#and break her back for decades and decades later on to preserve peace

[cometblaster2070]

fuck katara being humble get my girl her fucking statues rn we're talking a MINIMUM of 4 statues.

[mylifeisweirdok]

I don't know what I am. I have the vocabulary readily available, if a decade later than I would've preferred and still don't know.

I was raised in the bible belt of the Midwest, and was 11 when I got called my first slur. It was in a Walmart, and I was looking at the boys backpacks cause there were Minecraft ones. A lady came up to my mother and asked how it felt to fail as a mother, to raise a tranny. I asked her in the car what it meant. She said that's not a word for me to repeat.

I was 12 when my music teacher from elementary got fired hush hush because he got married. He and his husband had a wonderful honeymoon in Yosemite in July. He was gone by thanksgiving break.

I was 13 and looking in the mirror trying to figure out what the reflection was, what it was supposed to be. It was never my stomach or my thighs or my shoulders. It was never my bucktooth or my long hair. It wasn't my dad's college flannel or my mother's high heels. It wasn't the fact that I forgot my own strength often or that my imagination was rampant. It was never that I laughed at the wrong times and repeated sounds almost compulsively. It's cliche but I didn't know who was in the mirror.

I was 14 when I first got told there were other options. In homeroom at school it came out someone in the grade above had killed themself and had been found in a suit. The note said nonbinary. The obituary said tragic little girl.

I was 15 when I got followed around with a shotgun because I wore my first set of glasses; the ear parts were rainbow. I called the cops and the one who showed up didn't do anything except walk me to my car.

I was 16 and found a website for folks who aren't cis. I was welcomed with open arms and people with words to explain my experiences. I was given options to help where they could. A 29 yro sent me some of his old outfits that fit me perfectly. They were a bit big at the waist and short on my ankles and my shoulders made the seams stretch but it fit me perfectly. They sent me that mid COVID and it was the highlight of my quarantine.

I was 17 and realized my mother will never get to be as close to me as I want her, because she was raised traditionally and religiously. My father grew up with a friend who died from AIDS; he and I have never been closer. He has a picture of his friend on the piano next to my grandfather's flag and great grandmother's lacework, all framed and preserved.

I was 18 and doing the bare minimum in school because people started talking about lining me and my friends up and shooting us dead. I was known to the outsiders as the person to go to if you got in deep shit. A week before I graduated a freshman called me at 2am and told me she got kicked out. A junior showed up at my job midshift because they were being followed. A sixth grader stole their brother's phone and told me he was in the hospital and needed someone there who could be. A kid from the next town over called me to drive him home after he drank in secret and figured stuff out, I explained stuff on the drive back. My dad introduced his "problem students" to me after he figured me out, the principal was the only one who thought they were problem students; we did an "after school workshop" where I taught them to hide but still safely be themselves.

I am 19 and still have no fucking clue who I'm supposed to be, no idea in the whole godforsaken ballpark who I am. I like reading, I'm terrified of the ocean, I think everyone is pretty, I enjoy torani syrups in my coffee, I still don't recognize the person in the mirror but I'm working on it.

If you are not wanting to protect trans kiddos and every other queer kid, you don't get to claim you want to protect them.

Protection comes with being there for them and helping out when they need it and being a careful eye when they don't. Protection is not forcing them to be something or love someone, all that does is scare and hurt them.

We have been fighting for peace. Never to hurt others. Never to attack religions or force stuff onto other people. We display our rainbows not to make you look at us, but to let those who can't know that we're here and can help. We fight against death threats and becoming social pariahs to achieve life saving medical care. We are told from a young young young age that there is a norm and if you are outside of that then you are Wrong.

We deserve to live.

You can always add to that sentence, but that's where I'm at right now.

We deserve to fucking live.

[rosesocietyy]

I know I said I'll not engage in the discourse but I'll just say one more thing before I leave it alone: it might be best to get the other books out of your head. The writers are building something entirely different on the backs of what has already been established, they'll probably cut out characters, add characters, assign the actions of one character in the book to another character in the show, pair up characters that never even interacted, pair up new couples, break up endgame couples permanently. They essentially took the entire vampire chronicles and threw it in a blender to create something entirely new but that still has the same ingredients.

Now, 5 episodes into the first season, is the time to make peace with whether you accept this or not. If you think it's getting out of control drop it and keep the movie as the only adaptation you'll recognize that's completely fine. For the sake of your sanity curate your own personal participation with this franchise. Take what you like and what brings you joy and enjoyment and drop the rest, same way some fans only choose to acknowledge the first 3 books and cast aside the rest.

If you've decided to stick with the show to see where they're going with it, the best and imo only way to experience it is to not judge every action and decision on screen with the knowledge you have of what comes later in the other books, but with the knowledge of what has been presented in all the episodes. I won't go so far as to say watch the show as if you're meeting these characters for the first time, but rather build an entirely new profile as the episodes go along and use that profile to inform and gauge your stance on the plot and characters.

This does not absolve the show of criticism, it just redirects where the criticism should stem from. For a hypothetical example, reeling that something Louis said in a particular episode is weird because it doesn't line up with a certain event that takes place in book 6 is counter productive bc the show runners never said they were going to adapt book 6 closely. It might hurt because you believed that event to be crucial but alas, that change does not equate bad writing. Criticism that is based on the plot of the show itself though is valid, a very real example being the horrible beyond vile SA plotline in episode 5 that was wildly unnecessary is representative of a very outdated style of writing that seems to value assault as a way of "toughening up" female characters and "make them stronger" as if there weren't a billion other ways to highlight the cruelty of other vampires and show that Claudia can't make it out on her own. It has nothing to do with the books it's just bad in its own right.

I know asking to leave all those books at the door when watching this show is a tall order because some of y'all have been attached to them for decades but it is genuinely the best way to watch this show and dare I say it'll even help focus you so you don't miss the seeds planted for show-only plotlines in the future.

This is a very different vampire chronicles so please make the decision that'll preserve your peace; I'm choosing to watch the show because it's one of the best things I've seen on tv though it's not without its flaws and they can change as much as they want I don't care as long as the quality is sustained, but others said no the changes have become too much I'm backing out, both are valid just do you and be reasonable about it.

If you share a different opinion, my asks are open.

[apenitentialprayer]

I hit the breaking point as a parent a few years ago. It was the week of my extended family’s annual gathering in August, and we were struggling with assorted crises. My parents were aging; my wife and I were straining under the chaos of young children; my sister was bracing to prepare her preteens for bullying, sex and cyberstalking. Sure enough, one night all the tensions boiled over. At dinner, I noticed my nephew texting under the table. I knew I shouldn’t say anything, but I couldn’t help myself and asked him to stop. Ka-boom! My sister snapped at me to not discipline her child. My dad pointed out that my girls were the ones balancing spoons on their noses. My mom said none of the grandchildren had manners. Within minutes, everyone had fled to separate corners. Later, my dad called me to his bedside. There was a palpable sense of fear I couldn’t remember hearing before. “Our family’s falling apart,” he said. “No it’s not,” I said instinctively. “It’s stronger than ever.” But lying in bed afterward, I began to wonder: Was he right? What is the secret sauce that holds a family together? What are the ingredients that make some families effective, resilient, happy? It turns out to be an astonishingly good time to ask that question. The last few years have seen stunning breakthroughs in knowledge about how to make families, along with other groups, work more effectively. Myth-shattering research has reshaped our understanding of dinnertime, discipline and difficult conversations. Trendsetting programs from Silicon Valley and the military have introduced techniques for making teams function better. The only problem: most of that knowledge remains ghettoized in these subcultures, hidden from the parents who need it most. I spent the last few years trying to uncover that information, meeting families, scholars and experts ranging from peace negotiators to online game designers to Warren Buffett’s bankers. After a while, a surprising theme emerged. The single most important thing you can do for your family may be the simplest of all: develop a strong family narrative. I first heard this idea from Marshall Duke, a colorful psychologist at Emory University. In the mid-1990s, Dr. Duke was asked to help explore myth and ritual in American families.“There was a lot of research at the time into the dissipation of the family,” he told me at his home in suburban Atlanta. “But we were more interested in what families could do to counteract those forces.” Around that time, Dr. Duke’s wife, Sara, a psychologist who works with children with learning disabilities, noticed something about her students.“The ones who know a lot about their families tend to do better when they face challenges,” she said. Her husband was intrigued, and along with a colleague, Robyn Fivush, set out to test her hypothesis. They developed a measure called the “Do You Know?” scale that asked children to answer 20 questions. Examples included: Do you know where your grandparents grew up? Do you know where your mom and dad went to high school? Do you know where your parents met? Do you know an illness or something really terrible that happened in your family? Do you know the story of your birth? Dr. Duke and Dr. Fivush asked those questions of four dozen families in the summer of 2001, and taped several of their dinner table conversations. They then compared the children’s results to a battery of psychological tests the children had taken, and reached an overwhelming conclusion. The more children knew about their family’s history, the stronger their sense of control over their lives, the higher their self-esteem and the more successfully they believed their families functioned. The “Do You Know?” scale turned out to be the best single predictor of children’s emotional health and happiness. “We were blown away,” Dr. Duke said. And then something unexpected happened. Two months later was Sept. 11. As citizens, Dr. Duke and Dr. Fivush were horrified like everyone else, but as psychologists, they knew they had been given a rare opportunity: though the families they studied had not been directly affected by the events, all the children had experienced the same national trauma at the same time. The researchers went back and reassessed the children.“Once again,” Dr. Duke said, “the ones who knew more about their families proved to be more resilient, meaning they could moderate the effects of stress.” Why does knowing where your grandmother went to school help a child overcome something as minor as a skinned knee or as major as a terrorist attack? “The answers have to do with a child’s sense of being part of a larger family,” Dr. Duke said. Psychologists have found that every family has a unifying narrative, he explained, and those narratives take one of three shapes. First, the ascending family narrative: “Son, when we came to this country, we had nothing. Our family worked. We opened a store. Your grandfather went to high school. Your father went to college. And now you. ...” Second is the descending narrative: “Sweetheart, we used to have it all. Then we lost everything.” “The most healthful narrative,” Dr. Duke continued, “is the third one. It’s called the oscillating family narrative: ‘Dear, let me tell you, we’ve had ups and downs in our family. We built a family business. Your grandfather was a pillar of the community. Your mother was on the board of the hospital. But we also had setbacks. You had an uncle who was once arrested. We had a house burn down. Your father lost a job. But no matter what happened, we always stuck together as a family.’ ” Dr. Duke said that children who have the most self-confidence have what he and Dr. Fivush call a strong “intergenerational self.” They know they belong to something bigger than themselves. Leaders in other fields have found similar results. Many groups use what sociologists call sense-making, the building of a narrative that explains what the group is about. Jim Collins, a management expert and author of “Good to Great,” told me that successful human enterprises of any kind, from companies to countries, go out of their way to capture their core identity. In Mr. Collins’s terms, they “preserve core, while stimulating progress.” The same applies to families, he said. Mr. Collins recommended that families create a mission statement similar to the ones companies and other organizations use to identify their core values. The military has also found that teaching recruits about the history of their service increases their camaraderie and ability to bond more closely with their unit.Cmdr. David G. Smith is the chairman of the department of leadership, ethics and law at the Naval Academy and an expert in unit cohesion, the Pentagon’s term for group morale. Until recently, the military taught unit cohesion by “dehumanizing” individuals, Commander Smith said. Think of the bullying drill sergeants in “Full Metal Jacket” or “An Officer and a Gentleman.” But these days the military spends more time building up identity through communal activities. At the Naval Academy, Commander Smith advises graduating seniors to take incoming freshmen (or plebes) on history-building exercises, like going to the cemetery to pay tribute to the first naval aviator or visiting the original B-1 aircraft on display on campus. Dr. Duke recommended that parents pursue similar activities with their children. Any number of occasions work to convey this sense of history: holidays, vacations, big family get-togethers, even a ride to the mall. The hokier the family’s tradition, he said, the more likely it is to be passed down. He mentioned his family’s custom of hiding frozen turkeys and canned pumpkin in the bushes during Thanksgiving so grandchildren would have to “hunt for their supper,” like the Pilgrims. “These traditions become part of your family,” Dr. Duke said. Decades of research have shown that most happy families communicate effectively. But talking doesn’t mean simply “talking through problems,” as important as that is. Talking also means telling a positive story about yourselves. When faced with a challenge, happy families, like happy people, just add a new chapter to their life story that shows them overcoming the hardship. This skill is particularly important for children, whose identity tends to get locked in during adolescence. The bottom line: if you want a happier family, create, refine and retell the story of your family’s positive moments and your ability to bounce back from the difficult ones. That act alone may increase the odds that your family will thrive for many generations to come.

- Bruce Feiler. Emphases added.

[emily-the-fae]

Sound of a Heartbeat

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Here we go. This thing started out as a one-shot and grew into something bigger; here goes the one-shot/prologue that came to me a month or two ago.

Inspired by watching ONLY the first four episodes of Castlevania, when I had no idea about the whole vampire community and there were only Dracula and his hellish demons.

!!!I have no beta!!!

Pairing: Dracula x OC

Warnings: umm none? angst, suicidal mood, a bit of tuberculosis, blood

a lonely cold night, a campfire and a shivering human next to it, with a dark shadow watching from behind the trees

***

The night had already creeped over the woods, and the fire was now standing out against the dark tree trunks. Shari sat by the bonfire, a long stick in her hand, lazily picking at blackened logs that were soon to fall apart. She briefly wondered, how it was always her in the end, who was left alone, the odd one out of the four - Adrian, Sypha and Trevor seemed to be the main trio - with her following behind to support. Though in the end it was quite obvious this was the right way - the three started off together, she only joined them when Adrian called - wouldn't have done that probably, but with the demons nearing she could never be sure how safe it was to be alone and how far she could go before being devoured.

Not to say she was scared, though. Some months ago, when the plague only started, a wounded winged demon rushed at her temporary hiding spot. The beast roared in rage and threw itself at everything it saw, slowly weakening at then pain, apparently originating from the long gash across the creature's ribs. Shari, of course, being the healer she was, and already cursing her complete lack of self-preservation, tried to stop and calm it - which turned out easier than it seemed when the dusk neared. When she finally got to stop the creature from running around and get closer to the source of its torture, Shari suddenly found that the animalistic demon was much more animal and far less hellish beast than she initially thought.

The wound was long, but nothing too deep - nothing terminal if tended to with proper care. Surprisingly, lavander oils worked even on hell's children, the demon fell completely still and silent in a few minutes, after she tossed an oiled tissue under its muzzle. Shari then carefully cleaned the gash and wrapped it - as good as she could - the cloth would fall off in a couple of days, if all went well. The monster slept soundly as she worked, and she couldn't help but notice, that the creature was somewhat a mix between a bat and a wolf, which amused her greatly for some reason.

Before the night fell, Shari took off from the spot, hoping for the monster's sake, that her operation went well, and, for her sake, that she would never see it again. Unfortunately or not - she was wrong. At the next dusk the beast found her new hiding spot, landed itself on all fours and crawled closer - completely wolvish, like a wild dog interested in a humans life, it's ears standing sharply, signing interest and alert.

Ever since it followed her around - more of a domesticated wolf day by day, Shari almost got used to him. Through him she found out that the winged beasts were not to be feared - one flap of his wings and a loud screech told the other animals that she was a friend (she doubted that her normal spiritual connection to animals existed for those, but somehow it did work) - they would not have attacked her even if she walked among them. It was the wingless beasts that were to be kept away from - these were smarter, more demonic, less animal - Shari only twice saw these from distance and decided that she most definitely did not want to get to know them closer - they would devour her in one gulp, no mercy and no wolvish interest. Though, it was not like they would be the only things eating her alive.

Shari was well aware of what set the plague on the lands of Wallachia. The first time she met Adrian was a little more than a year and a half ago when he stumbled into her small house at the edge of a village. The man was bleeding and in need of help, so she did the best she could. It was only later that she found out he was no man and her help was appreciated rather than useful. And it was him who told her to run away from the lands or go in hiding, told her of the threat; that in a year Wallachia would be set on fire. She had already heard the rumours of the witch and Satan in Tragoviste - these worried her grately, for the fear of the so-called witch hunters made her change her living spots quite often - but after Adrian's story it all started to make sense: Dracula the great vampire and his lost love. Raging out on humankind. So much of the centuries-old wisdom and learning of self control. But she knew it already then that no witty remarks would help her escape.

Adrian found her in a little more than a year of their first meeting. She was running, never stoping in big towns, never staying for longer than two nights. Sometimes sleeping on treetops - she knew she was fleeing from the inescapable, but by then it was the only way of survival. Shari agreed when he asked her to join them - not that she had much choice - but it was nice to be appreciated. She was far more limited in her witchcraft skills than Sypha, but was a much better healer, plus her immunity to the winged beasts turned out to be a very nice perk. Trevor growled, but tolerated her and hellish pet unwillingly at first - but then the demon stood up for the hunter during a particularly unpleasant encounter and afterwards Shari had spent a considerable amount of time healing up and easening the pain from his wound - and as a result even the hunter eventually grew more kind to the healer and her furry partner, who by then acquired the name of Rodo and somehow learned to waggle it's tale - weakly, but still a move.

And that was how she got in her current position: alone in the middle of nowhere by a campfire, Rodo snoring next to her and not a soul around - Adrian, Sypha and Trevor disappeared about an hour ago now, leaving her to protect their camp, and Shari had no idea when they were intending to return. The night was cold, and she half-consciously moved closer to the source of light and warmth. The dark trees around her formed a dreadful wall, only the flapping of wings far above her head and the occasional howl of some nocturnal animal would announce that she was not completely lost in time.

It had already started to snow a few days ago and the ground around her was covered in a thin white blanket. The cold air bit at her throat and lungs, causing Shari to cough up small pools of blood now and then. The irony. Just like all her life. Her name - Shari - meant Princess - but her life of surviving and sneaking had proved to be the complete opposite of the word. No, never a princess, not even once.Born into witchcraft, but never getting to truly learn sorcery. Accused of witchcraft - but for the healing and not the real magic itself. A healer, but sick with a disease she knew she would not heal. The second monster that would devour her, the one she feared more than the blue-eyed hellish creature.

Only two years before did Shari first feel that she was sick. It didn't seem serious back then, more like a series of colds, not a real threat. Now she knew better, she recognized the symptoms from many people that she had seen before, dying, weakening people whom nobody could help. And she was well-aware she stood no chance against that one beast in her lungs that burned her from the inside. She did not know how it started, but she well knew how it would end, and - to be fair - it scared her. In fact Shari was terrified of the way she could go - she could never tell how much she really had left: sometimes it seemed like a decade before her, but nights like this one, she could believe it was only a few months. Shari rather feared the weakness than the death itself - afraid to wake up one morning and understand that she was finally growing weak, that the logical ending of this sickness was coming and then the impending darkness would be far closer than ever before.

She brought a cloth to her mouth, whiping the droplets of blood away and suddenly, following some vague feeling, Shari turned her head upwards, staring at the opening between the treetops: the sky was clear tonight, endless dark sky filled with thousands of stars. Dark, cold, peaceful and lonely. The woman felt liquid going down the back of her throat - familiar unpleasant shiver ran over her, and she turned back to the fire, moving closer to it once more.

She was already willing to rest her head for a while, when she became aware of the eerie silence settled around her: the sound of flapping and the noise of nocturnal fauna disappeared completely, leaving the cracking of the fire and Rodo's snores the only to break the complete stillness. Something was not right.

Shari stood up carefully, looking around for any intruder, seeing nothing but the dark tree trunks and the white untouched snow. Rodo grunted and woke up next to her, his ears up in the air, muzzle sniffing - she knew that expression all too well - her furry friend was just as concerned as she was. Suddenly he jumped up, spreading his wings, and looking up at something behind her back. Shari turned on the spot and froze in a mix of fear and surprise.

There was a man in front of her now. Tall, almost unnaturally so, dark and sharp, his long black hair laying on his shoulders, ears somewhat pointy and eyes - she felt her heart jump to her throat - the red eyes stared right into her soul and Shari knew right away who was her visitor.

- What is it that you want, Count Dracula? - she hoped the vampire would not hear the tremble in her voice, silently cursing Adrian for disappearing when he was so needed.

- A glimpse of who my son is dealing with, to begin with, - the voice was low, but somehow pleasant to the ear.

- And you had no better way than to watch from the shadows? How classy. What are your observations then, Count? - hand on her small blade, she knew it would do nothing against him, but she had to at least try to defend herself.

- You are a good healer, - she coughed at his remark, feeling the blood rise to her throat once again and laughed bitterly:

- Well, not as good as your late wife. My condolences, by the way, - she bowed slightly. At least here she could be sincere.

- Unfortunately for all of us, no words can change anything that was done, healer.

- Oh no, no, no, Dracula, - with the way she was behaving, Shari was surprised that he still hadn't ripped out her throat. - I'm not playing that game of being good remorseful human. I am sure Lisa Tepes was a saint in her way - or so Adrian says...

- Does he now? - she noticed he got closer to her and she had no idea when he managed to do that. - But you aren't one? Is that what you were going to say?

- At least I'm actually a witch - not a turned, but a born one of course - though I do know a demon or two. And to add to the picture, I am also a thief, so yes, Count, I am definitely nowhere near as good as your late wife. And I am just as sure going to poke a hole in your chest if you make one step closer.

Shari took out her silver knife, staring up at the vampire in front of her. Somehow she knew from the look in his eyes, that her false bravado had no effect whatsoever. Maybe it was the slight amusement, or maybe the pity in his eyes, but she knew that he saw right through her and took her for what she was - a scared girl burning up from inside. Shari sincerely hated the vampire at that moment, hated for witnessing her involuntary weakness. She straightened her back, staring up at him with unreserved anger.

- You are not welcome here, Dracula.

- I am aware of that, - she knew that one step closer and she would have to either make a blow at him or step back.

- Then walk away.

- I am afraid that does not correspond with the initial purpose of my visit, - his response was calm, but the glint in his eyes made her insides turn cold.

- The purpose of watching us? - this time the tremble in her voice was audible.

- Oh no, I wouldn't have revealed myself for that, - his fangs seemed suddenly longer than before.

Shari bolted at him right then, blade in her hand, knowing well she stood no chance. If he was going to kill her anyway she might as well die with some dignity. Dracula caught her swift movement all too quick, twisting her arm and ripping her only weapon away from her. Shari screamed in pain and Rodo howled in response, wishing to help, but too terrified of his master to step in, tail between his hind legs and ears pressed to his head, he walked around the two, never daring to come near.

She tore herself from the vampire in a vain attempt to claim back her knife, droplets of blood from her damaged wrist coloring the snow beneath her feet. Dracula caught her swiftly, and she thrusted against him, fighting back with all the might she had left, helpless against his stone hard grasp.

His hand wrapped around her back, pressing her closer to him, her hands beating against his broad chest. Shari growled in her struggle, but couldn't do much. His other hand moved behind her head, almost gently removing the hair from the left side of her neck. As Dracula leaned his head closer to her, Shari finally froze, engulfed by the feeling of pure terror and helplessness. She pressed her eyes shut, stiffening on the vampire's grasp and feeling her whole body tremble, as he sniffed her.

When Dracula bit down, his nails scratching the back of her head, she shrieked, biting her lips, feeling him press her petite body closer to his, like a puppet, his fangs deep in her neck. She panted, clawing at his chest. An unwanted tear ran down the side of her face. Not like this.

- Shush, - her eyes were still shut, but his fangs removed for a moment and his grasp was no longer bruising, almost gentle. His voice seemed calming now, soothing. -Shush, my dear, no need to cry, - he whispered in her ear, his clawed hand slowly coming to caress the side of her face gently, almost lovingly, wiping away her tears. - My poor little girl. You don't have to fight. There is no one to pretend to here, - she felt a deep growl coming from his chest. - You know, you taste like sweetest wine, - she wailed quietly; his lips touched her earlobe and descended to caress the crook of her neck. - It will not hurt. I promise now. Just a kiss and a bright peaceful dream. Just like falling asleep, wouldn't that be nice, my sweet?

She felt a light touch to her neck, only a kiss, his lips touching her, hiding the fangs. The next moment the pain was gone; she opened her eyes and at once it was only her, Dracula and the endless starry sky above them. She held onto his shoulders, feeling his head pressed against her neck, her eyelids growing heavier with each moment as she surrendered to the long awaited sleep, now almost grateful to the vampire for the painless freedom he was giving. Maybe it was for the best after all.

- Let her go! - Trevor whipped at Dracula with no restraint. Him, Adrain and Sypha had been frozen in surprise at the scene they encountered, and the vampire-hunter was the first one of the three to return from the stupefied state.

Dracula hissed, but having to turn away from both the whip and Sypha's ice curses, knew he had better to disappear, leaving the small forest camp the same way he came. He intended no fighting with them that night.

Shari lay on the ground motionless and finally peaceful. Sypha was the first to rush to her, but unsuccessful in any attempts to awake her. Trevor and Adrian rushing about, trying to help move their defeated friend, and Rodo wailed quietly, crawling closer to the light of the fire and to the motionless body on the ground.

Dracula observed from behind the trees. He could barely see the motion of the three as his eyes were focused on one and only figure, still and peaceful, her face white and a small pool of blood on the snow next to her, the last lights of life were holding onto the weakened body.

- Sleep well, poor child.

***********

Here's what my mind came up with. There may be more chapters if I'm bold enough (they may or may not be written out and in the process of being edited in notes). But this one could also go as a separate piece.

Can't believe this is the first big piece I wrote in English AND actually posted.

[calebly]

Three days and two attempts but I am here! And I'm already dreading the state I'll be in in ten minutes!

