pain into the air. The twins rushed over to him, fussing over and attempting to care for the wound. Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, feeling anger starting to seep inside her. Her own emotions were beginning to become increasingly difficult to contain. Perhaps she too, was beginning to cross the line in the sand.

You don’t want me to play nice? Fine then.

“What can they really do? It’s not as if they can win,” Larue scoffed, obnoxiously flexing his uninjured arm. “There were just too many there for me alone. Suda refuses to fight and ruin her complexion.”

“It’s a statement,” Negi finally spoke, giving Y/N a pointed look. “They won’t have any demands; all they are doing are simply declaring they will not yield to Geto any longer.”

“There’s more…” Suda trailed off, looking particularly uncomfortable.

“What?” Y/N huffed.

“They have… mutilated all the Fallen that lived in that village, beheading them and mounting the bodies on spikes outside. The corpses were then set ablaze, which is a clear declaration of Jogo’s influence.”

A foot over the line; a thread snapped.

She was deathly quiet, her slow rage having built into a blazing fire, and her glare bore into Suda as she spoke coldly, “I told you to come back to me when you found them. Why did you try to negotiate?”

The group sharply turned towards her at the sound of her displeasure, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sick and twisted sense of satisfaction at their spark of alarm – like spooked animals. Larue looked away uneasily, and Suda visibly gulped.

“I thought perhaps the issue would have been best solved between… I-uh, m-meant well!” She exclaimed, her voice reaching a higher pitch.

“Between who, hmm?” Y/N asked coolly, reclining back in the throne. “True-borns? Is that what you were trying to say?”

She couldn’t deny it to herself; she relished watching Suda squirm.

The guilty pair remained silent, looking to the ground, consumed by a mixture of shame or fear, perhaps both. Sensing the change in atmosphere, the twins ceased their care of Larue and positioned themselves on either side of the throne, their hands clasped behind their backs in a display of submission. Y/N drummed her fingers impatiently, a single eyebrow raised in silent expectation.

“I don’t believe any offense was meant,” Miguel offered quietly, making an attempt to placate her.

“I’m aware, Miguel,” she snapped. “What really irks me is that if my brother had given the order, then it would have been followed precisely. So why is it that when I give an order, you both decided to take matters into your own hands?”

She stood up abruptly, her voice ringing out in a much louder tone, “Suguru entrusted me to act in his stead, and believed you all would respect me, but it seems he was wrong.”

Her gaze swept over them all, and in that moment, she realized her brother was right. She knew these creatures, both as a Curse and an Angel. They all harbored a belief in their own self importance and desires, but Y/N could see right through their delusions. Her thoughts seemed to clarify into a crystal clear rainfall, it was almost tranquil, and it reminded her of her solitary prayers in Heaven. Perhaps it was time to draw upon a page from where she had been born for what had to be done to traitors – to show them no mercy, and no second chances. Who better to enact justice than a Fallen?

Pride…

Toji had sensed her mental fortitude shifting from afar, and she could just about feel him through their bond. Her heart fluttered like a dance of songbirds, a symphony of emotions echoing within her soul.

“I’ll forgive, just this once,” she declared, her gaze piercing as she stared pointedly at Larue and Suda. “Next time, I will remove you from this court myself. Is that clear?”

They both nodded, and Y/N could sense Nanako smirking from her peripheral vision.

“Now, we cannot allow dissent to continue within our own ranks, and we cannot tolerate violence against our own,” she continued, descending the steps of the throne towards the group. “Miguel, we leave at once.”

He nodded in agreement, stepping closer to her. Y/N couldn’t help but feel nervous; after all, this would be her first time leaving the relative safety of Geto’s palace. But she felt a sense of readiness calling her into action. The twins stood taller and shifted on their feet, eager to be noticed, and she turned to face them with a slight smirk playing on her lips.

“Are you girls going to hold us back?” she asked, her tone teasing and playful.

Mimiko procured a rope from behind her back, pulling it taut between her hands, while Nanako brandished two deadly daggers, twirling them with ease between her fingers. They both shook their heads, wearing serious expressions on their faces, but Y/N could see the glimmer of barely concealed excitement in their eyes.

“Good, let’s go then.”

-•-

Y/N smelt the bodies before she saw them.

It was acrid, charred, and absolutely sickening. But she made no face and withheld any sort of reaction. These Fallen were like her, even if some of them no longer resembled anything of the regal forms they once possessed in Heaven. She may very well have ended up just like this, defiled and massacred, if her brother hadn’t wielded the power he did now, and that struck a strange chord within her. For some reason, she was only just realizing how far away from home and her old life she was. And it hit her with a crippling loss of something she would never ever get back again, except perhaps in dreams.

The village itself wasn’t overly large. Simple barracks made of stone, with sharpened steel tipped spears at the tops of the walls. Some of the bodies displayed ominously outside were still smoldering, providing a glow against the night’s sky. The sky was just a fraction lighter than where Geto’s palace was, tinted with dark purple hues, and Y/N supposed it was because she was close to the border between layers.

“How would you like to do this?” Miguel asked calmly beside her.

What should she do?

“Every living creature in that village would betray my brother. They all must die,” she muttered, a tendril of ice spreading through her mind, and that shocked even herself.

“Very well, lead the way,” he replied, and she could tell he was so very pleased with her answer.

Y/N sucked in a breath, tensing her legs.

And she sprung forward.

A bolt of silver charging through the air.

Colliding into and breaking down the stone doors.

The traitorous Curses stared at her, faces twisted in disbelief and fear, and she stared at them all with hate and malice.

Anarchy erupted like a blazing bonfire as Miguel and the twins joined her, and without hesitation, Y/N moved with lethal precision, her movements fluid as water. Her katanas sang through the air as she struck down any Curse within her way, glinting coldly amidst the blue and orange hues of sulfur torches and burning corpses. Miguel fought at her side, his skill and strength much more controlled than hers as he helped her pave a path of destruction through their enemies. Amidst the chaos, screams and moans of pain filled the air as the twins struck from the shadows She could hear the screams and moans of pain as the twins struck from the shadows around them; two little devils in their own bubble of mayhem.

Y/N felt the very core of her soul blacken considerably, sensing what she could only describe as Sukuna’s influence – a presence imbued with fire and sin, coursing through her veins like a relentless parasite to consume her essence. She would transform into a vessel of suffering and war, with no sense of purpose beyond what he willed her to do. Her hands start to shake, and she was reduced to a ticking clock, a harbinger of disaster that would leave no soul unscathed in its wake.

She felt her soul leave her body, as if she were looking down at her body from far above. Was she traveling back in time while her body stood still? Back to a time when she had almost loved Satoru and belonged to him as his most prized possession.

Calm… Ease…

And she felt Toji, as if he were right there beside her. Y/N looked around frantically, hoping to catch a glimpse of her green-eyed Curse, praying that he had sensed her throwing herself into danger and decided to join her. But he wasn’t there – his emotions through the bond served as a reminder, a nudge to reassure her that he was there in spirit, and that he felt her.

With concerted effort, Y/N pushed aside the rage and bloodlust that threatened to consume her, focusing instead on dealing out justice to those that dared to oppose her brother – oppose her. And as the last traitor fell at her feet, begging for mercy and forgiveness, Y/N could somehow empathize with the fear in its eyes. It reminded her of the time she had lost wasting away in Heaven, conforming to all their rules of perfection, forced to play the role of the perfect little soldier and Satoru’s betrothed.

And it had scared her.

So fucking much.

“They are beneath you, sister.”

But no longer.

Y/N struck the Curse hard across the face with her palm, shattering whatever resolve it clung to, and drove her blade into its eye – silencing it forever. She refused to go back in time; she simply wouldn’t. There was only a time before Toji, and after, and so she would never go back. Y/N felt herself rise above, a demon that had been waiting for hundreds of years to finally be born. From Heaven she had been born, but now she was a warrior of fire and steel. She would rather die than go back to the pristine kingdom that sought to confine her into a golden cage of Gojo’s love. No, here she was free, and would never be locked away again – Toji would never let her end up that way.

She knew then that she would have become a Curse, one way or another.

It was deathly quiet, the only sounds being the heavy rhythm of her breath, while her mind grappled with revelations and truths that had long been concealed even to herself. The bloodlust and adrenaline coursing through her veins were now subsiding, settling into sediments in her blood, and droplets of blood fell like rain from her katanas.

Black blood; just like hers.

Miguel approached her cautiously, surveying and taking in the carnage around them. “It is finished,” he murmured quietly, voice heavy with the weight of their actions, and the acknowledgement of what they had done – what had to be done.

She nodded, her gaze fixed on the lifeless bodies scattered across the ground before them, their vacant eyes staring blankly at the sky. There was no time to feel remorseful, and perhaps she had exhausted whatever remained within her. Yet, Y/N hoped that some trace of it still lingered within her, waiting to be ignited once more.

“My brother cannot wage his war if the rest of Hell stands divided against itself,” she declared, shattering the oppressive silence.

Miguel sighed heavily. “Hell has always been divided. That fact won’t change so easily.”

“We have to try,” Y/N hissed, gripping her katanas in frustration. “But first, we must become stronger ourselves before trying to unify the rest. The weak always follow the strong, and through strength, we can forge unity.”

Miguel regarded her with fascination; she looked at him questioningly.

“If you show the strength you have shown today, many will follow you wherever you go… I will follow you wherever you go,” he stated, and she was so overwhelmed, that all she could was hum in agreement.

Y/N heard the familiar sound of a portal opening behind her, prompting both her and Miguel to turn and face whoever had arrived.

Suguru stood as regal and powerful as ever with his arms crossed and his robes covered in dried red blood. A smear of crimson stained his cheek like clay, and his deep brown eyes bore into her. She perhaps would have been inclined to shirk away, but she stood tall and resolute as a mountain. Her brother could not break her; they were equals now, bound by a singular vision that finally unified them.

“You’ve been busy, sister,” he said at last, his gaze analysing hers, perhaps seeking any sign of weakness or shock.

He wouldn’t find any.

Y/N held her chin high and retorted, “Just like you.”

“Are you ready for what needs to be done?” Geto asked, moving to stand beside her, while Miguel shirked away into the shadows.

“Are you?”

Her brother breathed out a laugh from his nostrils, a sly grin forming as the corner of his lip curled upwards. “Excellent.”

-•-

Taglist: @kkhaosxx @better-imagination-9 @gabrielle2013 @angelheavensblog @cyberang3lic @justmarlen3 @pinknipszz @moonwingeys @luzzbuzz @hornabbyyy @mitsuyasblackwifey @chosolover736 @spookyjyestha @elisqq @sillyrings978 @littlekittensoftpaws93 @starryluv4 @99k4manii @maid4nanno @chososrealwife @iloveitwhentheyrunnn @kamoslut @rubyrose2014 @hannah5max @transparent-nature

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katyspersonal · 7 months ago

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Hi there

I saw your post about Rellana & Messmer and i really want to know your interpretation of their relationship. Many insist on them being unrequited love but i couldn't really find any evidences that support this interpretation except Rellana's sword description in Eng because the Japanese version is different as it's says the fire & moon were always together .

Anon I am sorry I am so late fdhshf The usual: I was waiting to get to Messmer myself first after doing like 600 side things and then I forgor 😔

But for starters, a couple of funny things regarding the topic! First: I was actually dead sure they were canonically an item because of some thoughts I've heard from the fans early on!! And I got further into this confusion because I've misinterpreted Messmer's emblem as Fire + Twin Moon (since it is two circles overlapping and I first met it in the Castle Ensis), instead of Fire + Two Serpents that it IS! XD

Second: I was instantly confused by the description of Rellana's helmet, because Rennala has brown hair in both concept art portrait and the ingame model. So, the long black hair could not have been a cute parting gift, right....? Well, we resolved it with the help of analysing Japanese text more (this post ( x )), and turned out Rennala DID give her own hair! x) I suppose her hair, or the part that sticks from under the crown, became brown under prolonged strong Amber Egg's light exposure (basically same as sunlight)! However for a month I believed that Rennala simply helped Rellana to tweak her appearance with Amber Egg's magic to charm Messmer better because they knew long black hair was his taste HFSDHFDSGSDG XDDD

So, I was convinced that they were soooo married that they were proudly putting the symbol of alliance of Fire and Moon everywhere. The wording in English 'chase after Messmer' and fanart didn't help x) So.. now it had cleared up a little. As for the Japanese text you're referring to, me and @heraldofcrow asked someone else about it for clarification!

Japanese text breakdown from them is,

Ok, for the first one, she told me that the sentence/description, “ 月と火は、ここでは常に共にあった” has the word “常に” in it for “always.” (It’s “tsuneni” when Anglicized). This means “always, constantly.” So that one is correct. You have verify by even just looking up “tsuneni” in a Japanese dictionary, which I did. Seems right. So, yes the translation is “Moon and fire were constantly/always together here.”

I feel like this is further backed up by a certain other thing within Carians:

Notice how both swords also have identical skill; the use of sorcery with a normal attack after assuming the stance, and the use of fire with a strong attack! Both deal normal, magic and fire damage types! The only thing different is that since then, the celestial body representing the 'sorcery' part changed from stars to Moon, however Carians do not forget their roots!

So all flames, Messmer's included in the end, were an anathema to the Erdtree for the vision of the Cardinal Sin of burning it once (Fire Monks' incantations, Candletree Wooden Shield)!

I see it as Rellana deciding it was bullshit sentiment and actually sorcerers, whether Stars or Moon ones, were supposed to be allies to fire powers, like their origins intended! Liurnia/Carians and the Erdtree became allies after the war ended with Rennala's and Radagon's marriage... Whereas at first Rellana was okay with following the new obligation, for one reason or another she decided to REJECT THE MODERNITY AND EMBRACE THE TRADITION!

I am going to cuss localisation team again, because in Japanese original, the word that is here 'succor' is 癒 (月の輝きが、その男を癒せぬと知っていても) which means to heal! So, the sentiment is, her knowing that she could not fix him the horror plaguing him could not be treated, even with the magic/knowledge of Carians!

Black Knight Commander Andreas and his son Huw stood by Messmer until they've learned WHY Marika "abandoned her son". At this rate I need a T-Shirt that says 'You could never be Tanith' because I need it OFTEN in this DLC hfsdhfds . If Rellana knew of his affliction and still chose to stand by him, that puts her on the level with his Fire Knights, and even his snakes! And we know that Messmer still does need friends, not just his mom.

^ Unlike with the Cleanrot Knights of Malenia getting subjected to her Scarlet Rot by effect, Messmer's flame cannot infect others and it is just a curse for him and his two snake friends. However, Fire Knights attempted to share the burden with him and at least find the satisfaction in using his fire as is! Rellana is similar, because her fire sword IS serpentine and uses his fire:

(Video by Zullie the Witch ( x ))

After having all this context and clearing up my confusion, I think them having unrequited love is possible, but in the other way around! Say instead of her having "chased" him and him not feeling much in return, she had more ideals-fueled reasons to seek him and HE is the one hurting from not being loved the way he wishes!

According to Rogier sky sorceries of either king and the Erdtree were enemies, but sorcery and fire, on the other hand... And an "evil" kind of fire as well; the Fell God is literally named that, it is known as Flame of Ruin, even the Fire Giants carrying it for their god were said to have been burdened by it and it was an anathema to the Erdtree! Marika was not able to overcome her fear before the horror within Messmer although she tried her best to love him, but Rellana maybe decided 'yeah no shade to my sister's tastes but the plea to the Erdtree is kinda dumb, we sorcerers are supposed to be their enemies but allies to all kinds of evil fire! *looks at FF* EXCEPT THAT ONE' fsdhfds She could not heal him, but OG description of her sword makes it sound as though there is a "bigger idea" behind standing with him than just liking him. Aliance of sorcery and fire. She sees standing with him like more natural order and fate!

Messmer, on the other hand, would like to be liked (by her) on a more "primitive" level, without all that historical and philosophical nonsense! He is a person, not a symbol! ..but at the same time, he sorta knows he can't be. It is not just a problem with her, it is a problem with... everyone, really. He is carrying this curse and hates his fire, and to truly understand him would be to experience it the same way as he does. Something Fire Knights attempted to do, but it didn't work. But at the same time, he feels like even if he could infect people with his flame, he would not want to subject her to it in particular. With the Knights their honor kinda implies giving him their all, but despite her also being his blade he sees her as an equal! Someone who is better off not being burdened by his curse. Additionally, he already second-guesses whether he ruined her life by effect by """making""" her lose her right as a princess just to stand with him! Yeah, true, he needs Melina to lecture him on people's agency, but those with very low/negative opinion on selves OFTEN believe that they have more power over people than they actually do. Like they are "manipulating" them by literally just standing there (menacingly), and everything is always their fault..

So yeah! I think Rellana is a little 'clueless' about their bond, nor Messmer is doing enough to express his feelings! She sees them as Moon and Fire, not as Rellana and Messmer, and seems pretty content this way! He, on the other hand, would probably actually charm her romantically if he was not so gloomy and reclusive and put in conscious effort! He has a lot of charisma he is not using to get bitches when he CAN!! But he bounces between the 'why can't she like me in a more personal way?' vs 'wait, why WOULD she? it is better if she doesn't. damn I am an awful person as usual for wanting such thing.' ...🙄

They both have the capacity of developing relationship, but if Rellana is feeling attracted she is clueless about it simply because she won't think of it without being prompted to. With Messmer, he becomes STUPID vulnerable and self-conscious for multiple reasons pondering upon forming a bond this deep with her! I know it is an overused comedy trope, but picture Moonrithyll and [insert a Fire Knight] seeing the clear tension between the two and facepalming about how dumb they are about it XD Or, alternatively, trying to match-make them so they'd stop being so embarrassing and just fuck already lmaoooo fdghfsdg

__________________

Conclusion: both are too occupied with their own stuff to make a conscious effort towards it, but the potential and the tension is here! He has more talent for good romantic gestures and just the right tender things to say than he (or anyone else) realises that would make Rellana blush and stumble. Act slightly tsundereish, even, because she is not good at the "soft" things. She, on the other hand, is on more blunt side and her expressions of attraction would be passionate, and mostly vulgar I think. And that'd make HIM blush, because he is not good at THIS stuff! His style is some sentimental sweet line, her style is complimenting his slim ass or whatever fsdfsg Strong romantic energy from Messmer who dies at sexual commentaries, and strong sexual energy from Rellana who is no longer so tough at some nice poetry. Because they're "opposites" in such ways, there is a lot of awkwardness, but also a lot of dynamic!

