#committed one terrible assassination

[transmasc-rose]

One more AU to propose: at the end of Brotherhood, taking ac3's declaration of how the Apple works as fact, Desmond sees the satellite not working, sees Abstergo failing--and rather than kill Lucy, either manages to turn and kill no one (unlikely, given Juno's influence) or ends up stabbing Shaun and/or Rebecca instead, with the idea that maybe, if he talked to the Templars, he could make them understand, that their plan is flawed, that they need to try something else--

Because if the Templars, in all their money and planning and resources are failing, how could the Assassins succeed?

(This would royally piss off Juno.)

I don't think this would go well. I think, even if he and Lucy succeeded, made the Templars change plans, and that worked, the result would be bittersweet at best. A lot of people dead or under their control, with the Assassins being in an even worse state. Power granted to the Templars that make them rise even higher.

There's a good chance they don't succeed at all.

But he'll never know if things would go better if he'd chosen the other path.

(Maybe there's a world where he does convince the Assassins and Templars to work together on this. But that's a much kinder world than the games see fit to give him. So that is out of his grasp.)

[foldingfittedsheets]

We had the most egregiously evil little pony horse when I was growing up. I know everyone says that. Ponies are one of the animals that truly understand how to commit crimes but she was really deeply atrocious. One time she tried to murder me. Her name was Fancy.

I feel I should slightly explain here. See, my parents bought two acres with a house and a barn and pasturage and went “We’re farmers now!” They had absolutely no idea what they were doing. And at a certain point along that journey my mom got her hands on a horse. Technically she was half pony half horse so she was this weird middle size.

Fancy belonged to a friend of hers and he showed her how to saddle Fancy. And that was it. That was all we knew about this horse. So my mom brings her home and saddles her and we decide to go for a ride on this new creature in our lives. But Fancy, being the savvy bitch she was, was far too canny for our dumb asses.

Her maiden ride went to my older brother and ended rather abruptly when the saddle slid completely sideways and my brother toppled off her, miraculously unharmed but unwilling to ever try again. This made me like Fancy somewhat, because I hated my brother.

Those familiar with horse trickery would have caught her ruse but Fancy had deliberately held her breath to make the saddle seem tight enough. But in stride she let the breath out, the saddle loosened, and my brother came toppling down. She planned that fuckup.

I was a bit more game, being a dedicated horse girl. I wanted to succeed where my loathsome brother had failed. Keep in mind: none of us had ever ridden. We had no idea what we were doing, and in the only defense I’ll ever make of that hoofed demon it was probably not pleasant to have a human flopping on her back like a sack of potatoes. But I paraded around in a circle until she scraped my leg against a fence post. I lasted longer than my brother but had to admit riding an animal radiating malice at you is not comfortable.

We didn’t really ride Fancy much after that. She was a decorative aspect to the fields. Sometimes I’d sit on her bare back while she was eating. Every so often she’d buck me off for assuming familiarity with her.

But Fany's coup de grâce took several months. Most of the pasturage had electric fence running along it to keep the livestock from testing the fences or getting a taste for freedom. My parents were constantly moving fence posts and reallocating land to different purposes which is how one of the major gates ended up with electric fence running over top. During a move the wire got left up from the last border and now it was strung over what should have been an open passage.

I was taking a ride on Fancy, living in a fantasy that I had any idea what I was doing. My mom was out working in the yard, and as she passed through she left the gate open, forgetting the wire hazard. You know who didn't forget?

Fancy.

She beelined for the open gate and I realized a second too late what her plan was. I hauled back on the reins with all my strength but she powered through, charging at the wire. If I'd caught on sooner I could have tipped forward and probably cleared it.

It was roughly chest height. But she was too savvy, keeping a slow pace right up until the passage, and I didn't have time to react. The thought of getting electrocuted sent me down into a terrified backward limbo, desperately trying to flatten myself along her back.

Her assassination almost worked. But instead of beheading me the wire caught under my chin, pressing back into my neck like a garrote. The only good news was that the wire wasn't live, but I was still in terrible danger. I squealed and wiggled and managed to twist my neck enough that the wire scraped over my face instead of pressing deeper. Once we were through Fancy stopped and turned to regard me, disappointed that her murder had failed. My neck was bleeding but my head remained attached.

My mother was absolutely terrified and I was pretty shaken myself. We unsaddled Fancy for the last time, as full on attempts on my life were a bit more than I was willing to bear for the sake of pretending to be a fantasy hero on an epic journey. My neck still has a faint scar from her homicidal tendencies.

Fancy got to remain a decorative horse for many years after that, free of our attempts to ride her. Her last torment was when my mother decided to try to breed her to achieve an animal that was less interested in murder.

But Fancy, true to form, brutally attacked the stallion sent to service her, even when hopped up on horny hormones. There would be no foals from Fancy, and her saga ended when we sold her to another unlucky soul.

[formulawolff]

v. heat of the moment - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 2.9k

warnings: cursing, some mentions of misogyny, a physical altercation, slight physical injury, teasing, banter, YEARNING, there is lots of yearning, toto wanting to rail the absolute shit out of you, power imbalances, age gap, yadayadayada

prev. | next.

“you ready?” 

james peers down, towering over the car as the pit crew flurries around, prepping for the race. 

you shrug, flipping your visor, “is it too patriotic of me to say that i was born ready?” 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“well i’ll do you one better,” the team principal leans over the car, slapping your helmet a couple of times, “go get ‘em tiger.” 

“way to hype me up.” 

“i think another podium is in the cards,” james’ face hardens, the intensity of the race setting in, “you think you could get us on the podium again?” 

“i don’t know about first. they don’t refer to max as the dutch assassin for nothing,” at least you were realistic, “but i think i could place second or third.” 

“i think we should aim for first.” 

underneath the helmet, the corners of your lips curl into a grin, “i think so too.” 

“i believe in you,” james’ hand finds yours, shaking it, “we all believe in you.” 

the authenticity of his statement sends a slight wave of distress washing over you. 

ever since the night in jeddah, your loyalty was beginning to shift. 

you were starting to seriously consider toto’s offer. 

although you made the verbal commitment to james that you would remain with williams until 2026, a certain team principal was starting to tug at your heartstrings. of course, this team principal didn’t have to try very hard. 

even the slightest smile was enough to send you spiraling. 

the turmoil was enough to keep you up at night, tossing and turning. there was really no legitimate reason you could give james on your departure, other than it was your teenage dream to drive for mercedes. 

you would have to lie through your teeth and attempt to put on this facade that you had always wanted to be with mercedes. you just happened to settle for williams. 

fuck, that really made you the asshole. 

now, here you were. 

day-dreaming about a certain team principal, completely on autopilot. 

yet, that quickly faded as you glance up, watching as the lights blink, that green hue gleaming in the sunlight. 

it was go time. 

now or never. 

the roar of the engines is nearly deafening as it fills the track, blood roaring in your ears as you step on the gas.

for the australian grand prix, you were fifth on the grid. it wasn’t a terrible spot, as you had the opportunity to overtake a few places, which would earn you a podium. 

behind you, was george russell from mercedes, lewis hamilton in seventh. ahead were max, sergio, charles, and carlos. 

overtaking the ferrari boys would be a challenge, but you were more than willing to accept it. if you were able to just overtake carlos, you would be content with fourth. 

even if you weren’t on the podium, those points would be significant. 

closing in on carlos, adrenaline pumped in your veins as your sucked in a breath, james voice flooding your ears on the radio. 

“you got this. go for it.” 

the moment you’re about to step on the gas, a horrendous scraping noise sounds to your left. 

george made contact with your car, sending the two of you flying towards the tarmac. you skid along, bracing for impact as you barrel towards the wall. 

although it was merely seconds, it felt like eternity. 

for a moment, your field of vision goes black. 

yet, you blink, the sun so vivid as it shines through your visor. shaking your head, you groan as you clamber out of the car, scrambling to your feet. 

swiveling your helmet, you make out george. 

that’s when everything started to become tinged with a crimson hue. 

“you bastard!” 

“oh?” george taunts you, “this was my fault?” 

“of course it fucking was!” you march over to the british driver, “learn how to fucking drive the damn car!” 

“learn how to overtake somebody else and we would have never had this fucking problem!” george retaliates, his voice raising with every word. 

you just scoff, deciding to let it go. 

accidents happen. unfortunately for you, it was just part of the job. it may have cost you a podium, gave your car significant damage, and ruined your day, but you had to let it go. it was just a bad day at the office. 

well, more like a fucking awful shit day at the office.

as you suck in a breath, strolling away from george, he decides to goad you on even further, giving one final retort. 

“you should have stuck to nascar! maybe then it would have been easier for you to navigate a bloody track!” 

you stop in your tracks, glancing over your shoulder. 

“what did you just fucking say?” 

“you heard me,” george folds his arms over his chest, “you should have stuck to fucking nascar. maybe then that thick skull of yours would have been able to navigate the track! it’s pretty bloody simple you know, just a few left turns!” 

that was the moment when everything truly went dark. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“do you know how much today cost us?” 

james is to your right, massaging his temples. however, you can’t quite decipher the emotions plastered across his features.

was he disappointed? furious? you couldn’t tell. 

alex is across from you, chewing on a thumbnail, “i mean, things could have been worse.” 

“we literally had to pry her off of him,” james exhales, groaning slightly, “it’s a mess. that’s what it is. a fucking mess.” 

“i think you guys are forgetting he started it,” you mumble, pressing an ice pack to your jaw, “he told me i should’ve stuck to nascar. i mean, what would you have done in that moment?” 

“walked away? called him a twat or something?” james shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, “you know i adore you, but you really fucked us over today. my driver getting into a physical altercation with another team was the last thing on my agenda today. yeah, the accident was bad, but that… that was awful.” 

“hey,” alex puts his hands up, “at least i didn’t crash my car.” 

“fuck off,” you shoot him a glare, “also, i wouldn’t call that an accident. it was more like a little skirmish.” 

“you beating his ass wasn’t,” alex points out, his tone laced with a tease, “i gotta admit, that was pretty entertaining to watch.” 

“i taught that bitch one thing today. and it’s that you don’t mess with texas,” a laugh bubbles up in your throat, earning a chuckle from alex in response. 

“what am i going to do with you two?” although he tries to remain stern, you can see a hint of a smile on james’ face. 

“i think i deserve some rest,” raising your arms above your head, you use your hands as a cushion, leaning backwards, “i put in a lot of work today.” 

“yeah,” alex nods, “a lot of work beating that brit’s ass.” 

“do you think he’s scared of me?” 

“i think everyone is,” alex rolls his eyes playfully, “if i was max verstappen, i would be shaking in my boots right now.” 

“okay, okay,” james interjects, “enough from you both. we can discuss this further tomorrow. i’m exhausted.” 

“you weren’t even the one throwing the punches!” alex tosses his hands up in the air, “if anyone if exhausted, it’s probably our wwe superstar over here!” 

“go,” james waves a hand at the two of you, “like i said, we’ll talk more tomorrow. i have to do damage control for the rest of the night. probably well into tomorrow too.” 

“i am sorry,” you clear your throat, rising to your feet. you make eye contact with alex, who is still bearing a mischievous grin, “i guess that australian heat just got to me.” 

“i cannot take you two seriously right now,” james sighs, “go. get some rest.” 

unlike james’ dismissal, you did not have to be told that twice. 

after george’s snide remarks, you caved under the heat of the moment. with emotions running high, you sprung forward at the british driver, shoving him a couple of times. he goaded you on, taunting you to “actually do something about it.” 

of course, you actually did something about it. 

what could you say? it was the american way. 

there was no way in hell you were going to let him off the hook. especially after he demanded that you “go back to nascar.” those comments were completely unnecessary and uncalled for. anyone could admit that. 

so, in response, you knocked him to the ground, throwing a few good punches in before a safety crew member pried you off of him. 

the little “skirmish” with the mercedes driver had taken the formula one world by storm. 

all over social media, there were mixed reactions. many of the comments praised you for not taking anyone’s shit. the others blasted your character, questioning if women truly belonged in formula one if they “let their emotions get the best of them.” 

numerous fans called for your resignation from williams driving, claiming that you had no right to be behind the wheel of a car. 

the fia claimed they would be launching an investigation to determine if there were to be punishments for both drivers. mercedes put out a statement that they would be “thoroughly addressing the incident that occurred with one of their drivers.” 

meanwhile, williams racing had yet to comment on the matter, remaining silent. 

personally, you felt that the sheer embarrassment from your outburst was enough. you would be the topic of discussion for weeks. your personality, likeness, and every somewhat terrible thing you had ever done would be dissected throughout reddit forums, through tik toks, and through instagram posts. 

surely the fia would remain merciful, but you had your doubts. 

pulling up the hood on your sweatshirt, you make your way in the direction of your motorhome. 

at least that would provide you a space away from all of the chaos that ensued after the race. 

in your pocket, your phone buzzes. 

reluctantly, you fish it out, anticipating your name to be headlining yet another article. instead, it’s a message from mr. wolff.

i’m on my way over. be there in five. 

oh fuck.

toto wolff was the last person you wanted to see. 

especially after today. 

flinging open the door, you trudge into the space, dumping your belongings on the counter. making your way to your room, you flop on the bed, resisting the urge to scream into your pillow. 

not even a minute later, you hear a familiar voice filling the motorhome. 

“don’t tell me you’re hiding from — oh, there you are.” 

“i don’t want to talk about it.” 

“i think we should.” 

his tone is far different than you anticipated. you expected him to be furious, dropping the offer entirely. 

rather, his words are quiet, laced with a softness as he sits on the edge of the bed, placing a tender hand on your back. 

“rough day, huh?” 

“rough is not even the word to describe the absolute shitshow that was today,” your head is still buried in the pillow, your voice muffled, “you have no idea how disappointed i am in myself.” 

“i’m sure,” toto inhales sharply, “i hope you know that what occurred today does not change anything. actually, it’s convinced me that you deserve that mercedes seat even more than i initially thought.” 

“toto,” you lift your head up, “i literally physically assaulted another driver. a driver who happens to belong on your team. i don’t deserve that seat.” 

“well it simply proved to me that you’re more than willing to stand up for what you believe in,” he counters, that gentleness dissolving into firmness, “you don’t take anyone’s shit. i need that energy brought into mercedes.”

“i think if you gave me that seat, george would actually shit himself.”

“don’t fret baby,” a hand finds your hair, fingers smoothing out some strands, “i would be your mediator.”

“are you sure you still want to offer me that seat? do you know how much the media is going to ridicule you?”

“i think i have been ridiculed enough in my time at mercedes,” he shrugs, “what’s a little bit more? if it means i have you, nothing else will matter.”

shifting your weight, you sit up, scooting over a little so that you could be next to toto. leaning your head on his shoulder, you nuzzled into his dress shirt, his arm instinctively wrapping around your frame, “today just fucking sucked.”

“i can only imagine baby,” light kisses pepper your temple, trailing all over the bridge of your nose and the apples of your cheeks, “i could help take your mind off things.”

“i’m sure you could,” your heart skips a beat as his hand squeezes your thigh, “i wish you could just make it all go away.”

“i could definitely do that, sweet girl,” his hand inches further and further up your thigh, fingers tracing circles, “you want me to take care of you?”

yet, as his mouth hovers around your ear, a flash of pain seeps into your skull, causing you to wince. 

“fuck.”

“what’s wrong?” 

“my head hurts,” you whimper, “after i hit the wall, i think i may have passed out for a second. everything went black, i couldn’t see anything.”

“and you didn’t have a medic clear you?” toto presses, and you can’t help but notice the inflections of worry, “baby, you should have had someone look at you.”

“i was more focused on other things,” you mumble, the pain beginning to increase, “fuck.”

“you’re probably just a little banged up from the crash. if your symptoms continue through the morning, we’ll get you checked out.”

“we?”

“well,” he pauses, biting his tongue, “i would say i would take you to our medic, but i think that would raise some eyebrows. make sure you see someone, okay?”

before you know it, toto is to his feet, towering over you on the edge of the bed, “where are your pajamas?”

“you don’t have to–”

"i want to,” he interrupts, “let me help, okay? you don’t have to do everything yourself, you know that?”

