#but the brothers sought two different things in life and argued over who was correct

[dailyhmsw]

loop 130

bonus no effects version C: !

[carefulfears]

you technically asked for this: please please please talk about scully & samantha (how scully loves her, their connection, etc etc)

(previous post on this here)

the thing about it is like…scully loves samantha in so many different ways. she has to, first and foremost, by nature of loving mulder the way she does. it comes with the territory. it’s a package deal: mulder and his trailing ghost, mulder and his quest, mulder and what “matters.” there’s no separation. he’s 3 people at all times: the man in front of her, the one in bellefleur, the little boy from the pictures with his baby sister on his back. there are no photos of mulder without samantha, none taken without her, none taken after her. and he tells scully why: “i’m still walking into that room. every day of my life.”

and i guess that scully doesn’t have to love her, but she does, because she loves that man in bellefleur who sat down and told her what matters to him. she also loves her job. she loves the work that they do. she loves being “on the side of the victim,” and chasing monsters, making discoveries. she’s cognizant and respectful of what’s at the center. there is a reason that they do this every day, and it isn’t because they get a kick out of little green men. she’s protective, she really doesn’t mess around, not when it’s this important. as early as miracle man in season one, every time anyone mentions samantha, she’s standing up. she’s on edge, she’s controlling. this is important, but it’s not to everyone.

they’re the same age. they were taken by the same people. endured the same tests. reading samantha’s diary, listening to her talk about how much she hated it, the way scully cried…she doesn’t remember this (or maybe she does) but penny northern told her once that she held her while she cried, after the tests. who held this little girl, just writing in her journal that she wanted her brother?

scully wrote a journal like that too, once, saved her testimony for that same person. in closure the way that she tells mulder to go get some sleep, and she keeps looking. when she finds the police report she tells him: “i got it, mulder. i couldn’t believe it when i saw it. it was like it was looking for me.”

she’s guided, just like missy guides. these sisters linger.

as the years go on, bill dies, then tena. csm is out hiding with the anasazis, or whatever he deems priority. there’s no one else there who knows, but scully does. scully knows that they spent their summers playing baseball. they argued over the television, called each other names. she broke her collarbone on the swing, she was 6. it’s forever his turn on their last board game.

“not fox. mulder.” she corrected her mother with a smile, she knows there’s one person who calls him that. (and still does, screaming in his head, in his dreams).

to most everyone else, samantha is a name in a file, a statistic in a project. but “dana k. scully” is 3 shelves down.

she’s a picture in a frame, a ghost in his head. words on tattered paper. she’s scully’s babies’ angel aunt, one of two, and jackson has her hair. maybe baby2 her eyes, or her smile.

scully is just as haunted, as mulder is, and she’s been closer than he could ever get. she understands more. but when it was her turn, someone held her, and she came back to a person that samantha could only write about. so they chase ghosts forever and ever, because they deserve to be sought.

[sweetness47]

Almost Too Late

This is for @idreamofplaid and @girl-next-door-writes for their ‘They Belong to Us Now’ Challenge. Hope you guys like it! Congrats on your milestones btw.

Warnings: Swearing, death mentioned, dark spirits, kissing at the end, pining I’m going to say PG-14

Prompt #16: If You die, I’m going to kill you.

Theme: AU Castle

Pairing: Sam x reader

Life was good, or mostly. My friends and I hunt monsters, save people from the things that go bump in the night. This isn’t what your thinking though. We don’t drive places. Most of our travel is done by horseback or hiking. The industrial revolution came, left, and is in the process of being reborn, but it’s very slow going.

Every day is a new adventure. It’s just four of us: me, Dean, Sam, and my friend Charlie. Oh, and spoiler alert…I’ve had a major crush on Sam forever! Like seriously. I mentally drool when he talks to me, stands close to me, and my underwear is a sopping mess by the time the day ends. It’s super hard being so attracted to him, especially since he has no clue. I hesitate to bring it up, my worst fear is that confessing my feelings would ruin what we have.

That would kill me.

So I suffer silently. Charlie has noticed my pining, and has tried to get me to admit my feelings to him. But I’m terrified. If I lost him because I chose to share my attraction, I’d never be able to live with myself. I would lose the one thing in my life worth living for, besides friends, and that would kill me, literally.

I’ve pictured all the different ways I could approach the subject. I could casually just walk beside him and slide into my feelings. I could just jump him while everyone’s sleeping (my personal favorite…for obvious reasons) but what if he rejects my advances? I just can’t find an outcome where I’m not overthinking, where I don’t see chances of disaster, of rejection, of heartbreak.

Ugh. FML. Seriously.

**

Our travels bring us to a long abandoned castle. It’s creepy as fuck, but if properly fixed and cleaned up, it could actually be a really good home for us to work out of, a place where we can just hold up and crash, seek safety, keep our belongings we don’t usually need on hunts.

It’s really big, in an intimidating sort of way. I shiver as I walk closer and touch the stone walls. There’s a presence or two here, things that are tethered to this ancient land, to this castle. It’s dark, and dangerous.

And it knows we’re here.

“Guys? We’re not alone here.”

Sam, Dean and Charlie all turn towards me, and wait. They know I’m able to feel things, so if I say to be careful, they listen.

I continue. “I don’t know if there’s more than one, but whatever is in here is dangerous, like deadly. And it already knows we’re here. The good news? It hates light. Bad news though…the sun will be setting in a couple of hours. We won’t stand a chance if we don’t make a plan.”

“Is it worth us even staying? I mean, we could always find another place to shack up.” Dean’s voice tells me he’s going against his heart. He really likes this place as much as the rest of us, but he also knows not to take my feelings lightly.

“Maybe, but how often do we come across such a magnificent place? A lot of castles have long since been destroyed by one disaster or another. With some work, and luck, we could make this our home. I love the idea of having a solid place to rest once in a while.”

I love Charlie. She’s never one to beat around the bush. Straight forward and honest. I nod in agreement, but as I stare at the dark looming windows and the ancient structure of the castle, I can’t help but wonder if Dean might have a point. I personally have never felt something this dangerous before and frankly, I honestly don’t know how to deal with whatever dwells inside.

**

The human called YN is correct, something dark and dangerous does occupy this castle. Me. I am the biggest threat here, the banshee that recently sought refuge here is nothing compared to my dark power.

I am a void, a darkness, sentient and silent. I feed off fear and humans, the ones that are foolish enough to try and remove me from my home. Many have tried. None have succeeded.

I am near indestructible. I revel in the power I possess. I will never let anyone take it from me.

I used to be malicious, hell bent on finding the next willing victim to feed my hungry darkness. Then my brother entity, the one hunters dubbed “the Empty” made a deal with an angel, where the angel would help save what was left of this world and then go willingly into that void.

The anguish I felt from those the angel considered family was horrific. They mourned. I hated the idea that the one like me could be so cruel. We were made for harbouring souls, ones that had no other place to go. We were made to feed on those dead and lost, to grow and suck the life from them. But we were never to make deals to take a willing live being, no matter the end game.

That was what our creator told us. My brother didn’t listen.

I did.

I left because of that. And was punished for it.

Now I am tethered to this stone building. I’ve been here for a long time, and have grown quite fond of the peace and quiet. Most of my energy is gotten from stray animals, or the occasional human. But I absolutely refuse to leave.

So I prepare to fight. I won’t lose this home.

**

Sam peeks through the door and down the dark hall. “Sounds like fun. Shall we?” He grabs a flashlight and steps over the threshold. The moment he does, I feel the change in whatever has possessed this place.

I grab his arm. “Sam, be careful.”

He nods. “Always.”

I snort at that response, because for as much as I love the brothers, they have had a tendency to get into some stupid situations.

Dean follows Sam, then Charlie and I step inside. I’m blown away from what greets us. The first archway we encounter opens to a massive foyer, large enough to rival a grand ballroom, with corridors leading off in all directions, as well as a grand wide staircase, gleaming with gold accents and dark cherry wood railings. All I was missing was the fancy ball gown and a crowd of ballroom dancers to complete the picture.

