#conflicts between family and friends erupt

[girlwithadragonheart]

Guys Hecate, Lilith, Hades, Persephone, Artemis, Apollo, and Hermes are mad mad

How did we fuck up this badly. Hecate’s flame will not calm down, she’s almost lit my peacock feathers on fire twice I had to move them. Mind you her candle is the size of a coffee mug.

The gods are not happy. Every witch I’ve talked to knows it too. They’re building an army. They’re staging a rebellion.

People so blatantly disrespect their only gateway to this world. A woman’s womb.

My gods are ready to fight for us, and at this point I’m letting them take charge.

[narcissarina]

“An age-old vendetta between two powerful families erupts into bloodshed. A group of masked Kennedy’s risk further conflict by gatecrashing a Capulet party. A young lovesick Romeo!Leon falls instantly in love with Juliet!Reader, who is due to marry her father’s choice.”

— Romeo and Juliet AU

Romeo!Leon, a type of person who'd refuse such risk, such as crashing the Capulets feast. A feast to introduce their one and only daughter, Juliet!reader, but the temptation and thrill got the best of him. He'll join in, but! It was also to be sure that his friends won't make an utter fool of themselves at the feast.

Romeo!Leon, who got into his disguise with his friends, finally got inside the feast as he got seperated from his friends. People dancing along the melody of the music, panic somehow sets in to Leon as he could not find his friends within the party—causing him to bump his back to yours.

Romeo!Leon, whose eyes sparked when he set his eyes to you, like a chanted love curse. He was mesmerized and hypnotized by your sore beauty, he even forgot to breathe when you ask him if he's doing alright and that he might've stopped breathing.

Juliet!reader, where you finally have come to age and have your family plan a feast to officially introduce you as the Capulets only daughter that has finally had come to age.

Juliet!reader, whose parents aren't that strict and cared for your happiness and wishes. But news flashes to you when you found out that your parents had arranged your marriage with somebody whom you do not love, nor wish not to love.

Juliet!reader, who's in a panic and had the urge to ran away—away from the feast, away to anyone at all! Where you are wearing your red elegant dress, where the time strikes to finally have you introduce to the people.

Juliet!reader, who's in the run and hide bump to a “guest” and immediately apologizing to them as you finally set your eyes to him. Eyes sparks as if it was love at first sight, he too probably feel the same, right?

“sir?” you called, his eyes fixated to yours—his blue eyes could be described as the color of the midwinter sky. He was lost for words, he was mesmerized and got lost by your beauty. How perfect your eyes is and how melodic your voice is—as if he heard an angel call out to him.

“y-yes?” he stammer, fixing his composure and clearing his throat—his voice sounded kind and sweet. He could finally breathe as he hold his breath when he was so lost by admiring you up close. Despite the mask, you could tell that he's handsome, the way the corner of his lips tug a sweet smile as he greeted you with a bow.

Before the two could greet one another, your nurse called for you—desperate to find you and bring you to your parents to finally have you introduce, as such—seeing such scene. Your nurse was surprised, it was sweet but she does not recognize the man nor is he from the Capulets. Hence in a hurry, she escorted the two to the main hall to feast and join the dance.

Guests dancing, cheering and laughing, chattering then silence came along. You leaving the mysterious boy alone as you come up the stairs to your parents, a formal and welcoming greeting as the Capulets finally introduced you to everybody in the feast. They cheer and clap, but he on the other hand—was still lost by your beauty.

He fell inlove, it was love at first sight.

Absurd as it is, but it was the truth. Y/n, your name runs through his heart and thoughts. As the loud yell and chatter and claps faded from his hearing, as if the world had faded and thought that it was only you and him. Nothing more.

The only daughter of the Capulet, you, came down the stairs and walk towards the boy. No one utter a word, only the eyes could tell. The feelings were mutual, as the two of you really did fell inlove at first sight, “Leon.” He said, introducing himself, “so, you were y/n. You are a beauty, I couldn't help but feel captivated by you.” You smiled at his compliment.

The two dance, he offered first as you took his hand then guided you to the dance floor and gracefully dance along the soothing music. As each step you take, he follows—his eyes never leaving yours as he was memorizing every features of your beautiful being and his hand rest to the back of your waist, leans in to kiss you but soon rather interrupted when his two idiotic friends tried causing a ruckus.

He was exposed.

He wasn't from here, he wasn't from the Capulet, but your heart speaks his name as he flee from the feast and gave you a quick peck from the cheek as he yell, “I'll come back for you, my princess.”

Romeo!Leon, who finally made his escape from the feast with his idiotic friends who caught him in the act with the Capulets only daughter. They tease him and acted out what they saw Leon do to you; hands on waist, slow dancing, and even leaning in for a kiss.

Romeo!Leon, who left his friends and gone off to bed but couldn't sleep when you linger through his mind. Preventing him to sleep as he recalls the way you smile and look at him with those pretty eyes. He could only smile and giggle at himself like a lovesick idiot.

Romeo!Leon, who snuck out from his room to go see you as you were out in a daze from your window. Smiling and giggling to yourself, as you repeat his name like a love spell.

Juliet!reader, who was caught in the act with the boy who wasn't from the Capulet side, you were brought back to somewhere private to have a matter of discussion with your parents.

Juliet!reader, whose parents finally broke the news to you that you got engaged to a marrage that you do not want, and to a man that you never loved. The man who will never be Leon, as your mind, heart and soul speaks his name.

Juliet!reader, who was upset and cried in front of your parents. Demanding nicely to call off the wedding, she doesn't want to marry someone who isn't Leon. You do not care if he wasn't from the Capulet side, your hearts speak to him. You need him, and he'll be the only boy or man that you will marry, and if your parents can't give you that. Worse things might happen as you take love and marriage seriously.

Leon saw you in a daze from your window, your expression speaks different emotions as it shifts to annoyed to happy to something you're pouting about and to something that makes your toes curl.

“y/n!” He yelled as it snaps you back to reality, you turn your head and smiled down at him, “Leon!” your tone so loving and sweet, he wants to climb up and kiss you here and there. And maybe do more.

Time pass as the two chatter and share their good times to one another, you were lost with your ramblings and never notice that Leon was finally behind you.

“And my parents set me up to a wedding that I do not want, making me marry to a man that my heart does not speak of.” You huff a pout as a hand embraced you from behind, his nose against the crook of your neck. He tilts up as his lips were next to your ear, “That's horrible, who does your heart speak of?” he asked.

“You.” you utter as heat rose from your cheek, you receive a charming chuckle from him. “Do not laugh at my situation, Leon!” you pouted, “aren't you a little concern that I will not be marrying you if that happens?” you added, turning your head to the side to look away from him.

“Then..” he turns you around to face him, your eyes close and focus to the side as his forehead press against yours, “I'll steal you away from your wedding.” he added, chuckling at his own joke.

“But in all seriousness, I want you to be mine as much as your heart wants me.” he leans and kiss your forehead, “Let's get married tomorrow..?” he propose the idea, you turn to him—hands on his chest as both of your bodies were pressed to one another.

“Talk about short engagement, but..” your fingers tracing circles over his chest, “I would love that...”

Leon pulls you even closer, eyes only focus to yours as his hand cups and caress your cheek—finally leaning in slowly to press his lips against the softness of your own.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.” — Romeo and Juliet, Act 2 scene 2.

Juliet!reader, whose parents seek your presence to have another discussion with you as they realize their mistake in making this arranged engagement, wanting to confront you about the incident with the boy who snuck in the feast just yesterday.

Juliet!reader, who's anxious and nervous why your parents had called for you. Had you seated infront of them as silence followed.

Juliet!reader, who got understanding parents finally reasoned to you and will find a way to call off the engagement as they asked you a question regarding your feelings to the boy from the other side.

“We may just have met yesterday from the feast, but...” you utter, a smile on your face as Leon was always in your mind. “I know that he is the man for me, mother.. Father.” Both of your parent look at each other, sighing—not because of disappointment, but rather a defeat sigh.

“I will have the marriage cancel. I'll try my best, sweetheart.” Your father smiles, stands up and caress your cheek and brush back a strand of your hair as he left the room. Completely stunned as you are, you turn to your mother.

She only smiled and sat beside you as she took your hand to hers, “may this marriage bring you happiness and desires.” she said and caress her thumb to the back of your hand.

Speechless as you are, whether this is real or not—but all you knew that they acknowledged your love for Leon and how your eyes sparks when marriage with him was brought up.

Telling the news to him might will be a greatest surprise.

Romeo!Leon, who was careful and try to keep himself low and not get spotted as he wanted to visit the love of his life.

Romeo!Leon, whose mind wanders when he tried to see you again by the window, but soon got caught by a member of the Capulet.

Romeo!Leon, who was confused when your own father came looking for him specifically. Shock came after when your father asked him what he felt for you, even if it was just love at first sight.

“Her beauty captivated me, her eyes mesmerized me as it made me lost time—as if I was hypnotized, making me frozen like a statue. But to my surprise, my heart skips a beat, the world faded from my ears so that her voice will be the one that only I... could hear.” Leon confessed with a smile, it was sweet and genuine. Your father knew from that moment that he wasn't like any other Kennedy he had ever met.

The way he had described you; from your looks, your voice, your eyes—even how you took effect on him. How he melts under your touch, it may be just love at first sight. But the more your father hears Leon talk genuinely about you, how his tone of voice was filled with love...

Your father knew, that he may be the one.

“I'm deeply sorry if we crashed your party, sir. But..” he chuckles to himself, his cheeks warming. “If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't have met your daughter.”

Your father took in his words, smiles planted on to his face as he nodded. Your father puts his hand to Leons shoulder and welcome him in the Capulet resident, and of course.

Away from you, away from everybody as the two discussed how your marriage with Leon would be. Your father wants it to be perfect, it has to. But the most important thing is; that you are happy.

It was unexpected, really.

Already standing right at the door, bouquet of roses in your hands and veil covering up your face but can still be seen. How long your wedding gown is as the door finally flew open as you were greeted with the light and people standing up to clap.

Both sides of the family attended, some are either crying, cheering, chattering and even having a breakdown.

Making peace between the Capulet and Kennedys wasn't that easy, Leon had to reason with his family on how this kind of idiotic bickering can stop and be finally at peace.

No war, just love and friendship between the two powerful families.

You took a step whilst taking a deep breath as you slowly walk up to the aisle, the loud chattering toned down as music finally plays.

Oh, Leon.

How he watch you walk up to the aisle with a smile on your face, how beautiful and elegant you are with your wedding dress. How you were finally walking up to him in the aisle.

He wanted to shed a tear, oh yes he do.

He's a softie after all, but crying can wait when he finally said his vow.

You took his hand as the two of you stood beside to one another, you can tell that he was taking a glance at you. He couldn't ask for more, he couldn't wait—he could stare at you all day and tell you endless of times how lucky he was and that he'll do anything, and... that he loves you the moment he laid his eyes upon you.

“I, Leon Kennedy, promise to love you not just because of your beauty but also your being. I will cherish and treasure you whole.

I swear to be always by your side and protect you with all of my being, even when we may come across conflict nor when the world is against us or our love.

Y/n, the moment I laid my eyes upon you. I was stoned—I was lost in your eyes, I feel like that the world around me has faded.”

Leon took a breather for a moment before continuing.

“If it were not for my idiotic friends request that we ‘crash’ the party, I wouldn't have met you.

You were the unexpected experience that I'll ever have. Now, your eyes, your lips, and your voice. How I almost lost myself when you speak, how I melt to your touch when your fingers traces against my skin.”

Tears were already forming in his eyes, he chuckles and apologize to the audience—which was also sobbing and chuckling.

“y/n Capulet, I love you. Beyond the moon and back, to where we reach and catch a shining star. You were... everything. And I hope, that together, we'll stay.”

His vow reach to an end as he puts the ring to your ring ringer, he cups your cheek as his eyes never leaving yours—knowing fully that he means his words.

You sniffle with a smile, took his hands to yours as you spoke your vow.

You mean every words, every sentences and everything that you speak of. He was the book that you were thankful that you've read, and you were the poem that he took time to memorize and harmonize like a poet.

Taking the ring and pushing it to his ring finger as you ended your vow, your eyes never leaving his too—to let him know that you, too, mean every word you spoke of to him.

“And now, I pronounce you as husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!”

Cheers roar along with the delighted claps, he has his hands on your waist as he delicately pulls you in for that sweet kiss that he's been eager to get.

A wedding kiss.

A special moment as he finally shed a tear, he would stop time if he would, right in this moment.

But moving forward and facing the future as a newlywed couple was much better in the back of his mind.

A wonderful experience, and a wonderful story.

A poem and the poet, to be the love of someones story.

A happily ever after.

I would run away with you, when the world turn their back on ours.

I'll love you forever, from the moon and back.

— unknown

[grison-in-space]

worker uprisings are not an upside.

I see this rhetoric here all the time, and it drives me up the wall. So you're all getting a good rant here: a worker uprising is not good.

The worker uprisings that bought the NLRB paid for it in blood and lives, and another uprising means that we will have to find the price to buy it again. And there will be families, people, and lives blighted in the meantime. Worker uprisings are not upsides for anyone and they are not fucking consolation prizes. They happen when things go bad, horribly bad, and they generally only result in positive change insofar as they create so much chaos, bloodshed, and disruption that the overall situation has to change. In the mean time, people are still left dead, destitute, and maimed. If we can avert a worker uprising by using nonviolent means of pressure to force accountability, we should do that, because it results in vastly more stable outcomes for everyone. If this pissant, damn-fool shortsighted Supreme Court decision goes through and violence is the only remaining option to enforce change that anyone sees, that is a bad thing.That is not a flood gift. People will die fixing that bullshit. People did die fixing that bullshit!

You know how we got the NLRB the first time, back in 1935?

It took almost fifty years of labor unrest in the United States before we got the NLRB. Let's start with the Great Railroad Strike of 1877 (which was majorly disruptive but happened before labor unionizing was widespread). That's a great template for your fucking worker's uprising: there's no union leadership to coordinate fury and direct it properly, so when workers lose their shit after the third goddamn time wages get cut (not "fail to keep the pace of inflation," actually "you get less money now"), they all kind of do things on impulse without thinking much about long term strategy. The fury just erupts. In the case of the Great Railroad Strike, angry workers burned factories and facilities, seized rail facilities, paralyzed commerce networks, and existing power structures panicked and called out militias, National Guard units, and federal troops to forcibly suppress the workers. About a hundred people died.

Let me pop a cut down while I talk about what happened next. Spoiler: there's a lot of violence under the hood coming up, and like all violence, it absolutely sloshes around and hits people who aren't necessarily directly involved in conflicts.

You have continuing incidences of violence over strikes throughout the next several decades as nonviolent strikes are met with violence from pro-employer forces and workers resist with violence back. I can't even list all the violent incidents here that ended in deaths, because they were frequent. The 1892 Coeur d'Alune labor strike broke out into an actual shooting war and resulted in a number of deaths, not to mention months of detainment for six hundred protesting miners; the same year, you have another shooting war kicked off between hundreds of massed paid private Pinkerton security and striking workers in Pittsburgh through the Homestead Strike. Imagine how that's going to go down today.

