#boarder strikes

[airboarders]

This is me if you even care

[ratbeard-pirate101]

generally fuck any enemy with first strike/quick draw and second chance and all that. stop hitting me your turn is OVER

[andhumanslovedstories]

The critical care unit is where the sickest people in the hospital go. Those patients need a nurse completely dedicated to them, and the unit needs to keep "code beds" open in case a patient in a different part of the hospital urgently needs a higher level of care. That means critical care is always under pressure to decompress (i.e. to turf their less sick patients somewhere else so they can take even sicker patients.)

In the last weeks before we went on strike, I was floated repeatedly to the critical care unit to take care of boarders. That's what we call medsurg patients who have graduated from critical care but don't yet have a bed on a medsurg floor. Personally, I hate floating to critical care. On the floor, you would (ideally) never get a patient assignment of three patients who were critical care status an hour ago. That's going to be a very heavy assignment. But that's how many I can take when I'm helping out in critical care. And it's dangerous. It's SO dangerous. The scariest shifts I've had have been with patients who should be in critical care but aren't. People with massive strokes, or GI bleeds, or respiratory failure, that are technically able to be downgraded because if you say they're less acute, you can give more of them to the same nurse.

Last June, Oregon passed a law mandating certain nurse to patient ratios on units. While critical care is ideally a one to one ratio, medsurg (where I work, which is the general hospital population that isn't maternity, emergency, maternity, or behavioral health--so, almost everyone) has more patients per nurse. This is good and makes sense! Most people in the hospital do not need dedicated one-on-one care with someone outside their door. As a night-time medsurg nurse, I expect to take four patients a night.

And by the way? There are a lot of medsurg nurses in America who would KILL for four patients a night. I know some nurses reading this are like "four??? are you kidding me?????" Night shift nurses in states with less protections can average seven or eight patients a night. I've seen some go as high as twelve. When I have five patients, I feel like I'm running like crazy. I truly cannot understand how I could possibly give good care to more people than that.

What this means in an understaffed hospital is that patients who should be critical care get classified as medsurg instead, so instead of needing another nurse to treat another ICU patient, you can give that patient to a medsurg nurse instead. This is so common. I'm in float pool which means I work in almost twenty different units in the hospital. I have seen this happen on every single unit. Critical care patients become medsurg patients. Medsurg patients become observation class. Whatever it takes to maintain the legally mandated ratios without actually increasing staffing.

One of the major things ONA (the Oregon Nursing Association) is striking for protection against decisions like this that put patients and their caregivers at increased risk so that the hospital can save money. Even when laws are put in place protecting workers and patients, companies will work as hard as they can to circumvent those requirements. It's not enough to get legislation passed. We need the power to enforce that legislation. And baby, there is power in a union.

[totallynotcensorship]

well most of the tags aren't trending anymore, but jerusalem and yemen still drifts in and out of trending, better than nothing but still not the best

never shut up

we had a good couple of days... in term of trending i mean the genocide is getting worse day by day

al shifa hospital is 100% out of water because the IDF bombed the water pipes, meanwhile the "billions of humanitarian" aid" that are sent can't reach anyone either because the boarders are striked by israel, or because the few that pass through get bombed by israel

meanwhile meanwhile the IDF posts bullshit "evidence" for "the hospitals are hamas bases". evidence so badly faked it genounly had me laughing out loud. here is a longer post that covers it

EDIT THEY ARE FRONT PAGE NOW LET'S GOOOOO

don't stop talking about injustice

[valenli]

Baldwin IV x Reader

Imagine you meet the king as a foreign princess, and you two are to be wed? But to your surprise. The king is all for it

(warnings: mention of skin disease, stitches, detailed explanations for violent scenes)

(this fic is in no way tied to the real figure, this is only for the movie interpretation. As I do not write for real figures (dead or alive))

For the longest time, I never thought I'd find love a man who was not only a man of God, but would too love me. My mother, after all, was nothing more than a concubine. So I didn't quite have a good example from her nor father who couldn't set his eyes on one. But that all changed when Jerusalem called to many kingdoms, many were there to feel the presence of God, and so was I. I were to travel on my own but it seemed as though father had other plans. Every night that got closer to Jerusalem, whether by ship or horse, I could hear him speak with the advisers and other higher ups of a wedding, mine. I did not wish to get upset just yet, for I prayed heavily that the man I meet is someone with a wise, excellent, and beautiful heart, for faces did not matter once one was in heaven. But on the 7th night, something had happened. While we rested round a campfire in order to rest from the morning heat waves, we heard horses of at least 9 or so men rushing are way, father said these may be pilgrims, and that we need not to worry. But as they came closer it seemed they were none other than knights, dressed in pure white and red cross at the center of the chest. Father got up and waved at them, but a horse man swang his sword straight into his hand, cutting a chunk of skin out. I couldn't hold but the scream I let out as the blood hit my dress, I curled up against my horse when I felt a second horseman strike against my leg, only a cut but it no less hurt. They were ready to strike a final blow but I could see a blue clothed horseman arrive, he stood before us and looked at the white clothed horseman.

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

"do these look like locals, Guy? Have you any clue the harm you have caused against your king?" said the blue clothed horseman

"I have not a clue of what your talking about Tiberias. These people are in the boarders of our enemies, are they not are enemies?" the white clothed horseman who's name seemed to be Guy seemed all smug, or at least arrogant at best, in his answer. He seemed to not care that I had been cut, nor my father who held to his injury.

"these people, Guy, are the bride to be and her father. Had you have asked, they'd already been at the castle discussing matters beyond your small minded arrogance!" the man in blue, Tiberias, seemed familiar to father, as father tried to reach out to him. Soon the white clothed men who hurt us got us up and carried our things, by dawn we were at the castle. What a shame it was nighttime, for the city, and castle, were beautiful. Some physicians stitched my father's injuries and mine, and I were to meet his highness, my groom to be. In the bright morning I headed to his quarters, I felt at ease once opening the door, For it was just him, and me.

---------

Baldwin moved the headwrap away from his face, seeing that my groom to be was masked. I could only wonder why, had he committed a crime? Was he afraid of being spied on? It was common for the women to hide their face before marriage, but I'd never seen a man do it.

"ah, Y/N. You have arrived, I have hoped in one piece, but you were harmed. For which the man who laid hands upon you will be harmed, no doubt in that" he said as he rose up from his chair and gestured for me to follow, we reached the balcony and I looked over at him, then at the city.

"your highness.. It's unnecessary for you to punish him" I said as I turned my head back to the man I stood with, "he did not purposely harm me". I felt the king shake his head and hold my hand, "no, my dear Y/N. But he would have harmed another's life, innocent or not. As a knight, it is his only duty, as demanded by God, to never lay a finger on a innocent". Listening to him speak, it moved something in my heart I had not felt for anyone I had ever known, Yes, I was his soon to be bride, but I couldn't help but feel something. "Y/N. Just as it is the duty of a king to protect his people, it is my duty as your husband to protect you. I promise, even with my condition" he said, I could see his eyes looking away as though he felt ashamed, but of what?

"what condition your highness?" I held his hand more firmly, to which he did not respond, not even a finger moved on his hand

"i am a lepper king, my dear, that is the matter. My body is weak, yes, but I won't let it stop me" he looked back at me. He noticed I held his hand firmly when he looked down at mine, I saw his eyes smile at the sight

"your highness, you love me so even though we have no knowledge of one another, why?"

"for you see Y/N, a marriage is bond between man and woman, a bond of flesh to flesh, it is God's blessing to the people, and if God has blessed me with such a bride as you, Y/N, then who am I to deny it?" he spoke with such a heartfelt tone, I knew in that moment that this was the man of my prayers. I couldn't help but feel tears run down my face. I knew that his condition could bring his end, but I wanted to love him to the day we depart from the earth. I placed my hand on his mask and wanted to lay a kiss on his lips, but he gently stopped me.

"you need to know the lips you lay your kiss upon, as you are my wife, I want you to be sure" He said as he pulled down the mask. A cut through his lips and right cheek was the first thing I saw, his missing nose, and his small blonde hairs coming down from the headwrap. He held my hand as though he asked of what I thought. "my Baldwin.. Your a beautiful man, why you are afraid I can understand, but I love you not for your looks, but the heart" i said as I leaned to him, I felt his lips touch mine. I closed my eyes and placed my hands upon his cheeks, i knew in that moment that all my days of waiting, my prayers, my journeys, were worth having him. We soon left one another's lips

"I love you till the day we part, Baldwin"

"I love you, for everyday I live in your name, Y/N"

[make-friends-with-the-rats]

The following is the newspaper article which inspired Bob Tzudiker and Noni White to write "Hard Promises" which would go on to became Newsies (1992).