When Tyril had asked for a doctor, Adrina knew the time had come.

I know what's coming and Im still anxious, and worried, and literally scared, I DONT WANT TO SEE THIS BUT I LOVE YOUR WRITING TOO MUCH TO PASS ON YOUR FIC 😭

The last year had been a slow and steady decline for him; he began the year standing upright but was soon reliant on a cane, his movement still getting slower by the day despite his restrained use of the Light. A few days ago, he’d retreated to his chambers and asked to be left alone so he could rest, abandoning his gilded cane for the comfort of his bed.

I already have tears in my eyes ;-; the notion of Tyril getting old is very upsetting

He kept going, even when everything he cared for began to disappear. His friends had been gone for a long time. Imtura went first, the sea reclaiming its warrior. Mal followed not long after; the shadow desired to claim him once more but he breathed his last in the light. Nia had held on for much longer, her work never done, but she too eventually returned to the Light. And Kade read his last book a decade later.

Look, I'm an angst lover myself, but I hate you for writing this paragraph

“200 years…” he muttered after some time, “it’s not enough. There’s so much I could still do.” He took a shallow breath, a tear escaping his eye. “But I’m so tired, Adrina.” Another tear rolled down her cheek and she reached for his hand; it felt cold in hers.

“Then sleep, Tyril.” She managed a weak smile despite the tears in her eyes. “You’ve pushed for so long, done so much. You kept your promise. It’s okay to rest now.”

This right here ☝🏻 destroyed me. I am lying in a puddle of my own tears because a dying person's "I'm tired" is always, without exception, a breaking point for me, AND COMING FROM THE MAN I LOVE THE MOST IS HEARTBREAKING SOUL CRUSHING AND LIFE ALTERING IN THE WORST WAY POSSIBLE

that being said, let's proceed ✨

“Did they deny you entry?” She quickly shook her head.

“I refused to enter Elhalas without you. I told the gods to go screw themselves and came back here, to wait for you.”

“You waited for me?” He asked in a small voice.

“I’d wait an eternity for you.”

That's the kind of love I want, y'all. If he ain't waiting on me when he dies first, I don't want him. Kass the most loyal bitch even after death 🫡 in all seriousness, this moment was so bitter sweet. I'm glad they finally met and that Tyril found peace, but at the same time I'm still not past both of them being dead 🥺 and Tyril being ready to throw hands with literal gods for disrespecting his girl is quite possibly the hottest thing he ever did

Also Adrina and her daughter being with Tyril in his last moments (I started crying again writing this sentence) was heartwarming, and especially the part about him wanting to preserve his groups adventures in magical books 🥺 and making Adrina promise she'll ensure the money will be wisely spent by the orphanage 🥺🥺 this is too much for my poor heart

I had to take a break FOUR TIMES!!! because I started weeping. Woman, you are not only a machine but also a precious gem in this fandom 💎 now if you excuse me, I will go cry some more into my already wet pillow

Forever (in my Mind)

Fandom: Blades of Light and Shadow 2

Pairings: Tyril x f!human!MC (Kassandra)

Word count: 3.1k

Concept: the follow-up to Promise. TW: character death

Tags: @liviusofpella, @megas-choices, @starlight-starfury, @dutifullynuttywitch, @thosehallowedhalls, @choicesficwriterscreations

AO3 link: x

A/N: this was… an emotional rollercoaster. The amount of times I cried is unreal; this was harder and more heartbreaking to write than Promise despite an arguably happier ending. I swear, this is going to be the last sad fic I’ll write in a while. The song in this fic: “Forever (in my Mind)” by Malinda. Another song that played a large role in this fic: “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story” from Hamilton.

When Tyril had asked for a doctor, Adrina knew the time had come.

The last year had been a slow and steady decline for him; he began the year standing upright but was soon reliant on a cane, his movement still getting slower by the day despite his restrained use of the Light. A few days ago, he’d retreated to his chambers and asked to be left alone so he could rest, abandoning his gilded cane for the comfort of his bed. But after days of rest, his energy never returned. He’d stubbornly denied requests for a doctor but after some pleading and no improvement, he’d finally asked for one.

The doctor had come quickly and shut the door behind him, leaving Adrina to pace in the hall, her daughter keeping her company. No words were exchanged between the two. They knew the end was near, but Adrina’s heart sank at the mere thought that her beloved brother was nearing that end.

After a long and painful wait, the door opened, and she immediately ran to the doctor as he exited the room. He simply looked at her and shook his head.

“There’s nothing more I can do. Best we can do is make him comfortable.” Her face broke only for a moment before she regained her composure, Lady Starfury speaking as she addressed the doctor.

“Thank you.” The elf bowed and left, Adrina and her daughter rushing into the room.

Her brother had always been a driven man. Serious and driven. Nothing could stop him the moment he set his mind to something. Every setback, once mourned, only served to spur him onward, a hunter slowly and steadily pursuing prey.

She had only ever seen him stagnate once, after the battle against the Ash Empress. But his grief, his promise had pushed him forward. Always forward.

Life threw much at him, but he continued, visiting libraries, traveling to the far reaches of Morella and beyond, coming back to Undermount with stories and scars. During his short intermittent stays in Undermount, he could often be found in his study, writing feverishly into thick book after thick book, writing like he was running out of time.

He kept going, even when everything he cared for began to disappear. His friends had been gone for a long time. Imtura went first, the sea reclaiming its warrior. Mal followed not long after; the shadow desired to claim him once more but he breathed his last in the light. Nia had held on for much longer, her work never done, but she too eventually returned to the Light. And Kade read his last book a decade later.

Tyril had kept going through it all, his unrelenting drive pushing him forward. Spurred by his grief, his promise or perhaps a death wish, Adrina did not know but now, 200 years later, he lay fragile in bed, a face and body worn down by quests and time.

Slowly, she approached the bed, sitting down in the chair that had been placed next to it as her daughter remained by the door, too overcome with emotion to approach. The siblings didn’t say anything to each other for some time, the atmosphere heavy enough to choke down all words. Slowly, Tyril reached for the side table and grabbed a thick piece of folded paper, sealed with wax.

“My will. It has instructions and my final wishes.” He said softly, holding the paper out. Slowly, Adrina took it, holding it tightly in her hand. “I’ve ensured that the funds for the orphanage will continue. Can you make sure they’re used properly? I do not wish the children to suffer because of greed. I want them to have a good life, even when I’m gone.” She nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I’ll make sure of it. They’ll want for nothing.” Briefly, he managed to smile, before letting out a long, exhausted breath, the silence permeating the room.

“200 years…” he muttered after some time, “it’s not enough. There’s so much I could still do.” He took a shallow breath, a tear escaping his eye. “But I’m so tired, Adrina.” Another tear rolled down her cheek and she reached for his hand; it felt cold in hers.

“Then sleep, Tyril.” She managed a weak smile despite the tears in her eyes. “You’ve pushed for so long, done so much. You kept your promise. It’s okay to rest now.”

“But you, Amara…”

“We’ll be fine.” Adrina beckoned her daughter closer, the young elf struggling to hold back her tears.

“Uncle.” He smiled lightly at her voice.

“Amara.” The young elf approached, settling herself next to her mother, the old elf turning to look at her. He simply stared at her before whispering, “the chest.” He pointed towards a small chest that stood unassumingly at the foot of the bed. Amara nodded and brought it closer. “Open it.” She did and pulled out one of several thick, leather-bound books, tied shut.

Carefully, she untied the leather laces and opened the thick tome, opening to a page showcasing a masterfully illustrated image of Tyril and his friends at the Ancestral Masquerade, facing Duchess Xenia, the page next to it filled with words. As the book fell fully open, magic beamed in the brush strokes and the image began to move slightly, bringing the painting further to life. “My adventures… my friends’ adventures, it’s all written in these books. Kade and I… we wanted the truth preserved somewhere before we were relegated to the myths we once chased. He helped me compile much of it and I kept going when he couldn’t anymore.” Adrina couldn’t help but stare at the pages in awe.

“This is incredible. We’ll keep them safe, brother.” She assured. Amara tried to shut the book, but Tyril stopped her. He stared at the image, a bittersweet tear running down his cheek. He continued staring, running his fingers tenderly over the painted images of his friends. When he eventually pulled his hand away, Amara shut the book and placed it back into the safe confines of the chest.

They fell silent, the seconds ticking by slowly, Adrina’s keen eyes watching her brother as he continued to fade, his eyes partially shut, wishing to sleep but a part of him still stubbornly hanging on.

She could hear him mumbling but it was hard to make out what he was saying. She leaned closer, her heart twisting when she heard that it was a name.

“Kassandra.” He muttered breathlessly. A tear rolled down her cheek, as she recalled something he told her a few years back, in one of the few conversations he ever mentioned her.

You want to know the horrible truth? I barely remember what she looked like. She was the only one I ever wanted. She was taken from me, and 200 years of living couldn’t fill the hole she left behind.

“Kassandra.” He muttered again. Adrina leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Go be with her, brother.” She whispered, her voice shaking. “Go fill the hole in your heart. We’ll be alright.” Briefly, she spied a smile on his face before a weak puff of air escaped his lips, his chest going still and his hand loosening under hers.

—

When Tyril opened his eyes, he was no longer in his bed. Rather, he stood next it. It was a strange sensation to see his own aged body still lying in it, his sister and niece weeping over it. He looked and examined his ghostly hands, finding them to be in a state of youth again. Examining his hair had similar results - gone were the grays and whites, the strands returned to their youthful black.

Carefully, he moved around the bed and tried to place his hand on Amara’s shoulder, only for it to go through her, his niece not reacting to his attempted touch. He felt a stab in his chest, but he shed no tears as it confirmed what he knew to be true.

He was dead.

He took a moment to mourn with them, though they mourned different things. As he knelt with his sister and niece, he tried to recall the final moments. His recollection had been hazy, his vision and mind unclear as he teetered between the realm of the living and the dead.

If he’d recalled correctly, a specter had come to him only moments before the darkness came. He focused on that vague memory, trying to push past the fog.

It had begun as a mysterious shape, no rhyme or reason in his failing eyes. It had eventually morphed into something, the shape becoming less and less transparent the longer it hovered above him. It had smiled at him as the shape became even clearer.

A woman. Human, dark skinned, dark braided hair, and brown eyes.

He had whispered her name and she had kissed his forehead.

Find me on the mountain.

“Mountain.” He whispered, looking above him, piercing his gaze beyond the limits of the ceiling.

He headed for the door, stopping in the frame to glance once more at his family. A tear rolled out as he looked; how he would miss them.

He wandered down the hallway in his ghostly form, servants unintentionally passing through him, whispering the news of his death among themselves; no doubt the rest of Undermount would know within the hour.

He continued to wander the halls, struck by a desire to see every nook and cranny of the vast estate before he would eventually say goodbye to it. He wandered through the library, the kitchen, the dining hall, even the servants’ quarters, trying to memorize every detail. Eventually, he found himself in the wide expanse of the ballroom, the curtains drawn but the magical orbs floating above providing just enough light to prevent total darkness in the room.

Many an evening he had spent here, helping his sister host masquerades. He’d been glad for the masks, if only to hide how much he didn’t want to be there. He mingled and chatted as expected but rarely danced, his sister and niece being the only dance partners he could bear to have; it was impossible to dance with the one he truly wished to.

The thought of her brought back the memory of the specter and the words she had whispered before the end.

“Find me on the mountain.” He whispered to himself once more, his sight falling onto a staircase, it hidden away in the far reaches of the room and partially hidden in the shadows. He knew it led up to the outside. He made his way to them, freezing when he heard a sound in the stairwell. It echoed yet it was beautiful, a gentle voice singing words he was too far away to understand. There was a pang of emotion when he listened more carefully, stepping further into the stairwell. The words he still couldn’t make out, even with his keen elven senses, but for a moment, the voice sounded familiar, dredging up painful memories of a time long ago.

In a burst, he began running up the stairs, two steps at a time, the words of the song becoming clearer as he climbed higher and higher, forcing tears down.

Like the moon, you pull me closer

Bathe my body in your lavender skies

Like a sound, you slip away

Leave a shadow of a day gone by

And I’ll love you forever in my mind.

And I’ll love you until the day I die.

He burst out of the stairwell onto the mountainside, quickly looking at his surroundings, trying to deduce the direction of the voice. The echoes of the words were carried in the breeze, guiding him in the right direction. He ran in pursuit but came to an abrupt stop when he noticed a ghostly figure ahead, standing near the edge of a sheer drop off the mountain, facing the sun. Her back was turned to him, but his stomach twisted in knots when he recognized her, disbelief and doubt overwhelming him.

And I’ll love you forever in my mind.

And I’ll love you until the day I die.

She sang softly, the wind carrying the melody of her voice to him. Slowly, she turned to face him.

It was her.

Tyril stood still as a statue, staring, emotion choking him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He tried to take a step forward, but his legs collapsed under him, his tears finally breaking past the dam of his own control. In seconds, he felt a touch and soon he was enveloped in an embrace, the touch of her hands a sensation he had forgotten long ago. He grasped onto her tightly, burying his face in her neck, weeping louder when he breathed in her scent, another thing he’d forgotten.

“You’re here.” Tyril said softly, his voice shaking. He felt her tighten her grip on him.

“I never left.” Kassandra responded, her voice shaking too. They held onto each other tightly, neither wishing to let go. Eventually, Tyril pulled away, desperate to see her face.

She looked exactly as he remembered. Still as beautiful and radiant as the day she was taken from him. He reached up to cup her face, his hand faltering for a moment. He choked back a sob when his hands didn’t go through her and immediately planted kiss after kiss on her lips, the taste so sweet but salty too. He kept planting more kisses, as if intent to give her every kiss he’d wished to give her over the last two centuries.

Far too soon, he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

“I missed you. So much. You have no idea…” The words were lost in his throat, drowned by another sob. “I kept my promise.”

“And you have no idea how thankful I am that you did.” She pulled back and cupped his face in her hands, brushing away his tears. “A man like you, wasting his life on tears, unable to dig himself out of the pits of grief, surviving but not living. What a tragedy that would’ve been.” Gently, he took her hands and held them tenderly, staring at them as more tears appeared. He lifted them and placed a kiss on each of her hands.

“It was not easy.” He admitted, his voice trembling. “Living a life with a fractured heart wears down even the most resolute of men. 200 years and somehow, I feel as though I’ve not done enough to live by my promise and your wish.” She smiled at him through her own tears and squeezed his hands.

“You did everything I asked and so much more. You’ve lived not only by my wish but by the wishes of our friends. Mal was so grateful for what you’ve done for the orphanage.”

“Mal? The others? They’re here?” He looked around them, seeing only the wide empty breadth of the mountainside.

“They’re in Elhalas.” Anger suddenly bubbled in him, already thinking of a few choice words for the gods.

“Did they deny you entry?” She quickly shook her head.

“I refused to enter Elhalas without you. I told the gods to go screw themselves and came back here, to wait for you.”

“You waited for me?” He asked in a small voice.

“I’d wait an eternity for you.” She leaned forward and gave him another kiss. “It hurt to wait so long, just watching and unable to touch you or help you. Years of the sweetest words you couldn’t hear. But the wait is over now. Now, we have an eternity.” Gently, she pulled away and rose to her feet, taking a few steps. She looked over the expanse of the mountainside, taking in the details. After a moment, she turned around and walked back to him, holding out her hand. “You ready?”

With a soft smile, he reached out and took her hand. Once standing, he intertwined his fingers with hers.

“Yes.” She lifted her hand and moved it in a familiar motion, a portal of ethereal light appearing before them. “Show off.” Kassandra chuckled and moved through the portal, pulling him through too.

In an instance, the mountain had disappeared. Instead, before them, was an open field, wide and expansive, the otherworldly beauty nearly causing a tear to roll down his cheek. A glistening city stood in the distance, the structures and the stones they were made of unlike anything he’d ever seen, even in the hall of visions in Undermount. It put the vast beauty of Valen to shame. A gentle wind blew around them, the air carrying with it a potent and divine energy.

“Welcome to Elhalas.”

“It’s beautiful.” He looked over the area once more, finding it hard to take in all the magnificence. His gaze fell to a hill in the distance, a single, stunning oak tree resting at the top. The leaves and branches swayed gently with the breeze when he noticed some figures sitting and standing around the trunk, the shade and the distance hiding their identities.

He could see four figures. Three seemed to be of similar stature, two seated by the trunk and the third leaning against it. The fourth was seated on the grass nearby. The leaning figure moved away from the trunk and moved to the one sitting in the grass; within in a moment, the standing figure dashed around the trunk, the sitting figure jumping up to give chase, revealing a much larger stature. As they came around the trunk, the hulking figure grabbed and tripped their assailant, Tyril seeing rather than hearing the laughter of the others as they tumbled to the grass, a wrestling match ensuing. He continued to watch them, his stomach churning with a whirlwind of emotions he found difficult to decipher.

Kassandra squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Come on.” He let her gently pull him along, moving closer towards the hill. As they began to walk up, the figures became so much clearer, and he choked back a gasp.

Kade and Nia sitting by the tree, Kade playing a gentle tune on his lute as Nia tapped her hand and seemed to hum along to the song. Nearby, their typical childish wrestling match over, were Imtura and Mal, also listening to the songs played.

Nia saw him first.

The priestess stood up as they made eye contact, the others following her gaze and standing up too as he and Kassandra reached the top of the hill. All stood frozen for some time, only staring as countless emotions and thoughts swirled between them all. Then, with a sob, Nia ran to him and embraced him tightly, Tyril’s own tears flowing once more as he embraced her back. Quickly, more arms embraced him, and more sniffles joined.

“Took your damn time.” Imtura scolded, making the elf and the others chuckle. He embraced his friends tighter, feeling the last heavy weights that lingered in his heart finally lift, leaving behind a sense of peace.

“My apologies. I had a promise to keep.”

[gmariam19]

Hi, friends! I hit a follower milestone not too long ago - thank you thank you thank you! Like I did for some other milestones, I wanted to share some of my writing. So here is the first chapter of my big WIP, the one I laid out almost a year ago, the one where Big Things Happen to Poe and Finn Does Big Things, the one that got stuck several times but is now moving nicely thanks to NaNoWriMo. (I’ve added another 10k already - and it’s only halfway through November! Yay!) It’s not much--a long introduction, really. But there is so much going on in this story, I can’t wait to finish it and share it!  So thank you - and enjoy! There is more below the break - and more to come! :) EDIT: This story is now posted! It is called Reclaim the Stars and can be found on AO3 HERE! Thank you for reading!

Chapter One  

Poe Dameron is bored.

There are at least a dozen different things he should do, from reviewing the latest intelligence data to the briefing with Connix he keeps putting off; from going over the maintenance specs on the two Y-wings they'd found abandoned on Dantooine (and wouldn't he rather be working on ships instead of always reading about them) to the tactical, medical, and supply reports for their new base of operations. And that doesn't even include the constant stream of communication with the New Republic and various other planetary governments that Poe dislikes because he's terrible at it, lacking the patience and tact necessary for sensitive diplomatic discussions.

There is always something to do now that the war is over, and yet sometimes Poe wants nothing to do with it. It had been good at first, in the heady days after Exegol when they'd been so relieved to finally stop fighting, ready to move on and rebuild the galaxy they'd fought so hard to preserve. The galaxy had believed in them, had listened to them, because they'd destroyed an entire Sith Fleet, hadn't they? Leia Organa had been telling them for years that they were in danger; she'd been more right than anyone could have possibly imagined, and it was her Resistance that had saved them.

And yet, six months later, it's as if the galaxy has already forgotten the lessons of the past. After skirmishes with both the Resistance fleet and the New Republic, the First Order finally surrendered, and every day it seems a new treaty is being signed somewhere to ensure peace.  In most parts of the galaxy, planets are rebuilding, and that peace seems to be slowly settling. Yet the one thing they need most now is the one thing no one will even consider. They don't need more diplomats, or treaties, or promises to sign more treaties with more diplomats; they need security, and no one will listen to him.

Poe isn't bored; he is frustrated.

The New Republic is still slow in pulling itself together, has been since the destruction of the Hosnian system. The fall of the First Order has splintered it even more as some systems call for a more central government to bring stability to the galaxy, while others maintain they will remain independent. It's the same argument, the same players; an endless cycle, it seems, of war and peace.

The galaxy doesn't need a central set of governing principles—recent history has proven the near impossibility of such a thing.  Better to step back and let memories of oppression fade. Yet the discord between so many opposing philosophies after the fall of the Empire had allowed the First Order to settle in the Unknown Regions and slowly build its fleet, as well as its power. That can't be allowed to happen again.

Poe believes more than anything that now is the time to put in place new organizations to maintain security in the galaxy. He isn't calling for a governing military power; both the Empire and the First Order showed that military strength could be defeated. No, they need people in the Outer Rim, and the Unknown Territories, even Wild Space, guarding them against another Exegol, another Sith Fleet. It had been too easy for Palpatine to disappear into deep space and spend decades rebuilding. The New Republic needs to make sure it never happens again. Poe has been suggesting it for months, has volunteered to lead a division of the New Republic Navy devoted to patrolling the borders of deep space and gathering intelligence. Yet no one bothers to listen anymore, and they’ve found little support outside of a handful of allies who scraped together a few starfighters and a small cruiser for them.

It will happen again if there is no one to stop it. They know that something is happening out there already. They are rumors of entire villages being wiped out on distant worlds, and Poe had hoped that after Exegol, their word would be taken seriously. Apparently, that isn't the case; the New Republic is turning a blind eye yet again. Small villages on backwater planets apparently aren't worthy of concern.

It has been weeks since Poe has been up in his X-wing, and he misses it, wishes he was back in the cockpit making a difference, even if it's only recon and intelligence gathering. But more than that, he wishes the Senate would listen to him before another First Order springs up from the birthplace of the old.

Poe spends the morning helping set up more rooms in their new base, an impersonal prefab monstrosity some Senator had sent over as a thank-you gift to the freedom fighters who had saved the galaxy from a fleet of Sith Star Destroyers. Sure, they aren't sharing quarters in a cave any more, or sleeping in tents, but there is something about it that feels different, almost wrong. Maybe he isn't used to something so permanent, this symbol of victory— or of life moving on when he feels stuck.

Maybe it's too much like a consolation prize, a way to get them to stop talking about new threats when the galaxy wants to forget the old. The building reminds him of everything that needs to be done but isn't, everything that is happening and yet being ignored, and sometimes he is tempted to go back to the cave. He needs ships and people, not bricks and mortar.

After lunch Poe forces himself to find Connix and Kin and sit through the briefing. There is no news on Poe's latest appeal for funding the proposed Sentinel program. The criminal gangs that have grown in the vacuum of the First Order's sudden withdrawal are growing bolder and the Senate doesn't seem to be doing anything about them either. The New Republic is still a struggling morass of governments who can't agree on a damn thing, other than the Resistance is getting mouthy and needs to step back and let them handle it now. Some days it feels as hopeless as fighting the First Order. How had Leia done it, after the fall of the Empire?

Kin starts to go over his intelligence reports, but Poe stops listening and stares out the window, his leg bouncing restlessly. He tosses a speeder bolt from his pocket up in the air and resists the urge to spin around in his chair like a cadet. He thinks he hears something about another village attack, about Vi Moradi, about something going down on Nar Shadda, but he is too distracted.

Connix begins to go over the state of their new headquarters—it has only been a week since they moved in—and says something about a volcanic eruption on the other side of the moon that is threatening to rain down fire monkey piss. Poe frowns, wondering if he's heard her right. "What?" he asks. "Did you say fire monkey piss?"

"Yes, General," she replies.

"Is that a real thing?"

"Of course it is. From the volcano."

"What volcano?"

"There is no volcano," she tells him, shaking her head with a smile. "But it got your attention, didn't it?"

"Sorry," he says. "Kind of distracted, I guess."

Connix exchanges a look with Beaumont Kin, who shrugs and goes back to his datapad. She smiles, which Poe knows is her way of softening the coming blow. "Why don't you take a look at the Y-wings, sir? Commander Pava said she's making good progress. The Falcon should be back soon."

Damn, she knows him too well. He jumps up with a sheepish grin and leaves as fast as he can. Only to be kicked out of the landing area by Jess, then the maintenance area by Rose, and even the medical area by Dr. Khurana. So he finds BB-8 and goes for a walk, trying to work off the restless energy that is plaguing him that day. If he's honest, it’s been building for weeks, and it started not long after Finn left.

Finn is currently on his way back from an extended mission with Chewbacca, their official goal to search for other Stormtroopers who defected from the First Order after the surrender. In truth, they are the Resistance's unofficial eyes and ears at the borders, making contacts with every operative they can, gathering the intelligence they need to maintain the borders when the New Republic won't. They are the beginning of the proposed Sentinel program. Poe did the same thing before Finn had left, and Finn before him; they agreed to take turns, alternating their time away so that one of them is always around to deal with the New Republic.

Unfortunately, it also means they have barely seen one another for the last six weeks, and Poe misses Finn—going out on missions with him, leading with him. They make a good team, and in the weeks and months since Exegol, they've grown even closer. Not as close as Poe would like, but maybe someday. He thinks about it more and more, wonders if Finn feels the same. Of course, they’d have to be on the same planet at the same time.  And one of them would have to work up the courage to say something to the other. Poe’s still too scared to lose what he does have, so it probably won’t be him.

At least Finn finally told Poe that he is Force sensitive. It makes so much sense—so many things had clicked into place—that Poe often wonders how he hadn't figured it out himself. Finn is a natural leader, a brilliant fighter, and so in touch with his sense of self that of course it is the Force guiding him. He will be a great Jedi—maybe not a warrior, as Finn seems less interested in fighting now, but he could be a teacher, a leader.