And the thing about violence like this, and tolerance for violence, is that eventually you just get used to using it to get your way. You actually also do see quite a bit of violence conducted by striking labor workers, sometimes without recent provocation from management. For example, the national International Association of Bridge Structural Iron Workers embarked on a campaign of bombings from 1906-1911 that eventually culminated in a bombing of the office of the LA Times that killed 20 people. Do you want to live in a world where the only way to resolve conflicts like this is to risk someone bombing your office because your boss mouthed off at his cause? Even if he's right, do you want to risk losing your life, your arms, your friend, your sibs, to someone who thinks that the only option available to him to address systematic inequality is violence?

And you think about who really suffers when violence erupts, too. Look at the East St Louis massacre in 1917, when management tries undercutting the local white-run unions by hiring black folks who are systematically excluded by the unions. (If you think labor solidarity is free from the same intersectional forces that hit every other attempt to organize in solidarity for humans, you really need to go back and revisit your history books. We can do better and we should, but when we set up our systems and hope for the future, we have to be clear-eyed about the failures of the past.) Anyway, when labor tensions between white union workers and management's preferred use of cheaper, poorer, less "uppity" black people erupted, the white union workers attacked not management, but the black parts of town. They cut the hoses to the fucking fire department, burned huge swathes of East St Louis belonging to black homeowners, and shot black folks fleeing in the streets.

Money might not trickle down, but violence sure fucking does. The wealthy insulate themselves from violence by employing intermediaries to do all the dirty work for them, or even to venture into any areas that might be dangerous. When we resort to violence as the only way to solve our problems, inevitably the people and communities who pay the highest blood prices are the ones who have the least to provide. You think any of those robber barons are going to wind up on the ground bleeding out? They have their Pinkerton troops for that shit. The worst they lose is money; the rest of us have to stake our bodies and our homes.

No one should look forward to a worker uprising. If the Supreme Court is stupid and short-sighted enough to reduce avenues of worker redress to extra-legal means, the worker uprisings will come back around again, sure enough, and we'll all write our demands in blood once again. But the whole fucking POINT of the NLRB is that the federal government objects to having to sort these things out when they dissolve into open violence, so it sets rules about what the stupid short-sighted greediguts fat cats up top can do to reduce violence erupting again.

Anyway. Best thing I can think of right now is to get a Congressional supermajority in with the eye of imposing limits and curbs on the Court. Because look, I'll march if I need to, but I ain't going to pretend the thought puts a smile in my mouth and a spring in my step. Fuck.

[mrs-willow]

"A Raven and a Falcon"

Chapter 4

The rain was still falling hard in the Riverlands, but it was failing to deter the locals from carrying out their daily duties. Raventree Hall was still busting with life in the shadow of an upcoming winter. Farmers traveled in and out of the castle, bringing in portions of their harvests to add to the Blackwoods stores for winter. They were heavily compensated for their donations, and the gold they earned from their sales put their families through winter. Just outside the high walls of the Hall, the cliffs that the castle stood upon fell sharply into the angry river that crashed against the beaches and rocks. To the south and east, the Hall was otherwise surrounded by fields of grass and forests that sported packs of dear, boar, and all manner of birds. In those fields, groups of young men and boys trained with swords and bows freshly made by the smiths just within the walls. 

A small group of young boys gathered around two of the older men, watching them duel. The master of arms commanded the boys to show them the correct steps and positions that must be used in a proper fight. The Blackwoods maintained a rigorous training regiment for their men so that they would always be prepared for a battle. Five years prior, Lord Samwell commanded all of the Blackwoods men from the age of thirteen to fifty to train at least once a day in preparation for invasion or war. Lord Tully was aging quickly and spent most days in bed asleep with help from the milk of the poppy, thus leaving the actions of the surrounding houses unchecked and their movements unregulated. The conflict between the Blackwoods and the Brackens was an ancient one. Both sides would rave and pillage the other's lands until a small line of stones became the only preventative measure for an all-out war. But, with the Tullys slipping hold on the Riverlands, Samewell sensed that the fighting would begin yet again. 

John and Benjicot stood in the center of the circle of boys, both strong fighters but with different techniques. John fought with precision and strong jabs in picture-perfect form, while Benjicot with lightning-fast slashes and crazed spinning movements. The two managed to balance one another out well with their clashing fighting styles, leaving all the young boys in awe and the older men with a proud gleam in their eyes, 

The two had been sparing for what seemed like forever, but it was only a few minutes. Regardless of the cold weather, the two men were already beginning to sweat, and their breaths were labored. 

Benjicot let out a manic laugh as he dodged another one of Johns's attacks. “Come on, man, I know you’re faster than that.” Benji goated as he attacked with a flurry of slashes that John paired away.     

“Oh, don’t get too smart, my Lord,” John said with a glare as he attacked with a strong stab that the young Lord had to drop to the ground to avoid.

Finally tired of the ongoing fight, Benjicot chose to end the duel with a quick swipe of John's feet and a jab of his elbow into the man's stomach. John fell to the floor, and Benji was above the man in an instant, his sword pointed at his friend's neck. 

The surrounding group erupted in applause as the young Lord offered a hand to his fallen friend. 

The training masters addressed the younger boys as the two friends walked over to get water and regain their breath. 

“So, how are you doing?” John questioned his friend. 

Benjicot looked at his friend with an annoyed stare.

“You know, about the whole marriage thing?” John pushed. 

“Oh, leave me be,” Benji said with a tired huff.

“Come on, mate, I worry about you. You haven’t spoken about the matter since the other day, and you are always somewhere in your head rather than present.”

“What would you like me to say?” Benji said with an angry look, “What is there to talk about? I must marry a woman I hardly know for the sake of my house. I know that she will never love me or care for the Riverlands. I will be stealing her away from her home and family and taking her to an unknown place without a soul that she knows.” Benji ranted. “The woman I will spend the rest of my life with, the future mother of my children, will resent me forever, and I, her because she has indirectly taken all choice from me simply because our fathers were friends.” Benjicot finished with a snarl as he stormed back through the gates of Raventree Hall.

When Benjcot finished cleaning the sweat and mud from his body, he began to dress to meet his father to go over the costs of the castle and make necessary arrangements for the winter and the upcoming wedding affairs. As the man dressed, he noticed the many scars littering his pail skin, the result of years of training and mistakes with the sword, all of which transformed him into the ruthless fighter he is today. Yet he still felt a sense of insecurity as he studied his shirtless torso, yes he had the long limb trait of his family, and arms and stomach rippled in muscle from his training, but a long scar ran from beneath his left pectoral muscle down his side, and wrapped around to his back. Yet another lesson that must be learned. As He finished dressing, the young Lord was unable to ward off the thoughts of what his new wife would think of him and if she would ever be able to bear the sight of his uncovered chest and back.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

Lord Samwell sat in his study once more, conversing with his advisors about the arrangements still to be made to host the Arryns when they made their journey to the Riverlands when his son arrived. The young lord came and took his seat directly across from his father, but his mind was elsewhere, and he was paying no attention to the numbers or names being thrown about the room. When Samewell finally addressed his son to make sure that he was listening to the important conversation that was happening around him, there was an urgent knock on the large wooden door as a panting soldier entered the room. 

“Forgive me, my Lords,” the soldier began, “But there is urgent news from the border. “The Brackens have crossed the wall with herds of livestock.” The man stated.

Lord Samwell rose in an instant along with his son. Both men had angry eyes and snarls on their lips. Lord Samwell turned to his son, “Take care of them,” the Lord ordered. 

Benjicot answered with a swift nod to his father as he rushed from the room, followed by the messenger. 

“Gather ten men, tell them we ride for the wall and to prepare for a fight,” Benjicot ordered in an eerily similar tone as his Lord Father, sending the messenger to gather the men. When he reached the stables, ten men were already assembled, and Benjicot's horse waiting for him.  

As the man climbed into his saddle, he addressed his friends and men, “They mean to feed their animals on the little food we have left in supply before winter. We must show them once more what happens when they break the treaty agreements.” 

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

Five Bracken men stood guard over the herd of cows that they had allowed across the border. The group was in high spirits as they believed they had successfully snuck through without Blackwood's knowledge. Just as one of the Brackensoldiers was joking with his men about the alleged great fight he had won the previous mourning, he heard an angry cry accompanied by the thundering steps of horses.   

“BRACKEN!” a voice screamed as the group of soldiers rounded the edge of the small forest to the left of the trespassers.

Benjicot and his men had made record time in their journey to the border in response to the invaders. 

“Just what the hell do you think you are doing, you little cunt,” Benjicot addressed as he brought his horse to a standstill a few feet from the cowering men. He watched as the small man sputtered for an answer, taken off guard by the ten mounted men all armed to the tooth. “Because to me, it looks like you have broken the treaty.” Benjicot goaded in a sarcastic tone. “That means I have every right to run your lot down and behead you for trespassing and take this heard in the name of Blackwood as compensation for your mistake.”

The men, once again, cowered at the young Lord's words. This would not be the first time men had died for such a simple act, and it likely would not be the last.

“The herd wandered here on their own. We were sent to retrieve them,” one of the men spoke in a rushed voice. Eager to prevent violence due to the clear disadvantage his men were at. If the Bracken man had more men and weapons, he would not have thought twice about challenging the Blackwoods.

Benjicot stared with a hard look, and the rest of the Blackwood men also showed clear distrust.

“Here's what is going to happen,” Benji started, “We are going to take every cow that is currently standing on our land, and you are going to return to your farmhouse, which you call a keep and keep your heads. Otherwise, I would be happy to leave you a lot here to rot and turn food for the ravens.” 

The men dressed in gold froze, looking to one another to decide on the proper course of action: stand, fight, and die, or run home and confess to their cowardness. With a hard look, the men silently made a decision as they all drew their swords. 

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

“Did you see the way they ran off?” John gasped through his cackles as he and Benjicot led a small herd of cows home to Reventree Hall, which was now within sight. 

“Aye,” Benjicot agreed with a smile, nothing raising his spirits more than a good fight.

The battle had been quick and easy from horseback, and no one had lost their life as the Blackwoods had quickly pushed the men back to their side of the border, refusing to cross it themselves. The once determined soldiers had run, urgently driving the cows remaining on their lands away from the wall and back to safety. The Backwoods laughed as they watched their enemies limp away and gathered their new cows to take back to Raventree. 

Believe it or not, Benjicot loved fighting, the art of it, how he could dance around his opponents, and the adrenalin rush he got from disarming another man. But what he had never told anyone was that he hated killing. In fact, he despised the act. For some reason, the faces of the men he killed had stayed with him, plaguing his nightmares. Their screams and begging always made his stomach churn. He imagined a wife waiting for her husband, who would never return, or a father watching the farm road waiting for his son as the mother fixed too much food for just two people. He could never admit this to anyone, for he had a reputation to maintain. It was that which deterred Bracken's attacks and protected his people. Regardless of his dislike for the act of killing, he reasoned that he would do it as much as needed to protect his people. His enemies would not think twice before running him through with a long sword and then pillaging their way to his home, only to leave it in flames. A long time ago, Benjicot told himself that if his nightmares were the price of safety for his house, his future children, and his soon-to-be wife, then it was a burden that he would happily endure. 

I need him biblically. Anyways... I think im gonna write the next few chapters at once and then post all together so yall can bindge read lol. They will meet soon.

Also, I am so excited for the mutual pining and comfort scenes I have planned, they are coming soon I promise.

[bonefall]

For Flowerstem vs Maplewhisker, maybe they're both present and one is like… an aide to whichever is the deputy? Not officially, but in the midst of All That they just happen to be helping/supporting the other, and are a clear choice of new deputy once the dust settles.

They're not necessarily friends at the start, either acquaintances that grow closer through a shared sense of "someone has to keep things working", or maybe even rivals of a sort- they don't get along great initially, but they respect each other, and it turns out they're willing to back each other up when it matters (+ the value of having a second-in-command who's willing to disagree with you)

idk i'm just spitballing here tbh

I layed around and daydreamed about it for a bit, and I think this is a great idea. I have even more thoughts to share as fragments;

To start with, I'm thinking Flowerstem is going to be the Winner of the Conflict, and Maplewhisker is going to become her friend and future deputy. Mothpelt is going to be the oldest heir*, who dies of poisoning along with a few of his children.

And to reiterate, Jumpfoot is the descendant of Riverstar's firstborn child, and Mossfire is his adopted heir.

Renames to get the names more in-line with where they were at this period in history;

BB!Flowerstem -> Flowers Came First. Nickname: Flow. A River Kingdom title. Comes from a translation quirk. "Stem," prryem, is the place where plants erupt from the ground in modern Clanmew. Over many generations, influenced by the story of Redscar's sign, "Came" and "First" merge into a single word, Prryem. Eventual winner of the conflict.

BB!Maplewhisker -> Maple Whisker A Mountain Cat name. Actually a reference to the odd saplings that were planted in SkyClan's territory (and is now ThunderClan's). Maple might be a migrant from SkyClan or a second-generation descendant of them, so a more accurate translation would be Sycamore Whisker, but the translator chooses to abide by the precedent set by Mapleshade. Flow's future deputy. (FUTURE ADDITION: Design draft 1 here) (I don't currently have a Mountain family with the Whisker last name, I might end up making it something that came from a Mountain x Forest/Park blended family, as a Mountain cat wanted to name half of the kits for their mate as is tradition.)

BB!Mothpelt* -> Dead Moths Pelt. Nickname: Moth (though I'm easily tempted by funny into making it Moe.) Another River Kingdom title, for the irony factor. It's actually a reference to how he rescued a ton of pelts from a moth infestation, by recognizing they were laying eggs and stopping them before they hatched. Hard to translate into just three words, because in Parkmew it was "Killed (the) moths (to save the) pelts." * = Watch this space. Might change in a future draft.

BB!Jumpfoot -> Jumping Foot Nickname: Jump Actually from WindCo. I haven't worked out the meaning behind this title yet. I'm going to make it so Duststar is supporting this cat for leadership; they might even be slightly related. Cousins, perhaps.

BB!Mossfire -> Mossfire Alight Only given recently, when Moss set her own fire for the very first time. Barely out of apprenticeship, but very popular. Riverstar's adopted child.

(I also need to pick the ThunderClan "Diplomat" character.)

More fragments and assorted thoughts;

(Three parts: Opening, Middle Stuff, and Redscar's Choice)

Opening and political setup:

BB!Flowerstem, Flow, is kind of like an older sibling/nanny of Moss. She was an apprentice of King Riverstar, and unofficially trusted to watch over Moss, who is considerably younger than she is. She wasn't formally adopted by King Riverstar but he always felt like a father to her.

BB!Jumpfoot, Jump, is from WindCo. Riverstar's firstborn was not legitimate, who lived a long and happy life as a traveler going between the various groups.

Riverstar is actually Jump's great-great-grandfather, but Jump is an accomplished, confident warrior who's just young enough to have a long rule, but experienced enough to make Mossfire look like a child in comparison.

And, importantly, Duststar wants Jump in power.

When Riverstar is on his deathbed, Flow, Moth, and Moss are there. Jump actually blows in later, and the Unnamed ThunderClan Diplomat.

