#complaint against bloodthirsty enemies

[vulpine111]

[beloveds-embrace]

I feel like feral reader has the biggest, saddest eyes known to man when not on a mission, they just want love and pack. It's not their fault they're so feral. They were /made/ to be a weapon, when all they wanted was peace

If feral's an alpha - I can see them hunting down snacks and bringing it to the 141 like "look! I can provide! I can be gentle!" And just watching them eat with those (almost weirdly) big eyes.

If feral's an omega - I can see them hiding away and trying to frantically nest, to give themself somewhere safe. It's not right, there's no pack scent so it just pushes them further into the feral mentality, but (once) if feral swipes some of the packs' items, it does help. It's messy, it's too small, but its a nest, and its theirs and thats all that matters

And omg imagine if feral gets hurt and needs to be hospitalized

The higher ups demand that they be cuffed to the bed, but when the 141 sees feral, they see someone who's just scared. Scared of the hospital and scared of themself. They've been stripped of the muzzle, chains, and scent patches, and look so utterly /weak/. Their scent is distorted from the cruel use of scent blockers, meaning telling their designation from that is impossible.

And then they're so drugged up on pain meds that their walls are lower, and a /lot/ more talkative without their muzzle...

Igh just imagine the sweetest fluffiest angst that hurts so good

(Not a request, just some of my rambles)

👽

do you know that you ate with this ask? because you did. you absolutely did 😩 i loved reading all your thoughts about feral reader, especially the speculation of how they'd act depending on their designation!! the part abt the hospital works so well with what i had planned so i hope you like what i've added to it <33

CW: human trafficking omegaverse masterlist

The hospital room is quiet, sterile, and suffocating.

John clenches his jaw as he steps inside, his sharp eyes scanning every inch of the space. He sees the IV lines, the machines monitoring vitals, the thick, military-grade cuffs securing your wrists to the bed. You look so small like this- nothing like the unrelenting force they fought beside.

Here, right now, you’ve been stripped of everything that made you feral.

No muzzle, no reinforced collar, no scent patches suppressing your pheromones into oblivion. For the first time since you’d been forced into their pack, they could see you. And it guts them.

Because you aren’t some bloodthirsty creature bred for war.

You’re just scared.

Your fingers twitch weakly against the restraints, dull nails scratching uselessly at the cuffs, but there’s no real struggle. No vicious snapping of teeth, no blank, unfeeling stare of a tool awaiting its next order. You barely even react to them entering the room.

Your scent is muddled- soured by years of suppressant use, reduced to something broken and incomplete. It makes it impossible to tell your secondary gender, but it doesn’t matter. Not to them.

The steady drip of the pain meds in your IV dulls everything- your body is sluggish, barely responding, but it also lowers the walls that kept them from truly knowing you.

“… ‘S too quiet,” you mumble, blinking slowly. Your voice is hoarse from disuse, raspy from the damage the muzzle had done to your jaw. It’s the first time any of them have heard you speak so calmly, in a controlled setting that isn't a battlefield, without the muzzle in place.

Johnny is the first to move, dragging a chair close so he can sit beside you. His movements are slow and careful- like approaching a wounded animal.

“Aye, hospitals tend to be,” he says gently. “Bit shite, aren’t they?”

Your lips press together in something that might be the ghost of a frown. “... Hate it.”

The words are so soft. They’re used to you tearing apart enemy soldiers with your bare hands, not murmuring complaints like a child unhappy with their surroundings.

“Yeah, I know,” Gaz murmurs from the other side of the bed. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. Not yet. “You, uh… don’t like small spaces, do you?”

Your response is slow, weighted with exhaustion, and your eyes flicker between them yet remain unfocused. “Not the spaces.” A small pause. “The waiting.”

John exhales slowly through his nose, crossing his arms. You were never allowed to wait. You were a tool, a weapon unsheathed only for war. They never let you have quiet. The only time you weren’t fighting was when you were locked away, bound and muzzled like a rabid dog.

It’s sickening.

You shift against the restraints, huffing when they keep you pinned in place. “‘M not gonna run.”

“Yeah, we ken, sweetheart.” Johnny says before he can stop himself. The pet name slips out, but you don’t flinch. If anything, your muscles relax just a little.

Simon, who has been silent in the corner up until now, finally moves. His mask is still in place, but his scent- bitter with restrained frustration- is unmistakable. He steps closer, gloved hands reaching out to carefully unfasten the cuffs.

It’s a risk. The higher-ups demanded you remain restrained, even sedated if necessary. Hell, it was a fight for the doctors to convince them to take off the collar and muzzle.

But Simon doesn’t give a fuck.

You blink sluggishly up at him as he undoes the clasps, rubbing absent circles over the raw skin left behind. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge the way your fingers twitch under his touch.

You don’t lash out. You don’t fight. You just watch him with the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever fucking seen.

Fuck.

“We shouldn’t be here,” you say, words slurring together slightly. “Don’t- don’t need to waste time. ‘M just a weapon.”

Something cracks in John’s chest.

“No, you’re not.” he says firmly.

You blink slowly at him. “… That’s what they said.”

“Well, they don’t know shit.” Gaz snaps, unable to help himself.

Your lips part slightly, as if you hadn’t expected that. As if no one had ever disagreed with that sentiment before.

Johnny leans forward, his voice softer now. “You’re not a weapon, bonnie.” His fingers twitch again before he finally gathers the courage to reach for you, brushing a careful hand over your hair. You don’t flinch. Don’t move away. Your eyes slip shut under the warmth of his touch.

It’s the first time you’ve been touched like this. Not in combat, not in restraint, but with care.

“Jus’ want pack." You mumble, so quiet they almost miss it. And fuck- if that doesn’t make their chests ache.

They knew it wasn’t your fault. They knew you were made into what you are, forced into something unnatural. They’ve seen you- seen the way you watch them, longing written in the lines of your body, in the fleeting glances and hesitant movements that scream of someone who just wants.

And now, stripped of the chains and the regulations that kept you leashed, they see you for what you truly are.

Not a weapon, nor a monster.

Just a broken little thing that was never given a choice.

Johnny keeps petting your hair, Gaz is murmuring quiet reassurances, and Simon hasn’t moved his hand from yours. John steps closer, resting a heavy, grounding palm on your ankle.

“We’ve got you,” John says, voice low and steady. “You’re pack now.”

Your breath hitches slightly. Your walls are too low, your body too exhausted to mask the emotions that flicker across your face.

And for the first time since they met you, you look safe.

(John just wishes the reality you'll face once you are recovered was far, far nicer to you).

Later, Ghost is the only one still awake with you. Johnny dozed off in the chair beside your bed, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted back in an uncomfortable angle that would have left him sore in the morning if it weren't for the scarf Simon bundled in the crook of his neck. Gaz and John left hours ago, forced back to their own quarters under the watchful eyes of command. They’ll be back in the morning.

For now, it’s just you and Simon, the quiet hum of the hospital machines, and the weight of something unspoken between you.

Until you speak up again.

“Y’know,” you murmur, eyes closed, voice rough from disuse. “I wasn’t always like this.”

Simon stills.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe for a second, like any sudden shift might scare you away from whatever you’re about to say. His hands tighten over his knees, fingers curling into the fabric of his fatigues.

He doesn’t ask you to elaborate. He doesn’t need to. He knows you’ll either continue or shut down completely. He prays it’s the former.

There’s a long silence before you exhale, long and slow, staring up at the ceiling like the words are carved into the sterile white panels above you.

“They took me in the middle of the night,” you say quietly. “Didn’t hear ‘em coming. Should’ve. Should’ve smelled ‘em.” Your lips press together, something dark flickering over your face. “But why would I? I was just... doing something. Near a car, and then- then I got knocked out before I even... knew they were there."

Simon doesn’t ask who. Not when it means interrupting you, not in this fine, delicate moment with its hands grasped around his throat. But he can guess and connect the dots, though; It’s always the same types. People who think they can own things. Who see others as commodities, as something to be bought and sold.

His fists clench.

“Woke up in a cage,” you continue, voice distant, like you’re narrating someone else’s story. “Couldn’t tell how many others were there. Too many. Some crying. Some too scared to move. Some already…” You swallow hard. “Already gone."

Ghost keeps his breathing steady, keeps his hands still even though his body screams to move, to do something. But this isn’t something he can fix. He can’t go back in time, can’t put a bullet in the heads of the men who did this to you. The only thing he can do is listen.

“I remember thinking,” you murmur, lashes heavy, eyes wet. “if I just waited, someone would come.” A bitter, breathless laugh slips past your lips. “Someone always comes. That’s what they all say, right? That someone always comes.”

Simon knows better than anyone that sometimes, no one does. Sometimes, you have to claw your own way out. Sometimes, it would still not save you.

He says nothing, just watches as you shift slightly against the pillows, your fingers twitching restlessly atop the blanket.

“They started selling people off,” you say. “One by one. Didn’t matter if they fought, if they screamed. Just lined them up, packed them into trucks, and that was it.”

A pause. Your eyes fluttered shut, a lone tear rolling down your face.

Then, quieter:

“No one came.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Suffocating. Simon still waits, letting you decide if you want to keep going. You don’t look at him, but your fingers twitch again, this time like you’re reaching for something absent.

“Didn’t matter what I wanted,” you whisper, now more to yourself than to him. “Didn’t matter who I was. I was just a thing to them. Something to be sold. Caged.”

He knows that feeling too well.

He knows what it means to be stripped of personhood, reduced to nothing but flesh to be used and discarded. He knows the rage, the helplessness, the slow descent into something feral and unrecognizable. But unlike you, he had John Price's need to adopting strays to reel him back in. But you-

“What happened?” he finally asks, low and rough as gravel.

Your lips part, and for a moment, he thinks you won’t answer.

“I killed them.”

Simple. Unapologetic. Matter-of-fact.

Ghost doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react at all. He just waits.

“First one was easy,” you say, exhaustion coloring every letter. “He was the one who opened the cage. Didn’t think I’d fight. Thought I was too weak, too scared. I was scared.” You exhale. “But not enough to let them take me.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, grip tightening.

“They were so scary.” Your voice is flat, emotionless, but Simon can see the tension in your shoulders, the way your pulse jumps against your throat and reflects on the heart monitor. “Strong. Trained. Bigger than me. Didn’t matter.” A small, humorless smile twitches at your lips. “Didn’t matter how much stronger they were. I fought like a fucking animal.”

Ghost can picture it.

You, starved, exhausted, barely more than skin and bone- tearing through men who thought they were untouchable. Clawing, biting, ripping, killing. Not for sport. Not for pleasure. Just to survive.

It was never a choice; the only other option was death.

“I didn’t stop,” you admit, softer now. “Even when they were all dead, even when there was no one left, I couldn’t stop.” A deep, shuddering breath. “I was stuck like that. Didn’t know how to turn it off. Still don’t.”

The silence stretches long between you, until Simon breaks it; “Not your fault,” he murmurs, waiting for you to look at him with those glassy, painfully big eyes. He shakes his head. “You didn’t have a choice.”

Your throat bobs, something unreadable passing over your face and for a long time, neither of you speak. “You’re the first person I’ve told.” You admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Simon’s fingers twitch. He wants to touch you. Wants to pull you close until he can rub his face and scent all over every crevice of your body. Not to restrain, not to command- just to comfort. But he doesn’t. He can't.

Instead, he just nods, voice soft when he says: “..Get some rest, love. We’ve got you now.”