Street Scenes

CHILDREN OF THE CITY At Work and at Play. By David Nasaw. Illustrated. 244 pp. New York: Anchor Press/Doubleday & Company. $18.95.

By Avery Corman

BEFORE the emergence of the modern middle class in America, before video games, before MIRV's, before high school students studied long hours to get into the first college of their choice, before the creation of after-school sports programs that for a fee escort city teen-agers who lack local facilities to ball fields and gyms, a unique and vivid street life for youngsters throbbed in our cities. This earnest volume describes the work and play of children of the working class in the first two decades of this century in a number of cities, including New York, Chicago and Philadelphia.

David Nasaw, a historian who teaches at the College of Staten Island of the City University of New York, has assembled ''Children of the City'' from archives, early reports by journalists and settlement house workers, oral history collections and published reminiscences. He sees urban street life as having been a struggle between reformers and youths, parents and children, police and rowdies, and, in the newsboy era, capital and labor.

Nostalgia is his priority as an author. Few are hurt by the conflicts. Poverty is manageable. The cities, despite overcrowding in working-class districts and a desperate craving for assimilation, are essentially benign places. This oversimplification is a result, no doubt, of Mr. Nasaw's unbridled affection for the period. His romanticizing of events is the price of admission for a glimpse into a way of being young that has vanished.

---

The distinction at the time between proper activities for boys and girls is intriguing by modern standards, and he describes it effectively. While boys hawked newspapers, peddled fruit, went looking for junk to sell and moved freely through the city, working-class girls were likely to be at home. ''Though many would, before marriage or between marriage and motherhood, work for wages in factories, offices, or retail stores, these were considered but temporary detours on the road to motherhood and housekeeping. There was little the girls could learn on the streets that would prepare them to be mothers and wives,'' Mr. Nasaw writes.

A common expression of the day was ''little mothers,'' to describe the widespread use of teen-age girls as surrogate parents for younger children in the family. Homebound, girls also attended to boarders, kept house and aided in piecework, usually without pay, while boys were on the streets, earning money in more glamorous pursuits.

The newsboy era is a fascinating footnote to the history of our cities, and Mr. Nasaw is at his best with this material. He describes how afternoon and evening editions of newspapers began to outnumber morning editions and required people to sell them. Youngsters could handle the work and for a time were the major distributors for the afternoon dailies. ''The newsies were no exotic breed of city child,'' Mr. Nasaw writes. ''The historical record suggests that selling papers on the streets was a common children's occupation. Hundreds of thousands of boys who grew up in American cities . . . sold papers.''

In 1899 an event took place that would have been perfect for film use by the Dead End Kids, but as Mr. Nasaw points out, it has been a neglected episode. Unhappy with a raise in the wholesale price of Joseph Pulitzer's World and William Randolph Hearst's Journal, New York newsboys, copying the methods of grown-ups' unions, organized a successful strike against these titans of journalism, with devastating effects on the newspapers' circulations. ''The publishers conceded defeat in the second week of the strike,'' Mr. Nasaw writes, ''by offering the boys an advantageous compromise.''

IN some respects, youngsters' street life in the city has been unchanged through this century - young people have played stickball and basketball and jumped rope through several generations. But ''by the 1920s the children of the streets had been pushed to the side by the automobile, which cut off their play and work space, by tougher and better-enforced child labor laws, and by adults who moved into the trades they once monopolized,'' Mr. Nasaw says.

Today's young people are out on the streets with cassette players and stereos. If they listen to the hits on Top 40 radio stations, they probably cannot identify pop stars of only a few years ago, so quickly do trends evaporate in our culture. The material covered by this book is largely forgotten, but, fortunately, David Nasaw has unearthed these colorful pieces from the remnants of our urban landscape.

The New York Times. April 28, 1985, Section 7, Page 15.

[littlest-w01f]

Jester

Rhysand x Jester

RHYSAND MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Rhysand found himself in The Middle after turning High Lord, he met a lesser fae there, the kind his parents warned him about, and centuries later he finds her again

Cw: Mentions of murder

part one - part two

It had been a few centuries since Jester and Rhysand made their bargain, since then, Jester had grown more powerful, no longer restricted by the Middle, the female had fed on her number of High Fae, she wasn't one to take from the lesser fae, only the pompous High Fae always pushing down on her kind, it made it easier for her to take from them.

Her power and influence only continued to grow as she feasted upon the essence of other High Fae, using their life force to fuel her own growth.

But Jester still had compassion, for her own people, which is how, nothing but anger fueled her when she saw an Illyrian female, her wings shredded, left to die outside the boarders of Illyria.

Seeing this poor Illyrian female, Jester couldn't hold back her rage. She felt a strong sense of injustice towards these creatures who were treated so poorly by High Fae.

Jester quickly approached the injured Illyrian, assessing the extent of her injuries. Her shredded wings were clearly a sight that tore at Jester's heart, a stark reminder of the cruelty that existed within their world.

Gently, yet firmly, she lifted the Illyrian up, cradling her in her arms. The sight of her battered body stirred something fierce inside Jester, igniting a fire of determination within her.

With a swift motion, she summoned her powers, wrapping them around herself and the Illyrian. A bright glow enveloped them both, transporting them back to her den. The process would be painful, but necessary.

The female gasped awake, "What? Who..." Confusion and pain evident in her gaze. She tried to speak, but her voice came out as a mere whisper, her throat raw and sore from the ordeal she'd just endured.

"You're safe now," Jester assured her, her voice gentle despite the harsh circumstances. "My name is Narrisa, you can call me Jester. I found you... outside the Night Court borders."

She gently placed the female onto a bed of moss, ensuring that she was comfortable before moving away slightly. Jester could see the fear in the female's eyes, understandable given her current state, but also something else, "You're a J-jester?"

Jester nodded, her tone firm yet comforting. "Yes, but I do not feed off the weak, nor do I harm those who cannot defend themselves." She touched her hand, slowing down her heartbeat in comfort, "You're safe with me."

The Illyrian female gazed at Jester with a mix of disbelief and gratitude, her bright hazel eyes searching Jester's face for any signs of deception. As she took in Jester's striking appearance, the vibrant red hair and eyes, the sharp, angular features, the sharp teeth when she smiled, and the aura of power that surrounded her, the female seemed to relax slightly, her body language shifting from defensive to almost reverent.

"I am Zepha," She whispered, her voice still hoarse but gaining strength. "Thank you... For saving me. No one has ever shown such kindness to me before."

Zepha's gaze drifted to her ruined wings, a pang of sorrow crossing her face. "I was attacked by a group of Illyrian males while out gathering flowers. They thought it amusing to shred my wings, leaving me to die." A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

"Ilyrian males?" Jester voiced as she searched for a salve in her den, "Aren't males of your species supposed to be respectful and protective over their females?"

Zepha let out a harsh, mocking chuckle, the sound tinged with bitterness. "Respectful and protective? Ha! Those words mean nothing to most Illyrians, especially the males. They view us as little more than breeding stock, commodities to be used and discarded at their whim."

She winced as she gingerly touched her mangled wings, wincing at the pain. "I've seen females beaten, starved, and abused by their husbands. Some even get killed if they fail to produce a viable heir, son of course, at a daughter you instantly try again."

Jester frowned, "That's so horrible, I'm sorry." she sat behind the female, a healing salve in her hands, "This might hurt, alright?"

Zepha braced herself as Jester applied the salve to her wounded wings. The pain was intense, searing through her nerves like liquid fire, but she gritted her teeth and bore it stoically. After all she had endured, physical pain held little terror for her now.

As Jester worked, Zepha felt a strange warmth spreading from the points of contact, seeping into her flesh and bones. To her amazement, the agony began to recede, replaced by a dull ache that grew fainter by the second.

"My wings… They feel better already," Zepha breathed in astonishment, twisting her head to peer at the delicate membranes. The shredded edges were knitting together before her eyes. In moments, her wings looked nearly whole again. "That's incredible!"

"Does your High Lord not do anything about your misstreatment?" Jester asks, setting the salve down to clean her hands, "Isn't it his responsibility?"