The Diplomat is going to be one who does the poisoning later. Jump is REALLY easy to pin the blame on, because he's aggressive and kind of arrogant.

Through the story, Flow is trying to protect both Moss AND keep the River Kingdom functioning. Without even realizing it, people keep coming to her for advice.

Maple Whisker is her really good ally through all this. I'm not sure how they're going to begin, they COULD be rivals, but the important thing is that Maple and Flow naturally end up supporting each other.

While Flow is trying to keep Moss safe and fend off the other Heirs who are showing up looking to make claims to power, Maple is handling a lot of the logistical things.

Flow is an excellent "face." Her judgement is generally influential.

She's kind and compassionate, and it means that she's able to smooth out conflict in a way that King Riverstar used to be able to.

And there are a LOT of fights to break up.

Jump is a complete troublemaker already trying to assert his claim, and he's got cats to back him up.

Moss, who is really trying to be fair here, often gets pulled into fights.

FLOW'S biggest "flaw" is that she's honest. At some point she even admits, "Moss is really not ready for leadership. She needs more time before she has this responsibility."

unfortunately, opportunists and blood-loyalists who don't believe "adopted" can count as legitimate jump on that. Mossfire resents this, even though Flow is right, and she IS in waaay over her head.

But, thankfully, there's still an option.

The Eldest (currently living) direct child of Riverstar, Dead Moth Pelt, Moth, is the obvious alternative. He's older, speaks highly of his father, has connections to the River Kingdom.

And, importantly, he's got kittens of his own. Easy choice! They'll continue the dynasty and we won't have to worry about this again.

They're Just Like The Wind Runner

(jump and duststar disliked this)

.....hmmmmm. You know what would be cool?

The ThunderClan Diplomat being one of these kids.

Maybe in a future draft the Diplomat will be Mothpelt, and the ELDEST will be Beechstar. Maybe their name can be Beech Shore.

Add some more messy dynamics here, have it that Mothpelt "wants to avenge!" the father he actually killed.

(Notes from the future: The Diplomat's name is Bright Whisker. We committed to her being related to Maple Whisker.)

But ANYWAY. This draft first.

Moth is a showman and a people-pleaser. He decides he wants to have a party to honor his father's life,

At this celebration, Moth's direct family all eats from the same, very special pot.

Everyone in this family is poisoned with wolfsbane. None of them are able to make the trip to the Moonstone, and one-by-one, Moth and his kits succumb to it.

(except, of course, the diplomat, if he ends up being a descendant of The Eldest.)

The Diplomat, whoever they are, makes the obvious accusation;

Jumping Foot did this.

MIDDLE STUFF

All this while, I think Flow should be realizing there's something wrong with the Diplomat. But there's ALSO a lot wrong with Jumping Foot

As Jumping Foot becomes unpopular, his supporters are rallying around him and the accusations are starting to get thrown around

Re: It's VERY useful that Flow remains the only POV here, realizing that the fighting and the fracturing factions are starting to affect the function of the River Kingdom

Maple Whisker is by her side, constantly running to come fetch her to break up fights and arguments

Dens aren't getting maintained, cats are going hungry as there's no one really "in charge" of making meals for everyone

I want to make sure it's clear that it's not an "ABANDON OLD PEOPLE" situation. It's Flow laying it out directly;

"Everyone who isn't part of a large family is suffering. You HAVE to pick a side in order to have access to good food and shelter... and Jumping Foot is backed up by the Wind Coalition!"

In this shuffle, she's having a hard time protecting Moss, who's getting sick and tired of her Kingdom being yanked around.

She's growing up quick, having to work with Flow to take care of the cats in the Kingdom, but it's also making her more aggressive. Less patient.

Through The Diplomat, ThunderClan also begins to stick their nose in, which The Diplomat frames as "aid, they are our allies after all. Ties to them run deep, unlike those of the Wind Coalition."

Flow starts to realize that between these two huge coalitions, backed by outside forces, the River Kingdom will get absorbed.

In the shuffle, Flow and Mossfire Alight are starting to break apart. They used to be close, but the stress is making Moss aggressive and short-fused.

She NEVER used to start fights like this, but now Flow is finding herself trying to stop her previously so openminded charge from escalating conflicts.

It's a complete lost cause. There's no way Mossfire is going to be able to come out on top between two very powerful choices, backed up by other Clans

Most River Kingdom cats DO actually believe that it would have been King Riverstar's will for his adopted heir to take over. They disagree on if that's the right choice, or if an adopted one can be legitimate at all, or, WORST of all, if they even CAN support her when a lot of their food and supplies are coming from ThunderClan and WindCo

This comes to a boil when SkyClan charges in for a surprise attack, seeking to claim the territory before it's fully absorbed by the other two.

Because the River Kingdom's camp was on the Sunningrocks, an island in the middle of the river, this battle is CHAOTIC and DEADLY

The island was almost too small to hold all of the reinforcements and MORE AND MORE kept coming, packing in like sardines

The fighting was spilling over onto the banks, over the log bridge, a fight almost as dense and even more SUDDEN than The First Battle

Noncombatants were getting swept up into the fighting, no one knowing who they were supposed to be fighting against, some cats just jumping on those they didn't like, cats who couldn't swim were getting launched into the water

Flow and Maple Whisker can't SAVE all of them

And in the brawl, Mossfire leapt on the cat who she felt had been making her life hell, who KILLED Moth and his children, who needed to DIE

Jumping Foot was happy to return the sentiment, ready to eliminate this bloodless brat once and for all

As they tussled and tumbled, they crashed into the waves, biting and scratching, not realizing that their crowns had become tangled.

Mossfire tries to break the water for a breath, but Flow only sees her back breach the surface before getting dragged under

She leaps back in to try and save her, trying to pull her up, but Jumping Foot is a WindCo cat who doesn't know how to avoid drowning. He grabs at Mossfire in a panic, joined at the crown, and Flow can't pull them both up

The last time Flow sees Mossfire is in that terrified, tangled image, sinking down to the depths, seemingly locked in eternal combat down to the bottom of the river.

Redscar's Choice

When we cut back to Flowers Come First and Maple Whisker, Flow is absolutely haunted.

It seemed like the "obvious" choice was The Diplomat... but after that awful fight, an emergency gathering had to take place.

EVERY Clan lost warriors. ShadowClan was demanding to know why-- as they were the only one not officially involved in the fight, and even THEY are missing warriors.

WindCo has the most losses, and Duststar is VERY quiet. Jumping Foot's death shook him. There wasn't even a body to bury, and he hasn't gotten word on if Jump's gone to StarClan or not.

He's quiet because the guilt is eating him from the inside out. He's doing some sort of prayer behavior, quietly, as if he doesn't even seem to realize he's doing it.

(probably keeping his whiskers tilted upwards at the stars, twitching whenever the breeze hits them.)

ThunderClan's leader seems more frustrated than anything. Flow interprets this negatively, like they just want to get on with it and claim River Kingdom as their own.

(in truth, it's more likely this leader is annoyed with The Diplomat's meddling, the Kingdom isn't a prize they really want, they just honored an alliance and lost a ton of warriors for the trouble. But what matters is what Flow feels about them.)

SkyClan got absolutely humiliated. They were the catalyst for the battle but were quickly overwhelmed, and the current leader just took a MASSIVE reputation hit. It's not the Era of Skystar any longer.

(someone makes a xenophobic comment about "Jump back up into your trees, gray squirrels")

Maple Whisker, in a quick-thinking effort to avoid The Diplomat being officiated, calls upon a neutral party. Redscar of ShadowClan.

If mortals cannot figure out the rightful heir, then surely, StarClan must.

Duststar jumps on this immediately.

Diplomat doesn't like it, but it doesn't matter, because the ThunderClan leader does. Speaks right over them.

Over a couple of days, Redscar "deliberates" by visiting River Kingdom to "spend time under their stars."

But what he's REALLY doing is checking out how the Kingdom runs. And he's really gentle with Flow, in particular, like he's very interested in her.

When she questions why, he lies, "You have spirits around you."

This gets her to open up about how close she was to so many of the cats that died, explain how hard she's worked to keep it all together. How much she misses Mossfire, how she feels she failed her.

And King Riverstar, and Moth, and his poor kits.

I feel like The Diplomat is probably constructing signs to try and appeal to Redscar, thinking he's looking for them, but Redscar is NOT looking for signs. He's actually ignoring them completely.

This is going to be remembered as "seeing through false omens" but in truth, he was not interested in what StarClan actually had to say here, if they even did say anything.

(King Riverstar, as a patron, is remembered as NOTORIOUSLY silent. He never says anything directly.)

What Redscar ultimately concludes is, "It seems you and Maple Whisker have ruled together this whole time, with your leadership and her stewardship, it was almost strong enough to keep the Kingdom together."

Flow makes a remark that it sure didn't turn out well, if that's the case.

"Through no fault of yours."

Shortly afterwards, he constructs the False Sign which selects her as a leader. Redscar also insists that, because she did not rule alone, Maple Whisker must become a "deputy," as they have in ShadowClan.

She agrees to this term, justifying it by saying that it is sort of like an advisor role, which she used to be... but it's not. It's quite different.

This law is eventually adopted as Commandment 3: The Law of the Deputy. That all Clans must have a Leader, and a Deputy. The Deputy must be appointed before Moonhigh, and to become a Deputy, you must have once been responsible for young lives.

(This is in honor of Flow's relationship to Mossfire. It will be tweaked over the generations to specifically mean a mentor/apprentice relationship, but the first draft of the law could also include being a Mi or Ba.)

Thus, the River Kingdom is no more. RiverClan is born, and in agreeing to the terms, WindCo becomes WindClan.

Something changes on this day, with so many cats dead and the group now being something very different. The era of charitability and open relations between Clans... is starting to seem like a bad idea.

The current of the river is the same, but somehow, the water is different.

Last plot thread left to wrap up is The Poisoning.

It's GOTTA be a dramatic reveal of some sort. The Diplomat makes one last grab at power. I think it would actually be a BIG power move if Flow came back with her lives, receiving the wisdom from Redscar that Diplomat was constructing false signs, putting two and two together...

A feast is thrown, she decides to eat in the same exact way Moth did, makes it very clear she's "repeating" the mistake because Jumping Foot is dead and that means that the assassin is not here to put down poisons. The Diplomat falls for it, hook, line, and sinker, tainting her food in between servings.

And when they do, Flow INSISTS that The Diplomat come, and have a bite with her.

She's got nine lives to spare now. She can give one up, just for the satisfaction of locking eyes with them as they both have a bite of the same poisoned food. The horror, the panic, in their expression is the most delicious thing Flow has ever tasted.

If seeing Mossfire's crown tangled with Jumping Foot's was like a stag who dies with antlers locked, then Flow dying next to The Diplomat, sticking around in StarClan to watch them damn them and send them to the Dark Forest, and then rise again to attend her Clan, this moment was like being a stag who outlives their foe and wears their skull as a second crown.

Long Live Flowerstar.

[randomfoggytiger]

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XXIV): Guardian Angels and Inverted Nativities

I was struck with the overt nativity symbolism while combing through this two-parter-- not as a direct religious comparison (a mother to an impossible child), but as a poignant antithesis to Scully, Mulder, and Emily's story.

(**Note**: A deep dive into the Scully family spanning A Christmas Carol and Emily can be found in this post here.)

EMILY, SCULLY, MULDER: A DISASTER IN THREES

When we first glimpse Emily, she is cradled in her father’s arms, silent and expressionless in the wake of her mother’s death. She locks eyes with Scully and refuses to look away, following her movements in that room, during Scully’s second visit, during the arrest of Mr. Sim, after the social worker van drives away, and in her hospital room: an intense, though bland, fixation. Emily, it seems, was beckoning Scully to her; and was perfectly content to be in her company while chaos was erupting around her. Although part of this has to do with Chris Carter’s characterization in A Christmas Carol-- which Spotnitz, Gilligan, and Shiban tone down in Emily-- the germ of that idea remains: in short, Emily quite blatantly chose Scully-- whether because she was obeying a supernatural or biological or other more normal and sacred impulse. 

This is important because of two reasons: 

That inclination sends her biological mother into a spiral of questions and doubts, which culminated in a fight for custody and willingness to leave the FBI to raise Emily. If she had not fought to adopt her, Scully wouldn't have been able to keep her safe during Emily’s final hours on Earth.

That inclination creates friction between Scully's intentions and Mulder's subdued resistance.

To set the scene: Scully has been avoiding the temptation to call her partner up to ask for help-- in fact, she bailed on the only phone call to his apartment and worked around him to get answers (Mulder’s friend Danny at the FBI-- not TLG, not Mulder himself.) On the one hand, we know she is conflicted and struggling with her infertility; but the struggle is greater-- much greater-- than she is letting on. As discussed in the previous part, she nearly breaks down in tears trying to convince the social worker to advocate for her: “--” Scully either found out she was infertile during her cancer treatments (but didn’t have the time or energy to abstract that fact into her reality) or she found out afterward (either before or after Mulder dodged-- intentionally or not-- her cheese platter in Detour.) And yet, she has not shared this burden with her partner nor (until Maggie applied a little pressure) with her family.

If this be the case, of course she would avoid Mulder’s calls: her sister’s voice eerily over the phone? A niece, she presumes, who is involved in a cover-up conspiracy? Everything would point, in Mulder’s mind, back to the Conspiracy; and Scully isn’t allowing herself to entertain that notion. But now, against her first inclination, she is left no choice but to call Mulder: Emily is her daughter, and that means she is a part of the Conspiracy with a capital ‘c’. “Well, how did she come into this world?” Scully asks when Mulder arrives; and avoids a direct response when he replies, “Have you asked yourself that?” Because no, she hasn’t-- hasn’t wanted to. 

And that’s the (not-so-subtle) subtext: everything, to Mulder, is the key to everything, to his quest for the truth. And where does that leave her, newly recovered and ready to let her walls down? She tried to change but he hadn’t: he’s still the same Mulder running after mothmen and trying to find answers about his sister. It’s the endless line again, it’s Never Again again, it’s a preemptive taste of a weekend tossed aside for crop circles.

The next big question is: where does this begin and end for Mulder? 

Over the course of ten days (according to this timeline), Mulder receives two phone calls: one Scully drops and another where she asks him down to be a character witness. But that, of course is not the full picture: his partner asks him down to be a character witness to adopt her daughter whose parents have been murdered and whose case she has been investigating without asking for Mulder's help. In short, he feels purposefully excluded and reduced to the boxes of "partner" and "character witness."

Mulder seemed secure in his brief appearance in A Christmas Carol: Scully was out of town, but she’d be back; and he’d get up to shenanigans in the meantime. 

Mulder shifted to being insecure, withdrawn, and downright fearful in Emily: not only had he, in his eyes, already lost his partner right from under his nose, but he might alienate her further because of the information he’d kept from her-- the fact he’d known about her infertility as far back as her early cancer diagnosis. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, Scully is calling him in as a character witness to win the adoption rights for her daughter; and all the facts he has to give are deemed unworthy of a normal court’s time. 

Lastly, he knows-- he just knows-- that something is off with Emily. If she is a product of Scully’s ova, there is no way on Earth that the Syndicate hasn’t tampered with her DNA. The clones he met in Memento Mori who called her and other MUFON abductees “our mothers” prove that to be the case. 