[gh0stswh0re]

"where has your determination gone to, little thing?"

warnings: f! reader, shameless repost, cnc, rough dom, angry sex, heavy language, verbal humiliation, manhandling, fingering, piv, no aftercare, simon's being a big meanie, storyline? what storyline?

word count: 1,3k

a/n: ignore the mid beginning (and middle, and end), changed it back into reader insert cuz i hated it

...

he was a man of determination and sheer willpower, a man with strong morals and one might even dare say simon riley was a bit of a patriot, but dangerous is what he really was – like a predator he moved, like a sickened predator he stalked and watched, like a bloodthirsty predator he hunted down and slaughtered whatever poor bastard was his next set target. he was blind and rabid with rage - a weapon, a machine on the battlefield. with phantoms of war haunting his flesh, scattered across his skin in all shapes and forms – the white line searing deep into his thumb, in particular, caught your attention.

you - the little spoiled rotten princess that was assigned under his supervision, making his day-to-day life miserable and the past few days fucking hell – yeah, that's what he would call it, ''fucking hell'', when after a particularly long, torturous day you'd come around with your usual set of deliberately detailed questions and utterly childish complaints. it's not the type of confession he'd make to any other living soul, but he's never questioned your intelligence – he knew how much twisted joy hid in the tasteless jokes, so out of the goodness of his own rotten heart he warned you – ''one day, birdie, you'll get the chance of coming across some mean motherfuckers, and i won't be there, and this shit-'' his deep voice roughed with the heaving breaths, ''is going to get you killed.'' that was three, maybe four months ago – three, hardly four months before you'd be assigned a task together, one he just couldn't deny.

maybe it was the remote location, or perhaps the complications which occurred on nearly daily basis, you could very well just be feeling a bit under the weather – not following even the simplest orders, talking back, grabbing his prized little possessions only to leave them at the other side of the room, and even going as far as raising your voice at him – the petite, cheeky girl with the golden smile and screams like that of a harpy, ringing in his ears, risking to rupture his eardrums as you spat ugly threats at him.

heavy footsteps quickly closed the distance between the two of you, as the wooden floor quaked underneath his iron-cast weight – the air thinned with his presence approaching you. ''i'd like to see you try, princess-'' strong hands invaded your space, hooking the little pocket knife you always carried around off your belt with absolute ease. ''i'd like to see you fucking try'' clatter of the metal blade hit the tiles of the bathroom floor – one room you tried to hide in, thinking about what you've been told, what he taught you – when an enemy backs you into a corner, you fight back, you claw your way out of it, taking advantage of every damn thing in your surroundings, you – he knew this, he knew it and he's been taunting you – watching you, examing each one of your moves, your anxious gaze scattered all over the room.

the tips of his fingers tenderly caressed your chin, brushing against the warm skin of your flushed cheeks as he cooed at you – whispering, his voice haunting you as he hummed a lustful song, the chorus of desperate heat within him. soft, heated breath washed over the side of your face, as he tapped his thumb over your bottom lip – swollen, bloody with fear – prying open your mouth, "stupid fucking bitch".

leather-bound hands groped your flesh, brushing against the swell of your breast and back up, teasing the sensitive, perky nubs, taking one between two clumsy fingers as he gazed at you with curious eyes. ''naughty little birdie, aren't you?'' forcing a hand between your legs, his gloved palm slid down your thigh, stroking your pulse as rough fingers endowed with perverted curiosity slipped past the fabric of your shorts. three fingers ghosted over the swollen folds of your cunt – wet, soaked with need – as he gathered sweet, sticky arousal on his fingers. two pushing in, as you chewed on the inside of her cheek, nearly drawing blood biting down a whimper, your voice trembling as pain spread through your core, and the vicious sound of his chuckle rang in your ears.

heat rippled over your face as the pad of his finger slid across your stiff clit, cruelly teasing it with a quick swirl as the little knot of pleasure in your belly tightened against your own will. pure bliss fought with the persistence of your pathetic resistance – it turned him on how you cried in despair, made him into a fucking animal, only swiping faster, making the little nub twitch under the lewd movement of his fingers.

fear of him breaking you rushed the adrenaline through your veins, and clouded your mind with frenzy – but he wouldn't do that, he wouldn't break you – he'd only shatter you, devour and waste what was once within you.

he kissed the warm flesh on your neck – chapped lips prying open, the tip of his tongue heated with desire tasting the struggle evident on the hot skin, before he bit down, scarring its delicacy. the grip his hands held on you was sadistic, punishing, nearly crushing your hips. desperation and lust thickened in your throat, breath hitching somewhere in your lungs – you couldn't tell though, your own body betraying you – any words of protest, or perhaps resentment towards your superior, your dear and beloved lieutenant, died on the tip of your tongue. only a faint whisper slipped past your lips – hoarse with the exhaustion from the pathetic cries – as he lowered your limp body onto the ground, the playful fingers still fucking you at a lazy pace.

not only was he utterly intoxicated by your movements, but he's also grown addicted to it – snuffing a grunt, sucking the air in through his teeth as he watched you fuck yourself back into his hand. the obnoxiously loud, hot-headed troublemaker was actually an obedient little whore, completely at his mercy.

both hands encased your hips, as he traced the head of his cock along the edges of you, the heavy tip pressing against the tight entrance of the clenching cunt coated with shimmery, sticky arousal. he shut his eyes closed as his heavy hips thrust in and out of you - every rushed beat of your heart was now pulsating with desperation in your cunt, as you whimpered, cried – more, more, more. swayed, craved – closer, closer, closer.

his hands grabbed at your hips, thighs, ass – his strokes jaunty, clumsy, as one hand sneaked into your hair, roughly pushing your face down until you winced in pain. it seemed like he preferred it this way – balls deep, without the pretend concern. your mind was numb, brain melting – the loud slaps of skin and groans of pleasure filled your ears, consumed your entire being, devoured every last bit of decency you had left. noises – mixtures of pure nonsense drowned in moans gutted through your body, as he grabbed your hand and forced your palm open flat against your lower belly – he was boring into your stomach, ruthless and cruel it made your cunt throb with pleasure, ripping up your spine, tearing through the weary muscles as it set your nerves aflame and whirled your brain with the agonizing need to just fucking cum already.

''where has your determination gone to, little thing? thought you were gonna-'' his violent thrusts spread the clenching walls of your warm cunt each time he slammed his hips into yours, ''mm, slit my throat? isn't that right, you needy-'' a thrust, ''desperate-'' and another, ''whiny-'', and one more ''-slut".

he noticed – your muscles tensed, limbs trembled, as your brain fizzed with the pain overwhelmed by the carnality of the physical pleasure, he knew you were so damn fucking close … so, he stopped. ''think you deserve to cum after what you said to me?'' he slowed down the pace of his brutal fucking, even if it took every last bit of his self-control, ''nah, little birdie, you don't-'' a hand brushed against your lower back, ''this one is all for me'' it was a growl more than it was a sentence, as he fucked his leaky precum into your womb, ''and this one too'' one last thrust before he pulled out heaving, hot cum covering your thighs, dripping onto your worn out cunt.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Cast Your Cares on the Lord (2 Samuel 17:15-29)

1 Give ear to my prayer, O God; And hide not thyself from my supplication.

2 Attend unto me, and answer me: I am restless in my complaint, and moan,

3 Because of the voice of the enemy, Because of the oppression of the wicked; For they cast iniquity upon me, And in anger they persecute me.

4 My heart is sore pained within me: And the terrors of death are fallen upon me.

5 Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, And horror hath overwhelmed me.

6 And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! Then would I fly away, and be at rest.

7 Lo, then would I wander far off, I would lodge in the wilderness. Selah

8 I would haste me to a shelter From the stormy wind and tempest.

9 Destroy, O Lord, and divide their tongue; For I have seen violence and strife in the city.

10 Day and night they go about it upon the walls thereof: Iniquity also and mischief are in the midst of it.

11 Wickedness is in the midst thereof: Oppression and guile depart not from its streets.

12 For it was not an enemy that reproached me; Then I could have borne it: Neither was it he that hated me that did magnify himself against me; Then I would have hid myself from him:

13 But it was thou, a man mine equal, My companion, and my familiar friend.

14 We took sweet counsel together; We walked in the house of God with the throng.

15 Let death come suddenly upon them, Let them go down alive into Sheol; For wickedness is in their dwelling, in the midst of them.

16 As for me, I will call upon God; And Jehovah will save me.

17 Evening, and morning, and at noonday, will I complain, and moan; And he will hear my voice.

18 He hath redeemed my soul in peace from the battle that was against me; For they were many that strove with me.

19 God will hear, and answer them, Even he that abideth of old, Selah The men who have no changes, And who fear not God.

20 He hath put forth his hands against such as were at peace with him: He hath profaned his covenant.

21 His mouth was smooth as butter, But his heart was war: His words were softer than oil, Yet were they drawn swords.

22 Cast thy burden upon Jehovah, and he will sustain thee: He will never suffer the righteous to be moved.

23 But thou, O God, wilt bring them down into the pit of destruction: Bloodthirsty and deceitful men shall not live out half their days; But I will trust in thee. — Psalm 55 | American Standard Version (ASV) The American Standard Version Bible is in the public domain Cross References: Genesis 11:9; Numbers 30:2; Deuteronomy 33:27; 1 Samuel 1:16; 2 Samuel 16:7-8; Job 15:32; Job 19:19; Psalm 5:9; Psalm 10:1; Psalm 12:2; Psalm 12:8; Psalm 41:9; Psalm 42:4; Psalm 57:2-3; Psalm 103:4; Psalm 116:3; Isaiah 4:6; Isaiah 21:4; Jeremiah 9:2; Jeremiah 48:28; Acts 3:1; 1 Thessalonians 5:3; 1 Peter 5:7

[orthodoxadventure]

Psalm 55 (NKJV)

Give ear to my prayer, O God, And do not hide Yourself from my supplication. Attend to me, and hear me; I am restless in my complaint, and moan noisily, Because of the voice of the enemy, Because of the oppression of the wicked; For they bring down trouble upon me, And in wrath they hate me.

My heart is severely pained within me, And the terrors of death have fallen upon me. Fearfulness and trembling have come upon me, And horror has overwhelmed me. So I said, “Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest. Indeed, I would wander far off, And remain in the wilderness. Selah I would hasten my escape From the windy storm and tempest.”

Destroy, O Lord, and divide their tongues, For I have seen violence and strife in the city. Day and night they go around it on its walls; Iniquity and trouble are also in the midst of it. Destruction is in its midst; Oppression and deceit do not depart from its streets.

For it is not an enemy who reproaches me; Then I could bear it. Nor is it one who hates me who has exalted himself against me; Then I could hide from him. But it was you, a man my equal, My companion and my acquaintance. We took sweet counsel together, And walked to the house of God in the throng.

Let death seize them; Let them go down alive into hell, For wickedness is in their dwellings and among them.

As for me, I will call upon God, And the Lord shall save me. Evening and morning and at noon I will pray, and cry aloud, And He shall hear my voice. He has redeemed my soul in peace from the battle that was against me, For there were many against me. God will hear, and afflict them, Even He who abides from of old. Selah Because they do not change, Therefore they do not fear God.

He has put forth his hands against those who were at peace with him; He has broken his covenant. The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, But war was in his heart; His words were softer than oil, Yet they were drawn swords.

Cast your burden on the Lord, And He shall sustain you; He shall never permit the righteous to be moved.

But You, O God, shall bring them down to the pit of destruction; Bloodthirsty and deceitful men shall not live out half their days; But I will trust in You.

[katsukikitten]

Oh you so get me. Yeah Uncle Festus pinned up against the tree and fucking Gabby pinned underneath a big ass stone table are you kidding me?? All she ever wanted to do was watch unicorns and be a herald of inevitable endings and she got crushed for it?? Not to mention Cicero's backstory, like the brotherhood was literally just a band of misfits finding family in each other and Astrid was such an ass about everyone following her rules that she made up which in the days of the original brotherhood tenets would make her a heretic.

Idk what version you're playing but before the tenth anniversary release, there was this bug doing the Dawnguard questline where if you started it with a follower, when you find (idk if you've done this quest so I'm just gonna call her Her but basically she's a goth dommy mommy that everyone loves) Her, she would join you and your follower and so me and Her and Cicero were wandering skyrim as this crazy bloodthirsty power throuple and I miss those days cuz they fixed that bug ugh let me have my murderous crazies

As for avoiding the main quest line, I do the same thing lmao cuz if you never go to that ruined tower outside whiterun and kill the dragon there, then dragons literally don't spawn and I find it so annoying trying to just do my thing and suddenly there's a dragon like come on man I'm busy!! But also I agree about the thieve's guild, I wish there was more you could do after the main quest other than the little jobs Vex and Delvin give you and the couple ones from Delvin that fix up the Flagon

Speaking of the Ragged Flagon though, Vekel the Man kinda... 👀 Lowkey most of the people in the guild could get it I have such a huge crush on Niruin and Bryn and Sapphire

-Skyrim anon

YOU MEAN VAMPIRE MOMMY? I dead ass just beat the last part of her quest last night aka killed her dad. Finding her in that puzzle where she's just locked up had me so sad

But I hate, HATE having a follower 😭 they always get caught or go who's there. Like girl we're here and now they know too 😭 like the enemy will go past me and agro her that's how bad it was 😂 I got all three elder scrolls and then killed her dad last night. Which I'm wondering if the boy and arrow are really worth it. Which I also didn't realize that I only had killing her dad left? Cause I took a short break cause her quest line was by far the longest, no complaints tho. But anyway the vampires were getting me more than the dragons 😭 in fact I wish more low dragons would come find me but since I sneak everywhere it doesn't happen

OH I FOUND THE UNICORN TOO 😭 SHE COULD HAVE SEEN IT! no stable for the unicorn or shadowmare have been killing me cause when I fast travel the horse is why vampires agro me 😭 but now I shouldn't have to worry about that hopefully? Delphine wants me to go to some random cave so I guess I'll go explore and fight all the dragons 😭 I know I'm so far from beating the game but I so don't want to get even close because I just LOVE this game. Did you do the quest line with that new island? I started doing a few at the raven point place but then wanted to go back to Skyrim to keep exploring 😂

OH did you ever do that quest line in solitude where you take the guys pelvis bone into the palace abandoned wing to talk to that demon and fight some dudes insecurities for a staff that does what it wants? 😂

[lennart11412]

1Give ear to my prayer, O God, And do not hide Yourself from my supplication. 2Attend to me, and hear me; I am[c] restless in my complaint, and moan noisily, 3Because of the voice of the enemy, Because of the oppression of the wicked; For they bring down trouble upon me, And in wrath they hate me.