(+A funnier interpretation is Messmer being romantic asexual that'd be still willing to have sex with someone he loves, and Rellana is aromantic sexual that'd still be okay with cuddles and kisses and stuff from someone she desires! They have each their own way to love and try to make it work. Just a more 'direct' version of the dynamic I've described previously, is this anything? xd)

#elden ring #messmer the impaler #rellana twin moon knight #what did we call this ship though? I genuinely don't know fhhfd #moonfire #ask replies #elden ring headcanons #screenshots

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 1 year ago

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Beneath Miles of Stone - Part seven - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: blood ; PTSD

It was a prison riot that started in the upper levels and trickled down into the infirmary. That makes sense, because the closer they got to freedom the more chaotic everything became.

The police officers that talk to her in the ER ask a million questions and she mostly lies to keep John’s name out of her mouth. It’s easy to say that she can’t remember most of it, because her brain is expert at blocking out trauma. She thanks her less than ideal upbringing for that. Truth is, that long term memory loss isn’t really working for the short-term and she remembers everything.

The story is that she was close to the exit, got jumped by some inmates, and managed to get away and out of the doors with guard keys. No, she didn’t see anyone else escape or remember faces or name badges.

They press her until her nurse, a pretty woman named Karen, comes in and puts a stop to it.

Badass Nurse Karen, who tells the police officers: “She already told you everything, and she needs to rest now.”

They leave begrudgingly after that.

“You alright honey?” Karen asks.

She nods, wipes tears from her eyes, wills herself to be just a little tougher in front of her own kind.

The doctor says her X-rays look good, but she may have a few aches and pains over the next few days as her bruising heals up. He prescribes her Toradol to help, but she doesn’t bother picking it up from the pharmacy.

There are more important things on her mind, like who the hell is John Wick and why did he allow her to live?

She Googles his name on her phone while she sits in the hospital bed and comes up blank except for a few pictures and articles on well known businessmen that look nothing like him.

Her second problem should probably be her first, but John sticks to her mind like a glue trap and she can’t stop thinking about him no matter how much she tries.

Will power has never been a strong suit.

The second problem is if she still has a job or not. Will they shut the prison down or keep it open? Does she want to go back after today? Are there any other jobs that pay as well within walking distance? If not, how much time will she need to save up for a down payment on a car?

Her phone rings. She answers blindly.

Michael is on the other end, sounding panicky. “Are you okay? I just got home and the news says there was a riot at your job? Please tell me you’re not dead.”

“I’m okay, Michael. I got out and I’m at the emergency room right now.”

“Oh my god,” Michael groans, “what happened to you?”

She feeds him the same bullshit story she gave to the cops, but, unlike them, Michael accepts and trusts her word. That makes her feel insanely guilty. “I’m alright,” she assures, “just bruised.”

“When are you coming home?” He asks. “I’m gonna make you some tea and whiskey.”

God, what did she ever do to deserve him?

“Thank you, Michael, but you really don’t have to, I’m-“

“Hush!” He commands. “Text me when you’re headed back, and I’ll put the kettle on.”

She rubs her temples. “Thank you Michael, you’re an angel sent from Heaven.”

“Uh, babe, duh, where else do angels come from?” He teases.

Fallen angels. From hell. Here to make her terrified of and pining for them. One in particular comes to mind—

“I’m serious,” Michael interjects on her monologue. “Text me when you’re coming home. Take a taxi and if you don’t have the money I’ll pay for it.”

She agrees and hangs up just as Karen walks in with her discharge paperwork.

Michael grabs her to examine the damage, but quickly thinks better of it once he notices what she’s covered in. “Jesus,” he says, “they beat the fuck out of you.”

“You should see the other guys,” she jokes, not an ounce of humor in her voice.

He looks at her with a skeptical eyebrow raised before ushering her in.

Before anything, she has to take a shower and throw her scrubs in the laundry basket. Better yet, she throws them away. The steaming water does nothing to cleanse her worries or guilt.

She walks out in pajamas, wet hair pulled back off her face, to sit at the table. Two steaming mugs of bitter smelling tea await her.

She takes a scolding sip. “This is delicious.” And she means that. The warm liquid melts her insides into a fuzzy pleasant feeling, and she can’t even taste her least favorite alcohol in the sugary mixture. While the shower didn’t help her anxiety, this concoction just might if she drinks enough of it.

Michael blows on his. “Thank you, but I need to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Who is John?”

She tries to act normal but her whole body breaks out into a freezing sweat. She takes another drink of her tea to hide her face. “What?” She says, swallowing hot liquid and nervous pitch.

He smiles. “You’ve been saying his name in your sleep. I assume he’s a crush, because usually at the boyfriend stage you’ve already got a taste so you don’t have to fantasize as much. At least that’s how it is for me.”

The horrified look on her face makes him scramble to reassure her that he doesn’t think she’s a creep, although in saying so it just makes her feel like he absolutely does.

He groans. “I’m sorry, I just thought I could take your mind off of today. Please don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Michael. Please tell me you don’t hate me.”

He scoffs. “For what? Dreaming about a guy? Babe, I’ve been there more times than I can count. Now, tell me about mystery man…If you’re comfortable.”

She rubs the side of her neck, embarrassed and staring at the golden top of the table instead of at Michael.

She opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“He’s tall.” Is what she decides on.

Michael deadpans. “Tall?”

“Black hair,” she adds.

“Dark,” he corrects. “Handsome…?”

She nods. “I mean, yeah.”

“What’s he like?”

She tries to think of a good, all encompassing word to describe him. She thinks about him twisting heads off spines like popping daisies. “Intense,” she decides.

“Ugh,” Michael whines, “you have to give me more than this. You’re killing me.”

“He is Russian.” She regrets saying that, not knowing if it’s too much info.

“So you met him online?”

“Yes.” Thank God he gives her that out.

“Ohhh,” Michael grins. “I’ll wanna see a picture.”

“He’s very private.”

Michael sighs. “Fine. But just promise me you won’t meet up with him alone. He could be a serial killer.”

She almost laughs at that, the irony filling her with crazed hilarity.

“Is he outgoing? Funny? Cocky?” Michael asks.

“Just intense Michael. I’m really sorry, it’s been such a…”

“No, you’re right,” Michael nods. “Let’s talk about something else.”

She can tell that there’s a lot he’s not asking right now. For her benefit. Leaving him in the dark makes her feel bad, though, because he’s such an open book. She decides to divulge a bit more info that she thinks he will want to hear.

“He has nice hands,” she says, gulping down tea and then refilling her cup with mostly whiskey. “They’re big. Long fingers. Veins that you could hit with a needle with your eyes closed.”

Michael leans in, eyes lighting. “Nice forearms?”

“Seem to be,” she confirms. “Lean, muscle-y but not too much. His upper arms are a bit more solid.”

Michael giggles like a school girl, cheeks pinking. “My god,” he says, “could he bench press us?”

She remembers him scooping her up off the ground, manhandling her, protecting her. “Yes.”

Michael squeals. He finally chugs his tea and smacks wet lips together. “What a man. So what’s the hold up? Marry him.”

They drink another cup of tea, watch late night Roseanne re-runs, and then go to bed. Michael has to be at class in the morning and then he wants her to come with him to the club. She would refuse, but it would be a dick move considering all he’s done for her.

When she wakes up, she spends grueling hours trying to call HR and searching for new jobs online. She applies for a few: Clinical Specialist for a local pharmacy, home health nurse for an elderly couple that live on her block, IV infusion nurse.

HR calls her in the middle of cooking breakfast and she answers with toast stuffed in her mouth. They tell her that she can come back to work but will have to deal with renovations and a new infirmary location with limited equipment. She agrees, of course, eager to have a job back so soon as next week.

#john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x plus size reader #john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #john wick #keanu reeves

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five-miles-over · 2 years ago

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The Age of Loki - Part One

(credit to @tomhiddlestunned for this image)

Pairing: Professor Hiddleston x Reader, Loki x Reader (eventually)

Summary: For his second year teaching at Oxford's English department, Professor Hiddleston hires you to be his first-ever teaching assistant. One night while working late, he shows you the newest addition to his poetry class's syllabus: the Lokasenna, a poem centered on the Norse god of mischief...and accidentally summons the trickster god himself.

Disclaimer: this fic is not meant to offend any real-life person, it's just a relatively-harmless AU meant to explore a hypothetical what-if scenario.

Warnings: just a little jealousy, but mainly banter

Professor Hiddleston lived by three rules. Rule number one, always be kind to everyone you meet. Rule number two, dancing's not a crime. And rule number three, never get Starbucks for yourself without buying something for your TA, especially if she's working late.

Professor Hiddleston strode into the library closest to the Oxford English department building as the grandfather clock rung ten times. His brown curls combed back, he wore a crisp three-piece suit and carried a leather messenger bag on his left shoulder. He immediately made his way towards the table where you were grading essays for his Fundamentals of Poetry course, and placed a Starbucks cup in front of you.

"Grande Earl Grey Tea Latte with two shots of espresso and a dash of vanilla."

At the sound of his voice, you looked up from your papers and lowered your red felt tip pen. "Two weeks of working for you, and you've already figured out my coffee order?"

"Well, you were in my course for nearly five months before you became my teaching assistant." Professor Hiddleston gently corrected you with a smile, lowering the messenger bag from his shoulder while his right hand held a croissant wrapped in brown parchment paper. He took a bite into the flaky pastry and licked his bottom lip. "Plus, you always sat in the front row. I could smell the Earl Grey from your cup while I was lecturing."

"It was a course held at eight-thirty in the morning," you quipped, taking a sip. "I needed my caffeine. And so did you, judging by the tea cup on your desk."

Professor Hiddleston chuckled. He loved the way you always had a comeback ready for him. It made your relationship so much more than former student-former professor, or TA-and-professor.

Being a relatively new professor at Oxford, you were the first teaching assistant he'd hired since he began his second year as a member of the university's faculty. Yes, his first course within the English department last year had a class size of almost two hundred students, but that number dwindled like drops of morning dew throughout the semester. And within the fifty or so students that remained, you were one of the few who stood out to him as someone genuinely interested in his class discussions and assignments. You showed up to every lecture, without fail, completely prepared and willing to bring your own ideas to the table. And to someone like Hiddleston, that was exactly what he needed in an assistant. Someone who could help him navigate the challenges of teaching a course from start to finish.

So when the semester came to a close, and he'd finished doling out the final grades, he left a handwritten note on your term paper inviting you to see him in his office. When you arrived, he simply made you an offer, or rather a promise. He promised you the position of his first-ever TA, with a decent pay for a university student - about twenty-one thousand pounds a year - and the opportunity to be his "second-in-command", like a king's chief advisor, though some would say that a king's second-in-command is actually his queen…Never mind that for the moment.

To say that working alongside you was enjoyable would be an understatement. He liked discussing with you in the library about life, literature, and how many times is appropriate to watch the same play. Professor Hiddleston found himself looking forward to each moment with you, to the point where he started ending his appointments five minutes earlier than scheduled, just so he could have a few minutes to comb his hair and put a little extra spritz of cologne before seeing you. And every time he had the privilege of introducing you as his new teaching assistant, whether he was talking to fellow professors or to one of his three classes this semester, Professor Hiddleston's face would light up as if he'd won the lottery. Actually, in Professor Hiddleston's mind that may as well be true; you were truly one of the best people he'd ever met since he joined the university.

You took another sip, and underlined a few awkwardly phrased sentences on the paper in front of you. "It looks like a lot of these people quoted Shakespeare's sonnet. You know, the one everybody knows about? 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'" You wrote a 'B' on the paper and then grabbed another essay, pushing a section of hair out of your face.

"You picked a good assignment for your Fundamentals of Poetry course, it's very fitting for the first essay of the semester," you remarked, bringing him back into reality. You read aloud the prompt, which asked the students to write about how poetry has affected their lives. They were encouraged to include examples of poems that had a lasting impact on their lives and their world views. And if Professor Hiddleston were true to his word, then he would possibly use the assignment as a basis to decide which of the poems from his course's syllabus he might actually teach.

"I thought so too."

"-Thou art more lovely and more temperate," Professor Hiddleston murmured in continuation, taking a few steps so that he was now standing right next to your chair, his eyes on you while you graded the next essay. "Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer’s lease hath all too short a date…" The half-eaten croissant completely forgotten, he placed his free hand on the table, inching it towards the essays and haphazardly-arranged pens until it was almost a millimeter away from your arm. He immediately froze as soon as he realized the proximity, his hand tensed all of a sudden.

His ability to recall verses at the drop of a hat was always impressive; it was one of the many things you liked about Professor Hiddleston. Your head down, you continued to skim the essay before marking it with a 'C+'. You sighed, "Exactly. But none of them seem to give proper explanations as to why this particular sonnet by Shakespeare. Listen to this, Professor. 'Shakespeare sonnet number eighteen has made me see the world in a more romantic way. I have learned to appreciate the beauty in the world, and see the

Professor Hiddleston leaned against the table. "And why do you think that is an unsatisfactory explanation?" He asked with a small smile.

"Because that kind of an explanation could be used for any kind of poem. Alright, maybe not any kind of poem, but it's not specific to sonnet number eighteen."

"I couldn't agree more," Professor Hiddleston simply said. "There's no clarification as to why that particular sonnet, or Shakespeare's sonnets in general?"

"No, not really." Putting the 'C+' essay along with the other graded ones, you reached for the Starbucks cup. "I just don't understand why a bunch of the students would all quote the same sonnet for this assignment, and then all use…shoddy explanations."

Your word choice made him chuckle and look down for a moment. You could definitely make a great professor yourself.

Just then, your phone vibrated, and you reached down to the leg of your chair, into your bag to check it.

Professor Hiddleston crossed his arms, squaring his shoulders as the smile disappeared. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, my boyfriend Chris just texted me. He's upset about having to postpone our date night."

He sighed aloud.

"What is it?" You frowned and put the phone away.

"I don't like him."

"You haven't even met the guy."

He looked you in the eye, arms still crossed. "Not entirely true. I saw him pick you up from this very library two days ago, at eight-thirty. It was after you finished grading my pop quizzes on "The Fall of the House of Usher". He's a tall, blonde,…surfer, beach bum kind of boy, right? This Christopher of yours-"

You nearly gave the professor a scowl. "He hates being called that."

"I'm just saying that you could do better than this Christopher. He's just not the type of guy that you should be with."

You shook your head. "You're a wonderful professor, but I'm not taking dating advice from someone who's dating three different women at the same time." You retorted and picked up the red felt tip pen for no reason.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Now hang on just a moment -" He interjected, "We agreed that nothing was to be exclusive."

"Is 'we' referring to you and your cell phone?" Alright, that wasn't your best comeback ever, you had to admit. It was late, and more than anything, you needed a warm hug and some sleep.

"Drink your tea, it's getting cold." Professor Hiddleston pointed to your Starbucks cup, and then took a bite into the croissant, which was already starting to feel tough, almost rubbery in his mouth. "There's something I wanted to show you. Something I want for tomorrow's class."

"What is it?"

Professor Hiddleston ate the rest of the croissant in a single bite, reached into his bag, and retrieved a leather-bound book, its edges slightly torn up. The pages were almost a yellowish-beige, barely glued to the spine, and covered in dust.

He began to flip through the pages. "It all began with the gods having a feast, hosted by the sea god Ægir. Loki grew jealous of all the praise being heaped upon the other guests, and slew Ægir's servant Fimafeng."

"The Lokasenna," Professor Hiddleston introduced, a touch of theatricality in his voice, the same voice he used for his lectures. "It's a poem from Norse mythology, one of the poems from the Poetic Edda, describing the exchange of insults between Loki - the god of mischief - and the other gods."

"Interesting choice…it's certainly no Shakespearean sonnet." You commented.

You took a drink from your Starbucks, nodding. "Hm-hm." The clock inside the library rung eleven times, the sound as solemn as funeral march.

"And then," he sat across from you and continued to narrate, "Loki enters the hall and demands to be seated. The other gods are reluctant, but Loki recalls an old vow sworn with Odin that they should drink together. So, the gods make some space for Loki." Professor Hiddleston's eyes twinkled with excitement. "And Loki continues to insult the gods, and no one can seem to stop him. The only one…" he turned the page, "who can stop Loki is Thor, the son of Odin, because Thor is the only one who Loki fears."

"Thor, the…god of thunder?"

"Thor the god of thunder," Professor Hiddleston flipped the page again.

You asked him if the book contained any original Norse dialect, or any Old Norse. It turns out it was just a one-of-a-kind book about Loki left in the Oxford library hundreds of years ago, containing an English word-for-word translation of the Lokasenna, along with an interpretation of each verse. It could've been a collector's item, sitting in the study of some member of the bourgeoise, but it served a more glorious purpose in the library of a university, available for literature enthusiasts.

I, Lopt, from a journey long,

Professor Hiddleston cleared his throat and began reading to you the part where Loki demanded the other gods for a drink.