Honestly it felt like we’d stepped into a fairy tale, but the danger looming in the background dispelled that notion pretty quick. And now that we were inside, I could definitely sense more than one. The first one, the dark presence that resided in the walls, it was intelligent, and it didn’t feel as threatening as the other. Spirit number two was restless, malevolent, and downright deadly.

“Guys, just a heads up. There’s two different entities here, both are dangerous, but one of them is more so than the other. Be careful. We go in pairs. Watch each other’s backs.”

Everyone nods, and Dean whisks me down one hall while Sam and Charlie explore the other. The moment we’re alone, Dean calls me out on what I didn’t say.

“Ok hotshot, spill. What aren’t you telling us?”

I sigh. Dean knows I have a thing for his brother, and has encouraged me numerous times to tell Sam how I feel. He also knows I have a habit of keeping important information from the others when I feel like it could jeopardise an outcome.

I stop and face my friend. “It’s just a feeling Dean. Honest.”

Dean purses his lips as if trying to figure out if my words are the truth. “Ok. But the moment that changes, you tell us. None of this hero bullshit you usually pull. I saw the look in your eyes. Your spooked. And you never get spooked like this.”

He’s right. It’s one of the reasons I’m good at hunting the things that go bump in the night. I don’t scare easily.

I nod. “I know. I promise to tell you if the feeling becomes more. Ok? Can we drop it now?”

He does, but only because I have a tendency to blow a fuse if I’m pushed too far. And I need to be on top of my game if I want to stay ahead of the dark.

An ear-splitting, high pitched scream echoes through the entire castle, the walls vibrating as it bounces off everything it touches.

Dean and I look at each other and say at the same time. “Banshee!!”

We radio Charlie and Sam. They confirm they heard the creature as well, and promise to keep a close eye on their surroundings. I can’t shake the heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach though. It’s almost like someone’s going to die…

FUCK!

“Dean! We have to find Sam and Charlie now!”

He takes one look at my facial expression, and whatever he finds there is enough to convince him not to argue. Another banshee scream fills the halls, and we take off back to the main foyer as we try to radio Charlie and Sam. They don’t answer, so we head in the direction they took when we split off.

The horrible feeling grows with each step, and when we stumble upon a broken two-way radio, I swallow hard. Dean calls out, but neither answer. I look at the elder Winchester, who’s grim looks mirror my own.

Suddenly, we’re thrown across the room by the high pitched wail, having been too distracted to notice her presence. I recover quickly, my need to contain her is great, she is a road block in my quest to find my friends and make sure they are all right. I summon my will, and I throw everything I have, everything I am feeling, at my nemesis. Her screams fade as she disintegrates before our eyes.

It’s then we see Charlie and Sam, both of whom are lying on the ground, motionless. Charlie is moaning and attempting to open her eyes and sit up, but my focus is on Sam, or rather his lack of movement. I’m paralyzed by fear when I notice his shallow breathing, the struggles he has just trying to breathe.

I fall to my knees beside him. “Sam? Baby, talk to me.”

He coughs and smiles weakly, blood trickles out of his mouth with each wheeze. “You called me a pet name. I knew you liked me.”

Tears fell as I smiled at his attempt at humor. “Asshole! Don’t you dare try and distract me. I swear Sam, if you die, I will kill you. Do you hear me? I will fucking hunt your ass down and kill you!”

His answer is to chuckle, but it quickly turns to another bout of coughing, and more blood oozing from his perfect lips. He never gets to say what he’s thinking as his lungs give out, and he stops breathing.

My worlds stops. I can’t breathe.

A gasp leaves my lips, and quickly turns into a strangled cry. I fall over him, hugging his still form, begging him to wake up, to come back to me. I can’t live without him.

Why the hell did I pair with Dean? Why? I could have protected him! I’m such an idiot! And now I’ll never be able to tell him I love him, I’ll never hold him again, or kiss him the way I’ve always imagined.

Because he’s gone.

That’s when I feel the other presence, the heartache that mirrors my own. The entity within the walls is feeling my pain, which is weird in itself, like it’s mourning my loss.

So I engage it in conversation.

You…why do you mourn my loss? I ask it in my head.

There’s no delay in the answer I receive. I have felt human loss before, it saddens me. What makes this human special?

I love him. He is everything to me…the air I breathe, the life in my body. He’s my reason for living. Is my answer.

This time there is considerable pause before it talks to me. I can bring him back for you. All I ask in return is to be allowed to stay in these walls. I have grown to like it here.

Deal. If you can save him, I will not harm you. But you can never harm me or my friends for as long as we live in this place.

The entity agrees, and I feel it join with my mind, it’s darkness seeping into my body, taking my power and my connection to Sam. I involuntarily move my hands to hover over his chest, and close my eyes as power is released from me into him.

Sam’s body shudders and suddenly he gasps, sitting upright, his lungs taking in gulps of fresh air. He coughs then looks at me, eyes wide.

And I fold my arms around his neck and kiss him.

It takes about two seconds for him to kiss me back, parting my lips with his tongue. Kissing Sam is everything I imagined and more, he tastes sweet, like cotton candy. I’m crying again, but it’s tears of joy. I eventually tear my mouth from his, needing to say three words.

“I love you.”

His response comes immediately. “I love you too YN. Always have.”

He kisses me again, leaving Dean and Charlie cheering and teasing us to get a room. I look up, and a shadowy figure smiles in my direction. The entity.

Thank you. I manage.

It nods, then fades into the walls.

@idreamofplaid @girl-next-door-writes @drkcnry67 @lyarr24

[shesey]

Excerpts from Rachel Cusk’s “Kudos”