4My heart is severely pained within me, And the terrors of death have fallen upon me. 5Fearfulness and trembling have come upon me, And horror has overwhelmed me. 6So I said, “Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest. 7Indeed, I would wander far off, And remain in the wilderness. Selah 8I would hasten my escape From the windy storm and tempest.”

9Destroy, O Lord, and divide their [d]tongues, For I have seen violence and strife in the city. 10Day and night they go around it on its walls; Iniquity and trouble are also in the midst of it. 11Destruction is in its midst; Oppression and deceit do not depart from its streets.

12For it is not an enemy who reproaches me; Then I could bear it. Nor is it one who hates me who has exalted himself against me; Then I could hide from him. 13But it was you, a man my equal, My companion and my acquaintance. 14We took sweet counsel together, And walked to the house of God in the throng.

15Let death seize them; Let them go down alive into [e]hell, For wickedness is in their dwellings and among them.

16As for me, I will call upon God, And the Lord shall save me. 17Evening and morning and at noon I will pray, and cry aloud, And He shall hear my voice. 18He has redeemed my soul in peace from the battle that was against me, For there were many against me. 19God will hear, and afflict them, Even He who abides from of old. Selah Because they do not change, Therefore they do not fear God.

20He has put forth his hands against those who were at peace with him; He has broken his [f]covenant. 21The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, But war was in his heart; His words were softer than oil, Yet they were drawn swords.

22Cast your burden on the Lord, And He shall sustain you; He shall never permit the righteous to be [g]moved.

23But You, O God, shall bring them down to the pit of destruction; Bloodthirsty and deceitful men shall not live out half their days; But I will trust in You.

1 We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing; He chastens and hastens His will to make known; the wicked oppressing now cease from distressing. Sing praises to His name, He forgets not His own.

2 Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining, ordaining, maintaining His kingdom divine; so from the beginning the fight we were winning: the Lord was at our side- the glory be Thine!

3 We all do extol Thee, Thou leader triumphant, and pray that Thou still our defender wilt be. Let Thy congregation escape tribulation; Thy name be ever praised! O Lord, make us free!

[bam-monsterhospital]

ALSO, just observations playing against all the alliances.

fuckinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn daggerfall covenant... is the bane of my existence. and probably everyone else’s.  I don’t know what it is (that’s a lie, i know exactly what it is), but they are horrible to play against: they appear out of nowhere, wait when the two other alliances have fought and one side is weak and recovering, then stampede over everything. Constantly. But the actually annoying thing that isn’t just a tactic, is how ridiculously bloodthirsty they are. i can be out on my own on horseback not a threat to anyone, far away from my alliance AND the daggerfall cov’s alliance stuff, not near anything, and pass by a dc player and they go instantly rabid and will chase me to the ends of the earth frying my ass.  AFTER i’ve made it clear that i’ve acknowledged them and have no reason to fight them. They don’t care. they give no shits. You’ve shown you’ll allow them to quest unimpeded? Welp that’s apparently a weakness on your part, because nothing stops them.

What’s really funny is that apparently this is just a THING with dc players.  I’ve heard so many complaints from other players about dc players doing shit like this to them.

Ebonheart pact: They really need to take a page from the ebonheart pact and practice surprise courtesy. Holy moly, ep enemy players are so fuckin reasonable; i’ve had a few times where the same scenario as above is up, but they wait and when we’ve both established we’re just there with nothing to gain, they’ll let you go. Easily.  Hell, i’ve stood arse out in the open, not a care in the world, absolute fool diving through menus, and one of them just walked up to me, paused, and then went on with his day.  Good shit.

Aldmeri Dominion: playing against ad is... a mixed bag.  Either you have one or two gankers who obsessively go after you just to ruin your day specifically, hunting you down to feel better about themselves or whatever, OR you’ve been annihilated by a zerg rush and they just keep on coming holy shit how many are there?!? That said, playing in cyrodiil as ad is interesting in that the zone chat is constantly alive with tips and plans and questions.  

[mcyt-imagines]

hi! love your writing! could you possibly do dating headcannons for technoblade?! possibly including some kissing/cuddling :)

I’m so sorry this took so long!! I’m finally on break so I’ll be posting a little more frequently for now! Also I got very carried away with this one,,,, um,,, it’s almost 4,000 words long,,, can you tell Techno is my comfort streamer?? And gender-neutral pronouns as usual! (Edit: This is C!Techno btw, didn’t think I needed to point that out seeing as we all know the actual streamer is not a bloodthirsty half-piglin man but I just got an angry anon in my ask box, so I’m specifying.))

Dating C!Technoblade HCs

Techno being half piglin shares their obsession with gold, and in turn, likes to gift you gold as often as he can. Usually, in the form of jewellery that matches his own, he even gifts you a ‘friendship’ emerald, embedded in a choker you wear most days. And of course, if you ask for it, he makes sure to acquire a crown for you to match his own. As a man who forges his own weapons, he is aware of the process of smelting and sure, he could make the jewellery himself but he’s not very crafty with his hands. Dealing with the small potion vials he uses to brew is difficult enough for his large hands, let alone something as finicky and delicate as jewellery. But when he’d asked you to make your relationship ‘official’ per se, he did persevere and make a ring for you, he ended up making several and scrapping too many he didn’t think were good enough. This continued until Phil had to intervene telling him that if he wasn’t gonna hurry up and ask you he was gonna do it for him, mortified at the thought Techno buckled down and despite the ring’s faults, which were only obvious to him, he gave it to you. You adored it of course, and then he told you he had made it, and it only made you love it more. Techno had underestimated how he would feel when he finally saw you wearing it, he almost killed Phil. The two had been sparring outside in the snow when you had come riding up from the nearby forest, the ring on your finger glinting against the early morning sun and stunning him. Him blindly thrusting his sword forward, head completely turned to you as you approached. Only turning away when he noticed your horrified expression. Thankfully Phil was fine, but you were banned from flashing anything too shiny whenever you came to visit. Techno never heard the end of it from Phil and yourself, however, teasing him for it whenever you had the time.

Techno is a man of few words, for the most part. His love language leans closer to physical touch and acts of service. This man craves your touch, you can hold him so gently in your small hands and he can hardly describe the feeling that washes over him. He wonders if he feels contentment, or if he just feels whole for once. The latter terrifies him because he has no idea what he’s going to do if he ever loses you. That’s a lie. He knows what will happen. The voices will finally win, and it’ll be over. He’ll be lost in the consciousness of a mind that was never truly his own, to begin with. But when you hold him he forgets about all of it, his mind feels clear and quiet. Even if it's just for a few minutes he cherishes those moments, holding you tightly to his chest and simply letting himself breathe. You are his rock, undoubtedly. And now that he’s lived without you for so long, he never intends on letting you go.

Techno’s favourite way to cuddle with you is when you’re both lying on the couch, you draped over him, head on his chest. Sometimes he’ll read to you and sometimes you’ll lie with him for hours, begging him to take a break for once. Even Phil can’t pull him away from his work on his worst days, but you never fail to tempt him with warm cuddles by the fire. Another one of his favourites has to be when every blue moon you wake up before him, he’s quite a light sleeper so once you stir, he’ll wake too. But if you manage to remain undetected and get downstairs he will groggily trudge down the ladder, shirtless and hair an absolute tangled mess. Without a word he will simply wrap his arms around you, pulling your back tightly against his chest and nuzzle his face into your neck all whilst grumbling that you left him alone to wake up. You will always giggle and apologise with soft kisses and a steaming cup of coffee, of course, he begrudgingly forgives you. Those slow morning cuddles as you cook are some of his favourites. When you desperately try to scoot around the small kitchen to stop the eggs from burning and he merely holds you tighter, strength easily holding you back as you whine out complaints as he chuckles against your neck.

Techno is such a sucker for you whenever you kiss his scars. He has a few on his hands that you will always target if you ever feel if he is getting quiet or distant. Your lips on his skin always pull his spiralling thoughts back to the present, back to you. Whenever he starts to feel less than human you practically drag the man to your shared bedroom to remind him of how human he is. Sometimes Techno will tell you the tales behind the scars you pay particular attention to, others he won’t, you focus on those the most. Doing your best to lighten the dark clouds that plague him on his worst days.

Techno isn’t one for a lot of PDA, content to hold your hand and occasionally kiss your forehead. However, if he ever feels threatened by any of the other members of the SMP he is likely to hold you close and glare down anyone who dares look your way. But Techno isn’t intimidated by anyone at the moment, meaning he has no reason to act particularly possessive whilst you’re out. This man adores your hands, he loves watching how small they look in his own. He’ll kiss along your knuckles, especially if you’re wearing the ring he gave you, he’ll murmur a soft, ‘Looking gorgeous your majesty.’ Just to watch the way you smile brightly at him when he does, almost always leaning forward to meet his lips with your own.

Techno is plagued by the memories of his past, the voices a constant reminder of this. He can handle them during the day, but it’s at night when he’s most vulnerable to them. The first time Techno wakes from a night terror you are practically thrown out of the bed as he violently jerks around. Which instantly sets you on alert, Techno sleeps like a rock usually. It’s only when you manage to stand up that you can see him, his body is caked in sweat, strands of his long hair sticking to his skin, the sheets are even damp from it. ‘Techno.’ You try to wake him, knowing he’s a light sleeper. But that doesn’t work. Eventually, you cautiously climb back into bed, tenderly holding his face in your hands, noticing tears slipping down his cheeks as he practically trembles. ‘Techno.’ You call his name again, nothing. ‘Techno!’ He shoots up, sending you flying backwards again in case he threw a punch with him. His eyes are wide, pupils blown out. You’ve never seen him look so terrified before, he scans the room, eyes darting every which way until his eyes finally land on you. ‘A-Are you okay?’ You probe, the tears start again, but they are silent and run quick down his cheeks. His breathing is shallow and quick as his eyes seem to lose focus, looking straight through you. You move closer to him, ‘Hey, hey.’ You coo, unsure what the hell is going on because of course, Techno wasn’t going to tell you he has night terrors. You take his face in your hands again, wiping at the tears on his skin. ‘Techno you’re safe, you’re okay.’ You speak clearly before he pulls you closer, shoving his face into your chest, his arms tight around your middle. You wrap your arms around him as best you can, repeating comforting phrases until his grip loosens, and eventually, he pulls you back down to lie with him. You don’t ask him about it until he mentions it the next morning over breakfast. You hold him close as he talks, face emotionless and eyes blank, trying to distance himself from the events even as he retells them. You deserve to know the atrocious things he’s done. And yet you still choose to stay. Even after everything he tells you, you don’t budge from his side. That speaks louder to Techno than any confession of your undying love could.

Techno is a wanted individual and just by interacting with him, you’re put in danger. But being his partner doubles that danger by tenfold. His enemies will see you as his weakness and desire to use you against him. So, he takes it upon himself to train you, he knows the last thing you want to do is be the cause for his capture or untimely death. As much as Technoblade claims he never dies, if it were your life or his he would not hesitate to sacrifice himself for you. This terrifies you beyond belief of course, so you agree to let him train you. No matter if you already are somewhat skilled Techno’s paranoia surrounding your safety will always encourage him to push your skills further. Most early mornings the two of you spend together, sparring for hours until the sun is high in the sky or until you grow too exhausted to continue. Which in the early days, was often. But there comes a day when you finally best him. He doesn’t remember if he was going easy on you or was distracted by his surroundings, scanning the perimeter. He only remembers the moment you knocked him down onto his back, you look down at him panting with such a shocked expression. Techno looks up to you and holds out an arm, you take it ready to pull him back up only for him to pull you down with him. Techno holds you tight to his chest, the sun warm on both of your faces as it reflects upon the surrounding snow. Neither of you speak but you both understand what this means, you’re ready.