"Th-the last High Lord... He didn't care." Zepha said, shifting around to manage her wings, "But the new one, he tried... Because of him we can get jobs more than being a seamstress... But I guess my uncle didn't like that... My uncle and his friends they..." The Illyrian female paused, not finishing her sentence.

Jester nodded solemnly, her eyes filled with sympathy. "It sounds like you have had a very difficult time. But things may change now."

"I don't know much about your politics, but I hope the new High Lord will bring some changes for the better," She commented. "We should never accept such behavior towards our kin."

Jester smiled warmly at Zepha, her red eyes gleaming with sincerity. "You're a brave woman, Zepha..."

Jester sat up a little, "What if I could help? I swore to myself I would never harm a lesser species... But I won't mind seeing a male like your uncle go." She suggested with a shrug.

Zepha's eyes widened at Jester's offer, a spark of hope igniting within her chest. For so long, she had been helpless, at the mercy of cruel males who cared nothing for her well-being. The idea of having someone wanting to fight back, to seek justice for herself and others like her, was intoxicating.

But doubt soon crept in, tempering her initial enthusiasm. "I appreciate the offer more than you know," Zepha said softly, her gaze dropping to her newly healed wings. "But I don't want to put you in danger."

Jester smirked, "I am powerful, darling, I can handle an Illyrian."

Zepha glanced up at Jester, her hazel eyes meeting the Jester's fiery ones. There was no denying the strength emanating from the fae before her, a force of nature that seemed untamed and wild.

It had been weeks, that Cassian was bringing in cases of missing Illyrian males to Rhysand, it was driving Azriel mad as he couldn't figure out where they were or who took them. Rhysand sat, leaning in his chair, "Now who was taken?"

Cassian stood, arms crossed, his hazel eyes focused on the floor. "Another three males were reported missing today. All from the same district in the north," he reported grimly, his agitation clear.

Rhysand raised a brow, his violet eyes flashing with concern. "Illyrian disappearances are becoming more frequent. It's almost as if someone is targeting them," he murmured, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. "And why only males? That suggests a certain gender preference."

Azriel barged in, his shadows and wings flaring, "My shadows sensed Illyrian wings torn up in the Middle." Said shadows were curling agitatingly around him.

"What are they doing in the Middle?" Cassian asked in confusion, "And what are your spies doing there?"

"Spying." Azriel simply replied, all three of them knew no spies were actually allowed in the Middle to watch over the creatures there, but then, no one can control shadows.

Rhysand froze, "The Middle?" He echoed, Jester's kiss still not a distant memory.

"Yes, the Middle," Azriel confirmed, his icy blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why are Illyrian males disappearing from the capital, yet wings are found mutilated in the Middle?"

Rhysand sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "Whoever is responsible for these abductions knows how to bypass our wards and vanish into thin air. We need to find a pattern, something that connects these cases. Perhaps it's related to their activities outside the city," he suggested, his mind racing with possible scenarios.

Meanwhile, Cassian continued to pace back and forth across the room, his thoughts clearly preoccupied. "I'm going to speak with some of the elders in the northern districts," he announced decisively. "Maybe they've noticed something unusual lately."

Azriel merely nodded, his expression unreadable as usual. "Keep me updated,"

"I'll be back soon," Rhysand said to his brothers, "Don't wait for me at dinner." With that, he winnowed out, and the next moment he was freefalling through the sky, his wings spread open and he took flight, having himself glamoured to not be detected as he made his way to the Middle.

As Rhysand approached the Middle, he quickly shed his glamour and prepared himself for whatever lay ahead. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Despite the looming danger, a part of him relished the thrill of the unknown, the mystery that awaited him.

He landed softly amidst the dense foliage, taking a moment to observe his surroundings. The Middle was a place of contrasts, where beauty and horror intertwined seamlessly. A place where creatures unlike any other of Prythian resided side-by-side, each with its own unique quirks and habits.

Suddenly, a movement caught Rhysand's eye, a flash of colour darting between the trees. He followed the path, his senses alert for any sign of danger. As he moved deeper into the forest, the silence was eerie, broken only by the occasional rustling of leaves and the whispering wind. "Jester!" He yelled, "Show yourself, Jester!"

Jester emerged from behind a large oak tree, her crimson eyes glinting mischievously in the dim light filtering through the canopy. "Well, well, if it isn't the High Lord himself," she purred, sauntering closer to Rhysand with an exaggerated sway of her hips. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

She circled him slowly, drinking in the sight of his muscular form, the power that radiated from every pore. "Looking for someone, are we?" Jester teased, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "Or perhaps you just missed me?"

Her fingertips traced along his jawline, sending shivers down his spine despite himself. Rhysand grabbed her wrist firmly, pulling her flush against his chest. "Cut the games, Jester," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"How endearing." Slowly Jester slipped into view, her vibrant red hair glowing like a beacon amid the forest's darkness. Her eyes glinted with mischief and delight, her lips curled into a playful smile.

"You've come to check on me?" She teased, taking a few steps closer to Rhysand. "Or perhaps our bargain?"

She flicked her wrist casually, causing a small flock of birds to scatter in surprise. Her movements were fluid, almost predatory, a stark contrast to the delicate appearance she projected.

"I came here because I needed answers," Rhysand snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Not to indulge in your antics."

He released her wrist, only to grip her shoulders firmly. "We have a problem, Jester. And I suspect that you're right in the middle of it."

His words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the seriousness of their situation. Yet, despite his stern tone, Rhysand couldn't deny the pull he felt towards Jester. The allure of her unpredictability, the thrill of her presence was hard to resist.

Jester tilted her head, regarding him with a curious tilt to her lips. "Me? Oh darling, I'd never harm a fly… unless it's buzzing around my food, of course," she quipped, trying to lighten the mood. "Then I just eat it too."

Rhysand's grip on Jester's wrist tightened, his violet eyes narrowing as he studied her face. The playful facade was slipping, revealing a glimmer of something darker beneath the surface.

"I know what you're capable of, Jester," he said, his tone firm but laced with a hint of warning. "Whatever game you're playing, I suggest you stop before things escalate further."

"Focus, Jester," Rhysand urged, impatience etched into his features. "I need information. Have you seen anything… unusual recently? Any strange creatures, anomalies, unexplainable occurrences?"

Jester gave a languid shrug, her fiery mane catching the faint moonlight that filtered through the canopy above. "Oh, darling, everything in the Middle is unusual," she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Unexplainable is our bread and butter."

He released her wrist, taking a step back to create distance between them. "Tell me straight out, have you seen or heard anything about the missing Illyrians?"

"Yes, I'm right in the middle of it, aren't I?" Jester mused aloud, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and defiance. "Tell me, my lord, does that mean you plan to drag me kicking and screaming back to the Night Court? Hold court? Punish me?"

"And what if I did?" Jester asked curiously, "what if I decided to even the odds and treated the Illyrian males the way they treat their females. Not my fault they can clip their females but when you clip their wings they bleed and die."

"Even the odds?" Rhysand repeated, a hint of incredulity coloring his tone. "By retaliating against an entire gender, Jester? That's not justice, it's vengeance. It solves nothing."

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I get it. You resent the treatment of female Faeries. But taking it out on random males won't change anything. It'll only make things worse."

"How do you want to make shit better for your females if it's not putting the fear in their males." Jester snarled, "At least I'm doing something."

"Putting the fear in them won't solve anything long-term," Rhysand argued, his voice steady and measured. "What you're doing now, abducting and mutilating them... It's barbaric. It's not the answer."

He stepped closer to Jester, his violet eyes boring into hers intently. "If you truly want to help your faerie, then work with us. Help us find a real solution, one that doesn't involve more violence and suffering."

Rhysand reached out tentatively, placing a hand on Jester's shoulder. "Please, Jester. Don't let anger and resentment blind you to reason. Together, we can make a difference. But not like this." His words were a plea, a desperate attempt to reach the female beneath the fury.

"Like what? Making laws people don't even keep?" Jester growled.

"Then we make sure the consequences are severe enough that they do keep them," Rhysand countered firmly. "But abducting and hurting innocents isn't the way forward. It breeds more hatred, more division. We need to unite the Fae, not tear them apart further."

He squeezed Jester's shoulder gently, a silent show of support. "I understand your pain, your rage. Believe me, I do. But this isn't the path to healing. To true change. Let me help you, Jester. Let's work together to forge a new future for our kind, one built on equality and respect."