“but i’m used to–”

“and i need you to know that while i’m here, you do not have to worry about that anymore. i’m going to take care you. anything that you need, you’ll get,” he brushes a lock of hair away from your forehead. 

you melt, nearly collapsing under his touch as he caresses your cheek. wrapping your arms around his thigh, you nuzzle into his hip. 

meanwhile, the team principal is about to crumple to his knees at the sight of you. fuck, you were so cute. why were you so goddamn cute?

even after assaulting one of his drivers, you were still pretty damn cute. he was not lying when he said it made you more attractive. 

he needed someone to be that passionate about their team, their driving, and their beliefs. he needed someone who could take a stand against another driver without backing down. he needed someone who didn’t give a fuck. 

he needed you. 

fuck, he needed you. 

in the moments the two of you were apart, he could barely process his thoughts. you were consuming his mind whole. he clung to your words, your voice, so sweet and soft, flooding his ears when you weren’t around. he found himself checking his phone more frequently, in attempts to see if you had responded. 

lately, it seemed every time he thought about racing, his mind brought him to you. 

he was addicted to you. 

“how about some head?” 

your inquiry takes him by surprise, his jaw clenching, heart racing, “oh? does my baby need some?”

“it may help ease my headache,” you glance upwards, the team principal fighting back a groan as filthy fantasies begin to creep into his thoughts. 

the sight of you looking up at him like that? with those lashes framing those stunning eyes? with your lips looking oh so plush? 

fuck, toto felt his knees nearly buckle.

there was no denying he wanted you. he craved you. often.

he desperately ached to feel you, to know what you felt like as he made you his. he yearned to feel that perfect pussy on his tongue as you bucked your hips, crying out for more. he wanted more than anything, to hear you beg. you probably looked oh so pretty when you begged. 

that night in jeddah, you were so fucking wet. you had nearly coated his fingers with it all. and it was all for him? 

“toto,” the way his name fell from your lips was like heaven itself, “will you stay tonight?”

“of course,” he nods, his voice nearly faltering as your hand massages his thigh, “f-fuck.”

“what?” you coo, meeting his gaze once more, “what is it, baby?”

baby. 

he was going to fuck the shit out of you. 

the buzz of a phone in his pocket startles you, earning a flinch. as it rings, the team principal lets out a string of curses, and you infer it was more than likely german. bringing the phone to his ear, he takes a step back, strolling over to the corner of the room. 

sighing, you roll on your side, back facing the team principal. 

the call was only about a minute, yet felt like an eternity.

“don’t tell me you’re pouting over there.”

“maybe i am.”

the bed dips underneath his weight, your heart fluttering as you feel his presence. the team principal is on top of you now, pinning you to the bed. 

“well quit it.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

taglist: @toldyouitwasamelodrama @nebarious @whoisss @kravitzwhore @prettiest-at-the-party

[jaggedamethyst]

trying...

pairing: bucky x reader (non gender specified)

content: bucky is dealing with trauma as a result of his time as the winter soldier, you accidentally get caught in the crossfire. (references to physical harm, mentions of violence, inferred ptsd symptoms and trauma, etc). also slight stucky if you squint bc i know theres fans out there.

notes: ive thought about trying to put this into words for so long, i hope it translates well. i may do a part two if the people want it. pls read the content warning above and steer away if this may trigger you.

word count: 1.8k

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

In recovering from the absolute torture that was Bucky’s life the last few years—there were few moments of solace. The worst being the slight feeling of peace before all of his progress abruptly drained back to zero… before he’d been reminded of a trigger. 

Something would suddenly pop into his brain—betraying him—and he’d be forced to physically and metaphorically swat the idea away. The problem, though, was that this soldier was doing what any good one does, fighting. James Buchanan Barnes knew what it was to be a good man, a good soldier. But the Winter was more formidable than ever. 

Whenever the opportunity presented itself, the assassin had to make an attempt at clawing its way out. 

The attempts weren’t infrequent. 

Bucky would sit by the window, unable to sleep. He would often be forced to watch the sunrise. Daybreak. He’d long committed the color of the sun meeting the skyline to his memory and with it the unfortunate feeling of his companion wanting to make an appearance. 

Whenever he’d volunteer to build something. The screws, bolts, and nails would be shiny enough to reflect Bucky’s face back to him. An image he’d hate to observe, of course. All he could see in them was potential, though. Positive connotations escaped him in this instance because all he could see was an opportunity for destruction…natural wear and tear…oxidation. Like him, these pieces of metal existing just meant that there was a chance to become worn. To decay. To become something bad…rusted. 

Numbers were the hardest to avoid and he realized just how often something can torment you when it becomes a thing you hate. One, nine, seventeen. Nine, seventeen, one. Seventeen, one, nine. In any order or occurrence these numbers seemed to follow him as close as his shadow—if not more so. He’d become particularly hateful towards one. The casual “one second,” “one moment,” and “I’ll call you back in one minute” seemed to linger in his brain for far too long. 

Freight car. Attempts to get out more proved futile. No matter how far he tried to get away, the sound of rumbling would fill his ears. He knew the sound too well. Bucky knew the feeling of air leaving your lungs. He’d grown accustomed to the feeling of falling. He felt it every day. 

The thing about falling is that when it occurs for long enough it almost feels normal. That slight weightless feeling and euphoria tricked Bucky the first time it happened. That was until he hit the ground. In experiencing one or more of his triggers every day, the feeling of weightlessness returned—so consistent that in a weird way, Bucky felt as if he’d won. He could no longer be shocked by the initial stomach drop if he continued to propel towards something nonexistent. He could no longer be surprised by the euphoria if the impact never came…if he never hit the ground. To him, if it happened so frequently that you were no longer taken aback, you’d beaten your triggers right? 

He couldn’t be more wrong. He was terribly so. 

If there was one thing Bucky learned and ignored in his various therapy sessions is that acting like something isn’t there is not…ideal. Having this being claw and tear at him left him with metaphorical lesions that he wasn’t tending to. People tried. There was never an interaction for which Steve wasn’t looking at his best friend with longing. Longing for the stoic and confident man he once knew. This person was a shell. Even with all the progress, he would never forget the one person he had left seeing him as nothing more than a mission. One only wonders how he’d feel to know that Bucky sees every day as one, a mission, an attempt to not crash the fuck out. (That was something new he learned, suited him for sure).

Again, people tried. Without even realizing it, you tried. 

The day you met Bucky, he just seemed grumpy to you. “Valid,” you’d thought with a shrug. There wasn’t really much to not be grumpy about these days. Yet, you flashed him a smile that warmed his insides—and not in the usual evil entity trying to escape way. 

In the darkest of days inside his mind, he found something to aspire towards just knowing you walked this planet. 

You’d known each other for a while before it became anything serious; he was reasonably weary of getting close to anyone for fear of dragging them down with him. But, he promised he’d never hurt you—every time he uttered the phrase in passing you shrugged him off, reassuring him that you knew. 

“James, we both know you wouldn’t hurt a bee—“ you stopped to point to him, his brow arched as you knew it’d be. “And I know that's not the phrase, okay! You’re an old man and you know all the platitudes.” 

Bucky stood to meet you in the center of your shared apartment, “what does that have to do with you saying the phrase wrong?”

“My point,” you said, tapping his nose for emphasis, “is as I said.” You snaked your arms around him, “you wouldn’t hurt a bee.” You locked eyes with him, “because even if a bee was attacking you, swarming all around you, and wanting to hurt you…you still wouldn’t hurt it. You wouldn’t swat your hand or anything. Some may say that's just stupid…but I think it pretty much sums up the person you are. I know that. You know that.” 

You pecked his lips and walked away. 

Bucky was left speechless and almost teary-eyed by your analogy. But that was you, trying…without trying. He owed it to you to try, too. 

The thing about that is, there was still so much for him to uncover. He had fallen for so long, he knew that. He’d been traumatized for so long without saying anything. 

He had nightmares that only went away when he stopped sleeping altogether. It had been so long since he truly rested that he let himself forget about that inconvenience.

Tonight, he decided, was the night he would face his fears by being well-rested to take on the next day. He mumbled to himself, “One day at a time, right?” He slipped into bed with an excitement he hadn’t really expected. It wasn’t long before sleep overtook him. 

_______________________

He woke suddenly to screams. A woman? The high-pitched and erratic yells made his head hurt worse than he’d ever experienced. 

“What the hell is happening?” 

He turned in bed to see you not there, which immediately made him spring into action. Calling your name and getting no response anywhere in the apartment was enough to make him want to cry. But the screams. They were coming from outside, not in. 

He looked out the window to see if he could see what was going on and oh my gosh. 

With no shoes, he ran. He felt as if the stairway was endless. The pain of the asphalt was nothing in comparison to the pit in his stomach as he ran directly towards it. Towards your car wrecked. Completely wrapped around a tree. How could this happen? The one time he’d gone to sleep. 

Nobody was helping you. Your car literally sitting with you inside motionless. There was no time to think, he ripped the door off. He reached for you, pulling you from the car. He knew CPR but everything was escaping him, it seemed. 

He pleaded and yelled for someone to help, realizing that your body was much more limp and cold than ideal right now. He repeated “no” more times than he’d ever in his life. He clung to you, squeezing you, praying for a miracle. But there was nobody. He clawed at anything; your clothes quickly became battered. He was so confused. His head met your chest, his attempt at trying to wish you back to life. Back to him. But the look in your eyes was so—wait. Not your eyes…

The “no, no, no” repeated again, without him even trying. He felt a scratching at him. A darkness enveloped him and his surroundings and his hand…

His hand was on someone's neck. No. A man. 

He remembered this. His body working against itself to execute orders. His mind fighting within its own skull to erase the memories of James. 

James

It repeated faintly in his mind, and yet as much as he grasped for it he couldn’t seem to reach it. 

James

It was getting lower. He tried, he was trying. He felt it pounding at him. Suddenly, that familiar jolt. But rather than an electric current pulsing through his body in an attempt to disconnect him from reality, he’d finally have to face this one. 

He was sleeping. No, he was dreaming. The voice inside his head, you, calling to him in a plea to stop. The James that would never hurt a bee, had hurt you. 

He fell back quickly, feeling himself glossed over in sweat. He looked to you, speechless, bruises already forming on your arms. He clung to you, squeezing you. 

Bucky sobbed immediately, reaching to console you. You moved back before even processing it. The flash of hurt in his eyes moved you, but your fear kept you at a distance. 

“Did I,” he mumbled, “did I ch-“ he couldn’t get the word out. 

You shook silently, eyes shifting to the bedpost that was now clearly disfigured…a set of fingers printed along it. His hands on someone's neck. 

You were lucky, a split second and some scratching and you were able to get some distance between you. Even there, you didn’t feel settled. You witnessed your boyfriend, grasp what could’ve very easily been your neck and squeeze with an ease so unsettling that you had no choice but to try and stop him. Despite all the advice you heard to never wake someone this way, you knew he’d been hurting. You hit him, as hard as you could. He tried, he was trying. He felt it pounding at him.

“I am,” the man inhaled, “more sorry than I can ever begin to express to you. I don’t know what happened.” You observed him slowly rise to his feet, clearly drained. “I made you a promise. Who am I… if I can’t let that be true?” 

Bucky moved silently and quickly, ignoring your voice calling out to him. Even in shock, you were trying. You tried. 

Within minutes some people you recognized started to look you over—empathy in their eyes. You drowned out their medical talk, looking for Bucky, noticing he slipped out without a word. 

People tried. He tried. But the scars of the Winter Soldier had become so big that they’d inadvertently grown. Like roots—weeds—they festered and spread to the ones he loved. 

He didn’t know what to say to you, or if he could ever be with you ever again. But he watched from a distance, observing you be tended to like a fresh garden. The weeds seemed to dwindle. While still there, he knew that at the very least—he wasn’t contributing to your stunt growth. Without him, you could blossom into so much more.

(ps. sorry about the emotional scarring 💀)

- amethyst 💟

[dumbkiri]

𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖄𝖔𝖚 3

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Please follow part 3 of Helaena!! AI love the character so much and I find almost nothing of her, the reader and Balerion have me ecstatic too!! You make art! Thank you for your attention :(

Yes! Please have Rhaenys and [Name] kill Aemond in the next part! On my hands and knees begging! Save The Queen Who Never Was!!

I apologize for the dragon fighting. I watched S2EP4 like 5 million times to describe dragon fighting, but my brain no work with that. As stated before, I am NOT familiar with GOT or HOTD (watched in once years ago), this is all made on the fly for a dear reader. So I apologize if it's "stupid" or terrible writing. But I will continue to write this for others that enjoy this series. Thank you for following along on this new journey.

There's also a sneak peek to a Targaryen x Stark story in the future....Sansa deserves love too.

The crackling of fire and the ocean waves crashing at the bottom of the cliff filled his ears along with the breeze combing through his hair. And the voice from the fire, which he normally heard on occasion, had been quiet for a long time. Tonight had to be different because of the strong need to light a fire in the night. 

Before Rhaegar died, the Lord of Light spoke to [Name] many times. Made the father devoted to his children because one of them was going to have a son powerful enough to defend the North from the long night. [Name] thought Rhaegar would have been the one to have that son. 

Obviously, he misinterpreted the Lord of Light. The son could come from Viserys’ line or maybe [Name] would have to have more children with Helaena to secure the prophecy from the god. Still, the voices stopped after Rhaegar. He thought he must have failed the god, disappointed the deity because he did not protect Rhaegar. Or get revenge for his fallen son. 

“I heard that you speak to the fire, uncle.”

[Name] lifted his head from the burning fire and saw Jacaerys making his way over to the edge of the cliff where he sat by his lonesome. 

A chuckle slipped past [Name]’s lips and he swept his legs over the edge of the cliff. “I speak to the Lord of Light, nephew,” His response was quick and to the point. Some people like his brothers described [Name] and Helaena to be odd; one spoke to the fire and the other spoke in cryptic messages. Aegon would tease and say that they were a special couple. The word special did not come from the heart, but Aegon’s way of saying simple. 

“I’m not sure I heard of that god before, it’s not any of the Old gods or even the Seven,” Jace pointed out expertly while taking his seat, the same way his uncle did, the small fire between them. 

“You’re right,” [Name] looked out towards the sea, the moonlight casting a blue hue onto the calm water, “I only experienced his existence in Essos when a Red Priest spoke to me with her alluring tongue.”

Jace snapped his head at [Name] and asked daringly, “Alluring? Did she get you in bed with her too?” 

“What?” [Name] leaned back in offense then looked over at his family member, “I’m hopelessly obsessed with Helaena, Jace. I’m devoted to her and her body, no one else can satisfy me, not that I would want them too.” The man turned to the fire when a stick broke in half. Lead Jace into the fire, let him see. [Name] felt a strong pull at his chest and his eyes drew over to his nephew when he spoke up. 

“So a red woman showed you her god and now you serve him?” 

“That’s not how I started serving him,” [Name] admitted quietly, thinking back to the night of his commitment. The vision he saw in the fire, the voices he heard all convinced him to serve the red god. “She found me tending to Balerion’s teeth after a battle with some assassins. I don’t like the smell of burning bodies, especially ones that linger between his molars.”

As [Name] told his story, the fire subtly grew hotter between the males. 

…

“Open wide, Balerion,” [Name] walked in front of his grumpy dragon with a bucket of sea water and a shirt from one of the dead men on the beach. Balerion huffed into [Name]’s face and turned away from the human with a disinterested groan. 

Reeling back in disgust from the smell, [Name] covered his nose with his forearm and pointed at his dragon with his free hand. Voice muffled, but loud, [Name] shouted, “Where are your manners? I’m doing a nice thing for Dreamfyre and myself! No living thing wants to smell your tarnished breath!” 

[Name] set the pale down and approached his dragon with a tired look on his face. He was warned about traveling to Essos for pleasure, but he wanted to get out of the castle. He wanted to stop hearing schemes and breathe for once. The air he caught flying was enough to fill his lungs and cleanse them. 

Yet one last stop on the beach almost got him killed. 

“Your dragon is very beautiful.” A woman’s voice startled the dragon and the rider, both snapping their heads to see the new person on the beach. She wore a red dress with her long dark hair cascading down the front of her chest. She held no weapon to his knowledge and her hands were placed in front of her. 

Balerion’s throat clicked in unease and he lifted his head off the sand, some grains falling onto [Name]’s defensive stance. 

“Give me one good reason why I should command my dragon not to burn you like I did the rest?” [Name] asked, his bloody hand gripping onto the handle of his sword. Skeptical of the woman, he didn’t let his guard down. If she was the one that sent the assassins, he would drag her by the hair and drown her in the sea. 

The woman in red smirked and answered, “I am not your enemy, Prince [Name]. I came here to help you realize your potential in the upcoming war between your families. You are to be a formidable ally, one that can bring balance.”