“A degree of self-deception, she said, was an essential part of the talent for living.” “What is history other than memory without pain?” “...for the world seemed full of people living evilly without reprisal and living virtuously without reward, the temptation to abandon personal morality might arise in exactly the moment when personal morality is most significant.” “I have met people who have freed themselves from their family relationships. Yet there often seems to be a kind of emptiness in that freedom, as though in order to dispense with their relatives they have had to dispense with a part of themselves.” “You asked me earlier... whether I believed that justice was merely a personal illusion. I don’t have the answer to that... but I know that it is to be feared, feared in every part of you, even as it fells your enemies and crowns you the winner.” “We invent these systems with the aim of ensuring fairness, she said, and yet the human situation is so complex that it always evades our attempts to encompass it.” “They forgive so easily, it is almost as if nothing matters.” “And I wonder, she said, whether we haven’t done them a great disservice in sparing them this pain, which might somehow have brought them to life, at the same time as knowing that this couldn’t possible by true, and that it is only my own belief in the value of suffering that makes me think it. I am one of those who believes that without suffering there can be no art.” “It may be the case, she said, that it is only when it is too late to escape that we see we were free all along.” “Why should I trust your view of the world if you can’t even take care of yourself? If you were a pilot, I wouldn’t get on board - I wouldn’t trust you to take me the distance.” “You earn just enough to get by but at the end of the day there’s nothing left mentally, and so you cling to the job even harder.” “That tribe was one to which nearly all the men in this country belonged and it defined itself through a fear of women combined with an utter dependence on them.” “We live with an almost superstitious belief in our own differences, she said, and Luis has shown that those differences are not the result of some divine mystery but are merely the consequence of our lack of empathy, which if we had it would enable us to see that in face we are all the same. It is for his empathy, she said, that Luis has received such acclaim, and so I believe he should congratulate himself, rather than feeling ashamed for being praised.” “... and it is impossible not to feel that we have broken him, not out of malice but out of our own carelessness and selfishness.” “Behind every man is his mother who has made so much fuss of him he will never recover from it and will never understand why the rest of the world doesn’t make the same fuss of him, particularly the woman who has replaced his mother and who he can neither trust nor forgive for replacing her.” “... because it reminds them of the possibility that it is patience and endurance and loyalty - rather than ambition and desire - that bring the ultimate rewards.” “In this country, for a woman to survive the numerous attempts to crush her, he said, she has to live like a hero, always getting up again and always, ultimately, alone.” “I replied that this was something all of us had felt in our turn, as we passed into adulthood and recognized the role of outside events in shaping history and their capacity to interfere in and change our lives, which until now had remained in the hermetic state of childhood.” “Great art was very often brought to the service of this self-immolation, as great intelligence and sensitivity often characterized those who found the world an impossible place to live in.” “Could a spiritual value be attached to the mirror itself, so that by passing dispassionately though evil it proved its own virtue, its own incorruptibility?” “And that was without mentioning the moral duty of the critic to correct the tendency of culture likewise to err towards safety and mediocrity, a responsibility you couldn’t measure in dinner invitations.” “What he couldn’t tolerate above else, he went on, was the triumph of the second-rate, the dishonest, the ignorant: the fact that this triumph occurred with monotonous regularity was one of life’s mysteries.” “Yet if one looked at the work of Louise Bourgeois, one saw that it concerned the private history of the female body, its suppression and exploitation and transmogrifications, its terrible malleability as a form and its capacity to create other forms.” “It is hard to think, she said, of a better example of female invisibility than these drawings, in which the artist herself has disappeared and exists only as the benign monster of her child’s perception.” “Plenty of female practitioners of the arts, she said, have more or less ignored their femininity, and it might be argued that these women have found recognition easier to come by, perhaps because they draw a veil over subjects that male intellectuals find distasteful.” “It is understandable, she said, that a woman of talent might resent being fated to the feminine subject and might seek freedom by engaging with the world on other terms.” “I remember, she continued, as a young girl, the realization dawning on me that certain things had been decided for me before I had even begun to live, and that I had already been dealt the losing hand while my brother had been given the winning cards. It would be a mistake, I saw, to treat this injustice as thought it were normal, as all my friends seemed prepared to do.” “These boys, she said, had the most ridiculous attitudes towards women, which they were busy learning from the examples their parents had given them, and I saw the way that my female friends defended themselves against those attitudes, by making themselves as perfect and as inoffensive as they could. Yet the ones who didn’t defend themselves were just as bad, because by refusing to conform to these standards of perfection they were in a sense disqualifying themselves and distancing themselves from the whole subject. But i quickly came to see, she said, that in fact there was nothing worse to be an average white male of average talents and intelligence: even the most oppressed housewife, she said, is closer to the drama and poetry of life than he is, because as Louise Bourgeois shows us she is capable at least of holding more than one perspective. And it was true, she said, that a number of girls were achieving academic success and cultivating professional ambitions, to the extent that people had begun to feel sorry for these average boys and to worry that their feelings were being hurt. Yet if you looked only a little way ahead, she said, you could see that the girls’ ambitions led nowhere, like the roads you often find yourself on in this country, that start off new and wide and smooth and then simply stop in the middle of nowhere, because the government ran out of money to finish building them.” “I also enjoyed the attentions of men, she said, while making sure never to commit myself to any one man or to ask for commitment in return, because I understood that this was a trap and that I could still enjoy all the benefits of a relationship without falling into it.” “It did not seem like enough, she said, simply to pass the baton to the next runner, in hope that she would win the race for me.” “I have a male counterpart on the show, she said, and he is not required to look attractive, but I am not in the slightest bit interested in that example of inequality. What I am interested in is power, she said, and the power of beauty is a useful weapon that too often women disparage or misuse.” “For a while, at university, I sat as a life model for the art students, she said, partly to make money and partly to get this subject of the female body out into the open, because it almost seemed to me that even by clothing myself I was inviting the mystery to take root there under my clothes, and to weave the web of subjection in which later I might become trapped.” “In my own case, she said, I have fought to occupy a position where I can perhaps right some of these wrongs and can adjust the terms of the debate to an extent by promoting the work of women I find interesting.” “I said I wasn’t sure it mattered where people lived or how, since their individual nature would create its own circumstances: it was a risky kind of presumptions, I said, to rewrite your own fate by changing its setting; when it happened to people against their will, the loss of the known world - whatever its features - was catastrophic.” “... That family was big and noisy and easy-going, and there was always room for him at the table, where huge comforting meals were served and where everything was discussed by nothing examined, so that there was no danger of passing through the mirror, as he had put it, into the state of painful self-awareness where human fictions lose their credibility.” “The truth was that he no longer wanted to go there, beacuse the same things that a year or two earlier he had found warm and consoling he know found oppressive and annoying: those mealtimes were a yoke, he now saw, by which the parents sought to bind their children to them and to perpetuate, as he saw it, the family myth...” “He recognized that in taking their comfort he had created a responsibility towards them; and this realization, I said, had caused him to consider the true nature of freedom. He understood that he had given some of his freedom away, through a desire to avoid or alleviate his own suffering, and while it didn’t seem exactly an unfair exchange, I believed he wouldn’t do it again quite so easily.” “There was a word in his language, I said, that was hard to translate but that could be summed up as a feeling of homesickness even when you are at home, in other words as a sorrow that has no cause. This feeling was perhaps what had once driven his people to roam the world, seeking the home that would cure them of it. It may be the case that to find home is to end one’s quest, I said, but it is with the feeling of displacement itself that the true intimacy develops and that constitutes, as it were, the story. Whatever kind of affliction it is, I said, its nature is that of the compass, and the owner of such a compass puts all his faith in it and goes where it tells him to go, despite appearances telling him the opposite.” “But you, he said to me, don’t belong anywhere, and so you are free to go wherever you choose.” “... these experiences do not fully belong to reality and the evidence for them is a matter of one person’s word against another’s.” “Our bodies outlive their use of them, and that is what annoys them most of all. These bodies continue to exist, getting older and uglier and telling them the truth they don’t want to hear.” “I feel so lonely, he said, and yet I have no privacy.” “You can’t tell your story to everybody, I said. Maybe you can only tell it to one person.”

[sepublic]

Above is a link to a whole post I made for Bionicle: Redone and Expanded. It basically details Makuta’s fall from grace, his motivations, what led to the Great Cataclysm, etc. I was going to paste the whole thing here, but it ended up being, like, TEN pages. So while I’ve posted the whole thing on AO3, below is a relatively small preview of the whole post.

           In the fallout of the Great Cataclysm, much of history was unsurprisingly blurred and misremembered. Most Okotans were too preoccupied with the ordeal of surviving the harsh new Elemental Regions that their home had transformed into, and many historical records had been destroyed by the flood of elements when the Mask of Life shattered.

           That isn’t to say nobody made an attempt at remembering, and when the dust settled and the Okotans somewhat adapted, they wrote down what they could. Even now, the scholars of Kokoro labor day and night, attempting to remember and discern the past, and in the wake of Ekimu’s return, he is constantly interviewed on the Creation Age.

           But before Ekimu, and the arrival of the Toa… History was mostly remembered as stories told around a campfire, to children at night, or mentioned in passing by haunted elders. The most infamous story of all- The Mask Makers Ekimu and Makuta, and the jealousy of the latter that ultimately led to the Great Cataclysm.

           According to legend, Ekimu’s Masks of Power were more treasured than Makuta’s. And from this tiny piece of information alone, many have assumed that this means that Ekimu was always the better Mask Maker, correct?

           Not exactly… indeed, some of the disconnect was due to spiteful Okotans’ retelling history as revenge against Makuta’s history. But the reality of the situation was far more complicated;

           Ekimu wasn’t necessarily the more talented Mask Maker;

           It was Makuta… And HE invented the Masks of Power.

           When the twins discovered the Great Forge, it was ultimately Makuta who realized that one could enfuse objects, especially masks, with a ‘soul’ to manipulate and control. It was Makuta who suggested and explained the concept to his brother Ekimu, who was always considered to be the less bright of the two.

           As the Creation Age began and the Mask Makers began forging, it was Makuta who was known as the better Mask Maker. Makuta was clearly more talented, more skilled, and had a natural prowess that Ekimu lacked. His Masks of Power were the ones made more plentily, with better powers and interfaces.