Rhysand searched her eyes imploringly, hoping to see a flicker of understanding, of agreement. He knew convincing Jester wouldn't be easy - when a jester seeked their own brand of justice, their anger burned hot. But he had to try.

Jester hummed, surprising him by how quickly agreed, "Fine... I will not harm any more of your Illyrians, but if I find another harmed female, I will take their entire bloodline."

"That's a start," Rhysard acknowledged, nodding slowly, knowing that was all he was going to get with her. "I appreciate your willingness to compromise, Jester"

"Now, I hope you remember our bargain, High Lord." Jester smiled with all her sharp teeth on view, "I will collect."

{General - @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86 @thelov3lybookworm @romanticatheartt}

{Rhysand - @yeonalie}

{Jester taglist- @blessthepizzaman }

[runnning-outof-time]

Congrats on 2k, Reb @peakyswritings !! I’m so thankful for the ideas you shared with me. I hope I did this one justice and that it’s spooky enough for your celebration!! Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

The Devil’s Voice

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: mentions of religion, re-working of a season 3 plotline, indirect mention of murder

Word Count: 739

Summary: Tommy meets a woman at a crossroads who agrees to help him execute his business.

“Polly said you’d come.”

Tommy heard the woman before he saw her properly. Only her outline was visible as he approached her on the desolate road, the wind making the fog roll over the fields that boardered it on both sides.

“Polly has a tendency to talk,” he responded as he stopped in front of her. He couldn’t help but give her a once over. Her appearance was the exact opposite what he was expecting when Polly spoke about her.

“But yet you’re in front of me,” she quipped, running her eyes up and down his body as she clasped her hands behind her back.

“She said you’d be able to help me,” he got right into business.

“Depends on what you’re looking for help with.” The response was vague, but her quirked eyebrow told him that she was interested in hearing his proposition.

“His name is Father Hughes…”

“Ahh, a priest,” she interjected, nodding slowly at the information.

“Only in the title,” he remarked, “he’s done things that rival the worst…uses the cloth he wears to cover it up.”

“And he’s who you’re up against?” she asked.

Tommy nodded. “He works as a member Section D. Has me out doing his bidding for him while he’s playing both sides and reporting information back to the opposition. I’ve been tasked to kill him. My latest attempt didn’t come out as expected. So…”

“That’s where I come in?” she took the words from him mouth, watching with raised eyebrows to see how he’d respond. He only nodded. She nodded back and took a moment to think over the information she was just given; weighing it all out in her mind. “Striking down a man of god won’t be the easiest thing I’ve done, but I’ll certainly take pleasure in doing it,” she finally gave her answer.

“So you’re agreeing?” Tommy checked to make sure.

“He’ll be dead by sunrise,” she answered, a sinister grin forming on her face as she said the morbid sentence.

“Good,” he nodded once, making to turn and head back to his car.

“But I should tell you, Mr. Shelby,” her voice made him stop in his tracks and he slowly turned back to face her again. She waited until she had his full attention to continue: “if I do this for you, you’re mine forever.” Her words came out in a slow manner, as if she was making sure he heard every word.

Usually a statement such as this would make a look of surprise, or even fear, flash across the face of the person it was being said to. (Y/N) had seen it time and time again from the people who’d made deals with her in the past. If she was honest, it was her favorite part of these meetings. But Tommy Shelby looked completely different when she uttered these words. His lips were slightly parted and he nodded his head ever-so slightly before what seemed to be a look of intrigue flashed across his face. She wondered if she would have even caught it if she wasn’t watching him so closely.

He simply looked her over once more before finally saying: “just make sure it’s done.” With that he turned and began walking back to his vehicle.

(Y/N) grinned as she watched him walk away, biting on her bottom lip as she restrained herself from going and propositioning him right there. He is going to be a fun one, she thought to herself, her grin growing.

“So you’ve done it?” Polly questioned her nephew as she entered his office the following afternoon.

“I have,” Tommy answered without looking up from his papers. “Father Hughes has been killed, all is well.”

“Except it’s not,” she was quick to respond, a weariness present in her words.

Hearing them finally made Tommy look up. “What do you mean, Pol?” he asked her.

“You didn’t listen to me fully,” she started, a grave seriousness present in her voice. Tommy only tipped his head slightly to show he was listening, “I told you to hold caution when meeting with her; that she’d take something in return. The devil’s voice is sweet to hear, but that sweetness will fade fast. She’s going to ruin your life, Thomas.”

Tommy only nodded after hearing his aunt’s foreboding words. If the devil’s voice was sweet to hear, at least he’d have something ‘sweet’ in his life from now on.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @peakybfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @areyenotfondofmelobster @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[lynxgriffin]

If that last page is anything to go by, it seems to me like “he” can stretch out his black hand from the boarders between moments just as easily as from the pit that bound god spoke of.

“His” black hands reaching for the mind is also an interesting juxtaposition against Ralsei reaching out with his white hands from the pitch black to touch Kris’s Soul at the end of the previous part.

Too bad this bound god didn’t care enough about the difference between helping someone unwind (relax) and helping someone unwind (physically/mentally unravel). Kris is really in the thick of it and could use a few moments of light hearted fun.

Not sure if Kris could do anything about it if they catch on, but Ralsei’s deflection feels like it might strike a chord with how some of their light world elders may have treated them before.

You really have a compelling way with words and composition! I loved this Jevil 2-parter!

Yes, to Jevil, there's really not much difference between relaxing and physically coming apart! That all sounds like a good time to him! Kris could definitely use a break, although since at this point in time the battle against King is coming up next, they unfortunately don't get much of one right now.

And yeah, Kris may not be in the best state of mind to sus that out right now, but Ralsei is a bit like the light world elders here in how he tries to calm Kris down without much addressing the issue at hand!

And thank you so much, glad that you enjoyed it!

[airboarders]

Rhythm heaven blogs please interact <'3 I wanna follow and interact with some related blogs

[selkiechild4998]

✧°˖────———- ・・・・・ . ☽ ‧₊˚ ···╮

Reaper Ghouls Headcannons

╰┈ ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ ・・・・———-────°˖✧

So, we all remember the Plague Doctor ghouls we saw at the ritual that announced Nihil’s death, right? Well I’ve been playing around with them for awhile and I think I cooked up something good!

So Imma drop a quick TW for abuse and mentions of death. I wont go into too much detail but just to be safe.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　⛧⃝　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

Reaper Ghouls are by far the most dangerous beings on the Ministry’s grounds. They answer to no one, are extremely territorial, and know no mercy. The Clergy barely has any control over them.

Reaper Ghouls are not summoned. They aren’t born. They are made. They are what happens when a ghoul is pushed to their breaking point. They also tend to be the older ghouls from the Ministry, from before Nihil’s time as Papa.

Any element can become a Reaper, in fact there are five known Reaper Ghouls who haunt the Ministry grounds, appearing to foretell death or hunt down unsuspecting humans or ghouls. Each Reaper Ghoul also tends to have their own unique scent that is often overpowering.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🜂 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Fire Reaper Ghoul: Eurynomos was the best fire ghoul the Ministry has ever seen. An Ancient Ghoul with the characteristics of the extinct American Lion, Panthera atrox. His only problem was his aggression and the Clergy took it too far trying to tame him. They had tried to defang him, and he broke when defending himself. He is a threat to any living creature in the Abby. You can tell he’s close by the scent of smoke and copper.

Copia is one of the very few surviving humans to see Eurynomos and claims he has a very, very strong resemblance to the Ministry’s local sweetheart, Ifrit.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🜄 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Water Reaper Ghoul: Lamiai is the oldest of the Reaper Ghouls, coming from Nihil’s great, great, great, great grandfather’s papacy, and is by far one of the most disturbing ghoulettes the Ministry has seen. She’s a tropical water ghoulette, with gorgeous, flowing dark blue and gray fins tipped with gold. Her voice was hypnotic, to the point even a soft sigh would send a human into a trance.

Due to how harsh the Clergy was during this era, they didn’t like how Lamiai held so much power over the humans and tried silencing her. They were only partially successful before she fled into the lake by the Summoning Well. Her hunting method is often keening wails that create a sense of fear and panic and while not as good as a quintessence ghoul, she can mimic voices.