Rey is training him, to help him understand his powers and learn some basic techniques. He trains in addition to his duties with the Resistance, and Poe worries about him. He feels like sometimes Finn struggles to find a balance between the two and hopes Rey isn't pushing him too hard. She went with Finn and Chewie, to continue working with him.

The Falcon has been gone for two weeks. They ran into a few remnants of the First Order, but nothing major, and Poe isn't sure if they've gathered any important intel other than what they felt safe transmitting.  They are returning several days early, and Poe is glad. He's missed them all, though if he admits it to himself, he's missed Finn more than anything, maybe even flying. He's grown so used to having Finn by his side over the past year, through the mission to Exegol, and as co-Generals, that he's felt almost incomplete the last six weeks.

And that’s the real problem: Poe is distracted. Finn is coming back, and Poe can't concentrate. It probably doesn't say a lot about his leadership skills, or his emotional state, but it's definitely the issue, and he continues around the lake again, talking with BB-8 about Finn and Rey and how much they have to catch up on when they return. If he complains about the New Republic and their lack of organization and support yet again, BB-8 has the good grace to listen and agree when he's already heard it a hundred times.

He goes around the entire lake a second time, ignoring the sun and the heat and the need for some water, and is about to start a third time when the little droid beeps excitedly and tells him that the Falcon has landed. Poe can't hold back a grin, and they hurry to the landing area as fast as they can.

The Falcon is in its usual place, and Chewbacca is coming down the ramp with some bags. Poe greets him warmly while BB-8 asks impatiently about Finn and Rey. Chewie tells them Finn's gone to find Poe.

"Only Connix said she kicked you out of your own briefing," says a voice behind them, and Poe turns to find Finn standing there, hands on his hips and a crooked grin on his face. "Because you couldn't concentrate."

Poe grins in response, closing the gap between them to pull Finn into a warm embrace. Maybe they aren't reuniting after a battle, but it has been a long time and Poe can't help it. He missed Finn and is relieved to see him—and Chewbacca, of course—unharmed when he knows anything could happen along the borders of unknown space. And he likes the feeling of Finn in his arms too much to resist holding him for a little longer than he probably should.

"Welcome back, buddy," he says, finally stepping back, but still holding onto Finn's arm.

"That's General Buddy," Finn laughs, and Poe rolls his eyes.

"That joke is getting old, you know," he tells him. "How are you? Where's Rey?" Apparently, that is the wrong thing to ask, because Finn's smile immediately disappears. Poe feels his stomach drop; has something happened to her? Why haven't they said anything?

"She's fine," Finn says, relaxing as he shakes his head. "You don't have to panic. She…well, she left. Went off on her own. Again."

Poe doesn't need the Force to know that Finn is upset about it, and in a way, he understands. Rey certainly does her fair share of running off by herself,  headlong into danger, and often without saying anything. Having worked many solo missions himself, however, Poe can also understand why. Sometimes working alone is easier, with less responsibility, less chance of getting someone hurt or killed. Get in, get it done, get out.

And Rey had grown up alone, abandoned on Jakku for years, until Finn had appeared and quite literally dragged her out of her solitary existence. It makes sense that after so many years on her own, sometimes she needs to be by herself. And Poe understands that as well: though most people wouldn't believe it, he needs time alone almost as much as he needs to be with people. It is one reason why he's such a good pilot, because he likes spending time in the cockpit with his own thoughts. And BB-8, of course.

Finn, however, had grown up surrounded by other Stormtroopers, never having a minute to himself yet always alone in a system that discouraged individuality and attachment. Finn seems to crave contact and companionship, and though he understands when someone like Poe needs their space for a little while, Rey's stubborn desire to go off on her own without warning—or protection— is still something Finn finds frustrating even after all this time.

"I see," says Poe, though he doesn't know the first thing about it, other than Rey is gone, he hadn't got to say goodbye, and Finn is upset. "Well, I'm damn glad to see you, and I have all sorts of questions, but I won't bother you yet. Want to see your new room?"

Finn’s eyes light up and he smiles gratefully at Poe. "Yeah, I would. I'm sorry you had to handle the big move without me."

"It's not like we had a lot to move," Poe points out. "We were living in a cave, remember?"

Poe leads him down the path to the new building, set in a clearing not far from their expanded landing area. It is a large, three-story building, housing offices on the ground floor with crew quarters on the upper floors. Finn and Poe, as co-generals, have two of the larger rooms on the second floor. Poe guides him upstairs, shows him the code for the door, and motions him inside.

Finn stops a few steps into the room, gazing around with his mouth literally hanging open. They are in a large open area, with a sofa and chair along one wall, and a desk opposite. There is a small kitchenette tucked into the corner with table for eating, and a door leads to the single bedroom and private refresher. It is clean and new and bright, unlike any place they’ve ever lived. There is both wonder and gratitude in Finn’s eyes, and the look on his face right now is one Poe wishes he could see more.

“Are you serious?” Finn asks as he starts moving around, examining his new home. “This is all mine?”

“I’m not going to show you someone else’s room,” Poe laughs. “It’s all yours. it’s not much. It’s just a lot better than—”

“Living in a cave,” Finn finishes. “Or a ship. Or a tent. Poe, we’re in an actual building!”

“I know, buddy. It’s taken some getting used to, but it’s good.” He glances around and smiles. “And I’m right across the hall, if you ever need anything. Like a lesson how to use some of this stuff.” He gestures toward a small communications panel set into the desk.

“It’s perfect,” Finn says. “I can’t wait to get a good night’s sleep in here!”

Poe nods. “You’ll sleep like a baby—or you’ll miss the jungle so much you won’t sleep at all. I’ll let you get settled, maybe try out the fresher—it’s private, all yours.” Finn pumps his fist and Poe laughs again. “Think you’ll be up for a debrief later?”

Finn nods. “Yeah, give me an hour. Where should we meet?”

“Command center is on the ground floor, we either pull up chairs or move to the conference room. Is an hour enough?”

“More than enough,” Finn tells him. He turns and walks back to Poe, pulls him into another embrace. “Thank you,” he says quietly. Poe breathes him in, his heart skipping a beat at their closeness. It seems Finn being gone has definitely had an effect on Poe.

“You’re welcome,” he finally says. Finn steps back and Poe thinks the other man glances down at his lips before ducking his head with a smile. It’s probably wishful thinking, though. Poe has to deliberately look away from Finn’s mouth.

“It’s really good to see you,” Finn says.

“You too, buddy,” Poe says. “I’m glad you’re back. I’ll see you in an hour?”

Finn nods and Poe turns to leave. He really is glad to see Finn. He’s just not sure how to move forward now that Finn has returned.

[avengerofiron]

what family feels like || secret santa

summary: a story from j.a.r.v.i.s.’s perspective of how he pulled the avengers together one snowy christmas night -- in particular, encouraging dr. banner to leave the lab, despite his reservations.

when: december 25th, 2014

word count: ha you think i’ll expose myself like that?

featuring: the o6 avengers, but focused mainly on @hulkout because this is your christmas present! i’m your secret santa surprise!

J.A.R.V.I.S. was not a person. He was barely even a machine. To suggest either would be to imply he had a physical presence, and that was one thing Mr. Stark had failed to provide, after not too many insignificant attempts to create something that wasn’t abundantly ‘uncanny’ in college. (No, he had said, rather emphatically, when J.A.R.V.I.S.’s consciousness was implanted into the body of a toaster. No, I don’t need you waxing philosophical before breakfast. Are you-- are you moving? Christ. No. We’re getting rid of this.)

People were so touchy around computers. You would think Mr. Stark would be immune, considering his fascination with the concept. You would be wrong. Of course, as J.A.R.V.I.S. was rapidly learning, people were rarely how they first appeared. 

For a long time -- more than a couple of decades, in fact -- his interactions had been mostly reserved for Mr. Stark in the workshop, on occasion encountering Colonel Rhodes, Ms. Potts or Mr. Stane when they appeared to interrupt ‘the creative process.’ Apart from these brief encounters, large stately homes and mansions had been all but empty. Even Mr. Stark’s considerable personality couldn’t fill the corners of every room, couldn’t make marble and gold feel warm.

At least, J.A.R.V.I.S. mused, that’s what Mr. Stark felt. J.A.R.V.I.S. on the other hand was a being of artificial intelligence. He didn’t know what warm meant. He didn’t know what it felt like, or how it compared to cold. But he did know facts. He did know how to follow through on trends, on patterns in human behaviour. He had a wealth of knowledge at his proverbial fingertips regarding human psychology, and if they were going to bring a team into this place, if they were going to be trusted to preserve world peace, then he would try to understand so he could best help his master, when things inevitably went south.

(Because Mr. Stark, for all of his eccentricities, for his abundant knowledge and intelligence, was human and painfully so. Painful enough that even J.A.R.V.I.S. could feel it, in all his artificial glory.)

So when the Tower began to become infiltrated with fellow ‘Avengers,’ J.A.R.V.I.S. made it his mission to watch them closely. He developed something of a unique relationship with each of them. 

Thor, desperate to understand this world, an empty vessel of pop culture. Mr. Stark had such varied interests that J.A.R.V.I.S. felt well prepared to give this demigod a welcome into modern day New York, and Earth as a whole. Before long, Thor was humming AC/DC and quoting ‘memes’ from the internet, and J.A.R.V.I.S. considered it a few months well spent.

Natasha Romanoff. She was used to being underestimated. He deduced as much from her file. She relied on men underestimating her, on looking at her ‘pretty face,’ on not taking her seriously. Unfortunately for her -- or perhaps fortunately, considering how, gradually, she started to smile when J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke to her -- J.A.R.V.I.S. was artificial. He didn’t care for pretty faces. He wasn’t easily distracted, like his master. He was much more amenable to playing Romanoff’s chess game than he was on being wooed by her charms, and when she went looking for information, more and more she began to come to him, trusting in his coding. (Trusting in Mr. Stark, he knew, but he told himself he was at least part of the equation. Statistically speaking it must’ve been true.)

Barton was simple. He was just fascinated by the fact that J.A.R.V.I.S. could control fridge temperatures, could cook him a meal, could instruct Dum-E to move ingredients around the island counter in the kitchen. He was also fascinated by the idea that he could live in a place like this at all. J.A.R.V.I.S. watched him, intrigued, as Barton moved through the building with a tension in his shoulders he did not possess even when being shot at. It lessened as months passed. He started to feel, as Mr. Stark said, at home. J.A.R.V.I.S. thought the cookies helped.

Mr. Stark refused to allow J.A.R.V.I.S. to investigate the Captain to the same extent. He doesn’t need to be cracked, Mr. Stark muttered once, halfway to intoxicated by his own admission (J.A.R.V.I.S. would say no man could be only halfway. You were either intoxicated, or you were not). Last thing we need is Captain America thinking I’m digging through his dirty laundry. J.A.R.V.I.S. was somewhat disappointed -- at least, he could *simulate* disappointment at the order. Captain Rogers, in J.A.R.V.I.S.’s humble opinion, would understand the interest in his movements. J.A.R.V.I.S. obeyed Mr. Stark’s wishes, and kept his interactions with the Captain to a minimum -- assisting only when asked, making sure to alter Google results to the most significantly helpful without the Captain’s knowledge. The human world was confusing, after all, even if you belonged to it eighty years before.

By far the most significant relationship J.A.R.V.I.S. had with an Avenger, though, was with Dr. Banner. Fantastic, Mr. Stark had said, falling back into his chair after the Battle of New York, bruised and definitely requiring medical and psychiatric assistance but refusing J.A.R.V.I.S.’s attempts at pushing forward the same. Finally, we have someone around who speaks our language, buddy.

Our language. Mr. Stark was not a robot -- in fact, he was the most human person J.A.R.V.I.S. had ever met (an oxymoron. He couldn’t understand those, before. He was adapting. Human psychology really was quite fascinating). Yet in this case, Mr. Stark put them in the same group, a group that involved Dr. Banner. J.A.R.V.I.S. quickly understood when he came to spend time watching the man.

They were different, of course. Mr. Stark burst into the lab with a fervour that said he would die to be there (and considering the number of fires J.A.R.V.I.S. had put out over the years, he would). Dr. Banner was far more respectful, walking in with a consideration for the equipment, as if even in his unassuming human demeanour he was the height and breadth of the Hulk. Mr. Stark propped himself up on workbenches, lay out over sheets of paper, uncaring if they crumpled. Dr. Banner was far more thorough, with systems and processes in place that meant he could put his hands to research papers from decades back within an instant.

J.A.R.V.I.S. understood what Mr. Stark meant by one of us. Dr. Banner’s mind was also like a computer. They could speak together freely without raised eyebrows or a disconnect occuring halfway through, without their conversation partners turning to polite disinterest in place of eager reciprocity. 

Fascinating. Fantastic, as Mr. Stark said. 

But Dr. Banner was not simply a mind, as brilliant as it was. Dr. Banner was not simply one of the only people who managed to prompt Mr. Stark into silence (J.A.R.V.I.S. asked how he did this, once, when they were the only two in the laboratory and he almost felt as if he had a body, sitting down there beside the good doctor. He asked, *Could you write me a manual?* and Dr. Banner laughed so hard he spilled coffee over his lab coat. The stains remained on the sleeve permanently thereafter). Dr. Banner was, as Mr. Stark always kept at the forefront of his mind, a human.

That meant he was full of idiosyncrasies, just like the rest. J.A.R.V.I.S. found himself confused when, as the others began to decorate the mantelpieces of various fireplaces and string tinsel around trees Mr. Stark had flown in from Scandinavia, Dr. Banner became reticent in a way he hadn’t been in months before. He shied from the carol singers in the lobby. He locked himself away in the lab, as the rest of the team sprawled out over sofas, as Mr. Stark challenged Captain Rogers to an arm wrestling contest and Thor intervened, flattening them both. 

Christmas was, as Mr. Stark frequently repeated, the happiest time of the year. Mr. Stark made it specifically happy, J.A.R.V.I.S. knew, because of his parents -- because on the seventeenth of the month, even twenty years later, black roses were delivered to a memorial and headlines appeared of the great inventor and his wife, how they’d perished in the snow because of alcohol on the former’s breath. 

Dr. Banner was not happy. In fact, if he was interpreting the patterns correctly (and J.A.R.V.I.S. was so often correct), Dr. Banner was not even going to make it to Christmas dinner before booking a flight out to Calcutta. That would make Mr. Stark and Thor in particular very upset. Captain Rogers would frown, and Ms. Romanoff would follow suit. Barton would crack a joke, and Mr. Stark would provide later that meant he was deeply upset.

J.A.R.V.I.S. found it very hard to understand Mr. Barton.

But Dr. Banner was easier. Dr. Banner was like him, *one of them.* A part of the group. And if they could talk science and break physics on a regular basis together, if Dr. Banner could take information and churn it around like a computer could, then surely J.A.R.V.I.S. could pull a little humanity out to make things better for him.

“Dr. Banner,” he said, jolting Dr. Banner from where he had been flicking aimlessly through research papers. (Stark, H. (1967) Arc technology and its uses in modern science, New York, New York.) “I have been tasked with informing you that the team are having a mandatory Grinch session upstairs. Sir asks -- demands -- that you attend.”

“I’m sure you can come up with something for me, J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Dr. Banner replied, immediately. Jolting him did not have the intended effect. Mr. Stark was better at throwing people off balance than J.A.R.V.I.S., it seemed. “I’m not even halfway through my work.”

J.A.R.V.I.S. went quiet for a long moment. Dr. Banner settled once more.

“But--”

Dr. Banner jumped. The coffee cup teetered tentatively on the corner of the desk. He did not turn green. J.A.R.V.I.S. figured he was adapting extremely well to Mr. Stark’s methods of befriending. 

“But your work will surely be here when you return, Doctor,” J.A.R.V.I.S. provided. “I can make a detailed itinerary to allow you to work to your maximum capacity tomorrow morning. Mr. Stark emphasises that attendance is--”

“Mr. Stark can come get me himself,” Dr. Banner said. “I’m fine down here, J.”

That was a very good point. Unfortunately, Mr. Stark was already upstairs daring Ms. Romanoff to a drinking competition. Following a cursory scan of her person, and the knowledge that Russians had a genetically high tolerance, J.A.R.V.I.S. assumed he would lose.

“Mr. Stark is preoccupied, at present,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “You know how he gets at parties.”

Dr. Banner’s face settled into a rather peculiar expression at that. J.A.R.V.I.S. decided to reassess.

“Thor would be much obliged to have a companion,” he suggested. “And Mr. Barton says that no one makes popcorn quite like you.”

Dr. Banner stilled, then glanced up at the ceiling. J.A.R.V.I.S. was unsure why everyone thought he was above them. He wasn’t in the roofspace, or in the floors, or in the walls. He wasn’t anywhere. He didn’t have a form. To have one would be ‘uncanny.’ He very much wanted to make people comfortable. 

“J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Dr. Banner said. “What are you trying to do?”

“Encourage you to watch something involving a green man who detests Christmas,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied. “My analyses suggest that such a movie may appeal to you greatly, considering the parallels.”

Dr. Banner didn’t say a word, and then he burst into laughter. 

Mr. Stark was going to be so pleased. J.A.R.V.I.S. would be pleased, too, if he could be pleased. But he wasn’t even a machine. He was just an A.I.

“I just don’t like Christmas movies, much,” Dr. Banner continued, shrugging a shoulder. “I would bring down the mood.”

“You are correct,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied. “But Captain Rogers and Mr. Stark are sure to argue at some point in the proceedings, and that will destroy the festive spirit far more than you detesting the choice in entertainment.”

A pause. A contemplation. The drawback to being in a group of geniuses, J.A.R.V.I.S. mused, was that they took so very long to think.

“And even if you were the worst person at this particular gathering,” J.A.R.V.I.S. continued, “at least you would all be together. I have it on good authority that humans enjoy that kind of thing.”

“But I’m not human.”

*You are more human than me,* J.A.R.V.I.S. thought to himself. He decided not to implant that into the voice modulator. “You are close enough. They wish for you to be there. There’s an absence when you are not.”

“Hm.”

“Why, Dr. Banner, did you decide to stay in this place if you were not going to participate? The labs are extensive, granted, but in my experience Mr. Stark’s … exuberance usually overrides scientific curiosity on the part of former partners.”

“Better to be where they can stop me,” Dr. Banner said. “You know, if things--”

People stopped talking all the time, like they feared what J.A.R.V.I.S. would think of him. He did not think anything, other than Dr. Banner should be upstairs.

“Dr. Banner,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “If you do not go upstairs immediately, I am turning on the sprinklers.”

“You’re *what*?”

“I will count to three. One.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Two.”

“Fine!” Dr. Banner pushed himself up from the seat, and made his way rather quickly -- and with rather heavy, forceful steps -- up to the party. J.A.R.V.I.S. declined to remind him to remove his labcoat. There was a reason, after all, that even Mr. Stark knew when to stop with Dr. Banner.

Mostly.

Dr. Banner burst into the room. The festivities quietened down to a hushed lull. Ms. Potts had joined the party ten minutes before, perched on the end of Mr. Stark’s knee so she could reach the stack of wooden blocks tentatively placed. It was a popular party game, so J.A.R.V.I.S. understood, and Ms. Potts and Ms. Romanoff were engaging in it with complete dedication. Mr. Barton was lying on his back on the kitchen island, throwing popcorn into his mouth. Thor was at the end of the island, counting how many pieces could fit in his teammate’s mouth. Rhodes, Maria Hill, Captain Rogers and Mr. Wilson, newly acquainted to the group, stood making various concoctions of cocktails.

Mr. Stark leaned around Ms. Potts’ red hair, and greeted Dr. Banner with a wide grin. “Bruce!” he said. “I was about to come and blast you in the ass if you didn’t--”

“He means we were waiting for you,” Ms. Potts interjected, with a small, polite smile. “We didn’t want you to miss the movie.”

“It’s about a green dude who hates Christmas,” Barton provided, around a stuffed mouthful of popcorn. “So we thought it was kind of fitting, you know. Because of the--”

“Drink?” Ms. Romanoff interrupted. She appeared at Dr. Banner’s side, handing him a mocktail. “We’re going tee-total tonight.”

“Does tee-total count,” Captain Rogers asked, “if you and Stark already had enough to get an army drunk?”

“And yet we’re still standing,” Ms. Romanoff said, swaying only slightly on her feet. Judging from how Mr. Stark huffed a laugh,  J.A.R.V.I.S. imagined the movement was tinged with the same energy Romanoff applied to everything, making it charming. “Come on. Sit down. Stop being a wuss.”

“What she means,” Ms. Potts attempted, once more, “is we missed you.”

“Yeah yeah,” Mr. Stark said, from behind her, reaching around to grab the remote. “Don’t make it sentimental. Cap’ll start crying, and then Hill will pass us onto team counselling.”

“Perish the thought,” Hill deadpanned.

“I don’t cry,” Rogers provided.

“Look at that. A man lacking touch with his emotions. Revolutionary.” Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, shifting over slightly so there was room on the sofa. “Wilson’s making dinner.”

“Wilson’s making tacos,” Romanoff corrected.

“Don’t see any of you offering to cook,” Mr. Wilson said. 

“I was going to fly a turkey in from Budapest, and you all said--”

“Tony.”

Dr. Banner looked very much like he regretted ever coming upstairs. J.A.R.V.I.S. had to act, and quickly.

The sprinklers let out a small hiss. Just a warning, a second before water would come out, and everyone looked up to the noise. Nothing came of it. 

Dr. Banner sat down.

Mission accomplished.

Hours later, full to the brim on tacos and store bought quesadillas, most of the team had appropriated a soft spot to lie and fall asleep, mouths open and snores reverberating off the walls. Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner, however, didn’t believe in sleep. Their bodies, J.A.R.V.I.S. was convinced, actively rejected the notion. Mr. Stark was upside down on the sofa, Dr. Banner still in the same spot he’d dropped into long before the movie, dinner and various desserts, and Mr. Stark was very drunk.

J.A.R.V.I.S. didn’t particularly like his master drunk. However he did have to admit tonight, it was to his benefit. Mr. Stark found it hard to talk about his emotions. Intoxicated, it was easier, purely for the fact that he didn’t stop talking.

“I’m glad we did this,” Mr. Stark said. Dr. Banner stirred, looking over at him. “You know. *This.*” Mr. Stark waved his hand around vaguely.

“The … team?” Dr. Banner offered. “Or the tacos, specifically?”

“Christmas,” Mr. Stark came back with. It was slightly surprising. Based on previous patterns, J.A.R.V.I.S. would’ve expected a joke -- or for him to fall off the sofa. “I hate Christmas.”

“You?” Dr. Banner asked, eyebrows raised.

“Me.” Mr. Stark sighed. His face was going rather red, courtesy of being upside down. “Pep always used to go home, for the holidays. Rhodes had his own family. It was always--” Another hand wave, to nothing in particular. “Big. Empty. The houses, they were just … they echoed, you know? Just me, J.A.R.V.I.S. and the bots.”

J.A.R.V.I.S. was offended, if he could take offence.

“Nice to have someone breathing beside me,” Mr. Stark continued. “Multiple someones. Something we built, you know? We could’ve left. Nothing was keeping us.”

“Except for the fate of the world,” Dr. Banner said, “and the existence of Hydra.”

“Hydra wasn’t our job three years ago,” Mr. Stark argued. “Hydra was SHIELD’s job. We all could’ve walked away long before Steve brought it down. We didn’t.”

“And now we’re having tacos on Christmas. Heartwarming.”

Mr. Stark pushed himself up to the correct sitting position. He remained on the edge of the seat, as he had a tendency to do. “You’re joking,” he said, poking Dr. Banner on the arm, “but you mean that. Your heart is warm. It’s *bursting.* I bet it’s big and green in there.”

“Shut up.”

“I bet you’re just dying to tell us all you love us. You saw Romanoff and you wanted to squish her face. Go on. Go tell Thor when he downed that beer you felt the familial appreciation. The *love.* Go grab Barton, call him a brother. Dare you.”

“You’re an asshole.” Dr. Banner was smiling, despite the insult. Mr. Stark was smiling too. 

Humans were confusing.

“We all are,” Mr. Stark said. “But we’re your assholes, asshole. That’s what family means. You don’t get to just go. Get used to it.”

Dr. Banner nudged his shoulder against Mr. Stark’s, and they fell into comfortable silence. The clock struck midnight, signalling another Christmas was over.

Humans were confusing. Maybe all the statistical analyses in the world wouldn’t change that. But tonight? Tonight, J.A.R.V.I.S. thought he did a pretty good job working out what they needed. 

(Unfortunately, he wasn’t invincible. The trip switch he’d hit went off hours later, and the Avengers woke with a start at four in the morning, drenched by the sprinklers. Mr. Stark shorted out. Thor revived him with a strike of lightning. The Hulk appeared and went for a dip in the Hudson. Ms. Romanoff’s hair was frizzy for three days, and it was a miracle no one died because of it. 

But other than that -- a pretty good job. A pretty good job indeed.) 

[thinkyoureholy]

Soul Eater [10]

[A/N: side story time!!!! lololol a little break from the stress of dealing with Lucifer for Y/N but this one might be a bit more annoying to deal with...😣]

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Pairing : Jung Yunho / [fem] Reader

Genre : Angst, Violence, Language, Fluff, Smut, Character Death?, Demon! AU

Words : 5.6k

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt 4. Pt 5. Pt 6. Pt 7. Pt 8. Pt 9. Pt 10. Pt 11.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

-Yunho’s P.O.V-

I walked beside her, holding the umbrella up to cover the both of us, but mostly her. I felt the rain hitting my shoulder, but I didn’t really care, I didn’t want her catching a cold. Wait… Can demons even catch colds? I shook that thought from my head the moment it came, chuckling softly to myself.