And he knows that Scully either doesn’t know or doesn’t want to know this. 

To Mulder, this spells disaster: Scully dropping out of the FBI and leaving him behind to raise a child that is most certainly half-human, half other. What is even more disastrous is that he doesn’t know how to react or respond to this situation: does he council her against the adoption? He can’t in good conscience. Does he support her decision to adopt, which would mean he supports her transfer from the X-Files department? Does he warn her of the consequences and dangers of trying to raise Emily? Yes. But does that change Scully’s mind? No. His hands are tied.

And how do his concerns and his fears factor into this dynamic? In short, how could a miraculous conception-- quote on quote-- spell disaster and doom for him, Scully, and Emily? 

MULDER ARRIVES

Emily opens on Mulder’s arrival at the children’s foster care center, a lone figure asking directions to where his partner and her daughter are. And that loneliness continues when he finds them: Mulder hangs back, observing Scully’s happiness and Emily’s complacency with dread. Already, Mulder is placed as an outsider-- more precisely, he is placing himself as an outsider by hanging back. 

Why is he hanging back? Why, specifically, is he hanging back from Scully and her daughter instead of embracing this?

Simply put, we know Mulder is bracing for disaster. And we also know that he is in no place in his life to make space for a family, to “settle down, have something approaching a normal life” (as Scully says a year or so later.) Put these two factors together,  mix them up with a child he suspects is the half-human result of his partner’s abduction, and Mulder has already set up sky-high brigades to protect himself. 

This is not new for him, either: after her remission, Mulder put barriers back in place between himself and Scully; and when she tried to explore their boundaries, poke them or topple them with a cheese platter in Detour, he purposefully muted his awareness and ran after monsters. And his decided, purposed avoidance of settling down or having a family or-- in short-- leaving the quest was a decision he’d made before Scully came into his life (one he stated decisively to her in The Jersey King.) It’s not until The Unnatural that Mulder realizes he can have both, that his goals won’t suffer by living just a little normally, enjoying life just a little bit. (And afterward, Scully approaches him for the IVF, post here.) 

Combine all of that together, and it explains why he nearly sags when seeing Scully smiling eagerly at her daughter-- a child, he tells her, that was never meant to be: his guard is up, and he's keeping a distance between himself and little Sim (and warning his partner to do the same) despite his kindness and gentleness, despite chasing leads and yelling threats to save her life. In short, he’s saving this girl for Scully, not himself. And because he loves Scully, truly loves her, he's willing enough to lose her for a child that was not meant to be. 

But Mulder is Mulder, and his partner and her daughter are Scullys: he puts on a brave face when Scully looks up at him from the floor, walks over, and tries to strike up a friendship with Emily. He then proves he’s a natural with kids, particularly shy ones: he asks what Emily what she’s coloring, waits for her answer, and makes an exaggerated Mr. Potato Head face to lower her guard. It cheers her up instantly, and makes Scully smile as well.

Another warning sign lights up for him right after: he notices Scully's cross around Emily's neck. His partner is already attached.

But what a conflicting brew of emotions that would be. He wore that cross during her abduction, while her ova were taken and her daughter-- who is now wearing it-- was created. It's a passing of the baton Maggie did for him in Ascension, one that must have stung a little for her as Scully distanced from her mother to draw closer to the work (and Mulder.) But Mulder is given no choice or prior warning (like the keychain in Alone): it's happened; and that connection between them has been made significant another, different way... for someone else.

When Scully insists, “I can protect her, too,” he persists: “And who’s going to protect you?” Despite his reasoning-- that both the Sims are dead to protect the Syndicate’s interests-- Scully replies, “I know. I-I’ve considered that. But I’ve also considered that there’s only one right thing to do.” Mulder doesn’t seem to agree: silently here, publicly in the judge’s chambers; but he supports her decision both times (just as he supports her decision to let Emily die.) 

“Why didn’t you call me sooner,” he asks, the same edge in his interrogation in Elegy. 

“Because I couldn’t believe it,” she answers, the same response as Elegy. 

Predictably, he is annoyed, irritated: he feels the step backward in their dynamic. When Scully states she called him to be a witness on her behalf, he (quietly) snaps, “And I should have declined.” Off her hurt expression, he softens and clarifies, “If I never want to see you hurt or harmed in any way.” 

Branching off of this conversation, the judge’s chambers reveal a deeply rooted psychological insight into Mulder’s character. He lays out the facts as he knows them-- the dangers and unanswered questions-- but states, in closing, “The fact that she can adopt this child-- her own flesh and blood-- is something I don’t feel I have the right to question and I don’t believe anybody has the right to stand in the way of.” ‘Her own flesh and blood’ and ‘the right to question’/‘right to stand in the way of’ are specifically coded in the language of Fate.

The irony, or serendipity, or fate, really-- and this two-parter is dripping in Fate, be it because of Emily’s miraculous birth or Melissa’s miraculous guidance or the lingering vestiges of Scully’s partner and late sister’s belief in Fate-- of Mulder being completely correct (that Scully will get hurt) and of Scully being completely correct (in the face of her family’s disbelief and her own desire to stay at the FBI) is beautifully tragic; and horribly marred by the Consortium's last spiteful maneuver (a coffin full of sand.) “No matter how much you love this little girl, she was a miracle that was never meant to be, Scully”-- that is the theme of A Christmas Carol and Emily. 

It’s not the first time Mulder has alluded to the concept of fate or its working in his and Scully’s life-- in fact, Mulder builds the identity of his quest on top of that concept of Fate (post here.) He lost his sister because of fate; but his fated, mythical quest will bring her back. His father played with the hand of fate and lost. The Consortium choose to tamper with Fate, taking it into their own hands; and Scully was taken and Emily born because of it. But it was Fate to bring mother and daughter back together; and he doesn’t see it as his right to step in the way of or prevent that fate. 

By contrast, Scully’s own beliefs are in direct opposition to Fate: she argues Mulder out of his own biases and beliefs, calls into questions the lies he chooses to believe in (or tells himself), and points out that she chooses to stay by his side, that she chooses to be his partner. “I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anybody but you” is a choice she made as far back as Season 1; and the FBI a choice she made farther back than even that. 

Emily is a wedge of in both systems: she was not fated to be, according to Mulder; but she is there and must be protected, leaving Scully no choice. The Consortium played with Fate, making themselves god, and created a life that had no purpose other than to die; and the Consortium ripped away Scully’s one choice by robbing her of the peace of burying her own daughter. 

(As an aside: this is why I’m so invested in Scully’s pregnancy in Requiem-Existence: William’s conception and birth was not an act of fate, but an act of freewill and choice. Scully chose to stay with Mulder in all things; and he was conceived that night-- according to Frank Spotnitz, post here. Season 8 played with the confusion of “Is this fate?” from all parties; and all parties were proven incorrect. Mulder and Scully’s baby wasn’t what anyone were predicting-- not some special, magical, or given-by-God-to-save-the-world figure. He was simply, and beautifully, normal. “But that doesn’t make him any less of a miracle, does it?” Mulder asks; and Scully agrees. He’s their miracle that they conceived and worked hard for and angsted over during the long, hard months that Fate tried to rip them apart forever. Free will, then, wins.)

After advocating for Emily’s adoption, Mulder waits for Scully on the Scully family couch, attention caught by the Nativity scene-- the same one that caught her attention in the previous episode (post here.) He fiddles with one of the wisemen-- again, breaking that direct comparison between his own ties to this story-- until his partner approaches; then he turns the figurine around and sits back as she approaches.

As touched on previously, the religious imagery filtering throughout these episodes-- the Nativity scene, Mulder pondering Joseph’s figurine, Scully's face fading out to the Virgin Mary's stained glass image-- serves to invert and pervert the Nativity story. More often than not, this episode is read through a ham-fisted, morally superior, distasteful parallel between Mary the Mother of Jesus and Scully’s surprise motherhood. The reality is, the narrative points of the Biblical story do not at all align with Scully or Mulder or Emily’s journey-- in fact, the latter three serve as its antithesis.  

Mulder is not only a man who feels excluded from this miracle but also one who chooses to avoid becoming a father figure. 

Scully is an expectant mother not through divine blessing for her strength of character but because of ruthless, corrupted, and inhumane interference. 

And Emily is a child who doesn’t see Scully as her mother, who staunchly holds her separate from her own beloved Mommy (“Mommy said no more tests.”) 

The writers themselves said they weren’t trying to set Scully up as the Virgin Mary incarnate, either (post here)-- the parallel was simply a Christmas one-- and I believe them. Because they wrote the true parallel between Tara and the Nativity, showing the display first by her side in A Christmas Carol. From then on, Scully and Mulder separately gazed or pondered or played with the Nativity as an unreachable, almost inconceivable notion-- because it is, for them. (For now, anyway, if you cosign canon after Je Souhaite.) 

“It takes two of us to get my sister-in-law in bed these days,” she says, explaining her length of absence and attempting to lighten the mood. 

Sincerely, Mulder asks, “When is she due?”

“Two weeks ago.” 

(Which means-- if the math maths correctly-- that the Scully family expected baby Matthew before Christmas; and since he hasn’t arrived, Maggie and Scully might have then expected to stay longer and help Tara and Bill transition into parenthood. Or maybe Maggie intended to stay and Scully to fly back. In any case, her almost panicky reaction to the baby kicking (mentioned in a previous post here makes more sense in context.) 

When the phone rings, Scully is almost afraid to answer it (sitting on the couch a few seconds longer than necessary as Mulder stares at her.) This time there is no voice, no “go to her Dana”, which would probably be more unsettling than her sister’s instructions, at this point. 

Emily Sim, they find, is deteriorating (Mulder, in fact, finds the green cyst on her neck); and both scoop her up and rush her to the hospital. It’s bad news after bad news (as he predicted.)

“Now, are you two the parents?” asks the doctor. 

Scully looks from him to Mulder, eyes troubled and almost pleading. When her partner notices, he tilts his head away, sags, and withdraws: this is her child, and her call. For Scully, this signals that he is not ready to commit further-- won't, in effect, join her in these new responsibilities; and feels the rejection like a blow. Although Mulder didn’t mean to reject her-- he thinks that she’s leaving the work (and him) to be a parent, something he can’t do; and now feels outside the circle of her decisions-- his meaning is clear. From now on, Scully feels she must battle for Emily’s life on her own, reliving the struggle and isolation of her diagnosis and treatment in Scanlon’s office. 

“How did you know?” Scully questions Mulder after Emily’s blood has incapacitated a doctor. He continues dancing the thin line between keeping information from her and telling her just enough, and the little he gives his partner weakens her resolve and sends her into a mild panic: “She’s just a little girl. You say that I can’t protect her, but I can’t let this be her life. Just a few days ago she was fine.” 

“She was also being treated,” he points out; and Scully’s eyes widen, more proof she is so rushed that she hasn’t considered this circumstance-- her daughter, the adoption, the Conspiracy-- from all angles.  

As Emily’s condition worsens, Scully keeps watch, knowing she has no real authority to save her daughter but hold onto what little foothold she has. The little girl, however, begins to resist: “Mommy said no more tests.” Again, an inverse of the Christmas story: a child drawing away from its biological mother.

Stung by the reality of their situation, she doesn’t deny Emily's statement, carefully deflecting, “We just want you to get better. That’s what these tests are about.” And with each test and each procedure, she has to endure worse and worse news: a tumorous infection, the doctor proclaims; a possible revocation of rights, the social worker warns. After storming against Emily’s possible removal, Scully relents to a quiet, “What do you want me to tell them you’re doing for her?” Pausing, she admits, “I don’t know yet. But I will”: active choice, Freewill, beginning to assert itself. During her daughter’s last round of tests, Scully gently talks her through the procedure. It seems to work, at first, before Emily starts screaming; and she rushes to try to both help and calm her down.

The last glimpse we have of the two together is of Emily near tears and Scully unable to soothe her completely. 

And where is Mulder while all this is going down? Hunting down and assaulting men that won't “Help that little girl!”, causing havoc and mayhem and disruption… and finding yet another Scully baby submerged, alive, in green goo (post here.) But he does not save this baby or any other baby there-- knows he cannot, now, with so much at stake-- but instead grabs a cure for Emily; and flees. 

Mulder is committed to protecting the innocent; and, though he fears how this will play out, he is willing to stand by Emily’s hospital bed (and Emily’s coffin)-- there for his partner, and for her daughter, as much as he can. It might not be in ways Scully needs from him, but it's the best he can do.

Unfortunately, Emily Sim slips into a coma before the cure can arrive. 

Scully is staring at her body, watching her breathe up and down, when Mulder rejoins. She is gutted, but accepting, knowing without having to ask what he’s thinking: “I’m okay, Mulder.” 

As they stand there together, she shares her resolution: “It’s what’s meant to be,” she says. Paths and purposes, saving a girl to deliver her up to death, guiding her from life into her sister’s arms in the afterlife. She was meant for the FBI, and Emily was meant for her for a short time; but both weren’t, ultimately, meant for each other. 

“But if you could treat her--” Mulder begins; and is shocked by her conviction. 

“I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t do it to her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mulder, whoever brought this child into this world didn’t intend to love her.” 

Surprised at her stability-- and trusting to it-- he carefully admits, “I think she was… she was born to serve an agenda.” His way of having her back, of saying “I would do the same thing.”

“I have a chance to stop that.” Face crumbling, she mourns, “You were right: this child was not meant to be.” 

Looking from Emily to his partner, he assures, “I’ll stay with you”; but Scully, still remembering his gun-shy distance, feels she must grieve this loss alone-- a loss she knows he sympathizes with, but hasn’t internalized for himself. And, despite Mulder’s growth since the early days of their partnership (post here), she is right.

“I think I’d like to be alone,” she requests, casting her watery eyes up for understanding. And as rejected and dejected as he feels, he understands. 

Mulder retreats without telling her about the cure, sparing her the moral quandary of second guesses-- knowing his partner well enough to know she would doubt herself and revive Emily, only to watch her die a second time. 

Alone, Scully climbs into Emily’s bed, cuddling up against her daughter. The scene transitions to a stained-glass window of the Virgin Mary-- another mother doomed to lose her child to the cruelty of others; one with, however, a happier ending-- as the girl quietly passes away.

Alone, Scully sits in the church, withdrawn. But alone no longer: Mulder wanders in, last but not least; and surprises (and amuses) his partner with flowers he'd bought for Emily, determined to do this right. He may be a man who doesn’t see the value in convention, who remembers birthdays in dog years, and who kisses hands one day and runs off to the woods the next; but he is also a considerate soul who understands these conventions are meaningful for other people-- for his partner, most of all. 

“Who are the men who would create a life whose only hope was to die?” Scully questions, seeking the truth from the only one who will give her that truth. 

“I don’t know.” Seeing the pain in her face, he reassures, “But that you found her… and you had a chance to love her…. Maybe she was meant for that, too.” Melissa would certainly agree. 

“She found me,” Scully replies; and, again, this draws me back to my earlier theory on Emily’s psychic prescience (post here): in each dream, Emily made herself known; in each run-in, Emily sought her out with her eyes; at each step of the way, Emily looked up to her like a guardian angel-- her rescuer. And, in turn, Emily rescues Scully, as well (All Souls.) 