[Name] scrutinized her and gently commanded Balerion to stand down. His beast chuffed and set his head down back onto the sand. Then [Name] looked at the bucket of water, dunking the shirt into it. 

In his crouched position, [Name] began his interrogation, “Upcoming war between my families? There is no war, my lady. What are you insinuating?”

He noticed she was staring at his sad campfire and she asked quietly, “Your fire has dwindled, might I rekindle it?” 

“I asked you a question,” [Name] stood up and wringed the shirt of excess water, “answer it.”

The red woman nodded her head and approached his campfire, she messed with the stick and dry grass, explaining, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, my prince, but your father has passed away. With his dying breath, he told your mother that he wanted Aegon to inherit the throne. She-”

“Aegon?” [Name] scoffed and his face scrunched up in confusion, “That’s not right at all. My father has always wanted my sister to have the throne, for many years he’s always been adamant that Rhaenyra succeed him. Even if he suddenly changed his mind, why would it be Aegon and not me, the oldest, to inherit it?” 

The campfire burst into flames and [Name] looked at the woman who conjured up fire with only her hands. She looked into the fire and said, “Your mother believes otherwise, insisting that your father spoke Aegon’s name. The Hightowers have usurped the throne and war will follow in the days to come.”

[Name] rested his hand on the upper lip of Balerion and paused for a second. Aemond was going to be crowned King, taking the throne away from their father’s true successor Rhaenyra. His mother, Alicent, couldn’t be this dull to really believe he said that on his deathbed. Even when he and his brother were born, Viserys never named either of them heir. 

“My prince, please join me by the fire, I have something to show you,” The red woman’s voice spoke smoothly and [Name] blinked his eyes to focus back onto the beach. As if he was entranced by the color of the fire and the warmth from Balerion, [Name] removed his hand from the dragon. 

He walked over to the woman and Balerion groaned in protest, watching his rider carefully. The beast didn’t trust the red woman yet and it showed when he bared his teeth as the woman reached for his rider. She moved her hands back and smiled at the dragon letting the beast know she won’t lay a finger on his rider. 

“Look into the fire and tell me what you see.” 

[Name] kneeled down on one knee and did as he was told. He felt completely different from the fire. He saw images of a long winter, a sword of fire, a white dragon that breathed blue fire and a boy from his line in the future. Then he saw people made of ice with blue eyes, a marriage with a Stark girl,  and the long night that engulfed the north. 

“Do you see now, my prince,” The red woman whispered in his ear, “you must return home and protect your family at all costs. Protect them so that the Dragon in the North can be born. Without him, the Prince That Was Promised will fall.”

…..

“A Prince That Was Promised, huh,” Jace huffed in question and playfully joked, “If a woman like her whispered in my ears like that, I would follow her god too.” 

[Name] laughed and patted his sword next to the campfire and finished off with, “Then she blessed my sword with his power too. But I believe he wants you to see something as well. Look into the fire, nephew.” 

Jace awkwardly laughed and shifted on the balls of his palms, “I think I’m alright, uncle.” 

“Are you afraid?” [Name] furrowed an eyebrow and smirked, “Don’t tell me the heir to the throne is afraid of a vision in the fire. I suspected my nephew to be braver than that.” 

“Fine,” Jace grumbled and looked into the fire, seeing small embers fly into the dark sky. The seventeen year old only wanted to amuse his half-uncle by doing what he wanted him to do. He had no real incentive to do it, but he was curious to see if the red god was real or if his uncle really was crazy. 

The fire reflected in Jace’s eyes and [Name] saw the twists and snaps in the reflection. Jace’s lips parted open to speak what he saw in the fire, shocked to see the vision come to life in the flames. 

“I see the North, there is an alliance to be made and an oath to keep.”

[Name] hummed in thought while Jace blinked his eyes trying to peer more into the flames. 

“And I see-”

A huge gust of wind blew the fire out as Balerion roared past the men, Dreamfyre tailing her mate close by with a replying call. Jace ducked down immediately while [Name] laughed at the cowering position of his nephew. He fixed his clothing and his hair from the flyby, still laughing at the glare he received from Jace. 

“Apologies,” [Name] cleared his throat and picked himself up from the floor, reaching a hand out to the teenager. “Balerion likes to announce his arrival, I’m sure he didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“You saw him, didn’t you?” Jace asked, taking the offered hand and stood up with the help of it. 

“From miles away,” [Name] answered, a grin on his face. 

Jace wiped his clothes off and sighed, “A warning won’t hurt next time.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” [Name] chuckled and followed after his fuming nephew with lighthearted apologies. 

Jace was soft of grateful to have his half-uncle at Dragonstone for many reasons. He looked up to [Name] when they were younger and admired Balerion from afar, too scared to ever approach the dragon. But [Name] tried to help Jace get over his fear of the Dread. 

[Name] never questioned his or Luke’s legitimacy either, claiming that his twin and younger brother were green monsters. That Aemond envied their claim to the throne. 

[Name] was a role model, perfect son of Viserys the Peaceful. The calm and deadly rider of Balerion. Nothing was truly bad about him. 

“He’s a cunt.”

“You shouldn’t speak that way about him, our greatest ally,” Rhaenyra scolded Daemon, the council members having a small meeting about their newest arrival to Dragonstone. While the Hightower-Targaryens found sleep, the meeting concluded with the Targaryen family. 

“He didn’t even demand my head or retribution for the death of his son,” Daemon growled out. 

Rhaenys shook her head and made eye contact with the ill-tempered man, “No, he barely acknowledged your name. He thinks differently of the whole situation.” 

“How so?” Corlys was also dumbfounded by [Name]’s sudden alliance with Rhaenyra. He also found it odd that [Name] didn’t want Daemon to suffer any consequences. 

“[Name] puts the blame on his mother and her sworn protector Cole for the death of Rhaegar. He sees Daemon’s order as revenge for Aemond killing Lucerys and-” Rhaneys faltered trying to find the right words to describe [Name]’s motive for all of this, “he believes Rhaegar’s death to be collateral. You weren’t after [Name]’s son, were you?” 

Daemon looked around the table and shook his head, “No. Not Rhaegar.”

“So you just proved him right,” Rhaenys continued on, “killing you or demanding any punishment from you will not bring him his son back. He’s learned that from you trying to avenge Lucerys. And he knows deep down that Rhaenyra is the rightful queen. He of all people should know that because he supported Rhaenyra’s claim along with Viserys.”

Jace nodded his head and vouched for his half-uncle, “[Name] has no desire for the crown even grandfather knew that. He never snickered behind my back or saw himself above me, never dished out the word ‘bastard’ like his brothers did.”

“He should hate me,” Daemon spat, “I killed his son!” 

Everyone looked at Daemon with wide eyes from his outburst and Rhaenyra breathed out of her nose. She knew what ate away at her husband. 

“Daemon, we know you feel guilty over the death of Rhaegar. Maybe this is [Name]’s punishment for you, to receive no punishment or consequences. To let you live on with innocent blood on your hands, to let you think of what you’ve done.” 

Daemon looked up at his wife and glowered at her, “If I had Balerion, I would have melted this castle down to its bones, burning every person alive in here.” 

Rhaneys straightened out her back and calmly replied, “Luckily [Name] knows how to use his authority on his dragon.”

Jace watched the back of [Name]’s head as he slowed down his pace to the castle. He didn’t know why, but Jace wanted to. 

“[Name], I’m sorry about your loss. I-I know how it feels to lose someone, not a child, but a brother.” 

Jace saw [Name] stop in his path and the young man turned around with a blank expression on his face. Perhaps Jace should have not said anything regarding Rhaegar, but [Name] spoke up with a soft voice. 

“Aegon wanted me to burn you all and Otto wanted to put the blame on Rhaenyra having the people dub her as ‘The Cruel’. But I know my sister, your mother, she’s just like our father with a bit more spirit in her soul. I could never burn the true successor to the throne and if I have to make my family bend the knee with the power of Balerion, I will.” 

[Name] looked up at the dark blue sky and said, “Rhaegar’s death opened my eyes and I’ve ignored the warnings from the red god. This time I will do anything for my family. Now come on, we can grieve together in the solitude of the castle walls.”

��…

The next day, [Name] saw Rhaenyra’s dragon from afar, returning from her sudden trip to who knows where. Balerion noticed the golden dragon in the bright sun and called out in greeting to which Syrax replied with a screech of her own. Smiling softly at the interaction, [Name] commanded Balerion to do one last circle around his area. 

Rhaenyra watched in awe as she rode her dragon, seeing the Dread patrolling the skies in all his dark imagery. Larger than any dragon she has ever seen, she was hopeful that Balerion and [Name] were on her side. Especially after the conversation with his mother. 

She wanted [Name] to join in on the council meeting to discuss what was spoken too. To see if he had any advice of what his family could plan against her. So she urged Syrax to call for Balerion knowing that [Name] would catch on to the call. 

The golden dragon moved her head side to side and let out a high pitched bellow to signal the black dragon to come back. 

When [Name] heard Syrax’s call, he sighed and commanded Balerion to land on the beach where the black dragon made his nest.  Swiftly, he took his black helmet off and began climbing down the ropes tied to his mount. Balerion grumbled then rested his head on the sand with a huff. 

“Get some rest, Balerion,” [Name] took his gloves off next and placed his helmet next to his dragon, “we have tomorrow’s patrol as well.” 

As if responding to his rider, Balerion's chest rumbled in agreement, the dragon closing his eyes for that much needed rest. Although, the black dragon did want to go on a hunt with his rider. 

[Name] watched Syrax fly into the cave and he started making his long trek up to the castle. One of the cons of having a large dragon, you have to walk everywhere because it cannot sleep in a cave with other dragons. When [Name] was halfway to the castle, he saw a familiar red dragon fly out of the cave. 

“Princess Rhaenys?” [Name] mumbled then hurried up the steps to see what was wrong. 

When he made his way up to the council meeting, he spotted Rhaenyra looking pale and solemn. Helaena was by her side nodding to the words Rhaenyra spoke to her. Fearing that Rhaenyra was asking Helaena to fly out on Dreamfyre he interrupted the queen. 

“Your Grace,” [Name] huffed and briskly made his way over to his wife. He set a hand on Helaena’s shoulder and said, “Send me, you promised me that Helaena wouldn’t have to fly Dreamfyre.” 

Rhaenyra moved her eyes to [Name] and shook her head, “I was only giving Helaena some comfort, brother. Rhaenys is flying out to Rook’s Rest to provide backup to Lord Stuanton. There’s a possibility of her encountering Vhagar which is why you need to fly out with her. Now.” No time for goodbyes when Rhaneys was already flying out there. 

[Name] looked down at Helaena and her eyes glistened with a teary goodbye. 

“At once, Your Grace,” [Name] bowed his head at Rhaenyra and planted a quick kiss at the crown of Helaena’s head. Then he turned around demanding someone to give him a horse so he could ride out to Balerion. 

Helaena watched her husband disappear out of sight and she looked up at Rhaenyra, “I know he’ll come back, but…the cost of Rook’s Rest would be far too great. It’s never a good thing to fight amongst blood.” 

Rhaenyra looked away from the entrance and sighed. Helaena was right, odd as she may be. 

……

[Name] had Balerion glide right above the sea water, knowing that if he had his dragon fly any higher than that, they would be spotted quickly. His heart raced in his chest and [Name] prepared his mind to fight his brother, Aemond. His biggest foe and greatest enemy now. 

Aegon would never be on the battlefield just like Rhaenyra cause both parties were too important to be sent to battle. So he willed Balerion to fly faster to help Rhaenys against the green monstrosity that would soon come to Rook Rest. 

Upon seeing the cliff Rook’s Rest was planted on, [Name] saw Meleys fighting a very family light pink and golden dragon. Eyes wide in surprise [Name] urged Balerion to fly faster seeing the blood of Sunfyre rain down on the earth. 

“Aderī, Balerion,” [Name] shouted and the dragon grumbled in response. Then when they approached the cliff [Name] commanded Balerion to fly upwards parallel to the mountainside. The Lord of Rook’s Rest and his men felt a huge gust of wind blow them forward and turned around to see a giant dark beast rise into the sky with a thunderous roar. (qᵘⁱᶜᵏˡʸ)

High in the sky, [Name] spotted Vhagar flying her way towards the engaged Meleys and Sunfyre. “Naejot, Balerion,” The dragon rider growled in frustration seeing the highly focused gaze on Aemond’s face. (ᶠᵒʳʷᵃʳᵈ)

Meanwhile, Aegon held onto his mount hearing the painful cries leave Sunfyre’s throat. His ears shattered upon the noise that brought him sorrow. His mind racing a mile and his heart about to burst from his chest. That was until he heard the greatest roar in history rumble in the sky. His head snapped to the left and he saw Vhagar flying over to him with a determined Aemond on her back. 

“Thank the gods!” Aemond cried in relief, but that relief was washed away. The look on Aemond’s face, it wasn’t a look of help, but a demand for blood and death. 

“Dracarys!” Aemond shouted, the command Vhagar didn’t hesitate to defy. 

Rhaenys and Aegon looked at the impending doom, both bracing themselves for the fire building up in the back of Vhagar’s throat as their dragons fought amongst each other. 

Yet a desperate and willful demand shouted above Vhagar’s gurgling throat, “angōs, Balerion!” The black dread opened his mouth wide, snapping hard onto Vhagar’s flappy throat disrupting the line of fire. Vhagar roared out in pain while Aemond held tighter onto his mount, glaring at his brother who commanded Balerion to fly higher into the sky with Vhagar in his clutches. 

But they were already too close to the earth for the command to have any merit, so he watched. 

[Name] held onto his mount and watched Balerion hold onto Vhagar’s throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. Both large dragons took the show away from the smaller ones and [Name] couldn’t afford to look at Rhaenys when their biggest threat was in his grasp. 

Before Balerion could sustain any injuries from Vhagar’s talons, [Name] ordered his dragon to back away. Not wanting to spoil his attack, Balerion swished his head tearing into Vhagar’s throat a bit more then kicked the green dragon to the earth. Balerion spread his wings wide parallel to the ground and glided over the burning men and fallen dragon with a victory cry, his tail smacking into some men running away.

The Black Dread took to the skies and [Name] turned around to see Sunfyre succumb to his injuries from Meleys. The golden dragon cried out with a high pitched screech before hitting the forest ground in silence and a puff of fire. [Name] cringed and turned away from the tragic scene. This was all happening too fast, Balerion had years of battle experience, but he didn’t. Neither did Aegon or Sunfyre.

Aegon couldn’t have survived that fall, he thought. It wasn’t possible. While distracted, an attack from Vhagar happened upon Balerion who roared out waking up [Name] from his stupor. He looked to his left and saw a small chunk of Balerion’s right shoulder blade in Vhagar’s mouth. 

Quickly he held onto his reins with one hand and the other pulled Hellfire from its sheath. [Name] with strong legs, stood on his mount and began slicing at Vhagar’s saggy skin. The flames ate away at her flesh wounds. 

“Damn traitor!” 

[Name] ignored Aemond’s angered yell at him, for he was too focused trying to get Balerion help. 

“I’ll kill you right here! And force Helaena back home, to fight with her true family!” 

Hellfire burned brighter and [Name] stabbed Vhagar in her puffy cheek. Then he dragged his sword downwards to his mount forcing Vhagar to release Balerion because this fiery pain in her mouth was too much to bear. 

Vhagar bellowed into the ash covered sky and [Name] demanded that Balerion dive down to escape from Vhagar’s talons. With a tactical retreat, Balerion flew away just in time for Rhaenys to strike a critical blow onto Vhagar. 

Meleys attacked from behind and tore at Vhagar’s left wing causing the green dragon to breathe out fire into the sky. The Queen Who Never Was ended Aegon and Sunfyre, and now [Name] needed to pull his weight and end Vhagar. 

 [Name]’s heartbeat echoed in his head and he pulled Balerion back into the fight. If Aemond didn’t bring up Helaena in the fight, he would have left Rhaenys to claim the victory of killing Vhagar. 

But Aemond was his now. Brother or not, you do not threaten his wife. Rhaenys saw the Black Dread making his way over with strong beats of his large wings. That look on [Name]’s face said everything she needed to know and she had Meleys release Vhagar, flying high into the sky to see the end of the Green’s Dragons at Rook’s Rest. 

“Dracarys!” 