"Thirsty I come | into this thine hall,

To ask of the gods | that one should give

Fair mead for a drink to me."

He paused only to sneeze, which should've been expected given the amount of dust within the old book.

Professor Hiddleston sneezed again, and you noticed a small cloud of blue dust rise from the book when he did. He finished the verse,

"Why sit ye silent, | swollen with pride,

Ye gods, and no answer give?"

"At your feast a place and a seat prepare me,

Or bid me forth to fare."

After he sneezed a third time, louder than before, another cloud of blue dust escaped from the pages. Only this time, the cloud of blue dust grew larger, and larger…until it began to swirl around the two of you.

"What's happening?" You hurriedly stood up from your chair.

Professor Hiddleston gulped, his eyes wide as he dropped the book onto the table and immediately reached for your arm. "I-I-I don't know! I…Are we being transported to another realm?!"

"I should hope not!"

After what felt like several moments of confusion, the blue dust subsided. Before you stood a tall man with shoulder-length, greasy black hair, a pale oblong face with defined cheekbones, and a deceptive smirk. He wore a cape lined with green silk, that billowed around his ankles as he strode towards you, and his black leather heeled shoes clicked as he walked.

Professor Hiddleston made his way forward, standing between you and the tall man with his hands out. "Who are you?" He demanded, his lip quivering.

"I am Loki of Asgard," the man smugly introduced himself. With a wave of his hand, a set of golden horns appeared on his head, and a dagger in his other hand. Another wave, and both of those things disappeared. "And I have been summoned."

Tag list: @lokischambermaid @smolvenger @lokidbadguy @turniptitaness @lokisgoodgirl @evelyn-kingsley @lovelysizzlingbluebird @muddyorbsblr @anukulee @omgsuperstarg @holdmytesseract @lokidbadguy @stupidthoughtsinwriting @icytrickster17 @thatdummy-girl @fantasyfan4life

#tom hiddleston #loki god of mischief #loki #tom hiddleston characters #professor tom hiddleston #professor fic #professor hiddleston #professor hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston au #tom hiddleston x y/n #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x reader fic

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badfanfictionaire · 4 months ago

Text

On your eighteenth birthday you find out your status within your pack. From that point forward your purpose is to perform your role as supremely as possible, and to find your mate. If you’re truly lucky you’ll have a soulmate, if not then you just mate to the person most appropriate for you to pursue.

Chrissy had an awful feeling that she was going to be more or less forced into mating with Jason. There was little doubt he would be revealed as an Alpha in a few months, and her as an Omega not long after.

January 13th brings the news of Jason Carver being announced as an alpha.

June 13th brings the news of Chrissy Cunningham being announced as an Omega.

The problem doesn’t raise its ugly head until June 14th, when Chrissy walks into Hawkins High and immediately notices that she can smell her mate, and it’s not Jason.

Now, no one else but her mate can smell what she’s smelling, so in theory she could fake it and tell Jason that he’s her mate. Jason would be too arrogant to deny it, and her life would carry on as it had been.

But, the second half of the problem was that Chrissy also immediately locked eyes with her mate upon entering the school: Eddie Munson.

A guy she hadn’t even paid attention to except when he was on a tabletop demanding everyone’s eyes be on him. And now she couldn’t look away, couldn’t even make her feet move in any direction other than straight toward him.

A warm spiced vanilla cloaked him, like the most luscious ice cream and the finest rum. The closer she got the stronger the odor became. And, the wider his eyes got.

“C-Chrissy?” he stuttered when she finally stood toe to toe with him.

“You’re an Alpha,” she breathed.

“Um, uh, yeah? Please don’t tell anyone.”

“You’re my Alpha.”

“I don’t think we can,” he swallowed hard, “Chrissy, Jason is right there.”

“Don’t deny me, please. Forget him, I need you.”

He looked like he was about to say yes when a flash of cream streaks past her and Eddie slams backward into his locker.

She doesn’t even have to question it, she knows what’s happening in an instant.

“Jason, stop!” she commands, though her words fall on deaf ears.

She’s never seen Jason’s wolf form, but it looks like she’d expected he would. Light tawny fur, thicker around the neck, and glaringly blue eyes that look back at her with disgust.

What she hadn’t expected was Eddie’s wolf form. He’s larger than Jason when transformed, with thick chocolaty fur that’s lustrus, and caramel eyes which stare into her soul.

In seconds he has Jason pinned by the throat, his paw pressing just tightly enough so as not to choke him but to keep him still. It occurs to her that Eddie is a year older, he’s had plenty of time to refine his skills in combat, both in wolf and human form. She’s never heard of Eddie fighting anyone, but the speed with which he disarms Jason is impressive.

Jason shifts back to his human form, panting and slick with sweat. “Let go of me, freak.”

“You attacked me,” Eddie growls, slipping back into his human form as well. There’s a huge gas through his jacket sleeve, wet with blood.

“You’re hurt,” she cries, rushing to Eddie’s side.

“I’ll be fine, Princess,” he assures her, “What do you want me to do with this sorry runt?”

“Just let him go,” she says, “It’s not worth it, he’s been humiliated enough.”

Eddie nods, releasing his grasp on Jason’s neck. Jason sputters, choking on the sudden increase in airflow.

“You’ll pay for this,” Jason seethes. Seconds later a mournful howl rings through the halls, and Jason runs out into the woods behind the school.

“Say I’m yours,” she says, falling into Eddie’s arms, “Say I’m yours, and let me heal you.”

“You’re mine,” Eddie says nuzzling against her, “You’re mine and I’m never letting you go. You’ll be my bride, my mate, my partner for life.”

👻👻👻👻

(Read on AO3)

#stranger things #eddie munson lives #fanfic #fanfiction #eddie x chrissy #edssy #hellcheer #hellcheer week 2024 #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham lives #chrissy cunningham

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beatskylar · 2 months ago

Text

I don't believe in fate, but I believe in you

Violet remembers the stories her grandmother used to tell her –before her grandfather passed and the bang. – Especially the one about the red string, an invisible string that connected two souls together. A map to find each other. She used to say that fate, as marvelous as it can be, also loves to make people's life harder than it needs to be. She always said that everything in the universe had to be balanced, an equal amount of negative to balance out the positive in life.

"One of fate's worst tricks is that only one of the two people can see the string. A temptation to make you go after it, travel to hell and back just to see who the string will bring you to. Or makes you paranoid, counting the seconds till that special person comes."

"But grandma, what if you don't like the person on the other end?" Violet knew one thing; she doesn't like boys as much as girls. At her young age, she's certain she would rather kiss a girl. Not a boy, a boy her grandmother guarantees is attached to her.

"And why wouldn't you? The boy at the end of the string is going to be amazing. Your perfect match." Violet's grandmother continues to speak, telling stories of how the red string connects a girl to a boy.

Always.

As she goes on, Violet can't help but glare at the string wrapped around her left pinky. Each day, the string grows thinner and then thicker, but the intensity of the glow remains the same. A constant reminder of what she is going to have to be forced to endure in the future, but never enough that it demands her attention 24/7, as many days she’s able to avoid looking at it. Yet, the days she does stare at the string, she knows that somehow, fate will let the boy at the other end know they're connected, meant to be, and there's nothing she can do to stop it.

The first day the dead start walking, Violet's already at Erickson's boarding school for troubled youth. She's being hugged by Minnie, as Ms. Marthin tries to calm down the other kids. As she hugs the girl she loves, her eyes drift to the red string and she finds herself hoping he's fine. She might not like him and hopes they never meet, but she hopes he's alive. Within the short three hours since it started, she's witnessed so many deaths, and she doesn't want someone else to die. Another part of her hopes that with the apocalypse, fate will forget about its original plan and just let her live her life at the school, in peace, with Minnie and her found family no matter how annoying Louis can be.

As the years went by, Marlon eventually became the leader of them with her as his second in command, and she started to notice weird things about the string. Unlike before when it would grow thin and return to its original thicker size by the end of the night, now it seems to only be getting thinner. A clear sign that he was always moving, thankfully further away from her and the school, to the point that for the first few days, it appeared to stretch until it was barely visible. Then for a few months, it stopped getting thinner. Violet could admit that she was glad that he seemed to find a place like the school, safe.

Within a month or two, the pattern of the string slowly changes to a slow rate of disappearing as the days go by. One day as she is helping Ruby with the greenhouse, her vision unknowingly shifts to her left hand and she almost gasps as the string she was so used to avoiding is no longer there. Despite all the times she has prayed for fate to leave her alone or that with everything going on in the world he would stay as far away as possible, a part of her feels stricken with regret and dread. Regret from all the nights she would pray and wish that something would happen that would drive her and him farther away, and dread as Violet can only assume that the place he was at didn’t work out. Forcing her emotions away, Violet found herself determined to convince Marlon to remove all the signs that led to the school.

"Why is it so important that we remove some signs? We are literally in the middle of the forest."

"Do you want to keep the kids safe? Our friends? You got to think Marlon, what happens when someone comes wanting to take what we have? We won't be able to defend ourselves!"

"Fine... I'll take Louis and Aasim tomorrow and take them down."

When Broody tells her that two walkers killed Sophie and Minerva, she loses it. She lashes out at Broody, and Marlon but she blames herself. She was supposed to be there, but she begged Brody to take her place. At the time, she couldn’t stand to look at Minerva after they fought the night before, but now all she wanted was to spend more time with the taller girl. Apologize for the argument she started due to her stubbornness, hug her till Minnie had to literally peel Violet off her, kiss her senselessly while Louis groaned at the extensive PDA or constantly remind Minerva how much she meant to her.

Now the last memory Violet will have of Minnie is of them arguing. That night etched into her mind as her heart felt the pain of knowing that she never got to say goodbye.

The rest of the day, Violet remains trapped in her room absently looking at her left hand. Day by day the string reappeared and now was growing thicker, and as she stared at it, she knew that if she could have been connected to a girl, it would have to be Minnie. Minnie made her feel loved, safe and wanted when so many people treated her like garbage. Despite all the stories she heard growing up, a part of her knew that fate wasn’t always right because no boy could ever measure up to Minnie. Even if he did magically appear before the gates leading to the school, she had the comfort of knowing she at least got to spend a few blissful years with her one true soulmate.

The universe could suck it because Minnie was her soulmate, her perfect match, and no one could change that.

"Vi, it's time for the funeral."

After that night, Violet tries to ignore the red string by throwing herself into work. Hunting, fishing, walker duty and even helping Louis tune his stupid piano. For about 11 months – almost 12 – Violet hasn't focused on the string, and it would have lasted longer if it wasn't for Louis.

"What can I say? I am the best in the world," Louis smiled as he showed the group his red Ace, the highest card in the stack. "Have any of you heard of the red string thing? That we all have?"

"I have, but I immediately called bullshit," Ruby stated and as everyone agreed, Violet let her eyes drift to the string that has been getting thicker and somewhat brighter. He's getting closer and she's not ready, she'll never be ready to meet him.

"Well, I have a long day tomorrow, night guys."

The rest of the night she doesn't sleep, she turns and turns hoping to forget about the string. She tried everything she could to forget about it, hiding her hand under her pillow, and tossing her hood over her head to hide her eyes but nothing worked.

"Vi, it's time to go hunting!"

"Marlon, can you just give me a day? Take Louis with you!" When she didn't hear anything, she assumed he allowed her the day off. Closing her eyes, she tried to fall asleep, but nothing came. After what feels like an eternity, Violet resigns to the fact she won’t be getting any sleep today and forces herself up. She promised Tenn to help him prepare to pay their respect to his sisters and she wasn’t going to break any promises to him. She had just finished picking some purple flowers when she heard it. The loud bang was too far away for her to be able to tell anyone what that sound belonged to but clearly close enough as she saw smoke rise to the sky, in what she must assume was outside of Marlon’s safe zone.

As she feels Tenn grab a hold of her hand, she gives it a small squeeze to reassure him that they will be fine. The school was – is – safe and she would die protecting him because he means the world to her, and she sees him as the little brother she never had. “Vi?”

“Don’t worry Tenn, I promise we’re ok,” She tried to reassure him, but it was hard to do when everyone else was either freaking out or preparing for the worst. Taking a deep breath, Violet tore her vision away from the smoke to look down at Tenn, his scared face already looking up at her. Before she could say anything else, she could hear Brody yelling that Marlon and Louis were still out there and that they needed to do something, while Ruby tried and failed to calm her down. “I need you to go help Ruby calm down Brody, I’m going to get Mitch and go look for Marlon and Louis. Can you do that for me?”

It takes a minute but slowly Tenn nods his head, and with a shaky breath he runs over to Ruby. Violet only waits long enough to ensure Tenn reaches Ruby and Brody before she heads over to Mitch, who appears to have had the same idea as Violet as he stands by the gate, knife in hand. Compared to the other, he seems more relaxed but after so many years forced to be near him, she knows that he’s just as tense as she is. From the way he has his knife gripped in an iron-like grip, his right foot twitches as he waits for the gate to open so he can dash out. “You ready Vi?” He didn't even wait for her to reply before he signaled for Willy to open the gate for them, and he ran out which forced her to run after him. She didn't even bother to ask where he was leading her, after all these years she had Marlon's entire safe zone tattooed in the back of her mind. Based on the direction he was heading; they were running to the hunting grounds that Marlon and Louis should – better – be at because if they weren’t, once she found them, they would both feel her wrath.

It didn’t take the two of them long to run into Marlon and Louis, Violet literally ran into Marlon, which caused her to fall on her ass once she collided with his body. “Violet? Mitch? What are you guys doing here?” Louis grunted out, sounding out of breath as Marlon took several deep breaths.

“We heard a loud bang and Brody got worried about you two, so Violet and I came looking for you guys,” Mitch answered, reaching his hand out for Violet to take, which she did and felt as he immediately pulled her back to her feet. If she had been paying more attention to the two best friends, she would have noticed that Louis was carrying a small child in his arms and that Marlon had a girl around their age hanging off his back. Yet as she patted herself down, trying to remove as much dirt and grass as possible from her clothing, it was the red string that caught her attention. Not only was the string thicker than it had ever been in her life, but it was glowing impossibly bright that it was illuminating her hand even in the sunlight of the sun. “The real question is where in the hell did you guys find those two?”

Violet’s breath hitched in her throat as her eyes followed the string, which usually would lay flat on the ground until she could no longer see where it led, suddenly curved upwards at Marlon’s feet. She continued tracing the string as it went past Marlon’s hands and stopped when it was wrapped around a hand she didn’t know.

Fate has finally decided to ignore Violet’s wishes and have Marlon literally carry her soulmate to her. Would it be bad to wish for a hoard of walkers to come and attack?

#violentine #twdg clementine #twdg violet #twdg s4 #twdg season 4

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isabeauwolf · 5 months ago

Text

Monsterhaul x Mary: She Wolf and the Beast AU

Prologue: Fairytales and curses

Once upon a time, a young lord took over leadership after his father's passing.

As the old man laid on his deathbed, he begged his only son to take a wife, raise a family in the hopes that with a loving and gentle wife, his overly proud sons heart would soften.

Kai Chisaki was headstrong and as stubborn as his father, looking his masked covered noise down on everyone, muttered how filthy and beneath them they were as he scoffed.

The King supposed it was his fault for being so hard on him, his heir. But the old man had another reason and hope for his son's change of heart, the family curse that befell their male line would soon strike after his death. If his bratty son could love another, earning their love in return by the time the enchantresses red rose last petal fell, the curse would be broken.

If not he would remain a beast until his dying day.

He told his three children the stories: the legend of an ancestor who fell under the same curse. A cruel, selfish and unkind man who was cursed by the same enchantress when he refused her offer of a single red rose as a token for seeking shelter from the bitter cold that one winters night.

The lessons within the stories - that beauty was found within, love and genuine kindness makes a man more brave and stronger, and that true love could break any spell.

🌹🌹🌹🐦‍⬛🌹🌹🌹

Kai listened to his father's words, but shrugged it off. He had heard this story hundreds of times since he was a boy. Yes, he loved his father, his mother and his youngest sister, but his other sister ran off and married some commoner. Abandoning their family. Kai was still bitter about the whole affair while their father merely gave the happy couple his blessings with a melancholy smile and Eri cried in her brothers arms for the lost of her only mother figure in her life.

A month later, their father's health slowly became weaker and frail.

After the second year, Kai took over in his father's stead.

Kai inwardly sighed as he watched this once tall, strong and wise ruler yet commanding man before him be turned into a shell of his former self. Clenching his jaw and his fists behind his back, with his father gone it would just be him and Eri in this castle, he would be forced to raise her alone.

First their mother had passed shortly after childbirth, his sister left and now his father was on death's door. Kai didn't have time for fairytales and ghost stories, all week he had been preparing for the worst when the doctor pulled him aside and informed him of his fathers body failing. He knew it was a matter of time, but hearing the news hit the young lord like a punch to the gut.

It's the middle of the night and Eri was already in bed. Kai didn't have the heart to wake his baby sister at this ungodly hour, he knew she wouldn't understand, would cry and fuss from being woken up, she wouldn't understand why her father was dying. I must be strong for her sake. Kai thought to himself. He had rushed immediately to his fathers bed chambers without another word from the doctor as he ordered for his trusted aids to wait outside his fathers room.

Damned paperwork could wait until morning. His father was more important.

Kai's heartbeat thudded hard in his chest, nervous butterflies and dread twisted in his stomach as he walked closer and closer towards his fathers room. It felt just like yesterday that him and his father waited outside the birthing chamber, listening to his mothers moans and wails of pain, screams as she pushed for hours until Eri was born.

And now, he was having to say goodbye again. He hated it.