There is no evidence of Calderon’s work, Mulder explains; and Scully quickly realizes, “There is evidence.” Walking up to the coffin, she stands before Mulder’s bouquet, shooting him a shaky last side glance before raising the lid; he, in turn, pivots away, unable to stomach what he suspects she will find. 

And there is nothing but sand; nothing but second guesses. Scully concludes, as the episode’s opener, “It begins where it ends, in nothingness. A nightmare born from deepest fears, coming to me unguarded, whispering images unlocked from time and distance. A soul unbound, touched by others but never held. A course charted by some unseen hand. The journey ahead promising no more than my past reflected back upon me-- until at last I reach the end. Facing a truth I can no longer deny: alone, as ever.” 

Season 5 was, as I’ve previously discussed, a rough season for Mulder (post here), but the loneliness and guilt and indecision that molds to Scully will not be torn from her until All Souls, and then only under more painful, more disharmonious circumstances. 

ALL SOULS AND ALL THINGS

All Souls begins and ends with Scully’s confession, the doubts kicked up from A Christmas Carol-Emily doubled and tripled in the two-fold issue of religious uncertainty and biased doubt from her partner.

This episode, for Scully, does not end kindly: she must make peace with Emily’s loss, and let her go; and she must begin a serious battle with her own abilities-- is she helping anyone? Can she help anyone? Emily died, Mulder’s struggling, her resolve is cracking. Soon The Pine Bluff Variant will play on that distance, and Diana Fowley will swoop in to exploit it. Soon the office will burn; and, in spite of all her efforts, Scully will feel like she failed herself, her partner, and their work. Soon, she will embrace him as he stands in transfixed horror, unable to reciprocate back. 

All Souls is set up to break and subvert the patterns the previous two-parter set up, just as that two-parter set up just to subvert the Nativity scene: Scully calls Mulder for help from the get-go, but he dodges her call; Mulder sneers at rather than investigates other possibilities; and Mulder comforts her about seeing Emily in a vision but believes she is allowing herself to be compromised on a case. At least in Emily, Mulder knew the answers (or suspected them), and advocated for her exactly how and when she needed him to. What she recounted, he confirmed; what she guessed, he affirmed; what she grieved, he comforted with larger concepts like Fate. But here, Mulder is detached-- religion and its religious superstitions and beliefs are such an ugly concept to him that he gave no credence to Scully’s visions and tried to talk her down from her intuition instead of supporting her in crisis.  Mulder is proving, again and again, that he has not changed from the ditch in Detour-- and, moreover, that he can’t: this year, he’s just trying to keep his head above water. Like I’ve mentioned before, Scully has changed, Scully has grown, Scully is working to lower her shields… but over and over, she finds that Mulder is not ready for that vulnerability and avoids it: “Have you ever thought seriously about dying?” she asks in Detour, and chuckles-- at the time-- over his flippant “Only once, at the Ice Capades” response. 

But All Souls also provides an interesting flip in her relationship to Emily-- i.e. mother and daughter reverse roles. Like Scully had last Christmas, Emily is there to save vulnerable children and guide them to a better afterlife. And like Scully, she has accepted, in death, that her role on this Earth wasn’t “meant to be”: she pleads with Scully, “Mommy, please, let me go.” 

It’s striking, then, that Emily becomes the spiritual medium instead of Melissa. I understand why it was written that way-- Scully connects her sacrifice and Emily’s death to the church, and her faith, to bring her comfort. (And I don’t think Melissa Scully would be too keen to dabble around with Catholic mythologies.) It’s even more striking that Emily becomes the only truth Scully clings to or believes in: no one else, be it deeply entrenched priest or well-researched paranormal partner, believes in her eyewitness accounts. (Or, in Mulder’s case, does… but suggests it’s born from outside manipulation.) 

This episode is yet another ouroboros: Scully her only witness, Scully her only source of strength-- a pattern that began in Beyond the Sea and loops back around and around until she puts it to rest in all things. And there's another parallel: Melissa acting as her conscience and guardian angel; Emily acting as her literal conscience and guardian angel. It was Scully herself who spotted the physical similarity between the two; and the narrative continues to connect that similarity to Scully's emotional growth.

“You believed you were releasing her soul to Heaven?”  the confessor asks after Scully admits to a fourth girl's death.

“I felt sure of it,” she says, tears brimming. 

“But you still can’t reconcile this belief with the physical fact of her death?”

“No. I thought I could, Father, but I can’t.” 

“Do you believe there is a life after this one?”

“Yes.” 

“Are you sure?” 

She stops, confused; and doesn’t answer. Second-guesses, doubts, and an inability to know her own conscience: all bubbling to the fore, once again. The ouroboros.

“Has it occurred to you that-- maybe this, too, was part of what you were meant to understand?”

“You mean accepting my loss?” 

“Can you accept it?” 

Tears trickling down her cheek, Scully trembles out, “Maybe that’s what faith is.” 

Her journey of faith has always been fraught (will continue to be so, post here) but Scully is mistaking belief in faith as an acceptance of loss-- a loss which she believes to be a punishment. She is afraid of attaching to others, has been since as a little girl; and that has driven her to and from God in different moments of extremis.  

Further, the struggle to be always in the dark, to never fully understand, is not one she gives much thought to… if she doesn’t have to face it, alone. However, Mulder-- her backup-- has been drifting aimlessly in recent months; and, because her own family can’t completely understand the strange horror of her reality, there is only one person left to lean on: her faulty perception of God. 

Why can’t Scully accept and believe what Emily has asked of her-- to let her go-- when she believed and accepted that truth when her daughter was dying? Because her conviction was shattered when she saw Emily’s coffin filled with sand: a spit in the face to her deliberate choice and hard-won decision. She has lost faith in herself; and the one person who she relies on-- as she admitted in Irresistible and Elegy-- for strength (inadvertently) withheld that comfort and support in All Souls, shattering it further. 

And the reality is, Mulder withdrew in All Souls because he was afraid of her (as he perceived) blind faith. Mulder himself is in desperate straits; and the thought that he could lose Scully-- to adoption (Emily), to a belief in aliens (The Red and the Black), to a wackier belief in God and angels and demons (All Souls)-- scares him to death and stirs up his distance or anger. While they were working towards a common goal in the cancer arc, neither needed to feel out-of-sync in their partnership, or question her nosebleeds, or withdraw from each other (more than their normal withdrawal parameters.) But now? Now, they’re completely out-of-sync-- Scully two steps ahead, doubting her progress, doubling back; and Mulder slouching, slumping, then sliding down a wall. 

THE GREAT CHANGE

What sets them right? 

Mulder’s confession in Fight the Future (post here) is mandatory to the shift from Season 5-- his dissipation and disbelief; her discouragement and lack of self-esteem-- to Season 6-- her assuredness and slow-build to loneliness; his wobbles forward into embracing a life on this planet with his touchstone. (I also recommend my meta on their Season 6 push-and-pull, post here, to understand why both had a lighter tone and higher confidence compared to last season.)  

TLDR: Scully was walking-- “You never needed me, Mulder. I just held you back”-- because she felt useless and worthless. Mulder was forced to battle with his own fear and insecurity or lose her forever; and, clutching his courage, chased her into the hall and tried his best to convince her to stay: by telling her, honestly, how much he truly needed her. 

CONCLUSION

Emily Sim was not meant to be; just as Scully was not meant to leave the files, nor Mulder to set aside his mission and walk away with them. Her birth, her life, and her death were a circumstance forced by a tampering with Fate-- the antithesis to Scully's freewill.

While Mulder rules his life by Fate-- parroting its principles, enshrining his quest and his losses in those terms-- Scully rules hers by choice: it is her choice to join the FBI, her choice to stay, and her choice to leave when she chooses (e.g. Season 8-- to be discussed in future.) Without her, Mulder’s life would become chaotically imbalanced, thrown about on every whim that promised to satisfy, toyed with by every voice that sold him lies; and without him, she would be confused and lose faith in herself and her choices.

This child was not meant to be... but what about those that were? That is a meta for another time~.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[ginafumbless]

Arson's matches - k.th

Some matches ignite more than just flames

── ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ✩

Genre: Dystopian au , Childhood friends to lovers, Forbidden love, Angst

Prologue: Love is supposed to fade, but not with him it never did. It clung to you like the smoke from a long dead fire lingering in every quiet moment, every breath you took. Even after all these years the warmth of him still burned beneath the surface of your heart refusing to extinguish. Your love was like the matches that were meant to burn everything in their path.

Note: hillo hillo you guyssss. This is probably my favorite fic that I've written. And lemme know your thoughts after Reading!!! Have a great timeee :)))

Playlist

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

"The Night We Met" – Lord Huron

"I Found" – Amber Run

"Breathe Me" – Sia

"Cherry Wine (Live)" – Hozier

"All I Want" – Kodaline

"Skinny Love" – Bon Iver

"Unsteady (Erich Lee Gravity Remix)" – X Ambassadors

"Silhouette" – Aquilo

"Poison & Wine" – The Civil Wars

"To Build A Home" – The Cinematic Orchestra

"Wait" – M83

"Youth" – Daughter

"As The World Caves In" – Matt Maltese

"Almost Lover" – A Fine Frenzy

"I Will Follow You Into the Dark" – Death Cab for Cutie

── ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ✩

Sylvarian kingdom despite the scars of war, retained a haunting beauty that lingered beneath the surface of its landscapes. The northern territories once adorned with snow capped peaks and crystalline lakes still held remnants of their former majesty. The icy expanses now untouched by human presence gleamed like diamonds in the sunlight reflecting a serene yet melancholic beauty.

In the southern realms where the warmth of cultural heritage once flourished ancient architecture and vibrant landscapes told tales of rich history. Citadel walls weathered by time and conflict stood as silent, reflecting the beauty of the southern cities. The scent of exotic spices once carried by the breeze in bustling marketplaces lingered as a nostalgic reminder of the vibrant trade that had defined these lands.

The night sky above adorned with constellations that had witnessed both joy and sorrow retained its beauty. The stars undiminished by the ravages of war sparkled like diamonds against the dark offering a glimmer of hope to those who dared to look up. It reminded its inhabitants that even in the darkest moments beauty could endure.

The war in Sylvaria was a relentless and devastating conflict leaving scars on both the land and its people. The once thriving lands became battlegrounds with the echoes of gunfire and the result of destruction haunting every corner. Families were torn apart, homes reduced to rubble and the air thick with the scent of despair. The reason for war was longstanding political tensions and territorial disputes between two major factions Monfort of the Northern Territories and the Dominion of the Southern Realms. These factions had a history of simmering animosities fueled by resource conflicts, ideological differences and past grievances.

The Monfort located in the colder northern regions of Sylvaria was characterized by its industrial prowess and a desire for territorial expansion to secure resources. It was Led by a coalition of ambitious leaders and it was believed to hold key advantages in trade and military strength.

On the other hand the Dominion, situated in the warmer southern realms prided itself on cultural heritage and traditions. The Dominion resisted encroachment by the Monfort viewing their expansionist goals as a threat to the identity of their territories. The clash of values and the desire to maintain sovereignty became rallying points for the Dominion's leaders.

The war erupted when diplomatic efforts to resolve these deep rooted issues failed. Both sides mobilized their forces, leading to a devastating conflict that swept across Sylvaria.

-

The Sylvarian kingdom was once whole and unbroken it was a playground for two children who saw no divide between the north and the south. Back then, Monfort and the Dominion were merely names spoken by adults, distant titles that had little to do with their small world.

You and Taehyung had grown up together in the borderlands of Sylvaria, where fields of wildflowers stretched out under the warm sun and the soft winds carried the scent of a peaceful melodies. The border between Monfort and the Dominion had been little more than a line on a map. But to you both, it was nothing but a line to cross for the sake of play and adventure.

"Catch me if you can!" Taehyung's voice had echoed across the flower-filled meadow, his laughter ringing out as he sprinted ahead of you his dark hair wild in the wind.

You grinned determined to catch up, "You’re not that fast Taehyung!" you yelled, your feet kicking up dirt and petals as you chased after him.

He stopped at the edge of the field just before the treeline turning to face you with a wide teasing grin. "Maybe you’re just slow!"

You finally caught up to him, out of breath but laughing. " I’m slow only because you’re always running away!"

Taehyung’s smile softened, and for a moment the world was paused in that perfect golden afternoon. "I’ll never run away from you" he promised, his voice quieter more sincere than his usual playful tone.

And he had meant it back then. When war and borders were still just distant ideas, when the only thing that mattered was the freedom to be together, to explore, to dream of the future. The two of you spent your days chasing those dreams whether it was hunting for secret hiding places in the woods or imagining what life would be like as adults.

"Do you think Sylvaria will always be like this?" you had asked him one day, as the two of you lay on your backs in the tall grass, staring up at the endless blue sky.

Taehyung had turned his head to look at you his dark eyes thoughtful. "I hope so. Maybe one day, we’ll live in a city where Monfort and the Dominion don’t matter It’ll just be us."

"Just us" you had repeated smiling at the thought. "That sounds perfect."

But as you both grew older, the world began to change. The war crept closer inch by inch, and with it the innocence of your childhood began to slip away. Borders were no longer invisible lines but heavily guarded walls. The fields that had once been your playgrounds became battlefield and the laughter that had once filled the air was replaced by the sound of marching soldiers and whispered fears of what was to come.

Taehyung’s visits became less frequent, though he never stopped coming. Even as the tensions between Monfort and the Dominion escalated, even as it became dangerous for him to cross into your territory, he would find a way.

One night, long after curfew you heard the familiar tap on your window. You rushed to open it, finding Taehyung crouched on the windowsill his dark cloak blending into the night. His face was covered but you could see the weariness in his eyes.

"You’re crazy for coming here" you whispered though you couldn’t hide the relief in your voice.

He smiled though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’d be crazier if I stayed away."

You stepped aside to let him in, your heart racing. It had been weeks since you had last seen him and each time he visited, you feared it would be the last.

"How are things on your side?" you asked as you handed him a glass of water sitting beside him on your bed.

Taehyung’s expression darkened. "Worse. The Monfort leaders are pushing for full control over the borderlands. They’ve started recruiting… boys our age. They want soldiers."

Your stomach twisted at the thought. "But you’re not a soldier" you said your voice tight. "You don’t want this war."

He looked down at his hands the weight of the world settling on his shoulders. "It doesn’t matter what I want anymore."

You reached out taking his hand in yours. "You don’t have to do what they say. You can stay here with me. We can leave Sylvaria go somewhere they can’t find us."

Taehyung shook his head a sad smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "I wish it were that simple. But they’re not giving us a choice. My family… they need me. And if I don’t fight they’ll be marked as traitors. I won’t let that happen."

The realization hit you like a punch to the chest. "They’re forcing you into this."you say

"I thought I could stay out of it, that I could protect my family without getting involved. But the more I resist the harder they push. I’ve started training Y/N. They’re grooming me to be something worse than a soldier." His voice was strained and for the first time you saw the fear in those eyes

"What do you mean?" you asked dread pooling in your stomach.