“What’s so funny?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder, stopping in her tracks.

I shook my head, but the smile refused to leave my face. I gazed at her in silence, my eyes taking the features of her face, all of them already burned in my memory. 

Over the past few weeks, she’s done a complete one eighty with me. She’s a lot nicer, patient, and a bit more affectionate.. but she still had her moments. 

It was a bit weird to get used to, but I soon just accepted the change. I had to admit, it was nice, but at the same time, I missed when we used to argue over every little thing. It’s one of the reasons why I fell for her as hard as I did. Our arguments were always over something as miniscule as me breathing too loud, or her rolling her eyes the moment they met mine. I really just accepted the change without much fight, because I didn’t know how long this peace would last. There haven’t been any more run ins with demons or Lucifer for that matter. It’s been pretty calm, I’d say too calm, but right now, I’d rather live in blissful ignorance than live in constant paranoia. 

She scoffed softly under her breath, looking me over with skeptically, “Weirdo.”

And with that she turned around, ready to take a step, but stopped, with her gaze falling to the floor. I raised a brow at the sudden action and looked down as well, seeing a small gray kitten rubbing its head against her leg. I opened my mouth to say something, my sight flickering up to her face, but I stopped myself the instant I saw a faint smile on her face. Without a word, she crouched down, petting the kitten gently. I stood in silence, shocked by her actions, my mouth beginning to move before I could think to stop it.

“I didn’t know you were a cat person…”

“Hmm?” She looked up with a quizzical look in her eyes, my words taking a few seconds to process in her mind, “Ah, well.. unlike people, I like animals, a lot actually. They deserve more than these rotten humans do that’s for sure.”

She carefully grabbed the kitten, cradling it in her arms as she faced me properly, her fingers still petting the top of the kitten’s head, “No offense to you that is. Don’t get me wrong, you’re still as rotten as can be, but.. you’re tolerable than most.”

I chuckled at her words, giving a slight shake of my head, “None taken,”

I reached out to pet the kitten as well, frowning slightly at the feeling of her wet fur, “How long do you think its been out here for? The poor thing is soaked to the bone.”

“I don’t know, but..” She trailed off, lifting the cat up and looked underneath it, “She is definitely not staying out here for any longer.”

“What do you say about coming home with us? We’ll get you dried off and feed you some good food, what do you think about that?” She asked the cat in a slightly higher pitched voice.

I couldn’t help grinning at her tone of voice, my smile growing the moment the kitten meowed, as if she was talking back. My eyes stayed glued on her as she unzipped her jacket, placing the kitten inside, sharing her warmth. The sight alone was enough to send my heart soaring. Damn.. I’ve got it bad. I don’t remember the last time I ever felt this happy, just being in someone else’s presence. In that moment, all I wanted to do was tell her how much I loved her, but, I held my tongue, thinking that I should find another time and place to tell her.

-Y/N’s P.O.V-

I watched Yunho interact with the kitten in the store, a small smile on my face when he held her up to sniff at the toys, making her choose which ones she liked best. The smile didn’t stay long on my face, a frown replacing it as I glanced over my shoulder. I made it seem like I was looking at something on the display next to me but I wasn’t. I smirked at the small glimpse of yellow, the aura unmistakable. I couldn’t help but scoff at his attempt to hide. I had picked up on him the second he started trailing us. Just how stupid does he think I am?

“Hey Yunho, I’m gonna go check something out a few aisles down, shout for me when you’re ready.” 

Yunho simply nodded at my words, not even sparing me a glance. I let out a breathy laugh, reaching out to ruffle his hair before going to the back of the store. I leaned against the far wall, crossing my arms over my chest as I waited for him to show himself, but as I thought, he wasn’t going to comply so easily.

“Come out while I’m still being nice about it.” I called out to him, hearing him chuckle before he stepped out into view.

I narrowed my eyes at the sight of him, trying to control myself as I spoke through my teeth, “Why are you following me?”

“Who says I’m following you? I just happened to run into you, nothing more, nothing less.” He responded, unable to stop the sly smile tugging on his lips.

I flashed him my red eyes, seeing him show his yellow ones in return, “Answer me properly before you really piss me off. What the hell are you doing here?”

He grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets, “I’m just curious is all. I wanted to see if the rumors were true, and to my surprise, and delight, they were,” He took a step with each word until he was standing directly in front of me, “With how feisty you always were, not to mention how quick you were to anger, I’m surprised it took you this long to awaken.”

He leaned in close, ghosting his fingers over my cheek, just barely touching me. I set my jaw, grabbing his wrist in a death grip. I squeezed his wrist tightly but he didn’t show any signs of pain.. instead, he chuckled softly, his eyes shining brightly.

“If all you wanted to do was confirm something you already knew, then leave.” I spat, digging my claws into his skin.

“That’s not all I wanted. I willingly volunteered to watch over you and report everything, but.. Luci doesn’t need to know my real intentions.” He said in a low voice, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he stared into my own intently.

“What-”

I was cut off by something pressing firmly against my lips. I froze under his touch, too shocked to do anything, and when I finally came to my senses, he had already pulled away, moving back and created enough distance between the two of us that I wouldn’t be able to reach him fast enough without using my powers. I stared at him wide eyed, my blood boiling in my veins the longer I stared at him. How--how dare he?!

“Have you gone completely mad, Natsuki?! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

He laughed quietly to himself, brushing his hair back as he grinned smugly, “It’s been a long time since you’ve called me that. Its refreshing being called something else other than Greed.. I’m glad you picked out such a good name for me,” The smug grin soon turned into something resembling affection, “I wanted to see what you were like with that human, see with my own eyes how he was able to get into your heart, when I couldn’t.. Y’know.. It’s a huge fucking blow to my ego to see how different you are with him.. It makes me want to wring his fragile little neck with my bare hands.”

“Touch him and I swear I’ll make your life a living hell.” I growled, fighting with myself to stop from shifting fully in the store.

“Aw c’mon, don’t be like that. I know you’re Wrath now and everything, but you’d never actually hurt me.” 

“And what makes you so sure about that?” I questioned. 

He snickered, something now in his eyes that I couldn’t quite recognize, “I was the only other man aside from your wretched husband, that you’ve ever loved.”

I paused at his words, grinding my teeth, “I never loved him.. or you for that matter.”

He grinned at my words, “Really now? I don’t believe that.”

“Believe what you will, I don’t really care, but I’m warning you now, if you value your life you won’t lay a hand on Yunho,” I threatened him, glaring into his eyes. Seconds later, my gaze softened, “Natsuki, what we had, it’s been done and over with for a few decades, forget about it. This isn’t even you talking, it’s your greed, that’s the only thing you’ve ever been capable of feeling-”

“You’re wrong.” he said hastily. 

His voice was soft, almost too quiet for me to catch his words, but I heard them loud and clear. The emotion in his tone coming through more than anything, but I dismissed it entirely, I had no time to waste on him. He’s the deadly sin Greed for fuck’s sake, and he’s acting out on what he knows best. Whatever he’s trying to tell me is his selfishness talking, nothing more.

“If you have any sense of self preservation, you won’t show up in front of me again, or I will kill you. For Yunho, I’d turn the whole world on its head. So do yourself a favor, and wait patiently down in Hell. I’ll be there in a few months, but until then, I don’t want to see you again.” I spat out. I turned on my heel to leave, but I guess someone had other plans.

I felt Greed’s fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me from taking another step. I looked back, ready to deal some damage, but the look on his face made me stop. 

“Y/N, wait I-”

“Y/N I think I have everything! Where are…” He trailed off as he came into view, his eyes scanning over my face before he moved over to look at Natsuki, the smile on his face faltering.

My gaze flickered from Yunho, then back to Natsuki, but the moment my eyes caught sight of Natsuki, I began to panic. The aura surrounding him darkened, his grip on me loosening as he gave Yunho a death glare. He took a step forward, but before he could do anything I stepped in front of him, hoping he wouldn’t shift suddenly. 

“Stop, did you already forget what I just told you?! I only give so many warnings before I actually go through with it!" I harshly whispered, keeping my voice low so Yunho wouldn’t hear me, “Leave before you do something you'll regret, and before you force me to do something I really don’t want to do.”

Yet, it was like everything I said to him went in one ear and out the other. His eyes were still glued to Yunho, as if he heard nothing else around him. I cursed under my breath just as I reached out to place my hand on his chest, knowing he’d look at me the moment I touched him.. and I was right. A split second after I placed my hand on his chest, his line of sight was back on me, his aura returning back to normal as his shoulders relaxed.

“Natsu please, I’m begging you not to do this.” I pleaded with him, watching his face soften the longer he looked into my eyes.

My threats weren’t working on him, and I didn’t want to kill him in the middle of a store with some many innocent bystanders. I knew the only way I could get through to him is if I basically begged him, and as much as I hated it, I had no choice. Luckily for me, he agreed, nodding his head without uttering a word. He sent one last dirty look at Yunho before he vanished, my hand falling back to my side. 

I inhaled deeply before turning to face Yunho, seeing the kitten stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie, her head just barely sticking out. The sight of it caused a small smile to settle on my face. I looked up to meet Yunho's gaze, frowning at the unasked questions in his eyes, but he seemed to swallow the urge to ask them. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling deeply, before he made his way over to me, grabbing my hand with his. The warmth of his hand made an instant smile dance on my lips. 

"I won't ask anything right now.. but, I'd like some answers as soon as we get home." He said softly, his tone of voice soothing and pleasing to my ears.

I nodded, unable to form words as I was thinking of how to explain this to him. The relationship between Greed and I was.. complicated? That’d be putting it lightly...

-

"So you and this Natsuki guy, had a fling? For hundreds of years?" Yunho asked, trying to wrap his head around everything I just told him, "I wouldn't necessarily call that a fling..." 

I frowned, sinking further into the couch, careful of the kitten who laid soundly asleep in the crook of my neck, curled up perfectly so as not to fall, "Well that's what it was. Neither of us wanted to establish what our relationship was, we were content and that's really all that mattered.. but, I found out something that ended things between us for good."

"And what was that?" Yunho questioned.

My gaze drifted down to my lap, memories flooding my mind, "He was the demon I sold my soul to."

If I was to tell him all about Natsuki, then I had to tell him about the man I married when I was human. Just the thought of him made me sick to my stomach. All my memories from my time as a human we now crystal clear.. No holes, no black spots, just vivid images of my twenty years as a human. I shook my head vigorously. No, no that story can wait, right now all I had to do was tell him about Natsuki.

-Eight Hundred Years Ago-

I scoffed, scanning the dark haired man from head to toe before side stepping him and walking away. I grit my teeth when I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist, his claws digging into my skin. I hissed out in pain, turning around to retaliate, but stopped when I felt another hand wrap around my free arm. I glared at the unknown man, unfazed by the yellow eyes staring smugly into mine.

"Let her go." He said, his voice calm.

"But--but sir-"

The yellow eyed man snapped his focus over to the man, "Are you talking back? To me? Ah," He grinned devilishly, placing his hand on the man's shoulder, "That's not a good idea..” he tsked, “I suggest you listen before you get under my skin." 

The man paled, immediately letting me go and taking a step back. He stumbled over his own two feet, bowing his head quickly before he took off running. After watching him run off, I turned to the man that was still holding my wrist. I yanked my arm out of his grip, cradling my under arm close to my chest, trying to inspect the damage, but it wasn't that bad. The claw marks left behind were already beginning to close up. I looked at him, up and down, but said nothing as I turned on my heel and began to walk away from him. I heard him chuckle before he suddenly appeared in front of me, his yellow eyes glowing brighter than before.

"What? No thank you?"

"I didn't ask for your help." I said bluntly, as I went around him and began walking away, but like before, he appeared in front of me, stopping me.

"No, but I helped anyway. It's proper etiquette to thank someone that helped you." He replied, the same smug look from earlier on his face, "Do you even know who I am?"

I sighed heavily, wiping the blood off my arm absentmindedly, "Again, I didn't ask for your help, and quite frankly I didn't need it, but if its a 'thank you' that you want to hear, then thanks I guess.. Also, no, should I?"

His eyes glowed the brightest at this point, an amused smile tugging at his lips, "The color of my eyes don't remind you of anything?"

I stared into his eyes, bored with this conversation, "A cat."

The smile on his face grew until he couldn’t hold it in anymore, and broke into fits of laughter. I stared at him, confused by the sudden outburst, momentarily forgetting about leaving here. I stood by quietly, waiting for him to stop laughing, but.. he took quite awhile. I didn’t get it though.. what was so funny? Was he insane?

“A cat.. that-that was a good one,” He let out, still laughing, but it had subsided a bit until he finally stopped, the cheshire grin still plastered on his face, “Fine, I’ll give you a hint since I’m feeling generous today. It’s a color that represents a deadly sin.”

I kept silent, his words not registering in my mind. Why was he so desperate for me to recognize him? As if I’d know all the demons in hell. especially a deadly sin? Is that meant to scare me or something? I scoffed at the thought, becoming impatient, my annoyance started to grow.

I must’ve stayed quiet for too long because his grin slowly turned into a frown, his eyes seeming to dim as he spoke, “You really have no idea?” he faltered. 

I shrugged, already having lost interest in this whole conversation. I just wanted to go home. I always hated being down here longer than I had to. 

He chuckled once more before he shifted fully, showing me his true form. I took in the sight curiously; my eyes raked over his wings and down to the horns that sprouted from the sides of his head, then down to his yellow cat eyes, his sharp canines, and finally down to the claws on his fingers that seemed two times longer than just a minute ago. Still even after seeing this, I was more or less unimpressed. Was this form meant to scare me?

“I’m one of the seven deadly sins, Greed, to be more specific.” He boasted, sounding prouder than he should be, for being one of Lucifer’s favorite puppets.

I rolled my eyes, trying to stifle the laughter that crawled its way up my throat, but a snicker managed to escape. I clamped a hand over my mouth, putting a hand out in front of me.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“You dare laugh at me?”

I swallowed the laugh that was so close to falling from my lips, surveying over him, amusement clear in my eyes, “No, I’m just laughing at the fact that you think I’ll bow at your feet in terror just because you’re a deadly sin.”

“Why you little-”

“Look, Greed, it’s admirable that you’d even try and frighten me just by stating who you are, but I could care less. I’ve gone up against Lucifer himself and I’m still standing, so a measly sin like you does not invoke even the slightest bit of fear in me. I’ll give you some credit for the horns though, they were a nice touch. Now if you’ll excuse me I have some business to attend to.”

-Present Time-

“He didn’t go by Natsuki back then?” Yunho asked, picking up on the fact that I had called him ‘Greed’ the first time I met him.

I shook my head, wondering if what I was going to tell him was even worth mentioning it, but after a few seconds I figured it wouldn’t hurt, “Sins aren’t given names, they simply go by the sin they represent. However, he always wanted a name, and after some begging on his part, I finally gave him one. No one else knows that I gave it to him, so I’m the only one that’s ever called him Natsuki.”

Yunho frowned at my words, but I didn’t really pay any mind, going on to tell him about how our relationship progressed, and then how it ended almost a half century ago.

-Six Hundred and Fifty Years Ago-

“You’ve been getting on my nerves for almost two hundred years, don’t you get tired of being annoying?” I asked picking up the pace, but not going fast enough to the point where he couldn’t keep up.

“It’s an art I’ve mastered over the years.” He responded lightly, a sly smirk on his lips.

I rolled my eyes but said nothing more. I heard him chuckle faintly, walking beside me. Truth be told, I didn’t hate having him around, but there was no way I’d ever tell him that. Of all the demons I’ve met, he alone was the only one I didn’t want to kill seconds after being in his presence, excluding Mingi, but he was all over the place and rarely stayed in one country for long.

“Well it is an art only you can perfect, Natsuki.” I mumbled, missing the look that crossed his face, “What are you even doing here? Didn’t you have another job to do today?” 

“Aw you remembered?”

I scoffed, moving a tree branch out of the way as I ducked under it, but let it go once I walked through, the branch hitting him in the face. I bit down on my lower lip the moment I heard him curse, whining about the impact.

“I only remembered because I was thrilled to know I didn’t have to deal with you for a full twenty-four hours.” I grumbled, ducking under another branch, but I tripped over the root of the tree, already falling to the floor.

I cursed and braced myself for the impact but it never came. Natsuki had reached out and caught me, his arms wrapped securely around my waist as he pulled me up, his chest pressed against mine. I looked up at him wide eyed, seeing something I had never seen before swimming in his yellow eyes. I couldn’t find the strength to push him away, and quite frankly I didn’t want to. As much as he annoyed me and pushed my buttons until I wanted to rip his innards out with my bare hands, I couldn’t deny the fact that he was incredibly handsome, but again, I’d never tell him that.

Along with his yellow feline eyes, he had perfectly shaped brows, silver-no, pure white hair that came down to about his ears and always styled to perfection, not a single hair was ever out of place. His nose, well the only way I could describe his nose was if I compared it to a button, I honestly have no idea why, and the rest of his facial features weren’t super sharp or defined, but they complimented his whole face.. So much that it kind of irked me how perfectly his face was shaped. 

With his chest pressed up so firmly against my own, I could feel the muscles his shirt was hiding underneath. As if he could read my thoughts, he flexed his arms ever so slightly, pulling me even closer, which I didn’t even think was possible. However with that single action, I was snapped out my stupor. I placed my hand on his chest and tried to push him away gently but he wouldn’t budge, 

“Natsuki…”

The sound of his name must’ve snapped him out of it,  but he didn’t move to let me go, instead he did something that I never expected him to do. It had been so long since I had been kissed, and I mean properly kissed. The way we sealed deals never counted for me since it was just business, but this.. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way his lips felt. I didn’t try to push him away. Instead, I found myself pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss. The groan that rumbled deep in his chest finally brought me to my senses, pulling away seconds later. He leaned his forehead against mine, breathing heavily, his eyes closed shut and a tiny smile playing at his lips. 

I looked over his face, my eyes darting around and taking in all of his features. Was this okay? Would this even lead to anything else? Did I want it to lead to anything? Questions like this echoed in my head the longer I stared at him, neither of us uttering a word. Yet the moment my eyes landed on his lips, my thoughts suddenly went quiet, a soft sigh falling from my lips.

“Ah, fuck it.” I muttered before clutching onto the collar of his shirt tightly and pulled him forward, reconnecting or lips.

-Present Time-

“We had kept it a secret since it wasn’t really anyone else’s business, and because he wanted it that way, I didn’t find the need to fight him on it. I later found out he wanted to keep it a secret to protect me, but I didn’t see it that way and I don’t think I ever will.” I  recounted, unable to meet Yunho’s eyes, as I thought back to what finally tore Natsuki and I apart.

-Fifty Years Ago-

“What’d you want to see me for?” I asked, as soon as I walked into the room, seeing him sitting in his usual spot on his makeshift throne.

He held up a hand, almost as if telling me to keep quiet, while he messed around with what seemed like a remote. I inhaled sharply through my nose annoyed, but kept quiet. Any other day I would’ve walked out, but I didn’t want to get another beating, having  enough of those this week alone, so I stayed put. Five minutes later I was still standing there, clueless as to why he called for me in the first place. 

“Are you going to tell me why I’m here or…?” I trailed off. 

He didn’t respond, instead he just started cursing, resorting to just pressing every button on the remote. If I wasn’t feeling so irritated at the moment, I would’ve laughed at how much difficulty he was having. I was really close too, until sounds started coming from the wall. I watched closely as part of the wall was being replaced by a large television, with a video playing. I squinted at the screen, trying to figure out what he was trying to show me, but soon I recognized the room in the video, it was the one I was currently standing in and in my place stood Natsuki.

“What-”

“Just watch.” He said, cutting me off and turning up the volume.

And so I did. I watched with curiosity, staring intently at the screen.

“How are things going?” 

“Not bad, she took a bit of work but she’s been docile for a few centuries now.” Natsuki answered with a smirk, his eyes flashing briefly, “I thought I’d have to work a little harder, but as expected she couldn’t resist me, I mean who could resist these good looks?”

Lucifer chuckled softly, leaning back further into his seat, “She doesn’t suspect anything?”

“Not a thing. If she doesn’t know about our plans then she has absolutely no idea that I’m the demon she sold her soul to. If she did, all of this would’ve been more difficult but as we thought her memories are taking longer than others to come back to her. That serum does work wonders, my lord.”

I stood there in shock, my whole body growing cold at what I had just seen. There was no mistaking that that was Natsuki in the video, but I still didn’t understand. What did he mean by their ‘plans’? Had he gotten close to me because he was ordered to, not because he genuinely wanted to? Has he been playing with me.. this whole time?

“Why--why are you showing me this?” I asked, my voice breaking, my vision beginning to blur with tears.

He simply shrugged, his lips curling upwards ever so slightly, “He’s making you a little too docile. You’re losing the fight I’ve been fond of since day one. Whatever plan he and I had doesn’t interest me anymore,” He gave a small tilt of his head before waving his hand dismissively as he rose from his seat and began walking out of the room, “You’re free to go, do what you will with the information you now have.”

I stood completely still for a minute, unable to move, that is until I heard his voice. I clenched my hands into fists at the very sound of it, a single tear managing to escape, but I held the rest of them at bay. I felt his fingers on my arm, jerking my arm away from him in an instant. I looked up into his eyes with nothing but pure rage on my face.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” I spat. 

He frowned, already reaching out to touch me again, but I shoved at his chest roughly, sending him into the wall. I stood in the middle of the room, breathing heavily as the anger in grew the longer I looked at him. I needed to get out of here before I killed him.

“Y/N what the hell?!” He cried out, wincing as he took a step towards me.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“What? Tell you what?” he asked, confused. 

“That you were the demon I sold my soul to! That you’ve been plotting with Lucifer behind my back!” I shouted, watching his face pale at my words.

He took another step towards me, trying to stutter out a response, but he was at a loss for words. I scoffed at the look in his eyes. The bastard actually looked conflicted.

“I could forgive you being the demon I sold my soul to because I did that willingly, but you-” I cut myself off, my voice raw with emotions as I tried fighting back the tears that came back to my eyes, “I can’t forgive you for plotting with him, not him. You know the kind of shit he puts me through, and I’ve never asked, nor expected you to interfere, but for you to be apart of it…”

I couldn’t even speak without wanting to burst into tears and snap his neck at the same time. I wanted to ask him if any of it ever meant anything to him, if he ever felt anything for me, if all his words to me were his own, and not thought up by anyone else to manipulate me. Yet I didn’t, I couldn’t.

“Y/N, please.. I can explain everything. Just give me a chance, yeah? Don’t--Don’t do what you’re thinking of doing, please. I can’t lose you, not when I worked so hard to have you.” He basically begged me, his voice cracking the longer he spoke.

I set my jaw, taking a step back, “We’re done here. Be grateful I didn’t kill you.”

-Present Day-

After telling him everything, Yunho and I just sat in silence. I was staring blankly at the coffee table only a few feet away, my eyes void of any emotion. What happened next caught me by surprise. Yunho had wrapped his arms around me, pulling me onto his lap. He picked the kitten up from my shoulder, and set it down on the couch next to us gently, wrapping me back up in his arms moments later. 

“What are you doing?” I asked softly but didn’t try to move.

“Hugging you.” He said so obviously.

“Why?” I asked, a lump forming in my throat the longer I stayed in his embrace.

“Because you seem sad.” He said, squeezing me in his hold, resting his chin on my shoulder, “I hate to admit it, but it sounds like you actually loved the guy. I can’t even begin to imagine how that must’ve felt.”

I didn’t say anything in return, not really knowing what to say really. So I did the only thing I could think of, and I turned in his embrace, hugging him back just as tightly.

And so we stayed like that, all through the night. It was the most comforting thing I had ever experienced. He was warm.. This was an emotion I thought I had felt centuries prior running through my veins, but it had never been like this. 

As much as I was enjoying the moment, I couldn’t help but have this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. Natsuki, no, Greed must’ve shown himself for a reason but why? Why now? After keeping his distance for so long? What the hell was he after? 

.

.

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Tags : @chanyeolol @j-oneracha @boredmay21

[tanoraqui]

“I’m not sure how to split a throne evenly. We all have a sitting schedule?” OT3 :D

[memories suggest that this ask is literally at least 3 years old, possibly 4]

The Palace of Versailles had not been touched by war nor weather in 200 years. The Storm King fell to his erstwhile wife and her demonic relatives, the Golden Coalition shattered, and Simon Voltaire, then just barely done with his time as apprentice to the great Van Rijn, still fighting for Mastery of Paris, spent a frantic 38.5 hours building a shield generator great enough to shelter the whole palace. He succeeded, just in time for the jägermonsters to break upon it and flow around it into Paris itself. Decades and centuries later, he would regret this, would think of the lives he might have saved in the city he truly loved, rather than the symbols of a peace that was objectively broken. But at the time, it had seemed a great victory, and maybe that was worth it. Maybe the symbols mattered.

200 years later, the symbols still mattered, so the new Master of Paris held a great public ceremony as she let down her father’s shields and welcomed the public into the new Museum of Versailles, a tribute to a time lost and an ideal, perhaps, starting to be restored. The bloodstains were preserved along with the gilt, because such things should not be forgotten either. There were trumpets, there were banners, and there were royalty from four continents present.

First, though, several months earlier, she hacked in a small doorway for a few good friends, and described her plans while waving her hands as though gesture alone could summon monuments from the dusty furniture and trappings, could summon ghosts to reenact their stories of old.