           Ekimu, who lagged behind, was admittedly saddened by his relatively low skill. But instead of letting it get to him…

           Instead, he chose to keep making Masks. Yes, his weren’t as good or powerful as Makuta’s, but they DID make a difference, and that much was obvious. Maybe he didn’t get the glory of being the inventor of the Masks of Power, but just playing a part in improving the world, in discovering the secrets of Life, ultimately fascinated him.

           Thus, Ekimu kept making Masks. The brothers frequently collaborated and regularly switched the Masks of Creation and Control between the two- Neither had seen either as belonging to one at the time. And as Makuta was made busy with many commissions and personal tasks given to him by the Emperor of Okoto, Ekimu himself found time to interact with others. He wondered, why not teach others to make Masks as well? It’d be in everyone’s best interest, especially since teaching Mask Making could lead to a Mask Maker better than him, and perhaps even Makuta himself!

           Ekimu held classes and lessons teaching the concept of Mask Making, how Life energy works, and so forth. Makuta was surprised by this move of his, but accepted it in stride. As Ekimu taught Mask-Making in the City of the Mask Makers, some students proved themselves more capable and prodigal than others.

           They weren’t as good as Ekimu, but their talent nevertheless attracted the attention of Makuta, who personally took these exemplary students under his wing. Makuta became known for choosing the best of the best, discerning the worthiest Mask Makers and gifting them with the opportunity to learn from him and even act as assistants to his projects. To be chosen by Makuta was considered the highest honor.

           Some students were discouraged to see others do better than them. Ekimu, not wanting anyone to feel left behind, did his best to uplift the rest, encouraging them to keep working harder. Maybe they didn’t have a natural talent or inclination for Mask Making, but if it truly mattered to them, if they truly invested the time and effort to keep working… Then they, too, could create great Masks of Power.

           While some of Ekimu’s students quit, a select few continued training. They continued working hard, operating from a Growth Mindset as they sought to improve their skills, no matter how vigorous it may be. And as Ekimu watched his students grow, he became personally inspired by their philosophies and began applying it to himself.

           Ekimu began to challenge himself, no longer resigning himself to regular, singular-element Masks of Power. He took on more ambitious projects –with the proper safety guidelines of course- and tested the peak of his abilities. Everytime he found the height of his Mask Making power, he reflected… And then kept working to improve it.

           And so over the years, Ekimu’s Mask Making improved. It still required tremendous effort on his part, in contrast to Makuta’s ease and talent, but the end results couldn’t be argued with. Ekimu’s Masks of Power became just as good as Makuta’s, and soon…

           By working even harder, by working not for glory but for passion, creativity, curiosity, and others, Ekimu found himself creating Masks of Power that Makuta had once deemed impossible. These creative elemental combinations had been dismissed by Makuta, who had tried them a few times, but when hit with a roadblock, deemed it a pointless effort. Ekimu was undeterred by his twin’s failures- He didn’t choose to move past them to prove his own worth, but to prove the worth of Okoto itself. Ekimu believed that if anyone put in the passion and effort, they COULD redefine the impossible.

           Ekimu sacrificed entire weeks, laboring over the forge, only eating when a concerned Makuta gave him food. And as he worked, Ekimu discovered other truths of Mask-Making, and improved on them. He forged Masks of Power even stronger than what Makuta could create, realized the order in which elements were applied could affect the power of a Mask, and ultimately revolutionized Mask-Making.

           Thus, while Makuta was said to have invented Mask-Making, in many Okotans’ eyes, Ekimu was the one who perfected it.

[bloodstone--circle]

                         Arkay, the God of Life and Death

The Mortal’s God, Arkay (or Ark’ay) is also popularly known as the God of the Cycle of Birth and Death and is one of the most revered of the Nine Divines of the Imperial Cult. He embodies the qualities of birth and death, with most of what the games focus on being specifically burials and funerary rites. However, he is not only the archetypal death god, as his association with life is also linked to the changing seasons. In fact, he may have once been a mortal man (hence The Mortal’s God), like Talos, and was later raised to godhood.

Origins

Out of all the Divines, it could be argued that Arkay has the most diverse differing opinions in his origin as an Aedra. Varying within time period and location, three major theories remain prominent in the Fourth Era.

The first theory states that Arkay was born a god, but is the son of Akatosh, the chief Divine and the God of Time. This may tie into his attribute as the God of the Seasons, where he is said to be responsible for the changing seasons in Tamriel (the world dying and being reborn).

The second, that he had formed when all the other gods formed after Akatosh and Time came into existence and was always a god and not related to the others.

The last popular theory states that Arkay was a mortal man. The author Mymophonus writes in his book, Arkay the God, that Arkay was a shopkeeper in his mortal life, with no outstanding qualities other than a “passion for knowledge.” As a result, he soon came to collect an impressive array of books on almost all subjects available.

He soon found a book promising the secrets of life and death, written in convoluted text and esoteric language. He became obsessed with deciphering the book and gaining its knowledge, to the point of abandoning his shop and everything else in his life. It was only until he had nearly deciphered the knowledge in the book that he was brought down by a plague and prayed to Mara for her mercy.

He begged Mara to grant him more time in life to learn the secrets to life and death. Mara asked him why she should make an expectation of him, and he promised that once he had gained this knowledge, he would share it with others. Mara asked him why it was there was life and death, and the mortal Arkay answered:

“There are far more souls in the Universe than there is room for in the physical world. But it is in the physical world that a soul has an opportunity to learn and progress. Without birth, souls would not be able to acquire that experience, and without death there would be no room for birth.”

Mara, satisfied that he was, at the least, beginning to see a speck of the truth, gave him two options. The Mother Mara told Arkay:

“Your choice is to either accept the death that is so close or to become a god with us. But a god is not an easy nor pleasant thing to be. As the god of death and birth you will spend eternity making sure that deaths and births stay in proper balance in the physical world. And, in spite of what you believe you understand, you will always agonize over whether your decisions are truly correct. How do you decide?”

Arkay accepted the offer, yearning for the knowledge he had sought, and thus ascended to the Divines sides and became an Aedra in his own right.

Arkay’s Commandment

“Honor the earth, its creatures, and the spirits, living and dead. Guard and tend the bounties of the world, and do not profane the spirits of the dead.”

The Ten Commands of the Nine Divines Anonymous

Verse

“Come to me, Arkay, for without you, there is neither breath nor beginning, nor can any man live, love, or learn without the spark of your spirit.”

Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition: Foreword Imperial Geographic Society, 3E 432

Worship and Shrines

His priests and other devotees in the games are outspoken opponents of any form of Necromancy and undead, seeing this as a perversion of the cycles of nature he governs. They deem that it is Ark’ay who brings us to our new lives and the one who ushers us out of it, and that cycle is not to be messed with. As such, his clergy do primarily reside over funerary rites, as they see it as their duty to protect the souls of our living brothers and sisters, as well as our ancestors, by preforming three consecrations: one at birth, one at death, and one to protect the departed souls from manipulation.

His shrines, when activated, bless the parishioner with increased health. In the province of Skyrim, every major city has a Hall of the Dead, a resting place for the hold’s deceased. Priests of Arkay reside in these Halls, which double as temples to the Mortal’s God, and Falkreath boasts Skyrim’s largest cemetery along with the most potent of Arkay’s energies.

                           UPG and Real-World Applications

Shrines or altars suggestions:

items that remind you of your late loved ones or role models

Red is also something I would suggest making a part of his space, since his depictions in stained glass, as well as the objects around his shrines, tend to have heavy reds.

Snowberries (or wreaths that greatly resemble snowberries) are often seen around his shrines in Skyrim, so holly or something similar would be appropriate (if you have pets, always be careful of any plants you keep in your home, please)!

Silver, since crafting a shrine to him requires silver ingots

Orichalcum is also needed to craft his shrines, but since this isn’t a metal that exists outside the game universe (the name may be related to an Ancient Greek alloy of unknown composition) lovely green stones and statues may make a lovely substitute!

As always, when it comes to shrines, do what feels most personal and powerful to you!

Honoring one’s ancestors would be an appropriate way to honor Arkay’s work. As a spirit worker myself, I find when interacting with ghosts/the spirits of late loved ones, Arkay’s energies help me keep focused and safe.