Lamiai’s arrival is marked by the scent of rotting fish, seaweed, and oil. Another way of telling if she is activity hunting is when the water ghouls who call the lake home flee to the land or near by earth ghouls ponds.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🜁 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Air Reaper Ghoul: Melinoe is a slender and intimidating raptor ghoulette with a resemblance to Tyto alba owls. Her movements are smooth and silent, to the point a little bell was tied around her ankle so she would stop sneaking up on unsuspecting humans. She is the only ghoul to not become a Reaper because of the Clergy. She instead had a run in with another Reaper Ghoul. No one knows which Reaper Ghoul she encountered, but her appearance was altered, half her body being pitch black, as if casted into the void.

She lurks in the deepest parts of the forest, sticking to trees and watching. She still has her bell around her ankle, it often being the only warning anyone gets that she’s about to strike. Bodies are rarely found in one piece or in just one tree.

Melinoe’s scent is that of burnt feathers, rotting wood, and ozone.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🜃 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Earth Reaper Ghoul: Khthonios is what happens when an earth ghoul wanders too far away from Ministry grounds. He was one of Nihil’s great grandfather’s earth ghouls, his prized albino ghoul. Khthonios was a wander, only feeling peace within the forest. During this time, the Ministry didn’t patrol the boarders of their land as often, leading to ghouls often wandering close to town for a small hunt. Khthonios was found on death’s doorstep, dragging himself back to the Abby after having bit off more than he can chew when stalking a huntsman.

The Ministry did try saving him, but with where he was injured, they didn’t think he’d last the night. They were surprised when they checked on him in the morning, he was gone. To tell if Khthonios is near, the scent of sweetgrass and sage and he is the only Reaper Ghoul to not harm anyone.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 𝓠 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Quintessence Reaper Ghoul: Askalaphos was quite the trickster when serving Nihil’s father and is the youngest of the Reaper Ghouls. She would target anyone for pranks that started harmless but started to grow more dangerous. This eventually snowballed into a member of the Clergy being killed. They tried to return her to the Pit but she fought back, partially escaping the ritual circle before fleeing to the forests around the Abby.

Encounters with Askalaphos can range from harmless to deadly. It all depends on her mood that day. Her arrival is marked by the scent of strong cleaning chemicals and decay. Her hunting methods often involve her luring voice, using her element to sound closer or farther away. She can also mimic voices, similar to that bear monster in Annihilation. (Swiss can do the same thing )

[razorblade180]

Well I left the comments on one of the Lancaster prompts

We saw what an angry Ruby is like

So what would a Jaune that completely snaps be like in that AU or all of them if you're interested be like

Bonus if you wanted to do everyone

I wouldn’t say anyone necessarily snaps, and it’s more like the romanticized version of a Huntsman takes a back seat. Enemies quickly realize they’re dealing people throwing everything on the line.

An angry Jaune is going to find a way to put his hands on you and make you stop hurting his friends. That armor isn’t for show and his aura doesn’t buckle under pressure. If he access that he can simply tank his way towards you, then have fun dealing with a six foot man with a sword.

In Rosebud, he has rushed through a fire blast by Cinder to grab her by the throat and slam her while Ruby ran past to fight Salem. He will be a dangerous and indomitable shield so his friends can be the dangerous spear that pierces everything. Even if that means giving a diabolical bear hug while Yang is reeling back for the most volatile right hook.

Yang kinda zones out a little and starts heating up the space around her. Her main goal when her friends are down is to put the enemy down. Every ounce of power is going into her fists and if they’re fortunate, they were tough enough get knocked out by a hit instead of potentially die. It’s pretty difficult to not see her coming but also incredibly difficult to avoid her. One time Nora fell in battle and Yang picked up her hammer and delivered a grand slam to a Goliath

Nora’s in the middle of those. Nobody is getting past her if she’s defending someone. Those three essentially erase, draw, and hold the line when shit hits the fan. Meanwhile Ren, Weiss, and Blake stop being nice and start aiming for vitals. They just don’t apply pressure, they want you scared enough to never cross them again. Weiss has a particular nasty habit of aiming for the face when someone hurts or traps her friends. She single handily rescued Sun with overwhelming force. Not much thought put into glyph formations; only a salvo of attacks why she got close.

Blake and Ren are gonna get their payback when it’s least expected. Emerald’s illusions don’t mean anything if they’re the ones hiding and stalking.

Still, none of them get like this often, and most of the time this mentality is brought up by simply matching Ruby’s energy. If she’s tired of something, everyone is tired of something. If Ruby says she’s heading straight for the top of Salem’s tower, then the objective is obvious; clear a path.

Anyone who gets in the way is to be quickly removed cause Ruby isn’t stopping. She’s either the vanguard or the rearguard; and if she’s playing rear, then she’s speeding to her friends to catch their opponent off guard. An angry Ruby is disrespectful to her enemies and boarder line arrogant, but it’s warranted. If people didn’t know any better, they would think Raven was her mother with how pissed she can get.

Rosebud AU is the one with no more Pyrrha, Penny, or Oscar. That’s three strikes. There was no more chit chat with enemies. Ruby wanted a better life ASAP. She beat Salem at 17 and enjoyed having semi-normal knees afterwards.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Thalia x Fem Reader who is a titans daughter, maybe even Kronos but she's pining hard for Thalia, without realizing she's into Thalia - Obviously reader is so straight, girls are just prettier and better.

Beauty of a Storm

|| Thalia Grace x fem!reader

|| Warnings; reader is left out by campers, reader discovering sexuality

|| Summary; reader's the daughter of Kronos whose relatively new to Camp. When the Hunters of Artemis come to a visit, reader develops a crush on Thalia Grace. But... reader's still thinks she's straight and doesn't quite realize it's a crush.

Requests open!