Taehyung’s gaze met yours and his next words sent a chill down your spine. "An assassin. They want me to be their assassin."

You stared at him disbelief flooding your mind. "No... they can't make you do this."

His hand gripped yours tighter desperation flickering in his eyes. "I have no choice. If I don’t become what they want, they’ll destroy my family Y/N. My father, my mother... they'll pay for my disobedience."

Tears welled in your eyes, your throat tightening. "Taehyung, there has to be another way. You can’t... you can’t become what they want you to be."

"I don’t want this" he whispered, his voice breaking. "But if it’s the only way to keep them alove... I’ll do it. I’ll become what they need me to be."

You couldn’t breathe the weight of his words crushing your chest. The boy you had grown up with the one who had promised you forever was slipping away, replaced by the assassin Monfort was molding him into.

"But you’ll lose yourself, Taehyung" you choked out. "The person I know the person who’s always cared about others... you’ll lose him."

He looked away his jaw clenched. "Maybe I already have."

-

From that day on the visits became fewer and far between. Each time he came there was more distance in his eyes more weariness in his movements. The boy you had known was disappearing consumed by the war and the expectations placed on him.

He became Monfort’s weapon, a shadow in the night carrying out orders that left him hollow. And yet, he always returned to you no matter the danger, no matter how deep he sank into the darkness.

"I still see you"

You whispered to him that night, as he sat on your windowsill "You’re still Taehyung. You’re still the boy I grew up with."

He had turned to you his eyes filled with a sadness that broke your heart. "Maybe to you, y/n. But to the rest of the world I’m just a monster."

And even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it. To you, Taehyung would always be the boy who chased fireflies with you, the boy who promised you forever even when the world tore itself apart around you.

But you both knew that forever was slipping through your fingers, like sand in an hourglass running out too fast.

-

The cold wind swept through the abandoned streets, bringing with it the scent of ash and iron. In the distance you could hear the steady march of soldiers boots pounding against the broken cobblestones. And you knew. You knew before anyone said a word.

He had been captured.

Your feet moved on their own, carrying you toward the source of the growing crowd. The air buzzed with tension Dominion swelling like a storm. They had him. They had Taehyung. You pushed through the crowd, people shouting with anger and the venom in their voices blending into a blur. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered but him.

And there he was standing in the center of the square, hands tied in front of him, his once sharp calculating gaze now weary and resigned. He didn’t fight. There was no escape left for him.

The crowd surged and cries of hatred filled the air. “Murderer!” they screamed. “Assassin!”

But you couldn’t see what they saw. You saw him Taehyung the one who had been forced into a life of death, the one who had once told you that his heart still ached for the Sylvaria you both used to dream of. And he found you in the crowd, his eyes searching until they met yours.

In that moment everything else disappeared. The hatred, the violence, the bloodlust it all vanished. There was only him and the memories of what could have been.

“You shouldn’t be here” Taehyung’s voice was rough, but there was no anger in it. Only sadness.

You stepped forward, the crowd too focused on their chants to notice you slip between them. “And neither should you” you whispered your heart breaking as you took in the state of him. His once proud stance had crumbled, his clothes torn and stained his face battered and bruised. Yet, he was still Taehyung, even now.

“I told you this isn’t over” he murmured his gaze never leaving yours, though his words were as hollow as the promises he had once made.

Tears blurred your vision and you shook your head, unable to find the words to express the pain clawing at your heart. "I can’t lose you" you whispered though you knew it was already too late.

“They’ll never stop, Y/N. Not until the blood they crave is spilled” he said, but you saw the fear in his eyes fear not for himself, but for you.

You wanted to argue you wanted to to tell him that you would save him, that there had to be another way. But when you looked at the executioner standing nearby their hands gripping the sword with practiced ease your words failed you. The crowd was baying for his blood and no amount of pleading could change what was about to happen.

“Please…” Your voice cracked and you stepped forward until the soldiers blocked your path. “He’s not ...he’s not just an assassin. You don’t understand.”

Taehyung’s gaze softened and he shook his head gently. “Let it go, Y/N. It’s better this way.”

“No!” you cried your hands fisting at your sides as you fought against the soldiers who held you back. “I can’t let you go, Taehyung. I can’t watch them—”

His eyes were glassy as he smiled that small broken smile. “You’re the only thing I’ll remember, even in the end.”

The crowd grew louder, the jeering became unbearable. You could see the fury in their faces, the desire for revenge against a man they didn’t even know. To them Taehyung wasn’t a person. He was a symbol of everything they hated.

And yet, to you… he was everything.

The executioner stepped forward and time seemed to slow. The metallic gleam of the blade reflected the setting sun and your heart clenched painfully as the distance between it and Taehyung closed.

“No, no, no,” you sobbed, fighting harder against the soldiers your body trembling as the weight of what was about to happen crushed you.

Taehyung’s gaze never wavered from yours even as the blade was raised above his head.

“I love you” he mouthed, though the words were swallowed by the roar of the crowd.

And then the sword fell.

It was swift merciless. The sickening sound of metal meeting flesh echoed through the square and the world around you seemed to shatter.

The crowd cheered.

But you didn’t hear them.

You didn’t see the faces of those who celebrated the death of the man you loved. All you saw was Taehyung, his body crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap his blood staining the earth beneath him.

You screamed the sound ripped from your throat as you broke free from the soldiers’ grasp and ran toward him. Your knees hit the ground and your hands trembled as you cradled his face, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Taehyung” you whispered, your voice broken and raw. “Please… please come back.”

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. His once bright eyes were dull the life that had burned so fiercely in them now extinguished.

You pressed your forehead to his your sobs shaking your entire body as the weight of the loss settled deep into your soul.

“I love you” you whispered through your tears, though you knew he would never hear it.

Around you, the crowd dispersed, their bloodlust sated. To them, the war had claimed another victim. But to you, it had taken everything.

You stayed there holding his lifeless body as the sun set on the broken kingdom. The stars began to appear in the sky, glimmering like distant promises of hope but for you there was no light left.

All that remained was the silence, the cold and the memory of the him who had once loved you since forever.

[chantsdemarins]

The Breath of the Æsir 🏰 (Loki x Reader) Chapter 2: The Stranger

Okay friends, I re-wrote Chapter 2. I was not happy with it after a friend pointed out to me that it needed work. Making me remember I really need a beta reader! *Any takers?

I hope those who might have read the first one will give this version a try!! As always reblogging and comments are the most amazing experience for me as a writer in this community. Thank you for reading and waiting. I am trying to get on a schedule I can stick to!

Summary: This is Loki's side of the story so far, as the world he finds himself in stirs into turmoil. What will the nature of your relationship be under these circumstances?

Smut Meter: Calm wildfire status

Word Count: 3,141 (give or take)

Loki

Loki was hiding among the Æsir. His true origin was not of theirs. Fárbauti, a frost giant, had been responsible for pulling him out of the tight silence and into form, so he could live among the Gods. A thin agreement had occurred between Odín and the Jötunn. This agreement was unknown to Loki. Odín would raise him. All his life, stirring in his veins was the blood of another people, another realm. The ornate mirrors in Asgard reflected back to him the image of a handsome spell caster with Æsir features. There was only ever the slightest feeling, that perhaps, his near-constant discontent, was related to the architecture of a family lie.

He knew where there was limitation, there was often equal illumination. Therefore, this conflict gave Loki insight into many aspects of the universe, some of which he would never have known had he not been born for deceit. This dual vision of light and dark created a natural and gradual buildup of powers, which he had no reason not to abuse. Where he lacked morals, he was tempered by circumstance back into some code of character that appeased both his father and whatever party he had offended by his lack of grace and concern. However, from time to time, something would cause him to change, more permanently, more absolutely. These events were so profound when they happened that the Skalds, both in Asgard and Midgard, told of them. Sometimes humans would be caught in the lava of the Gods' path. You were one of those humans. The day Loki lay close to one of his possible deaths, you had found him.

He was banished because he had seen enough. His contrary disposition had rejected the Northman’s insistence on placing his royal family at the heart of their bloody conquest. Thor, Freyja, Frigg—and Odín—had been brought deep into the conflict moving across the belly of Midgard. They used incantations and sacrifices to move the will of the Gods in their favor. Loki disliked this immensely. He did not like to be appeased with tokens. The ground of Asgard was saturated with the blood of Midgard. This disturbed him so much and ate at his being until he could stand it no longer. He cursed Thor, cursed Odín for the part they played in encouraging such worship.

In the throes of his discontent, Loki quickly discovered a God cannot have everything. For example, he could not have his opinion and his magic. Odín told him to go see for himself. Go see why the humans needed the Gods. See their fragility and need for guidance. He would be begging him to return to Asgard. “Go experience their ignorance with only a sword to protect you from it,” Odín had said to him.

When Loki decided to take a great risk, a great calamitous excitement would concurrently erupt. His enduring life and the lives of the Gods needn’t be so pristine and eternal. He longed for the shorter life of the Midgardians. He wanted to feel what life would be like if you only had a few years before you became permanent food for the beetles and worms. He needed to feel time slipping away from his grasp. So, without any seiðr, he nakedly stepped through the Bifrost and fell to Earth, fell to the home of the Midgard serpent, one of his many children, of which he was not the only father.

When he opened his eyes and began to walk across the hillside, so indulgently green it hurt. He took a moment and said a prayer to the elemental spirits that spun such colors into life on Midgard. They were independent of any God's influence, even ones with their full powers. The elementals were bonded to Midgard herself as servants. Loki could only admire their spinning of forms; he still had incredible vision even without any magic. He could see into their structural design and could listen to the hum of their cellular respiration. Loki was not the God of such things as fertility, but he felt himself in a keen understanding of it. He truly saw his station in the nine realms as a God responsible for making life, more than the ending of it. Not that any of the Gods would ever understand this about him. Creators often end up destroying their most precious creations just because they can. Loki had come to Midgard to change this.

He walked with careful trepidation; he was mortal now, and even though his heart soared with the thrill of his new lot, he did not want his tenure on Earth to be over so quickly. So, he cautiously guarded his path over the verdant hillside in the quiet of the afternoon. Things were seemingly calm, still, which actually began to worry Loki. Silence could mean only two things: peace or death. As he continued walking to gain a better view, he encountered a sight he was not prepared to see just yet. The ruins of a village burned in a heavy cascade of smoke. He quickly remembered he had no power to change the circumstances before him. He thought of Thor—would he truly celebrate this use of his name? He wished they would have the courage to do as he did, to come and see the work of the humans. Loki would have to be the eyes of the gods this time. Just as his contemplation ended, he felt the ground beneath him bend in a rhythmic flutter—horses. It was the same in any realm; the beasts were among the most powerful of all creations. Some could even fly, but not these. These heavy beasts carried their masters, who likely spotted him from their outposts.

They saw a stranger overlooking their burned village and identified him as one of the raiders, one of the pillagers, not as the God who made such acts possible. He looked up just in time to see a sword brandished by one of the riders. With a quick and skillful blow, he was impaled in his stomach. It had only been a few hours since his arrival, and already he was vanquished by the Norns. He fell, consumed by defeat and physical pain, his armor pierced. They spoke in their language, seemingly arguing whether they should take him captive. Perhaps they would have if they had not just suffered such a great loss. They left him to die and rode away without looking back.

The Encounter

Loki was consumed with a pain he had never felt before; it was completely debilitating. No sooner had he arrived on Midgard as a human he was swept away into the saga of their fragility. He couldn’t believe he was once so interested to experience this, to feel his life expiring and his pulse weaken. His heart was slowing, and every breath felt like he was uncertain if yet another would follow. He now worried that if he were to die on Midgard like this, his death would remain unknown, and his family would not find him before the vultures tore the newly minted mortal flesh from his bones. He fell into a fever quickly and began to dream of the frozen landscapes of his true birth home, of Jötunheim. His Asgardian façade was fading with every labored breath.

It was just his luck that as he could take no further steps, he reached the courtyard lined with thorny gorse, which pierced the white of his skin as he fell through the yellow flowers, leaving droplets of blood forming from yet another location other than his stomach. He called out something from a tongue he knew from Midgard, although he knew not where and when it was from. He saw you in the doorway before he closed his eyes; he wasn’t sure if he would open them again. He hoped that if he did, you would be there beside him. It was the tiniest of wishes; he was sure you were a Valkyrie. Not having enough blood in his veins to remember there were no Valkyries on Earth, his eyes shut, and the world of Midgard faded from his senses.

He had felt the jostling of stitches, the pulling of thread against his taut skin. He saw you, Valkyrie, with golden threads weaving his wound closed. He swore he heard you tell him his body was a tapestry, one you could embroider. He laughed at the thought of being sewn together by a fierce battle goddess of the nine realms. He worried about his weakness. He did not like the vulnerability that consumed him as he fought to return to the living. Part of him remembered the icy cold feeling of space he once felt as he let go of Thor and drifted off into the void, only to be intercepted by a race of beings so deadly and diabolical, he knew he wouldn’t be able to die enough times to satisfy their lust for power and domination. Part of him rested in the knowledge that you would make him whole again. The Norns had led him to a warrior who was also a weaver, a tailor.

He Lives, for Now

"Gef þú seiðr þinn mér," Loki mumbled once he was finally able to awaken. Sweat covered his face. A chill coursed through him. You had saved him just as he had predicted. He was still alive, but he was not yet well at all. "What is seiðr?" you immediately asked. You did not have what this man was asking for, and you would not be robbed of what you did have. Leaping to your feet, you grabbed the knife you had uncovered from his person while the man slept. Loki found himself once again at the receiving end of iron—only this time, it was his own.

"How quickly I forgot this is how people communicate, regardless of their station," Loki mused, clutching his stomach, fingers running along your needlework which now adorned him. "Communicate? Sir, you are in my home. I saved your life, and now you ask me for something else. What else could you want, unless you are the thief and murderer my servants say you are? Are they right? Have you come to kill us?" Your voice was a barely audible trill, but every vowel entered his ear as if it were a drum beating away shadows inside of him. You looked so shaky and unsure Loki was immediately disoriented.

As a Valkyrie, you would be more skillful, potentially than him. Why were you not wielding your own blade? Loki’s mind puzzled in a million different directions. In the chosen tongue, he rattled off an inquiry about where he was, now remembering he was on Earth as he came to. He needed you to confirm it. You told him the name of this small village, and Loki more solidly realized you were actually a human woman, seemingly. He found his voice hidden beneath the swell of feelings rising in his chest. "Do you know how to use that knife, woman? Don't wield something you aren't prepared to use, and why would you undo your handiwork?" Loki pointed to the careful stitches across his body. "You know me not, sir," you retorted. "I have unraveled nearly all the needlework I started. I have thrashed threads from one tapestry to another; I have no finished embroidery to show for it, so sir, flicking the threads that hold your guts in would be no long consideration."

The words that flew out of your mouth betrayed all your education and training. Never in your life had you spoken to a man like this, not to your father and surely never to your husband, but this man seemed to be able to feel and hear anything you might say. You didn’t know why you knew that, but you did. Perhaps it was the sewing him up that gave you such a perspective. The candlelight study of his stomach. You thought of the fine line that jutted across his abdomen where you had let your fingers trace in a kind of stoic appreciation for a moment while applying your stitches to his wound. You suspected your husband’s stomach did not have muscular curvature. The stranger was the first man you’d ever seen naked. You let yourself consider that for the briefest of moments before you returned to your senses and your defense of your home. By no means had you an understanding of just who this man was and what he was capable of even in his weakened state.