Standing outside of the heavy door, his hand hovered, Kai took a deep and calming breath as he knocked on the cherry wooden, hand craved door and announced his presents. "Father, you wanted to see me?"

"Come in." His father's voice called from behind the door.

Kai obeyed, turning the handle and a sense of déjà vu hit him; instead of his mother laying there in the bed on the bring of death, this time, it was his father.

The old King's voice brought Kai out of his thoughts, "Kai, my son." His father reached out towards him with his big, pale and thin hand, voice frail, "Come closer." Even on the brink of death he still smiled, yet his furry brows furrowed with worry in his dark eyes. "I'm running out of time, I know it." He swallowed thickly, gasping and his breathing become more and more labored.

Keep his face impassive, he walked through the threshold and entered the room and towards the bed, Kai took his father's hand in his gloved palm, his sharp golden eyes softening. "What is it, father?" He asked, his voice gentle as he frowned underneath his duster mask. "You need to rest and save your strength." Scolding lightly as his heart ached within his chest.

His father chuckled, light and airy, a hint of a rasp. "Always hiding your worrying through scolding just like your mother."

"Let me give you something for the pain, at least." Kai insisted as his grip tightened on his father's hand but not enough to hurt him.

His father shook his head, "No, you must listen, Kai."

Kai licked his lips and nodded his head. Though, he had an idea what his father wanted to say. It was the story, the curse again. He bit back his groan of frustration and listened, he wanted to hear his fathers voice just a bit longer, if it was this ridiculous story, so be it. Kai was a man of logic, of reason, what harm could silly old ghost stories do to him?

"You must find a wife," he began, "someone who will love you no matter what form you take... as your ancestor had done... as I had done in my youth... our family curse."

Kai reached for a glass of cold water on the nightstand and offered it him, which he drank slowly and whispered his thanks as Kai put it back and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I suppose it is time to find a wife." He agreed, "Eri is still too young to be able to take care of herself." He shook his head, frown deepening, and added, "These things take time, father."

"Kai... the curse is true..." His father pressed, hardening his voice a pitch. For a moment, he sounded like his old self again. The man who governed over his people with kindness and was ruthless to his enemies, even if, he had never gone to war in his long rein, he held friends close and his enemies closer, and refused to spill innocent blood. One of the many old traditions in their house. "You must... be.. believe me..."

There was a pause, only the sound of his fathers ragged breathing as the pair of men stared at each other, dark black meeting gold.

"It's a story, a fairy tale... nothing more, father." Kai spoke calmly, his thin brows furrowed and twitched with irritation as he tapped at the scar on side of his forehead from when he was a boy, fighting with the neighboring King Enji Todoroki's eldest son, Touya and his cousin Tomura Shigaraki.

Both brats were wicked and twisted little shits, refusing to leave Kai alone while he was reading underneath the old oak tree when the pair insisted on him playing with them. It resulting in the trio bickering, fighting and each were injuries. Enji gave all three of them a heavy scolding while his father laughed and said, "boys will be boys, old friend." Kai had a cut on the side of his forehead, Tomura a cut on his on clapped lips and underneath his eye, and Touya had a broken jaw.

Last Kai heard of the duo, Enji forced his wife to have two more children and their was a huge fire in the family home, resulting in the eldest Todoroki's death. Good riddance.

Kai shook himself, he didn't have time to be thinking about that obnoxious, loud-mouth, cruel and sadistic bastard as he cleared his throat, awkwardly, this night was already overwhelming him and heartbreaking as it is. He didn't want his last words with his father to be a fight, he knew, he would regret it for the rest of his life. Closing his eyes and sighed, "Alright, alright. I'll humor you, father." Reopening his eyes as his brows furrowed once more. "Say I do fall under this curse.... how will I know that she's the one? What will happen to everyone else within the castle? Why isn't there any proof of the curses existence?"

Kai hated the unknown, anything that wasn't within his control or power frightened him. Anything he couldn't overhaul with his quirk would make him feel powerless, his free hand clenched at his side as well as his jaw.

A feminine voice answered for the King, "The staff and everyone within the castle will be cursed along with you, young lord."

Kai jumping and turning towards the intruder as his eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" His trained reflexes kicking in, getting into a battle stance, quickly beginning to remove one of his white gloves. "Speak woman."

The woman was dressed in a cloak made of silver as the moonlight, shinning as it matched her silver-white hair and violet eyes which held genuine sadness. Her voice was soft and light, otherworldly yet human, but the sight of her made the room grow colder and a chill went up Kai's spine as the hair on the back of his neck raised, warning signs going off.

"Enchant...ress..." his father answered, weakly.

Kai tilted his head, glancing at his father to the mysterious woman who magically appeared in the room. He knew all of the ancient and secret passages within the castle, he memorized the blueprints like the back of his hand, even the ones only his father knew. How did she get in here?

The woman ignored the young lord and meet the old Kings gaze, and bowing in respect. "We meet again, your grace. It's a shame that we meet on such a sorrowed filled moment, my apologies, old friend." Her violet orbs met gold, she smiled. "My how you've grown, young lord and are just as handsome as your father in this youth." Her tone brightened and her eyes widened, "Oh, you've even got your mothers eyes. How wonderful."

It had been a long time since anyone commented on Kai's eyes and comparing them to his mothers, he heard it dozens of times growing up. It made him falter and hesitant, then Kai shook himself once more, "I won't ask again. Who are you and why are you here, witch?"

The woman giggled, "Stubborn as your father I see. I am known as 'The Enchantress', young Lord Kai." Bowing in respect once more, smile widening, showing off her sharp and pearly white teeth and canines. Her smile dimmed, frowning, "Sorry that we must meet during this dark hour, but it's fate, I'm afraid my brave warrior."

"You haven't.... age.... a day... my dear.." His father replied, trying to sit up by himself, but couldn't. "Kai... welcome... our guest... for the.. night."

Kai turning, helping his father sit upright against his pillows and re-tucking him into bed gently, then turned his hard molten gaze back on the woman. "Enchantress?" Patience thinning as he asked in disbelief, "You come on my fathers deathbed and expect me to wish you welcome and stay?" He scoffed.

The Enchantress nodded her head, "Yes, in exchange, I will offer this single red rose as a gift as a token of my thanks." A brightly crimson colored, single rose held in between her fingertips, it looked freshly plucked from a garden, but they had no such colored roses on the castle grounds.

His mother loved roses, he'd never seen one this brightly color before. It seemed to glow against the beams of the moons light.

"Thank you..." The King smiled, a fondness in his eyes that he usually held for his family and closes friends. He gently pat, his sons arm, encouraging him. "Go on...Kai."

Kai stood, his muscles still tense and on high alert. His father knew this woman, this woman knew of him, his father and mother, but he didn't know her. She was an outsider. Why should he listen to her? Accept her offer? It's such a simple request. It's not as if they didn't have enough rooms to spare, he could house hundreds underneath his roof, if he wanted to.

Kai was as stubborn as he was proud. He was torn, on one hand, he wanted to obey his father, but his inner phobia for germs kicked in. He didn't know where this so called "Enchantress" came from, nor her gift. The unknown and withheld knowledge made his skin crawl, phantom itches made him shudder in disgust as his gloved hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his nose scrunched underneath his mask. "That still doesn't answer my other questions," he bit out, narrowing his eyes down at the gift in her hand. "What of my subjects? They wouldn't like to be governed by a monster." He pointed out, raising a thin brow.

"Everyone outside of the castle will simple forget its existence until the spell is broken, my young Lord." The Enchantress replied as if it was a matter-of-fact, nodding.

Kai's eyes widened, he repeated, "Forgotten?" His surprise was short lived and replaced with anger and accusation. "What sort of magic and cruel trick are you playing at? How will my so called true love come me, if she doesn't even know where to find me?" He pointed out, gesturing around the room with his gloved hand.

"In time, she will come to you." Twirling with the rose in her hand. No matter how many times the flower swung in a circle, the petals didn't fall.

Kai scoffed and began pacing, his anger slipping through his tone as he ran his gloved hand through his short hair. "Let me get this straight." Counting on his fingers, "You curse me, my sister, my sickly father, everyone in my entire household for gods knows how long." Shoving his hands into the air and turning towards the woman headily, his brows drawn as he tried to piece everything together. This whole mess was overly complicated and ridiculous, "Expect me to fall in love with a stranger, a woman I've never met and for her to fall in love with me in this supposed accursed bestial form? I can't sit around and wait forever. I'm a busy man."

Clearly, he needed to make her see reason.

The Enchantress sighed, "I will give you one day, but no more." She walked past the young man and went towards his fathers bed, smiling sadly, glancing over her shoulder at Kai, "May the moon goddess unite you with your beloved soon, young lord. I will tell you more tomorrow as promised." Turned her head back to his father as she leaned down and kissing his fathers brow as tears welled up in her eyes. "Goodbye, go to your wife."

Kai's eyes widened as he rushed to his father's bedside, "Father." Tears welling in his eyes, his voice rough and cracking as he reached for his hand again, a tiny spark of hope in his gaze.

"Take care of Eri, Kai...." His father smiled as his eyes grew heavy, vision blurring as he seemed to look through his son instead of at him. "Yukiji...you've... come... for me..."

Kai closed his eyes as he brought his fathers hand to his forehead, his shoulders shaking. Mothers come to bring father to the other side? He knew he should be happy, and yet, the greedy part of him wanted his father to stay longer. He wasn't ready to become the new lord, he still needed his fathers guidance. "I love you, father..." he whisperer, lifting his head and placing the limb over his chest.

His father looked so peaceful as if he was merely sleeping.

Wiping the tears from his eyes as he ripped off his soiled mask and gloves, overhauling them and slipping on a new set of each. He stood and turned towards The Enchantress, golden eyes seething and cold. "You've got what you wanted," he hissed angrily, waving his hand, dismissing her. "Now get out of my sight."

The woman sighed, "As you wish, my lord." Turning on her heels without glancing over her shoulder, "I will return tomorrow." With the flick of her wrist the rose vanished from her hand and appeared between the old Kings hands. "Remember my words and your fathers wisdom, King Kai Chisaki."

The Enchantress disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.

Kai picked up the rose, such a fragile and beautiful flower usually filled him with comfort and fond memories, but now.... this gift gave him more heartache for a lifetime. Rage, frustration, sadness and grief swirled within him, its thorns twisted, prickling and festering to his very soul as he crushes it his palm, overhauling it as lose pelts fell and landed on the floor. "Curse be damned." He muttered darkly, watching as the thorns from the flowers stem cut into his hand as he bled, reactivating his quirk and healing himself.

Shaking his hand to rid himself of the gift, he walked outside where his most trusted aids Chronostasis and Mimic were waiting outside. He knew they had heard every word, but would never tell a soul without their lords permission. "Mimic, tell the doctor my father is dead. We will make funeral arrangements in the morning with the Undertaker."

"Yes, Boss." Mimic nodded disappearing into the walls and heading towards his destination.

"Chrono." Kai clenched his gloved fists and his jaw underneath his black duster mask. "Search the attic and bring me anything about our family curse and this Enchantress."

Chronostasis nodded and bowed in respect. "Yes Sir, Overhaul." He took his leave.

Kai felt his scar throb painfully as he slammed his hand into the wall, the wood cracking and breaking into splinters as his quirk activated and he roared in fury. Yes, he needed to be Overhaul the next time he faced the devilish witch, not the young lord Kai.

Overhaul, his secret alias while in the underground and black market.

Pulling out the red and gold birdlike mask he had crafted for himself from within his coat, he tore off his black duster mask, slipped it into his pocket and covered his face with the plague mask. He breathed in through the air filters, take deep breaths until his breathing had calmed.

He felt whole again.

Blinking Overhaul noticed the damage he had done, he frowned underneath the beaked mask and whispered, "Sorry father." He slowly spread his palm against the damaged wood and fixed it, feeling the familiar hives and itching along his skin. "I'll need another bath before bed." he murmured to himself as he walked towards his bedroom.

Even if his anger and temper had cooled, the castle felt colder and his foot steps heavier as it was just him and his little sister now.

Overhaul will find a wife, but it will be on his terms and not on hers, or some curse.

Freshly showered and dressed, he felt exhausted as these past few hours played in his head. He knew his father wouldn't gave approved of him lashing out and snapping at the witch, but who could blame him?

Slitting down on his bed and falling back into the mattress, he stared at the ceiling. Silk pajamas and matching sheets covered him, wrapping him and the only comfort he had at present. His fathers passing sinking in, his new title as the new King sinking in... He knew he needed to find a wife, but it would take time.

He needed someone who could run his castle while he was away on business both Kingly duties and his responsibilities in the underworld. Someone who would be able to look after Eri as if she was her own child, help raise her into a young lady, kind yet strict. He didn't care what his future bride looked like as long as she was decent to look at and could give him children. He shuddered at the though of bedding a stranger, ugh, he would have to bed her until his seed took root, then send her towards the queens chambers.

Love.

Kai loved his father. He loved his mother, Eri and his other sister at one point, but he didn't see why he needed to love his future wife. What was the point? He'd seen how brokenhearted and torn his father had been after his mothers passing. Why should be force himself to give into such heartache and pain when he could easily lock his heart away?

Crawling underneath the heavy duvet, his eyes immediately closed.

When he confronted the witch he could have answers.

Kai fell asleep, he didn't see a The Enchantress waiting outside his window watching and whispering to a raven perched on her hand.

"You can't fight fate, Kai." she giggled to herself as the raven took flight as she walked towards the balcony, glancing over her shoulder with a knowing grin, sharp canines gleaming and violets flickering to an icy blue. "If you are as stubborn and overly headstrong like your father was at your age, you will come to regret not accepting my offer the first time. Good night, my King." She jumped down and landed with grace, continued walked towards the forest. "You will beg for my forgiveness."

Another rose appeared beside a vase on the new Kings nightstand, beside the water pitcher, it glowed brightly as the magic within the flower pulsed, it's thorns sharpened and blackened, then dimmed; turning back into an ordinary looking rose.

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

Okay, I made it a bit shorter than I originally had it XD

I'm sorry for tutoring our poor beloved birdman so much, but he will be happy in the end, don't worry! If you've read my other fanfic, do you recognize who The Enchantress is? ;)

I figured it would be best to kill off pops and shove Eri's mom out of the picture, but have Kai be the overprotective and sweet big brother to Eri. Stubborn birdman! Oh, but I still adore him.

Tell me your thoughts! I'd love to hear them! Let me know, if you want me to tag you in future fanfics, one or all of them!

@fanofflames @slayfics @ijichikiyotakaswife @staitc-rj @madamebloodmoon @s-k-3-l-l-y @xxchisakislittleangelxx @x-kiwi-03 @chainslobber @inorganicone2230 @angelblueflame @nikki152006 @cherry-queens-blog @chisvki @metranart @fabled-lady-twilla @wtf-ask-baddie-overhaul @fairymama624 @booksooks

#overhaul #villain lover #kai chisaki #yakuza lover #yakuza husband #birdman #toucan king #my hero academia #Monsterhaul x Mary: She Wolf and the Beast #Monsterhaul x Mary #Monsterhaul x OC #Beauty and The Beast retelling #Spooky Season #She Wolf and the Beast Prologue #She Wolf and the Beast Prologue part 1

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tiramisuucakeee · 5 months ago

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0. GENIE IN A BOTTLE

( genie in a bottle, jay )

long ago, in a realm shrouded by time, there existed a prince whose heart was filled with greed. this prince, known as arion, was the only son of a wealthy king and queen who lavished him with treasures beyond imagination.

among these treasures was a magnificent lamp, crafted from pure gold and encrusted with fine jewels, yet it lay neglected in a corner of his chamber.

one fateful day, as he carelessly feasted on a banquet fit for kings, a morsel of food slipped from his hand, landing on the ornate lamp. intrigued, arion reached to clean it, and as he rubbed the lamp, a great whirlwind of light erupted before him.

from within emerged a woman, a powerful genie, her presence radiating with both grace and authority.

defying all laws of nature and gods, she could grant any wish the owner of the lamp wanted, but only if the master could truly understand the meaning of desire.

at first, the prince, blinded by ambition, dismissed her warnings. with a flourish, he made his first wish. “i wish to command the strongest troops in all the lands!”

kingdoms trembled at the sight of his might. with the help of the genie, the prince owned more land that he could think of.

emboldened by his newfound power, arion crafted his second wish. “i wish to be the most handsome and desirable man in existence!” the transformation was miraculous, he became a vision of beauty, and soon a throng of enchanting women from every corner of the realm gathered at his castle, yearning for his affection, offering themselves to him.

but as the days turned to weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. the prince’s insatiable thirst for power grew. he coveted not just admiration but absolute dominion over all. ignoring the lessons of humility, he prepared to make his final wish. “i wish to have the power of a god!” he declared, his voice echoing with unbridled ambition.

but in his fervor, arion failed to grasp the enormity of what he sought. the moment his wish was uttered, the air crackled with energy, swirling around him like a tempest. the power surged into his fragile mortal form, an overwhelming force that no mere human could withstand. in a blinding flash of light, arion was consumed, his body shattering into countless stars that scattered across the night sky.

in the aftermath, y/n stood alone, the echo of his ambition fading into the cosmos. with a heavy heart, she returned to her realm inside the lamp, a silent guardian of the wishes granted and a keeper of the lessons learned.

the tale of prince arion and his genie became a legend whispered through the ages, a cautionary story of desire’s peril and the fragile nature of ambition.

and so, the stars twinkled with a haunting beauty, a reminder that even the mightiest of wishes can lead to one’s downfall, echoing through the hearts of those who dare to dream too boldly.

centuries later, in an oasis deep in a dessert, a man had skilledfully snuck in a temple, the long lost temple were inside laid the tomb of prince arion, searched by thousands of thieves and raiders.

he had finally found it, bypassing though the security and fool-traps, being surrounded in a room full of riches, precious stones, luxurious clothes and precious royal crowns.

he took out a scroll from his deep linen pants pocket, laying it down ontop of the stone tomb cover, and holding his torch near, black eyes skimming over the worn out drawing.