Techno isn’t one for grand gestures to prove his love to you. The man is dramatic, sure. But he finds himself yearning for simplicity, and you provide it. He doesn’t tell you he loves you very often, he is a man of few words, you’ve always known this so you never expected it. However, his actions scream it to you. Countless times you have mentioned small complaints about little things in your life and Techno takes them on as if the draft in your window had a personal vendetta against him. As if it had threatened your very life. You’d never seen a man fix a window frame so aggressively before. It was funnier to watch than you’d admit to him if given the chance. On one particular occasion, you mentioned his absence from the cabin, his explanation of the importance of the Syndicate and the new room Phil and himself had constructed. You understood and didn’t mention it again, not thinking anything of it but a necessary and temporary inconvenience. Only for Phil and Techno to be set up at the kitchen table when you came downstairs the next morning, the table covered in tattered books and coffee spill-stained scrolls. You were confused for a moment, spotting the Syndicate plans, codenames, etc sprawled out in Phil’s chicken scratch. Until it clicked. Hauling all of the stuff up from the Syndicate room had been a bit of a pain but the way your eyes lit up in realisation was more than enough for Techno to know it was the right choice.  

This man cannot keep a secret from you. Most may think he isn’t very talkative, but you can hardly get him to shut up sometimes. Not that you’d ever want him to, eager to listen to whatever he has to say. He will always come to you when he feels he needs advice, knowing you will offer a fresh perspective that may give him the breakthrough he needs to make an informed decision. You are his rock and he never wants you to forget that. He may be more talkative with you but that doesn’t stop him from being a fantastic listener. Sometimes he can get zoned out when the voices become too much. In the beginning, you found it difficult to tell when he wasn’t able to listen, but after being around him for so long you’ve got a better knack for it. And sometimes you can’t and you keep talking, he’ll just silently press a hand to whatever part of you is easiest to reach. And that usually gets the message across. Sometimes you can pull him out of his own head, and other times you can’t. So you just sit with him in comfortable silence, usually, you’ll place your smaller hand in his and lean into him. The two of you have fallen asleep countless times like that.

However, sometimes the fact he can’t keep a secret from you leads to some comical miscommunication neither of the two of you foresaw. Phil, Techno and Ranboo had left for around a week in search of a new woodland mansion to raid, following one of Ranboo’s countless maps. Upon their return, Techno seemed visibly, off. He wasn’t being distant or getting lost in his own head, it was more as if he were actively avoiding you. Which was something very un-Techno. What made your worry increase tenfold was when you asked Phil if he had noticed any kind of difference the blonde merely shook his head. “He seems normal to me, mate.” Because there’s no way Phil didn’t notice Techno’s change in behaviour, which means they’re both hiding something from you. Knowing the two men quite well, you knew they wouldn’t break. But Ranboo would. So with your head held high, you sought out to find the boy, only to find out he was staying in Snowchester for the time being but would be returning in the morning. That night thoughts of self-doubt plagued you, wondering if it was something you had said or done that made Techno act strangely. But just as the moon was reaching its zenith, Techno came into your shared bedroom. He beckoned for you to follow him, after putting on some snow appropriate outerwear the two of you were on the back of Carl headed towards the forest’s tree line that faced the cabin. You asked Techno where you were going his only response, “It’s a surprise.” And to say your heart soared would be a slight understatement when the two of you finally reached the forest clearing. A small candlelit dinner for two inside of a dark oak gazebo. One that looked as if it had only been finished recently, the veneer on the wood still in impeccable condition as Techno led you over to it. You were truly floored by this display, stars illuminated in your bright eyes. “Phil and Ranboo helped. We brainstormed on our way back from the woodland mansion. And I, I knew I’d spill the secret the moment you asked. Sorry.” His apology and explanation are curt, much like the man himself.  You hold him tight then, arms wrapped around him for as long as he’ll let you. He chuckles after a while, “C’mon, the food’s getting cold.” He pulls away after pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, pulling your chair out for you because Phil told him to. The blush you provide lets him know he should do it more often. As the two of you begin to finish your food you hear the soft strumming of a guitar and an equally soft voice to match. Floating atop one of the branches in a nearby tree, as if he were trying to sit on it, is Ghostbur. He sends a small and quick wave when you spot him before his hand drops back down to his guitar. “Wow, you really pulled out all the stops for this, huh?” You look back to Techno to find him now stood up, offering his hand to you. “For you. Anything.” You take his hand and he leads you into the middle of the gazebo with a grace you always knew he had. Ghostbur continues to serenade, the two of you dancing in your own private world until the moon was low on the horizon once again.

Whenever Techno leaves to go and fight he knows you worry about him. You do not doubt his skills but his luck is bound to run out eventually. Skill and resources only account for so much of the outcome, luck and fate determine the rest. Techno worries when he leaves to fight as well. He worries about what will happen if he ever loses. When his enemies will come for you, his past now liable to catch up with you as well as himself. He can’t have that happen. That’s why he keeps fighting, he won’t stop until he knows that if he ever falls in battle you will be safe from his enemies past or present. When Techno eventually does get back from the battle, without fail you will swear up and down that he cannot keep doing this and that next time you’re going to leave him to bleed out in the snow on the porch. You never do. But some days Techno thinks you’d be better off if you did. But those are the kind of thoughts you happily kiss away with a soft smile and a few gently spoken words. You are always the one to patch him up when he’s injured, which isn’t often but you remain swift with sutures and bandages despite that. No matter how badly he’s been injured you will always hold him so reverently, with such a gentle expression that it never fails to floor him. Most sessions in which you patch him up devolve into soft gasps and warm hands on your body to repay you for your ‘services’.  

Techno knew you were different from the moment he met you. He acknowledges how stupidly cliché that is, but it’s true. The constant chatter of the voices in his head drowned out the first time he saw you, even if it was just for a moment. They stuttered and stammered, just as he did. You floored them as much as you floored him. When you were with him, they would quieten. As if they wanted to concentrate on what you were saying as much as he did. Not even Phil made the voices act in such a way. Only you. Nowadays they only bother him on certain bad days that grow more and more infrequent the longer you are in his life. You drown them out in a way nothing else in his life ever has. He doesn’t know how he can ever repay you for that but vowing to be by your side for the rest of his life seems to be a good enough start for the two of you.

The first time Techno tells you he loves you is when you’re in battle together. Techno, Phil and yourself had decided to raid a woodland mansion, something all three of you had done before with no trouble. But upon arriving, everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong. This led to the three of you becoming separated within the confines of the thick wooden walls. You were managing to keep a level head but fear was growing in the pit of your stomach. With every vindicator you took down another only seemed to replace it, leaving you tired and heaving for air. You were in good shape all things considered but you were getting tired and soon you would get careless, you needed to find Techno and Phil and get the hell out of here before things got worse. Your totem of undying tied tightly to your waist glints against the setting sun pouring through the large floor to ceiling windows as you charge past, enemies remain at your back as you plough forward heading for the set of stairs you know are here somewhere. As you spot the sacred stairs you hear a shout of pain followed by a deep snarl. You look over the stairs balcony to see Techno swarmed by a group of stubborn Vex. He looks exhausted. Bloodstains him, you’re unsure whether it’s his, the enemies, or a combination of the two. Techno fails to notice the Ravager charging towards him from behind, the axe raised high above its head. The half-piglin far too distracted by the Vex and the aiming of his crossbow at their stupid little bodies. It takes only a moment for you to vault over the second-floor railing and plummet towards the Ravager. You land on its shoulders and it stumbles, your hand shoots out to restrain its axe-wielding arm. The other hand desperately clawing at you as it grumbles and groans grow high pitched and panicked. Your legs wrap tightly around its throat until you hear a sickening pop and you fall to the ground along with the now very dead Ravager. You don’t manage to catch yourself, despite the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You let out a soft groan as a hand comes into view, Techno following it. You take his hand and he hauls you back up and onto your feet. Now that you’re closer to him you can tell that some of the blood staining his clothing is his, but you’re sure you mirror his look. He doesn’t let go of your hand now that you’re stood up and neither do you. You look up from your entwined hands to his face, he’s staring at you with an expression you can’t quite determine. “Tech-“ His lips plant firmly onto your own, swallowing your words instantly. He grips the small of your back, trying to pull you closer into him as if the two of you could fuse into one single being. When he finally pulls away to let you breathe your lungs are burning, soft gasps heaving in air. “I love you-” He mumbles the phrase repeatedly against your lips like a prayer, a mantra, only to capture your lips again before you can even respond to his confession in kind. Eventually, the two of you break apart long enough for you to be able to tell him you love him as well. You knew he loved you before that moment, but in reality, he finally realised how much he loved you. And for the first time, it didn’t scare him.

~Requests are still open! But it’s a little full so please be patient!~

[cienie-isengardu]

Zoro & Sandai Kitetsu

There is something that was bugging me about Zoro’s swords for a long time and now, the Wano arc helped put thoughts in proper perspective. Namely four out of five named katanas used by Roronoa are, in fact, a heirlooms; a burden of someone’s else dreams or ambition or honor that Zoro (consciously or not) carry on while Sandai Kitetsu is the only one sword truly and just his. Because the same as the sword was chosen by Zoro, Zoro himself was chosen by Kitetsu,

The best known Roronoa’s sword, Wado Ichimonji in fact belonged to Kuina who died the night after she and Zoro made a promise that one of them must become the world’s best swordsman. He begged Kuina’s father to gift him with her sword and to honor Kuina’s dream, he created an unique fighting style - Santoryu.

Zoro could just replace one of his swords with Wado and yet Zoro’s fighting style is a fusion of his two-sword style trained since childhood and one-sword style used by Kuina. Which is his way to stay faithful to a promise made between them and maybe a promise between him and Kuina’s father too. That way Kuina - represented by Wado - gets stronger with each of Zoro’s fights and with him, one day will become the best swordmaster. Zoro has carried on her dream since childhood and in fact, their shared promise is both a great motivation AND burden. What was noted by Mihawk  (What burdens you so?) and something Zoro himself was well aware (“I may only have three swords, but the weight of our swords are completely different!“).

Wado is as much a memento of his deceased friend as much a burden to carry on alone. It’s Zoro’s most precious sword and at the same I think it will never truly belong to him. Wado was and always will be Kuina’s. He was not chosen by the great katana - he begged for that  sword and it was given to him by Kuina’s father. Because Zoro cared so much for their vow, when Koushirou dismissed Kuina’s dream when she was still alive. Koushirou granted the precious katana to a determined boy, so his daughter’s dream (and which it, a part of Kuina) could live on.

Wado is Zoro's most precious possession, but it is a “borrowed” katana that never truly was meant for him. It was Kuina who should carry on the white katana. Zoro only carried it in place of her, because she never had truly a chance to spread her wings. Thus, Wado is a memento, a shared dream, a burden and second chance (for Kuina, and maybe for Koushiro too). 

Then we have YUBASHIRI, given to Zoro by Ipponmatsu in Loguetown

Ipponmatsu freely gave Zoro this katana as an apology for looking down on him, once Roronoa proved how well skilled and strong willed swordsman he was by testing his luck against cursed blade. The given sword served him well, up until Enies Lobby, where Yubashiri was destroyed by marine captain Su, a man with devil fruit power of rusting.

Ipponmatsu did not tell Zoro that Yubashiri was in fact his own family heirloom - something pointed out by shop owner’s wife:

but once questioned about the decision, Ipponmatsu asked back “what is wrong with a man entrusting his dream to another man?!”

what implies that Yubashiri, like Wado, carried inside someone’s else unfulfilled dream of greatness.

In Thriller Bark, Yubashiri was buried alongside remains of Brook’s first nakama while its place was taken by SHUSUI.

Shusui was a black sword that belonged to legendary samurai, Ryuma. In Thriller Bark it was wielded by Ryuma’s zombie (with Brook’s shadow) and once Zoro saw the blade, he wanted it for himself, to replace destroyed Yubashiri and was willing to take it from the enemy's dead body. Though the fight was relatively short, Zoro’s skills were acknowledged by Ryuma and in result, Shusui was given to pirate.

Zoro honored his opponent by taking sword and being willing to pretend the match never happened.