His commanding voice sent shivers down Rhaenys’ spine and for the first time, she actually witnessed black fire shooting out of Balerion’s throat. Even at the safe distance she was at, the heat from it was too much. 

Vhagar gave out a defeated bellow falling into the sea like a black fireball. A huge splash resounded in their ears and Rhaneys landed Meleys on top of Rook’s Rest looking down at the burning battlefield. Lord Staunton looked up at the princess and carefully asked, “Is it over?” 

Rhaenys breathed in and out watching the aftermath of four dragons fighting. She and [Name] just ended the war in one battle. Balerion and Meleys, injured yet fearlessly fighting with their riders, ended the lives of two dragons. Suddenly Balerion landed on the burning field and roared at the usurper’s men. 

One by one, men started surrendering with their weapons falling from their hands. Green banners left to be stomped on and she could hear some men whimper at the sight of the victorious dragons. 

“Yes, Lord Staunton,” Rhaneys breathed out, “It is over.” Her eyes dragged over and saw a paranoid [Name] on his mount. She unhooked herself from her mount and Meleys moved a wing down to Balerion's back.

Meanwhile [Name] tried to catch his breath, but his chest felt like it could explode. His grip on Hellfire loosened and he pounded at his heart with an ache. His throat closed up and his vision got blurry. 

“[Name], relax!” 

The adult male blinked the tears away and saw a clear vision of Rhaenys holding onto his shoulders. She must have jumped onto Balerion from Meleys with great expertise. 

“You need to calm down, breathe.”

She softly demanded, her face covered in ash morphed into worry as he said, “My own brothers, I killed them. My own blood.” 

Rhaenys’ eyes softened at his turmoil. “Aemond, you saw him,” She tried to reason with him, “he would have burned Aegon were it not for you. You stopped Aemond and his tyranny, no one would blame you for doing that. And I killed Aegon, not you. You’d be wise to remember that you fight for Rhaenyra’s claim, you support the rightful heir. No one is going to call you a kinslayer.” 

[Name] sucked in a deep breath and his shoulder slug forward in defeat despite winning a great battle for Rhaenyra. This happened all too fast and ended so quickly. Nothing was going to make him feel better right now. 

“Princess Rhaenys and Prince [Name]!” 

A voice shouted from the castle, it was Lord Staunton. 

“The Hightowers have fled with their remaining men and there is no sight of Aegon, but his dragon has succumbed to its wounds. Shouldn’t we chase them down on dragonback and horses?” 

Rhaenys looked back at the male adult in her arms and shouted back, “No! For now, we take this win and wait for Queen Rhaenyra’s orders on what to do next. Prepare Prince [Name] a hot bath and a meal. He fought well against his usurper brothers, it’s what you must do for him. And send a raven to Queen Rhaenyra. We have news to tell her.” 

News, [Name] thought. She didn't describe it as good news for the Queen. His brothers deaths were definitely good news for the blacks. Although for him, it was just news.

...........................................................

MUSIC THAT INSPIRED THIS CHAPTER

There Will Be No Mercy - Ramin Djawadi

Rook's Rest, Pt 2 - Ramin Djawadi

The Red Woman - Ramin Djawadi

[ruins-of-babylon]

Legacy

Mattheo Riddle x reader angst & smut

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♥︎

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎：after your traitorous brother runs away, abandoning his carefully placed destiny, you are forced to take his place, abandoning any and all plans you had for your future.

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈：blood, main character gets cut, kinda psychopath main character at the end, fem pronouns, some smut, arranged marriage, kinda mean!mattheo, mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of self harm, you have a brother, let me know if I missed anything!

𝒩ℴ𝓉ℯ：how I felt writing, “it hung over your head like a halo, but it was nowhere close to holy.” : 😈

⚠︎︎⚠︎︎this fic is pretty dark. MDNI❗️⚠︎︎⚠︎︎

Your fate had been decided when you were 5 years old. It hung over your head like a halo, but it was nowhere close to holy. It was placed by your father, who was among the many servants of Voldemort, which made your role very important. You were not here for yourself, you were brought into this world for one purpose only. When he sat you down and told you this, it was hard to comprehend, your 5 year old brain not quite wrapping around the concept, but it became more and more real as you grew older. It went as followed: You would grow up, and at 20 years old you would marry the dark lord’s son, Mattheo Riddle. It would add power and influence to your family name. Your older brother, Alexander, would carry the family business along with the new generation, that ‘business’ would be working as the right hand man to the dark lord, his own private assassin. It was all set in stone, an unwavering commitment.

————

The first time you met your future husband was on the first day of your first year. He was gentler then, a mischievous but likable boy, before he turned bitter. He recognized you, having also being told his decided fate since day one, and came up to you. While you expected a handshake, maybe a hug, he instead pushed you to the hard ground before running away. The concrete dug into your soft skin, tearing your skin mercilessly. Your knees, palms, and elbows took the most damage, but his apparent dislike of you almost hurt more. You avoided him as much as possible, knowing you and him had an inevitable lifetime to spend with each other when you graduated. That, however, was hard, since you were both in the same house and had many classes together.

As the time passed, your disdain for him only grew. As he got older, his physical bullying turned to mental and emotional, plus he had earned himself the reputation as a manwhore, his ego growing too large for your liking. He was cocky, arrogant, irrational, and just a fucking dick. His attractiveness only made everything worse. You were conflicted; he clearly wasn’t attracted to you, from what you could tell, and you realized he would be a terrible husband. But god, was he handsome.

One night, you were hanging out with your friend group, which just so happened to contain Mattheo, at this moment. No one could tell where he was or would be at any given time. You all had gathered in a circle, playing truth or dare. Theodore Nott, being the annoying prick he was, picked Mattheo. He chose truth.

Theo’s exact words, “Are you happy to marry (Y/n)?” You all held your breath, his question echoed around the room as all the side conversations went silent. Everyone wondered the same question, but no one was brave enough to ask. Anticipation hung in the air, and you had a bad feeling he was going to say no.

“Not at all. I’d rather be with anyone else, but I have to be stuck with her, of all fucking people.” He said, looking at Theo as he spoke your worst fear. He made eye contact with you before continuing, “You’re the reason I’m miserable, you’ve ruined my life.” You held eye contact with him, an evil smile on his face, trying to maintain a stoic expression on your own. Your heart tensed, feeling heavy in your chest. You broke eye contact with him and stood up, waking away as calmly as you could. No one tried to stop you, or call out your name to come back. They all watched you as your feet carried you back to your room faithfully. Your vision swirled as tears brimmed in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall until you were out of sight. A shaky breath of relief exited your lungs as you shut the door behind you, locking it and holding yourself as you let your body slide down to the floor against the door. The tears finally fell, a seemingly endless stream of them flowing down your cheeks, past your chin, settling on your lips. After what felt like hours, you stood up and walked towards your desk. You opened the top drawer and sorted around the various distractions you kept for moments just like these. To stay numb, you kept a small selection of drugs, small blades, a lighter and pack of cigarettes, and a few small bottles of various alcohol. You decided on a bag of fine white powder and a cigarette.

Later that night there was a knock at your door, as there usually was. You didn’t feel like opening it, satisfied to stay sitting on the windowsill blowing smoke into the night sky. But, unfortunately for you, you forgot to lock the door. As the door swung open, you didn’t even turn to look at him, already knowing who he was.

You blew out the smoke from your lungs. “What do you want?” You could hear his footsteps getting closer to you, but you still couldn’t find the energy to turn your head and look at him. His cold hand gently placed itself on your shoulder, turning you around to face him. You stared into his eyes, which looked like deep pools of honey if the sun shines just right. Now, in the darkness, they almost looked black, a probable reflection of his soul.

He held your gaze, an almost sorry look in his eyes. “You know what I say isn’t true, right?” He asks in a whisper. You nod, taking another drag of the cigarette between your fingers, looking back outside the window. His sighed, not content with your response. He took the cigarette from your hand and put it out on the ashtray next to you on the window. “Let me make it up to you.” He proposed, waiting for you to say yes.

A small smile graced your lips, “You better.” He laughed softly before picking you up and walking you towards your bed. He gently laid you down, your back on the soft mattress, taking off your clothes and throwing them down on the floor. His kisses started on your neck, your soft whines fueling his desire to please you. He moved down your body inch by inch, slowly placing his lips over your body, your collarbones, chest, breasts, torso, hips, and thighs receiving equal attention from him. He laid between your legs, slowly dragging a finger through your folds.

“My pretty girl, so wet for me.” He said, gathering some of your wetness on his fingertip before bringing it to your clit, keeping it still. Your body jolted at the stimulation, moaning for him to just move, do something. He quietly laughed at your desperation, finally moving his finger in small circles around your little bundle of nerves. “I love this perfect pussy so much.” You jumped at his actions, a whiny groan slipping past your lips. Taking his finger away from your clit, he brought it down to your entrance, slowly pushing it in as your inner walls gladly sucked him in. You grumbled at the loss of attention on your puffy clit before he replaced his finger with his mouth. He started with soft licks with the tip of his tongue, letting you relax into him, before he harshly sucked on your pearl, wrapping his lips around it. You nearly screamed from how good it felt, your legs moving around, switching between squeezing his head and opening wider, the stimulation almost too much. He laughed against you, sending delicious vibrations to your core before taking his finger out of you and pushing your legs apart. You moaned his name along with curses over and over again, almost sounding like you were worshipping him. How could you not when he made you feel so good? He switched between harsh sucks, gentle licks, and grazing his teeth against your sensitive clit, every now and then teasing your hole by pushing his tongue into it. It took almost no time before you were cumming against his mouth, breathing heavily as he drank up every last drop of your release. As you came down from your high, he pulled his body up until he was hovering right above you. His lips met yours with so much passion, so much love, you could almost believe he felt even a fraction of what you felt for him. After a moment, he pulled away.

“You’re so fucking good at that.” You told him breathlessly, savoring his chuckle. Oh how you wished he would love you. A silence settled between you, whether it was comfortable to awkward, you couldn’t tell. You just stared at each other, and you would have given anything to know what he was thinking about.

That was 2 weeks before your life would change, for better or for worse, you would find out. It was also the last time you would let him hurt you with his words. This change would start with an unexpected letter from your father:

（𝒴／𝓃）， ℐ𝓃 𝒶𝓃 𝓊𝓃ℯ𝓍𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁ℯ 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃 ℴ𝒻 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃𝓉𝓈，𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 ℴ𝓁𝒹ℯ𝓇 𝒷𝓇ℴ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇，𝒜𝓁ℯ𝓍𝒶𝓃𝒹ℯ𝓇，𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓇𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎．ℐ 𝓈𝓊𝓁𝓁ℴ𝓈ℯ𝒹 𝒽ℯ 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓉ℴ 𝓈ℯ𝓇𝓋ℯ ℴ𝓊𝓇 ℒℴ𝓇𝒹，𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓈ℯ𝓇𝓋𝒿𝒸ℯ 𝓌ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉ℯ𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓂ℴ𝓈𝓉 ℯ𝓍𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝒶 𝓎ℯ𝒶𝓇 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓃ℴ𝓌．ℋℯ 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻ℯ𝓇 𝒶 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓈ℯ 𝒻𝒶𝓉ℯ，ℐ 𝒻ℯ𝒶𝓇．ℱℴ𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶𝓉ℯ𝓁𝓎 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊，𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝑔ℯ𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓋𝓁ℯ𝒹𝑔ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸ℯ．𝒜𝓈 𝓈ℴℴ𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒹𝓊𝒶𝓉ℯ 𝓁𝒶𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝓉𝒷𝒿𝓈 𝓎ℯ𝒶𝓇，𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑔ℴ 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℴ𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓂ℯ𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝓇ℴ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇，𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇ℯ𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸ℯ 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅ℯ𝓇𝓈ℴ𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃 𝒻ℴ𝓇 ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒢ℴℴ𝒹 ℒℴ𝓇𝒹．𝒫𝓇ℯ𝓅𝒶𝓇ℯ．

－ℱ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇

At first, it didn’t feel real. This had to have been some kind of joke, right? Alexander was so excited to take on his role, or so it seemed. As reality settled in, you started to distance yourself from everyone. You blew off your friends, preferring to stay in your dorm and wallow in self pity. It wasn’t fair. Your brother had his fate, you had yours. It was set in stone. You had almost looked forward to it at times. But not anymore. You had to suppress your emotions, adapt to this new world. You would train to become an assassin for the Dark Lord, you would destroy what you loved, everything you touched would break. For this, you had to sacrifice your feelings, tears, and longing for a life you could no longer have. You counted down the days until graduation, the time in between was hell. You left all your friends, replacing them with drugs. The time seemed to tick by slower and slower, like staring at a clock’s hands tick tick tick as they seemed to hesitate to go where you wanted.

A soft knock sounded from you door, and you had a sneaking suspicion of who it was. You didn’t know why he even bothered knocking. You never opened the door for him, nor anyone as of late. As the door slowly opened and his frame emerged from it, looking around for you. His eyes landed on your desk, slowly walking towards you to investigate. You slowly blinked at him as he watched you, clearly intoxicated. The evidence sat right behind you, the little white pills contrasting with the dark wood of your desk.

“Oh, angel,” he whispered, placing his hand on the back of your head and stroking your hair as you stared up at him. “Why?”

He was surprised when you laughed. It was mocking, cold. You didn’t feel anything for him anymore. You couldn’t. “Why are you here?” You asked him, clumsily pulling his hand from your head. Everything felt fuzzy, and you couldn’t stop chasing the feeling.

“Just wanted to check on you. You haven’t been coming to meals and your friends said you dropped them.” He answered, a seemingly genuine look of concern in his eyes.

“Haven’t you heard?” You asked him, referring to your cancelled marriage and your new role to fill.

“Heard what?” He was confused, his brows furrowed together as he anticipated your answer. You laughed again, thinking he must be joking.

“Your daddy didn’t tell you? My brother ran away so I have to take his place. And our arranged marriage is cancelled.” You state. You laugh again, everything seems so funny. Now he looks even more confused. Shock, horror, and despair run through his features as he takes it all in. Then he laughs, a nervous-sounding forced laugh.

“You finally get what you want. Lucky you.” You add, bitterly. Now, he’s silent. As you stare at his face, a sudden rage floods your veins. You stand up, facing him, and push him, your hands pressing against his muscular chest. Again, again, and again, you push him until he’s standing before your door, letting you move him. As you move to push him one final time out of your dorm, he stops moving at your will.

“Wait,” he starts. “I-.”

You interrupt him. “GET OUT!” You scream at him, balling your hands into fists and beating his chest as hard as you can, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. A cold bucket of water seems to fall on your head, everything you’ve bottled for the past weeks suddenly bursting from its cage. Tears flow freely down your face, you finally stop hitting and screaming at him, placing your palms flat on his chest and resting your head between your hands, crying into him. He gently strokes your back, holding you against him. He rests his cheek on the top of your head, comforting you.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he says. “Let it all out.” He’s so gentle, holding you, speaking comforting words, trying to make you feel better. This might be the only time you’ve ever felt truly safe and loved, and that scares you. Just as you feel the warmth in your chest, you push him away one final time, so the cold can settle in again. You slam the door and lock it, sliding down it onto the floor as he bangs against it a few times.

”Please, baby, let me in.” He says, you can tell he’s right outside. You’re tempted to open it, let him in, let him hold you and make you feel loved for the last time. But as your hand hesitantly reaches up, you stop it. It will hurt more if you let him again. The tears still fall, an added weight on your shoulders. You slowly crawl from the door to your bed, exhaustedly tucking yourself in, curling into a ball as he continues to try to convince you to open the door from the outside.

❀❀❀❀

How did I get here? You wonder as you stood before the dark lord himself, his son standing a little farther behind him. Your father’s instructions had been rather clear: tell him what he wants to hear, don’t talk back, be respectful. You fidget with your fingers behind your back, subtly wiping your sweaty palms against your pants. Your heart was beating fast inside your chest, your head pounding.

“It was such a shame that your brother ran away. Now you must take his place, revise any plans you thought you had for a life you never imagined.” He said, walking in tight circles around you. You stared at the floor in front of you.

“He made his decision, however selfish it was. The show must go on.” You curtly replied, a tone in your voice that you didn’t intend. You brought your hands back to your sides, pressing your palms to the sides of your thighs, brushing the fabric of your pants. You could feel his presence behind you, radiating a cold sort of energy that contrasted with the hot room.

“Yes, you are correct. I must inform you that your first assignment will be to hunt him down and kill him. Will that be a problem?” He asked, now standing a foot away from you to your left. You had suspected something like this.