“i can’t believe it…” he breathed out, the drawing matched the lamp before him perfectly. this small artifact held the promise of transforming his life, of elevating him beyond the identity of a mere thief scavenging for the unattainable. it could make him a king.

jay took the lamp in his hands once again. still struck by the legendary object, he stepped back, accidentally unlocking the last singular trap.

suddenly, the ancient temple began to tremble violently, debris raining down around him as the ancient structure started to collapse. panic surged through him as he realized he had only moments to escape the crumbling ruins, no chance to collect the new found treasures.

he glanced at the lamp, and shook his head, not wanting to waste a wish to get out of here, he would escape in his own way.

admist the chaos, jay’s eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out. his sharp gaze landed on a tattered carpet draped over a pile of treasures, thinking it would maybe uncover a wooden door on the floor.

desperate, he lunged for it, but found no door.

as he grasped it madly, the carpet shimmered beneath his hands, vibrant colors swirling to life. to his astonishment, it began to lift off the ground, hovering just above the stone floor.

“is this real?” he muttered, hardly daring to believe his luck.

with the temple shaking around him, jay jumped onto the carpet, gripping its sides tightly. “take me out of here!” he commanded, and to his shock, it surged forward, darting through the collapsing chamber and out into the open air.

as they soared into the sky, the temple crumbled into nothingness behind him, drowning in the sand, never to be seen again.

the night soon fell in the dessert lands, as jay camped inside a cold cave, his belongings scattered near the magic carpet, in the darkness of the stone.

he hissed as he burned himself, but finally lit up a fire, and leaned back, his back hitting the hard rock.

the scenes of the day played through his mind, as he observed the red carpet that seemed like any house object he had seen. making him wonder what other pieces of magic could have been hidden in the now destroyed temple.

as the fire crackled softly, he reached out for the lamp. with a firm grip, he held the lamp close, feeling the warmth of its metal against his palm.

his eyes absorbed every detail of the it. the surface was intricately engraved with swirling patterns, serpents, temples, and cryptic symbols, all hinting at ancient secrets and the long-forgotten masters who once wielded its power.

jay wondered how many people before him had found themselves in the exact same situation, longing for something that only magic would let come to life.

he began to trace circles along one side, his fingers gliding over the engravings, smoothing the dust that had settled over centuries. each stroke filled him with a feeling of curiosity.

the intoxicating thrill of the unknown pulsed through him, igniting a reckless urge to awaken the genie trapped. and so he did.

EXTRA:

masterlist.

next chapter.

all chapters.

#kpop x fem reader #kpop x you #kpop x reader #enhypen #enhypen x reader #jay park #park jongseong #park jongseong x reader #park jongseong x you #enha x reader #enha scenarios #enha imagines #enha #enha jay

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mariacallous · 22 days ago

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When I walk into Jen Easterly’s office on a bright January day in Arlington, Virginia, I’m greeted by a giant shark head lurking on the floor. I instantly spot a Rubik’s Cube—an Easterly hallmark—emblazoned with the logo of the organization she’s run for the past three and a half years—the Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency, or CISA, which President Donald Trump created during his first term.

Easterly, who is 56 years old, jumps to her feet to greet me. The first thing that hits me is her denim pants, which have a dragon on one leg and a serpent on the other. Then she launches into updates on CISA’s animated “Secure Our World” video series and, in the same breath, laments that she hasn’t had time for a private guitar lesson in weeks. Seemingly a regular day on the job for her, except for one thing. As of January 20, Inauguration Day, Easterly’s time at CISA would be over. Trump had fired the agency’s first director, Chris Krebs, after CISA refused to question the integrity of the 2020 election, and Easterly now says she wasn’t asked to stay. Rumors are swirling that CISA programs—or even the entire agency—may soon be on Trump’s chopping block.

The timing couldn’t be worse for the nation to lose its top cybersecurity cop. A Beijing-linked group called Salt Typhoon spent months last year rampaging through American telecoms and siphoning call logs, recordings, text messages, and even potentially location data. Many experts have called it the biggest hack in US telecom history. Easterly and her agency unknowingly detected Salt Typhoon activity in federal networks early last year—warning signs that ultimately sped up the unraveling of the espionage campaign.

The work of banishing Chinese spies from victim networks isn’t over, but the walls are already closing in on CISA. Trump's nominee to run the Department of Homeland Security, Kristi Noem, told a senate committee last week that CISA needs to be “smaller” and “more nimble.” And a day after the inauguration, all members of the Cyber Safety Review Board—who were appointed by Easterly and were actively investigating the Salt Typhoon breaches—were let go.

When Easterly officially became the agency’s second director, in 2021, the government was still reeling from a different blockbuster hack—SolarWinds. Kremlin-backed intruders had compromised widely used software to infiltrate the networks of US agencies and other targets. Helping US institutions defend themselves became an even more urgent and daunting project. CISA doesn’t enforce laws or collect intelligence; its job is to evangelize digital security measures and offer free services, so institutions can see what they need to do to not get hacked or—more realistically—get hacked less badly. Easterly got to work building relationships across the federal government and with state and local officials, corporate executives, and utility managers. In crises like the Salt Typhoon campaign, these relationships are crucial to quickly containing the damage.

It takes a determined person, and perhaps a charismatic one, to build rapport with such a wide-ranging group of people. Easterly has the background for it: She has worked in the Army (with multiple deployments), the National Security Agency, and the National Security Council under Barack Obama, and she spent nearly five years in charge of Morgan Stanley’s global cybersecurity. She also helped establish US Cyber Command within the Department of Defense. Somehow, though, she’s chill. To break the ice, and probably to make an impression, Easterly has leaned into her passions while in office, cubing and jamming with executives and utility operators around the country. And, yes, there’s her eclectic style—high fashion (by cybersecurity standards, anyway) mixed with bell-bottoms and Birkenstocks—but also her quiet, intense obsession with trying to solve the puzzle that is digital defense.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity, combining on-camera and off-camera portions. Check out WIRED’s YouTube channel for the video.

You’re in your last days as the director of CISA. How's it going?

It's a little bittersweet.

Why are you leaving?

Well, at the end of the day, I'm a Senate-confirmed political appointee. We serve at the pleasure of the president. I've not been asked to stay.

There are signs that the Trump administration may be hostile to some of CISA’s goals. Do you think the agency has proven it's valuable?

We are America's cyberdefense agency, but our budget is less than $3 billion. I think the American people are getting an incredible return on investment. Anybody who looks at it will see that there's been an enormous amount of progress made in reducing risk to the critical infrastructure Americans rely on every hour of every day. We're talking water, power, transportation, communication, finance. It's not a political or partisan issue, and these threats are only getting more complicated, more dangerous. Any stepping back of what we've put in place will be to the detriment of the safety and security of the American people.

One threat that’s top of mind is Salt Typhoon. How have past foreign espionage campaigns, like Russia’s SolarWinds attacks, informed the work you all are doing?

What we saw in December 2020, with the revelations about the Russian intrusions into US federal government networks, as well as businesses around the world, was a pretty sophisticated supply-chain espionage operation. I would say the bumper sticker was to finally allow CISA to manage the .gov federal digital assets as one enterprise, not as a disparate tribe of a hundred separate departments and agencies. It's still a work in progress, but what we've put in place across the government over the past three and a half years has given us enormous visibility and has allowed us to detect intrusions much more rapidly, to be able to remediate them and to get ahead of future intrusions.

It’s concerning how difficult it seems to have been for the telecoms to eradicate the Chinese hackers from their networks. Has there been progress in terms of that transparency and insight you're talking about?

After the revelations of these breaches, we stood up what's called a unified coordination group. So we're responding, the FBI is investigating, folks like the National Security Agency are using what we see in the intelligence to understand the extent and the depth of this intrusion. And we're coming together to work with the victims. We've been doing that for months. This has unfortunately been out in the press a lot—

I would say fortunately!

Anything that gets out there has the downside of having adversaries change their tactics. So, while I think the transparency to consumers is important, it also makes it more difficult to then find these actors within the network. I don't expect it to be remediated in the short term.

What about in the long term?

Everybody should assume that our adversaries, in particular China, are attempting to go after our critical infrastructure. The private sector, they are on the front lines of this fight, because they own and operate the vast majority of our critical infrastructure. It's why companies need to put collaboration over self-preservation.

I want a future where something like a ransomware attack is a shocking anomaly. Where damaging software vulnerabilities exploited by nation-state actors are as infrequent as plane crashes. A world where the technology that we've come to rely on every hour of every day is first and foremost secure.

It feels like hackers always find new ways to get where they want to go. Can you win at defense?

I mean, you're right. Defense is hard. I say that as America's cyber head goalie. And that's why it has to be a team. As much as we work to hunt for and eradicate Chinese actors, our partners need to hold those actors accountable, whether that's through offensive cyber capabilities or indictments or sanctions. But, yes, we're on the defensive side, and it's a challenge.

Former CISA director Jen Easterly left office on Inauguration Day as rumors swirled about the fate of the agency.Photograph: Dana Scruggs

Right now is a very scary and precarious time in cyberspace.

I spent a lot of time in counterterrorism, and people would often say, “What keeps you up at night?” But it's really not what keeps me up at night. It's all about what gets you up in the morning. I love my team. I love the mission. Not every day is the best day ever, but you work through the issues, you stay resilient, you stay focused.

Probably a necessary attitude for this type of work. But I just have to be that guy who asks you one more time: What keeps you up at night?

A major conflict in Asia—the potential invasion or blockade of Taiwan by the People’s Republic of China—could have very real consequences here in the US. You could see pipelines and water being affected, telecommunications being severed, rail lines, power. That is all part of a very deliberate effort by the People’s Republic of China to incite what they call “societal panic” and to deter our ability to marshal military might and citizen will. We have to acknowledge that disruption may occur.

Is the public paying too much attention to espionage campaigns like Salt Typhoon? Should we all be more worried about threats to critical infrastructure, like China’s Volt Typhoon?

We are very focused overall on PRC cyber actors. CISA is one of the few agencies in the government that has been able to find both Volt Typhoon within critical infrastructure as well as Salt Typhoon. In fact, it was our work several months ago to find Salt Typhoon that then led to law enforcement identifying virtual private servers that were being leased by the adversaries, and then that unraveled the wider campaign.

You and I have talked before about how Ukraine has faced years of punishing digital attacks and, of course, an ongoing kinetic war with Russia. CISA has partnered for a few years now with its counterpart agency in Ukraine. Do you have concerns that the Trump administration won't prioritize that relationship?

Ukraine is under active assault by a very sophisticated threat actor. What we are learning from how they are dealing with those attacks actually helps us understand and mitigate similar threats to our own infrastructure. Cyber is a borderless space, and what our foreign partners see can absolutely benefit us. We need to ensure that all of us—from the vendors that create technology to companies that buy technology to citizens that consume technology—recognize our shared role in a collective defense of cyberspace and critical infrastructure.

Do you feel that there are too many cooks in the US federal cybersecurity kitchen? Has that been an issue?

It really has not. A lot of people have asked that question, but when the SolarWinds incident occurred I was looking at it as both the cyber policy lead for the Biden-Harris transition team and, perhaps more importantly, from my day job at Morgan Stanley. One advisory came out from CISA that was very SolarWinds-specific. We didn't have SolarWinds in our infrastructure. Another one came from NSA that was focused on VMware, and we did have VMware in our systems. It was not clear how these things were connected. And then you would see an FBI private-sector notice about something else. At this point I've already been in government for 27 years. I'd been in the military, the Department of Defense, the intelligence community, the White House. It's like, I know this. I thought I understood the government. And I couldn't make sense of what the government was trying to tell us about this Russian espionage campaign. It was one of the motivating things about coming to CISA. How do we bring together the federal cyber ecosystem?

The relationships with NSA, FBI, and CISA have never been better. Some of that is personalities, but I think we have actually developed institutional connective tissue, so that it will last. It's very, very clear what CISA’s role is. Now, you often talk about, what does the National Security Council do? What does the Office of the National Cyber Director do? I think we've sorted out the relationships at that level with policy and strategy, but really at the operational level where CISA lives, those relationships across the federal cyber ecosystem I think have never been better.

You said that there is unfinished business as you prepare to leave CISA. Where do you wish you could have done more?

There’s a lot of unfinished business. We have made an impact through our ransomware vulnerability warning pilot and our pre-ransomware notification initiative, and I’m really proud of that, because we work on preventing somebody from having their worst day. But ransomware is still a problem. We have been laser-focused on PRC cyber actors. That will continue to be a huge problem. I'm really proud of where we are, but there's much, much more work to be done. There are things that I think we can continue driving, that the next administration, I hope, will look at, because, frankly, cybersecurity is a national security issue.

I have to ask you, there are rumors: Are you or are you not going on tour when you leave CISA?

You know, I certainly hope to. I played piano and guitar when I was young, but I started taking up electric guitar, and that has become my passion, my obsession. So my big postretirement plan several years from now is to start a bar in lower Manhattan, to have a band. We're going to do magic. We're going to do improv. I'm going to be the bartender.

And will there be Rubik's Cubes at every table?

There will be Rubik's Cubes. I'm obsessed with the Rubik's Cube. When I was 11 these things were introduced across the world, and I was a huge puzzler and a video game person. I learned how to solve it, and then I would go to toy stores—I was this little kid with pigtails—and say, “Hey, if I can solve this in less than two minutes, will you give me a free one?” So I was able to amass this whole set of them.

You must see some sort of connection between that and your day job.

Ernő Rubik, who invented the thing, said something like, if you are curious, you will find puzzles around you. And if you are determined, you will solve them. And when I think about the incredible technical talent that we have here at CISA, it’s the intellectual curiosity, it’s the hacker mindset, it’s the problem solver. But it's also the determination, the relentless drive to solve the most complicated problems out there.

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littlevillageidiot64 · 29 days ago

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OUR DARING YEARS 1. Servicemen: you are a volunteer serving Humanity faithfully and with honor. 2. Every Servicemen is your comrade in Service, irrespective of their nationality, race, sexual orientation or creed. You will demonstrate this by an unwavering and straightforward solidarity which must always bind together members of the same family. 3. Respectful of the UNSF's traditions, honoring your superiors, self-discipline and comradeship are your strength, resilience and loyalty your virtues. 4. Proud of your status as a Servicemen, you will display this pride, by your turnout, always impeccable, your behavior, ever worthy, though modest, your living quarters, always tidy. 5. For the combatants and comrade in arms, you will act without relish of your tasks, or hatred; you will respect the vanquished enemy and will never abandon neither your wounded nor your dead, nor will you under any circumstances surrender your arms. 6. Belongings are shared by all. Supply yourself according to your needs. 7. You will be judged by a single criteria: do you contribute? If not, we'll make one. - UNSF, CODE OF HONOR CHAPTER 1:

Anna took the realization in something.... unusual. It is quite common to head for the bridge of the ship and even though she was an officer she felt she'd been lead in the wrong direction. It wasn't that she was given less info than usual since it was for security purposes, but it was the first time she wasn't handed any information at all, and she could see she was seriously out of place amongst the fold even within rank. She knew this was more than merely a get together for army officers; navy and air corps top brass for the siege whom waited, too, glittering with seniority along with the suits, the intelligence staff, the CN and political advisors. This was a mere gathering of the top circle, but in terms of sheer authority, this was a clear summit by all accounts. It'd only been two months and still progress with The Division wasn't anymore faster than before. Wether High Command would admit it to not, this might put the UNSF (United Nations Space Force) to the test. One could know eighty ways to kill people under their care and still wouldn't get anywhere.

Her expressions were risen within seconds, "Marcus!" Bowman jumped back a bit as he jerked his head towards the marine captain but became nearly cradled by her broad arms giving a hug that felt more like pinching a lump as the navy officer yelled as if his chest cavity had cracked. Anna mainly smiled, "Oh I have missed you so much!" she said almost sounding like she's squeezing his lungs out. Jacob stood close to her saying, "Captain, stop unintentionally murdering the staff." Her eyes showed off their marble brown colors once more with Anna carefully placing Bowman down, "My mistake." she said. Bowman just chuckled yet coughed a tad, "N..no no, that was my fault, honestly, I should've kept my guard up." "Frankly, I didn't even hear her come.” Admiral Tsoko stated. Standing at seven three for a Galactic Marine compared to Anna’s own height of seven two, Jacob still somehow managed to hardly stand out among the crowd of the room, and in their time together, Anna couldn’t recall a single occasion on which Jacob’s uniform was too tight or too loose. Despite equally such a presence as her, most stared at Anna more so given she was all muscle in a military issued uniform that acted and sounded friendly yet held the aura of a woman who wasn’t afraid to a swing a punch or take one. She looked harder than most of everyone in the room; a room of mere cardboards encasing around mountain of muscle. Anna noticed Marshal Commander Grame in one of the blue leather chairs, chatting to Naomi as if the two knew the other for a good ten years since OCS. Courtney would have found all of this too cozy to her liking. Anna could have brought her along but both she and Jacob hardly thought alike. When push came to shove, Courtney was prepared to kill a world to save at least some of it.

Jacob, Anna suspected, might not have been the same. Its not Anna didn't trust Courtney. In fact, she envied her; affected by grief, yet self contained, and who is satisfied by making broken things work. However if she had her way she'd retire her for her sake and health. Lick each other's wounds if she want. It was like she had a friend who was a firefighter but got divorce tomorrow and then started running head first into burning buildings. Are they saving lives? Yes. Should you probably give them a therapist or go hang out? Definitely.