As the God of the Seasons, take some time to go out and observe nature and how it is always changing. Feel Arkay’s influence. Where I live, currently (the end of April/start of May at the time of writing) it rains multiple times a week. The  trees are blooming with flowers and spring green buds on their branches. All the birds are back and they are singing constantly, along with seeing more deer, rabbits, etc. And it is constantly changing from in the 70s to in the 40s from one day to the next! Taking a moment to remember that all these things (except the rain, which is wonderful Kyne’s) are Arkay’s influence, for it is him that brings life back to the earth beneath us.

Sources: TESV: Skyrim

The Elder Scrolls Wiki: Arkay, Pocket Guide to The Empire, Third Edition: Foreword, Arkay the God, The Ten Commands of the Nine Divines, Amulet of Arkay, Shrine of Arkay, Hall of the Dead (Falkreath)

[tigereyes45]

Winter’s Hold

Part 1

This is the first part of the multi-chapter story I am doing as the gift @ceruleanstark .

Hello there, I am your secret santa! We may not agree on all ships, but I have really enjoyed reading your responses and writing these stories. I hope you’ve enjoyed them too.

The snow was coming down harder now. To Brienne, it felt as if small pieces of ice were raining on them instead of the soft snowflakes that had been for the last few days. When Brienne woke up this morning she could tell that today would be different. Many of the fireplaces were frozen over, the halls had patterns of ice slowly creeping in, and the only people who didn’t so much as shiver were the Starks themselves. Those who had grown up in the castle they were now fortifying.

Brienne had taken to sleeping less and less. She almost had as much shut-eye as she did when she and Jaime were captives. A time which taught her that a knight’s way is filled with complications. Jon Snow seemed almost as on edge as she did. He constantly sought out one of his family if none were near him. It seemed as if it was a desperate attempt to soothe his nerves by seeing them breathing, or the act of a man who knew death would soon be on them, and this may be his last moment with any of them. Which it was or if it was both, Brienne could not say. For she was with her Lady far more than she is with him.

“If it isn’t the Stark touch by flame,” Greets the red-headed wildling. The man who had so oddly eaten his food before. Brienne often caught him staring at her. Probably sizing her up to see if he could win a fight between the two. From what she had seen of him it would be an easy win.

“Yes, wildling?” Sansa greets him dismissively. He was one of the men Jon took counsel from when they were at the wall. That earned him no special privilege in Sansa’s eyes. One is greeted as one greets.

“She Stark,” he begins with the feral grin of his.

“Lady Stark,” Brienne corrects.

His smiles grows as soon as she speaks. Brienne steps closer to Sansa. The man did not strike her as a threat but any man that paid that much attention to her usually was planning for a fight.

“Lady Stark.” He repeats with a softer tone. His eyes never leave her as he speaks. “Yer lord brother is seakin’ you. We may be abandoning this castle of stone.”

“Thank you. I will go find him right away.”

That was when he moves closer to Brienne. “Large lady I have seen you around before. You can fight. That is good. Women who can fight have powerful children. Yours would be beautiful too.”

“Please step away from my lady,” Brienne asks politely trying to keep the heat from rushing to her face. This man was strange.

“I am Tormund. I will see you on the field of battle.” With that, the wilding smiles at Brienne again before stepping away.

“He likes you,” Her lady stares as soon as he was out of view.

Brienne shivers. “Not to argue with you Lady Stark, but men do not ‘like’ me. They challenge me.” The only men to have ever pretended otherwise either wanted to get closer to her father or to tear her down. Brienne refused to deal with either sort of man now.

“He likes you. Jon and Sandor have both told me so. Along with words of giant bears and children who will conquer.” Sansa states allowing a small smile to grace her lips.

“My lady now is not the time to think of such things.”

“Spring will come, and with it, life will go on,” Sansa explains stopping by a window to watch the snow.

Her lady may feel as if Spring’s return was definite, but the legends the common northerners tell hold to the end of the world in eternal winter. When the lands are frozen over, and all that is left would be those who brought it about. Brienne can feel the cold crawling down her spine once more. Yet again Lady Sansa looks warm. The cold does not affect the Starks as it does others. Brienne wanders if perhaps they will be the only ones to survive this season.

[raiko-exe]

Equinox [Part 2/End]

Summary: Shadows cannot exist without light, and if not for her he would have been consumed. [Vignette Collection] Characters: Kayn/Irelia Rating: T Tags: Friendship, Romance Tumblr: 1 2 FFN: 1 2 3 AO3: 1 2 3 

viii.

"This is unnecessary," Kayn mutters. He's dressed akin to how he was in Pallas, only this time he attempts to hide his visage under a hat. "I could have easily slipped through and slaughtered them all by now."

"We're trying to attract as little attention as possible," Irelia remarks beside him in her normal garb, but with her hair tied up. "Do try to be patient."

But despite the collected voice she presents with, there's aggression in her stride that hints she wants a fight.

He sighs and rolls his shoulders under the uncomfortable layers as they continue to walk through the orchard behind the manor. It appears to be maintained, but might not remain that way with the new Brotherhood having taken control of her old home as their command center.

Just like the Noxians, she thinks to herself with quiet fury. Only this time, she knows it's personal. They wouldn't have selected this location otherwise.

They stop when the outer walls come into view.

"I need you to circle the grounds and count the guards," she reminds Kayn as she remains hidden among the trees. "Return with the head count and we'll divide between east and west."

"I remember," he says, passing through the wall with ease. Quiet moments pass until his return, feet landing on the ground with a soft thud.

"Twelve on each side. Most are moving through the grounds, but three are posted in the watchtowers," Kayn reports after his short observations. "The courtyard will be harder. but there should be enough cover to manage."

"Take the west, then." she instructs him. "There should be a few things I can take advantage of in the east."

They approach the wall together now and Irelia gives him a sidelong glace. The twitch in his fingers suggests he's overeager, and she knows that might cost them.

"Kayn?" she stops him suddenly.

"What?" He raises a brow, wondering if she harbors any hesitation.

"Be careful," she tells him, though its not that part that concerns her. "And quiet."

ix.

By the time Irelia reaches the courtyard, the grounds are still and there are no guards left in sight.

"About time you showed up," Kayn mentions, revealing himself from one of the pillars. "I had so much time I even cleared your share."

"I was trying to be thorough," she responds, but she cannot argue against his effectiveness. She scans the courtyard for any sings of movement and deems they are safe to push past the front gates. The entryway stands before them, and she takes a moment to compose herself before pushing past its old woodwork.

A small army of rebels greets them as if their arrival had been predicted, and Irelia's eye twitches.

"You clearly missed one," she remarks flatly.

"I would never be so sloppy," Kayn insists, looking almost offended.

"Did you hide the bodies?"

Kayn says nothing and she resists the urge to roll her eyes.

Ignoring the small misstep, Irelia looks to the hoard in front of them. The manor was adequately sized to house troops, and most of them look to be gathered here with more coming from the upper levels.

"Please, stand aside," Irelia urges them as a last offer of mercy. "I only wish to speak to your leader."

"We will not allow you to pass," A voice from the front answers her. The man looks resentful, even if she does not recognize his face, "Should you have chosen to fight with us instead, things might have been different."

Angry voices rise along with him, and it does not take her long to realize that negotiation is futile.

Kayn has appeared bored at the exchange until he feels her hand on his back and sees her eyes harden.

"Carve a path," she says simply and watches the grin form on his lips.

He lunges and forward to sweep a wide arc before them. Unable to react, a handful of soldiers fall to the ground with their innards spilling from their torsos. The rebels flood the hall in an attempt to surround them but Kayn continues his assault, cutting them down far too easily with Irelia pinning those out of his blade's reach.

A few minutes brings their fight to the bottom of the stairway. The boardroom is on the upper level, and Irelia's gut instinct tells her that's where she needs to be.

"I leave the rest to you," she tells Kayn before bounding up the steps. She thinks she hears something from him but cannot be sure through the sounds of agonizing screams and metal on metal.

x.