Similar to Sandai Kitetsu, Zoro both chose a sword and was chosen (accepted) by the blade. But unlike Kitetsu, Shusui, as the most precious treasure of Wano country, couldn’t truly belong to him. The katana served its master well and Roronoa appreciated it very much, but since Dressrosa arc, he was constantly nagged by people of Wano to give it back. He didn’t care for their complaints and did not plan to do so, yet once asked by Kozuki Hiyori to return it to its rightful place, Zoro finally agreed. Because in the end he respected the dead swordmaster and how much the black sword meant to people of Wano. It was a sacred symbol, a heirloom of legendary samurai Ryuma while he was an outsider. Although Zoro proved his worth to Ryuma zombie, the sword (and Ryuma’s body) was stolen in the first place and Hiyori was willing to give up memento of her late father (personal treasure) for Shusui (a national relic). Such sacrifice proved how much Ryuma’s sword meant to people of Wano and Zoro, despite his claim, returned the black blade to where it belonged - asking only to let him visit Ryuma’s grave once the battle is over.

Shusui was another heirloom, a sword burdened by past and its meaning. It served Zoro well, but it couldn’t truly belong to him.

For returning Wano’s national treasure, Hiyori promised Zoro no less great katana - ENMA.

A legendary sword given to Hiyori by her late father, Kozuki Oden that is said to be the only blade that even injured Kaido. A wonderful gift, but the same as previous swords, it is someone else's heirloom passed to Zoro. Another memento of a dead person. Another burden to carry on. 

While Zoro trained with his new sword, Tenguyama Hitetsu (the creator of Sandai Kitetsu) told him the story behind Enma - Oden’s sword and Kuina’s Wado were birthed by the same man, Shimotsuki Kozaburo. Who, ironically, is Kuina’s grandfather according to SBS. What Zoro may have known now, since he did met Kozaburo as a child.

Anyway, Hitetsu assumed that Hiyori perhaps recognized Wado and because of that offered Zoro her heirloom as a replacement for Shusui. I personally think the reason was more selfish than that. Once Zoro saved her, Hiyori said there was a prophecy that “in time of the resurgence of the Kozuki line, strong, kind samurai from across the seas would come to our aid” and Zoro fits perfectly. Even more, since Zoro’s hometown, the Shimotsuki Village is in fact strongly connected to Wano by Kozaburo no less.

Hiyori, as Oden’s daughter, wants Wano to be a free, safe country again but for this to happen, Kaido must be defeated first. Zoro already proved to be a reliable ally. He came To Wano with her missing brother and Kinemon. He saved her and Toko from Orochi’s assassin and later, from enemy attack once the fight broke out after Yasuie’s death. He is strong (something she saw for herself) and to some degree has the samurai feeling about himself. 

Above everything else, Zoro will fight in the upcoming war against Kaido for the Kozuki clan even though he (like all Straw Hats) has no real obligation to her family. Whether she believed in prophecy or not, by passing to Zoro her family heirloom, Hiyori burdened him with her hopes and dreams for victory and justice for her murdered parents and for Wano country as a whole. She gave an outsider Oden's precious sword that can injure Kaido and by that, placed faith in Zoro. She can’t use the sword, she can’t fight in battle, but Zoro will carry on Oden’s (and her) wish to protect Wano into battle. 

Was Zoro aware of such a possible burden? Who knows. Still, he accepted the blade despite its dangerous nature - and any eventual burden (someone else’s unfilled dreams and hopes) to carry on.

Frankly, Enma and Sandai Kitetsu have a lot in common. Both are dangerous blades that drive weak swordsmen into madness and/or ultimately lead to their death. Both need to be tamed. And Zoro likes them very much, despite warnings of other people. Even manga presents their “introduction” as accepted and appreciated swords by Roronoa in similar way:

Yet there are two major differences between Kitetsu and Enma, what also are true for the three previous swords too.

First, already mentioned and explained the matter of heirloom and connected to that “burden” Zoro carries on alongside. In the case of Enma, once the battle is over and Wano saved, all the faith and hopes put in Zoro by Kozuki Hiyori through the Enma should not burden him anymore. Yet since Hiyori entrusted him the memento of her father, Roronoa will need to make sure to never bring shame to her (and by extension, the Kozuki clan) in later adventures & fights he will face one day. But frankly, this is the same with all of his swords bestowed to him by people who were important to him or which he shared mutual respect. It is strictly connected at core to sword fighting philosophy; to be worth of great blade.

Secondly, Wado Ichimonji, Yubashiri, Shusui and Enma, all those swords are desired and appreciated by swordsmen all over the world while Kitetsu, as a cursed blade, was not wanted. Kitetsu was feared by people, put in barrels between low quality swords in hopes to get rid of it. Even sword maniac like Tashigi, once learning the truth about the katana, did not want that blade despite its high grade and low price on it. She was even sorry for insisting previously Zoro should take it. Kitetsu drove previous owners into horrible deaths to the point “you will not find a swordsmen who’d dare to use a Kitetsu these days”:

Zoro felt that the sword was cursed, before Ipponmatsu had a chance to explain why Kitetsu had such a low price on it. And after learning the horrible truth, he decided to take the blade. The unwanted, bloodthirsty, cursed blade that brings madness and death because no one else would dare to use it. Zoro liked the challenge. Oh, he liked it so much he decided to test his luck (fate) against the curse of Kitetsu, putting his swordmaster future at stake.

The same as Zoro chose Kitetsu, the sword chose him. Like Ipponmatsu said, the sword chooses its owner. And yes, Zoro wanted to have Wado and Shusui but these blades were heirlooms burdened with someone’s dreams and greatness while Kitetsu was the unwanted, dangerous blade with a horrible past that Zoro faced only with his own strong will. No hidden promises to carry on, no ambitions or honor or hopes passed on him by previous owners. No legendary status to live up. Like Wado. Like Shusui. Like Yubashiri. Like Enma.

Sandai Kitetsu is this wild, bloodthirsty sword that was challenged by Zoro and decided to spare this insane man who looked at it, felt the cursed nature and did not throw it away but appreciated it. Something that, I imagine, didn’t happen in years. And there is very strong bond between Roronoa and Kitetsu, because Zoro always can tell apart the cursed blade from other swords

and he kept Kitetsu usually in left (dominant) hand during fight. All those little details give the impression Kitetsu is much more spiritually connected to Zoro’s core than Wado.

In short, Sandai Kitetsu was the only masterless sword Zoro picked solely by and for himself that did not burden him with sentiments, past promises or hopes. And though the sword was “problematic child”, its demonic nature seems to suit Zoro’s own very well.

[huskeddevotee]

Borderlands 3 and the Powerful Man + Crush on woman = Powerful Woman phenomenon

A common complaint in BL3 is how we get spoon fed a narrative of powerful women and girl bosses, without ever seeing strong female characters. No one is actually interesting or with much substance. With the problem of a false feminist narrative, I've had a nagging question in my mind since I first played:

What's up with the crushes?

Zer0 has a crush on Lorelai.

Fl4k has a crush on Ellie. 

Troy has...a thing, for Aurelia. 

Lorelai is an enby who presents and mostly uses feminine pronouns, and is a leader of a small Atlas soldier group fighting Maliwan. Zer0 is an enby/of indeterminate gender who presents and uses masculine pronouns, and is an Atlas spy and assassin. 

Ellie is the owner of the Catcharide and the Sanctuary III's mechanic. Fl4k is an enby bot who is obsessed with death and the hunt.

Aurelia is an older woman who is rich and full of bravado, though not to the point of unclassiness. Troy is a leader of a cult and is both aggressive and intelligent. 

So, this doesn't look bad so far. But look closer and it looks...weird.

We never see Lorelai and Zer0 interact bar an Echo log and a dialogue that may or may not play from Zer0. Troy and Aurelia are fundamental opposites; Troy is a grungy, crass, lowerclassmen, Aurelia is an elegant, classy, hyper-class-motivated woman who detests reprobates. Aside from a one-night stand which is ooc for both, they have no relationship. 

And Fl4k and Ellie…

Fl4k flirts with Ellie once. 

And its not even flirting. 

When the player meets Ellie, if they play Fl4k, their line is "You've got admirable heft, girl."

I am a fat girl. If someone tried flirting with me by telling me I was fat enough for them, that person would be maced. That isn't flirting. It has no grounds for a relationship, but because GB says so, Fl4k says this as a way of showing they like Ellie. 

Now, let's take a look at the boy and enbys.

Troy is a ruthless maniac with a taste for violence and attention. He controls the CoV, even killing a powerful Siren, Maya. He is dangerous. He is depraved. His thing is that he has the masses to throw against whoever oppose him, and years of being out of the spotlight has even turned him against his sister. He's off the rails and taking control. 

Zer0 is a hyper-skilled assassin that is 10 steps ahead of everyone they encounter, predicting enemy plans before they are even made. They are lethal with the blade and incredibly agile, striking fear into their victims with their mystery and oddness. 

Fl4k is a bloodthirsty stalker of men, obsessed with appeasing death after gaining sentience and revels in the fear of their enemies. They've tamed vicious beasts and what they can't sicc the pets on, they take down with a bullet to the head. 

Ellie is a mechanic.

Aurelia is a rich woman who's good at hunting.

Lorelai is a murderous batista. 

Now, the girls are not bad characters. I like them all.

But why do these men like them?

There is no reason or precedent. We have no reason to think these characters have chemistry bar being told there's something there. And all of them are straight - this is notable because the samesex relationship was done wonderfully. They showed chemistry and genuine romance between Wainwright and Hammerlock, why couldn't they with the trio of heteros? 

Because there was nothing to push with Wainwright and Hammerlock.

Every single female character that didn't die, we are told is powerful, a strong woman, a boss lady. 

They weren't. They were stupid, brash, arrogant, and did nothing to advance or control the plot. They told you where to go, and someone else told you what to do. Lilith has nothing to do until the end of the game. Tannis is a factor for 3 things. Ava does nothing ever. Ellie doesn't do anything. Lorelai doesn't do anything. 

Not even Tyreen or Aurelia do anything. Troy does everything for Tyreen until he dies, and Aurelia just taunts you over the Echo and shoots at Hammerlock. On Promethea, Rhys tells you what to do. On Eden-6, Wainwright tells you what to do. On Nekro, Typhon tells you what to do. 

For a game all about strong women, the women have no autonomy and its the men doing everything and moving the plot forward. The only female character that does something significant is Maya, for dying and directly encouraging Troy's abandoned character arc. 

So, we have female characters who aren't convincing as strong, powerful women. 

We know Ellie and Aurelia are powerful and strong - they're fan favorites. Everyone loves Ellie, and for the ten people who like TPS, Aurelia is great fun. Lorelai needed convincing the most. 

What's the easiest way to hammer in "See? They're strong and powerful!"?

Make a strong and powerful male/male presenting character have a crush on them. 

Zer0 is scared of Lorelai and likes it, even messing up the haiku when meeting her. Fl4k admires Ellie’s body - which I’ll get into in just a moment. Troy bottoms for Aurelia. These guys are intimidating and dangerous, so them falling for x woman means x woman is a strong, feminine force that allures them with her strength. 

Wainwright and Hammerlock are good because they were allowed to be a couple. They were just in love and you can see it. The trio never romantically interact beyond telling you "I, scary man, want this woman to step on me" in different flavors.

And what bothers me the most out of all of them is Fl4k and Ellie. Ellie was never a sexual character. She didn't care how people saw her, and didn't care about whether or not she had a man. As a fat girl, I adored her because it was nice to just see another fat girl not be just a Rebel Wilson fat girl. She talked about her body and was happy with it, but it wasn’t just “I am fat and like to f*ck.” 

In BL3, we are constantly reminded that Ellie is desirable and sexy. She tells us she wants to 'show city boys things they only see in nature documentaries'. Everyone's (Sans Zane, bless him) first comment upon meeting her is on her weight and how hot or good it is, rather than saying an actual greeting. You don't do that. You don't greet someone by saying "Wow! You're fat!"

They were trying to be positive about Ellie's body, but instead made the VHs look like feeders. Ellie was positive because her weight did not matter. Making it the only thing about her just...made it weird. 

And Ellie and Fl4k's only flirty interaction is Fl4k telling her they like how fat she is.

At least Lorelai and Zer0 clearly say they like something normal about the other. Lorelai comments that Zer0 is tall, Zer0 says Lorelai is scary in good way. Troy and Aurelia is just an allies-with-benefits, they don't have a romantic connection.

Fl4k, if that line was meant to be flirting, outs themselves as a fetishist. 

This bad character writing and interaction writing happens because we had to be reminded that these characters are powerful, and the only way was to make other characters say "Wow she's hot." The only reason this didn't happen to the main female cast is because they had a main part in the story - Lorelai, Ellie, and Aurelia are all blink-and-you'll miss it. 

The three women not being part of the overarching story means that they don't have a lot of opportunity to show off how capable they are - we have to be told directly, or be shown that they are because someone powerful thinks they're hot. And the thing is, these characters are strong characters, but we aren't allowed to see them be. Ellie was one of the best new characters in BL2, Aurelia one of the favorites of TPS. Lorelai could have been a great character, too. But they just didn’t do anything with them. 