Started; september 25th

Finished; september 26th

~~~

A sigh left your lips as you sat on the roof of the Hermes Cabin. You knew who your father was, it was Kronos. Much to everyone's surprise when you were claimed. But that didn't change that there wasn't a cabin for you and you were sure they would never build one. So you were stuck in the Hermes Cabin.

You watched from the edge as campers trained in the fields, laughed around the hearth and just all around seemed to have a good time. Which sucked for you, cause you were having as far from a good time as you could.

Nobody here liked you. Nobody even tried to get to know you. You'd been here for two weeks and already lost whatever friends you could have had day three due to your father.

Camp life couldn't be any duller. Honestly part of you didn't blame the half bloods that had turned. You had heard the stories from other campers about the battle that took place. And yeah. Part of you was siding with them.

Some commotion caught your attention as a group of girls came into camp at a light jog. You tilted your head in confusion, some type of boarder patrol? Did something happen?

Your confusion spiked when those group of girls settled themselves into the Artemis Cabin. Artemis didn't have children... as far as you knew. So who the hell were they?

With spiked curiosity, you scrambled to the back end of the roof and jumped to the tree you had used to get up there. Climbing back down and running to the Artemis Cabin.

You knocked when you got there, obviously. You didn't want to just run in on them. Especially when they were all armed with bows and other various weapons.

A teenager who looked no older than you opened the door, her striking blue eyes almost immediately caught your attention. As did her punk rock clothing style. You fought the urge to say 'woah', because that would be pretty lame.

"Can I help you?" The girl didn't look overly pleased to see you. Whoever you were.

You found yourself straightening your posture almost immediately, cheeks flushed as you rambled out a response," Hey! I'm uh- Y/N L/N. New to camp- who are you? Last I checked Artemis didn't have children... no offence."

The girl rolled her eyes, though she seemed amused by you and decided to humour you. Just a little, considering you're new and all," Thalia Grace, Daughter of Zeus and Lieutenant for the Hunters of Artemis."

Your eyes widened," you're a daughter of Zeus?" That explained the eyes and intense stare," am I supposed to bow-? How does this work?"

She laughed and shook her head," Gods no. Don't be stupid. So who's your Godly parent?"

You hesitated, not really wanting to say it but something in you felt like you shouldn't lie to this girl," ...Kronos."

Everyone in the cabin stopped and stared at you. The silence was deafening.

"So you're the one Annabeth was talking about," Thalia murmured. Giving you a once over that made you stiffen and smile awkwardly," pretty brave of you to admit that. You do know who Kronos is, don't you? What he's done?"

You nodded slowly," people haven't stopped telling me.." From the moment you were claimed, it seemed everyone had something negative to say about your father. There was a point where Mr D had even debated kicking you out of camp, but Chiron suggested you stayed. Learned the ropes. He felt sympathy for you, with Kronos being his father too.

"Yeah, no doubt. He's traumatized at least half of them in someway." Thalia said, arms folding across her chest.

"You mean the battle?" You asked, she nodded. Her expression grim.

"Just be glad you missed it."

And that was the last of your conversation with her, throughout the day you continued what you always did. Keeping your distance from everyone, visiting Chiron at the big house, training and whatever else.

It was just before dinner when you decided to pop by the big house for the second time that day, having a few questions for your half brother.

"Chiron?" You called out as you walked in, he had told you before you could come by whenever.

"In here," He called back from the living room.

You walked in and found him talking with Thalia, who had stopped whatever conversation she was having and was getting ready to leave.

"Wait just a minute, Miss Grace." Chiron said, she looked a little annoyed but waited," Have you met Y/N?"

"Briefly." Thalia murmured.

"So it seems," He sighed and glanced at you, before looking at the girl again. "Would you be able to help her with some training?" He left out the part about how no one else was willing to teach you, so you'd been training on your own.

You felt embarrassed that he was asking her to do this and tried to look anywhere but Thalia.

"Fine." Thalia stood and walked past you," Come on."

"But-" You started but she looked back at you with a sharp gaze, which immediately got you to listen and follow after. A blush coating your cheeks.

"We will discuss whatever you need to later tonight, Y/N." Chiron assured you before you were out the door, giving him a small nod.

You followed Thalia, struggling to keep up with her; you couldn't help but admire the girl. She was clearly strong, confident... you weren't at all surprised she was a lieutenant. She definitely gave the vibes of a leader, than again her father was Zeus. So it only made sense to you that she would be good at that sort of thing.

It's been a few days now since your training with Thalia and the two of you had had more moments since. Whether it would be you were in the same activities or just paired up for training. Neither of you really mind, though. Sure Thalia had had complaints about you at the start... but now that she knew you it wasn't so bad. The two of you were becoming friends.

You had started realizing you felt more. Or at least... you thought you felt more. You'd talked with Piper a bit on it, with her helping you to realize your feelings. She never specifically told you you were gay, because she wanted that to be your own discovery. But she left you little tidbits here and there.

It took a while, but by the time you had realized she had already left and was back on the road with the Hunters. So you never did get to tell her how you felt and it seemed to awkward to tell her over an iris message, which was something the two of you did often.

Maybe you would tell her the next time you saw her, whenever that was. And if you didn't chicken out.

[dmwrites]

It had been long enough now that the pattern was familiar. It started as a gnawing emptiness, looking for something that wasn’t there yet. It was apparent on every face, the need for a task, the greed and satisfaction that came with reward.

The rules were simple- Grian had explained them when they had all shown up in this new world. Get a task. Keep it a secret. Do the task. Succeed. Don’t die, even though you will. The feeling of incompleteness while waiting for a task hasn’t been in the explanation- or, at least, Martyn hoped it wasn’t just him who felt this way.

Martyn kept to himself a lot this season, and it was in a cave that he received his next secret task. Martyn often wondered how the book that held his task got to be in his pocket. The tasks were delivered timely every week, with no apparent source. Martyn suspected that whatever, whoever was giving them these tasks did not appreciate people dwelling on the source, as Martyn always got a headache when thinking about it.

Martyn felt a heaviness in his pocket- a new secret task delivered. He stepped back, finally striking down the zombie that had climbed quite a distance to get to him. Martyn went into a small alcove in the cave, well-lit already from his exploration. Just to be safe, he boarded up the gaping opening in front of him, so no mobs could possibly do a lick of damage to him. He’d already suffered so many hearts lost with his recklessness.

Martyn opened the small book, which glowed a slight purple, held it up to the torch light to read his task.

Find RenTheDog

Martyn’s breath stilled in his chest. It was two words, two very simple words, and he read them over and over again like they were a hymn, a passage he failed to really comprehend.

“He’s not-”

Martyn hit a button on his communicator, scanned through the names listed, every participant in this game. Ren was not among them. Martyn knew that. Martyn knew that. This was the second game in a row the dog had been absent from, which tore Martyn’s heart in ways only Ren could, but it was fine. Or, it had been, until now, until this task stared him in the face.

Martyn let out a choked laugh.

“It’s… this surely would be a hard task, first of all.” The hollowness in his voice kind of dulled the joke into nothingness. “He’s not here. Ren is not… here.” He tried to emphasize his point, put his finger to his name, but it ended up being more of a caress of the name on the page.

No one answered his open-air monologue, which he’d expected. So, with nothing to go off of, besides those two taunting words, Martyn dug his way to the surface.

He soon stood before the secret keeper, before that damned mark that he knew, by god he knew none of it was just mere coincidence.

“So I’m guessing you just want me to have to pick a harder task, is that it? Hoping I’ll fail big time and you can get me out of your hair faster?” Martyn snarled at the stone before him. “Well, baby, I’m a cockroach, so good luck with that.”

He pressed the button before him, with the sign under that read “reroll for a harder task”. There were whispers, some kind of poem that Martyn, in his anger, didn’t bother reading, and then a book appeared in mid-air, a deep red this time. Martyn caught it before it fell, ripped the cover open.

Find the Red King.

“Fuck you!” Martyn yelled, outrage and mourning and yearning pouring out of him all at once. “I can’t… why? Why on earth are you doing this to me? I can’t do this… I can’t-”

He could see people coming, whether to complete their task or to see what the yell had been about, and he ran. He didn’t know the land, having spent so much time underground, so it was a blind dash towards the tree line. His heart was thudding, his mind a mess.

There was, however much he tried to tamp it down, a blossom of hope. He slowed down eventually, when he hit a world boarder, thinking hard. Twice now, the secret keeper had told him to find Ren. They must know who Martyn was, who had held the axe. No one better to find him.