"Shinn!" Irelia calls as she flings the boardroom doors open with fury. Her former second in command sits at the head of the meeting table – the place meant for her father – with two guards at his sides

"Irelia," the man addresses her, unmoving from his chair. "I figured you would come."

"Why are you doing this? Taking by force is no better than what the invaders sought to do." Her eyes narrow and her blades ready themselves, "And to take my home, you have some nerve."

"I am doing what this country needs," he corrects her, unfazed. "And what you were too weak to do."

"Ionia should not be ruled under an iron fist!" she exclaims. "Destroying the diversity of the land – This is not what we worked to achieve for so many years."

"And that's exactly the problem, Irelia." Shinn says, folding his arms in agitation. "You regard the Brotherhood as something that is still yours when you relinquished it, too weak to take advantage of an opportunity. Which that brings us here."

"Some of the leaders do not acknowledge me as they did you, Hero of the Placidium," he continues, rising to pace across the head of the boardroom. "I knew in order to draw you out I had to get under your skin."

The smile he wears mocks her futility, "And when I kill you, all of Ionia will be forced to recognize me as not only the leader of the Brotherhood, but the one who will unite them all."

"You believe your warriors can defeat me?" she questions, seeing only an empty threat. While leading the resistance fighters no one had been able to oppose her, and from the fighting outside that had not changed.

"They won't have to," he says with calm malice. It has Irelia on alert, but not even she is fast enough to stop him from pressing the buttons on the device that had been hidden in his pocket.

A burst of heat, smoke, and splinters hits her all at once, and though her blades are able to protect her from some of the damage, they cannot save her from the fall when the floor collapses under her feet. Her fall is broken by something hard that splits down the middle on contact, and when Irelia opens her eyes the entirety of her body hurts and is pinned down by the wreckage of the floor.

Through the haze she can make out the distinct sound of Shinn's laughter and sees his unharmed silhouette leering at her demise.

"You coward!" Irelia cries, only to feel a stabbing pain coming from her chest. The flames flickering around her grow larger by the second, and though she tries she cannot find the strength to free herself.

"Rest with your ancestors now, Xan Irelia," he tells her before disappearing towards the servant's corridors to escape.

xi.

The explosions catch Kayn by surprise as the second floor and the staircase buckle, dooming those who had been underneath. The note of panic in the air changes completely as the men now brush past him to withdraw. But he can only think of what has happened to Irelia as flames begin to spit from the direction she had gone.

The mission was supposed to be for fun on his part, but Kayn is now indignant. He slays the few that remain around him and advances towards the destruction.

"What are you're doing?" Rhaast protests in his mind. "The woman is probably dead."

"I won't believe it until I see it," Kayn says determined; he knows Irelia will not die so easily and tries peeling the crumbled panels aside.

"I will not allow such foolishness!" the Darkin demands. The weapon glows with rage, harnessing the power to become wholly sentient and leave his wielders grasp.

"I have been waiting for the moment where you might be so distracted." Rhaast speaks in a sinister tone before attempting to strike. "And with the souls reaped on this night, I have enough power to take your body as my own."

Kayn is barely able to evade the attack, finding a stray glaive to deflect the subsequent blows. But with no man behind the rival blade, he is unable to predict the opponent's movements.

"Stop this, Rhaast!" Kayn insists, but only has the glaive knocked out of his hands, staggering until his back hits a wall.

"Looks like this is the end for you, human," Rhaast declares, readying a decisive blow. Kayn has known all along that this day would come, but never imagined being the one to fall against the Darkin entity.

A familiar feeling comes over him in the face of death – The same feeling he experienced on the banks of the river as a child.

He sees his master alongside Syndra and his fellow brothers of the order.

He sees Irelia, cheeks full of tang yuan and an annoying smile on her face.

He needs to live.

The scythe swings forward to pierce him, but Kayn catches it with one hand on the grip and the other around the curve of the blade. His arms shake as he anchors his feet to hold the pointed edge away from him.

"No, Rhaast," he declares through gritted teeth. Darkness enshrouds them like a thick mist as Kayn channels his own energy into the weapon. "You will heed to me!"

The cloud dissipates with a burst of energy and Kayn finds the scythe silent in his hands, examining the blade with caution. The demonic eye at its center no longer pulses with life, and the Darkin skin on his arm is no more.

Rhaast has been expelled. It's something he's wanted for a long time, but he cannot dote on the thought now; he still needs to find Irelia.

Kayn turns back to the collapsed stairwell and ghosts through the rubble. His senses have become sharper, it seems, as he can hear voices from afar. He hastily proceeds towards them, but he only finds three men after emerging from the walls, and one fits the description of Irelia's target like a glove.

"Oh good, you survived," Shinn says, mistaking Kayn for one of his own spldiers. "I've finished her off, now we can–"

His sentence remains unfinished as Kayn severs all three in a single swoop.

xii.

After calling her name until his voice runs hoarse, Kayn spots a sash of magenta under destroyed slabs of ceiling. The flames have not touched her yet and he rushes to her, desperation coursing through his veins helping to heave away the debris. When he can finally see her, he is relieved to find that she's still breathing.

"Kayn," she manages shakily. She is barely able to see him as he gathers her in his arms. "Are you hurt?"

"Me?" He can hardly believe the words she speaks to him, "You should be worrying more about yourself."

He examines her quickly – She's certainly wounded, but it's hard to tell where as they are both been plenty stained with red.

"Shinn, he–"

"I killed him," he informs her briskly. "Now stop talking, you'll only strain yourself."

She gives a weak nod and rests her head on his shoulder, exhausted but content with the fact for now. Kayn hurriedly makes for the back exit he'd passed earlier. When they reach the outside, it's as if half the city has surrounded the manor after seeing the smoke.

"A medic," Kayn demands, scanning the citizens for such an individual. "She needs one. Now."

But instead of aid, the people avert their gazes.

"She is one of your own!" he exclaims in disbelief as Irelia continues to sag against him.

"We never asked to be liberated!" an older man yells from somewhere near the gates. "That girl has been nothing but trouble every time the city has fallen."

Irate voices resonate with him, but Kayn cannot stand for the farce. It's no wonder Irelia wanted to leave this part of her past behind her. He senses her urge to speak before he lashes out himself.

"So you are all too stupid to think for yourselves and would rather be overrun?" he glowers, but the angry cries only grow stronger until a woman pushes her way through the masses.

"I will take her," she says, ushering Kayn away from the crowd and ignoring the burdens wished upon her. "Come with me."

The woman tells him she has always supported the daughter of Xan and her ideals, even if the majority thought otherwise. She also proclaims herself a studied healer though Kayn has little objection at this point, following her into a nearby neighborhood where the houses are packed together.

The doorway of her home is narrow, and as soon as he lays Irelia down he is surrounded by children who buzz about him like flies.

"I'm sorry the house is so small," she apologizes and urges them away. "It would be best if you stayed elsewhere. I can send word when she has healed."

"Very well," Kayn says, unable to argue even if he wanted to make sure of Irelia's recovery himself. They relay the directions to the nearest inn, and he is leaving through the screen door when her voice reaches his ears.

"Don't go."

The words are so quietly he can't be sure if she'd said anything at all, but for her sake he knows he cannot stay, and the door slides shut.

xiii.

Kayn hates staying in one place for too long, and after three days of waiting for Irelia's recovery, he was reaching his limit. The people in this part of Navori were too accommodating, and it was making him antsy.

So when the healer's daughter appears and tells him that Irelia has awoken and is recovering well, he considers his options only for a moment before deciding he should leave altogether. He packs his belongings and pays the inkeeper, heading straight for the city gates. But his footsteps feel sluggish and heavy like he's forgetting something, only he knows full well what he's forgotten.

It's better this way, he keeps telling himself to quiet the small urge there is to see her. Even with those against her, the people need her now more than ever and Kayn does not belong here like she does.

The restless feeling remains after passing the city's borders. The main road ascends upwards into a small grove, and Kayn stops for a moment to view the city over his shoulder.

"Leaving so soon?" a voice from nearby calls to him, and the semblance of it is enough to have him on alert. But before he can pinpoint the source, Irelia has already appeared from behind one of the trees.