She eyed at Naomi another moment longer. Her skin was dark brown in tone with a slim jawline, high cheekbones and a somewhat round but tapered, pointed chin. Puckered scars ran across her right cheek and through her lip as well as a thin nose shaped into a prominent bridge with a downward slope. Her hair was cropped and blonde with ocean blue, wide set, sullen eyes. She had a slim figure that was equally as robust; high, round, youthful breasts; narrow shoulders; small waist; wide hips and thighs. The clothing she wore was typical BCA attire: light blue tunic, light blue trousers with a white undershirt and a black tie. Two gold oak leaves on the collars of the undershirt. Gold cuff links. White gloves. Black, dress shoes, and epaulettes with their emblem on a dark blue arm band at the bicep region of the left sleeve, which was a pure white five pointed star with white wings stabling it that have rectangular like feathers. She was ten years her senior yet age hardly effected her form and stability. Even in the many photos and pictures she found of her she looked exactly as she had seventy five years before.

Surprisingly this was probably a first among a few times she saw her interacting with anyone she knew or respected. Anytime any of the more lower runts spoke to her she kept the talks short and at others a knowing stare and a nod with several, “Uh-huh” at rare moments of self contained silence, as if she was conserving energy for more relevant issues. Even in friendly conversation despite always being temporary she was polite firstly yet gave the impression that part of her was holding back, secretive, withdrawn, watching, judging, willfully impossible to read or know yet still respected by Servicemen because she didn’t waste their time but also hated by others given she could trap them easily through such words. She would call her having little doubts but that’s a strong word to say given their agents were good at sowing seeds of doubt. It was their job. They probably didn’t even know they were doing it, not even the likable sort. They were from an organization that is a unique phenomenon of this century. Having no true counterpart, either in history or the contemporary existence of Human Space, it cannot be fully comprehended through analogy with other organizations, or other adequately defined by human terminology.

It helped that they were really careful in controlling their public persona. Stories about the BCA as the UNSF's cutting edge science agency appear regularly in the press, while the bulk of their more consequential and sometimes more authoritarian programs go largely unreported. In fact, alot that's more reported is towards health and wellness even though their stated mission is to be an intelligence agency. The aversion to risk was perhaps the single greatest discrepancy between the BCA and other branches. They were about taking chances. Its officers and operatives were trained to act as the Chairman’s hidden hand. Intelligence is a secret action from them that aims at understanding or changing what goes on abroad across Human Space. A nation that wants to project its power beyond its borders needs to see over the horizon, to know what is coming, to prevent attacks against its people. It must anticipate surprise. Without a strong, smart, sharp intelligence service, politicians and generals alike can become blind and crippled.

In its near century long history, the BCA has never allowed the UNSF to be taken scientific surprised. They make the future happen. Industry, public health, society, culture all transform because technology that the BCA pioneers. A revolution is not a revolution unless it comes with an element of surprise. They are like spiders, exquisitely sensitive to any vibration in their webs, ready to pounce on problems and efficiently dispose of them. They are constantly analyzing all changing inputs and factors, making countless quick small judgments and decisions, then passing them on to the crew and the ground team. It’s like being coach, quarterback, water boy and cheerleader, all in one. Everyone affected by the actions of the UNSF is affected by the BCA. Given their reputation, how they show themselves personally, they somehow manage to have zero insecurities when they should have alot. In fact, so self assured that there's nothing that would deter them from feeling good about themselves.

She noticed the two separating. She walked to Naomi holding a statesmanlike half smile. Most thought it was probably more for the benefit of her local audience than really for Jacob. Anna was suddenly surprised at the lack of reek of coffee smell. Probably people trying not to invite questions when they all returned back to the Center. Servicemen never forgot what the real thing smelled like. The fresh pot of coffee in the office, genuine coffee, not some ingenious but completely unconvincing cereal concoction.

The few she knew tried resisting it. Servicemen were often uncomfortable enjoying what the average Colonist no longer could whether through poverty, shortage, or both. Some Candidates who first joined often held the sense of entitlement, that subconscious expectation that their exceptional jobs demanded exceptional rights, but was slowly evaporated year upon year. With privilege goes responsibility. To be a Servicemen is to belong to a justice minded community of perennial social outcasts. Even though there’s bad Servicemen there’s no really bad Servicemen.

Naomi moved her eyes to Anna’s direction before turning her whole head mainly blinking at her. “Greetings to you. I’m sorry about my actions before.” Anna said. Naomi remand expressionless. “It’s nothing.” She said, humorously with a smile. She held out her hand. Anna reached out and grasped it firmly, unhesitating now. As they shook hands Naomi’s had all but disappeared into Anna’s, however was quite surprised of the aged agent’s firm and strong grip. Anna got a chuckle out of this. She kept her smile for sometime, as if it proved a problem for her, which grew affectish on Naomi as well with the help that Anna’s voice was mellow like a hum. Elegance, deep pitched and strength. Comfortable to hear and sounds clear and uncluttered. Her vocal cords sounding completely relaxed. Warm, and buttery to the ear with her words sounding slow yet never treating her like a child almost as if she mastered her impulses. Her strong grip and stance had also told Naomi many things. There was no pose, no pretense, no attempt to establish anything for the record.... She's natural, alive, alert, spirited, and give the impression of having intense amount of unloosened energy, both intellectual and physical. She held the impression that here was a woman who was realistic, practical and disciplined. She has the power of drawing the hearts of people towards her as a magnet attracts the bit of metal. She merely has to smile at you and you trust her at once.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance finally. Your reputation precedes you.” Anna continued. “Not all of it is good, Captain.” Naomi replied with sudden melancholy and sorrow in her eyes. “If rules and customs are unbroken, then they are meaningless, either brittle from misuse, or so strong and overwhelming that you remain clueless to the truth of what it is they were intended to protect…” “On that we can agree fully.” “I apologize if I’m saying you’re soulless in your approach.” Naomi chuckled, yet composed. “Oh I have my moral quandaries of my own. It’s just they don’t matter in the grand scheme of affairs. You just concentrate on killing soldiers and the uneducated for the rest of us.”

“Hey, you, blondie!! Yeah I’m talking to you!!” Anna turned to her right still holding her smile but the enthusiasm within her was palpable. She lightly ran over as she and Grame widen one another’s arms. He himself had also hold a strong smile. “What of it, huh? You don’t call me, nor wrote to me for a good two months and expect me to be quiet the whole war?” “Jon, you magnificent son if a bitch!!” She squeezed tightly and he managed greatly against her tough muscles and iron dense bones. Anna felt she was hugging an alien or clone for all she knew. He hugged identically to her except he was… different. He spoke a little differently. He smelled subtlety different. Wasn’t so use to seeing him out of armor either. “Been too long, Man.” Grame then suddenly pulled from her but kept his hands at her shoulders, looking bewildered like she had a dick latched on her forehead. “Anna, its been twenty years now. Wasn’t that long ago.” She rolled her eyes. “Just trying to make you feel better, Hun.” “Only thing I miss is you being alot smaller than you are now. Then again, everyone’s small compared to you, so it evens out.”

He noticed Naomi keeping a short but fixed stare. “Don’t get your gown all tucked in.” He humored. “There’s no regs that states an officer can’t be friends with their subordinates. I’ve never been easy on Barkwood, but she did the job. That’s worth enough for the two of us.” She gave a carefully blank stare. “Message received, Marshal Commander.” she said, mellowly. “Now I just feel good having a wall at my back.” “I noticed you haven’t thought to speak with the Task Commander and her subjects in this summit.” Anna said. “They can wait a while,” Naomi said. “This summit is a show, and this is clear pomp, and this is, essentially, a waste of time. But Monroe is the Chairman. His authority needs to be reinforced.”

Anna kept examining Grame. His uniform was what had been worn by the greater majority of the room: a collared light blue shirt, a dark tie, slightly loosened at the neck, and a deep blue coat. He had dark brown skin with a strong but tapered jawline. His lips were full but thin with a typical short black hair and had a thin bridge nose with a flat base.

Not much has changed about him physically but she took a chuckle that he’s kept that sharp, slender, stout mustache for years, looking as if it might have been finely penciled in. Might as well been his symbol much like his utility cap because once he shaves it off people are gonna freak out at such a sudden change. She was still weirded out at him not wearing armor. It was like he was from another world she never knew of. Not wearing his armor and service rifle made him appear off balance, yet still noticed the gravity of warfare latching to him even if he lost his combat suit. Maybe, she thought, he was showing what he was packing given there’s a chance they might tell others for certain arrangements. He already looked naked. Without armor, Servicemen felt exposed somehow, like they had left their quarters without their skin. They had grown use to how they weigh and felt. It was like missing an arm that they knew existed at some point in their lives or a common comfort item. It was very jarring to see. Almost no one outside the organization saw how they looked underneath since nobody wanted to risk inhaling tougher amounts of oxygens on other planets or expose themselves to the elements and catching some alien disease or die to a new form of cancer from the mountains of heavy sun activity due to a lack of melanin. Apart from the heavily publicized display of massed UNSF battalions boarding carriers at the military staging area a few months ago, the vast majority of both the human public and alien themselves held no contact with them whatsoever. And never without their helmets mainly due to both security and personal reasons. Armor itself does not make a Servicemen. The armor is simply a manifestation of an impenetrable, unassailable heart.

Grame’s eyes wandered and noticed Jacob from afar. “I take it this is she?” “Yes. She’s been quite the extra hand the day we met.” “Hmm…” He walked on over with Jacob standing at attentions like always. "What’s your name, Marine?” “Jacob Jablonsky, Marhsal Commander.” “I take it you know who I am?” “Marshal Commander Jonathan Roland Grame. Former CO, 92nd Platoon.” Jacob always had a prodigious memory, Anna thought. “Fourth Battalion, 11th Core Regiment, of the First Infantry Division.” “I’m not planning to buy you dinner, Marine.” “I make a point to remember all officers my captain regards as exceptional.” Grame made no reply. That was the point at which he did not like her. It never took him long to make up his mind. She was too formal to be a Servicemen. She treats knowledge so official like she just read it off of a briefing file. There was something robotic about her word usage he could not stand. But speaking a certain way didn’t matter in the scheme of things. “Well, take good care of that armor, Jacob. It’ll come out of your pay if you don’t.”

Tychus walked into the same room, though Anna had almost mistaken him for a businessmen by any other measure given. He noticed her from afar. If Anna had passed him in the streets of a colonial planet, she would have thought he was just a clerk, a regular, intelligent man who had little importance in the moment. But there was that look: absolute steel, absolute honesty, and a refusal to give in to his fears. He was scared. Anna could see it.

There also came a Hiyon (Hai-yen). She was average in height and broad shoulder, holding heavy arms for her wide frame. Her Hiyon fur was orange with dark black stripes and her eyes held an orange glow to that of a morning star that laid beneath her sharp, narrow, sullen expression with darker shades of it in the form of pupils. They were oval in shape yet laid sideways, appearing very egg like and sat at the front of her head. Her skull was square like with no human like hair but only white fur at the jaw, chin, and cheek regions. Her armor was of peculiar plating that shelter her whole figure with no clear insignia to be seen or understood as a matter of fact. Her name was strangely written in human text so most called her Masuku for convenience sake. It was also quite firm for a body suit, as if wrapped tightly around her. Human fashion seemed airy and loose when compared. They had given humanity more specifically the UNSF a considerably long tome on their species but general enough to where it is digestible and non-classfied. They had explained they were eyeing on Human space for a good long while with their philologists taking years to understand the human language. Difference was the words they used in the documents were clean, consist in both the grammar usage and punctuation almost second nature to them and uncanny when reading it back to command, despite missing key human elements when choosing their words.

Anna didn't have much to say on their culture through those pages beyond stating what others said before her. They hold a strong martial culture yet have no military state. They're very collective but individuality and self reflection were as sacred if not more so than what humanity had. Their proverb said it all: ‘it can always be better’. Your great, great grandfamily needed to be better than their parents; their great grandfamily needed to be better than their great, great grandfamily, and their children's children needed to be better than all of their forebearers before them and education lied at the center of it for it is considered as a practical measure of success and a way to escape poverty. They make great sacrifices to offer their children quality education. It is not just for themselves but for their culture as well that the Hiyon value education. They study because they want their decisions to be consistent with answers to questions of meaning, of life mission, of facing mortality and of ultimate truths: Who are we? Their study will help put their decisions into this deeper context. They value thinking as a whole. Theirs is a tradition of people who think, question and explore. Masuku didn’t much eye anyone in particular. In fact, she did not looked at anyone but kept to herself with silent confidence in her movements. Nobody wanted to be near her and yet she was indifferent to such a social gathering.

The hatch doors quickly shut tightly as the Task Commander, Kelty Housden, ordered it through simple gestures. Her hair was dark brown that was crop cut in design and had small, hazel colored eyes. She had thin but full lips and a flat base nose. Her jaw was round nearly circular with plump cheeks and had dark skin. She spoke as everyone got into their respectful seats, “We’re soundproofed in here, ladies and gentlemen, and soon you’ll understand why we need to be. This is now a strictly need to know basis so unless you have plans I’d suggest being quiet for the foreseeable hour. Michaelson, hit the lights.” The display panel flooded with light as a pixelated sphere formed through simple white dot formation with a sophisticated satellite weapon appearing alongside. “Tychus…” Housden said, extending out her hand. The room fell completely silent, no fidgeting, no coughing, as she let the computerize images sink in. Anna felt… dejected to say the least at what was to be unfolded.

Even as they had their proper sit down amidst a polished island of tables that gleamed beyond in a windowless room, Grame manage to have found himself thinking almost enviously of the Systems War as it came to be called. Felt like yesterday since it paused. A very different time when rules seemed easy to remember: human versus human, motives known, limitations understood, yet somewhere within the Sovereign Colonies there was always a system or sector that could be crossed to find planetary society seem normal.

He’d hope the colonial front at least managed just enough to partake in this odd endeavor. It would have mocked every sacrifice of the past nine hundred sixteen years. He was at least relieved that Anna had been involved this day. She had a voice in this, too, dammnit; she understood the cultural differences between the Servicemen and these new batch of civilians. Whether they’d responded to her or not, he trusted her, to the point where if he needed something to get fixed and gave it to her, he knew it would get done. She got the job done everytime. Those like sergeant Courtney Halls, however, almost every time.

Anna knows what she’s doing, he thought. She’ll be a steadying influence. Stick Halls with another unit, and she’ll probably be busy picking fights with them. Lucky for her she didn’t need to love or be loyal to humanity to function in this organization. He chuckled to himself. Five break ups, outright human civil war, and a total of seventy years of Service and this was what sparked concern from him.

Tychus spoke in grave detail in the many specific areas of which such a device needed. Many sat in wonder knowing what could be said of this event. Housden kept herself still if to listen to his comments, thinking over his words carefully. She could be engrossed in something but that slight tilt of the head said she was taking in everything within earshot.

This fight to her presented many ways to make people suffer, to force them to do unspeakable things. Though guilt rangled her thoughts, she focused on her duty first. At this point, it'd become a magnetic north on her moral compass. She didn't wish the role of Task Commander but she had the bones to pull it off. Fewer than two percent of all Naval Servicemen were selected for this role. That said enough. They were counting on her specifically, and in times like these, it is and always is a time honored tradition to develop a plan for all Servicemen for it is their duty to view in the context of their character and the impact they had on others. Order, structure, and control is a feature not a bug. Was this the correct call? No, but, in reality, the choice never mattered if it was good or bad but making a decision and sticking with the consequences did. Servicemen take the initiative and make decisions, regardless of wether things are going well.

Tychus spoke in her direction, “Task Commander, pending your questions, this concludes my brief.” Housden took a breath. She knew the risk here: they make a wrong step and the tenuous threads of civilization unravel. "In your considered opinion?" She asked, looking towards Anna. Anna paused herself to think carefully before replying. She didn't wish to tar her Task Commander's institution with verdicts of incompetence, yet knew her well enough in knowing how little good sugaring the pill would be.

"You had mention before the orbit radius and that it would hold consecutive strikes and be reduced. How would this factored in? Never mind the significant reach to make such a device penetrate the surface with immense power, how would you refuel with efficient effort?" Tychus extended the screen with much needed data across the pixelated screen by a simple button press. "From our current estimates, we would require at least one hundred seventy thousand cubic meter tank. Mind you, this is only taken into account a fuel reservoir filled with crude oil and remained efficient at our best estimates into converting a basic plasma beam.” “Then how would you handle this process. At that rate, you would only have about ten seconds worth of power.” “I do not know the physics, but I do grasp the fact that the satellite platforms would cover the entire planet, which what is required of such an effort." Housden chimed between. "What are you going to target? Is that what you need me for, to advise on blast coverage?" Grame cut in. "This is all well and good, Tychus, but even so we'll be feeding their political affairs. With something like this, it won't be just the enemy that will die, not all, but this will be seen as asset denial than a strictly won victory."

"What will the civilian population have left among the rumble?" The political advisory asked. "All you'll have left is a panic population with no borders left to defend." “Mining will still be possible after the worst of the radiation subsides. Its agricultural possibilities would be poor at any rate, however what they’ll offer in return will survive the worst we can do on the surface.” Thychus replied. “You see no other value to this world?” Anna asked. “Our mission here is one of elimination. Therefore, the most efficient way of ending the enemy while minimizing our expenditure of lives is through such weaponry.” He replied again. He soon continued on.