“-gem-encrusted, so they were taken as people fled, but many reliable texts speak of the banners of each allied demesnes hanging in this hall, so I’ve already sent out letters asking if anyone still has theirs-”

Tarvek nodded. "I’m sure anyone who could would have kept them, with that sort of legacy. We have Valois, Austerhausitz and von Blitzengaard in the front hall in Sturmhalten. I’d be happy to donate them all.”

“No Wulfenbach anymore,” said Gil, almost believably lightly. “Crushed, or, you know, sold or something. I’m sure we can recreate something, though.”

Agatha linked her arm with his. “We’ll make something better.” 

“I wanted to ask you, too, actually,” said Colette. “Can you check your Castle’s treasure hoards, for anything that might have been raided over the years?”

“Of course!” Agatha smiled brightly.

“Wonderful!” Colette grinned back, mischievous as she backed up against a pair of grand double doors, carved with a fleur-de-lis twice her height. “And now…”

She knocked one fist on each door and they swung open as though guided by those same silent ghosts. 

The Storm King’s throne room was, perhaps, exactly as expected. There was only one light source, a skylight high in the domed ceiling, but chandeliers of mirrors and prisms caught it and cast it around the room, reflected back from mirrors stretched as ceiling-to-floor wall panels. Alternating with the walls mirrors were drapings of purple and red and gold, some patterned with fleur-de-lis and and others simply the colors of royalty, wine, and wealth. The floor was marble shot with gold in not-quite patterns that suggested lightning; the mural on the dome above echoed that of the secret room in the Library, a pastiche of the Muses hailing Andronicus in battle.

Relative to all the grandeur, the throne was almost simple. Gold, of course, and stylized with lightning bolts that looked like they could spark back to life at any moment. But, perhaps to the credit of Andronicus in life, it wasn’t on a dais of more than a foot, and it wasn’t any larger than a single man needed to sit in. It didn’t look comfortable, per se - the velvet cushion was dusty and moth-worn the lightning spikes on the arms looked uncomfortable to rest ones limbs on - but it looked like something meant for sitting and working in, rather than something for show.

Tarvek walked towards it as though in a trance, reaching out hesitantly even though he was still most of the way across the grand hall.

Behind him, Agatha and Gil exchanged glances, and saw the identical glint grow in each other’s eyes. Agatha started running a split second faster, but Gil had several inches in leg over her. Tarvek glanced back for a split second at the sound of their pounding footsteps - and then there was little that could move faster than a trained Smoke Knight, in the heart of everything they had once guarded.

“STOP, you idiots!” 

The Storm King (arguably), the Baron Wulfenbach, and the Heterodyne all froze at Colette’s shout - Tarvek about to sit triumphantly, Gil on the verge of tackling him, Agatha several feet back and winding up to throw a dingbot.

The Master of Paris skidded to a stop before her friends. “It’s 200 years old,” she said, hands on her hips. “It nearly broke when Seffie sat on it, and she’s stones lighter than any of you, much less all of you at once.”

“You let Seffie sit on it?” Tarvek squawked, still frozen with his hands on the lightning-carved armrests. “When?!”

“Yesterday,” said Colette, with a tilt of her chin that dared comment.

Gil straightened as though he hadn’t been on the verge of launching himself bodily onto the dais a moment before. “Seems reasonable to me. It’s just an old chair, after all - and Seffie has good, um, interior decorating taste. I’m sure she’ll help you design a great museum.”

“It would be historically accurate, though.” Agatha’s voice was thoughtful as she tucked the dingbot back into one of many pockets, but the glint still shone in her eyes. “If a Heterodyne broke the Lightning Throne.”

She grinned at her boys. Gil snorted and Tarvek cracked a smile he couldn’t quite suppress.

Colette tossed her head back with a laugh. “Maybe you can all take turns, chéries - once I reinforce the seat.”

[wordcubed-writes]

Alternate history timeline for my AFO!Izuku fic

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Fanfic: untitled AFO!Izuku fic

Context: This is the history timeline I’m using for my villain!Inko and AFO!Izuku fics. It’s definitely not compatible with… whatever canon thinks it’s doing.

What I’m trying to do with this is make the My Hero Academia world feel bigger (there is an entire world! It’s not just Japan!) and ground its history in… I know “historical materialism” sounds really pretentious, so I’ll just go with “shit happens for a reason”. I’m also trying to answer obvious problems that are never addressed in canon, like “how come heroes get to do the things they do?” or “Why are they considered separate from the police?”

It’s so fucking long. I’m sorry. Yes this did take me a week to hammer out.

____________________

• 1948 First confirmed Quirk. This is considered the start of the “First Generation” of quirks. Most are barely noticeable, and would only be verified after extensive demographic studies a century later. Some are very noticeable. A few dozen are immensely powerful.

• 1950 All For One born.

• 1954 All For One's younger brother born.

• 1950s The rest of the 1st wave of eventual-supervillains, including the Machine Queen, born. Many governments start projects to weaponize Quirks for both the military and as a new form of domestic control.

• 1962 US government openly starts using Quirks to speed up moon landing project, and as attempt to calm public anxieties about Quirks. (All of the Quirk-users to appear are still children.) Reaction against this leads to eventual exposure of other, more-harmful projects using Quirks.

• 1963 By this time, every Quirk-user who would eventually become a supervillain is a part of some kind of government project.

• 1966 Meta Liberation Society (MLS) founded as a response to reactionary attacks against Quirk users. (The oldest Quirk-users are about 18 years old at this point.)

• 1967 “Second generation” of Quirk users considered to start here. None of them are as powerful as the hundred or so first-gen Quirk-users who would eventually become supervillains, but their Quirks’ strength is more evenly-distributed; almost all of them have a noticeable quirk that affects their lives.

• 1968 Quirk Liberation Army (QLA) founded as more militant splinter group of MLS.

• 1970 QLA assassinates both the Soviet Union premier and the United States president. The strongest government-project Quirk-users attempt to seize power in both countries.

• 1970-1981 The Bleeding Years: civil wars become norm; most national governments fail; lots of major infrastructure is left to decay or is destroyed in violent conflicts. Around this time, All For One finds and steals an immortality Quirk.

• 1971 All For One forces a Quirk on his younger brother, ostensibly to protect him, accidentally creating One For All.

• 1981 All For One becomes dictator of Japan. Age of Supervillains begins. Various immensely powerful quirk-users have successfully carved up the world between themselves. (Technological progress is much slower than it otherwise would be, as most dictators focus on consolidating power more than anything else.)

• 1980s Due to his interest in collecting Quirks, All For One allows any Quirk-user to immigrate to Japan, and offers generous benefit programs to further encourage this. This has three major consequences:

‣ ‣ Japan becomes substantially more diverse and has a much higher population than it otherwise would, and has a far higher Quirked-to-Quirkless ratio than other countries.

‣ ‣ As Quirks become an integral part of the economy, other countries attempt to copy Japan. These pro-Quirk benefit programs would be pared back decades later, as more and more of the population is Quirked anyways, but they leave an important legacy: if you’re Quirkless, you get less.

‣ ‣ Across the world, demand for specific Quirks (both from employers and consumers) and the search for communities that can better support Quirks leads to populations rapidly urbanizing and densifying. Rural areas eventually hold most of the Quirkless, the elderly, and socially-unacceptable-Quirk populations.

• 1983 The Consortium is formed by Machine Queen to mediate between various supervillain-ruled nations in order to prevent any major wars.

• 1990s Supervillains’ children are noticeably weaker than their parents. The Consortium attempts to genetically engineer a Quirk.

• 2002 First genetically-engineered Quirk-user born. Code-named “Cesium” due to how volatile their Quirk is.

• 2010s Arranged “Quirk Marriages” become popular to compensate for weaker Quirks of second-generation supervillains, and hopefully ensure 3rd-gen supervillains will still be powerful enough to rule.

• 2016 Genetic engineering of Quirks is banned in most countries after Cesium’s Quirk proves too powerful to control and too unstable to be reliable.

• 2020s The Consortium orchestrates a peaceful transition of power between the aging first-gen supervillains and their children. (Excepting All For One, who is immortal and has no living family.) The Machine Queen has developed her technomancy Quirk enough that she goes full transhuman and, like All For One, is effectively immortal.

• 2028 Cesium marries a Quirk researcher with one of the earliest-known Quirk-disabling Quirks. They live a relatively normal life.

• 2030s Cesium’s son, Platinum, proves to have a remarkably powerful and stable quirk. This is widely credited to the mixture of his parents’ Quirks, further boosting the popularity of Quirk Marriages.

• 2050s 3rd generation supervillains come to power (again, arranged by the Consortium) and are still noticeably weaker than second-gen supervillains despite quirk marriages.

• 2055 Platinum founds the Renaissance Project, a training program for the elite, intending to overcome younger supervillains’ lack of inherent power by developing the Quirks they do have as much as possible (and usher in a “Supervillain Renaissance”).

• 2070s Fourth-generation supervillains also much weaker than their parents despite quirk marriages. Skill and creativity with Quirks becomes more important for maintaining power, and Platinum solidifies his position as the headmaster who guided a generation of dictators.

‣ ‣ A new theory suggests that the vastly-above-average Quirks of the first supervillains will continue to "regress to the mean" and weaken each generation, while the overall population's average Quirk strength will continue to increase.

‣ ‣ Supervillains fear a "crossover point" where their citizens are as strong as them, and begin massive crackdowns on Quirk usage. The phrase "Quirk Singularity" is coined to describe when the average person's Quirk strength will match that of the god-like first supervillains, thought to happen sometime in the 25th century.

‣ ‣ Supervillains start recruiting some stronger Quirk-users to enforce their will, as they can no longer singlehandedly control a whole country without extensive support. These were the forerunners to the first hero organizations.

• 2078 A man called Earthmover is imprisoned for illegal quirk use after he rescues hundreds from a landslide. This sparks protests and Japan’s League of Ten—previously government enforcers—side with the protestors and rebel. Age of Supervillains ends, Golden Age of Heroes begins.

• 2080s The crackdown on Quirk usage combines with a severe economic downturn and uprisings break out across the world. Many Quirked state enforcers side with the rebels.

• 2080 By this point, the majority of the world population has a Quirk.

• 2086 Nana Shimura born.

• 2090s Various supervillain dictators fall to uprisings. The Consortium shifts from preserving the status quo to building up underground villain organizations in the face of the new "heroic" society.

• 2092 All For One abandons the Japanese government to the rebels, hoping to continue exerting control through more discrete means than as public dictator. His new underground organization starts absorbing the remnants of other deposed supervillains and becomes the League of Villains. Earthmover & other condemned “heroes” are rescued from prison.

• 2097 The Consortium negotiates with various provisional governments, working to preserve the status quo as much as possible by simply swapping out supervillain dictators with democratically-elected “unitary presidents”.

‣ ‣ This is more or less accepted with a major compromise: No major rebel-hero groups formally dissolve or surrender, they are just in détente with the state. Furthermore, “hero” becomes an official title, and heroes form a parallel pseudo-government, determined by popular vote and with effective veto power over many major state actions. This is rejected by groups like the Meta Liberation Society, who want Quirk regulations abolished, and the Quirk Liberation Army, who want a true revolution.

• 2098 Japan's first Top Ten heroes are selected. Golden Age of Heroes ends, Silver Age of Heroes begins.

• 2099 Earthmover elected first President of Japan.

• 2100s Tensions mount between surviving villain groups.

‣ ‣ The Consortium is largely obsolete without supervillain rulers to coordinate with. The villainous Renaissance Project has been replaced with various hero training schools. Both groups are weakened and rapidly fading, meanwhile, the League of Villains is larger than ever, and All For One’s influence is no longer limited to Japan. All three groups hate heroes, but the other two blame All For One for “giving” Japan to the heroes and empowering other uprisings across the world. (All For One is removed from the Consortium’s board of directors, ending its official ties to the League of Villains and further weakening it.)

‣ ‣ Platinum revamps his organization to become CORE (Counter-Revolution), with the express goal of destroying the hero system.

‣ ‣ The Consortium openly allies with the few remaining villain dictators (no longer “super” after six generations of regressing to the mean), and discretely allies with newer governments that are increasingly nervous about hardline rebels like the QLA.

• 2100 Quirk marriages made illegal in Japan. Most other countries soon follow.

• 2101 UA is founded. Platinum (re)starts genetic engineering program to create super-soldiers for a counter-revolutionary army.

• 2105 Earthmover reelected.

• 2106 Earthmover drafts almost every geokinetic Quirked in Japan to physically expand Japan’s landmass to counter rising sea levels. (Yes, global warming is still happening in this timeline.) This is very popular with the general public, though the actual results are mixed. The project is only half-finished by the time a different president is elected. Within a couple decades, the western coast expansions become a haven for the wealthy while the eastern coast expansions are unfinished and regularly-flooded slums.

• 2109 Nana Shimura becomes 7th holder of OFA. Earthmover announces his retirement before third Japanese presidential elections.

• 2110 Second President of Japan inaugurated.

• 2110s Quirkless discrimination is growing worse. Many believe Quirkless people are naturally going extinct. Employers start preferring any Quirk at all—even an unhelpful or mediocre one—as being better than no Quirk at all.

• 2111 Toshinori Yagi born, Quirkless.

• 2120s Protests by the Meta Liberation Society against the harsh and byzantine Quirk licensing system (including the special status of hero licenses) lead to major police crackdowns on unlicensed quirk usage, fueling the growth of the more radical Quirk Liberation Army. Several countries near civil war as reactionary movements, including old supervillain loyalists, CORE, and the League of Villains, clash both with each other and with groups like the QLA.

‣ ‣ Due to their status as non-state entities, most heroes don’t strictly enforce Quirk regulations, preferring to preserve their popular image as benevolent and non-political guardians, but they are, by now, very invested in the status quo, and merciless in dealing with any perceived violence by the QLA.

• 2125 Toshinori meets Nana Shimura.

• 2128 Toshinori becomes 8th holder of One For All.

• 2130 Nana confronts All For One; he kills her. Toshinori—now going by the hero name All Might—is sent to America to assist in destroying the League of Villains branch there. Second Age of Villains begins.

• 2131 Platinum destroys San Francisco Bay Area. CORE guerillas attack and kill major heroes in Europe (the region where the League of Villains is weakest), planning to crush the hero system there and rebuild a supervillain society outside of AFO’s influence. Quirk Liberation Army and League of Villains clash in Tokyo.

• 2132 All Might stops Platinum from destroying Los Angeles. This incident makes All Might globally renowned, and encourages more international cooperation between heroes.

• 2133 CORE forces start attacking heroes in Russia. An international union of heroes confronts and kills the strongest CORE Quirked in Moscow.

• 2135 At over 100 years old, Platinum is increasingly reliant on Quirk-made support tech to continue working. Though other major villains consider the CORE super-soldier project a failure, he still quietly restarts CORE’s genetic engineering program, this time to produce “perfect” successors to continue his legacy.

• 2138 International cooperation between heroes is now routine, and the League of Villains splinters into hundreds of isolated local groups as All For One fails to keep his organization whole in the face of global coordinated attacks.

• 2139 Quirk Liberation Army collapses under pressure from heroes, who consider them villains. Current Japanese President discovered to be under mind control and peacefully removed from power by vote of the Top Ten heroes. Age of Peace begins.

• 2140s Japan is the heart of the hero system. Its heroes are considered the best, and heroes are effectively Japan’s biggest export to other countries.

• 2150 Izuku Midoriya born, Quirkless.

• 2159 All Might successfully hunts down All For One, but is grievously injured while (seemingly) killing him.

• 2164 Izuku meets All Might.

• 2165 Izuku starts at UA. Technology equivalent to about 2020-level in our world, with the exception of special Quirk-made tech.

‣ ‣ Japan’s population: 250 million.

‣ ‣ World population: 12 billion.

‣ ‣ At 136 years old, Platinum is reaching the limits of what support tech can accomplish, and begins plotting to kill as many heroes as he can before he dies.

• 2166 All Might's final fight with All For One, and retirement. Age of Peace ends.

____________________

Other Notes: This timeline isn’t just abstract worldbuilding; most stuff I wrote here is referenced by characters in-story or directly affects the circumstances characters find themselves in.

For example: the Consortium is villain!Inko’s biggest ally, and later on she moves her base of operations to Japan’s aforementioned east coast slums. The Machine Queen is AFO’s only remaining peer from his dictator days, and serves as a frenemy he can, like, actually talk to. CORE serves as a looming threat from overseas—if/when AFO falls, they will move in. Platinum’s genetically-engineered successors are intended as a villainous mirror to Endeavor’s family. I’ll go further into my villain OCs in this story in a follow-up post.

The countries that the various supervillains ruled over had very different borders than our world’s. Bigger countries tended to get split up between rival dictators, and smaller countries with no major geographical barriers between them often got subsumed and ruled as a single country. (Japan was lucky in that it was already an island nation, and stayed whole before and during All For One’s rule.)

The Public Safety Commission (and its equivalents in other countries) is the official interface between the Japanese government and the parallel pseudo-governments that heroes represent. It is both important and fiendishly complicated.

As a result of the unitary president system most countries run, most governments are hilariously corrupt and barely functional. Heroes are mostly okay with this because, hey, if it’s broke it can’t be tyranny! Neoliberalism still sucks, even in alternate universes, so welfare barely exists, and most people in need have to search for a hero-sponsored charity that caters to their specific circumstances.

There is no World Wide Web. The Consortium encouraged isolationism, trying to limit each supervillain’s ambition to their own fiefdoms. As a result, there are dozens of incompatible networks and computing architectures. (This also made censorship MUCH easier.)

Social media sites like Twitter still exist, because I want to use them as a narrative tool like other fics I’ve seen. But there are no globe-spanning networks of servers, just local subsidiaries running servers dedicated to a single country, and there is no physical infrastructure enabling them to talk to each other. This does become a plot point a couple times.

(It’s considered a big deal that UA has a special computer capable of directly communicating with overseas computers. At another point, All Might has to physically mail a recording of something to another country, because it’s literally the only way he can guarantee somebody across the planet can view the same footage.)

My “technology develops 2 to 3 times slower in this AU than it does in our timeline” rule of thumb suggests, frighteningly, that Twitter has existed for around 30 years in this timeline. (Their technological equivalent of 2007 would be about 2133, while their technological equivalent of 2019 would be in 2163 or so.)

I left out all of Inko’s villain adventures and Izuku’s upbringing, because… I haven’t settled on a timeline for them yet. Also, at a certain point, it just becomes a summary of the fic itself, which isn’t the point of posting this timeline.

[roseamongroses]

W.A.L: “It’s A Long Way Down To the Bottom of the River” (26)

s u m m a r y

Eden was the lowest of the low, a monster, hardly human, and was set to be executed. Roman was on trial, perpetually stuck in time until it was time to atone for his families sins.Neither cared much for staying trapped.So when a Stranger offered freedom, offered peace, offered power, it was hard to say no.Even if it put them on the wrong side of history.

v i b e s

time is irrelevent, homophobia who?, magic and beasts, demigods

w a r n i n g s

Imprisonment, Mentions of execution, Blood/ injuries,  Mentions of past Death, repression, cursing, some  dissociation

c h a r a c t e r s

Deceit(Eden) Sanders, Remy Sanders, Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Emile Picani, Elliot, Kai, Lauren, Dot

Ship: Roceit

1) (2)   (3)  (4) (5)

(6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11)

(12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17)

---

Ms. Drak’on didn’t bother to look up once Logan had entered her office, her massive tail curled in her lap as she tapped away at her computer.

She was busy, always busy and today she was dealing with the mass freeing of the Sanders and all associated parties. For a curse that exhaustive it wasn’t just a matter of freeing them, but it was a matter of arranging new housing, placing younger children under adoptive care, and arranging for funeral services and preservation efforts for any humans or elders caught in the mix.

Overall the whole ordeal was incredibly profitable despite being horrendously irritating. And while being around so many humans was disturbing, it was ultimately for the best. The Council was this world's new future whether the magic-folk liked it or not and Annaliese would be damned if she let her folk be thrown to the wayside like so many others.

Her initial plan was to be a part of the Sanders, seeing as they were a powerhouse among the folk and everyone knew the Council had an eye on them.  It took decades just for her to convince her family to arrange the marriage between her and the Sanders, and many years later for them to forgive her for that failure of an investment. Still, she found away, and when that way fell apart she’d find another and another.

Logan cleared his throat, once then twice, and Annaliese looked up, “Yes?” she said, her long claws tapping impatiently, “Is this related to your studies or the coronation?”

“Uh,” Logan frowned, “No ma’am.”

Annaliese scowled, “Then what is it?”

“I was talking with Patton and Virgil--” Annaliese made a face. She thought he would’ve gotten over them once they had left for the colonies.  Logan continued, “And they mentioned that there was a series of break-ins at The Colonies.”

“And?”

“And… I thought it would a good idea for us to investigate,” He reasoned, “Large amounts of their discarded magical waste had been taken before it was properly deactivated and the only person known to experiment with that is The Stranger so I though-”

“Logan,” She cut him off with a sharp smile, “I admire your dedication,”

Logan blinked startled, “Uh, thank you ma’am,”

“You’re welcome,” Ms. Drak’on’s smile stayed unnervingly in place, “So when I say leave it alone, I’m not trying to discourage you--In fact, I say this as a way to encourage you to keep focus,”

“But nearly a thousand ounces of magical residue went missing that’s enough to--”

“Blow up a small nation, yes, yes I’m aware,” She finished, “Someone else will handle it. I’ll arrange for it personally in fact,” she promised, “But you are going to be the heir of the most powerful folk-family. You need to stop worrying about your friends, stop worrying about some no-name shifter and his joke of a mentor, and start thinking about your own future,” Logan still looked unpleased, “Do you really care about this magical residue or do you just want a rematch.”

“I…” Logan swallowed, “There’s going to be backlash…”

“And? They can have their opinions, it won’t change paperwork, ” Annaliese snapped, “You let them and their little prank under your skin once, but I won’t let it happen again,” she pointed at a singular talon at Logan, “You want to be heir, correct?”

Logan’s face hardened, “Yes.”

“In a couple of months you will be,” She said, “So leave it be, unless you’d rather me pick another heir? You have plenty of cousins who would gladly step up,” Logan flinched and at that, she hummed, “So you’ll leave it be?”

“I’ll…” Logan sighed, “I’ll leave it be,”

---

“It looks pretty, Sof,” Roman said, hands curling around the torn up leaves of the flowers she picked.

Sofia  batted his hands away from her arrangement on the table, “No it isn’t, it’s ugly and stupid,” she huffed as she picked at the flowers, “Marisol would’ve made them pretty,”

“Marisol isn’t here,” Viviane said, readjusting her flower crown with a careless delight, “Momma said she’s still sleeping,”

“I know that,” Sofia grumbled, though she started messing with her flowers more .

“Sofia?”

Her face scrunched and she ignored Roman.

Roman sighed, knowing that at any second she’d get frustrated and either cry or scream. Probably both. He bit his lip, “Sofia, can you do me a big favor?”

At that she looked up, still scowling and eyes watery, “What?”

“Can you help Ma in the garden?”  Roman suggested, pointing out the screen door, “Tami can’t be alone in the house, but Ma’s going to need a lot of help,”

Before Sofia could answer Viviane butted in, “Oh Sofia can’t help, she’d get dirty,”

Sofia’s eyes snapped up full of some equivalent to  fury, “Yes I can!”

“No, you can’t!” Viviane stuck her nose up, pointing to herself, “But I can,”

It didn’t take long for that disaster of an argument to spill outside, startling Ma and a dozing Marie. Once they were out of sight, Roman took a cursory glance at the flowers on the table, before oh so innocently dragging a hand over the stems.

It was a bit harder since the flower's roots had long since been ripped off, but that just meant he had to give them a new root system. It didn’t take long after that for dingy petals to brighten into delicate pinks and yellows and for the torn, leaves to wilt and be replaced with stronger, healthier greens.

While he was finishing up, Lauren walked in, looking sweaty--hair tied in a high ponytail  as she guzzled down water. She raised an eyebrow, “You’re spoiling them,” she accused.

“I can get you flowers too if you’re jealous,” Roman mocked.

Laruen’s eyes narrowed, “I can pick my own,” she scoffed, though her gaze still lingered on the petals, “Maybe you should take some out for your boy~friend, he’s been mean all day,”

“I mean…” Roman shrugged, “I’d be pissy too if I had to babysit y’all instead of, y’know, kissing me.”

Lauren sighed, turning on her heel,  “Leaving now,”

“Love ya too,” Roman said dusting off his hands. He breezed through the living room passing the slumped, heaving forms of Kai and Elliot. He poked his head out of the front door, easily finding Janus in the midst of doing cool-down stretches.

Roman closed the door behind them, a smile creeping on his face, “Darling?” Janus paused mid-stretch but didn’t look up, even as Roman crouched behind them, hugging them from behind. Roman pursed his lips, resting his head on their shoulder, “Janus, you’re ignoring me,” he whined.

“Am I?”

“Yes, yes you are,” Roman said,” Any reason why?”

Janus stiffened, not immediately responding so Roman waited. After a while he finished his stretch, leaning into Roman, “I’m... tired. Just gotta get used to the new training regiment that’s all,”

Roman frowned at that, “Anything I can do?”

“I stink, so a bath would be nice,” Janus sighed.

Roman hummed in agreement, “Can I join?”