“Not at all. My duty will always come before emotion.” You answered, hoping that would satisfy him. You still looked down, following a crack on the concrete floor with your eyes. You could feel your palms sweating again.

“Good answer, my dear.” He said, now standing directly in front of you. You brought your eyes up to meet his. “There’s one last thing I will do, then you’re official.” He finished. Mattheo stayed completely still, not a single word from him as he stood watching you. So much hung between you, there were so many emotions, words, and tension you wanted to share, say, and break.

“Anything.” You calmly replied, ready to face whatever he had for you. From his robes he pulled a dagger with a jagged blade, spurring your curiosity. As he reached for your right hand, he pulled it towards himself, facing your palm upwards. He inspected the dark mark inked on your wrist before bringing his attention back to whatever he was doing. You held your breath, waiting for him to place the knife in your hand. Several seconds passed as the both of you just stood there, his cold hand grasping your wrist as you nearly shook from anticipation. He briskly pulled his hand up, and as you stared at your reflection, you felt a wave of some emotion you couldn’t name flood your bones. As you began to prepare to be pierced by his blade, he instead rested it in your hand. Just as you breathe your sigh of relief, he rotates the blade slightly and slices right through your palm, a deep and forceful cut. The blade must have been very sharp; It seemed to glide through your skin with little effort. The pain hits you all at once, a stinging sensation emitted from the wound. You gasp, sucking in a sharp breath, and bite your lip hard enough to pierce the delicate skin, now bleeding.

Blood poured from the wound like a fountain as you took it all in. All the pain, all the feeling, all the blood, flowing down your wrist and soaking the ground below you. You couldn’t close your eyes. That was the moment you knew this would suit you. The sight of your blood flowing from you satisfied an itch deep inside. You craved it, again and again, ready to devote your life to the craft assigned to you by cruel karma, god, the universe, or whatever you want to call it. Although, it was right. This is what you were born for. This is what you will die for. In fate’s eyes, you watch yourself. ‘This is me.’ Is all your reflection seems to say.

This is me.

𖧷𖧷𖧷𖧷

Hello lovelies! I hope you enjoyed. I’m thinking of doing a part two about Mattheo’s POV, so let me know if you’d like that! <3

[thewertsearch]

You get the Draconian Dignitary on the line. He asks what the hell you've been up to.

Looks like Jack’s still in contact with DD - something which had no reason not to be the case, but is nevertheless a very funny fact.

The guy’s a planet-destroying abomination, but still has mobster lackeys. Weird that that’s happened twice.

He makes sure you're remembering to keep the destructive impulses to a minimum. No more planet exploding or anything like that. You say yeah yeah. He says no point in securing power when there's nothing left to rule.

And DD’s even working to preserve the session! The guy's a bit of an unsung hero here, as we've all seen what Jack did to the troll planets. If he starts blowing up Lands - particularly LOHAC - we're fucked.

I wonder if this is Vriska’s doing, actually. We already know she can influence Carapacians, and she’s already done so to a Dersite Agent specifically.

Lousy stupid dignitary, all keeping your murderous tendencies in check. He's the most terrible guy you almost kind of didn't despise completely.

Jack genuinely cares about DD, doesn't he?

Something about that tiny spark of warmth is really getting to me. It's one thing to be facing a corrupted game character, but Jack's starting to seem like a person - and people tend to be more dangerous villains than NPCs.

lmfao

You attempt to humor the Sovereign Slayer's demands diplomatically. There's a narrow line to walk between obeying the orders of a clear superior and blindly facilitating a perfectly useless genocide. It takes a very savvy breed of psychopath to pull it off.

Ah, so DD knows exactly what he’s doing here.

Honestly, his cold, calculating style might make him more dangerous than Jack. I'm starting to suspect that if he got the Ring, the Players would already be dead, and the session would be on total lockdown.

The Slayer is yapping about some girl. Probably one of the young players who can no longer provide any serious threat to your rule.

Or not, since he apparently thinks the Players are no threat.

Like - really, Droog? The Sburb Players are no threat? The game's protagonists are-

Ah, I'm wasting my breath. The game probably forces Dersite Agents to underestimate the Players, so they don't just assassinate them in their beds.

You say fine, just send the droll after her.

Delegating the one murder you can't commit is a genuinely excellent idea...

There's a moment of radio silence. He says you mean the COURTYARD Droll? He wants to be sure this is the same droll you're talking about.

...which has already been ruined. Even Jack knows that the Deuce is more likely to help Jade than kill her.

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

The Copollogism Essays - Part 3: Lester's Reaction

This is a short scene, but a powerful one in my opinion. Let's break it down :3

“His name is—” “Don’t, Meg,” Josephine warned. “—Commodus,” Meg continued, then frowned. “Why am I not supposed to say his name?” “He pays attention to such things,” I explained. “There’s no point in letting him know we are talking about—” Meg took a deep breath and yelled, “COMMODUS, COMMODUS, COMMODUS! COMMODE CITY, COMMODIANA. COMMODE DAY, MONTH OF COMMODES! COMMODE MAN!” The great hall shook as if the Waystation itself had taken offense. Emmie blanched. Up in their roost, the griffins clucked nervously. Josephine grumbled, “You shouldn’t have done that, hon.” Leo just shrugged. “Well, if Commode Man wasn’t watching this channel before, I think he is now.” “That’s dumb,” Meg said. “Don’t treat him like he’s so powerful. My stepfather—” Her voice caught. “He—he said Commodus is the weakest of the three. We can take him.” Her words struck me in the gut like one of Artemis’s blunted arrows. (And I can assure you, those hurt.) We can take him. The name of my old friend, shouted over and over. - The Dark Prophecy

Apollo calls Commodus his old friend. And while calling your lover your "friend" is usually gay-speak for significant other, in this case...it is referring to Commodus as a friend.

Because that was what they were- before they were even lovers, Apollo and Commodus were friends. Their relationship was that of friends-to-lovers (-to-enemies), and a tragic one at that.

Something small. But something so gut-wrenching too :')

Also amazing how even Apollo's carwreck of a relationship has platonic undertones. hello fandom of the aspecs we just keep winning <3

I staggered to my feet, gagging, my tongue trying to dislodge itself from my throat. “Whoa, Apollo.” Leo rushed to my side. “You okay?” “I—” Another dry retch. I staggered toward the nearest bathroom as a vision engulfed me…bringing me back to the day I committed murder. - The Dark Prophecy

This final line that ends the chapter has always struck me. It preludes to the assassination scene, but this is actually SO FACSINATING because the next chapter has this:

I KNOW WHAT YOU are thinking. But, Apollo! You are divine! You cannot commit murder. Any death you cause is the will of the gods and entirely beyond reproach. It would be an honor if you killed me! I like the way you think, good reader. It’s true I had laid waste to whole cities with my fiery arrows. I had inflicted countless plagues upon humanity. Once Artemis and I slew a family of twelve because their mama said something bad about our mama. The nerve! - The Dark Prophecy

Wait for it.

None of that did I consider murder.

These two lines combined paint SUCH a scene. Apollo at this point is still trying to convince us, the reader, how terrible of a person he is. That's why he's so blasé about the murder of Niobe's children.

That's why he's so distraught over murdering Commodus.

He tells us, straight-laced, that this act, this one act, was unjustifiable.

That is was more unforgiveable than slaughtering thousands of people.

But that's the kicker- we know it was wrong for Niobe's children to be killed, and we know it was right for Apollo to kill Commodus.

Apollo is trying to throw us off the trail. He's trying to make it look like he's okay with child murder/mass murder, but specifically him assassinating a tyrant is unforgiveable.

(hello, therapy? yeah i have a patient for you. yeah he's a piece of work but i have faith in him and also he's babygirl so. <3)

He's trying to be such a dichotomy we don't know what to do or say or think about him.

To bad for him, for the ToA fandom is quite good at catching his tells and slight of hand ;)

You ain't fooling us Apollo, just like you didn't fool Leo and Meg the very next day ;)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Steven Beschloss at America, America:

I know there are many among us who see today as an endpoint. The demise of democracy. The failure of our electorate to commit to self-governance. The willingness to let the richest among us grab power, with the foolish assumption that they would advance the well-being of working people rather than further enrich themselves. Let’s not doubt: The inauguration of Donald Trump is a cruel slap in the face of every lover of democracy, equality, justice and the rule of law. This event offers the terrible odor of billionaires and kleptocrats who see an opportunity to exploit government resources at the expense of taxpaying Americans just trying to get by. The convicted felon mouthing the oath to protect and defend the Constitution? It portends an ugly future, enough to convince some Americans that the democratic project is over, they have lost the battle and there’s nothing they can do now besides turn away. They are wrong. In fact, normalizing the idea that Trump’s return represents the end of democracy is a useful component of his authoritarian playbook. Feelings of resignation and despair are just what the authoritarian ruler wants his opponents to experience. Giving up—or believing that it is beyond our power to sustain America’s democratic values and principles— accelerates his success. This is anticipatory obedience, just as much as billionaires like Jeff Bezos and Mark Zuckerberg handing over millions and bowing down to the Malignant One. This is not a time for silence. This is not a time for resignation or despair. This is not a time to be cynical and insist that it’s all over. This is a time to gather your strength and stay engaged. This is a time to seek out guidance, to be nourished by the wisdom of others, to remember that you are not alone, to keep in mind that we are facing challenges that many Americans have faced throughout our history—and that we can get through this together. This is not a time to give up. This would be a disservice to all the good people who came before us and fought for a democratic future defined by justice and equality of opportunity.

That’s why I’m grateful that this is the day to celebrate the birthday of the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., rather than dwell on Trump’s inauguration. These days King is rightly seen as a heroic figure, a widely beloved American who lived a life dedicated to justice, equality and the overcoming of racial discrimination. But the truth is that in his own time he was a deeply controversial figure, a truth-teller who said what needed to be said even when it caused terrible blowback. That included his intensifying criticism of racism, income inequality and the Vietnam War. As I’ve written previously, as late as 1968, the year King was killed, nearly 75 percent of Americans rejected him. Following his assassination in April of that year, nearly a third of Americans felt he “brought it on himself.”

[...] I don’t mean to minimize the scale of danger facing our democracy, rule of law and the Constitution with the return of Trump to our White House. We can expect on this Inauguration Day virtually immediate attacks on immigrants and other vulnerable people, efforts to dismantle government agencies, intensified demands to confirm his reckless appointees, pardons of Jan. 6. insurrectionists and targeting of critics. They will release “shock and awe” executive orders to stoke fear. If we previously could anticipate that major media organizations would do their part to push back, we know now that many of these billionaire-led outlets and tech bro-driven platforms have abandoned their democratic responsibility to serve the public and tell the truth. We have yet to see how the courts will respond once Trump’s Justice Department begins carrying out his demands for retribution with lawsuits, firings and other acts of intimidation to silence opposition. That will put more pressure on independent media and everyday Americans to speak out and oppose the lies and vengeful actions that we see and hear. So rather than look at Jan. 20, 2025 as the end of the era of democracy, I urge you to see it as the beginning a new chapter in our collective effort to defend it. Today is an important day to resist despair and refuse to lose sight of the values and principles that have built our nation. It won’t be easy, but the struggle for a better world never is. As Martin Luther King warned from his Alabama jail cell in 1963, “freedom is never given freely by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.” His words mirrored those of another great American about a century earlier. “Power concedes nothing without a demand,” Frederick Douglass said in 1857. “It never did and it never will.” We cannot be silent. We cannot give up. We must continue to make demands to create the America that we envision for ourselves and coming generations.

Today is also Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Unlike the man who returned to office today, MLK Jr. was a man of principle.

[campbell-rose]

Hazbin Trailer + Rewrite Spitballing

The Hazbin Trailer omg

I finally watched it and like... it's so bad guys. Honestly, the only people I pity are the animators and the pilot voice actors, and the new actors too. Blake Roman especially, the man is super talented, but trying to fill the massive shoes of Michael is weighing his performance down so bad. Honestly, if Viv wasn't a petty brat, she could've kept Michael and gotten Blake as the singing voice.

Apparently there's a war on Heaven plot? I hope to god not, like that's NOT THE PREMISE. God Viv just cannot stick to her premises, can she? This happened with Zoophobia, initially it seemed like it was going to follow Cameron but slowly lost focus on her. Then Helluva Boss losing the hired assassin plot for the sake of shitty Stolitz drama. Seems redeeming sinners is going to be a side plot which is unfortunate because that was one of the biggest things i wanted from this show. I remember when i used to love Vivziepop and i got so excited for the pilot of Hazbin. Redeeming sinneers, that sounded so cool. It's what got me into demonology and was a big part of my life. Sad to see this happen.

I genuinely hate the stupid trope of heaven, the place that is literally paradise for good people, being bad. Like, i cannot feasibly imagine a universe in which Viv manages to write that in any compelling way. And why is it just ‘heaven bad’??? This could be an interesting story that discusses the nature of good and bad, talks about what makes someone a good person, should people be given redemption if they already blew their chance, is the definition of 'good' wrong? Like, in the hands of competent writers, Hazbin could be an interesting story, like a Walmart Good Place! But no, heaven bad, let's go kill angels that say fuck.

Like, as an example of my above point, let’s look at a familiar face from Helluva Boss, Mrs. Mayberry. 

She killed someone, tried to kill someone, then herself, and is now in hell. But a good question could be raised of if her being in hell is even justified. Yes, she killed a person (and attempted to kill another) which is not a good thing to do. But she killed her husband in a fit of rage after seeing him cheating on her – like actively, red handed, balls deep cheating on her. From what we see of her before her death, she seems like an attentive and caring teacher and wife, she even says herself she was ‘good my entire life’. Her students love her, and literally the reason she kills herself seems to be because she realizes that they saw her literally murder someone. She did choke and throw a child, but that was played for comedy so I'm not counting that against her. She kills herself because she’s so shocked about what she’s done. She’s bitter because she’s in hell.  

Her husband was a cheater and the woman she tried to kill was a murderer and a cannibal, so by that logic, doesn’t her killing a bad person negate the killing? Yes, murder is bad, she should’ve controlled herself, but this was one terrible moment in a lifetime of being good. Like, say someone kills a pedobear, is the person commiting the murder a bad person for killing someone who deserved it? Not that her husband deserved to die for cheating, a good beat down maybe. If a good person kills a bad person, does that make them a bad person too? Or does it come down to intention? Did the good only kill the bad for a selfish reason?

That’s an interesting conundrum (in my opinion). Does she deserve to redeem herself? How would she redeem herself? If I keep thinking on it, i'll ramble, but that's my thinking. Anyway, this made me think about a rewrite that follows this line of thinking.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Charlie being an angel and Vaggie being her Exterminator guard who goes with her to hell to redeem sinners is the best way to make this mess an interesting thing. Like, Charlie is an optimistic angel who thinks the extermination of sinners is inhumane and that the standards of Heaven need changed. Vaggie is literally trained to kill sinners and sees Charlie’s efforts as futile but is assigned to help her anyway. Makes sense why everyone would disrespect Charlie and treat her like an idiot for wanting to redeem sinners, instead of insulting the daughter of FUCKING LUCIFER HIMSELF, they’re laughing at an angel who came down out of nowhere and is acting high and mighty.

Also, Charlie can keep the name Charlie Magne instead of Morningstar because she's no longer Lucifer's daughter. Vaggie is just V. boom, problem solved, i'm a genius.

Have a doodle

[ofcrowsanddragons]

The ALT POV of the Wigmaker Job from the WIP folder 🙏

WIP Folder Game

Dialogue by Courtney Woods, based on “The Wigmaker Job” by Courtney Woods, in Tevinter Nights.

Illario’s cousin never changed. He took job after job after job, rarely stopping for a rest. Their grandmother’s orders rang constantly through Lucanis’s mind, and Illario could barely predict the few times that Lucanis would choose his little rebellions against the First Talon. The only guarantee was that it would be inconvenient for Illario.

Said cousin had planned this job: an attack on a prominent Venatori at an event that was the highlight of Vyrantium's social season. Of course, Lucanis had rented the top floor of a terrible inn, from which Illario could hear terrible music rising from the floorboards above the terrible tavern. Lucanis now sat on a hard wooden block with his weapons arranged on the bed in front of him, adding to the screeching strings of the music below with the sound of sharpening stone against steel.