"Are you even well enough to be up?" Is the first thing he says to her, seeing the cuts and bruising on her cheeks. The robes she wears allow for more comfortable movement, and the lining is a similar color to the clumps of leaves alongside the road.

"I have been," she informs him with a keen look in her eye hinting she'd predicted his means of departure. "I was in a meeting with the elders before sending Miya to you."

Kayn remembers the adversity they had been met with. "They were responsive?"

"They are working towards a provisional government after the fall of the Brotherhood," she confirms.

He is surprised at the developments, but is more surprised that she's actually here.

"You've learned to control it," she says suddenly after noticing the lack of Darkin limb and the unfamiliar appearance of the scythe.

He nods, "It happened during the fighting." The ashy remnants of the manor can be seen from here, and now it bears importance to them both.

"Does he still speak to you?"

"No," he responds. He realizes it's the closest thing he's ever felt to grief, "It's very...quiet now."

She cannot fully understand but the look in her eyes softens anyhow, and only now does Kayn realize how blue they are. They're not like the sky, but like the ocean, where one could become lost.

"I always believed in you," Irelia says with reverence, and that alone puts him more at ease.

She steps closer and takes his changed hand into her own to study. The pads of her fingers gingerly graze over his palm, then move to the thinner skin over the veins just above. The sensitivity to her touch is unlike the dulled sensation of the Darkin; it deems human.

She wraps her fingers around his wrist and examines his face. He does not flinch, but there is something in her gaze that he can't quite place and he finds himself anxious for completely different reasons.

It dawns on him suddenly that it looks like she's about to kiss him.

And after a moment, she is kissing him after rising onto her toes and it feels nice.

Despite her injuries, Irelia's lips are soft and sweet and Kayn is eager to respond. He clasps the hand that guides him, only to find her pulling away as quickly as she'd started.

"What was that for?" he asks her, slightly winded. His hold has not released, but it is not demanding.

"A thank you for saving my life," she responds in practicality, but the way he arches his brow expresses his doubts.

She takes a breath.

"And because I've grown fond of you, Shieda Kayn," she says with honesty now, and admitting the thought is freeing.

A smile forms on her features, and it's not only because of the sheepish look he has adopted.

"I want to help the cities that were under the Brotherhood's control," she tells him, for her job is far from finished. "Will you join me?"

There is a brief period of contemplation.

"Alright," he concedes, even if he had no real qualms to begin with. "Up until the monastery."

Her smile grows as she attempts to lead him, but Kayn's grip is firm.

This time, he's the one who pulls her in.

[the-deadly-sins-rp]

Where’s the fun without a bit of risk? - JK Rowling

Availability: OPEN

Name: Ava Cari Species: First Vampire (Immune) Loyalty: Wrath mafia Objects (owned but not affected by): Spectacles of Envy and Watch of Sloth Special Skill: [Player’s Choice] Title/job: Dealer Age: 573 (Looks 20) Birthday: [Player’s Choice] Suggested FC: Dakota Fanning Alternative FC’s: Elle Fanning, AnnaSophia Robb Gender: Cis female Pronouns: she/her Sexuality: [Player’s Choice]

Biography:

TW: Blood and gore. Ritualistic blood bathing. Vampire-centric violence including death and blood drinking. Child abandonment.

The births of Ava and her sister, Aya, are something of legend, a story told over the centuries as only of myth and fairy tail. What so few understand though, is that they’re not just stories. It’s all true, from the infamously bloody names in their lineage that still strike fear into people’s hearts centuries later, to the story of how their mother bathed in the blood of virgins, even during her pregnancy, and bathed her two twin baby girls in it after their birth. It’s all true. Every last detail of it.

Life was quite enjoyable, until they were forced to leave the castle, their mother cackling hysterically as they locked her away, and Ava and Aya knew their pretense of nonexistence, of pretending to be servants when people visited the castle, wouldn’t last. Aya was always the more practical of the two, so Ava didn’t argue much, except to complain about the climate in whichever country they’d landed in. Aya really did need to stop taking them to such cold places.

As time wore on, and perhaps it was because they moved around so much that they didn’t realize, they came to discover that their bodies had ceased aging around the human age of twenty. When it came to continuing on their bloodlines, to creating new vampires, they discovered the strangest thing: Aya was able to give birth, while Ava seemed to be infertile. Contrastly, Ava could turn a person into a vampire with a single bite, while Aya’s bite did nothing other than cause a mildly irritating rash.

The first experiments in both went as differently as could be expected. The first child that Aya carried to term turned out to be a strangely gentle and needy creature. They only put up with the girl for as long as was necessary to hope that she could continue their bloodline, perhaps with better results, and left her. The first human that Ava turned though, went from a frightened, meek thing to a bloodthirsty animal. It was a beautiful scene to watch, and Ava had been giggling the entire time as she watched him descend onto a group of hikers in the forest, ripping them apart and feasting on their blood as though he were within inches of starving to death.

After that, children were born and adults turned, even a few children and teenagers, just for the sheer fact that their parents had pissed Ava off. It was a game, more often than not, to turn a person and watch the chaos that would ensue. Like having access to her own personal entertainment whenever she liked. And it continued that way for a few decades as they moved around, until one day Aya decided that they were seeking out a place called Isle Cruento, where dark creatures roamed free and magical little things granted power and gruesome death. It sounded like a fairyland.

When they arrived, Ava realized she’d been close to correct. Chaos reigned everywhere, not only just from the creatures or what the people there called the Objects of Deadly Sin. Unrest came in all forms, driven by all people, from the overpowering government agency that meant to take over the island and rule it as they saw fit, to the families that claimed the right to the island, and to the Objects. Bloodline families, they called themselves. Others called them mafias. Either name fit them properly, really. And it was the Wrath bloodline, the Ira family, that Aya decided they would be attached to. Ava didn’t mind so much in any case, but she rather liked the family. They were as mischievous as she was, even if they tended to have anger management problems. She quite liked that about them.

Over the years, she grew close to every member of the Ira family, learning tricks from them, and sometimes teaching them her own. They were the closest thing she and Aya had to a family since leaving the castle, and Ava hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted that. They were called Dealers, officially, but they did much more than normal Dealers on the island did. They sought out people that owed debts, or stole Objects from other bloodlines for leverage. They also made bodies disappear, or reappear, as it were. Not long ago, Ava and Aya traveled to America to fetch an illegitimate child of Wrath, whom they had discovered had been given up for adoption by his mistress.

Holidae Rhett returned to Isle Cruento, to his home, and was trained by Ava and Aya to take his rightful place one day as the next Wrath. While Aya spent time preparing the boy in plans and information, in the political tactics of every other mafia and how to work with them, Ava taught him how to channel his anger into something more productive. Into fighting styles and techniques. He picked up on it all very quickly, and even more than that, he picked up on Ava and Aya quickly as well. Ava knew it made her sister uneasy, but she couldn’t help but be fascinated by the fact that in the centuries they had served under at least a dozen Wraths, known at least a hundred members of the Ira family, this boy was the only one who could tell the twins apart, every time without error.

Ava questioned him regularly about the differences he noted, and would try to fool him, but she never could. She fooled everyone else, quite easily actually. She made a game of it when people mistook her for Aya, acting horrified when someone would suggest that she go and kill a person who owed a debt to the Ira family. She’s been known to scream, cry and run erratic circles around the room when this happens, always breaking down into fits of laughter moments later when Aya approaches the person, glaring at her sister as she explains the mix-up, as well as Ava’s odd sense of humor.

It’s been several years since Holidae has taken up the moniker of Wrath, and Ava wouldn’t admit to Aya that he is probably her favorite of the Wraths they have worked for. She sees him as a little brother in a way, raised and trained by their hands, and knowing them, or at least telling them apart, better than anyone they’ve known since leaving the castle so many centuries ago. In other ways, Aya has accused her of treating him like their family puppy, far more amused than she should be at his angry and violent outbursts.