Loki continued to consider your origins. You could not be a simple incarnation of a human. Perhaps you were actually Asgardian, another traveler like himself, grown discontent with the trappings of the ethereal realm and transplanted to Midgard. He had known others who had come; his idea of leaving had not been a unique one. The Norns might have given him some grace after all, by leading him to you. Yet if you were a fragile mortal with a much shorter life than his, you wore your timeline with such grace, that it completely startled him. You were closer to the end of your short life than the beginning, perhaps you knew this and were prepared to defend what little you had accumulated. Or maybe it was something else that inspired such bold words. "What do they call you?" you finally spoke again, daring to continue. "Loki." His name was a rune itself, a spell, the only magic he had left. He wondered if you would feel its power. "Loki," you repeated, his name flowed from your heart to your feet, causing your body to feel heavy. You landed on the velvet living room chair with a crash. Loki, who had been situated in the other chair, leaped up beyond the ability his body should have allowed. "Woman," he said, daring to near you. "Please wake." He had not expected you to faint.

As he drew closer to you, he wasn't sure if you had fainted or passed to some other realm. You looked so peaceful. He held your head and for a moment dared to place a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your eyes struggled to open. "Loki," you murmured, not having heard the name before, but its composition—the four sounds—collided, perhaps stealing your breath. His concern for you was evident on his face, but it quickly faded, replaced by something akin to fear. Loki was startled by how swiftly Midgard's emotions were becoming his own. He had known so little of fear and now he was becoming proficient in all its shades and hues.

Suddenly a deep knock on the door and frantic voices could be heard from outside in the courtyard. A group of tenants had gathered, yelling and frantic. Perhaps the worst of your fears had materialized. Not only were you harboring a man, but now the townsfolk knew and had come to confront you about it in your husband’s absence. You did not want to open the door. You glanced at Loki, who had stepped further back into the darkness of the living room while you found your footing. "Lady, you should answer them," Loki's voice was a mere shadow, yet you trusted it to your surprise. Elinor was also nowhere to be found, and you were once again left to make decisions by yourself. This introduction with the stranger would have to further wait. With all your strength, you walked across the room and unlocked the large, heavy door. Before you could open it fully, the crowd of tenants crashed into your home and fell against you. There were strict conditions under which the manor lords ruled, and such an intrusion was likely less a group coming to judge your guest but one of desperation you immediately recognized.

You gasped for air and tried to calm them, beseeching one of the tenants to explain what had happened. "They are here, the slaughter wolves," Æthaldan, the young blacksmith, finally spoke wildly. The rest of their voices were a blur, a scattered cacophony you couldn't decipher. The "slaughter wolves," who sought to take the land you managed, had been kept at bay by bribe or sword wielded in temporary acts to push them back, to change their minds about the worth of the land. Words had been spoken by the manor lords about the rocky soil being no better than the soils of where they came. Their crops would not find purchase here either. You knew this to be true in your heart since your land had been barren, and that barrenness had crept into all places of your marriage, including your womb. Nothing but the yellow gorse you had planted around the periphery had grown.

Suddenly from behind the crowd, you heard the sound of your closest companion, "What are we to do?" Elinor had been able to come back to the manor from where she had been in the village; she was now frantic as well as she pushed Æthaldan and the others out of her way to get to you. You surveyed the tenants, as you embraced your friend; none had weapons worthy of the name. One held a reaping iron, another something procured from the hearth, likely nothing in comparison to the weapons of the intruders. You needed time to think, but there was none. You looked down at the weapon you had lifted from the stranger while he slept. You had nearly forgotten you were holding it, clasped tightly in your hand. You tried to hide it in your skirt pockets, but it was clear no one had noticed what you were holding in their panic, not even Elinor.

"Please keep them safe until I return!" you finally shouted at your friend, knowing the best she could do was bolt the door once everyone was inside. Your instructions were curt, "Call to the others, have them come to the house," your voice trailed off as you ran through the corridor of the manor, looking for the stranger. You wondered where he had gone; he was still injured but not knowing his nature of intent you imagined all possible things as you searched for him in the curtained darkness of your halls. Your thoughts ceased when you came upon his nearly collapsed form; he was barely able to stand. Without thinking further, you handed him back his knife, taking his hand and placing it to it, folding his fingers around the hilt. "Help us now, I saved you, now you save us," you demanded. "This is your weapon, use it,” you reiterated when you noticed he was not stirred to action. His blue eyes were crestfallen, “Lady, I cannot,” were his words before he handed the blade back to you.

[fanopeia]

em: Instinctual Variants Stackings | Wiki | Myers Briggs [MBTI] Amino (aminoapps.com)

Self-Preservation dominant, Sexual 2nd, Social blindspot (SP/SX)

> Mindset: "I can have merging/intensity without having to leave my orderly & pleasing lifestyle." (imagination, safe people and relationships, when the safety of these are challenged they withdraw)

> Earthy, mysterious, quietly intense, seem oblivious to the greater social world around them, favour personal interests

> Slow to commit, but when they do it is a life commitment to establish an impermeable bond

> Can attach to others at a root level in contrast to their surface formality

> Sanctuary of home, decorate spaces to reflect their taste/depth

> Want to live in secure comfortable environment where they can pursue their private interests in depth

> Archetypes: The Grave Digger, pirate, voodoo fetishist

> Missing Social, fresh air/sunlight

> Shrouded/hooded quality, cave dweller

> Can be oblivious to the collective good

> Communications are intimate, personal, no aura of the collective

> Friend-of-the-dark, non-judgemental with people’s underbellies/corruption

> The elements as metaphor: Downward death, decay/destruction, undertow, carcasses recycling into earth fertilizing

> Molten fire SX in earth’s core SP, volcanic, threat of eruption

> Psychic nudity/revelation threatens the SP/SX with self-destruction, or at least social self-destruction, which is all part of the distilling process toward the desired one-to-one bond.

​-------------------------------------------------------------

Sexual dominant, Self-Preservation 2nd, Social blindspot (SX/SP)

> Mindset: "If I can make (us) have an orderly & pleasing lifestyle, I can keep up and escalate all this merging/intensity."

> Internally conflicted, inconsistent behaviour SX blocked by SP, brooding, troubledIsolation vs. emerging

> Strictly personal outlook, not concerned with social consensus

> Searching for missing piece, soulmate, form a secret bond

> When stressed, severe sexual tensions may manifest as erratic behaviour

> Restless, torn between stable home and urge to wander/explore intensity

> Want the intensity of partner/pursuing personal interests with the stability and comfort of a home sanctuary

> Archetypes: The Alchemist, shaman, self-injurer, cutter, tattoo artist

> Missing Social, fresh air/sunlight, when you take away air you get death

> Shrouded/hooded quality, cave dweller

> Oblivious to the collective good

> Communications are intimate, personal, no aura of the collective

> Friend-of-the-dark, non-judgemental with people’s underbellies/corruption

> The elements as metaphor: Upward death, rebirth, metamorphosis, burned to death and born again from new elements

> Losing self to die in the other in upward peak of flame and ecstasy

> A lightning bolt captured in a bottle. The energy is always there but it's contained in a glass jar and only breaks free once in a while. The SX/SP is boxed in energy, self-contained, cutting, and focused. SX/SP types will often look angry even when they are not. There is a certain reality of emotion which they display that is due to their social obliviousness. Most SX's will be honest almost to a fault. SX/SP want to choose their friends wisely. A "with me or against me" attitude reminiscent of 6 and 8s. The least inhibited of all stackings. Cares less of what others think of them. The most likely to get into physical altercations, and may even enjoy fighting. Healthy SX/SP's will display a playful selfishness.

> SX/SP have a inner confidence which is not usually found in other stackings. However they may lack social confidence or just may not pay any attention to social rituals at all. Put a SX/SP in a busy bar and they will be confident in themselves. But make them sit at their parent-in-laws for a formal family dinner and you won't see that same confidence. It's inner confidence rather than social confidence of the SX/SO. May be very popular without knowing or putting emphasis on it, unlike SO types.

> SX/SP does create a kind of isolationary tendency though even in extroverted types, an in-their-own-world vibe, kinda oblivious sometimes. But ironically they can also be extremely insistent and aggressive on issues they feel strongly about, which they go on about in the SO realms in ways that will cause stronger SO's to cringe, it's so rough and undiplomatic. They can fall in love with their soapboxes. They can tune out of conversations, reacting suddenly when someone says something interesting, then snapping back to their inner focus whenever it gets boring. Also, making the odd crude joke, in bad taste. Or a faux pas, where they don't know it's the wrong thing to say until afterwards, or don't care.

> SX manifests as strong drives towards pleasure, new experiences, personal transformations, spontaneity, being provocative and in the spotlight, flaunting to impress, extravagance, and unrealistic romantic fantasies and whims. But SP counters with worries, fears, practical downers, erecting walls, a need to hide and be secretive, and needs to conserve time, space, and energy.

Energies in the Stackings

SX-firsts, aren’t as aware of the interactions between them and others and the environment, rather… their more aware of the chemistry. So while the so-firsts are more “mechanical”, the sx-firsts are more “chemical”. Focusing on SX-first issues involve: Am I close to my gf/bf? Am I close to my family? How much in common do we all have? Do I really like this thing? Am I attracted to it? Is that person attracted to that other person? etc. They’re more aware of the bonds and the chemistry between them and people, as well as environment, and other people and other people, as well as other people and the environment. They really like being close to their intimates, and are generally passionate about things. Likewise, they fear that those chemical bonds could be broken, and when they are, they are emotionally hurt. They feel literally separated, and ripped away from the other person or object.

SP-first issues revolve around: Am I healthy? Do I look good? How are my financial issues? How is that person’s financial issues? Am I hungry? etc. In other words, SP-firsts worry more about fitness. Fitness in general, of course, not necessarily just body fitness. Therefore, they worry more about how fit they are in their environment, as well as how fit other people are in their environment. They want to be fit. This represents more a potential energy, rather than mechanical and chemical energy. When someone leaves them… I guess perhaps they feel more unfit, since I’m sure they may rely on others to keep them fit. Though, its still more important for they themselves to be fit on their own.

[ok, não sei ainda qual sequência é mais minha cara. ainda acho que sx/sp]

[wammyhoe]

Whiskey in a Teacup (ongoing, 12 chapters)

Summary: Your peaceful life as a bartender halts when you meet Mello, a guy with an alluring smirk who becomes a regular at the bar. As you indulge in the excitement of getting to know him, you fail to notice the warning signals that suggest Mello is not who he pretends to be. Before long, you find yourself caught up in a dangerous conflict between Mafia families.

mafia!Au - After the Kira case, where Mello survived, but Matt didn't

Thanks to @supermarine-silvally for beta reading this and always providing feedback! You're a ray of sunshine!!

Warnings: Eventual smut/blood and violence / original characters

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

Chapter 1- Villain in the Rain

You meet a stranger at the bar you're currently working at. There's something mysteriously alluring in his presence.

Chapter 2- All red flags ignored

Getting to know Mello is exhilarating, yet you can't quite shake off the feeling there's something dangerous about him. On par with his frequent visits to the bar, strange things about its administration start coming to light.

Chapter 3- A Lie Between the Lines

As suspicions mount about the bar's involvement in illicit activities, you find yourself at a crossroads. Driven by a deep affection for the place you call home, you dwell between approaching the authorities or taking matters into your own hands.

Chapter 4- To Escape Blood and Violence

Life in the mafia is so harsh that sometimes the only way to save a friend is by putting a bullet through their head. Mello is cunning enough to navigate such a predicament, yet he'll have to confront all the implications tied to betraying the family.

Chapter 5- At the amusement park!

Despite each of you harboring individual concerns, you steadfastly hold onto the red lace that binds you to one another. Consequently, you embark on your first official date with Mello.

Chapter 6-Greetings and Farewells

Witnessing you interact with one of your friends, Mello erupts in a displeasing fit of jealousy, inadvertently hurting your feelings. In the aftermath of this incident, you finally take heed of your best friend's advice, recognizing that Mello may not be the right match for you. Interestingly, amid this realization, Mello undergoes a profound revelation about his own feelings for you. Sometimes, it's only when things fall apart that they can find a way back together.

Chapter 7- Fear of Love

The reader stumbles upon a significant revelation about the bar, finally unraveling its secrets. Concurrently, Mello grapples with the repercussions of his actions. In a pivotal moment, Mello's crime partner imparts powerful advice, fueling Mello's motivation to take decisive action about his feelings for you.

Chapter 8- You are the Ocean NSFWish / suggestive

Mello initiates a conversation that paves the way for a long-awaited reconciliation, establishing the groundwork and agreements on how the dynamics will function if both of you decide to be in a relationship. Something in all these conditions sets off your red alerts, yet the desire to finally feel his lips on yours quiets all the questioning in your mind.

Chapter 9- Undercity

Mello was never who he claimed to be. Things fall apart, and the scent of blood hangs heavy. You struggle to breathe, haunted by relentless pursuers.

Chapter 10- The Weight of Expectation

Following the events unfolding at the metro lines, Mello decides that the best way to keep you safe is to take you with him. Don't worry, you're not his hostage. At least, not yet. You can think of yourself as a well-cared-for guest. God, he destroyed your world, and there's no one to blame but yourself. But you're determined to make things right.

Chapter 11- A Matter of Winning or Losing NSFW

After the events on the metro lines, Mello's betrayal to the family comes to light, placing a hit on his head and stripping him of his position as New York street chief. To reclaim his title and restore order to the city's chaos, he is determined to forge new alliances. Simultaneously, he's resolute in showing you that while all degenerates may be criminals, not all criminals are degenerates.

Chapter 12 - For the dancing and the dreaming NEW CHAPTER

You soon discover that Mello has a soft side to him that you didn't think was possible. For a moment, you hesitate, questioning whether or not to continue with your plan to bring him down.

[ts2cambremon]

ROS (Random Occurence Scenarios)

For extra mayhem and the introduction of a little randomness to gameplay, nothing like an ROS!