On the bright side, it was clean enough that pests getting into Illario’s luggage were only moderately likely. His favourite piece was also likely to have blood on it by the end of the evening, but for now he admired the craftsmanship in the Minrathous-inspired collar and the surrounding details. The stamped navy velvet was accented with black silk, and the fine gold embroidery tumbled across his shoulders in an explosion and faded into delicate stars that fell across his midsection. The layer below the main tunic was a shimmering gold that peeked from between vents in the fabric as he walked.

Lucanis wore black.

“You’re not wearing that, are you?” asked Illario, resigned. The leather coat over a black suit may have been inconspicuous at any other event, but even then it would make him look like a servant.

Illario hated having options closed to him during a job.

“At least I don’t look like a tourist,” said the other assassin, with the faintest trace of humour in his voice.

“No, you look like you’re attending a funeral.”

“Very funny,” said Lucanis, all traces of humour gone, returning to the state of natural killing machine that Illario could tell had been killing him for years. “It’s a job. Not a party.”

“Actually,” Illario corrected, carefully checking his rogueish facial hair had the desired effect. “It’s a job at a party. Might as well look our best.”

“Any excuse to primp.”

Illario snapped his straight razor shut, hating how Lucanis sometimes sounded like their grandmother. He knew what he was good at, he completed his contracts, and they both looked down on him for that. “I’m only here because of you,” he pointed out. “We should be halfway home by now. Only ‘the Great Lucanis Dellamorte’ could delay a summons from the First Talon herself.”

Shuffling from the other side of the room, visible in the mirror. “Catarina can hardly complain,” said Lucanis, oblivious to how anyone else would suffer for saying so. “She’s the one who beat me into my commitment to my contracts.”

And here they stood, the next generation. From the cradle to the grave in Catarina’s shadow.

“All that effort and training grooming us,” he mused, “And the old woman still won’t step aside.”

“Your time will come.”

Lucanis said it like it was fact. Lucanis had been saying it for years. Lucanis had been convincing, for the longest time.

“Will it?” Illario asked, meeting Lucanis’s eyes in the mirror and willing him to understand. “People talk. You’ve always been her favourite.” You’re the only one who can tell her no.

“My talents lie elsewhere,” Lucanis said, holding up a hand and turning it over to indicate the sword and half dozen-odd daggers, now newly-sharpened. “You’re the one with the silver tongue.”

Illario didn’t want to know.

Illario needed to know.

“So, if she named you heir to House Dellamorte,” asked Illario, “You’d refuse?”

Lucanis went still, and Illario felt a flash of anger at the delay. All Lucanis knew how to do was delay, and this wasn’t a topic they could cover at home.

“Lucanis?” he pressed.

Before Lucanis moved, Illario had already realized that this was the wrong kind of stillness. His cousin had moved into the wire-taut sensory mode of a predator that meant that somebody was about to die.

His own blood rose in response, and as Lucanis reached for his sword, Illario pulled a knife from his sleeve. Illario heard a creak from the hallway and Lucanis motioned to him.

Illario said something about the quality of the hotel and the food, and Lucanis quipped back, “You ordered an Antivan dish in Tevinter. What did you expect?” He’d barely grumbled something back by the time Lucanis silently reached the wall of their room and plunged his entire sword through it—and through the Venatori eavesdropping on the other side.

Well, Illario considered, Now that sword might actually need sharpening.

[firestorm09890]

Saïx is soooo jealous Zexion gets to have so much of Xemnas’s trust without any effort on Zexion’s part AND he’s allowed to go outside and his every move isn’t monitored? it’s so unfair and Zexion is jealous of Saïx because it should’ve been him!!! IT SHOULD'VE BEEN HIM!!!!! because there is something wrong with him [suddenly serious] I can call Xemnas an absolute rat bastard for turning them against each other but all he did was set up the system. He didn’t do shit to actively turn them against each other, that was aaaaall Zexion and Saïx’s doing.

Saïx had a goal that was supposed to be “good”, to save someone else, but it very quickly became about himself, the way he was willing to forsake his dignity and morals and relationships for this goal. He had to climb a ladder and if a child was in front of him he resolved to simply have to kick the child down it. I don’t think it was personal, at first.

But it couldn’t have been anything but personal for Zexion, the aforementioned child being kicked down a ladder. From his perspective, he’d been abandoned once, by Ansem. And if we want to talk about him losing his original parents at such a young age as well…. hed probably have. hm. severe emotional issues. and now Saïx, who previously tried to worm his way into the apprentices’ life as Isa with very obvious hidden intentions, is trying to take away the one person who respected him, who took him under his wing (Vexen does NOT COUNT their relationship is terrible and Lexaeus does not count either he is not a mentor figure), who gave him new purpose? Well. Zexion went to the Xaldin school of psychologically damaging exactly what hurts so he made it personal for Saïx as well, and they say the rest is history.

and like. they were both young at the time but that’s like a high schooler beefing with someone who hasn’t even hit double digits so yknow. in Saïx’s defense I guess the kid was wise beyond his years and a little shit who’s committed crimes against humanity. in Saïx’s undefense even after both of them were adults he continued to beef with children a decade later. anyway yeah even though it’s ultimately Xemnas’s fault for treating them both this way and creating an environment with murderous politics, you still can’t neatly sort organization xiii into victims and abusers because they’re ALL in the pit beating the shit out of each other (unless you were Roxas or Xion, in which case sorry you had to be here). even if Saïx and Zexion got together to metaphorically compare their salaries they would never come to the conclusion that this is on Xemnas because there’s no way Saïx is going to explain Subject X to Zexion- he was always a loyalist, he can’t be trusted with their plans- so Saïx would just have to say “oh I’m only doing this for the greater good, you must understand” and Zexion’s not going to realize the root of his hatred is goddamn abandonment issues and even if he DID he sure as hell wouldn’t tell Saïx about it. maybe Ienzo and Isa could make up about it because they both feel really bad but it’s also too damn late. they’d already escalated it to assassination. if this wasn’t kingdom hearts it would’ve ended with Saïx thinking “was it really worth it” and then dying and it’d be a tragic tale for both of them

[bree-peasant]

One for the Ages - a Kakashi x fem!Reader fic

Chapter 3/5

(Back to Chapter 1, Chapter 2) (Jump to Chapter 4)

Author's note: Oh the angst!!! I swear the next chapter will be sillier and lighter, but there's a little treat in this one too. For anyone new - this is a reader self-insert, slowburn fic, but the reader has a pre-established past, which reveals itself along with the story. Looking like there'll be 5 chapters in total, unless my hand slips haha

Word count: 3.1k

Summary (from part 1): A new shinobi joins the Konoha ranks and Kakashi finds himself inexplicably drawn to her.

Warnings: mentions of blood and suicide

Enjoy! ♡

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

She woke up in a foreign bed, with all her strength drained. The afternoon light was coming through the window.

It took all the energy she could muster to pull herself off the mat. As the cloud over her mind began to lift, it was filled with images of what had happened. The mercenary ninjas, Kakashi - trapped and then... She threw her bruised hands over her eyes.

"No... what have I done?!" She wept almost silently, coming apart at the seams. She'd made a terrible mistake, she should've never gone back to this life. And now, it could all go awry. When she'd finally managed to pull herself together, there was a faint knock on the door.

"Come in." She struggled to keep her voice from shaking.

The door slid open to reveal a grave looking Kakashi at the entrance. He kept his gaze downward cast as he spoke.

"I heard noise and assumed you were awake. How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted..."

Kakashi walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. He stood by the window, barely facing her.

"What happened? Where are we?"

"We're in the Sand Village. You collapsed and I carried you the rest of the way. The mission is complete."

Y/N remained silent for a moment, trying to put her thoughts in order. Suddenly, she was struck by an awful awareness.

"Those men... their bodies... if anyone were to find them, they could...they could realise it was me!"

"I burned their bodies." Kakashi's voice was low and cold.

Despite the relief of that knowledge, she felt the tears well up in her eyes again. But no, she would not allow herself to crumble. She was stronger than that, and she only had one choice. To tell the truth.

"You can't even look at me anymore, Kakashi. Are you that repulsed by me?" She spoke again.

At her words, he turned around forcefully, his dark eye locking in with hers, he looked angry and tired.

"Don't you understand?! I feel betrayed! This whole time, I had no idea who you were!"

"Please, just let me explain. I will tell you everything, I swear."

Kakashi shook his head, but remained in place. Y/N took the opportunity to speak, before he could change his mind and storm off.

"My clan, we possess the kekkei genkai to bend our own blood. If mixed with others', we can take our foes down in an instant. In the olden times, we were revered and respected, keepers of the peace. But as the clan grew, so did their thrist for power and riches. People from my clan sold themselves to the highest bidder, they fought wars on the wrong side, committed assassinations, we became feared and loathed for our kekkei genkai. We were deemed...unnatural."

"And your clan was hunted and killed for it. I've heard the stories. But there wasn't supposed to be any survivors remaining."

"My father, the last living member, escaped our village and started a new life. He married my mother and had me. They brought me up in secret, and when my ability became too difficult to maintain, he trained me in secret. But he was found out..." Y/N paused, taking a deep breath. Kakashi had leaned his back to the wall, avoiding direct eye contact.

"Found out by whom?" He asked, not lifting his head.

Y/N pondered her response. It was difficult to say his name out loud. After a moment, her voice came out, quiet, broken.

"Orochimaru."

Kakashi's whole body sprung up at the mention of that name.

"At first, he approached my father with a proposition. To take me on as his pupil in exchange for great power. By this point, word had spread about his betrayal of the Leaf Village and his dark dealings. My father knew he wanted me as a potential vessel, so he could use my kekkei genkai for his own purposes, so he refused. This angered Orochimaru and he swore to obtain our power by force."

"But that's impossible!" He interrupted.

"You of all people should know that's not true, Kakashi of the sharingan."

He involuntarily touched his covered eye at her words. They had never spoken about his history with Obito, but the rumours never ceased to float around him.

"I was given this, I did not take it." His voice was full of sorrow at the memory.

"Yes, but if it can be given, it can also be taken brutally away. Orochimaru has found a way to do this at the brink of one's death, by sheer force."

Kakashi's head fell solemnly.

"He went after my father first, he was relentless and strong. So my father did the only thing he could, before Orochimaru got to him..." she pasued. "...he killed himself."

Her words caught in her throat, her hands were shaking. She hadn't spoken this out loud in so long. The burden of her past, which she had carried for years, alone, in hiding, it was too much to bare facing it again.

Kakashi had his own demons to face at those words. Flashbacks of his own father's fate haunted him every day; seeing his body, the realisation of what he had done. He understood the heavy weight of what she was telling him, like few others could.

He let her collect herself, his exterior softening somewhat. He'd heard stories of her clan throughout his life. Of their ruthlessness and obsession for power. Their fate wasn't just a cautionary tale, they were viewed as beasts among men, and loathed for it. It was difficult for Kakashi to bring that image together with the woman he had come to know and care for. Was it possible that the stories were false? But no, hadn't he seen something in her eyes back there with the black ninjas? A certain hunger, a deadly fire. Could she be trusted?

"How did you escape?" He asked, unable to make any decisions yet.

"I faked my own death." She exhaled, summoning her strength to continue. "My father had managed to buy me the time needed to prepare. I made it look like I had drowned. And then I ran."

"Why did you come to Konoha and join our ranks? Why did you not remain in hiding? Surely, you must've known that something like this could happen!"

"I hid, for a long time! And in that time I saw so much suffering and indifference, so much blood and hurt. I have these abilities, I was trained as a shinobi, and to let things happen, things that I could put a stop to... I couldn't do it anymore! So, I made a decision, hoping that Orochimaru would never believe that I could be so close, so out in the open, even if he ever began to suspect I was alive."

They both remained silent for a moment. Y/N's heart was pounding so loudly, she was sure he could hear it. She broke the silence first.

"That's it. That's my story. I am at your mercy now."

Kakashi didn't respond immediately, weighing his response carefully.

"Does the Hokage know?"

"He does."

At that, he made a move towards the door. He stopped at the entrance with his back still turned to her.

"Rest. We'll head back in the morning."

Y/N was left in the room, her fate still uncertain. Would Kakashi accept her past and keep her secret? Or would he expose her to the ANBU, demand the Hokage shun her from the village? Or worse, deliver her to the people that wanted to see her clan erased from existance.

When she woke up early next morning, she'd regained some of her strength back. But her mental state was still shaky. She packed what few possessions  she had and left the house.

Kakashi was waiting outside. They began their journey home in silence. Y/N would give anything to go back to their conversations from before. Despite her weighing concern, she couldn't help but feel some relief knowing that the truth was out in the open. Whatever happened next, at least she didn't have to hide from him anymore.

They walked this way for some time, keeping a calm pace. Now that the mission had been fulfilled, there was little danger threatening their return. When Kakashi finally spoke, his voice came out almost casual. There was just a slight hint of strain in it.

"I never said thank you for saving my life back there. It seems I owe you twice now." A faint smile lingered on his lips, hidden by his mask.

"Kakashi, you must know I would never do anything to harm a comrade. And I will always stand by your side." Her gaze intensely focused on him.

His silence hurt her more than she was ready to admit. Of course she knew things could never return to what they were, but she hoped he could accept her.

"I just need time, Y/N." He said, as if reading her mind.

It was a painfully slow journey, wrapped in a cumbersome silence. She forced herself to be patient and give Kakashi his space, only venturing to speak when required. They made camp during the night and she kept watch, although it wasn't necessary. She gazed at his sleeping figure and her heart broke at the thought that she might lose the little they had built so far. Now that everything was on the line, Y/N began to realise how attached she'd grown to the gray-haired ninja.

The next day they increased their speed, eager to get back to the village. In some ways, running through the trees, jumping and swinging from branches, brought relief to both of them, as it didn't allow for much conversation. They made good time this way, aiming to be back in Konoha during the night. Nearing the village, Kakashi made a sign to stop. He swung down from the trees, landing with a thud on the ground, Y/N following.

He stood facing her for a moment, hesitant.

"I will keep your secret. If the Hokage has deemed this plan acceptable, I won't be the one to challenge his decision."

"Thank you." She replied with sincerity.

Kakashi nodded, preparing to continue, but stopped at the sound of her voice.

"And us? Are we still friends?" There was so much hopefulness in her tone, which she didn't care to hide anymore.

"Yes. We're still friends." He said after a brief pause, but avoided looking at her.

Continuing on their path, Y/N was unconvinced.

Days passed and life seemed to return to normal. Y/N was back to training her team of genin, the memory of the unfortunate mission fading. The only thing that still weighed on her mind was her relationship with the copycat ninja. She was sure he was avoiding her, as she hadn't bumped into him since they had come back, only seeing him in the distance ocassionally. She dared not approach him directly, hoping that he'd eventually come round, if only she'd give him enough space. But it was becoming increasingly more difficult to do so.

When the chunin exams came around, Y/N confidently put forward all three members of team 8, although deep down she was concerned for them. She felt protective over those kids since the first day they trained together, and Iruka's speech hadn't helped to ease her anxiety. Hearing Kakashi's confident words, she was reminded of the way they used to speak; how they would argue on various topics and his ability to shift her opinion. All she wanted in that moment was to talk to him, to voice her concerns and have him soothe her.

After they had seen the Hokage, she waited for him outside and approached him for the first time since their mission together.

"Can we talk?"

"I've got some business to take care of." He replied, not unkindly.

Y/N was about to give up, regretting following her impulses, but he intervened.

"Tonight. I could swing by your place. That is, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Tonight then." They seperated, her heart both excited and terrified at the prospect.

After handing team 8 their sign up sheets and delivering the news of the exam to her eager students, she returned home. She made a point of tidying her place and making herself look somewhat presentable, without trying too hard. After all, this was just two friends chatting, which was perhaps the best case scenario she could hope for from tonight.

When she heard his knock, her heart skipped a beat. She was almost annoyed at herself for being so affected by him.

"Sorry for being so late, things took longer than expected." As always the mystery man. She knew better than to ask what his business had been.

"Would you like some tea?" She asked, closing the door behind him and leading him into the kitchen.

It was strange being back here for the first time, since she'd patched him up. Kakashi felt unsure of his legs, so he took a seat in one of the chairs.

"Perhaps something stronger, if you have it."

She smiled, turning away from him and pulling a bottle of sake from one of the cupboards. She produced two small cups and placed one of them in front of him, filling it up. He drank it in one big gulp, without looking up, putting it forward to be filled up again.

"Long day?" She asked, obliging him.

"Long life." He sighed.