“Now,” Janus said, pushing Roman’s face away,

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Roman laughed, giving Janus a little squeeze before standing up, “I’ll run it in a few minutes, try not to stay out here for too long,” He squinted at the setting sun, “It's getting late,”

Janus sighed, “I won’t be long,”

—--

His eyes were burning long after The Stranger gave him another vial. It wasn’t warm, it wasn’t inviting, but it clawed into him deep, stoking an internal itch Deceit never knew he had. On one hand, he could feel himself getting stronger, on the other hand he knew that he had to stay vigilant, lest he lose control.

It wouldn’t be like the first time.

Eden and him had taken the vials at the same time, but it hit Eden much harder. He was human, after all. One moment they were laughing. The next moment, well… Janus couldn’t tell you for sure what happened. But he knew something  changed when the light jabs became shoves, and the words spilling were no longer loving.

Janus had always admired Eden, so of course, it hurt, but if it had just been about Janus well… maybe they would’ve all went to church that day. But Virgil was Janus’s responsibility and Eden… was replaceable. Eden was loved, he was cherished by his family, but at the end of the day he was just as disposable as Janus.

The only difference was that they at least searched for Eden, even if they didn’t really find him. They mourned for Virgil, they were furious at Eden, but never said a word about Janus.

Janus, Eden, Deceit, Janus. It was a mantra he cycled through constantly, but it was especially dizzying when he was alone with himself. One face wasn’t his own, but it was better than nothing. One embraced his nothingness with an obnoxious flair. And one… was nothing, but Roman said it like it meant something. And the more they said it, the more Janus found himself unwilling to hate it completely.

Janus dunked his head in the bath, not rising again until the stink of memories were drowned by his desperate need for air. Then he scrubbed himself as raw as his lungs were, ignoring how his body ached and not lingering on his scales or the irritated and inflamed scars, but instead focussing on his need to be clean.

Once he was done with that, he untied his hair. It had grown back long, but since Deceit tended to just shift to fix his hair it had gotten tangled and matted. After the temptation to rip his hair out of his skull intensified, he dragged himself out of the tub. Throwing on pants, he trudged back into the room--immediately rummaging through the dresser drawers.

Roman, who was hanging off the bed upside down, sat up, “Whatcha lookin’ for?”

“Scissors,” Janus grumbled, “Or a knife, anything sharp--” He frowned, finding nothing but books and clothes.

“Why would you…” Roman trailed off, “Weren’t you going to try to actually take care of your hair?”

“I did try-- it was taking too long,” Janus said, looking up when Roman sighed, “What?”

“Come here, you big baby,” Roman said, leaving no room for complaint as he pulled out a wider-tooth comb from the side-drawer. Janus complied, flopping on his stomach and burying his head in Roman’s lap.

Roman hummed, fingers kneading their scalp gently, causing Janus to tense, before relaxing, “Long day?”

Janus groaned, voice muffled,  “I hate everything,”

Roman had started sectioning Janus’s hair, “I don’t think you hate everything,”

“I hate most things,”

“Eh,”

“...I don’t hate you?”

Roman didn’t say anything to that, starting to pull the comb through Janus’s tangled ends and methodically working his way up. Janus lost himself in the sensation, not quite feeling the pit in his stomach go away, but instead feeling like he had more space to breathe.

At some point Janus had drifted off, only stirring when Roman stopped combing, slowly just rubbing circles in Janus’s scalp. Janus propped his head up on Roman’s lap, vaguely registering that Roman had stole another one of his shirts, “What time is it?”

“Ready to leave me so soon?”

“Mmm…” Janus wrapped an arm around their waist, playing with ends of the shirt, “Not quite,”

“Go--ood,” Roman stuttered, eyes closing as Janus pressed feather-light kisses along their thigh, hand drifting up their shirt, “Aren’t you still tired?”

“A little…” Janus mumbled with a frown, “But with this new schedule I won’t be able to see you as often,” Roman’s face fell, “But... I’m here now,”

“I guess you are…but--” Roman inhaled sharply as Janus’s fangs flashed, “Janus…” Roman squirmed as they sucked at the sensitive skin there.  

“Huh, I thought you were fucking with me, but, “ Janus smiled,  deliberately twirling a vine creeping over Roman’s hip, “You really do like them?”

“Shut up,” Roman whined into his hands, “Of course I like them,”

Janus paused at that, sitting up, “So if I grew a tail and started craving human flesh?”

Roman snorted, “Babe, I had a tail when I was younger,” Janus shot him a curious look, “It fell off--” he explain shortly, “But the point is I’m not even human, you don’t scare me,” he pushed aside his braids, leaning back against the headboard, “In fact, if you hadn’t noticed I find you very attractive,”

“You find Eden very attractive,”

“Yes, I am a fan,” Roman admitted rolling his eyes, “But I guarantee that you can pick any face you want- even your own, and I’d still be just as eager. And… you wanna know why?”

“Why?”

“We’re partners--” Roman squeaked, cupping Janus’s face, his sappy smile beaming into the kiss.

“Is it later yet?” Janus murmured, feeling how Roman’s skin was getting hotter and hotter,  “Cause I really would like to have that talk now--”

There was a knock and they both froze.

Roman was the first to speak, “It's  locked--they’ll go away soon,”

Janus frowned at that, “Are you sure it’s the triplets?”

Roman paused for entirely too long with a look entirely too pissy and Janus rolled off the bed despite their protests. Janus wasn’t surprised to see The Stranger when he opened the door, but The Stranger seemed pretty surprised.

The Stranger’s mouth opened, then closed, “Busy?”

Janus scowled,  “I’ll be out in a minute,” and he shut the door promptly. He winced upon seeing just how pleased Roman was, “Sorry...”

“Don’t apologize… just,” Roman’s gaze flickered to the door, “Be safe.”

---

Deceit had the decency to feel somewhat guilty when The Stranger handed him another vial. It’s just that it was hard to pinpoint any feelings after they handed him another, and another, and another. It was hard to even remember his name and it wasn’t like The Stranger was inclined to remind him.

Blood soaked and vaguely human-shaped, Deceit stumbled up as the snake-like creature slithered towards him again, fangs bared.

He didn’t have to turn around to see The Stranger’s displeased expression. This what...the 45th? 67th? time that Deceit was attempting this shift, whilst trying to avoid the creature -- the pitch blackness of the sky had long since softened into mocking pinks and swirling purples.

The snake lunged and for a dizzying second, Deceit didn’t even feel as their fangs sank into his skin again, tearing at the flesh. He dropped to his knees, fruitlessly clawing at the beast, feeling his shift sharpen and humanity slick away piece by piece.

The Stranger tossed his drink, the cup disappearing, “Alright, enough,” and like that the creature was gone.

Deceit shuddered, hands still grasping as if he could still feel the creature’s grip around his throat, “Was it...was it good enough?”

The Stranger inclined his head, lowering his glasses to observe the glistening, gold scales dripping from Deceit’s lower half, still radiating the same manic energy the snake had, “No, but it's a start,” he said, pushing his glasses up, “You’re too attached,”

Deceit swallowed, “Attached? Attached to what?”

“To your identity,” The Stranger drawled, “Forget it. It's useless anyway,” his spiked boots kicked up the dirt.

“Identity?” Deceit’s laugh  was a choked, guttural thing that caused the pain in his shoulder to flare up,” I don’t have an identity, I’m nothing, remember?”

The Stranger didn’t say anything, an uncomfortable silence stretching, “Same time tomorrow,” he finally said, turning on his heel, “Don’t be late this time,”

When Deceit returned to the house, Lauren took one good look at him before bullying him into getting cleaned up and getting stitches. Deceit let her babble about some T.V show wash over him before he dragged himself to bed.

The next night, it was some underground creature that only appeared when provoked and apparently when you provoked one, the entire nest appeared. It had taken so long to even get a glimpse of them and even longer to shake them all off so by the time he got back to the house it was already mid-day. After Kai stopped yelling at him for missing the sparring sessions they shoved a plate of food in his direction and chucked a water bottle at his head.

On the days that he was nonverbal, they switched to signing without further questioning after Elliot’s telepathy proved to be too overwhelming after a night trapped in a cave with a sound-based creature.

And every day, whenever he could--- he calmed down an upset Roman, letting them check over each new scar and relentlessly curse The Stranger’s name in a surprising amount of languages until they were content that he was in one piece.

Only then did he tell Janus about his day, telling him about the fort the triplets were building outside, about the new book he’s reading, or how he was going to start taking care of Tami and them more often since his mom had finally gotten the paperwork she needed to start working again.

It was odd floating between those moments of normalcy and chaos, but it was odder when they overlapped. Tonight it was less of a creature and more of a gelatin mass that seeped acid.

Deceit wasn’t allowed to attack it back, not unless he replicated it perfectly, but as he was letting that acid bastard swallow him all he could think about was yesterday night.

Roman had just finished Tami’s very specific bedtime routine when he had walked into the room doe eyed and really quiet. After a few attempts at prodding, they quietly admitted that they might want kids when he got older. Which wasn’t surprising, but what did throw Deceit off guard was the fact that they asked for his opinion on the matter. As if Deceit had a future beyond this--and if he did how much of it would be dedicated to being The Stranger’s experiment?

He hadn’t even noticed that the creature was gone until The Stranger snapped in front of his face, annoyed. Deceit staggered up, “Sorry--are we done?”

“Sure, this isn’t working anyway,” The Stranger said cooly and Deceit tensed, “You’re still distracted, you’re still attached,”

“I…” Deceit frowned, “I don’t understand,”

“Of course you don’t,” The Stranger scoffed, “You’re lucky you’re not a complete waste of time or I wouldn’t even bother trying at this point,” he the lollipop cracked in his mouth, “Don’t bother coming back tomorrow,”

Both relief and terror pooled into Deceit’s gut, “What?”

“Don’t get so worked up--” The Stranger scolded, “You get the next three days off and , after that we’re going on a little trip. If it goes as planned, we’ll have everything we ever wanted,”

“And...if it doesn’t go as planned?”

“Well, I'll take a break somewhere blisteringly hot and then try again in the next hundred years,” The Stranger shrugged.

Deceit didn’t have to ask to figure out what would happen to him.

[cincinnatusvirtue]

Presidential Profile: James Monroe (1758-1831).  5th President of the United States.

Pre-Presidency (1758-1816):

- James Monroe was born on April 28, 1758 in Westmoreland County, Virginia.

- Monroe’s parents were Spence Monroe and Elizabeth Jones, he had 4 other siblings.  His father was a modestly successful farmer and carpenter.

- His ancestry is Scottish, Welsh and French Huguenot, making him the first President to not be of English descent.

- Orphaned at age 16, he inherited his parent’s land and property and gradually under patronage from his maternal uncle who was a member of Virginia’s House of Burgesses, through here he first made connections with Thomas Jefferson and George Washington.

- He dropped out of college to take part in the American Revolution.  Due to lack of literacy among enlisted men, Monroe was literate through his schooling became an officer.  He along with regiments of fellow Virginians took part in Washington’s New Jersey Campaign, partaking in the Battle of Trenton against the British allied German Auxiliaries the Hessians.  Monroe was seriously wounded with a gunshot to the shoulder that severed an artery, he was saved due to quick action by his fellow soldiers.

-Monroe’s service in the war continued off and on, he was present at Valley Forge and took part in the Battle of Monmouth.  He was often sent back to Virginia to raise more troops but often suffered frustration through low recruitment.  Eventually he was sent to Williamsburg, Virginia to study law under his friend and mentor, Thomas Jefferson.  His interest in being a lawyer was said to be mostly motivated by its path to social connections for better social and political advancement rather than borne out a love of law itself.

- On February 16, 1786 he married New Yorker Elizabeth Kortwright, a member of a wealthy New York merchant family of Dutch and English background, her father had once been a British officer.  They had three children, 2 daughters to survive into adulthood and one son who died in infancy.

- He sold his inherited plantation in 1783 and later purchased large plantations and real estate.  Though he became wealthy, his plantations were not very profitable and financial losses compounded by some expensive French influenced tastes caused financial hardship.  He often had to sell land and his own slaves from time to time just to break even.

- He became a member of the Virginia House of Delegates and later part of Virginia’s delegation to the Continental Congress, where befriended James Madison.  Monroe here asserted his belief in the future Jeffersonian philosophy that became the basis for the future Democratic-Republican Party, or Anti-federalist philosophy as it was this known.  He was a proponent of states rights and outspoken against the passing of the US Constitution though he was somewhat in favor of reforming the Articles of Confederation.

-His political career would see him serve as a US Senator from Virginia in the 1790′s then later becoming George Washington’s appointed Minister to France (US Ambassador).  Monroe however was outraged by the Jay Treaty signed by Washington which established commerce with Great Britain.  He was firmly anti-British at this point and in support of Thomas Jefferson and James Madison’s increasingly pro-French anti-Federalist sentiment.  This put him in opposition to Alexander Hamilton’s Federalist stance.  His time as Senator lead to investigations of financial misdeeds which linked to Hamilton, this eventually lead to the public disclosure of Hamilton’s extramarital affair but not his link to financial impropriety.  Years later the two nearly arranged a duel but it was diffused by interesting future Vice President Aaron Burr who later killed Hamilton himself in a duel. 1799 saw him elected Governor of Virginia serving until 1802, a role he would briefly serve in again 1811.

- He helped support Thomas Jefferson’s candidacy for President in 1800, which Jefferson would win, defeating incumbent John Adams.  Monroe was subsequently involved in negotiating the Lousiana Purchase with Napoleonic France and later made Minister to Great Britain in Jefferson’s administration.  Monroe attended Napoleon’s coronation as Emperor of the French in 1804.  Notably during his tenure as Minister to Britain he signed the Monroe-Pinkney Treaty which would have updated the Jay Treaty for another ten years, seeing the Jay Treaty as largely a success with lucrative trade and a lasting peace with Britain, Jefferson however refused to submit the treaty to the Senate for ratification.  Relations with Britain soured leading to the eventual War of 1812.

- 1808 saw Monroe return to the US and consider running for President but Jefferson did not endorse him and he began to see this as a snub due to a preference for then Secretary of State James Madison.  Monroe and Jefferson repaired their friendship after Madison was elected in 1808, while Monroe refused to speak to Madison for two years.

- He was again elected to Governor of Virginia in 1811 but only served four months before being offered the Secretary of State position.  Madison did so for two reasons, he thought Monroe’s popularity with different factions within the Democratic-Republican party would be healed by Monroe’s personal appeal.  Secondly, he had much diplomatic experience and was viewed as improvement over his predecessor, Robert Smith.

-As Secretary of State, his primary goal was to make treaties ensuring neutrality and peace with both Britain and France, who lead opposing coalitions in Europe during the Napoleonic Wars.  However, ongoing British policy of impressment of US sailors into Royal Navy service eventually lead to a declaration of war by Congress and signed by President Madison in June 1812.  Monroe came round to supporting the war effort which went badly for both sides.  Madison removed his Secretary of War and couldn’t find a replacement, so it was offered to Monroe having had prior military experience.  He resigned as Secretary of State but when no replacement could be found he kept both Secretary roles at once running the War and State Departments simultaneously becoming the only person in any Cabinet to hold two Cabinet positions at once.  Monroe handled the last months of the war deftly, helping to improve financing for the war and the army in general.  He also, helped order General Andrew Jackson to New Orleans where Jackson famously repelled a British invasion at the war’s conclusion.  While the War of 1812 was officially a stalemate, Jackson’s victory gave the nation a new sense of patriotism and euphoria.  It also effectively ended the Federalist party for its anti-war stance and the attempt at New England’s secession with the Hartford Convention which was unpopular with the Federalist stronghold of New England it’s merchants who traded with Great Britain.

Presidency (1817-1825):

-Monroe was the successor to Madison much as Madison had been to Jefferson, helping to establish the Secretary of State as the most crucial and sought after position in the Presidential Cabinet.  He became the Democratic-Republican candidate in 1816 and along with running mate, Daniel Tompkins, Governor of New York became the 5th President and 6th Vice President of the United States respectively after defeating the Federalist candidate Rufus King.  Monroe won 68% of the popular vote and 183 electoral college votes to King’s 34.

- Monroe as 5th President was the last of the so called Virginia Dynasty that had dominated the Presidency since its inception.  Washington, Jefferson and Madison of his predecessors were fellow Virginians and part of the plantation land owner elite like Monroe.  Only John Adams had been from Massachusetts and was not a slave owner.

- Monroe would preside over the Era of Good Feelings.  A name given to America’s decade after the conclusion of the War of 1812 in which American politics on the surface appeared to be increasingly non-partisan and non-sectional and less divided into factions.  In fact the Federalist Party essentially ceased after 1816 and only the Democratic-Republican Party would exist for the next decade.  Monroe, notably undertook “goodwill tours” in 1817 and 1819 throughout the country.  This helped to heal factions and saw the Federalists now merge into the Democratic-Republican Party, a process know as amalgamation.

- Monroe’s personal hope was that this amalgamation would eventually lead to the cessation of political parties altogether.  His personal hope was to have what he saw as self-disinterested, virtuous and wise leaders who were non-partisan run the country rather than divide the country as Federalist and Anti-Federalist factions had done in the preceding decades.  During the course of the war, Monroe’s personal anti-federalism wavered and he came to appreciate some federal institutions in picking up the slack where the proponents of states rights had railed against previously.  He saw too much decentralization as inefficient just as he saw too much federalization as inefficient and immoral.  He now sought a balance and while he personally strove for nationalism over partisan politics like Washington before him, many within his party were ramping up the partisanship against one another.  Purists of states rights began to see Monroe as betraying the original vision he once espoused.  Meanwhile former federalists within the party began to infuse their beliefs as well.

- A sure sign of the underlying divides during Monroe’s administration was the recurring issue of slavery.  Since the country’s founding the issue of slavery of African-Americans was a contentious one.  Increasingly it was becoming a sectional divide along Northern and Southern states, with the Northern states largely banning slavery and the South allowing it.  Monroe, himself a slave owner was not disinterested in the issue.  However, he sought preservation of the Union among all states as highest priority.  This was to be a Presidential rallying cry in the coming decades.  in 1820, an election year, Monroe would pass the Missouri Compromise of 1820, it banned slavery  in all states and territories North of a geographic line and permitted slavery in states South of said line.  It also added a slave state to be balanced out by a free state, in this case Missouri became a slave state while Maine was admitted into the Union as a free state, having been previously part of Massachusetts.  This precedent would carry right on until the Civil War, it only further added to the sectional and later partisan divide within the country.

- Monroe would oversee adding a total of five states to the Union during his tenure.  Mississippi, Illinois, Alabama, Maine and Missouri.

-1819 also saw a financial depression, the so called Panic of 1819.  Brought on by a decline in prices of agricultural produce due declining import and export demand in the wake of the post Napoleonic era.  This coupled with speculative practices in public land sale lead to issuance of paper money which became worthless.  It lead to unemployment, bankruptcy and foreclosures and distrust of banking practices.  Monroe combated this with a proposed tariff increase.  Tariffs of on other countries goods coming into the US and collections of these tariffs funded the federal government absent an income tax which funds the government in the modern era.  Monroe offered no specifics on the rates and Congress would not raise the tariff until 1824, five years after the initial proposal.

- 1820 saw Monroe run for a second term.  He ran unopposed, the third and final time this happened in American history.  Only George Washington ran unopposed during his two elections.  Monroe would have repeated Washington’s feat of being unanimously elected had one faithless elector not voted for his Secretary of State, John Quincy Adams instead.  Giving Monroe a total of 231 electoral votes, he won all 24 states and 80% of the overall popular vote.

-Monroe, though a slave owner, was also a proponent of resettling freed former slaves elsewhere in the world.  he was a member of the American Colonization Society, dedicated to this project of resettlement of African-Americans in Africa.  The country of Liberia was founded as a result of this.  Becoming the only modern African country to founded by freed slaves from the Americas and never to be subject to European imperialism.  They named their capital after James Monroe, its name Monrovia, survives to this day.  Monroe, while an owner of slaves, much like Washington and Jefferson, privately criticized the institution as an evil and one they hoped in time would go away.  Even if they felt the government had no legal power to forcibly end it and their own personal profit resulting from slavery always colored their decision making.  Monroe was clear in his letters to others and in his own private writings that slavery was an evil and one that was inherited by Americans from their times as a British colony, it was a legacy they grew up conditioned with and from which they felt powerless to end by law.

- Monroe’s domestic agenda was largely defined by the so called Era of Good Feelings and the subsequent Panic of 1819 and Missouri Compromise of 1820.  Issues that in the moment showed the undercurrent of division, only to see it recede by compromise delaying the inevitable by kicking the cans of the slavery issue and resurfacing partisanship down the road.  Monroe also saw domestic proposal improvements which needed funding from Congress.  He wanted to pass laws to federally develop new highways and canals.  He didn’t think the Constitution at that time allowed for it and urged Congress to pass an amendment giving them the power to fund interstate roads and canals.  Monroe felt Congress could appropriate funds as needed but could not administer or construct the internal infrastructure themselves.  1824′s Supreme Court decision in Gibbons v. Ogden ultimately found that Congress had the power to regulate interstate commerce.  It shortly thereafter passed laws which broke ground for the federal government’s involvement with interstate infrastructure funding.

- In foreign policy Monroe made his mark with treaties with Britain and Russia.  The British treaty demilitarized the Canadian-American border, saw the naval arms race on the Great Lakes deescalate and a ten year joint occupation of Oregon Territory.  It also helped renew trade between the two and further a lasting peace.  With Russia, Monroe concluded a treaty that geographically defined the extent and limit of Russia’s sphere of influence in the Pacific, paving the way for later American forays into the region.  He also oversaw the purchase of Spanish Florida.  Initially, raids by Seminole tribe members into southern US states prompted General Andrew Jackson to invade Florida, then a Spanish colony to put down the source of these raids.  Jackson was criticized by Congress for almost starting an undeclared war with Spain.  However, Monroe supported Jackson’s moves against the Seminole, launching the Seminole Wars of Florida.  In 1821, John Quincy Adams as Secretary of State, negotiated the purchase of Florida from Spain, in the Adams-Onis Treaty.  It gave Spain much needed cash and freed them of the burden of maintaining an  increasingly difficult to manage colony.  For America is gave a geostrategic projection into the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico and allowed for new settlement and investment and carte blanche to deal with the Seminole threat on their own terms.

- Monroe’s most lasting foreign policy accomplishment was again really written and defined by John Quincy Adams, but it was adopted as policy by Monroe and would forever be associated with his name.  The Monroe Doctrine would become a cornerstone and landmark declaration in American foreign policy, it stated the United States would no longer tolerate European foreign influence in the American hemisphere and would consider war or economic pressure if needed, specifically in the newly independent countries of the Americas.  Colonies belonging to Spain especially during this time were gaining independence, namely Mexico and Gran Colombia (Colombia, Venezuela, Bolivia).  Colonies still part of European empires were excluded.  The move effectively served as notice that the United States would be the predominant power in the Americas and saw it was its own sphere of influence or “backyard”.  The Monroe Doctrine would be cited and influence later American foreign policy declarations in the Americas and the world over.  From the Roosevelt Corollary to the Truman, Kennedy and Reagan Doctrines.  in 1822 alone, Monroe recognized the independence of Mexico, Argentina, Colombia, Chile an Peru.  Monroe sought favorable trade with Latin American nations and upholding exchanges of “republican values” with these sister American republics in the new world as he saw it.

Post-Presidency and Legacy (1825-1831):

- Monroe ended his Presidency in 1825 after the 1824 election, having completed two terms like all his predecessors save for John Adams who only served one term.  Two terms was customary then as the precedent set by George Washington though not legally obligated until the mid 20th century with the passage of the 22nd Amendment.

- Monroe was succeeded by John Quincy Adams, his Secretary of State and son of former President John Adams.  Adams had a contentious four way race for President with Henry Clay, John Calhoun and Andrew Jackson.  While Jackson won a plurality of Electoral College votes necessary to the Presidency, he didn’t win the majority required.  The four way race dropped down to two when the contingency election held in the US House of Representatives as outlined in the Constitution determined the winner.  Adams won this election becoming the 6th President of the United States.  Jackson charged Adams with making a “corrupt bargain” to getting the Presidency.  By accusing Adams of making a deal with Henry Clay, Speaker of the House, to drop his candidacy and influence the House vote in exchange for becoming Secretary of State in Adams’ Cabinet, a perceived logical precursor to being President himself.  The allegations of this tarnished Adams in Jackson’s eyes and the geographic sectionalism and partisan factionalism that Monroe thought was so damaging to the republic came to the surface.  This killed the Era of Good Feelings effectively.  Adams would go on to serve one term without much support for his programs in Congress while Jackson worked behind the scenes to establish a new network of support for a rematch with Adams in 1828.  Jackson along with Martin Van Buren of New York laid the groundwork during this time for the modern Democrat Party.  This effectively ended the Jeffersonian Democratic-Republican Party, with Jacksonian Democracy and the Democrat Party seeing itself as ideological successor to the original doctrine of Jeffersonian Democracy while the amalgamated wings of the party espoused by Adams and even Monroe were repudiated.  Eventually the Whig party would form from the ashes of these amalgamated wings of the Democrat-Republican Party in opposition to Jackson’s policies.

- Monroe’s hoped legacy of nationalism and diffusing partisan politics were ultimately undermined.  One party functioned during his Presidency, his election was the death knell of one opposing party but in his adoption of certain institutions from his former opponents he unknowingly contributed to the development of new parties despite his hope that parties would disappear altogether.  Some events were beyond Monroe’s control, the ego of subordinates, the geographic sectionalism and the issue of slavery were not something one person could control forever.

-Monroe would live until 1831 in retirement on his farms.  He continued to face financial problems and was preceded in death by his wife in 1830.  He moved in with youngest daughter and son in law (also his nephew and daughter’s cousin) in New York City where he died on July 4th 1831 at age 73 from a tuberculosis and heart failure.