And even stranger, they did this thing with Maya and Krieg.

When Krieg first saw Maya, his thoughts were 1, she's a Siren and could kill me, and 2, I am completely enamored with her. In that exact order. But this doesn’t come off as an attempt of spoon-feeding faux girl power because Maya is blatantly a strong female character. Every second with her, she is in control of the situation and active in the plot, both in BL3 and BL2. You don’t need to be convinced that Maya is a powerful woman, so Krieg being in love with her not only works via genuine chemistry, but because how could he not be? 

But the difference is, with Maya and Krieg, we actually had decent writers who knew how to write relationships between characters and how to, y’know, develop good female characters. 

Which we don’t anymore, evidently. 

[hieromonkcharbel]

Give ear to my prayer, O God; do not hide yourself from my supplication.

Attend to me, and answer me; I am troubled in my complaint. I am distraught

by the noise of the enemy, because of the clamor of the wicked. For they bring trouble upon me, and in anger they cherish enmity against me.

My heart is in anguish within me, the terrors of death have fallen upon me.

Fear and trembling come upon me, and horror overwhelms me.

And I say, “O that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest;

truly, I would flee far away; I would lodge in the wilderness; Selah

I would hurry to find a shelter for myself from the raging wind and tempest.”

Confuse, O Lord, confound their speech; for I see violence and strife in the city.

Day and night they go around it on its walls, and iniquity and trouble are within it;

ruin is in its midst; oppression and fraud do not depart from its marketplace.

It is not enemies who taunt me— I could bear that; it is not adversaries who deal insolently with me— I could hide from them.

But it is you, my equal, my companion, my familiar friend,

with whom I kept pleasant company; we walked in the house of God with the throng.

Let death come upon them; let them go down alive to Sheol; for evil is in their homes and in their hearts.

But I call upon God, and the Lord will save me.

He will redeem me unharmed from the battle that I wage, for many are arrayed against me.

God, who is enthroned from of old, Selah will hear, and will humble them— because they do not change, and do not fear God.

My companion laid hands on a friend and violated a covenant with me

with speech smoother than butter, but with a heart set on war; with words that were softer than oil, but in fact were drawn swords.

Cast your burden on the Lord, and he will sustain you; he will never permit the righteous to be moved.

But you, O God, will cast them down into the lowest pit; the bloodthirsty and treacherous shall not live out half their days. But I will trust in you.

Psalm 55

[stonedandstudying]

Was Lucifer Enthroned in the Vatican?

Written by: Tom Carroll

Just weeks before the transmission of the prophetic Third Secret by Our Lady of Fatima in 1917, Italian Freemasons celebrated the 200th anniversary of the founding of their order by marching in St. Peter’s Square. According to St. Maximilian Kolbe who attended the march, the participants carried signs which read, “Satan must reign in the Vatican. The Pope will be his slave.”

Were they successful?

In July 2019, Church Militant received documents from the Archdiocese of Chicago regarding credible rape allegations against their former Archbishop, which had been covered up by Vatican officials since 1993. The complaint even reached Pope John Paul II, and detailed a satanic ritual conducted in South Carolina in 1957. The rites of the ritual included the rape of the victim (then an 11-year-old girl) and the desecration of the Holy Eucharist.

This account is eerily similar to the appalling scenes in the prologue of the novel Windswept House, by Father Malachi Martin. It should be noted that Martin is shrouded in well-deserved controversy, especially for failing to live a priestly life in some instances. However, after some research, I discovered that the EXACT SAME WOMAN from the Church Militant report told Martin her story in 1990, which he used as the premise for the satanic ritual in the novel. Martin names her Agnes to protect her identity.

What Martin describes in Windswept House was no ordinary satanic ritual; it was THE satanic ritual, in which extremely high-ranking clergy summoned Lucifer himself up from Hell, and enthroned him in the sacred halls of the Vatican. In an interview with Bernard Janzen, Martin stated that the enthronement of Lucifer is an historical fact (20:25). He said that 85% of the characters in the novel are real people and 95% of the events are true, and that it’s “all cloaked in novelistic form to make it easier to digest” (03:42).

Martin’s full account of the enthronement in the novel can be found here (pg. 7-20). WARNING: It’s extremely disturbing. The following is a watered-down and more bearable summary of his account:

The Enthronement of the Fallen Angel Lucifer was planned on the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul. Satanist tradition had long predicted that the Time of the Prince would be ushered in at the moment when a Pope would take the name of the Apostle Paul, which had just happened eight days earlier. The ceremony would take place in the Chapel of St. Paul for good measure.

For the Enthronement to succeed, the unbloody representation of the Sacrifice of the Nameless Weakling on the Cross must be replaced by the supreme and bloody violation of the dignity of the Nameless One. Guilt must be accepted as innocence. Pain must give joy. Grace, repentance, pardon must all be drowned in an orgy of opposites – the ultimate ritual of treachery.

Because of the extravagance of the ritual, many of the rites, with associated accoutrements, must be performed at a “Targeting Chapel” to avoid alerting Vatican security. This task would be carried out by a trusted bishop in South Carolina. Communicating by telephone, it would all be a matter of unanimity of hearts, identity of intention and perfect synchronization of words and actions between the Targeting Chapel and the Target Chapel. The living wills and the thinking minds of the Participants concentrated on the specific Aim of the Prince would transcend all distance.

Pentagrams and black candles appeared in both chapels. In the Chapel of St. Paul, a throne had been placed next to the Altar. The Tabernacle on the Altar was covered with a blood-red veil, and black cloths with satanic symbols covered the famous paintings of Jesus and Paul. In the much larger Targeting Chapel, the Snake Shield and the Bell of Infinity hung from red and black pillars. To the right of the Altar stood a cage with a sedated puppy and another with a dove, surrounded by vials of Earth, Air, Fire and Water. Kneeler chairs aligned in a semi-circle around the alter were flanked by a bowl of bones.

The participants consisted of cardinals, bishops, priests and some of the most respectable lay people in society. Those in Rome wore their normal cassocks and suits. The American participants undressed completely before donning red, sleeveless, v-neck robes. They each grabbed fistfuls of bones out of the bowl, rattling them and humming a ritual din as they knelt at their places. One of red-robed participants held his daughter Agnes in his lap, who was also sedated and clothed in a long, white gown.

Agnes was injected with another dose of drugs and went limp as she was lifted out of her father’s lap and laid on the Altar. The Bell of Infinity rang and the participants rose to their feet and began to loudly chant an ancient chant, which was echoed in the Vatican.

Then, silence. The bishop took a crucifix and laid it upside down against the Altar. “Let us invoke!” he exclaimed, while making a goat sign with his hand. “I believe in One Power,” he began. The participants in both chapels responded, “and its name is Cosmos.” “I believe in the Only Begotten Son of the Cosmic Dawn,” he continued. “And his name is Lucifer,” the participants responded again.

The bishop then reached into the cage and pinned the puppy with one hand while he dissected its organs with the other, prolonging the poor creature’s agony and whipping the participants into a bloodthirsty frenzy. He brought the first part of the ceremony to a close with the words, “I believe that the Prince of This World will be Enthroned this night in the Ancient Citadel, and from there He will create a New Community.”

Next, blood was drawn from a finger of Agnes. The bishop, rubbing the blood on his hand said, “This, the Blood of our Victim, has been shed so that our service to the Prince may be complete. So that he may reign supreme in the House of Jacob, in the New Land of the Elect.” The priest, raising the Chalice and Host, responded, “I take You with me, All-Pure Victim. I take you to the unholy north. I take you to the Summit of the Prince.”

The wine in the Chalice and the Host were transubstantiated and the participants filed by the Altar to receive an unholy communion. Then the bishop and the priest raped Agnes on the Altar in a horrific act of sacrilege.

With the sacrifice complete, the bishop led the ceremony to its culmination:

“By the Power invested in me as Parallel Celebrant of the Sacrifice and the Parallel Fulfiller of the Enthronement, I lead all here and in Rome in invoking you, Prince of All Creatures! In the name of all gathered in this Chapel and of all the Brothers of the Roman Chapel, invoke you, O Prince!”

“Come, take possession of the enemy’s house. Enter into a place that has been prepared for you. Descend among your faithful servitors, who have prepared your bed, who have erected your Altar and blessed it with infamy.”

“Under Sacrosanct instructions from the Mountaintop, In the name of all the Brethren, I now adore you, Prince of Darkness. With the stole of all unholiness, I now place in your hands the Triple Crown of Peter according to the adamantine will of Lucifer, so that you reign here. So that there One Church be, One Church from Sea to Sea, One Vast and Mighty Congregation of Man and Woman, of animal and plant. So that our Cosmos again be one, unbound and free.”

In the target chapel, it was completed with the announcement: “By mandate of the Assembly and the Sacrosanct Elders, I do institute, authorize and recognize this Chapel, to be known henceforth as the Inner Chapel, as taken, possessed and appropriated wholly by him whom we have Enthroned as Lord and Master of our human fate.”

Finally, all participants in Rome and South Carolina swore an oath to serve Lucifer and the Universal Church of Man with their blood. A little silver bell rang three times in the Chapel of St. Paul, and was echoed by the Bell of Infinity in the Targeting Chapel. The ceremony was ended and the congregations adjourned.

The members in the Vatican emerged into the Court of St. Damasus in the small hours of the feast day of Saints Peter and Paul. Some of the cardinals and a few of the bishops acknowledged the salutes of the respectful security guards with an absentminded cross of priestly blessing traced in the air, as they entered their limousines. Within moments, the walls of St. Paul’s Chapel glowed with their lovely paintings and frescoes of Christ, and of the Apostle Paul whose name the latest Peter-in-the-Line had taken.

To conclude, here’s an actual quote from a homily delivered by Pope Paul VI on the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul in 1972:

[youngster-monster]

Day sixteen // Thrill

Uldren and Jolyon are two extremely competent men, the Master of Crows and his right-hand man. They’re the two best shot in the Reef, they regularly run some of the most dangerous missions the Queen can give them. There isn’t much left in the system that can scare them.

Or at least that’s what Jolyon tells himself. It’s a good way to keep the panic at bay while they’re legging it through dark, Hive-infested corridors, desperately looking for an exit. His rifle is heavy on his shoulder, hitting him in the back of his thighs at each step, but the pain is far preferable to what the Hive would inflict on them if the Thralls at their heels caught up with them. He clutches the strap crossing his chest like his life depends on it. It does: if it slides off his shoulder and he trips on his own gun, he’ll die, and in the most pathetic way possible at that.

“See, I told you I’d bring you somewhere interesting!”

He doesn’t look back at Uldren, only tugs on his hand, urging him to go faster.

“Less talking,” he gasps, out of breath, “More running!”

They round a corner, ducking under the disgusting, organic growth covering every surface of this Hive hideout. Jolyon’s foot catches on the uneven floor and he trips, winces as hot pain shoots up his leg. Uldren lets go of his hand. For an irrational, heart-stopping second, he thinks the prince is going to keep running, leave him behind to get eaten by the Hive or whatever terrible fate they have in store for the two of them. Then Uldren’s hand closes around his upper arm, hauling him up and after him.

Jolyon’s ankle hurts. It’s sprained, probably. He keeps running anyway. It’s just another pain to add to the tally, with the chemical burn on his side from a cursed thrall exploding too close to him. They’ve been surprisingly good at avoiding wounds in their mad dash out of danger, but it won’t last. Already his chest burn with exertion and his leg aches with increasing pain. They won’t be able to keep going for much longer.

How did they even get themselves in that situation? They’re good at their job, usually. Going in and out of enemy strongholds like it’s a walk in the park. But they’d been complaining about boredom too much lately. The Ahamkara must have heard.

Damn. He’s never saying anything again about patrol duty. Anything is better than running away from a horde of bloodthirsty thralls in the middle of Hive territory.

Uldren aims blindly behind them and empty a full magazine in their pursuers. One of the bullets hits a cursed thrall. The following shock wave as half a dozen of them explode send them stumbling forward, propelled by the impact. The flash of light briefly blinds Jolyon and he follows Uldren without thinking as he makes a sharp turn left.

He hits a corner with his momentum but doesn’t slow down. Uldren drags him forward, lets go only to scramble up a wall. Jolyon follows as fast as he can, biting his lip until it bleeds to smother his cry of pain as he rests his weight on his sprained ankle. He comes up just in time to see Uldren clear out a gunked hatch with a few kicks, the sound covered by the groaning of the Hive chasing them.