"You've been avoiding me, Kakashi." She took a sip from her own cup, her eyes cast downwards. Her expression was calm, she'd given up on waiting around for him to make up his mind.

He stared at her with his one visible eye, pondering his response. With resignation, he decided to be truthful.

"You're right. I've been finding it difficult to face you since we returned from the Sand Village."

"But you agreed to come here tonight."

"The truth is, Y/N, I found myself missing this. I thought I could get over the feeling if I stayed away, but it has persisted. I've come to... value your company more than I expected." Kakashi searched her face for a reaction, but her features remained the same. Only her eyes lifted to look at his, a certain glint in them, or so he thought.

"Does this mean you can come to terms with who I am? The people I come from?"

"The more I know you, the more I want to try." Her hand was resting on the table by her cup and he wanted nothing more than to place his own on top of it. But something in him wouldn't allow his body to move.

"I'm so worried about the chunin exam. I don't want to see any of these kids get hurt." She sighed, glad to speak her thoughts out loud.

Kakashi leaned back into his chair, feeling the ease of being in her presence take over him like it used to.

"Hurt is part of this life they have chosen." He started. "I know what I said to Iruka, but truth be told, I worry too. Perhaps, we don't give them enought credit, they have proven to be more resilient than most."

The conversation went on like this for some time. They kept drinking sake until their cheeks warmed and their tongues loosened. Kakashi dared to ask more about her past, returning her honesty by answering her own questions in more detail than ever before. He told her about Obito and Rin, about his great shame and his many regrets. He surprised himself by talking so much about his own past. He was glad to be met with understanding, rather than the usual pity or shock that followed him around. All the cards were on the table and they were both revealing their broken and twisted lives to one another.

"I've never told anyone these things." He sighed, feeling lighter than he had in years.

"I'm glad you could tell me." Her hand moved to rest on top of his, the same thing he had wanted to do earlier. Her skin was warm, he could feel the calluses on her palm, a reminder of the difficult shinobi life they had both chosen. Was it possible that it didn't have to be so damn hard and lonely all the time?

For once, the usually careful in calculating his every move jōnin, stopped thinking and just let his body move for him. His other hand gently grabbed her forearm, pulling her into him. Met with no resistance, he closed his eyes, pulling his mask down and parting his lips to clash with hers. He embraced her, holding her ever so close, their bodies leaning into one another. She felt so soft and tender in his arms, for a second he forgot anything and everything that had happened before this moment.

When their lips finally parted, they remained close, starring into each other. Y/N's head was spinning, she felt his coal eye bore into her soul like the first time he had looked at her. She felt vulnerable, yet she wasn't afraid. Seeing his face fully exposed, he was more beautiful than she had imagined.

Suddenly, Kakashi's mind was flooded with a myriad of emotions. He pulled back sharply and stood up, leaving a distressed Y/N behind.

"Kakashi, what's wrong?" She spoke hurriedly.

"I can't do this." He refused to turn back and look at her.

"Do what? What do you mean?"

"Y/N, I can't be this person for you. You heard about my past. Half of me is already dead. I can offer you friendship, but nothing more." His head fell, his body felt like lead. He pulled his mask back on.

"Please tell me you understand." He pleaded, still not looking at her.

Y/N stood motionless. Her instinct was to argue, to be upset, to make him change his mind. But deep down she knew her efforts would be futile. Because she did understand, better than she cared to admit. After all, wasn't she herself only a ghost in this life. But with him, she had felt like she'd had a chance at happiness. Perhaps having his friendship would be enough. It sure was better than the agony of the last few weeks. She sighed.

"Friends then." Y/N replied, forcing a smile.

Kakashi finally dared to look at her, his gaze focusing on her reddened lips for a moment. He shook himself off and crinkled his eye in a small smile.

"I promise I won't avoid you again. We can try returning to normal."

Y/N nodded, although she knew things between them had changed forever.

@junksmah @duckingmetal <3

"I should go, let you get some rest. There are big days ahead of us. Goodnight, Y/N." With that, he was gone and they were both alone once more.

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

Next chapter

[billie-black]

Eramis did nothing wrong

Your honor. My client pleads not guilty on all charges. Eramis is one of the few surviving leaders of the defunct house of devils criminal organisation, and throughout her tenure as a member she never took part in any violent crime against the city or the awoken monarchy. As the prosecution has already pointed out she and her subordinates have engaged in numerous counts of grand theft astro which are outside our jurisdiction and ultimately harmless. But my client is not a killer, she is not a warmonger. She never went near our city, she wasn't at six fronts, she wasn't at twilight gap. In a society of criminals and murderers she has opted for peace every time.

More recently, upon the disillusion of the major fallen houses and the formation of the vile house dusk, my client chose to form her own house, not out of vandals and pirates, but out of common working class eliksni. She sought to build a city for her people, a fortress to withstand the terrible might of darkness. A beautiful autocratic city, much like our own.

My client erected the most efficient safe haven  in all of Sol, better protected than even neomuna or the dreaming city. She did all this to rebuild eliksni civilization, not for herself, no offence but she is getting on in years, she will not see Riis truly reborn. No, she built all this for the next generation of good, honest eliksni, for her children. Is that a crime? Is wanting a better future for your people a crime? Granted, Europa is not the most idyllic local for a virgining civilization, but her real state opportunities were sparse. The city has an iron grip on most earthen territories. So they had to settle for one of the many blighted heaths. We have a little bit of background so let's go into her first serious charge.

"Conspiracy to commit genocide" Your honor, this accusation has less legs than a servitor. The only evidence prosecution provided is two statements. The first being a tale of a "dark future" from a woman claiming to be one "Elsie Bray", a claim which we cannot confirm as no citizen of our city has ever declared themselves on record to carry that name, and her only two references are famed deserter Ana Bray, who A: admits she did not know she had a sister. B: claims to be adopted, so no dna samples or neural maps can link them (samples and maps we do not have because E. Bray is an exo). And C: Ana Bray, again, known deserter, is accused by this "Elsie Bray" to be a traitor and a murderer in the same statement levied against my client. A statement in which she claims to be a time traveller from a different universe's golden age of humanity. She claims to have had a romantic relationship with warlock vanguard Ikora Rey. She accuses hidden agent Eris Morn of being a traitor. Claims the traveller was destroyed and the final shape came to fruition, although interestingly her description of events does not match the experiences of a single person in this city with the real final shape event. And most relevant, she claims my client declared war on the city and annihilated our guardian force.

Mind you, Riis reborn is a sovereign nation, a declaration of war is not a crime. But there was no declaration, and there was no war. There was only a series of assassination attempts on the leadership of Riis reborn, perpetrated by "Elsie Bray's" other reference. A nameless guardian operative registered only as VIP #2014.

A guardian lauded across the city as our greatest. The guardian that assassinated Crota, ended Oryx's war campaign on Sol, crippled the red legion and removed them from our city, and stopped the Witness from enacting it's final, final shape. All acts of immense importance to the continued survival of our city. So I then ask, why was the vanguard's single most important asset galavanting around Europa, smothering a civilization in the cradle? In their statement #2014 claims they were summoned to Europa by the Witness. Once there they were confronted by the military of house salvation for violating their air space, and rather than comply, the guardian in engaged them in combat. They then followed the source of a distress call from one Variks, the loyal, who was at the time subject of a manhunt for stealing proprietary military technology.

#2014 had a prior professional relationship with Variks, working together after the wolf rebellions to capture and execute runaway slaves of the awoken queen, who had, with the help of Variks, defeated the house of wolves to which he was pledged and betrayed, and indentured her eliksni servants by threat of death. Variks and the guardian would bring captured eliksni among other species to an eliksni prison station under the control of the awoken military, and force them to fight in gladiatorial combat for entertainment. The relationship turned sour however when, shocker, Variks, "the loyal" turned coat once more and betrayed the awoken to spring several associates from the prison, including my client, who was interred for a series of overblown grand theft astro charges.

#2014 stopped Variks' execution by murdering every soldier in the platoon that had captured him. The guardian then encountered "Elsie Bray" and two other guardians, hidden agent Eris Morn, and vanguard consultant Germaine, no last name given, in a confrontation with the salvation military, again over clear air space violations. When they had wiped out all eliksni forces Miss "Bray" regaled #2014 with stories of alternate timelines and terrible catastrophies befalling our city, all stemming from my client's use of stasis. Stasis being a power source with esoteric properties, derived from "the darkness". She said darkness corrupts the mind and makes you do horrible things, she claimed #2014 themselves fell to this corruption, and her own "sister" Ana Bray as well, she said they murdered millions. She said that to prevent the dark future where all life is rendered extinct (again, not what we experienced the final shape to be), Eramis had to be stopped.

#2014 admitted that they trusted Miss Bray completely, despite this being only their third ever encounter, and not speaking to her in six years. But to give them credit, they did their due diligence. They embarked on an investigation inside Riis to assess the objectives and capabilities of house salvation. After going on a rampage and killing dozens of eliksni on approach to the city #2014 stumbled onto a meeting hall. There my client had gathered newcomers to explain the ideology of house salvation. She demonstrated the power of stasis by destroying her prime servitor, a glorified navigator and food synthesiser in the shape of the traveller, to signify their independence of the great machine. Naturally they did not respond well to an intruder who had already murdered hundreds of eliksni that day alone, so a battle ensued. #2014 was incapable of overpowering higher ranked salvation officers with stasis tech and went back to "Elsie". Where she convinced them to use the corrupting powers of darkness to defeat the eliksni that were defending themselves.

Variks assisted #2014 in assassination attempts on the head of the salvation military, their spiritual leader, their head of exo science (making exos isn't a crime, humans invented them), their minister of technology, and the autocrat in charge, my client. Thankfully she survived, unbeknownst to the guardian.

But sadly, the leadership of Riis was the least of their casualties. During their operations on Europa, #2014 and Variks were contacted by Mithrax, self proclaimed "Kell of house light". Mithrax and the guardian had worked together before, repelling a minor b&e on the old abandoned north tower, to which my client had no demonstrable involvement. Mithrax asked for their assistance in evacuating a small contingent of eliksni who wanted to "escape" Riis. Calling my client "tyrannical", with the only example of remotely "tyrannical" behaviour being that all non military vessels were grounded, on account of the ongoing assault of the city by #2014. And so, the guardian disabled the anchors and the terrified eliksni fled, to the safety of house light, right? We'll circle back to Mithrax and his house.

Reports of the events made their way back to earth, and to the ears of the great commander Zavala. And he did not like what he heard. So the vanguard commander made the trip to Europa to confront #2014 personally. During their meeting Zavala berated the guardian for using stasis and... Not telling him about it. He paid no mind to the unilaterally unlawful actions his subordinates undertook, essentially starting a war with the only non hostile eliksni superpower via surprise attack. The vanguard commander chewed out #2014 for their terrible judgement and then just, left Europa to their judgement.

Now that all of her lieutenants were dead, my client was desperate, and she played her most dangerous card. A portal, built by the bray corporation half a kilometre below the moon's crust, a portal that would unleash the vex horde onto Europa and endanger the lives of millions of eliksni in an effort to deter #2014's assault. This is the primary event that ignorant people use to claim my client willingly sacrificed lives to protect her own carapace, and they're wrong!

After #2014 had violently dealt with the entire eliksni leadership they undertook a series of ops with Variks and the aforementioned Germaine, in which they ventured into a frenzied Riis reborn and tore it apart from the inside. You see, the city was too great for the vex to penetrate, a fact which Eramis knew. It was designed in large part by Praksis, the Technocrat, whomst our beloved guardian murdered in cold blood, and it was impenetrable by any incursion. Layered, insulated titanium alloy, separated into multiple walls surrounding the city proper, accessible only by specially positioned hatches around three meters wide. Hatches that were constantly monitored and reachable only by air or static transmat station. The city was impregnable to the vex hammer. But susceptible, to a guardian needle. During the course of their operations inside Riss reborn #2014 did everything in their power to destabilise the eliksni infrastructure. The vex couldn't penetrate the walls so the guardian set off explosives throughout the city to destroy barriers, with the explicit intent of allowing vex to flood in an murder eliksni at will. But all was not lost, they could fend off the attackers. And so the guardian set out to sabotage their factories, killing food supplies, and yes, weapons manufacturing. They journeyed deeper into the city and to destroy the salvation weapons stockpile, including tanks and brigs which were crucial to protecting the millions that remained in the city.

And so, burning through food and ether and ammo, people started to flee. Over the course of six or so months, one by one, every skiff left drydock. Riss reborn was the biggest attempt to rebuild some semblance of civilization since the whirlwind, and now it looks like it may be the last. A single guardian made the decision to decimate a civilisation on the assumption that they could and would use their newfound power to do the same to us, and they're the ones on trial? Does that seem right to you?

But where did the eliksni refugees flee? Why, to our good friend Mithrax and the reliable house light. But let me tell you some things you may not know about our trusty Kell. To start with, house light did not exist until house salvation fell to ruin. By the time Riis reborn stopped bleeding refugees, Mithrax still had no Ketch to his house's name, only an old broken down skiff. Mithrax barely had followers, because he had a reputation amongst the eliksni as a pirate, and a cold blooded killer, no one could trust the kind of man he was. So he recruited people the only way he could, through desperation. Mithrax, #2014, Variks, and Germaine all worked together to sow death and chaos in the society of Riis reborn, they destabilised their government, destroyed their infrastructure, crippled their industry, killed thousands by hand and tens of thousands by proxy, in operations all but sanctioned by the vanguard commander himself to tople a sovereign nation before it could compete with them. All on the basis of "Trust me bro, I'm a time traveller"

And then, they sequestered the survivors and funneled them into a more amicable, city-aligned "house" (if you could call it that), a house with no standing army, living entirely under the boot of the vanguard, and their figurehead Mithrax. I should mention that the consultant, Germaine, has ties to the "Shadows of Yor", a vanguard sanctioned sting operation to lure in less than desirable guardians and entrap them to look like traitors so they can be executed without trial, so he's no stranger to this sort of vanguard chicanery.

And let me assure you, the eliksni lived under that boot. For YEARS the entire eliksni population of the city survived in a bombed out district, sleeping in ruined buildings at the mercy of the elements, quartered off from anything remotely recognisable as civilization, forced to ration ether and grow food in glassed soil, with the few allowed to wander outside being attacked by human civilians, living in an eliksni ghetto in all but name.

Not a single anecdote from the salvation refugees comes close the horror stories they tell of their time in this city.

So what of her crimes? The crimes against humans? I say what crimes? Guardian fireteams have engaged in a three campaigns against my client since the fall of Riis reborn, one in reef space, where she was collecting pyramid doodads containing remnants of some dead nightmare god in order to resurrect him, a task in which I feel it important to mention she failed. The nightmare god did come back to life but only due to the mishandling of said relics by the vanguard and the carelessness of the traveller when firing that life restoring beam. The second campaign was on Europa, where our forces clashed over some old warmind midnight exigent tech in a bunker. The third was a conflict where each side tried to arrest control of a braytech orbital platform from which the midnight exigent array could be targeted an fired manually, her plan being not to hurt civilians, but only to destroy the traveller. And all of these events have a very simple explanation.

My client was coerced. Coerced by the witness to do all these things under threat of violence, not violence to her, but to her people. The remainder of house salvation still loyal to her would have been turned by the superior technology of the witness into mindless undead had she disobeyed. She was not a queen anymore, she did not have the whole board to play with, she was a pawn who could only move forward lest the other pawns suffer.

Everything she does is to protect her people, her family, her children. Upon the witness' death her first action was to return to Riis reborn to rescue the stragglers still surviving there. And now with the "Fikrul" menace, who wants to convert all eliksni into deformed undead, willing to hear no argument, accepting no bargains, she did the last thing she could. She turned herself in, in a desperate attempt to save those she could. My client has never acted with malice, only desperation, and the desire to save anything she can of the world they lost. Thank you, the defence rests.

[ancientcharm]

NERO. The end of the Julio-Claudian dynasty (Last Part)

January of 63, 1 year and a half before the terrible fire in Rome.

According to Tacitus:

"Nero welcomed with something more than mortal joy the birth of a daughter by Poppaea, Claudia whom he called Augusta, the same title having also been given to Poppaea."

After listing all the religious celebrations, spectacles, and distinctions that were made in the baby's honor, Tacitus says that the baby died four months later and adds "The emperor was as excessive in his grief as he had been in his joy."

Historian writes about the acts carried out by Nero after the fire. Measures to prevent fires and changes in the design of the city. According to Tacitus: "These changes which were liked for their utility, also added beauty to the new city."