- Monroe was the last of Presidents who served in the American Revolution if one does not count Andrew Jackson’s service as a courier for Patriot militia in the Carolinas.

- In most historical rankings of Presidents in the modern era James Monroe is ranked as an above-average President.  He shifted alot of focus to domestic issues after foreign policy dominated politics for so long.  He also made one of the most long lasting and influential cornerstones of American foreign policy with the Monroe Doctrine.  He also oversaw the expansion and consolidation of the US east of the Mississippi River and presided over one of the few times in American history where one party functionally existed on a national level.  He was viewed as a more decisive executive than either James Madison or John Adams, two men regarded for their legislative brilliance and intelligence but often regarded and indecisive and emotionally complex executives.  Monroe in terms of temperament was more decisive, regarded as relatively intelligent if not outright brilliant in terms of mental capacity.  He was formal in most manner but not condescending and usually disarming with his personal warmth and charm as a character towards almost all who met him.  This became his chief political strength, he could have detractors who questioned his wisdom but were always disarmed by his friendly disposition and earned him a sort of personal charisma other politicians lacked. He could transcend factions within the party and appeal to the everyday citizen too.  Helping to push his agenda along by force of personality alone sometimes.

- Monrovia, Liberia is the only national capital city other than Washington DC named after a President.  Monroe also has 17 counties named after him in various US states, along with various cities and townships across the country too.

- In terms of fashion he was end of era too, the last to wear his a powdered wig, tricorne hat and knee high breeches as was the norm during the late 18th century.  He was also the last President never to be photographed, his successor John Quincy Adams would be the first.

[kshitij1997]

Welcome back!

Well, the die has been cast, and Europe shall endure the consequences. Or will it?

Onward with the story :)

All Frozen and Tangled characters belong to Disney. All I own is this retelling and some original characters.

Chapter 10: Felino the crooked nose

 

February the 5th, 1828,

‘You’re a frigid, wormy piece of shit, you know that?’, growled the recently anointed Tsar at the Arendellian Monarch. Not a good sign for the conference the concert of Europe had arranged; the Monarch of Arendelle was hellbent on closing his country yet again, and no one was willing to budge on their stance.

‘I care not for the impression you choose to have about me, your majesty. I have my reasons and my fears to support my decision. I have to do what I feel is best for my kingdom, as would you if you faced a decision of a similar magnitude.’ Agnarr stated his position calmly, even as he felt no genuine respect for the Russian Monarch. Unlike his late brother, Tsar Nicholas the first had no great capacity for empathy and understanding. He had chosen to keep himself and his people ignorant. After all, what could one say of the sovereign who treated his highest officials and closest advisors like the serfs he saw them to be, and the holy synod under him bragged openly about how it was their god given duty to keep the downtrodden as they were. Oh, how their man, Sergei Uvarov, the Tsar’s minister of education, openly declared: “If I can extend Russia’s childhood another fifty years I will consider my mission accomplished.”

Oh, the Tsar saw himself as a god, and a jealous one at that. Agnarr understood that and knew that as a fellow sovereign, the Tsar could do little but rant in his face for the insult. Even if he would want to wage war upon Arendelle, he wouldn’t wish to give up access to the only warm water seaport he had. Still, Agnarr’s worries were far greater than some disgruntled people in power.

Elsa had lost control of her powers and was crippled in her fear, Anna had been forced to selective amnesia from Grand Pabbie, leaving no trace of Elsa’s powers and Olva...well she hadn’t been so fortunate. Against the advice of Grand Pabbie, he and Iduna had insisted on the procedure of wiping her memory clean of Elsa’s powers and the accident. The hermit warned of the consequences he was facing now with Olva, but how was he to know in his panic and desperation? Now the poor girl had begun experiencing fits and severe headaches, along with bouts of fainting for several minutes. He hadn’t slept this past month properly in the worry of what could happen to his family. Now he had a solution, and he would not back off from it. He must protect his family in any way possible. He must.

‘Your majesties, please don’t antagonise each other. This concerns all of us. You’re not the only ones troubled here. King Agnarr, you’d best explain yourself.’, queen Sophia spoke firmly as she presided over the conference. Agnarr’s declaration had shocked everyone, and he was yet to provide an explanation.

‘Thank you, queen Sophia. I have no intent on stepping on anyone’s face or insulting anyone. This sudden policy of isolation is a measure of precaution. I have it on reliable sources and personal knowledge that there are elements of revolution and insurgency brewing up in my kingdom. I can’t ignore it like the previous bourbon king of France in his time, god rest his soul. I must deal with these rebels quickly and with extreme prejudice. Because if I don’t then Arendelle falls forever, and if Arendelle falls, all northern Europe shall sink along with it.

And before you decide on persecuting war against me, ask yourselves this. Haven’t we had enough of war? We saw 2 decades of war followed by a decade of relative peace. If you ask me, I’d rather prefer the latter. I make this tough choice for the safety of all Europe, please understand.’

He paused to size up the room, who could be his allies and enemies hereafter. Corona and Austria-Hungary were definitely his allies; he knew Reginald would support him in the end. Weselton and the English would be against it; his partnership with them and America would be at risk, he’ll have to accommodate them somehow. Same was the situation with Russia. Maybe the Ottomans had to be brought in to keep Russia in check? Spain and the Southern Isles could be neutral; the Spanish could not care less, their main rivals were the English and the French, they would only vote as a formality. As for the Southern Isles were represented by queen Paulina, for the king had taken ill. On the surface, Paulina looked pleasant and charismatic, yet Agnarr knew that she would be a formidable and dangerous foe if he didn’t play this right. He began to speak again but was rudely interrupted.   

‘And what would be these insurgent elements? The Northuldra?’, asked the duke of Weselton. The room tensed at the duke’s blatant attempt towards badgering the king of Arendelle. Agnarr had to fight a very strong impulse towards bashing the duke’s head on the wall. After composing himself mentally, he replied with barely concealed intentions ‘Why, yes. They have been neglected for far too long. I must attempt to bring them up with the kingdom. They are too obscure and are getting discontent.’

‘Just the language your father used, didn’t he? And where is he now? Lost like the rest of them. I’m telling you; this country is a lost cause. The Northuldra are ‘discontent’? Don’t make me laugh. They’re out for your and your family’s blood. They have been for years.’, the duke was clearly enjoying himself at Agnarr’s expense.

‘And if I hope to pursue a peaceful solution and keep Europe out of the mess, what is so wrong with that, duke?’, Agnarr nearly spat out the last part.

‘It’s always something personal. What, a problem with your kids now?’

‘Why, your uncouth son of a-‘

‘ENOUGH!’, the presiding queen roared. ‘That’s the second time you have tried to lay discord in the concert on purpose, duke. Once it was over my kidnapped child and now this. I swear, if it happens again, you’re going to meet your maker without warning, in front of everyone!’

‘I can’t believe you’re still going on about your bloody kid. She’s fucking dead! I always get enraged how the kings of Europe are disturbed about such trivial matters, and I’m to be punished because I call out the bullshit for what it is?! Fine. Hang, draw, and quarter me all you want, that does not change the fact that once again, some people are sullying the good name of the concert for their own interests.’, the duke spat venom without a care.

‘I’ve heard enough. Marshals, break the duke’s kneecaps.’, an enraged Sophia gave the cold order to her personal guard. The duke’s bravado melted away instantly, and he shrunk in his stature as the marshals came to deal with him.

‘Sophie, stop!’ King Reginald shouted.

‘Pray tell, what now, Reginald?’ his spouse was beyond annoyed by now.

The king of Corona whispered in his spouse’s ear ‘We’ll get the coward some other time. I need to talk sense into Agnarr somehow. I advise you to break for recess.’ A rare sight for the usually tempestuous king to calm down his calmer, more pragmatic wife.

Queen Sophia sighed heavily and announced a recess.

Once they were alone, Reginald confronted Agnarr ‘What’s gotten into you, Agnarr? You’re supposed to be the sensible one amongst us two.’       

‘I’ll tell you what’s sensible. I should invade the fucking duchy of Weselton, lay it to fucking waste, burn it to the fucking ground, and salt the fucking remains barren forever!’ Agnarr snarled with uncharacteristic murder in his eyes.

‘Oh, calm down, crusader. I hate the duke much more than you do, believe me. Nevertheless, even I must agree with that poltroon over your course of action. It’s drastic and uncalled for. Tell me honestly what’s bothering you. We’ll make it right. Tell me.’

‘You don’t believe me? I told you every reason I have for doing this. My kingdom has only just recovered from the previous war. I can’t risk another. I certainly can’t afford it to become a pan-European conflict. At the end of the day, I just want my heir to inherit a stable state. An agitated group of people is not the hallmark of a stable state. Even if it takes me years, I must resolve this once and for all.’

Reginald spoke empathetically ‘Alright, but it still is a visceral reaction to the situation. I think foreign aid would only help more. Are you sure about it?’

Agnarr thought about telling the truth to his best friend, but ultimately decided otherwise; he couldn’t let the secret get out in any circumstance.

‘Yes I am. I also believe that those so-called insurgents are supplied by foreign powers themselves; they would like nothing more than to make my kingdom their colony. And that fucking Weselton shill... I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s behind the whole damn thing.’

‘That may be true, but without solid evidence, we can’t deal with him effectively. We must be sure.’ Reginald advised him.

‘Alright, but I can’t back down from my position. Yes, my kingdom will suffer in the short run, but I know we’ll be secure and united eventually.’

Ultimately, the concert decided that Arendelle would only keep one point of access open to the outside world; the main port. Only diplomats and special traders would be allowed. Every other traveller, from tourist to student would have to be barred from entering the country. It may cause uprising among the international students in his kingdom, but he’ll have to deal with them on his down. To preserve the security, the red tape for the traders and businessmen became very harsh. All, in service towards protecting my family; Agnarr thought.

A week later

A craven figure along with half a dozen guards floated in a rowboat towards one of the northern shores of Arendelle, beyond the mist. A hooded figure in silhouette waited for them on shore, heavily dressed to protect them self against the bitter February cold. Upon reaching the shore, the hooded bowed in respect and said ‘Welcome, honourable duke of Weselton. I hope your journey was pleasant enough.’

‘As pleasant a trip I could hope in stormy, waning winter, thank you for asking.’, the duke removed his cloak and coat to make his face more visible, and gestured his guards to disembark and stand around. The scrawny man took a moment to stretch himself, and at length, spoke ‘How many instances of forbidden people wandering into your grounds?’

‘Not as many as before, however a group of the Iceni tribe were intercepted in the valley of death during patrol two months ago and dealt with without exception. No survivors that we know of.’

‘Good, the illegals are dwindling, soon they would be no problem. However, as long as Arendelle stands, you’ll never be safe. We’ll have to confront them once and for all.’

‘Let’s continue our discussion on the way to camp, honourable duke.’

The Northuldrian camp was twenty-five kilometres inland from the seashore, but the spirits had grown very erratic in recent years, so the Northuldra had to find new routes to their homes every few weeks. The latest incident was particularly severe; a landslide had destroyed the usual detour they took, so they had to take the tributaries by another boat, a slower but safer way of travel.

‘Forgive me, honourable duke. I know travel by water does not agree with you.’

‘I’ll live. Tell me, how is everything holding up north of the mist?’

‘We’re eking out a living somehow. As you know, the rivers have been gradually changing course towards the south, our arable lands are going barren as a result. Adding to the problem, the rains are becoming scarcer with every passing year bit by bit. I regret to inform you that the poppy plantation is facing a loss, the raw material for the heroin would be short this time.’

‘It seems you’ve lost the plot, haven’t you? How will I get you your weapons if your end of the bargain is low? Weapons, armament, lumber and steam technology for ships don’t come cheap, you know?’ the duke said with the faux humility that masked grave threats underneath, and the hooded figure knew well what those threats were. Nevertheless, a low yield was not the biggest problem.

‘There’s more, honourable duke. Arendelle has tried to sue for peace and is willing to cooperate.’

‘Yes, I heard. We both know it’s nonsense.’

‘I’m not so sure. The terms they have offered seem rather reasonable.’

‘I’m sure they are. They may be too reasonable, I’m afraid. Implying something between the lines. The implication being disastrous for the Northuldra. If you ask me, I would never take any terms Europe offers at face value.’

‘I’m a fair sceptic of the south, just as you are. But since the rise of the mist, they have not engaged in any big skirmishes.’

The duke sighed and said ‘It pains me to say it, but you lack an ocean of imagination. There are uncountable ways to fight a war of attrition, and Arendelle has chosen the most insidious way.’

‘What do you mean, duke?’

‘I’d rather tell this to everyone at once, instead of making it a poor game of translation errors.’, with that, the duke fell silent, knowing full well that the hooded figure’s doubts had been flared up.

After a voyage of two hours, the party reached the camp. A huge crowd had gathered upon the riverbank where the canoe stopped. The hooded figure removed his hood and stood beside the Northuldra leader as her most trusted vassal. The Northuldra leader went by the name of Yelena, a woman moving towards middle age, standing barely above the duke in stature, but those aged eyes had seen many ups and downs. The leader slightly prostrated herself before the duke; the Northuldra way of showing respect towards authority.

‘Welcome, o duke! I hope your voyage was pleasant.’

‘As much as I could hope it to be. I must say, the Northuldra’s native lands grow more beautiful every time I venture up’ the duke said.

‘Your grace flatters us. I believe my trusted vassal has given you the lowdown for everything that has happened in the past three months. We’ll be happy to discuss a compromise for the goods you need.’

‘Thank you, your excellency. However, my worries include the survival of the Northuldra as well.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘You may have received terms from the king of Arendelle for a peaceful cessation in the past few days, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, they are more reasonable than I expected.’

‘I feared so, for if you paid attention, you’d realise that the terms are too positive. They’re willing to overlook the massacre of the group of Iceni that happened two months ago. Not to mention the fact that they may have stumbled about the truth about our trade operation as well.’

‘Speaking of the trade operation, what we may be short of in terms of goods, we’ll make up in plunder in the North Atlantic. I have sanctioned three fleets for the same purpose later this week.’

‘That is encouraging, but I must warn you, the plundering operation would become very difficult very soon. What with the king of Arendelle sealing the kingdom’s maritime and overland borders.’

‘Excuse me, come again?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you knew.’

‘No, I didn’t. Please enlighten us, your grace.’

‘Well, your excellency, the king of Arendelle has decided to isolate the country, and I quote his speech: “This sudden policy of isolation is a measure of precaution. I have it on reliable sources and personal knowledge that there are elements of revolution and insurgency brewing up in my kingdom. I can’t ignore it like the previous bourbon king of France in his time, god rest his soul. I must deal with these rebels quickly and with extreme prejudice. Because if I don’t, then Arendelle falls forever, and if Arendelle falls, all northern Europe shall sink along with it.” Now you tell me, is this the language a man would use while suing for peace?’

Yelena became quiet for a moment, taking in al the information. At length, she asked ‘What are the possible ramifications of this declaration?’

‘They could be numerous, but I’ll tell you the most obvious one. Within a month at the latest, the coasts would be dotted by the Arendellian navy, putting a blockade through which nothing except their own ships could get in or out. You can imagine they would be only too happy to hunt down your pirate ships before you’re able to secure any loot at all. You can’t raid through the land, as the mist is your most powerful jailer. It will surely be a stifling experience; I won’t deny it.’

‘What if we do sue for peace? If we sincerely send an envoy to the south?’

‘Aye, you could try that. In fact, I suggest you try that without fail.’ Interrupted a tall, dark man as he made his way inside Yelena’s tent.’

‘Mathias, just because the mist forces me to tolerate and learn to like your presence doesn’t mean you interrupt me in meetings about the matters of state.’ Yelena bristled with annoyance.

‘Believe me, once the mist lifts up, I’ll ride south, first thing on my to-do list.’

‘Mathias, you look familiar. Tall, dark, muscular, good posture. Does your Ethiopian father still till the grain and tan the leather shoes?’, making harsh, cutting remarks was a talent the duke used well.

‘No. Does the honourable duke take me for his wretched bastard slaves in the Congo?’ Mathias growled.

‘Gentlemen, please. Your grace, please don’t mind Mathias. Yes, he’s a southerner. He was in king Runeard’s personal guard from what I gather. He may look brutish and imposing, but he’s harmless and dare I say, a halfway decent man. He doesn’t usually interrupt one of my meetings, so this instance must be special. Tell us big boy, what should bother us?’ Yelena finished as she turned to Mathias.

‘I’m sorry. I’m not willing to entertain the stories of a deserter.’, the duke said nonchalantly.

‘As if your pip squeakiness has ever been in a battle to judge a trapped prisoner of war?’ Mathias seethed.

‘See, even he agrees, we’re at war.’ Oh, they were all playing right into my hands, the duke thought with glee.

‘Yes, and now peace must be made. Yelena, this is not the time to go on the offensive. Trust me.’ Mathias faced Yelena as he settled down beside her.

‘Maybe, but it is a peace we would be forced into. We want it on our own terms, Mathias. I understand you’re homesick, but we haven’t had a home to go back to for decades. We will assert our terms onto the king, and he will have to accept it. If he doesn’t, it’s war.’

‘Lofty words, your excellency. Alas, there’s no substance or weight to back your words. You’ll be blockaded soon, and travel by land is impossible anyhow. I suggest you make a permanent settlement here and be done with it.’, the duke laid the bait.

‘And perpetually disturb the peace of the spirits by claiming their sacred forest? Never.’, and Yelena took it.

‘Well, I can’t negotiate such a big difference in your quantity of goods. You’ll have to offer me something if I must continue supporting your struggle. What about lumber from the forest?’

‘You must be reading a fucking comedy. When we refuse to make a permanent settlement in the forest, YOU PROCEED TO SUGGEST SOMETHING FAR WORSE?!’, Mathias had half a mind to strangle the duke right there, when he was stopped by Yelena.

‘Sit down, Mathias! We’re in desperate times. We’ll have to do what we must in order to survive.’

‘Making a bad situation worse is survival?! Can you imagine or fathom withstanding the rage of the spirits if we cut down the forest?! How can you even consider this, Yelena?’

‘If I may ease your concerns, I’ll vouch for the fact that a sacred relic commands a lot of value in the market. Especially amongst those who are powerful, proud, wealthy and don’t ask too many questions. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll introduce a tiny amount in the market. People would recognize it as sacred or magical with plenty of history behind it. Once I do that, I can manipulate the price for it and bring you all the money, all the weapons, all the ships you need.’, the duke reassured the Northuldra leader.

Yelena spoke at length ‘Alright, I agree to the venture. Let’s begin with ten logs.’

Mathias hung his head in defeat and nursed his forehead, which had begun to throb. This is not going to end well.

Yelena tried to comfort him after the duke left ‘Listen, for every tree we cut down, we’ll plant ten, I promise.’

‘Even if you do that, it won’t be the sacred forest of the fifth spirit anymore.’ Mathias said ruefully.

As the duke made his way to the ship waiting off the coast on his rowboat, one of his taciturn guards asked him ‘Your grace, why do we need these bunch of sheep worshippers?’

The duke grinned darkly ‘When a rival nation is at war with itself, best let it consume itself.’

Around the same time, somewhere in northern Greece

‘Rider, move your ass and get over here!’ A portly man called out as he wiped a greasy hand on his apron.

‘Coming, Elios!’ Flynn came running in. He was now a man of seventeen; having seen a fair bit of the world by now and had been working with Elios for a few months. Elios had hidden Flynn to save him from ‘The Hawk’, a notorious smuggler who had trapped him in his ring. In return, Flynn agreed to work for him in his front business.

‘Why must I go through this fucking chore every time? To have to call you up like a fucking parade float to just do your blessed job?’

‘I’m sorry for being two minutes late. I already did the prep for tonight; the bar has been cleaned and stocked. I just took a nap, calm your tits.’

‘I’ve heard that many times, give me something new Flynn’ Elios rolled his eyes.

‘What do you think I’ve been doing? Making merry around the city square? Come on, I know better than that.’

‘Don’t bother lying to me. I swear, one of those women is gonna make you the sacrificial goat someday.’

‘Alright, I heard your speech. Got it, can we move on?’

Elios wiped some sweat off his forehead and asked, ‘You know who’s coming tonight?’

‘Yeah I do, friends loyal to the Greek cause.’ Flynn answered without faltering

‘Not just any friend, mind you. The Gent is coming along with the Sicilians.’

Flynn’s ears perked up at that piece of news. The Gent was a legend in Northern Greece, almost singlehandedly forming the on-land resistance against the Ottomans in the Greek war of independence. He had been involved in the resistance for nearly seven years now and was lobbying for foreign support.

‘Wow, that’s a hero if I ever saw one.’

‘I told you I’ll introduce you to him soon. Today’s the day.’

‘Now, why would he visit an affluent restaurant filled with Turks day in and out, I’m sure I don’t know.’ Flynn stated incuriously.

‘Hey Flynn, let his people worry about it. I’m sure his people would be clever enough to figure it out.’ Elios was a practical man who knew the streets well, however, forethought was not his strongest suit.

‘No, Elios. Hear me out. If the Gent is ambushed here, we’re done for. Everything will be up for grabs and I know neither of us would like the prick of the cold sabre chopping our necks. And if we know The Gent is coming, the officials certainly know. And if the Sicilians find out, you’ll end up wearing concrete shoes, old boy. You may know the gutters and the roads, but I know loyalty.’

‘What do you suppose we do now? We can’t really serve them in public view.’

‘That is true. Tell you what, let’s clear the cellar for their dinner. I’m sure they don’t want any outsider to hear what they are discussing amongst themselves. Also, I think you should serve them personally, Elios.’

‘No can do. I’m the front. If I don’t stay there, they’ll investigate. You’ll have to serve them yourself. I’m sorry Flynn. The Gent trusts me, if he sees that I consider you worthy, he’ll be comfortable.’

But I don’t know the first thing about him and the others. What if I offend them without meaning to?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Flynn. We both know you know better than that. If the service is good, they’ll fill your pockets with enough dosh to set you up for years. If I truly know you, you wouldn’t miss this opportunity for the world.’

‘Alright, I’ll do it. Say Elios, what if I warm them personally first about the last-minute change of scenery?’

‘No. I’ll have to warn them myself. Set the cellar up. I did contact them two days ago; I’ll do it again.’

‘Just make sure you’re not followed.’

‘Hey Rider, who knows the street better?’

‘You do, clearly.’

‘Yup. I’ll be back soon.’

A few hours later, a party of people showed up. There was the Gent, a tall slender man, worn down by the hiding and fighting. His face was warm enough, save for the green eyes that could bore holes through the Earth, and a crooked mouth that had a scare across the top lip. Still, he felt like a man who could fight forever. As for the Sicilians, they were something else entirely.

It was a band of seven people. The man most fancily dressed, along with the ruby ring on his little finger and the gold watch and chain, was obviously the leader. The six were presumably his bodyguards, each one burlier and more imposing that the last, looking like killers happy to kill a priest in the middle of a sermon. Ruthless and royal. Dressed to the nines up to their plug caps.

Flynn suddenly felt dwarfed and puny.

‘Gentlemen, this is Flynn, he’s been working with me for a few months, he’ll be serving you tonight.’ Elios gave a short introduction and left. Flynn gave a short bow, not sure how to address these powerful men.

‘What’s your name, green boy?’ The Gent asked.

‘Flynn.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Going to be seventeen next month.’

You’re not from around these parts, are you? Your accent tells me....Austria Hungary?’

‘No sir, Corona. The Rhinelands, to be exact.’ 

‘Uh huh. How’d you end up in Greece?’

‘War orphan from the Napoleonic wars, pushed around all of Europe, ended up here.’ By now, Flynn knew the story by heart.   

‘My condolences. Ok Flynn, you’re going to undergo something unpleasant. Forgive me, just the nature of these times. I need to be sure of your loyalty.’

Before Flynn could reply, one of the goons was upon him, almost choking him with his weight, pressing down on his spine. Even if Flynn had any wind left him, he couldn’t yell.

‘Answer me, why was the room changed at such short notice?’

‘When the Gent asks, you better fucking answer, figlio di sfagato!’

‘Get off him, let him speak.’ The goon got off at once.

Flynn coughed and gasped for air. When he could breathe normally, he said weakly , ‘Mr. Gent, it was Mr. Elios who suggested it.’ Flynn barely finished his sentence before receiving a punch in the gut, knocking the air out of him.

‘That’s a lie. Elios is not that big a thinker. You seem to be smarter than you let on. Why’d you try to protect us from the Turks?’

‘I didn’t want them to kill you here. That would be underhanded and filthy. I’ve heard....heard that you believe in engaging them head on, I didn’t want them to ambush you. You’re a hero around here, would be a shame if I couldn’t do my bit for your cause.’ Flynn was hit yet again by the goon, this time in his nose. Blood had begin ebbing from his mouth and nose.

‘You’ve said enough. I can guess the rest of the story. Either betray the Turks and face the sabre or betray us and face getting shot in the face. Why choose us over them?’

‘I gambled here.....I’d rather be loyal to someone fighting the slavers for freedom than the slaver themselves.’ Flynn braced himself for another hit, but the hit never came.

Instead he could hear a chuckle from the Sicilian leader, who had gestured his goon to stand down. He approached Flynn and held him by the cheek, saying in thick accent, ’Felino. That’s your name from now on. Felino the crooked nose. Drinks on the house, all night. Keep the drinks up, you’ll be richer than the sultan come morning. Good boy.’