They crawl inside, Jolyon first then Uldren, scooting backward with his gun pointed to the direction they came from. It’s not an air duct, as Jolyon expected. More like a cupboard, filled with rusty pipes. Uldren carefully puts the hatch back in place and they squeeze next to each other, still panting with exertion.

The first thing Jolyon says, once he can get more than a few stammered words out, is, “We’re supposed to be more competent than that.”

Uldren chuckles breathlessly. All the tension seems to drain out of him and he slumps against Jolyon, his head thumping against his shoulder.

“At least it’s not boring,” he whispers back.

Jolyon groans, pushes him weakly. “It’s your fault.”

“Why?” Uldren asks, eyes twinkling with laughter.

“You’re the one always complaining about how boring our assignments are. Didn’t your sister warn you about careless wishes?”

He says it like a joke, but winces when he sees Uldren’s face fall at the mention of Mara. He doesn’t get the time to apologize, though. His body chooses that moment to remind him that everything hurts, actually, and he hisses through his teeth as pain shoots up his leg and through his chest.

The somber look is wiped from Uldren’s face, replaced by worry as he sits up.

“You okay, Jol?”

“M’fine, just-” He closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall. Breathes out, slowly. Forces down the pain through sheer force of will. “Got a bit roughed up back there.”

A weight settles on his legs. He watches Uldren through his lashes as the man looks for his wounds, hands hovering over his chest as if he’s afraid to hurt him more. He’s beautiful, even like this, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, covered in Hive gunk. He tries for a smile and only manages a grimace as he pushes his coat aside to reveal the burn covering his right side.

“Shit,” Uldren hisses. “Looks painful.”

“As long as it’s not my face I don’t care.”

He snorts. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want to ruin your good looks.”

“Aww, you think I look good?”

“Not as good as me, but I’m not asking you for a miracle.”

There’s a pop as he opens his water canteen. Jolyon’s reply is lost when Uldren empties the whole thing over his burn and he has to grit his teeth to keep his scream in. His breathing is ragged by the time the pain subsides. He opens his eyes to glare at the prince.

“This shit will eat right through your flesh if you don’t wash it off.”

“Maybe a little warning, next time?”

“There won’t be a next time. I’ll make sure of it,” Uldren says, voice dark. He rubs comforting circle in his shoulder, his other hand resting on his hips, just under the burn. “How’s the ankle?”

“Sprained. I can walk on it, but-” He trails off, watching Uldren. “Are you okay? It’s not the first time I got hurt. I’m used to it, you know.”

Uldren rubs his forehead, sighing. “I know. I’m just tired. I hate the Hive.”

“Can’t fault you on that. How long before we can move out, you think?”

“Few hours, maybe? I signaled for an evac, we just have to wait for it the reach us.” He shifts his weight slightly, leaning in. “In the meantime, I have a few ideas to keep us entertained...”

Jolyon huffs a laugh. “Really? Here? Do you have a Hive kink or something?”

Uldren doesn’t dignify him with a response. He closes the gap between them, bites his lower lip gently before capturing his lips in a kiss. Jolyon wraps his arms around his shoulders, drawing him in. Uldren hums appreciatively against his mouth. He deepens the kiss and, out of the blue, presses his fingertips in the fresh burn on Jolyon’s side. His pained gasp turns into a moan, swallowed by Uldren.

“Asshole,” he mutters against his lips.

Uldren smirks. “You say that like you’re not enjoying it.”

Jolyon’s hands travel down his back, settle on his ass. He pulls him closer, delights in the sound it elicits. “Quiet,” he whispers. “There won’t be any time to kill if you attract the Hive here and they kill us.”

The prince looks faintly outraged, either at the implication that he’s noisy — which he is, thank the light for soundproofed walls — or that he can’t be quiet if he wants to — which is still up to debate. He opens his mouth to reply—

Jolyon drags him back down in a kiss, smothering his complaints. Maybe they have a few hours to kill, but it might not be enough for all the things he want to do to Uldren. Better get to it quickly.

[thepineapplejuicer]

Title: Know It All

Chapter one

Nightcralwer fanfic (I do not own the X-men or the gif, I do not claim to own any Marvel characters).

Violet Ashbourne is a gifted human hacker in possession of a radio, a secret device that gains her access to a large underground information network and electronics all over the world. Human and mutant coexistence has always been her goal, but will the betrayal of her mutant mother and father- once partners to her rise to power- distort her beliefs? Will the X-men be able to save her from her own pride and ambition? Or will she sacrifice everything, including the only boy she’s ever trusted, for vengeance?

"State your name into the microphone." As he speaks he adjusts the lamp so that the heat of the bulb is inches away, blinding me. I squint my eyes, more irritated than intimidated. Slowly, I lean over to the small black microphone on the table, "Violet Ashbourne."

He nods and sifts through a file, fingers tapping on the metal table between us. He glances at my hands, "I like that nice jewellery of yours."

I do not say anything, nor do I look at the thick metal bands burned into the skin of my wrists.

"You probably don't even feel those handcuffs through those bands, huh?"

I stay silent.

"Miss Ashburne, could you please explain to me why you were out so late?" He asks leaning back in his chair. I stare directly into his eyes, "I was going to the grocer's-"

"Into the microphone, Miss Ashbourne."

I clear my throat and speak louder into the microphone, "I was going to the grocer's to pick up some things."

"The grocer's?" He asks unconvinced.

I nod.

"At 3:00 A.M in the morning?"

I nod again.

"Tell me, what were you picking up?"

"Skimmed Milk."

"It couldn't have waited until morning?"

"It was morning," I smirk.

His mouth opens briefly, but he decides against speaking. Again, he looks down at the file, that I knew had extremely vague information about me, and starts to play with his pen. He inhales sharply through his nose, "What I am still pondering is how your little trip to the grocer's turned into a bloodbath."

I shift my eyes to the side.

"So, Miss Violet Ashburne, let's stop with the mind tricks." His voice rises and the palms of his hands come crashing onto the table as he gets up, sending his chair to the floor with a loud bang, "What happened that night?!"

"Officer Bradshaw, that is enough!" A woman's voice peels from the tables vibration. We both look over to see a woman dressed in a pastel purple button-up, tucked into a sleek black pencil skirt. She is calm, yet her eyes bleed with anger and justice. Her hair is chestnut brown, curls laying over the sides of her breasts as she stood tall and prominent. She takes a step toward the table, her heels clicking on the hard tile floor.

"Who are you?" Officer Bradshaw questions with a lack of respect.

"I am Miss Ashburne's lawyer."

"Lawyer? She never called for a lawyer."

"She doesn't need to Officer, she is a minor which means you have no right speaking to her without another adult present."

"She's still a suspect."

"She is a witness. Not a suspect, your chief of command made it clear that if you had not gained a reasonable amount of evidence that linked her to the crime in 24 hours she was to be released."

Suddenly another man enters the mirrored room, round and hefty with a mustache holding bits of crumbs between its strands. "We have to let her go, Bradshaw." he says, giving me a nasty look. "Sir, I just need 12 more hours. If you could just-"

"Not if she is a minor." The woman speaks up.

"Her parents haven't claimed her."

"I am here for that reason. We all know that if you couldn't find out anything connecting to the case in 24 hours that you couldn't find out anymore in 12."

I can't help but snicker to myself and move my face away to hide it.

Bradshaw's neck spins back to me, "After I find the answers I'm coming after you."

I smile as I am lifted up by the chief and unlocked from my handcuffs. Bradshaw's eyes never leave me as I am escorted out of the police station. As my lawyer and I walk through the desks I lean over in a hushed whisper, "They booked me."

She answers calmly, "It has been handled."

*********************************************

Once outside I rub the metal braces on my wrists as the woman guides me to a black taxi parked in front of the police station. She opens the door for me and sits at my side. As the driver starts the cab I hear a muffled scream, "STOP!"  We all turn and see Bradshaw running out of the police station doors.

"Go." My lawyer demands.

The driver turns his head forward and speeds away, leaving Bradshaw stumbling in the street. "Your software works fast, Violet," she says looking up at me. 

"Unlike you, Nisha. You were late." I grumble, still running my palm over the metal bands. She smiles, "So glad you are the grateful type." she fumbles with her skirt, "you know how much I hate wearing stuff like this."

"Do you have my laptop?" I ask, not concerned with her complaints.

Nisha pulls it out and lays it in my hands, "What are you doing?"

"Making sure my information is completely erased." I tap along the keyboard quickly, silently inserting myself into the police station's database.

"We have company. Looks like they didn't like you going through their stuff." Nisha grins as she hears the sirens behind us. She leans over to the driver, "lose them."

I continue to stare at the laptop screen, "They noticed the virus to quickly, there is still a few bugs in my software."

"I kept track of the time. It took 17 minutes before they knew it was erasing your fingerprints, name, and pictures." Nisha explains.

"It should have given us more time. I apologize, I thought I had it all down." I answer firmly searching through the virtual breadcrumbs for my information.

"Not to worry, Boss, just a small inconvenience." Nisha looks over at my laptop, "Well?"

I close it and hand it back to her, "It's like we were ghosts." I grin. A sharp turn sends Nisha and I against each other as the driver swerves the car to the right. I glance back at the sirens behind us and then at the driver, "May I remind you that you are holding precious cargo?!" I earn a chuckle from him as I yell. "Easy on the turns, yeah?!" I groan and fold my leg over the other. Nisha and I are pushed against our seatbelts as we are bumped by the speeding police cab behind us. I turn to look out the small back window of the cab and see Officer Bradshaw's face, squished from his furrowed brows and enraged the moment his eyes land on me. I smile and snap my fingers for Nisha.

"Let him hear it."

"On it boss." she nods as she pulls her hair back. "Try to keep the car steady." She says to the driver. I put as much distance as I could between us so that my bands don't interfere with her powers. As she pushes the car door open, leaning out and gripping the frame of the door she inhales a gust of wind. Nisha aligns herself with Bradshaw's cab and lets out a bloodthirsty screech. I plug my ears and shut my eyes as the glass around me shatters. Her scream pulls my vision into a blurry mess as I move my head out my window, glass dusted along the frame, and see Bradshaw's cab fall back, stunned by Nisha's cry. I unplug my ears as she pulls herself back into the cab. "GO!" I yell. The driver takes several sharp turns, Nisha's laugh echoing in my head. "So roughly three or four feet is the distance we should keep?" she asks me. I smile, "give or take."

"Looks like their gadget isn't full proof." She grins pointing at the bands around my wrists. before I am able to answer the cab comes to a skidding stop, ahead of us more police cars begin to gather as those behind us search the taxi cabs and trolley buses. "Take this road," I demand. The driver turns slowly into the neighborhood of flats and continues down the road until we reach an abandoned car lot behind buildings and trees. The car jerks forward as the driver sets it into park.

"Is it safe here?" I ask.

"Yes, this lot is hidden-"

I interrupt Nisha immediately, "not the lot, the cab." I look into the driver's rearview mirror and raise a brow. He places his hand on his cap and takes it off, turning toward me. "Bronco?" I smile uncontrollably.

"What, didn't think I would side with you?"

"After what happened-"

"Nisha and I have been loyal to YOU from the beginning, not your father."

"You have no idea how comforting that is." I sigh, laying back into the leather seat.

"Listen, I don't want to pressure you, but we need a plan."

"Bronco is right," Nisha begins, "We can't stay in Britain, you have too many enemies here and after Moriarty finds out you survived he isn't going to want to keep it that way."

"I've been missing Russia." Bronco hints in a high pitched tune.

"Too dangerous, my father hacked at least half of my contacts, he will know the moment we set foot in any counties around Europe." I stop to think, suddenly my face lights up, "But he didn't hack into any of my newest contacts."

Nisha and Bronco look at me, puzzled. "I've been working on something in America, New York specifically, a safeguard if you will."

"America?" Nisha questions, "Why there?"

"Moriarty has a bounty out for him by the entire country and as for my father, he wouldn't dare step foot in America, not with everything that is happening with the mutants."

"I thought people still believe we are myths?" Bronco adds.

"The government is looking into it and if they got their hands on my father they would have so much power, but if we hide there I'm sure we will be able to regroup and figure out this whole mess."

"Right, who's going to question a 16-year-old human, British girl accompanied by two mutant bodyguards?" Bronco smiles sarcastically.

Nisha pulls out her phone as I speak, "I'm not going to ask you to give up your lives and come with me, if you want to disappear I will give you the funds for it. Your powers no longer work when I am in range, after what they did to me if you are at least five feet from me you're both vulnerable." I pause, "Just like me."