And about of Domus Aurea:

He built a mansion in which the jewels and gold were not so marvellous as the fields and lakes, with woods on one side to resemble a wilderness, and, on the other, open spaces and extensive views. -Tacitus

Domus Aurea- Digital reconstruction- Work by J.R CASALS -Digital Heritage

The conspiracy of the year 65

Tacitus writes in detail about a conspiracy to assassinate Nero and replace him with Senator Caius Piso; "planned by senators, knights, soldiers and even women; out of hatred of Nero as well as a liking for Caius Piso".

Historian also accounts that they planned assassinated Nero in the Villa that Piso had in Baiae "whither the emperor, charmed by its loveliness, often went, and where, unguarded he would enjoy the bath and the banquet. But Piso refused to stain with an emperor's blood the sanctity of the home and the deities who presided over it."

They decided to carry out their plan in April, on a special day of games at the Circus, held in honor of Ceres.

The plan was that Scaevinus, approaching Nero as if to ask him something, would stab him once, others would cover the wound with bandages to hide the blood and quickly carry him out of the circus; Another would lie to the audience by saying that the emperor was ill. They would then announce his "natural death" days later.

The day before the treacherous attempt, after a long conversation with Natalis, Scaevinus returned home and took from its sheath a dagger and complaining that it was blunted from long disuse, he ordered it to be sharpened on a stone to a sharp, shiny point; This task he assigned to his freedman Milicus. -Tacitus

Milicus went to the Servilian gardens, and, finding the doors shut against him, said that he was the bearer of important and alarming news. Upon this he was conducted by the gatekeepers to one of Nero's freedmen, Epaphroditus, and by him to Nero, whom he informed of the urgent danger; And he showed the dagger. -Tacitus

The investigation lasted weeks.

Tacitus writes that one of the conspirators, Natalis, during the interrogation was the first to give the names of everyone, including Seneca; And that Natalis was the only accused who denounced the philosopher, while the others did not mention him at all.

After being accused, Seneca decided to take his own life. According to Tacitus, he first drank the 'philosophers' poison' (hemlock) and then cut his veins while getting into a hot water bath exclaiming: “I offer this liquid as a libation to Jupiter Deliverer.”

Philosopher Seneca died on April 12th of the year 65. His wife was absolved by Nero.

'Death of Seneca' by Manuel Dominguez Sánchez, 1871

There were several executed, many committed suicide, many were exiled, others were pardoned. Tacitus accounts: "Nero rewarded with immunity the prompt information of Natalis. Milicus became rich with gifts and assumed in its Greek equivalent the name of Saviour." Some senators proposed that the month of April be called Nero, due in that month the emperor's life was saved; April had the name Nero until the day of his death.

"Nero summoned the Senate, addressed them in a speech, and further added a proclamation to the people, with the evidence which had been entered on records, and the confessions of the condemned. He was indeed under the lash of those who said that he had killed innocent men out of jealousy or fear. However, that a conspiracy was begun, matured, and conclusively proved was not doubted at the time by those who took pains to ascertain the truth, and is admitted by those who after Nero's death returned to the capital." - Tacitus

Nero on the stage

The incredible facts according to Suetonius:

While Nero was singing no one was allowed to leave the theatre even for the most urgent reasons. And so it is said that some women gave birth there. Men who were worn out with listening and applauding, secretly leaped the wall since the gates at the entrance were closed. Others feigned death so they could leave, and were carried out of the theater as if they were dead.

According Tacitus:

The Senate offered the emperor the "victory in song," and added the "crown of eloquence," that thus a veil might be thrown over a shameful exposure on the stage. First, he recited a poem on the stage; then, at the importunate request of the rabble that he would make public of all his accomplishments (these were their words), he entered the theatre, and conformed to all the laws of harp-playing.

For the Roman elite, theatre was the occupation of slaves and the lower classes. The elite was horrified to see that "Nero had dishonoured himself and Rome by putting on an actor's mask." As if this scandal were not enough, Nero also competed as a charioteer. But plebs were delighted with their emperor singer, actor and chariot rider.

The Mystery of Poppaea

It seems strange to me that not even experts in the History of Ancient Rome, can tell us when exactly this empress died. "Someday in the year 65" everyone says.

According Tacitus:

"After the conclusion of the games Poppaea died from a casual outburst of rage in her husband, who felled her with a kick when she was pregnant. That there was poison I cannot believe, though some writers so relate, from hatred rather than from belief, for the emperor was desirous of children, and wholly swayed by love of his wife."

Tacitus acknowledges that Nero loved his wife and was desirous of children, so such a violent attitude putting the life of who was going to be his heir at risk isn't credible. As most modern historians think, Poppaea probably died from complications of a miscarriage. Tacitus also accounts that Nero was distressed by the loss of his wife and unborn child.

The last of the Dynasty

In the year 66 (or 65? ) Nero, following the death of Antonia, the only surviving daughter of Emperor Claudius, became the last member of the dynasty.

According to historians, Antonia, Claudius' eldest daughter by his second wife, was unjustly sentenced to death by Nero.

According the official history: "Under false accusation of conspiracy, Antonia was executed because she refused Nero's marriage request after Poppea's death". They say the year, but not the day or the month in which such important event happened.

She was a 36-year-old lady who, after two marriages, had not been able to have children. She had only one pregnancy many years earlier, a child who was born weak and died shortly after. So why the 28-year-old emperor would be interested in marrying a woman who obviously couldn't give him an heir.

Tacitus wrote about a rumor that the conspirator Piso, once he managed to be proclaimed emperor, would immediately marry Antonia precisely because she was the daughter of Claudius and that would give more authenticity to his position, and that she would agree.

And Tacitus adds:

Piso, meanwhile, was wait in the sanctuary of Ceres, whence he was to be summoned by Faenius, the commander of the guard, and by the others, and then conveyed into the camp, accompanied by Antonia, the daughter of Claudius Caesar, to evoke the people's enthusiasm. So it is related by Caius Pliny. Handed down from whatever source, I had no intention of suppressing it, however absurd it may seem, either that Antonia should have lent her name at her life's peril to a hopeless project, or that Piso, with his well-known affection for his wife, should have pledged himself to another marriage, but for the fact that the lust of power inflames the heart more than any other passion.

I think the historian, even without wanting to say it, said it all

Tacitus himself suggests, and bases this on what was written by a contemporary author of Nero's reign (Gaius Pliny), that Antonia participated in the conspiracy. It is therefore highly probable that the execution took place in 65 and that the obscurity surrounding the date of Poppaea Sabina's death is due to the fact that Antonia died while the empress was still alive, which would make false the story that Antonia was executed by the widower Nero.

Whatever Tacitus wrote about the final two years of Nero's reign has been lost.

In the year 66 the Great Jewish Revolt or First Jewish-Roman War began. Nero sent one of the best generals, Vespasian, to stop the revolt. Vespasian goes with his eldest son Titus, both future emperors.

Neron married Statilia and undertook an artistic tour, along with a group of actors and musicians through southern Italy and the eastern Mediterranean. His wife accompanied him. Nothing is known about his relationship with this third wife, only that she survived him.

In 67: According to Suetonius, Nero ordered a young freedman named Sporus to be castrated, and treated him as a wife. Many modern historians, and I agree with them, believe that this is a myth. While there was a freedman named Sporus, he was simply one of several freedmen close to Nero, and may or may not have been a eunuch.

In March of 68 Vindex, governor of Gallia Lugdunensis, rebelled against Nero's fiscal policy. According to Suetonius, Nero was in Naples, and learned of the this first rebellion against him "on the anniversary day of his mother's murder."

Nero sent Verginius Rufus, governor of Germania Superior, to quell the revolt. Víndex requested support from Galba, governor of Hispania Tarraconense, but in May Verginius Rufus defeated Víndex who committed suicide. Most of the legions supported Nero, especially in the Eastern Provinces.

The story that Nero sent an army of prostitutes as Amazons is another typical Suetonius

June of 68 : Otto, former friend of Nero and ex-husband of Poppaea, after 10 years of resentment as Governor of Lusitania, where Nero sent him almost into exile, taking advantage of the conflicts, made his own "revolution"; Although in Lusitania there was only 1 legion.

While Galba, in southern Spain, had his own military adventure; And although Galba didn't have much more than Otho, the Senate, who hated Nero, finally saw an opportunity. And it should be noted that Galba, unlike Otho, was a Roman aristocrat; in fact, he was the last man from a patrician family of the old Republic to be emperor.

According to Suetonius, on June 8 the Senate declared Nero a public enemy, sentenced him to death, and proclaimed Galba as Princeps.

The suspicious death of Nero

'Death of Nero' by Vasily S. Smirnov, 1888

Suetonius, in the final chapter accounts:

Nero awoke about midnight and finding that the guard of soldiers had left, he sprang from his bed and sent for all his freedmen. Since no reply came back from anyone, he went himself to their rooms. But finding that all the doors were closed and that no one replied to him, he returned to his own chamber and cried: "Have I then neither friend nor foe?" and ran out as if to throw himself into the Tiber.

Then Suetonius writes that a freedman of Nero named Phaon offered the emperor his villa in the suburbs and Nero went on horseback, along with his freedmen Epaphroditus and Sporus, and two assistants.

But didn't the writer say that Nero was alone because everyone had left?.

Suetonius accounts that Nero entered the villa secretly, through a kind of tunnel in which they had dug.

Then, crawling on all fours through a narrow passage that had been dug, he entered the villa and lay down in the first room; He came to, on a couch with a common mattress, over which an old cloak had been thrown. (..) He wept and said again and again: "What an artist the world is losing!" - Suetonius

Suetonius continues a long story that describes Nero hesitating to take his own life, scared, weeping, lamenting; In the mentality of the ancient Romans this was unworthy, cowardly, shameful, despicable. Not to mention the detail of crawling on all fours through a dug passage to wake up on an old cloak.

He entreated someone to help him to take his life; anon he reproached himself for his cowardice. (..) And the horsemen were at hand who had orders to take him alive. When he heard them, he quavered. And he took the dagger to his throat aided by Epaphroditus, his private secretary. He was all but dead when a centurion rushed in, and as he placed a cloak to the wound, pretending that he had come to aid him, Nero merely gasped: "Too late!" and "This is fidelity!" With these words he was gone, with eyes so set and starting from their sockets that all who saw him shuddered with horror. -Suetonius

" And Nero met his death on the anniversary of the murder of Octavia"- Suetonius

It also had not failed of notice that the last piece which he sang in public was "Oedipus in Exile," and that he ended with the line: "Father, mother, wife, drive me to my death!." -Suetonius

His ashes were deposited by his nurses, Egloge and Alexandria, accompanied by his mistress Actea, in the family tomb of the Domitii on the summit of the Hill of Gardens. - Suetonius

Incredibly after an extensive book full of stories recounting in detail unimaginable atrocities committed by this emperor, Suetonius ends his book by writing this:

"People for a long time decorated his tomb with spring and summer flowers, and produced his statues as if he were still alive and would shortly return and deal destruction to his enemies. Nay more, Vologaesus, king of the Parthians, when sent messengers to the senate to renew his alliance, earnestly begged this too, that honour be paid to the memory of Nero. In fact, twenty years after his death, when I was very young, a man of obscure origin appeared, who claimed he was Nero; And the name Nero was still in such favour with the Parthians that they supported him vigorously and surrendered him with great reluctance."

Why is his death suspicious?

1. Three months earlier, Nero reacted without hesitation or concern to Vindex's rebellion. His new adversary was a 70-year-old governor of a small province, part of Hispania, supported by senators and a few soldiers. Nero had all the people, the most of the legions and even the Parthian empire on his side, so the decision to flee and take his own life due Galba's rebellion is inexplicable. And the best proof of how week Galba was is that seven months after being named emperor he was assassinated in the Roman Forum.

2. Three years earlier there was an intricate conspiracy in which they planned to assassinate Nero in a public place and pretend in front of the people that the emperor was feeling sick, get him out of there and then give the false news that he died due to illness. So why couldn't they do something as easy as kill him inside the palace -even with the complicity of his mysterious third wife who is not present at his funeral according to Suetonius himself- then say the next day that Nero fled and committed suicide.?

3. After his death, the rumor spread for more than 20 years that he was alive, that is, people doubted the official version given by the Senate. This is something that did not happen with any other emperor. Twenty years later a man claimed to be Nero and took refuge in Parthia, and the king believed him. Not even in Parthia did they believe the official story.

4. Suetonius accounts that the Senate proclaimed Galba emperor on June 8, and centurions had orders to capture Nero alive. But he also accounts that on the night of June 8th Nero was sleeping and when he suddenly woke up there was no one there, not even the soldiers who should have captured him in the morning or afternoon. They are like two pieces of a puzzle that don't fit.

Without Nero knowing what they were up to with Galba, they could have killed him at night in his palace. It is strange that Nero's wife is not mentioned by Suetonius in the account of the night when Nero woke up and fled Rome, neither at the time of the suicide nor at the funeral.

His wife, who after almost two years of marriage could have ended badly because she had no child, may have been persuaded to poison Nero or to facilitate the entry of the assassins into the Domus. It is also possible that Tigellinus was the one who carried out the assassination because he was Nero's most trusted man and came and went from the Domus as he pleased; having been loyal to Nero, Tigellinus was already a faithful ally of Galba the next day.

But the official history says that Emperor Nero took his life somewhere outside Rome. Therefore until archaeology, perhaps, discovers something fascinating that changes history, I must to say that this emperor committed suicide on June 9 of the year 68, at the age of 30, despite my doubts.

Be that as it may, the Julio-Claudian dynasty died with him.

Part I

[ohnoitstbskyen]

The Heartsteel splash art is very bad, and here's why

I am not a fan of the collective Heartsteel splash art, and in fact, I think it's kinda s***ty. Not on a technical level, mind you, it is every bit as well rendered and nicely drawn as most other Riot art is, but as a way to introduce these characters? As a pitch to get us excited about them? This is genuinely kind of f***ing terrible. First of all, it's copying the original K/DA splash arts, which also had each band member copy pasted in different positions in each splash, with a different character in the spotlight. And that's not a great place to start from, because it feels like a total lack of confidence in the product, like some suit-wearing executive saying "just copy whatever worked the first time!" The splash art should be an opportunity to introduce what's new and unique about the band, and copying K/DA like this completely fumbles that opportunity and invites really unflattering comparisons. Second, the copy pasting is a problem. For two reasons: First, it looks cheap. It just does. There is no way to put out six splash arts with the exact same pixels copy-pasted into different positions that doesn't, on an instinctual level, feel cheap. All that says is "we didn't want to pay for more than one splash art." It looks like corner cutting. Second, it forces every character in the art to be completely separate from one another. A big part of the band's charm in their excellent music video is the interaction and camaraderie between the boys as they get into frat boy shenanigans shooting their music video, but since every character has to be able to be copy-pasted and moved independently in the splash, they can't interact or pose together in any way, making them seem completely disconnected from one another. One of the simplest ways to add a bunch of character and charm to these splash arts would be to have one character up front doing their cool pose, and then the other five boys dicking around in the background, armwrestling or hugging or, I dunno, giving each other piggyback rides. Instead, we just get sterile clip-art of each of them that don't even seem to be aware that the other guys are there. And when they are up front, the poses they do are also… mostly kinda lame? Sett is supposed to be this tough-guy with a heart of gold rapper with a big attitude and he's just, like, vaguely flexing, kinda. K'sante is supposed to be this imposing, powerful vocalist and he's just… standing there. Yone looks bored, Aphelios looks like an emo kid who's being forced to be in a family photo by his mom, and Kayn, who's supposed to be this rowdy chaotic bad boy, is just… doing a peace sign and sticking his tongue out? He gets completely overshadowed by himself: his Shadow Assassin and Rhaast forms in the background, which DO get to interact, which DO get to play with each other, and who are more charming than everything else these splash arts do. It genuinely baffles me that Riot couldn't be bothered to spend the money to get each of them unique splash arts, give these characters an opportunity to show off their costumes and their personality, or at least spend the money to have them drawn a little bit different in each of the six versions of this thing that they put out. This splash art, to me, feels like an active discouragement from investing in Heartsteel, because looking at this, looking at all the corners that are being cut, even Riot doesn't feel committed to them as a project. And like yeah, the music video is great and it's doing a lot of heavy lifting for them, but this splash art is an actual liability, it makes the whole project look worse.