Martyn looked for RenTheDog. He built a tower of cobblestone to the sky, scanning the land far below. He ventured into the deepest caves, calling out Ren’s name and hearing it echo back to him with more and more desperation.

But the day was only so long, and, eventually, Grian’s message in chat confirmed what Martyn had already known.

<Time is up. Anyone who hasn’t completed their task yet has failed. Meet at the secret keeper.>

“So, did anyone fail their tasks this week?” Grian asked to the gathered group.

Martyn strode forward in the silence that followed, hit the button that said “fail”. He bit back a pained moan as a row of hearts was taken from him. He could hear sympathetic groans and gasps behind him, others trying to share in his pain. But they didn’t know, not really.

“What was the task?” Grian asked curiously.

��I’d rather not say.” Martyn said. He turned and walked past his friends, out towards the setting sun. It hurt. It all hurt.

[lilarus]

Hi, hello, long time no post. It is sujamma sundas (don't look at my timezone it's hopefully still sunday somewhere)

I was tagged by the wonderful @pinessydr @madam-whim and @kiir-do-faal-rahhe. And I would like to tag @firebastardextraordinaire @liches-covered-in-lich and @keleravna

(btw @pinessydr i'm stealing that boarder that you used <3)

Topic: This week, Sujamma wants to know about YOUR OC's special someone. What makes their relationship special? How did they meet? Were they enemies to lovers? Lovers to enemies? Lovers AND Enemies? Are they romantic or platonic? What's their favorite way to cuddle? Favorite date night? Anything and everything you can think of 💕

It is time for me to 🗣️ yap🗣️ about Sirestia and Miraak

(I apologize in advance. I have *a lot* to say about them)

So to start off, Sirestia's age is honestly up for debate but it's because they initially met the creature that would become my Miraak at least a millennia before Miraak came to be. He was first a dragon, not a particularly kind one, but extremely curious about the near-dead pale elf his *zuwuth zeymah* had brought in. His name? Lost to time, or so Sirestia might tell you, but they know it. He'd goad them into striking him, critique their form and lack of strength, forge them into more of a fine-tuned weapon than the wild cat-like mess they had been.

But, suddenly, his form crumpled under the weight of a soul not fit for his body. And from here on he returned to Sirestia as new people, never quite knowing it was them, but knowing he needed to be with them. These people came in all shapes and sizes, genders both heard of and not, but the one thing that remained the same was the love they all had for Sirestia.

So a millennia or so passes in the Merethic Era and so too do all the various forms of the being that will become Miraak. And along comes a young Atmoran man, he's quite striking with his light brown curls and jewel-like green eyes. Ahzidal brings him forth, to replace one of the recently deceased *sonaak*, saying that this young man has been training under him for the last decade. As trialer, Sirestia creates tasks and competitions for him and many others to complete. Meanwhile, as they are also the Master Forger, the one who makes the masks for the cult, they work in their forge. And who should stumble upon their forge, into a place *no one* is to step foot lest they lose their head? Of course, it is this young Atmoran man. But, they let him, no one dares to enter, so to do so is curious and daring. What idiot thinks they can bluff their way out of this kind of thing?

The young man takes a seat and watches them work, entranced, and fixated on their form. He wonders how they never break a sweat in the forge room in spite of the overwhelming heat. His everything follows them as the walk to a bucket and- oh they pour it over themself...oh my...is it hotter in here now or is it just them?

Sirestia teases him constantly after this, noticing certain *parts* of him respond *interestingly* when they move a certain way or do a certain thing. This poor man loses *so much* bloodflow to his brain it's astounding, and endearing. But they told themself they wouldn't do anything with him until they knew he was actually going to survive the trials. And they tell him this too, should he live then maybe he'd have a chance. They notice his actions become more strategic and thoughtful in the arena and quests. At this point, he still hasn't realized that they're the one making him do all this. He makes it through with flying colors, and is bestowed the name Miraak, courtesy of Sirestia, though he does not receive his mask just yet.

Sirestia has him meet them at their forge and presents him his mask in a more intimate fashion. They remove his face covering, as all who are to become higher ranking *sonaak* wear, and place upon his face the mask Miraak. Before he takes the mask off, he requests they learn his name, that it's memory not be forgotten to his future as Miraak, and this is where the learn his true name is *Felriin*.

[[i've like already rambled long enough about these two so like, after this they makeout sloppy styles and fuck for like idk a couple days. miraak probably nearly dies like 3 or 4 times bc he's like wrung that fucking dry]]

They're together for 10 years before the doomed day. It is a standard day, Sirestia makes their rounds in Monahven, hears that Miraak had an audience with their father, thinks it strange then thinks nothing of it. Instead, they have other plans, things not yet set in motion for the two of them looking ahead. Perhaps adopting a child or two, maybe they'll actually get married, something that ties them to each other in another way than they already have. None of these things will happen for another 4 millennia as it turns out!

Miraak calls them to a peculiar place, they don't often go to this wing as it is more for storage, or dealing with *other* things. He tells them he loves them, and suddenly they are grabbed and thrown into a pocket dimension. They reach for him, not understanding. Miraak does not turn around.

So like time passes excruciatingly for Sirestia within the pocket dimension until they are let out at the start of the Fourth Era. And they deal with the not-even-break-up-like-wtf-was-that as well as one might imagine: by throwing themself into wars and decimating their "enemies." They don't think about him or how it hurt or anything for 200 years! Until Haev, *laat dovahkiin* demands they go to Solstheim for reasons unknown to Sirestia. And, surprise surprise, they *don't* want to go, but what can one tell *laat dovahkiin* that won't end up as something for them to complain about? So they go and this is the start of Sires fic 1 :D

Their relationship post-4E201-Solstheim starts off pretty rocky but they eventually can't help themselves. Miraak sees what their future could have been when he watches them with their children. And he tries his best to work in with what they have. Sirestia doesn't need him, and initially doesn't want him, but they can't help but see the way he's changing and what can they say? They missed him.

It isn't long before they get together again and by the gods if it ain't the sweetest gods damned thing you ever saw. And things are good--great even! Until a few months before Haev and Miraak are to set out to defeat Alduin.... Miraak startss acting a little strange, like he's saying things twice but only ever mentioned things once. And at first he's apologetic, he's sincerely sorry for it. But then he starts to get annoyed, it's like he doesn't understand what they're thinking. So they drift apart and cracks begin to form. Had they addressed the problems from all those years ago? No... It hadn't occured to them to do so. It was in the past and they were in the present, so why...?

So (bomb dropping) they don't tell him that once Alduin is defeated, they'll most likely die, as their tether to nirn is Alduin, his magic sustains them, keeps them from ever dying. And so, without him, they would more than likely be pulled into whatever void awaited them, as a creature like they are doesn't get an afterlife.

Sires fic 1 ends after Alduin's defeat.

To, uh, end this ramble...

Sires and Miraak's favorite way to cuddle is with one of them on top of the other. Doesn't matter who is on top, they both love to rest their heads on the other's chest to listen to the heart(s). Their next favorite would but so entwined you could barely tell where one ends and the other begins.

Their favorite date night... I would say it would be the night where Miraak takes Sirestia out so the side of the lake and everything is softly lit with candles, there is a picnic blanket with food and drinks. Miraak's tail is twitching because he's so nervous about the reception and Sirestia's reaction. Meanwhile, Sires is so happily shocked. They have their first kiss (after all that time apart in their respective holes in Oblivion). It's very sweet time 🤲

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Grey 51

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Eternity was a large ship, but it was still dwarfed by the Gren station. With a puff of thrusters, and a clang of hulls, the Dreadnought made contact.

The boarding party stood a few meters from the sally port. The shock troops mirror polished, black armored pressure suits stood in opposition to Fen's Empress armor. Hers was pure white with gold and blue accents, almost like porcelain.

"I must reiterate, Empress, you don't need to-" The commander started to speak.

"Regardless, I am coming. This was my home. I know this place better than any of your maps. Fen's body language was hidden by her armored pressure suit and solid white helmet, but the commander could hear the warning in her tone. She shifted her battle rifle slightly.

"O-of course, Empress. Still, it is our responsibility to protect you. You will be safest aboard Eternity."

"Your responsibilities are to capture Tam'itarr alive and ensure the survival of your team. Leave me to me."

The commander saluted, and said nothing.