Recently though, there’s been outside forces attacking along with those internal. Specifically, the family’s original Gun of Wrath was stolen, and Ava and Aya found it in possession of an odd young man, with an accent eerily close to the one that Wrath had when the twins found him in America. When they presented the culprit, thief most likely, before Wrath, neither of them expected the look of shocked recognition on his face. He knew this man.

Personality:

Ava is at the same time both bubbly and vicious. She loves playing games and finding amusement in the smallest of things, though her favorite form of amusement is typically in some fashion watching or participating in the brutal death of an odd bystander. It’s both a curious and off-putting thing to see her giggling, blood dripping from her lips from her most recent meal. She’s devoted to her job, though in a different way than Aya is. While Aya sees their positions as those of agreed upon terms and conditions to be fulfilled, Ava sees it as the job of family. And she will do anything to protect family.

Appearance:

If a person were to look at Ava’s closet, they would think it was a closet shared by several people. When she is working close to her sister, particularly in the Wrath Manor, she will dress in vintage, elegant clothing that is reminiscent of her sister’s. It makes it far easier to trick people into believing she is Aya, and plays well into the part of creeping people out when they see the pair together, dressed in clothing from centuries ago, perhaps with a blood stain or two upon their blouses from lunch. When she feels the need to sneak off on her own though, or is simply lounging about in her room by herself, she dresses in more modern clothes. She enjoys trying out different styles and trends that come and go through the years, finding the odd fashion choices that people make to be oddities in themselves.

Inciting Incident:

Tensions are high, and threats abound in the Wrath mafia. Never has there been such resentment to the current Wrath as there has been recently from Hayes directed at her half-brother. No matter what Aya claims, Ava knows it is their duty to protect the current Wrath head, even if that be from his own blood. The only problem is, Ava knows that if the time came that she would need to intervene, she may have to fight her own sister to do it.

Connections:

Identical twin of Aya Cari

Works for Wrath (Holidae Rhett Ira)

Acquaintance of Ezaz Jeremiah De Voux

Indifferent to Hayes Ira

Three Headcanons:

[Player’s Choice]

Recommended Reading:

Aya Cari (bio)

Holidae Rhett Ira (bio)

Ezaz Jeremiah De Voux (bio)

Hayes Ira (bio)

Mafia Families (Wrath - Ira)

Vampire Lore

[enmitykrp]

✩ ⋆* ☾ I’VE HEARD MANY THINGS ABOUT THAT CHEN ZHAOTING …

A CHINESE NOBLE of the palace, they are a TWENTY-SEVEN YEAR OLD NEUTRAL and the first son of Chen Biming (SON #BM). In another life, I imagine they would look a lot like DAVID YANG. What a shame that such a person faces such adversity …

HISTORY:

 “in today’s discussion we will be covering some main aspects overlooking china during the kingdom of goryeo.” a professor in a lecture hall prepares her slides in a preeminent university. the attending students highlight in either their notebooks or laptops. course? asian history two.

“to refresh your minds after thanksgiving break,” she begins as light chuckles filtered between seats, “the goryeo dynasty was established in the early tenth century which lapsed over into the late fourteenth century. refined by religion, the highest ranking to the lowest on the caste system turned their faith towards buddhism,” she paces herself in front of the note enthralled, picture organized powerpoint. “as we’ve covered last time, king hyeonjong was the eighth who was assigned to the throne. he preceded his father, king taejo and was crowned as the prince in 1022. a benevolent leader he was, many of the civilians praised him whereas many of his officials sought otherwise, which lead to much suspicion of his assassination in 1034.” keyboards clicking, pens scrawling, half-responsive and half-attentive eyes of a multitude of students gaze onwards as the instructor continued. “during this time of distress as king hyeonjong was murdered fumed a great deal of chaos and instability, which lead to the intervening of foreign affairs advocated by a number of high ranking chinese and japanese nobles.”

the professor swiftly makes her way back to the computer to enable a slide, “photography wasn’t a thing of the past, however, historians argued that the chinese military officer chen biming was depicted such as this, by artists.” she allows some room for comfort as students begin organizing their notes into sections, cornell format or what have you. “respectively, chen biming was a warlord praised for his approach to military tactics and warfare, but also preached order between affairs concerning korea and china at the time.” she witnesses as eyebrows raise and lecture goers look among themselves, “i know, it’s completely contradictory and hypocritical to be a military leader with hopes that your children would be diplomats. nonetheless, he took a voyage to korea with his two sons with an objective, which was to capture those responsible for hyeonjong’s assassination. the problem in itself wasn’t entirely chen biming, but, his eldest son,” she pauses as the powerpoint focuses on another piece of artwork, “chen zhaoting.”

“just like his father, wasn’t he also really militaristic and shared common interests in war?”

despite encouraging open discussion throughout the lecture, the professor was appalled as she acknowledged the pupil. “that is correct,” she responds, “he very much favored defense tactics and dedicated a good portion of his life training besides his father and some of his best, equipped men. before their journey to korea, they lived under the law governed by the song dynasty. during the year 1034, china was east asia’s iron fist with the economy. the country was split between two different dynasties; the kingdoms of song and liao dynasty, also known as the khitan empire. then, of course, in 1038 was the establishment of the xi xia kingdom. chen zhaoting was born in modern-day shanghai, located in the northernmost part of the song dynasty in 1007. he, his younger brother and father then had to relocate since chen biming’s career was based in hangzhou.” she noted the scribbling of pens against notebooks, the turning of pages and quick glances as the projector spun.

“chen zhaoting was born of flourishing wealth. the birth of children during the song dynasty was observed as a gift, as children was a symbol of ancestral progression. he valued education and was noted to be a bright student who dwelled in the development of neo-confucianism and poetry. growing up, he didn’t display a fond liking towards warfare and spent a lot of his childhood reading and writing about the wonders of the world,” a relaxed sigh fell from her lips, recalling some of chen zhaoting’s most harmonious beginnings. “into his teenage years, zhaoting studied in india and sri lanka with trusted educators and learned commerce and economics with honorable merchants. it was accessible to travel to south and south-east asia during the time, offered by traders. historians documented that the eldest son journeyed to east africa through sea routes and published a series of writings based on foreign communications, east african civilizations and so forth. he returned to hangzhou, china, with great aspirations to be an explorer and scholar, in spite of knowing the importance of his father’s military legacy.”

the professor became stern as she stood centering the front of the room. “he wasn’t always known to be hostile and malicious as portrayed in some of your high school history textbooks. he was a kind child, yet, historiographers could reason that the intensive training with his father after returning from somalia worsened his behavior.” a student who was once buried in the confines of their laptop raised their hand. called on, they spoke hesitantly, “i understood that at the time, china wasn’t efficient with their armies and struggled to keep their units unified, right?”

“and that is very true.”

“so.. could it be the civil unrest, the tension between neighboring countries and stress that ultimately changed how he acted as a person?”

“yes.”

the professor’s smile gleamed, “the song dynasty wasn’t a military powerhouse. due to his father’s harsh expectations to keep the army together, chen zhaoting manifested an obstinate mentality. he was well dignified to protect his country, and he loved it with all his heart, which drove him to incredible aggression. with the way he had to be reprimanded by his advisors, it was more promising that his younger brother would be favorable to a position as a diplomat in korea. even though chen zhaoting was passionate about worldly pursuits and expeditions, he felt the need to fulfill his father’s military agenda.”

bags begin shifting, zippers echoing into the high ceiling of the hall and a mass of students begin rising out of their seats. “next time we meet after class, we’ll discuss the other foreign figures during the kingdom of goryeo. don’t forget that we have a quiz on the last few lectures the next time we meet!”

PERSONALITY:

 he’s a person unable to be read completely, being quite an enigma with his secrets kept away from the general public. he shows difficulty in opening up to others without prolonging trust, though doesn’t inhibit himself in a work environment. engaging with his surroundings, his ambition ties in with his confidence which draws stability to those working in cooperation.

as positive as they come, chen zhaoting is faithful, focused, and brave. in contrast, the son of china’s military general is also known to be hostile, manipulative, and antagonistic.