"So far, the only major centers we'll have then is the west and south regions of the planet. That's where we'll regroup. The entire network would be deployed in stages; we'll need a priority list. We feed in the coordinates for the first batch of targets, activate the lasers, then feed in the next batch, move the orbital platforms, and so on." "We'd need nine billion joules per second at the rate you want this, Tychus." Tsoko spoke. "What would be refueling this device? You’d need to charge it for about twenty seconds that it is used let alone be refilled once per month. We'll need twice the crew, twice the supplies needed for the extra wandering pinatas you're asking for to protect it from ground forces below. My Servicemen would not stand for this.” “You have fortified the planet and planetside for such efforts, Admiral. You have enough ships and battery systems to fend off open hostile approach. They will be restrained enough to cover the entire surface of this world without signifcant weakness of early warning systems. Even if we speak small scale attacks do not assume you can keep them out all at once. A planet is a vast terrain. Assume the worst, and make sure you notice their footprints when they do attack.”

“How long would we give the civilian populist?” The political advisory asked. “Three days top.” Thychus replied. “Three days?” They asked. “The longer the delay, the higher the chance of the enemy working out what’s going on.” “And the units?” Grame asked. “At that rate we can’t expect them to make it with the refugees. Giving the civilian populist more than three days is one thing, withdrawing units are just going to clue in the enemy even more effectively.” Thychus replied.

Grame shoved his hands under his fold arms. Anna knew that fixed position of his. Housden did, too, because she watched his lips compressed into an even tighter line. Grame was going to toss the yellow flag. “Task Commander," he said finally, keeping his voice steady, "after you go with this, you'll need every Servicemen you have, and you'll need them on your side. Think about how you'll command even a Servicemen's loyalty once they know you'll waste them in their millions of thousands like that." He paused for a breath for a moment. “Dying in combat is expected, but this is way beyond the pale. This is within our control." Thychus turned to his direction. “I understand that an officer must keep their subordinates safe under altruistic care, but you make them sound really damning to suggest they aren’t loyal, Marshal Commander.” “They are reasonable to a point, Thychus, but they are a stubborn and stiff necked people, and they will only tolerate so much.” “But they are aware enough that this isn’t the first time intelligence was gathered to pull these feats. They knew the risks going in. They’ve given everything they have.” “That’s why we shouldn’t waste away our own numbers at the same time. Even if every country was burnt like brisket on holiday even, we need an army to crush what’s left when the smoke clears.” “With respect we've lost over 78,000 Servicemen in one region alone. With this device, it will make an even footing." Thychus said. "And we've killed 800,000 people on one planet, 200,000 being civilians back home.” Anna replied back.

Housden knew her answer on this, but spoke to Anna directly. “Captain Barkwood. You were on the surface. What are your views?” By all accounts, Anna stood out among everyone in terms of rank and she knows more than what's let on aboard the Dreaded Prosecutor, and she's just been required to present the staff with awkward analysis.

Anna gave her comments. “Respectfully, I disagree with such a dire conclusion. The value is more than just industrial. There is an important culture there. Its memory should be preserved.” “That culture failed.” Thychus replied. “Maybe it did.” Anna said. “Does that mean it should be expunged from our collective memory? Do we have nothing to learn from it? Does that mean its stand against The Division does not deserve to be commemorated? That there were no battles worthy of song?” “It does not.” “No it doesn’t. There is no logical value in the decorations we give to our vessels. They contribute nothing. What they contribute in between is inestimable. The records of the pacifications. The celebrations of victories. The memorialization of the fallen. The analyses of the recovered cultures. This is the living tissue to all civilizations. Even the dead civilizations are part of the human story. They have a life beyond the dust of their citizens.” Anna ended her talk. Housden paused but knew her answer clearly. “The Division may hold this planet. We will take it back, but we will not lose its heritage in the process.” Anna smiled towards him “I know you understand.” She said. “So I do.” He replied.

After the last words were said, everyone stood up abruptly, shook hands, and laughed about something in an earlier story, as if nothing just transpired, and never focused on the pain and sorrow. Even when they recounted any of sort, there was generally a sense of ease and softness in their words for those who fought hard and died gloriously. There was no complaint given. No blame of others for their misfortune. They worked hard and expected the same from their junior officers. Patriotism was worn on their sleeves, and while they weren’t naive about the UNSF’s faults, they knew that no other part of human space valued their service and sacrifice as much as the UNSF. Housden walked towards and shook Anna’s hand. “Its nice to meet you in person, Captain Barkwood.” “You too, Task Commander, but I’m sure you have more pressing matters than this summit and will be making your leave.” Housden smiled, “This better not be the only reason. I came all the way back here.” She paused for a brief moment and eyed each other carefully, “Off the record, Barkwood, there's not one major decision you've made that I would've done differently. Haven't seen you done anything dumb. I've never known you ever get drunk but you're fine as far as I'm concerned. Not surprising. Don't get a swell head about that. Just fine.” Anna smiled at her comment. “Commander,” she said, “I am merely the servant of the big think who seeks, as we do, to better the lives of us all.” Housden simply smiled at her. “Anyway, I’m sure you have other matters to attend to.” “Like not boiling a planet?” Housden chuckled as she walked on formally. “Yeah, something like that.”

Thychus and Anna soon bumped into one another. He gave her a smile, no teeth shown, just a curl of lips. “I know of you.” He said. “I have absolute faith in you, Captain Barkwood. We would never have survived this far without your leadership.” “You don’t seem too pleased for someone who almost given us an opportunity to end the battle.” “It would end the conflict here. I can’t speak for…. The future after this.” “You expecting the worst?” “No, just academics.” “I mean you know things are bad when everyone is looking at me. Ugh.” They both chuckled. “In all serious, you okay. How do you feel?” "Numbness.” He answered. “What else should I feel? I just almost ordered to wipe out possibly a millennia of culture." He looked depressed. Worried even that Servicemen back home would be furious. There was no replacement to culture. The mere fact he almost erased someone's unique cultural heritage and treasures appalled him greatly even now. One day, he knew, he would look back at this event and feel appalled that he almost destroyed something precious and irreplaceable. Human lives came first, yes, but like all Servicemen before him would mourn for the loss of knowledge all the same. He looked at her directly as he smirked again.

“Sorry just… this has been a difficult mission… for all of us.” His voice was strained to be casual, but clearly wasn’t. He blinked, nothing more. For a second their eyes locked and Anna couldn’t read his expression anymore. He looked old and tired and beaten. He looked like he wanted out of it. He didn’t buckle at once nor broke the illusion expressed on his face, but was emotionally exhausted. That concern Anna. Maybe he really cracked up. Traumatic stress was waiting for all of us sooner or later. This was a strange sight of sights. Not typical Servicemen behavior. Generally, they would give an embarrassing nod, because moments such as this had that exact tone for a majority of Servicemen existence: embarrassment. There was no anger or disgust, just embarrassment. These were exceptional times. A concern to be had. Grame had gone mentally alert at this and commanded two Servicemen by eyesight in carefully escorting the now emotionally wounded man, and with this Anna knew a sergeant was to be assign shifts to keep a close eye and partly to ensure witnesses each to stay up and watch him as he slept. This wasn’t exactly a Red Cross society but a Servicemen wasn’t going to leave this crisis to be festered alone.

#scifi #military

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blazehedgehog · 2 years ago

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Catching up on IDW Sonic

Really starting to miss the Archie days. IDW Sonic is feeling really simple and aimless. I know the complaint some people layer against Archie Sonic is that it was a "soap opera" but to some degree that's just any long running comic book franchise. Spider-man's been that, Batman's been that, X-men has DEFINITELY, ABSOLUTELY been that, and so on.

And with Archie it felt like there was always something going on. It felt big and robust. You knew characters were off doing their own things. Sonic would run into Mighty somewhere and it turns out Mighty had been training with the monks on a mountain top for the last two years to hone his inner strength. He had his own entire story arc off panel that the reader never even saw and became a new person when nobody was looking.

IDW is like "okay this story arc petered out into a non-ending, now we need to find something else to do." Especially since the end of the Metal Virus Saga. I get that these "non-endings" do eventually come back around; Eggman experimenting with interdimensional tech 25 issues ago is tying in to this Egg City thing and how Tangle suddenly has Kitty Pryde powers.

I really like all the new characters they've introduced -- Tangle and Whisper are great, Dr. Starline was incredible, Surge and Kit are very interesting. But I don't feel like I have enough to chew on. Not like I used to. There's a thinness to all of this that's starting to bore me. They spent, what, 6 or 7 issues on a single Surge attack? How much did that move things forward? We learned that Surge is having hallucinations. Sonic gets to reprise his "I believe everyone has the capacity for good and they get as many second chances as they need" schtick from the end of the last story arc.

Beyond that, it was a lot of noise. For six months.

I imagine some people are saying "Well Blaze, it's a kids comic, maybe it's just not for you anymore" -- and to some degree, fair. I am at the point in my life where I've been out of school longer than I was in school. I am a long way from the target audience, these days.

But children aren't mindless animals. They like good stories, too. And there's a vibe that IDW Sonic is spinning its wheels that, deep down, I don't think they entirely enjoy, either. They may not be able to articulate that yet, but I bet the feeling is there regardless.

After all -- all those "soap opera" comics like X-men, Batman, etc.? That used to be bread and butter for this audience. Like, jeeze, look at this:

Cassandra Nova is a supervillain appearing in American comic books published by Marvel Comics, most commonly in association with the X-Men. (...) Cassandra is a "mummudrai," a parasitic life form born bodiless on the astral plane. The mummudrai that became Cassandra became telepathically entangled with the future Charles Xavier, who possesses vast mutant telepathic powers. This granted Cassandra some psionic powers herself, including the ability to exit the womb and create a body. Cassandra is Xavier's ideological dark shadow, bent on destruction and genocide. She is most infamous for commanding an army of Sentinels to massacre 16 million mutants within the mutant homeland of Genosha.

This, for reference, is from one of Marvel's best selling series.

This isn't me launching some kind of epic takedown on IDW Sonic. I think the book is still mostly fine, but the boredom I've felt from the last nine issues is highlighting an overall problem I've felt all along. In the early days it was more acceptable, because things were just getting started. But we're 60 issues deep. The comic is celebrating its fifth anniversary. We're almost a quarter of the way to Archie's ultimate milestone. And it still feels like it's missing something deeper.

#idw sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sega #sonic team #comics #x-men #batman #spider-man #marvel comics #.

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sunbrightheart · 2 years ago

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@elucienweekofficial | day five: nature. | Chapter One: The Inner-workings Of Meddling. | Read more here.

Lucien

With smooth, controlled movements, Lucien opened the largest pocket of his leather travel bag and carefully placed the metallic container down upon his folded clothing, securing it in place to make sure it didn’t shift in its position when he winnowed.

It was intricately assorted with trinkets and nicknacks he had accumulated over the months on his travels throughout Pyrthian and the Continent, intended for an ideal gift to the princeling of Night as an apology for his extended absence.

And knowing the eccentric nature of the youngling and his interest in all things puzzling, Lucien was sure Nyx would enjoy it.

“Kit!” A gruff voice called, “It’s almost mid-morning!”

“I am quite aware of the time, General.” He responded, equally exasperated. “There is no need to fret like a mother hen.”

With a fond shake of his head, he rechecked that he had all his belongings packed within their designated pockets, proceeding to clasp the buckles and mount the bag upon his shoulder. Deft fingers retrieved a long, golden hairpin—a gift from Nuan, that also transformed into a quill when pressure was applied to the pearl at the tip—from his dresser and twisted his hair into a stylish bun.

It made for a fashionable up-do, as well as keeping his hair intact for the less than ideal winnowing conditions, even as early spring reigned upon the Human Lands.

“Kit!” Jurian hollered,

Past the threshold of his room on the second floor, down the corridor to the narrow staircase leading to the open foyer of the formerly known Nolan Manor—now called the Exiles Manor, a running joke between the exiles themselves—stood Jurian in all his barely contained, sleep deprived glory. Disheveled and donned in his usual getup, he looked about ready to command the sun to rest behind the world with the sheer force of his will.

As was the usual for Jurian, seeing as he detested the very sun that arose within the sky.

“You were supposed to meet with Feyre an hour ago.” The man stated, levelling him with an arched brow.

Lucien sniffed, feigning haughtiness, “With a male as myself assigned three, bordering on four separate jobs, I think I am allowed a bit of leeway.”

Jurian huffed out an unconvinced laugh, “You’re stalling.”

“I’m stalling.” He sighed, shoulders slumping forward in resignation.

As much as he was elated to reunite with his beloved friend and her son after having not seen them in so long, the fact stayed that he did not enjoy travelling to the Night Court. Tried to avoid visiting the place when it seemed unnecessary to do so otherwise—unless for the cause of occasionally reporting to Rhysand.

It wasn’t the court itself, or even the starlit city of Velaris. He admired the starry, picturesque landscape and the jovial atmosphere that surrounded that of its people, was fascinated with the Illyrian culture and enjoyed the flavour-inducing native delicacies of their food.

But it seemed however hard he tried to revel in such things within the moment, that he was reminded yet again that he simply did not belong.

The Nights’ High Lord was accommodating at best and patronising as worst; his Inner Circle were distrustful of him if not a bit hostile, and enjoyed taunting him for the amusement of their own as they waited for his well-crafted exterior to crack; and though she was likely the most welcoming of them all in comparison to Feyre’s chosen family, Elain avoided him as if he were contagious.

Lucien didn’t begrudge them, of course. But each time he visited, it became increasingly difficult to ignore their blatant display of arrogance.

So, the solution? He stayed away.

A calloused hand gripped his shoulder, bringing Lucien out from his reverie. He looked over to the man beside him, who was observing Lucien with a calculating gleam in his dark eyes.

“What was it that you were intending to do for the day?” Jurian asked,

“Take the little one fishing, perhaps a swim in the Sidra if the weather is agreeable.”

Jurian hummed as he rubbed an absent hand along the rough stubble lining his jaw, a troublesome smile alighting his features into the epitome of mischief. The particular expression did not bode well for Lucien, and put him immediately on edge.

“What is that look for?” Lucien demanded, an accusing finger pointing at the mans face.

“Nothing,” With a wave of his hand, as if expelling a rogue insect, Jurian dismissed him. “Now hurry along, you’ll be late otherwise.”

“Since when did you care for being on time?”

Jurian merely winked at him.

Yes, Lucien thought, as he readied himself to winnow. This, indeed, does not bode well.

Elain

Elain wiped the beading drops of precipitation clinging to the hair at her temples, most likely leaving behind a streak of soil across her forehead from her earth-sunken fingers. It was well into mid-morning, the early spring sun setting into her ever chilled bones as warmth unfurled around her like the heat of an open furnace.

She had forgone her usual gardening hat—a well thought gift given to her by none other than her now brother-in-law, Cassian—in favour of savouring the first licks of light across the Night Court. The previous winter just gone had been disastrously frigid, and though it made for the excuse of spending excessive time with her youngest sister and her family, it had Elain realising how much she missed the delectable heat of the sun rays lighting down upon her skin as it did now.

Not that many of the others seemed to mind either of the two seasons, seeing as they ever rarely got sick of the snow-misted chill permeating the air, as was the usual of the Night Court. It always seemed to be a bit colder, the darkness of the shadows altering the very weather.

Which however ridiculous, seemed to reflect Elain’s innermost feelings—particularly how stagnant she felt. So unlike the liveliness of those around her who always had something to do, meetings to attend to, people of important standing to entertain.

It reminded her yet again of how desperately lonely she was, how much she missed the company of another.

She knew she had her sisters, and in addition their mates; she had the presence of Rhysand’s extended family and their Inner Circle; she even had Nuala and Cerridwen as her beloved friends—despite their occupation as Rhysand’s handmaids and their occasional spy work for Azriel.

But in conclusion, that was about it.

They each had their own lives and assigned jobs that they all had to attend to, and Elain was merely assigned to her own devices of gardening. Or baking, or babysitting Nyx.

Which, thinking of her nephew, he was bound to be causing a fuss with his mother right about now, who as Elain knew was currently communicating via missive with some delegate of the Human Lands. Despite herself, she entertained the thought of if whether her sister was writing to Lucien, and then immediately chastised herself for thinking so even though she didn’t know why.

Absently cleaning away errant clippings and debris of the patch of pansy’s she’d been tending to, Elain tucked them away into her basket along with her sheers and trowel. Standing, she straightened the skirts of her dress that was fashioned out of a used males tunic and brushed her soiled hands against the gardening apron she wore.

Collecting her things, she mindlessly stored her belongings away into the little nook shed off to the side of the deck, and proceeded on into the kitchen through the backdoor.

Cerridwen was already there, kneading some dough upon the counter.

Elain smiled softly at her friend, then looked around seemingly noticing the absence of her sister.

“Nuala’s tending to the princeling while your sister is finishing off some paperwork.” Cerri answered, before she could even ask. “Also, her High Lady told me to inform you that she will be leaving for her studio soon to deal with some matters.”

“Of course,” She murmured, squashing the oily sensation of shame that crept its way through her chest. “I’ll just go freshen up a bit, I think.”

She left but not before extending the offer to Cerridwen should she need any assistance, moving out from the kitchen and up the stairs to her room with the intention of the washing off the grime that had collected during her time outside.

Perhaps a cool bath would do, Elain thought.

Walking past Feyre’s painting studio, she couldn’t help but peer through the door to check on her sister. All manners of equipment lay strewn throughout the room, hazardously scattered amongst any piece of furniture it sought purchase.

Brushes lining easels, canvases upon tins of paint. It was all very chaotic—very Feyre.

As if in a summons to her thoughts, her youngest sister turned her head up at her presence and smiled brightly. She was wearing midnight blue coveralls and underneath a white tunic splattered with all sorts of coloured paints.