Fen turned towards the sally port. All of her Dreadnoughts had them in a few strategic locations. Ships had missiles, slug throwers, and exawatt laser batteries, but sometimes they had to board ships and capture them. It looked like a regular airlock, except the outer door was replaced by high speed cutters. The ship would make physical contact with the object to be boarded, and the cutters would force an opening, allowing boarders to attack in person.

After a few minutes of cutting, the light over the port started flashing yellow. "Get ready," the commander shouted. "Remember, keep collateral damage to a minimum, do not go wild. We're here to capture someone, not take over the station. Guard the Empress."

The light turned green, there was a loud buzz of an alarm, and the sally port snapped open. Everyone's rifles snapped up and they entered the station.

The captain had chosen their location well. They were attached midway down the station, in a random corridor. Fen had been slightly worried that they would open up right inside one of the common areas and would be under attack immediately, but she had nothing to worry about.

It was… odd. Fen wasn't sure what she was expecting, but it wasn't this. After exiting the hall, Fen was able to orient herself easily. Down this way, turn here, around this pillar, through this archway, past the warning light that has been blinking her entire life without ever being repaired.

She was home.

Only, it wasn't home. Not really. With no Ma-ren, this place was only a pile of memories and hurt. The sooner they captured Tam'itarr and left, the better. Fen shook her head slightly inside her helmet, making sure the helmet didn't move. She tried to shake herself of the memories.

Fen led the boarding party walked through the station, weapons at the ready but not actively pointing at anyone, but the few people they came across… didn't care. People barely looked up, let alone running away or attacking. The only people who bothered to look at them were children. As soon as they did, their parents shooed them back into their domiciles. The third time it happened, Fen felt a little silly and had everyone lower their weapons. They all straightened up and began to walk more normally.

"Empress… do you know what's going on?" The commander said, looking around. "This wasn't the reception I was expecting."

"No, commander, I don't know either. Many people on the station had joked that they had seen 'everything' and that nothing would surprise them, but I didn't think they would take it this far." Fen's faceless white helmet turned towards the people sitting in cafes who were pointedly not looking at them. She toggled her comm. "Weapons, please confirm you disabled their reactors."

"Empress, we have confirmed strikes on three of the five energy sources that we determined to be reactors. Additionally, we were not fired upon while boarding."

"It sure doesn't look like their reactors are down, Lieutenant. Lights are on, there are no alarms, everyone is enjoying their afternoon."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Empress? You're sure? Everything is up and running?"

Fen tisked. "Why would I lie to you, Lieutenant? It's almost as if you didn't strike any of the reactors at all."

"W-We will reconfirm our shots, Empress. We will contact you in moments."

The line disconnected and Fen stopped walking. "I don't like this."

"Yes, Empress. it feels like a trap."

"Weapons ready." Everyone snapped their rifles back to their shoulders and spread into a defensive pattern. Meanwhile, Fen strode up to a young Gren man sitting at a cafe, reading a pad. "You. What is going on?"

"Hmm?" He lifted his head and looked at Fen. His expression tried to remain the same, but she saw his mouthparts twitch slightly before he spoke. "Nothing is going on, it's a normal day."

"Oh for the love of-" Fen cleared her helmet and locked eyes with the Gren. "W̴͈̃h̸̐ͅá̶̞t̷͇̽ ̷̪͌ì̵̬s̶̪̀ ̵̢͛g̴̹̿o̶͓͒ï̷̪n̵͚͆g̶͕̍ ̴͌͜o̴̲͂n̶̨̛?̴͇̇"

"We were ordered to ignore you." He answered immediately, almost without thinking. Once he realized what he said, he reared back, frightened.

"Who ordered it?"

He stood up from his chair quickly, knocking it over. He was backing away from her gaze, trying to escape. "Tam'itarr ordered it! He runs the place now!" Still reversing the Gren tripped over a table set and turned around and took off down the hall, running. One of the soldiers readied his rifle.

"No, don't shoot him. There's no point. He told me what I needed to know anyway."

It felt like someone was pushing her over. That was the thing she remembered first. Fen had no idea what getting shot was like, but it really felt like someone took a sharp shove to her shoulder. Her suit squealed at her that she was taking fire, and to get to cover. Fire? She's being shot at? Her second thought was of Ma-ren. Was this how it felt for her?

Fen fell to the deck with a thud. The armor had absorbed the majority of the shot, but there was still bruising and pain. While on the ground, there was another shot to her helmet. This one was much louder, with a metallic thwack sound that came from behind her. They absolutely were shooting at her! The nerve! Fen rolled onto her back to try and get up, and she was shot again. The suit was getting quite cross with her, with the internal screens lighting up with GET TO COVER in red and AVOID GETTING SHOT. Hmph. That seemed a little sarcastic.

With a rush of noise, her perception of the world sped up. The commander was leaning down and clinked his helmet to hers, enabling the suit-to-suit. "Empress! Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm all right. The suit - even though it's sarcastic - is doing well. Have we determined the source of the attack?"

"No, it's from multiple locations. We need to get to cover!" He helped her up, and everyone encircled her. Crouching low, below them, they started moving as one towards the restaurant that Gren was eating at before the attack. Fen could hear the shots ricocheting off the strong Imperial armor, but if they brought out any heavier weapons, they'd start taking casualties.

"Empress! Empress!" It was the Lieutenant from weapons. "We were duped! The energy sources are gone, the reactors weren't there. It's a trap, you need to get off the station!"

"Yes Lieutenant, we were able to figure that out on our own." Fen's vision blurred slightly. That shot to her head had made her brain vibrate some. "Please fire upon the station. I would like for them to stop shooting me."

"Uh… Empress? With all due respect…"

"Yes Lieutenant, spit it out, I am under fire right now and don't really have time for protocol."

"Why don't you just Voice them and make them stop shooting at you?"

Oh for Ancestors sake. "Yes, thank you Lieutenant. That's an excellent idea."

Fen stood up straight from the huddle of her soldiers and toggled her external speaker.

Č̶̨̚ě̸̬a̵̓͜ṣ̷͊͝ẻ̵̪ ̷͇̼́͋F̴͎̒í̸̺̌r̵̡͇̈́̋e̶̡̤̋̿!̵̧̥̇!̸͔͝

The shots stopped immediately. There was a commotion coming from some hidden corners. Probably attackers trying to figure out what is happening.

S̴̺̒h̵̺̃ȏ̷͙w̴̘̄ ̸͎͌ỳ̵��ö̷͙́ȗ̶̡r̷͚̂s̵̠̕e̸̬̿l̶̛͜v̵̻͋ȇ̴̩s̶͓͊ ̷̋ͅr̴͉͐i̷̦͒g̵̡̒h̶͚̅t̸̻͋ ̵̫͌n̷͙̐ò̵͎w̶̩̑.̶̠͋

About a dozen people walked into the hall from three locations, one behind, one parallel and one in front of them. It was a motley crew of mostly Gren with a few K'laxi and some Sefigans with them. All were using modified human rifles and submachine guns. Old, poorly maintained ones, modified for other sapient use.

"Where's Tam'itarr?" Fen said.

"He's holed up somewhere up towards the top. He has a group of those old K'laxi refugees with him." One of the Gren said. He was shorter than most of the other Gren, with a dark fur flecked with gray.

As Fen's eyes passed over the group, she came across a familiar face. A face that was burned into her memory. A K'laxi with half of an ear notched, with dark brown fur and a smug grin.

It was him. The one who shot Ma-ren.

"You!" She pointed, her finger shaking with rage. C̴̦͗ǒ̴̰m̷̻͐e̷̘̾ ̵̜̚h̷͔̀e̸̠͋ŕ̶̫ȇ̷͕.̶̨̀

The K'laxi stepped forward, walking robotically. Trying to fight the imperial order always made people look like they were fighting their own bodies. He stopped a meter away from Fen.

"You are with Tam'itarr's crew."

He nodded once.

Fen cleared her helmet so that he could see her face. His eyes went wide with recognition, but he scowled and said nothing.

"You know me." It wasn't a question.

"You were one of the people chasing after me and Ma-ren when we were trying to escape. To try and get to Spyglass?"

He didn't move.

A̶̢̡̨̠̙͎̭̰͊͒ͅÑ̷͔̠͓̩̲̫̫̲͖̒̍̀̒̃̀̚̚ͅS̵̢̟̦͓̘̫̯̉͋͠ͅẄ̸̢̡̧̻̣̝̣̘E̸̘͙̝͔̝̮͕̭̗͎͆̈́̎̂͠͝R̷̨̧̢̘͎̠̻̠͓̮̎̓̄̀̇̏̅͝͝͠ ̷̧̡̞̦̺̣͖̤͊̂̓͋̓M̵̨̭͓̮̺̥̜̥̺̤̐̿͛͊̈́̿̂͝Y̴̗̳̗͆ ̵̝͈̣̔̑̔͝Q̸̙͊̊U̷͓͈͎̎͒Ȩ̶̭͖̥̰̳̻̗̘̭͒̒S̴̹̓͑͗͋́͑͆̂Ṯ̴̻̖̀͒̾̄͌̐̋͝͠Ḭ̴̧͕̜̬̖̫̊̿̈́̈́̾̆̅O̷̢͇̗̳̜͎̒̍̾̅̾́͘Ņ̸̻͖̯͈̙̍̀̓̐͘͜͠ͅŞ̴̥̰͖̹̮̓͆͆̉̃͑̈́̈̕̕ she shouted.

Her Voice reverberated through the open area. It felt like the whole station went silent at her shout. His answer was practically a whisper, all his bravado gone.

"Yes."

"You shot Ma-ren?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I thought you would turn to go after her, and then I could shoot you too. But that damned other human you were with fended us off and you two escaped."

Fen stood straight, and nodded once. She reached onto the pad on the wrist of her suit and opened the helmet. With a hiss of pressure, the front of her helmet opened like a flower and folded down, becoming like a collar. Her head was in the open air of the station, at risk. The commander opened his mouth to tell her to put her helmet back on, but she turned to him, and her face made him close his mouth again.

She turned back to the K'laxi.

S̵̝̭͒͆t̵͉͕͌o̷̰̣̓p̵̧̹̊ ̵̩̎͝b̷̧͋̓r̵̪̈́e̸̦̔ȧ̴̠ṯ̷̢͝h̸̠̼́͌i̴͉͎̇͌n̶͚̳̈́g̶̯͇̒͠.̸̞̠͆͆

He looked up at her, puzzled. He went to take a breath to speak, and found that he couldn't. Looking at her in surprise, he tried again. His muscles wouldn't work to pull air into his lungs. He started to panic and turned to his compatriots. Fen locked eyes with them, and they said and did nothing. He started clutching at his throat, his fur puffed out, his mouth opening and closing, his tail vibrating furiously.

It sook quite a while for him to die.

When it was over, she touched her pad without looking at it, and the helmed unfolded and re-formed over her head. She waited until it was opaque again, and her face was obscured before she cried.