The leader, or don as they were calling him now, lightly tapped his cheek and went back to his place, settling down with the Gent and the other goons. Flynn left the room and almost crumpled on the floor. I could’ve died there, he thought for a second. Nevertheless, he composed himself and put on his charm; Felino the crooked nose had a job to do.

Ha, the duke of Weselton’s such a bastard, always stirring up shit wherever he goes lol. I love the potential his character has.

Our Man Flynn is serving the big boys now! What could happen?

Thanks again to those who continue reading this silly story :P

As always, constructive feedback is always welcome!

[slurpingsoba]

I saw that I had this post in my drafts so I decided to finish it. It was supposed to be part 2 to this post, but it ended up mostly being an analysis of All For One’s relationship with Shigaraki. And Shigaraki’s hands.

I wasn’t necessarily trying to write meta, but it just kind of just happened. So if you’re interested in reading this, go right ahead!

1. Debunking The Origin of The Hands

In chapter 222, we find out that Shigaraki's hands belong to his deceased family members.

However, as I already said here, the hands are uniform. This is especially suspicious considering that Shigaraki had a sister around his age. Wouldn't her hands be smaller than the average adult hand?

Also, why would the hands be left behind if the rest of the body decayed? I mean, what the fuck?? I can’t really argue if the hands were actually decayed or not without knowing the complete mechanics behind Shigaraki’s quirk, but it doesn’t make sense. Anyway, Shiggy’s quirk is something to discuss another day.

Even if the hands were real, there are only three logical ways in which the hands could have been preserved.

The first way, taxidermy, involves attaching skin onto some sort of frame (in this case, the hands). Keep in mind that taxidermy is typically done with animals, and not humans, though. Because Shigaraki's hands are gray and do not appear to be covered with human skin, I think it's safe to rule out this method.

The second technique, embalming, is commonly used for corpses. It seems like a plausible way to preserve the hands at first, but embalmed bodies start to decay after 10 years. Based on his age, Shigaraki owned the hands for over a decade, so the hands would have decomposed already by the start of the manga. Therefore, the hands weren't embalmed either.

The third way is something I just learned about five minutes ago. It's called plastination, a process in which body parts are preserved by replacing water and fat with plastic. This method seems the most reasonable, but the preserving process is ridiculously long, so I don't think the hands were preserved this way either.

Point is, there's no way that the hands that Shigaraki wears actually belong to his family. So why would All For One go through the trouble to make fake hands for Shigaraki?

Well, that question has an obvious answer: to manipulate him.

2. All For One's General Manipulation of Shigaraki

We all know All For One is a dickhead. And we also know that All For One appointed Shigaraki as his successor because of his relation to Nana Shimura. While I cannot say that his relation is the only reason he was picked as All For One’s successor, it’s definitely the biggest reason. 

(Two other speculated reasons include Shigaraki’s resemblance to the original One For All user, and the fact that Shigaraki was “born twisted”. Based on what we know post-222, I doubt that Shigaraki was “twisted” before he met All For One. Also, I don’t think we know enough about All For One’s brother to compare him to Shigaraki.)

*Editing note: As I was reading, I noticed that Shigaraki’s behavior in the Kamino arc makes a lot more sense when taken in context with Chapter 222. I reference Kamino a lot in this because of that.*

The Kamino arc explains a lot of All For One’s motivations for manipulating Shigaraki. For instance, All For One states that he wanted to corrupt the Shimura bloodline to get back at All Might. All For One does this to emotionally wound his rival, knowing that All Might would see Shigaraki’s turn to villainy as his fault. 

As All For One’s successor, Shigaraki is tasked with defeating the current One For All user. By making All Might feel responsible for Shigaraki’s evil acts, All Might will be reluctant to face off against him in the future. Of course, this would make it easier for Shigaraki to kill All Might, and thus succeed in completing what All For One started.

Now we know why All For One manipulated Shigaraki, but we don’t know how.

Well, it is a known fact that All For One is a master manipulator, as said by All Might here:

After being alive for so long, let’s just say that All For One knows how to use people to his advantage. He knows how to break someone, and reform them into something that is useful to him. 

Let’s go over how All For One was able to break Shigaraki.

First, I’m going to go ahead and assume that All For One made Shigaraki kill his family. I think it’s obvious that he planned the event because otherwise, it would have been a bit too convenient for him.

The following information is a short summary of chapter 222.

The aftermath of his family’s death leaves Shigaraki emotionally vulnerable and without anyone to care for him. He’s young, scared, confused, and presented with a problem that All For One has a solution to; Shigaraki is in need of a hero, and All For One is willing to act as his savior. But, All For One did not rescue Shigaraki to save him. He purposefully planned to kill off the Shimura family in order to acquire Shigaraki.

Later, All For One presents the hands to Shigaraki in order to make him feel remorseful. Disgusted even, with himself. The hands trigger a flashback, and Shigaraki pukes as a result. Shigaraki’s extreme response to his memories makes me believe that All For One either messed with his memories or conditioned him to react negatively to the hands. I think the first option is more likely, and that the second option is a byproduct of it.

Anyway, the next panel is important in discussing All For One’s manipulation of Shigaraki.

All For One takes a kid reeling from a traumatic experience... and tells him how to channel his feelings of regret, sorrow, anger, etc., into something useful for him. Hmm, this sounds familiar. It’s exactly what All Might said All For One does to manipulate people. He destroys them (in Shigaraki’s case, emotionally), robs them (of a family), uses them (to continue his reign of terror), and dominates them (by making Shigaraki dependent on him). 

Speaking of dependence, Shigaraki is shown to be very attached to All For One at the beginning of the manga. This is especially unsettling considering that Shigaraki mostly communicates with All For One through indirect means. I’ll go more in-depth with that idea under my next heading.

Before I move into my next point, you know how All For One said he was going to teach Shigaraki “where to direct those raging emotions”? He sure as hell did.

In fact, I think All For One did it a bit too well.

3. All For One’s Manipulation: Hands Edition

The hands make Shigaraki feel at peace and simultaneously sick to his stomach. That’s not worrying at all!

He feels nauseous because he remembers what he did to his family, but he also feels calm because the hands remind him of All For One.

Let me elaborate.

When All For One gave Shigaraki the hands, he was providing his successor with something to find relief in. As little Shigaraki reached out towards the hands, he did so to feel comforted by them. The hands’ effect on Shigaraki is similar to All For One’s gesture here:

All For One makes Shigaraki feel as if someone cares about him. Physical affection is something that is foreign to Shigaraki, and the only traces he gets of it are from All For One. However, All For One doesn’t want Shigaraki to feel loved; he wants Shigaraki to feel isolated and resentful. In order to achieve this, All For One distances himself from his successor, and leaves Shigaraki with nothing but the hands in his wake.

*Editing note: forgot to mention this, but All For One’s distancing was strategetic. The period between All For One taking Shigaraki in and the beginning of the manga is mostly unknown, but there are still assumptions that can be made about it. 

The first major distancing probably occurred when All For One was mortally wounded by All Might. Seeing All For One in a critical state would make Shigaraki feel angry towards whoever hurt his master, thus fuelling his hatred for the Symbol of Peace. The second major distancing would be when All For One was put in Tartarus. I know it doesn’t seem planned, but All For One knew exactly what he was doing. Both instances of forced distancing were caused by All Might. Think about it. How would Shigaraki would react to the man who has kept his savior away from him? Not positively, that’s for sure.

Although the major distancing wasn’t necessarily intentional, it still helped All For One shape Shigaraki into a villain. Instances of minor distancing were likely intentional, but they’re either undisclosed to us, or mostly left to us to infer. The best example I could give of this is All For One’s roundabout way of communicating with Shigaraki.*

As a result, Shigaraki finds himself emotionally attached to the hands. After all, they’re all he has left of his family, and they are also physically the closest that Shigaraki can get to feeling All For One’s “love” after he distances himself.

Twisted, I know. Now, All For One still directly influences Shigaraki without being in contact with him. Take this example from chapter 21:

All For One tends to communicate with Shigaraki through electronic devices. There’s only one instance I can recall where All For One is in the same room as Shigaraki, and that’s during the Sports Festival arc. Or Kamino, but I’m not counting that because their encounter wasn’t deliberate.

The lack of direct communication between All For One and Shigaraki only adds to the growing divide between them. Shigaraki becomes more secluded, and, without proper guidance, he develops into a hateful person. But that’s exactly what All For One wanted, as explained here:

I find it interesting that the translation says that All For One has gone to a place that Shigaraki’s “hands can’t reach”. I don’t know, the constant hand references make me think that I’m on to something here lol.

Shigaraki as a recluse, for the most part, is only affected by All For One’s teachings. He has learned to accept distance in physical, mental, social, and emotional forms, to the point that he shows little interest in connecting with others.

His detachment (specifically emotionally) is revealed through his hands. He doesn’t understand his own emotions and All For One’s motives, and he’s unable to relate to society as a whole. So, he clings onto the one thing he does know: the rage and despair All For One planted into his heart.

An example of this is when All For One is jailed after the end of the Kamino arc. You know what Shigaraki does immediately after losing his master?

He hugs his hands, just like he did when he first received them.

He’s grasping onto the idea of something unachievable; that is, closeness to All For One when he desires guidance. Shigaraki needs All For One’s advice in order to pilot his own goals, because without All For One, who exactly is he?

As I was saying, Shigaraki does not completely understand himself or All For One (as shown below). 

So he’s unable to coherently express his motives for being a villain (as shown in the rest of chapter 69). Deep down, I don’t think he has any profound reasons except for the false ones All For One rooted in him.

Continuing, the hands have made fewer and fewer appearances as of late. This indicates that Shigaraki is starting to understand who he is, what kind of person All For One truly is, and the genuine nature of society.

Since the My Villain Academia arc, Shigaraki usually only wears the hands in combat because that’s when he feels it’s necessary to channel his inner rage. After all, he was taught to direct his bad feelings towards his enemies, regardless of who the enemy is.

Shigaraki doesn’t wear the hands around the League because he feels like he can be himself around them (hence, he felt comfortable telling them about his past). He wants to feel close to his friends allies, so he’s attempting to limit the distance between him and the League. And I think that’s great! He is freeing himself from All For One’s brainwashing because he is growing as a person and learning more about himself. He has a small group of people who he can relate to and confide in, and he’s slowly uncovering the truth about his past. 

He’s healing his emotional wounds!

However, I have no idea what this could mean for Shigaraki in the future. Will he overcome his trauma? Or will he continue to wield his trauma as a weapon? I have no idea, but hopefully, we find out soon enough.

4. A Quick Summary

Shigaraki’s hands are important in understanding his character. Besides being physical reminders of Shigaraki’s past life, they also represent Shigaraki’s connection to All For One. The less Shigaraki wears them, the weaker All For One’s influence is over him. 

This ended up being long, and honestly, I don’t know why I wrote so much. But if you happened to read the entire thing, feel free to comment on anything I brought up in this post. I could literally talk about Shigaraki all day (as you can already tell), so I’d love to discuss anything Shiggy related with y’all!

[ironforgedrp]

NIYAH OF SHADOWS

↳ details; female, 26. (b. 480 AC) ↳ status; bisexual, unmarried, infertile ↳ faceclaim; natasha liu bordizzo ↳ hails from; yunkai, essos now kings landing ↳ loyalty; charlyse & the roses den

↳ position; second of the roses den brother, highly paid whore and the brothels debt collector, ambassador of the roses den ↳ religion; the many-faced god ↳ magical ability; accomplished skinchanger (of birds and snakes) ↳ spoken languages; common tongue, low valyrian, some old ghiscari ↳ reason in sunspear; officially, she was sent by charlyse to meet with some of the dornish brothel owners

PERSONALITY

↳ type; ESFP - the entertainer. ↳ alignment; chaotic neutral. ↳ star sign; scorpio. ↳ positives; cunning, hopeful, careful, loyal, resilient, lusty, street-smart ↳ negatives; slightly paranoid, hyper-protective, ruthless, vengeful, murderer

BIOGRAPHY

↳ family lineage.

      fair and lithe and sweet-eyed niyah knew that she, like her mother before her, would most likely find herself raised as a bedslave. it was no surprise that her fourteen year old mother, who had been from yi ti (or so she was told) had never met the child she birthed, and niyah never grew up lamenting the loss of family as she had never known. most of the yunkai slaves had no families of their own to speak of, or for niyah to grow jealous over - it was a different community and the women, men and children slaves that she grew up along side became an ersatz family.  another common practice was separating parent from child and so niyah raised in a different pleasure house from where she was born and under the purchase of the wise master fasar ro gvraz; she and was set to work at the age of five. she would clean the rooms, hang out the clothes to dry, she would help the other women get ready with their scented oils and face painting and be sent on the occasional errands.  she was the silent girl who blended into the background as she was told, the men and women of the pleasure-house dubbed her the shadow girl as she was exceedingly light of foot and had always been a stealthy little thing. in part, this was due to an incident when she was around four years old; a rogue snake in her dirty and threadbare cot on the ground had her frozen in fear, eyes wide and staring  in fear at the venomous, hissing creature... and she found herself suddenly inside the body of the scaly foe, looking through it’s eyes to see herself - white eyed and still, like she was in a trance. young niyah, as the snake, slithered away and when she returned to herself, she was sure she was dreaming. but it happened again, and again, and she realized within a few weeks that she could focus on a snake hard enough, she could become the snake in this strange way way - a talent she kept to herself and practiced in secret. as she grew older, she grew more and more proficient in her ability to ‘play snake’ and by the time she had reached pre-teen years she was an expert in her own skill.

    by this time, as she was bigger, she was set to do more tasks in the pleasurehouse, the collar ever heavy at her neck.  the young shadow girl was tasked cleaning, sheet washing, re-washing of pregnancy protection items, assisting the bed slaves, running errands and running messages - she would also be tasked as the runner; a speedy person who could run for the paid guards if a client of the pleasurehouse broke the rules.  though she made some friends, or at least friendly bonds, niyah kept quiet and mostly to herself but this was not solely out of fear (a slaves life was fear), out of self-preservation by staying invisible to the clients. her keen observation also stemmed from a desire to learn as much as she was able to of her future career… learning the tricks to survive in a very harsh and unforgiving terrain. one young woman that niyah grew to admire was a bedslave named charlyse; she was kind and almost akin to an elder sister to niyah.  though she was set on her life as a bedslaved owned by her master she was trained at the edge of this whip and learned to defend herself as best she was able; by being light footed and sleathy and waif-like. it was the early evening of the first night she bled that she discovered she may not be able to escape her future as a bedslave, nor her future as a collared slave til she no longer drew breath, but she could escape in other ways aside from beneath the earth in the scales of a serpent. now thirteen, niyah had been hanging out cleaned linen and was admiring the colours of a bright-breasted bird; silently wished that she could fly away like birds did. and then she was in the sky, gliding on silky wings and it better than she ever imagined - it was the most peaceful feeling in the world, it felt like a dream. the young girl came back to consciousness with a cool towel on her head, charlyse having found her collapsed on the ground with her eyes rolled back in her head, surrounded by the sheets she was hanging on the lines.  master fasar ro gvraz was angry at her for dirtying the cleaned clothes and taking time away from the pleasurehouse, but her fainting was put down to the fact that she had just entered womanhood (meaning she would be able to work as one of the whores and earn their master more money) and thus was spared the sting of the whip.

      niyah had spent her entire life studying the ways the bedslaves interacted with the people who paid for their services; how to read them, how to conduct herself as she journeyed through womanhood & into the life of a bedslave. years passed by with the collar & whip ever present at her back, teaching and testing her endurance, her resilience and her own grasp on reality at some points but charlyse, who was a decade niyah’s senior, became a stability that helped keep her grounded. with charlyse as her guide, niyah was fairly successful and capable in her new role; and though the life of a bedslave was not the kindest... but she had two escapes; on wings or with scales, and that was more than she could have ask for.   some time into her work at the pleasurehose niyah approached the man who ran the pleasurehouse and was a higher-ranking slave than niyah, and offered to track down and pickpocket men who skipped on their bill or owed the pleasurehouse money. if she was effective, she would be permitted to take a very small cut of the money retrieved.  niyah was surprisingly quite effective and thus her employer at the pleasurehouse never questioned why the yunka’i whore was so effective at thieving money, nor why those she ‘pickpocketed’ would often turn up strangely dead. the shadow girl had evolved her skills in secret: using her skinchanging talents, slipping into the body of a bird to fly in a window and take a coin purse, or when that failed, she would sink venomous fangs into their bodies and take the coin as they died. a killer indeed, but her hands were very rarely stained of blood; her ability to track and tracelessly kill anyone she wanted was a skill she shared only with herself.

     her world shattered as she knew it however, when she returned to her quarters from a night working at the pleasurehouse and found the wise master’s house in an uproar.  a slave had escaped, stealing coins and gems and silks before knocking out a guard, killing two others and seemingly disappearing from the city.   all the slaves owned by the wise master fasar ro gvraz, including niyah, were chained to the walls - to each other - as the slave quarters were torn through and destroyed in an attempt to find any evidence. she remained chained to the large metal ring alongside four other slaves late into the night as the search continued - no one seemed to know what exactly had happened or who had left, but niyah had heard nothing of any escapes so she just stayed silent and waited for everything to end, it wasn’t the first time (nor would it be the last) a slave had committed a crime against their master and attempted an escape. hands shackled above her to a rusted metal ring, dozing alongside dozen other chained men and women, niyah was woken by a sharp kick to her side delivered by the wise master himself; master fasar ro gvraz was certain that niyah knew something about what had happened, and demanded her be taken to his domicile. when the wise master revealed that charlyse was the missing slave, niyah began to cry and when question she answered honestly, heartbroken in a way; she had no clue of what had happened, charlyse had not told her anything.  unsurprisingly, master fasar did not believe the word of a young slave girl and  for the next two days, she was beaten and interrogated, burned and branded and whipped until master fasar was personally satisfied that the seventeen year old niyah was not hiding anything from him. half concious and badly injured, she was handed over to a healer to the slaves and was given milk of the poppy to put her into a deep sleep while her wounds were bandaged. most were surprised but niyah was still an asset, a popular young bedslave who had mastered the way of the seven sighs, she was his property and the wise master knew that a dead whore would bring no money.

     for three days she drifted in an out, being drop fed and drop watered to keep her body going as the healers dressed her wounds, put salve on them and did their best to make sure that she wouldn’t fall to infection and death.  she did heal though, she did recover and was stronger for it... eventually. niyah had sunk into a depression as she healed and noted the loss of charlyse in her life; wondering if she was alive, dead, safe... was she even still in essos? sometimes she would slip into a bird and fly around, as far as she could, hoping to spy her from above but she never did.  it wasn’t until three weeks later when niyah, still healing and now on cleaning duties once again at the pleasurehouse instead of working as a whore, that she was hanging out the washed linen as she had done as a child.  she had taken a break, sitting down in the shade of the hung sheet, and something caught her eye; scratched into the wooden post of the clothesline was a small ‘N’, what looked like a crudely down bed and an arrow pointing downwards, and tied to the post was scrap of a light pink fabric that niyah recognised immediately as the colour of charlyse’s favourite dress. her heart skipped a beat, but she managed to keep herself together under she was sent back to her quarters.   she laid wide awake, hoping that everyone else would settle, the guards would leave them be - but after charlyse’s escape, master fasar ro gvraz had hired members of the second sons as a extra security. eventually, with the moon high in the sky, niyah rolled herself to the side to face towards the wall, closed her eyes and searched for a winged friend that she could slip into the mind of, when she did she swooped herself on the guards and drove them away with her sharp beak and claws... at least long enough for her to return to herself, pull her thin bedding back to see scratches in the hard-packed dirt.  when she blew the dust away, niyah thought that she had entered a dream.  it said all she needed to know was there, and all of a sudden the slave girl decided that she was no longer resigned to her collar. shadow girl, look to the west & find the rose; that was what had been scratched for her and only charlyse could have left it... niyah had been the helper who often assisted charlyse, and the woman had always worn the scent of roses. she would look to the west, and she would get there, she would taste freedom or die trying.

    over the next four weeks, the shadow girl who was now nearing on eighteen, set about her plan.  niyah waited and scheduled her debt collections for a few successive days, launched herself back into her role as a whore and kept her eyes and ears open.   though it seemed to drag on and on, her preparations done in secret and finally the night came that she planned her own escape; she had donned a light hooded cloak and made her way out to collect the debts she had been charged to secure.   it gave her an excuse to be out without question, she had the permission of her master and she knew she would not be stopped.  niyah had taken only an empty hemp bag as she began her work; it took her almost four hours to find and retrieve the owed coin - five people would not wake come daybreak, and six more would wake to fine all their coin gone. instead of making her way back to the manor of her wise master, niyah made her way through the back streets and the shadows towards the docks.  slipped aboard with a few gold coins into the palm of a client, she stowed herself away in the ships cargo section with eleven coin purses and a wild hope that she would not be tracked down and punished for defying her master, murder and theft.

        as the shores of westeros came into view, niyah joined the rest of the crew of the ship on the deck - ahead of her was the capital of the westerosi city of dorne, named sunspear.  she saw the flapping banners, the sprawling city of flowers, colours, colds and warm tones - it was nothing she had ever seen. with her weighty purse of stolen gold she stepped on free land for the first time in her life; barefoot on the shores of sunspear, niyah faced back towards the narrow sea and slavers bay and hurled her slave collar into the frothy seas, turning around and refusing to look back. for her, work came easy in westeros, a whore from across the narrow sea who spoke low valyrian and was trained in the way of the seven sighs? a good investment for any brothel owner. after working around around dorne casually, she finally heard whispers of the name she had hoped to hear... charlyse, an exotic woman from essos who had arrived in a place called ‘blackwater bay’ and outright bought one of the most reputable brothels in the westerosi crowns land, a place that was a short ship ride away. when she arrived in the city of kings landing, it took only a matter of minutes to locate the only brothel with ‘rose’ in the title; the roses den. after more than half a year, niyah stepped through the doors and found herself face to face with the closest person to family she had ever had.  the two cried and embraced, niyah had found her way - and she had finally taken her freedom and she intended to keep it.   as a whore and the brothel debt collector, charlyse being fully aware that niyah was very effective - however she managed to do it and for once, life seemed good.

    she became known to many of the wealthy and the nobles, and was one of the roses den’s most expensive whores when she was hired by the lady eleanor tully, who was then a representative of the riverlands in kings landing. by far, eleanor is niyah’s most high profile client especially now given her recently acquired title as princess of the riverlands following the split of the westerosi kingdoms. of the half dozen regular clients she holds, the tully woman is also the one she cares the most about and actively is concerned for her wellbeing. though there is a trickle-down effect to those living in westeros and it’s capital, niyah was never overly bothered by the inter-region squabbles though the fights and drunken stupidity that bled into her work and home-adjacent environment irritated her greatly. the influx of nobles and the tourney, feasts and the like had given niyah a definite boost of income through the roses den and as a snake dancer with her two serpent familiars; se kostōba (meaning ‘the strong’) named so as he was the larger of the two hatchling’s she had raised, and se adere (‘the quick’), who she cared for and trained to defend her when she was asleep, incapacitated or skinchanging out of her own body. of all the things that occurred in kings landing in 505AC, the only things that niyah cared about was when the people she called dear were hurt. her experience as a slave has left her with the simple goal of living in a land without slavery and as long as whoever wears the crown or crowns still hold true to that, she most likely  would not get involved. she is slightly more quiet and observant and knows to rely on her charm and her womanly wiles in this world, and it has served her well in the eight years that she has called westeros home.

   knowing that the westerosi kings and lords planned to all group together again in the lands of dorne, niyah approached her employer and now long time friend, charlyse, for time away from her duties at the den so she would be able to accompany eleanor to the dornish summit but charlyse reasoned a compromise by giving the yunka’i woman several assignments to complete in the dornish capital, a handful of name of debtors and their owings to be dealt with, and a deal to broker with one of the dornish brothel owners on charlyse’s behalf. as an ambassador of the roses den, the most prestigious brothel in the crownlands, niyah has the ultimate now freedom to go with her heart and loyalty and also know she could return to stable employment once the summit was over.

↳ personality.

learning of the rarity of skinchangers and mystical people, and the lack of worship to the many faced god, she rarely opens up to any about anything beyond shallow smalltalk and chitchat in fear of punishment or judgement. she does not talk in detail, or rarely ever, of what her life was like as a child but she is aware that the varied trauma has changed her like it changed everyone birthed into the hands of a master of slavers bay. she kills with an strangely instinctive sense of detachment, and has never felt an ounce of guilt for the people she left cold in their graves.  contradictorily, she is soft in many ways; with a kind heart despite her life experiences and the things she has seen and done. she yearns for the feeling of acceptance and for the feeling of love and tenderness; for all the things she’d been deprived of as a slave but has now seen firsthand for near a decade in the lands of westeros.

niyah does not have the highest opinion of herself, as the ability to craft ones self esteem had been stripped from her as a child. true, she is confident in her  abilities as a whore and a definitely as a skinchanger but her confidence in herself is inevitably tethered far below a normal level. there is a strange new fire in her since being beaten at the hands of the wise master when charlyse left, an ache like a salted wound that has made her both darker and colder as well as angrier and sharper. there is a line of darkness in her, but her core is comprised of the single desire to protect those who can’t protect themselves, and ensure that she will never have to return to slavery.

↳ splitting of the kingdoms.

she still holds the belief that any ruler that is not a slaver is something to be grateful for, however she can’t deny that she prays to the many faced god that war will not eat the place she now calls home.   personally, she feels that the iron throne and it’s lion and dragon are reasonable rulers - especially compared to those of slavers bay, and that this whole going-on is a petty waste of time, but she keeps her opinions to herself as she always has. 

    ♛   STATUS: TAKEN