“Come in,” Feyre insisted,

Patting the vacant spot next to her at her work table, Elain ambled over and sat down beside her sister. There was ink and a quill laid on the space, along with errant pieces of parchment indicating that she was still very much busy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” Elain said apologetically, casting a smile over at her sister. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and if there was anything I could help you with?”

Feyre shook her head, waving an errant hand. “I’m not busy, I was just finishing off some last minute missives before I headed over to the studio. Which if you weren’t doing anything, you’re more than welcome to join me, if you wish?”

From the way her sister was smiling at her, Elain thought that there was perhaps other ulterior motives behind them merely visiting the Rainbow’s artist quarter. Storing her speculations away in the recesses of her mind, she agreed to accompany Feyre after bathing and changing quickly.

Elain just hoped that freshening up wouldn’t be attempting to do so in vain, only to be swept up in the firing line of paints, water or any other substances that would likely require her to shower again.

#࿓ brightheart.#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elucienweek2023 #prompt: nature

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tuberculosis-bot-9000 · 2 years ago

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Hatyazi va'Tizi

@accursedkaleeshi

The sailor baby, Mertenzi's second, quite possibly the most dramatic and emotional one I've written yet. (3369 words)

Mertenzi and Grievous’ second child was born in the summer of 32 BBY, one of the first to be born in the family temple Qymaen began building in his fleeting off-time. He was a fighter from the start, possessed of a warrior’s spirit that made grandparents happy and mothers nervous. He was eager to get out there, to see it all. He wanted to prove himself worthy of his father’s legacy from the moment he understood what it meant.

As Hatyazi grew, his scales darkened to a dark, rich brown leather contrasted by the smattering of burgundy across his face and back. His face took on a rogueish smirk and though he started gangly, he filled out nicely as an adult. He was who you thought of when you hear the word “scoundrel”.

As a child, Hatyazi was leader in many shenanigans. Though he was firmly in the middle child group, he had the charisma to get older siblings to listen and inspire younger siblings to do stupid shit. Everyone took one look at him and said “Wow, you’re just like your dad” with varying levels of admiration/pity. Mertenzi in particular saw her kid act like her husband who was currently working himself to death and hugged him a little tighter every time.

Needless to say, that is not was Hatyazi wanted to hear. He knew his dad was special. He’d heard the stories from Uncle Sk’ar and whichever Izvoshra member was over for dinner that night. He’d seen the way his father commanded respect effortlessly, how leaders from every corner of the globe stood a little shorter when Grievous was present. He’d even heard his father drunkenly refer to himself as a demigod one late night when he was definitely supposed to be asleep.

All of this culminated in Hatyazi developing an intense need to prove himself. He wanted to show the world that he was worthy of the weight that Grievous’ name held. The crushing legacy of a god pressed down on Hatyazi’s shoulders something fierce, and the only thing that lifted it was the look of admiration he saw in his siblings’ eyes when he pulled off something spectacular.

He never really got the chance.

At age 8, the family began to collapse. Deaths upon deaths weighed more than legacy. Grief mired them all. Some came out unrecognizable for it. Nobody escaped that whirlpool, and none could deny that everything had changed.

After Dad died, Hatyazi asked Mertenzi if he could go to live with her people. He’d known them some as a child. He knew their name meant Surf-Soothed. Maybe, he thought, they could soothe the pain that ripped his chest open with every breath. Mertenzi asked him if that was what he really wanted. The life of the sea is not for everyone. The family would miss you, Seashell. He nodded. I know, Mer’ma. I miss them all already. She pulled him close. Me too, Seashell. Me too.

Within the month, he had arrived on the shores of the bay the Surf-Soothed called Port and begun his new life with his mother’s people. At first, it was difficult for him. He was unaccustomed to the pitching of the ocean and the taste of salt in everything. But enough of his drive to prove himself remained, and he adapted.

Over time, the ragged edges of his grief were smoothed, like a stone on the seashore. It still hurt to remember, but it became easier to bear. He could put aside his pain to focus on his tasks. There is a saying amongst the miirmanja, “ease the hook”. When one is hooked, one must remove the barb carefully, or one risks causing more damage in one’s haste to remove the pain. Amongst the Surf-Soothed, Hatyazi had the chance to ease the hooks of his grief.

At 13, he had led the coming-of-age hunt of Mertenzi’s people and speared himself a Khelon, a big, mean, snapping-turtle sumbitch that frequented the mangrove shores. He crafted his ingdore out of the creature’s skull.

At 14, he was an accomplished sailor that could keep up with old dogs who’d been walking on ships longer than they’d known the land. He could climb faster than any and knew more knots than the boatswain. He was part of the family but more than that, he was part of the crew.

At 18, he asked his captain if he could take leave to visit his family. She, being his aunt, remembered her sister and the steadily growing sea of pups she’d seen her last with, and agreed. Hatyazi promised to be back before typhoon season and set off toward home for the first time in 10 years.

When he arrived, it was Jyada who opened the door and asked who he was and what he wanted. There’d been an absolutely insufferable amount of pilgrims to the family temple and her temper was already short. Hatyazi! Came the yell and Ayaan was flinging herself out the door to hug him. Jyada socked him one on the shoulder, then hugged him. You shithead! I thought you’d have run off with a mermaid by now.

Not yet, Jiji’ma. Thought I’d see my family before our honeymoon. Jyada laughed. You’ve got jokes now! Come on, everyone will want to see you. She dragged him into the house, Ayaan still clinging on like a barnacle. Reunions were happy and full of questions. How’s it been? Do anything fun? Why do you sound like that?

Then, he was being pushed into the kitchen and Mertenzi was rushing like the swell of the ocean to hold him again. He was taller than her now, and broader around the shoulders. His arms were pricked with tattoos and scars. His ears were pierced. She pulled him as tight as she could and he let her, because his mother was like the sea, and there is no stopping the sea. Oh, Seashell. It is good to see you again. She squeezed him again. You too, Ma. You too.

Hatyazi spent three months at home, catching up. He told his family about what he’d been up to, the things he’d seen. He told Mertenzi how her people were holding up in her absence, how his cousins and aunts and uncles were doing. In return, they told him how things had been since he had run off to the sea, as Alīka put it.

He got the last laugh when she ran off to space a few short months later. He stayed another week, then bid his farewells to his family. Typhoon season was fast approaching, and he’d have to make good time if he wanted to catch the yearly shoni run.

Hatyazi spent the next few decades with the Surf-Soothed, occasionally nipping back home to visit family. He lived at sea more than land, mostly working cargo ships and occasionally taking up the call of a whaler. By 30, he’d earned his own ship, a junk-styled ocean vessel he named The Mermaid. He did eventually leave the Surf-Soothed proper, but retained close contact with them.

Here’s a question: what do you get when you take an army of violent, righteously angry lizard people and then begin to systematically starve them? The answer: pirates. Lots and lots of pirates. By the time Hatyazi was leaving the Surf-Soothed, the endemic was reaching a head. Attacks were not a question of if, but of when. Coasts became warzones, smoking expanses of no-man’s-land.

Hatyazi began to feel that old burning need to do something. He could not stand idly by while depraved thieves, murderers, and slavers wiped villages off the map. The legacy of Grievous demanded it. For the first time in years, he was once again a pup at his father’s knee, hearing the exploits of his youth. He swore an oath in moonlight and blood to purge the seas of those dishonorable creatures that picked apart the careful tower his father had spent his life constructing.

The Mermaid became a common sight in the aftermath of pirate attacks, hunting with singular purpose. The game had changed, the paradigm shifted. No longer were the pirates uncontested. The hunter had become the hunted. The Mermaid struck hard and fast, three blood-red sails cutting through the smoke of battle or the fog on a moonless night to rip open the guts and spill the rotten entrails of pirate vessels.

When the Mermaid would make port, Hatyazi found himself a popular man. Rumors spread easily on the shores of Kalee, and everyone had heard of the man who hunted pirates. Even more, he was one of the war god Grievous’ brood and possessed a cunning shrewdness for battle on top of that. He inspired courage and terror in equal amounts.

After being led into an ambush he nearly failed to survive, he was forced to come to the realization he could not work alone. The miirmanja lived and died by their crew, and to truly succeed in bringing about his vision for peaceful seas, he needed to expand his operation. He began to capture ships rather than sink them, dumping the bodies of pirates overboard and freeing any slaves he found. More often than not, they chose to remain under his flag. His fleet gradually took shape and size, a bustling armada of creaking wood and rope.

Within 6 months, the burgeoning fleet had cleared the northwestern sea and once again pilgrims could travel to Shrupak Temple without fear. More than a dozen ships sailed under Hatyazi’s flag, every man sworn to the same articles. The mere mention of his flagship was enough to spook pirates into fleeing. And flee they did, for the safe haven of the Southern Ocean.

While Hatyazi had begun growing his fleet, a pirate had done the same. Yongtzi the Bloody was not your average pirate, not even your average pirate captain. He saw the storm approaching before even Hatyazi. A shrewd, vicious, utterly ruthless corsair, he headed the Black River Triad and used his flagship as a mobile headquarters for a pervasive organized crime syndicate. He ran his ship the same as he ran his triad: without mercy. Serving under him was dangerous work, but he made sure to reward those loyal to him heavily.

When the Mermaid began cutting down pirate ships, Yongtzi opened his arms to any corsair who sought safety in numbers. The Black River Triad became the Black River Fleet, all sailing under the coiling dragon flag of Yongtzi. The Fleet spread to dominate the Southern Ocean, establishing several havens for pirates. Yongtzi’s jewel was in the volcanic archipelago off the coast of the western continent, a nameless island once inhabited by a nomadic sea people. The porous nature of volcanic rock made it easy to carve dozens of hidden encampments, including a cave where he could hide his own opulent junk.

The Black River Fleet was far more organized than the single ships of starving raiders Hatyazi’s fleet had encountered, and their first true meeting was a rout. Hatyazi’s outriders happened upon three slave ships and set about to capture them, but southern ship construction favors larger, heavier ships over lighter, faster ones, and the Black River ships blew their assailants to splinters. This got the attention of both Hatyazi and Yongtzi.

Hatyazi’s fleet and the Black River Fleet skirmished more than a few times, each testing what the other is made of. Both came away more knowledgeable than before. In Yongtzi, Hatyazi found a cunning threat adept at warcraft, while in Hatyazi Yongtzi found an equal in intellect and a formidable enemy. By the depths of winter, the two began their dance of death in earnest. The seas ran with blood like never before.

With the spring came Hatyazi and Yongtzi’s first face-to-face meeting. Many times they’d glimpsed each other across the haze of battle, Hatyazi’s khelon-mask vibrant with streaks of paint and ash, Yontzi resplendent in finery and feathers. But now they were closer than ever before. Yongtzi had laid an ambush in the course of battle, creating a false opening on his own flagship that would entice Hatyazi to strike, then encircle him. It was elegant, but Hatyazi knew Yontzi’s tactics too well, and had prepared a contingent fleet earlier in the day to break the wall should Hatyazi become trapped.

In the thick of it all, their fleets engaged, Hatyazi’s ship struck Yongtzi’s. Hooks were tossed and boarding began. The defenders fought with ineffable ferocity, knowing if they failed Yongtzi would kill them himself. Hatyazi sprung into action, twin swords flashing. Yongtzi reclined in his quarters, attended by concubines even when men lied and died above them. There came a knock at the door. Yongtzi waved a servant to answer it. Hatyazi curled his lip at the repugnant decadence of the room.

“You must be Hatyazi va’Tizi. Defender of the north, scourge of pirates, a real thorn in my side. Come, let us talk.”

“I did not come to talk, Yongtzi.”

“And yet, we will anyways.”

They met face-to-face a few more times over the course of their war, exchanging words and wounds. While Hatyazi fought with dual lig swords, Yongtzi preferred a single-handed saber and tekpi dagger. Though Hatyazi had the last laugh with that particular weapon when Yongtzi buried it in his shoulder and it only came out when his wounds were being tended aboard the Mermaid.

At the height of summer Hatyazi and Yongtzi’s fleets came together in battle for the last time. The northern fleet had slowly and surely cut the Black River Fleet off from their havens and escape routes, encircling them at the bottom of the globe. It was to be the last stand. In the squalling ice floes of Grendaju, cannon and laser fire rent the gelid silence. The sky darkened and a blizzard swept out to sea, tossing the fleets in white wind.

Lightning split the sky, thunder roared like the gods themselves had been angered. Stinging daggers of half-liquid snow flew sideways, driving northerner and southerner alike belowdecks. Those foolish enough to remain above decks slipped off the flash-frozen decks and tumbled into the dark and hungry sea. Waves higher than ships scattered the fleet. Ships too close to floating icebergs were dashed to flinders, screaming crewmen going silent all too suddenly.

Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The sea went glass-like and still, not a hint of wind. The Mermaid floated alone, battered and ragged. Her foremast was entirely gone, her mainsail tattered. She drifted listlessly…

Thunk.

Hatyazi groaned as light seared the quiet darkness he had found solace in. Everything ached. His head felt like every motion was an ice pick. Somebody dragged him to his feet and he felt his ribs creak.

“Get up, you sad sack of shit.”

He opened his eyes. In the featureless gray light, he made out the face of Yongtzi.

“Oh. You’re not dead.”

“Fortunately for you. Everybody else, not so much.”

“Fuck.”

“Yes, that about sums it up.”

Yongtzi dragged him none too gently to the captain’s quarters where a fire bloomed in the hearth. Naval charts covered Hatyazi’s desk. The Mermaid was drifting slowly but surely southward to Grendaju. Hatyazi cursed. A week later, they made landfall.

It was… more peaceful than you’d expect of two diametrically-opposed leaders. They knew they’d need to depend on each other to survive. Grendaju was a bottomless maw of icy white teeth. Going it alone, especially injured, would be a death sentence.

For the first month, they survived in the belly of the Mermaid, breaking her down to fuel their fire and eating what provisions remained. Their maps presented Grendaju as featureless and uninhabited, but if it was accurate was questionable. By the end of the first month, they made a plan. They’d set out along the coast to see if they could find evidence of life. Salvaging what they could from the corpse of the Mermaid, they made a sled to carry their supplies, wrapped themselves in cloaks of sail, and began to beat track. Hatyazi bid farewell to the ship that had done so much and died so ingloriously.

Their fire died a week later. They’d kept it going as long as they could, feeding it scraps of wood and oil, but it died all the same. Shivering, they were forced into the same bedroll at night to gain any semblance of sleep. On their eighth day, they found a statue. A young woman, seated with her hands on her knees, stared interminably at the endless breaking of the sea. She was coated in rime and fresh snow, and below that, necklaces of beads and shells. They moved on.

Their second week, Yongtzi fell through a thin sheet of snowed-over ice, wedging him up to his waist in a crevasse. Hatyazi pulled him out but the fall had broken Yongtzi’s leg. He set it as best he could, but they both knew what it meant. Yongtzi stopped eating. He refused drink. One morning, he knew it in his bones.

He was dead before night fell. Before he went, he clung to Hatyazi’s chest and told him Make it, you bastard. If you don’t live, I’ll have died for nothing. Don’t pay me this insult.

He was laid to rest in a shallow grave, covered over in a cairn of stones, his tekpi knife stabbed into the frozen topsoil as a grave marker. Hatyazi shed no tears, but he was cold. He was so, so cold. Grendaju waited.

Hatyazi walked. And walked. And walked. It never got easier, even when the sled lightened. On the dawn of his third month on the ice, he just let go. The sled disappeared into the featureless white behind him. At noon, he collapsed. A blanket of clouds rolled over the sky, sprinkling fat white flakes across his back. He found he couldn’t care. Darkness washed over him.

He awoke to the gentle swaying of a ship and the crackle of a fire. Everything burned. Water, he croaked, water. Instantly, his head was lifted, and shouts sounded distant and vague. His mouth opened and a ladleful of water was poured inside, soothing his raw and ragged throat. He opened his eyes. Before him was his first mate, wearing…

“Is that my hat?”

“Aye, captain.”

“Why are you wearing my hat?”

“Everyone thought you were dead, captain. They made me captain, captain.”

He rolled the idea around in his head for a moment.

“Very well, captain.”

He lay back in his bed and let sleep take him again.

The next time he awoke, the air was warmer and thicker, fragrant with the scent of rainforest. He savored the taste on the back of his tongue. Birds called distantly and insects hummed, audible even over the slapping of waves against a hull.

“Where to, ca- Hatyazi?”

“Home, I think. Take me home.”

The temple was larger than last time, he realized. He walked alone, a bag slung over his shoulder, swords sheathed at his hips. He felt a funny sort of déjà-vu as he raised a fist to knock. A tall woman who could almost be mistaken for her mother save for the smattering of dyes staining her fingers answered the door.

Hey, Van. Is mom home?

Yazzi… She’s not well. We… your funeral was a week ago.

Ah.

Go. She needs to see you first.

Thanks, Van. I owe you one.

Shut up, you asshole. She gave him a teary hug, then shoved him through the door. He walked, silent, through the house. It was quieter than it had been the last time he was here. Emptier. Dimmer.

The family looked at him like they’d seen a ghost. Though he supposed they had. He stopped in front of the door to his parents’ bedrooms. He hesitated.

The door swung open.

Mertenzi was shorter than she’d been, and wizened by age. Her days of throwing nets were long behind her. She stared at his face through filmy cataracts. She reached out falteringly like she was afraid her fingers would pass right through him. Finally, they landed on the sides of his face, as warm and worn as he remembered.

Oh, Seashell.

#star wars #general grievous #qymaen jai sheelal #star wars oc #accursedkaleeshi’s giant awesome kaleesh family #you guys wanna get fucked up on sailor emotions??? i sure do

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