There was a long silence as we sat, bronco's blonde hair swaying from the slight breeze in the car and Nisha's fingers tapping on her phone are the only movements. 

"Do you remember when you found me in Russia? Frozen, starving, beaten and moments away from death?" Bronco asks in his thick Russian accent, staring into my eyes, "You told me that I never have to feel alone again." he took my hand in his, "I'm returning the favor."

"As am I." Nisha adds, "I just bought three tickets to JFK in New York."

I look at them both as a smile spreads across my face, "I couldn't ask for a better gang of misfits."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After landing in New York we made it to an abandoned factory, hidden between thick trees and rubble. "This doesn't seem your style," Bronco admits, smearing his fingers along the dusty crates. His long trench coat grasps onto the dirt as he turns to gaze through the skylight. Nisha's slim figure examines the labels of containers, trying to piece things together. I continue to lead them through the unlit, damp part of the factory until we hear a rush of water and sunlight beaming at the end of a hall. We walk over the railed walkway as the river below us runs angrily,. "This used to be a lumber factory!" I yell over the loud current. "What in the world have you been doing with a lumber factory?!" Nisha yells back. I grin to myself as we arrive at the other side of the factory was I guide them to a metal platform, behind towers of chopped lumber. 

The two of them stand at my side as a glass frame closes us off from the factory. I scan my hand on the reader and chuckle as I notice Bronco and Nisha glancing up, ready to go the next floor.  "You're looking the wrong way, guys."  Their bodies jump as the elevator shoots down into a dark, vertical tunnel. I watch their expression go from confusion to amazement as we enter the underground city. The elevator sinks down as we stare at the buildings hanging like icicles. Roads twist around shops and untouched cars are parked along the sidewalks. The entire city is empty and a virtual sunny sky glitches briefly before changing into rain. "My god," Nisha whispers. "Now THIS is your style!" Bronco utters. The marble hall that surrounds the city is separated by a glass barrier allowing us to examine the gothic city above the streets and walkways.

 "It's just like Purgatory back in Britain."

"The scale is much smaller, but yes the design is similar. " I explain, "Welcome to Sanctuary."

Bronco's mouth drops, "how did you find time to build this?"

"And the money?" Nisha adds.

"I know a guy," I answer with a smug look as the elevator comes to a halt. We step onto the marble floor and look down into the city, synthetic rain falling onto the glass that separates us from the dome. "This is amazing, Violet!" Bronco laughs. I walk along the rounded windowsill that wraps around the entire city to an automatic platform, hearing Nisha and Bronco rushing to catch up. "What is this part of the city?" Bronco asks as we are taken around the large circled frame. "Think of it as a patio." I smile, leaning against the slick railing. "It looks like the airport, you know the escalator, but flat," Nisha says looking back at the disappearing entrance. "This will be the point of entry and exit, after all, we need to make sure our people can come and go as they please."

"Wait," Bronco looks at me, "You're actually going to turn this into a second Purgatory? Fill it with people and all?"

I turn around and grin.

"Damn, for a sixteen-year-old you sure have some ambition."

"I've estimated that this city will be able to fit 75,035 people. This place was being built by the previous owner of the radio, the 'commander' as we know him before I became the owner of it of course. I just turned the lights back on. I have reason to believe he was in charge of Purgatory before my father took control of it."

"How did you get your hands on the Radio anyways?" Bronco asks cautiously. 

I remain silent and push the memories of how I acquired this access to the dark part of my mind, not wanting to relive it. It still haunts me.

It takes several minutes before we reach the other side of the circled "patio" and hop onto another elevator that takes us up to a dark office. I clap my hands together and several television screens light up. "This is my office." I grin sitting in a revolving chair in front of the monitors. "You sure have a lot more room than the one in Purgatory." Bronco grins.

I lean down to a USB port and plug in the 'radio' I kept hidden on my body and allow all my data to download. I get up again and walk toward the one-way window looking out into the underground city, "This is nothing like Purgatory." I begin, "This, all this, will be for the people, NOT for my power. I will not become my father."

"Well said, Boss." Nisha smiles as she and Bronco stand at my side. "It has its bugs, but it is ready for some test subjects. I want you two collecting a handful of homeless, run them through Bronco's training and give them a home. Start with humans then move on to mutants. No more will they have to be alone."

"What will you do... about everything?" Bronco asks.

I sigh and hear my computers chime, "I am going to get these damn things off."

I sit down and give them a demand, "Leave me, I have to set up a meeting."

They obey and I tap on my keyboard until I find everything I need to know about a single man within seconds. I lean back in my chair once I acquire the information, my white hair grazing my jawline.

A name blinks in the dark office.

"Charles Xavier."

(Chapter two is now posted)

[lassluna]

Freeing the Witch (3/20)

beta read by @notoriouscs

Once Upon a Time, there was Emma Swan the Savior and Killian Jones the fearsome pirate Captain Hook. But this is not that time, this is not that place, this is the time of the Dark Swan and a cowardly Deckhand who dares to think he could save her and live to tell the tale…Especially when things get complicated.

ffn Ao3

Chapter 3

The Plight of a Sailor

This is a suicide mission. He knew that before he'd agreed to take her out of port. Sailing her alone was hard enough. Had he been any other member of her crew, it couldn't be done. But this was the Jewel. He knew every nook and cranny, every little quirk, every dent. He lived his entire life on this ship, under vastly different captains for sure, but she is his home.

Why did he agree to this?

The Captain is going to banish him, fire him. He will never again set foot on the Jewel, that is if he survives. The Captain once cut off the hands off a pirate who flirted with his woman. He made Killian quake in terror, and that was before he met her, the Dark Swan, before he hurt the guard, before he had made himself an enemy of the crown.

Killian doesn't know what he's feeling, other than sick. His head throbs, and he wants to curl up and scream. Sure, he had saved her. , he doesn't regret his actions, but still, he had hurt someone.

He's back on the Jewel at least. Maybe the familiar environment will provide some sort of comfort, even if it wasn't home to the most pleasant of memories lately.

He bandages his right hand clumsily with his left. The slash from where he held the dagger was long and deep along his palm, dripping blood on the Captain's table. While he is used to bandaging his own wounds, it isn't often that he has to do it one-handed.

He's not going to be happy when I get back , Killian shivered. And not just about the blood.

"Hey pirate, have any good rum in this boat?" asked the woman prancing in, interrupting his thoughts. He picks up his head to look at her, jaw dropping slightly.

Instead of the ratty blue dress she had been wearing, she'd stolen a pale yellow shirt from one of the cabins. It hangs far too low on her chest for his comfort. Beneath it, she is wearing brown leather pants, and over it, a dark blue leather vest that hugs her body more tightly than he thinks he can handle. Her hair looks tamer, held behind her head by a piece of rope. Her eyes are as wild as ever, just trained on him. She licked her lips slyly, obviously teasing him for staring. He averts his eyes, not wanting to appear rude.

Get it together, Jones.

"I haven't had a drink in months!" She prances past him, eyeing the Captain's liquor cabinet greedily.

"I w-wouldn't touch that!" he exclaims in near panic, reaching forward to stop her. There was nothing the captain hated more than someone touching his liquor. And if she does, he will surely be blamed.

His complaint falls on deaf ears, as she's already hunched over, hastily riffling through them bottles. He hears them clink together as she searches. "The Captain doesn't like it when someone messes with his rum," he tries once more.

She stands up, a bottle of amber colored rum in one hand, the other hand placed firmly on her hip as she looks at it skeptically. "Cheap stuff…" she mumbles unhappily, before her eyes shoot back to him. Killian shifts uncomfortably.

There is something about her eyes, those emerald eyes, that makes him feel exposed.

There is something about her that makes him feel like she is about to consume him on the spot.

"I thought you were the captain of this ship?" she questions. He feels his face turn red as he averts his eyes, choosing to focus on his cut hand rather than her, rather than on the fact that he isn't the captain she expected. He wishes he were though. He wishes the Jewel were sailing under his command and under her proper name.

"Ah…well…" he mumbles, trying to find the words. Her eyes lock on his, and in one quick movement, she steps closer and yanks his hand toward her face. He yelps in surprise. With a simple pull, she removes the bandages that he spent the last twenty minutes tying. His cut shoots pain up his arm. Killian bites his tongue, trying to keep at least a bit of his pride.

She smirks at his unsuccessful attempt at a brave face. She pours something on his hand. It stings painfully, and he tries to pull his hand back. He can't. It's trapped in her grip.

"What the hell is that?" he nearly shouts. It feels like she just set his hand ablaze!

"Rum," she informs him. "And a waste of it." She places the bottle on the desk (after a quick sip, of course), then wraps a new bandage around his hand, much more securely than he had managed. She releases his grip as soon as she finishes, reaching for a second gulp of rum. She takes a seat in the Captain's chair, putting her feet up on his desk.

"Now talk. Who are you? How did you know I was up there?"

The unspoken threat spins in her eyes. Not answering is not an option.

"Killian Jones," he introduces himself proudly, something he should have done earlier. He would have berated him for his bad form in inviting a woman onto the ship without at least telling her his name. But he' s not here.

"Not the captain," she adds, attempting to hand him the bottle. He refuses quickly out of habit.

It was often a trap, the other sailors trying to get him hammered for entertainment at his expense. Eventually he learned to say he was allergic, though truthfully, he just can't hold his liquor.

"No. Not the captain," he agrees darkly. Killian doesn't like to be reminded of that. "Nor the lieutenant, nor…any reputable position." She raises a brow but says nothing.

"As for how I knew you were there, everyone in the realm knows that. It's not a secret, I'm afraid." She doesn't look phased by the admission that her imprisonment was public knowledge, that everyone knew but no one else came to her rescue. "A stranger asked me to free you. I refused, not having a ship of my own, nor the skills required." He remembers leading the stranger to his captain's cabin, hearing whispers, and then the Captain ordering him inside.

"But the offer became something I could not refuse," Killian explained vaguely. "Not if I value my life." She chuckles, crossing her arms.

"Someone threatened to kill you if you didn't come save me? I doubt it," she huffs. "Try again," she says ominously, waving a mass of darkness in her palm. No stated threat is needed.

He shrugs, backing away. "Not in so many words," he corrects quickly. "And nothing so bloodthirsty. He just made it extremely difficult for me to return to my life unless I bring you back."

She tenses, gripping the rum bottle, her magic flickering from her other hand as quickly as she conjured it. "Make no mistake, love, you are not my prisoner, not that I could keep you if I wanted. He just wants to meet you in our port."

She smiles slyly, rising from her chair. She appears to find something he said amusing. She is stepping toward him, getting dangerously close. "And do you, not-captain Jones? Want me?" she purrs.

Killian, backed into the wall, turns red, visibly scrambling for a respectful, yet not insinuating reply. His discomfort makes her laugh wildly, her hand brushing against his arm.

"I…er…well…" he steps around her, nearly tripping on his feet. He can't think of an appropriate response.

"I have to go man the helm. I've left it unattended far too long," he excuses, relieved when she lets him pass.

"Fine Jones, ruin all my fun. I'll figure you out eventually," she says. "In the meantime, I think a celebration is in order!" He doesn't look back to see what that means. He assumes drinking and messing with the Captain's things.

That lass is trouble. He just needs to stay strong, resist her until they reach port. Then she'll be on her way, and hopefully, the Captain won't decide to kill him.

That's all he can hope for.

By the time he reaches the helm and grips the wheel, his tension is already easing. He remembers learning to sail when he was but a lad, running around the deck bothering all the sailors with questions. He had been happy then. He had been so happy.

Killian's thoughts wander to her, the Dark Swan. Had she been happy once? Had she been free? Legend and lore told of villages she slayed, people she took in the dead of night, manipulating their hearts and souls only to kill them in front of their loved ones.

The stories never spoke of how she walks with confidence, how she commands attention, how she wields a weapon. The tales never captured how angry and hurt she was in the tower, how brilliantly she fought for freedom.

He had once said that a woman worth having was a woman who fought for what she wanted, never interested in those who let men tell them who they were. Killian still remembers the times he would be out courting a woman, his true love according to the man. Killian heard that the love was forbidden, but he never cared. He was a pirate and pirates took what they wanted.

If he had been here, he wouldn't have backed away from the Dark One's challenge.

But Killian isn't him.

So when the Dark One asked him what he wanted, he couldn't answer. He couldn't tell her, because he didn't know. He isn't even brave enough to know in his heart what he wants, let alone to take it.

Killian is a bloody coward.

A noise makes him look up from the spot on the deck he was staring a hole through.

"What the-." His words die in his throat as someone reach into his chest.

"Oooh. Let's see what we've got here."