Here is the one I've been using for my game, heavily inspired by a lot of great ROS out there, but tweaked to suit my game. In case it can be helpful for anyone, here it is! It's a d12+d6 roll:

-> 1

CONFLICT : war with another faction

PESTILENCE : make 3 people sick

PLAGUE : make 5 people sick

PENITENCE : to atone for bad deeds, a Sim willingly joins the Monastery for d10 days and makes a sizeable donation

NEW PET : create a new pet

LOOTING : bandits take all goods in inventory+cash, lower relationships with members of the household

-> 2

FOREIGN ENVOY : create a merchant/ambassador

SETTLERS : create new Free-folk family

SURGE OF MAGIC : one random person becomes supernatural

DISAMOURED : break up a couple

NEWCOMER f : create an NPC

PRISONER : bandits take a person hostage and ask for ransom

-> 3

THIEVING : a playable low class Sim takes 5 things from household

ROTTEN WATER : the well becomes unusable for a season

FIRE : fire breaks out, let it spread 3 tiles before fighting it

SNOWSTORM : stuck inside for 2 days, venturing outside is death

SPIDER ATTACK : combat roll for survival chances, scars, if mage, chance of reward

ANIMAL SICKNESS : all lifestock dies

-> 4

TREE ROT : all trees must be cut down in 3h or otherwide have to be deleted

LENIENCY : can avoid paying rent for 1 day

PILGRIMAGE : entire household goes to a community lot to pray

FOUND TREASURE : one person in the family finds a hidden treasure of 20K

SUDDEN WISDOM : a Sim gets 5 skill points to distribute

LEVYING : taxes are doubled for a day

-> 5

FERTILITY : a Sim in the family has twins

SPECIAL GUEST : someone joins the household

DISTINGUISHED SERVICE : if Serf : freed, if other : jump to upper class, if Mage : give gift to lower class

FOUND HEIRLOOM : a Sim acquires a rare object

BOUNTY OF WOOD : 10 wood stacks added

BOUNTY OF FOOD : 10 foodstuff added

-> 6

CAPTIVE : add a Serf to the clan

PLANT ROT : all crops die

FEASTING DAY : organize a party with music and 3 dishes

WOLF ATTACK : summon wolves, roll for chance of death/becoming a werewolf

REJUVENATING : add 3 days of life to a Sim

FALSELY ACCUSED : a conflit erupts with the Sim with the lowest relationship score

-> 7

DEADLY ACCIDENT : a Sim dies

BLOODLUST : a Sim must kill another within the season

CAUGHT A SPECIAL GOOSE : obtain the goose with the golden eggs

CAUGHT A RUNAWAY BEAST : obtain a farm animal

BRAIN WORMS : obtain Insane trait, randomize personality points, aspiration failure, gain friendship with a spirit

TASTES CHANGE : change turns on/off and aspiration

-> 8

CHARITABLE : make a sizeable donation to a needy serf or to the Monastery

SERVICES RENDERED : gain 5K+ friendship with Starschin or Intendant

SEDITION : Sim becomes enemy with 1 Sim of upper rank and badmouths them

NEW LOOK : change clothes + makeover

SPECIAL DRUGS : maxmotives+motivedecay off for 1 season, d2 roll for aspiration failure at the end of the season

BANISHED : 1 Sim is banished from the clan, becomes wolfshead

-> 9

NEW MEMBER : a Sim from the household must join a group (Watch, The Blades, Brothel, Monastery, Secret Society (if available), Merchant Guild (if available))

QUARANTINE : 1 Sim is stuck inside for 1 season

PREMATURE : 1 Sim ages up (closest to birthday)

PRISON : 1 Sim is locked up by the Guards or a Mage

SACRIFICE : 1 Sim is designated for sacrifice

CLAIMED BY THE SPIRITS: alien abduction

-> 10

UNWITTING INSULT : enemy with a Mage, must build up the relationship to a friendship within 1 day or be sacrificed

WIDE HIPS : have a child with a Mage

UNLIKELY FRIEND : become friend with someone from another class

BLESSING : gain 10 skill points to distribute and 2 badges

ALLIANCES : contract a marriage between your child (or younger family member) and a friend’s child, throw engagement party

GIFTS : get 10 ingredients from catalogue

-> 11

BLACKMAIL : either blackmail another Sim or be blackmailed by another Sim

REUNITED : organize a family get-together, if no extended family, throw a big party

CORRUPTION : must give a member of the Watch 10K or face (legitimate?) detention

HIDDEN TALENT : 1 Sim gains a badge

SAILOR’S CALL : a Sim from the household must become a sailor (if river or sea travel is available)

LOCALISED CONFLICT : initiate a conflict with a neighbour over property/behaviour of children

-> 12

LOST HERD : add d10 farm animals, roll again d4 : 1 : owners never found 2 : nearest neighbour is owner, claims them- can give the herd back or refuse 3 : owners are passing merchants (if manage to keep herd inside for 5 days, the herd is yours) 4 : if Mage/Watch walk-bys for next 5 days, hand over the animals to serfs on magelands

CURSE : go into aspiration failure

NEWCOMER m : create an NPC

ASYLUM : hunted down or persecuted, claim asylum in the Monastery

LOYALTY : add 10 customer stars/make a friend linked to occupation

IMMORTALISED : get a portrait done

[tylerandcrystal]

THE WOLF'S MOON

🐺🌕

James Miller, a werewolf, must help his friend deal with the consequences of being bitten, while also navigating his own feelings for Allison Argent, the daughter of the hunters who are after him.

Allison Argent X oc

Season 1

KJ APA as JAMES MILLER

"sorry to keep you waiting, but now I'm all yours."

CRYSTAL REED as Allison Argent

"Do I make you nervous?"

The rest of the cast of Teen Wolf.

🌕🐺🌕

James Miller, a 17-year-old alpha werewolf, lived under the protection of the Hale family in Beacon Hills after being abandoned by his biological family. His life changes when Scott McCall, a schoolmate, is bitten by a new and powerful alpha. Derek Hale orders James to keep an eye on Scott to maintain the secrecy of werewolves and prevent trouble with hunters.

James also faces romantic rivalry with Scott for the affection of Allison Argent, the daughter of a family of hunters. As the new alpha threatens to destabilize the city and the conflict between hunters and werewolves intensifies, James must choose between protecting his friends and following his own heart.

🌕🐺🌕

CHAPTER 1:

The familiar shadows of the Beacon Hills reserve surrounded me, but there was something different in the air that night. A sense of unease, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. I knew this place better than I knew myself. I understood what it was capable of and what it hid among its trees. When I saw Scott McCall emerge from the bushes, I let out a sigh. What the hell was he doing here?

Scott had always been a quiet guy, one of those who tried to stay out of trouble. Different from his friend Stiles, who seemed to attract problems like a magnet. We were "friends," or at least something similar. We chatted occasionally between classes, but nothing deeper.

From the shadows, I watched him move forward. Something dark and ominous hovered around him. Each step was slower, heavier, as if the ground itself was trying to hold him back. When he stopped at a fork in the path, I saw his body tense up, as if he sensed danger. A dull noise from between the trees made him jump. He reached for his inhaler in his pocket, but the sound changed, turning into a deep rumble, like a wave approaching.

My heartbeat quickened. I knew what was about to happen. Then, suddenly, a dozen deer burst out from the underbrush, racing past Scott in a wild stampede. He dropped the inhaler as he struggled to regain his balance, but what the flickering light of his phone illuminated was something horrifying: a face, torn in half. A girl, her body mangled and broken among the leaves. A choked scream escaped her mouth as she stumbled back.

"Scott!" I wanted to yell, but my voice remained trapped in my throat. He slipped, tumbling down the slope, and without thinking twice, I followed him. My heart pounded furiously in my chest. I knew what was coming.

Then I felt it: a low, menacing growl that made my nerves tremble. I froze, and so did Scott. The creature was about to strike. I could feel it moving in the darkness, its heavy breath mingling with the scent of blood. In that moment, everything seemed to slow down.

I lunged forward, but I was already too late. The shadow pounced on him, its white, razor-sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. "Scott!" I screamed, reaching out to him as the creature struck. I watched him fall, blood flowing. Its scent hit me, nauseating me. I had to intervene.

I positioned myself between him and the beast, my heart racing, and let the wolf inside me emerge. A fierce growl erupted from my chest. "Leave him alone!" I roared, my voice turning into an animalistic growl. "Let him go!"

The alpha stopped, its red eyes like blood gazing at me. An instant of hesitation, as if it was assessing whether I was a threat. Then, slowly, with a fluid and ruthless motion, it turned and walked away. Scott remained still, paralyzed by fear.

"Run!" I shouted, pouring all my will into the words. "Scott, get out of here!"

For a moment, he stood frozen, confused and scared, but then something unlocked within him. He turned and started running, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.

A sense of relief washed over me, but only for an instant. I knew Scott was safe... at least for now.

But he didn't know who I was. He didn't recognize my face, hidden behind the wolf's form, nor my eyes burning bright red. And maybe, that was for the best.

🐺🌕

I reached a safe spot and called the only person who could help me understand what had just happened.

"Derek, you need to come to Beacon Hills right away!"

His response was immediate, tense. "What happened?"

"An alpha. He bit a boy. You might want to-"

The line cut off with a sharp beep. Derek had hung up. Damn it.

I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. I knew Derek would come. And I knew that things were about to get very, very complicated.

🐺🌕

I'm blindly slipping into my pants, my mind still foggy with sleep. Derek is there, leaning against the door with his arms crossed and that impassive expression that makes me want to scream. One eyebrow is raised ever so slightly, and I can already feel the lecture coming.

"Follow him? Are you serious?" I burst out, my voice sharp as a knife.

"Yes." He's firm, convinced, as if he's talking about the weather. To him, everything is simple and clear: it's like a well-marked road. Black or white.

I huff, irritated. "I'm not going to babysit."

And he doesn't waver. "You're not babysitting. You just need to keep an eye on him, talk to him, help him."

I laugh, but there's nothing funny about my smile. "Hey, I don't even know him."

Derek stares at me with that calmness that seems almost unnatural. "You go to school together."

"What? I've exchanged a couple of words with him in the hallway, if that's good for ten times." I throw him a penetrating look. "That's not enough to say that I know him."

"Then it'll be the perfect opportunity to get to know him," he replies, without a moment's hesitation.

I sigh, the tension already palpable in the air. "Do you realize it will be weird? Really weird."

Derek doesn't flinch. "You can handle 'weird.'"

I make an irritated sound as I put on my t-shirt, avoiding his gaze that seems to read my thoughts. "No, I really don't think-"

"There's another alpha in town, James," he interrupts, his voice now harder. His arms are crossed tight, as if they bear the weight of what he's not saying. "You've noticed, right?"

I stop, a low growl rising in my throat. "So what? Am I supposed to babysit his betas?"

Derek steps forward, his voice intense as if he wants to shake something inside me. "You're an alpha too. Don't you get it? It's your responsibility."

I feel the blood pounding in my temples. "Derek, I want a normal life! Go to school, fall in love, party... like all the other guys."

He shakes his head, incredulous. "We're not like the others."

His tone irritates me even more, and my self-control begins to crumble. "Yeah, but I've tried not to be like you guys since that day, and you know it." His eyes drop for a moment, and I know he understands which day I'm referring to. The fire. The night I lost everything.

But he doesn't give in. With a softer yet firm tone, he says, "So why did you try to save that boy?"

I look at him incredulously. "What does that mean? Should I have let him die?"

"No," he replies, and there's a challenge in his voice, an invitation to reflect beyond the immediate. "But your alpha instinct told you to protect him."

I feel like I might explode. "Oh, no. Don't try to draw me into this kind of discussion, Derek."

Derek doesn't respond right away. He approaches my bed, grabs my backpack, and throws it at me. "You don't want to be late on your first day of school, do you?"

I catch the backpack midair, my heart pounding furiously. "The conversation always ends when you decide it does."

He smiles, just a hint, but enough to make me want to throw something at him. "When you realize you don't have a choice."

I sigh, feeling the bitterness building inside me. "One day, I swear, I'll stop listening to you."

Derek comes closer, places a hand on my shoulder, and looks into my eyes, his features softer than usual. "Yes, but today isn't that day."

My eyelids feel heavy, but I don't look away. "I hate you," I mutter, but my voice doesn't carry any real weight.

He chuckles softly, a deep sound that fills the room, and I can almost see a hint of affection in his eyes. Deep down, I know that despite my wish to rebel, I can't help but listen to him. And despite everything, I'm not ready to distance myself from him. Not yet.

🐺🌕

The roar of my motorcycle engine echoed as I approached the school entrance. With a smooth motion, I parked and took off my helmet, allowing my mind to focus on the fragments of conversation drifting into my ears. Scott and Stiles were deep in an animated discussion.

Stiles: "Okay, tell me everything. Ooh!"

Scott: "Yeah... Wow! It was too dark to see clearly, but I'm sure it was a wolf."

Stiles: "Did a wolf bite you?"

Scott: "Uh-huh."

Stiles: "No way."

Scott: "I heard a wolf howling."

Stiles: "No, you did not."

Scott: "How do you know what I heard?"

I stepped closer, getting a clear view of them. Scott looked troubled, a mix of fear and confusion in his eyes. It was clear he was trying to piece together a situation that seemed to be slipping away from him.

Without thinking too much, I approached them with a confident and laid-back tone: "Hey, guys!"

The two whipped around to face me. Stiles jumped in surprise. Then, with a forced smile and tense shoulders, he greeted me, "Oh, hey, James!" It was a little too friendly for my taste. "Did you hear what we were talking about?"

While Scott appeared lost, as if he was trying to determine whether all of this was real or a dream.

I smiled calmly: "No... Why? Should I have?"

"No, no! We were just discussing boring stuff, you know... nothing special."

A silence stretched between us as I observed them. Then I turned to Scott, who hadn't spoken a word until then. "Scott, what about you? You okay?"

Scott looked at me, and for a moment, I could read a shadow of confusion in his eyes, a foggy memory struggling to surface. "Uh... yeah, yeah... I guess I'm okay."

He doesn't know I was the one who saved him, that I threw myself between him and that beast last night. It's better he doesn't find out. Not yet.

At that point, Stiles, nervously chuckling and trying to save his best friend, declared: "Yeah, perfect! Like always, right?"

I watched them, aware that they were trying to hide something, but I knew better. It was a reality they hadn't yet confronted. I smiled, echoing Stiles' words: "Perfect, sure... like always."

In that moment, I caught sight of Lydia Martin strolling along the outside corridor like a model on a runway. Her red hair sparkled in the sunlight, and her smile was confident and magnetic. Stiles and I exchanged a glance and, almost in sync, greeted her: "Hey, Lydia!"

She looked at me and smiled, giving me a nod, but only to me, leaving Stiles completely ignored.

I said, smiling: "Maybe she didn't hear you."

Scott burst out laughing, and Stiles shot me a mock-indignant look.

"But she waved to you!"

I shrugged. "Maybe she meant to wave to you too."

Stiles shot an accusatory glance at Scott. "You're the cause of all this, you know. You've dragged me into your nerd abyss. I've become a nerd by association. I've been scarlet-nerded by you."

I smiled, amused by the scene unfolding before me. I turned back to Scott, who was still hiding his discomfort behind a forced smile. I knew something inside him was changing, and he would soon have to face the reality of what had happened. He was searching for answers. But I wasn't ready to give them to him yet.

🐺🌕

It was the first day of English class, and the room was filled with a hum of voices and the sounds of chairs scraping against the floor. I walked into the classroom and immediately spotted Scott sitting next to Stiles, both already deep in an animated discussion.

The atmosphere shifted instantly as MR. CURTIS, the teacher, entered with a deliberate and authoritative stride.

"As you all know, a body was found in the woods last night. I'm sure your curious little minds are already conjuring up all sorts of macabre scenarios about how it happened, but I've been informed that the police have a suspect in custody."

Scott shot a surprised glance at Stiles. I was equally taken aback by this revelation. I had no idea there was already a suspect.

"So now that the gossip has been set aside, you can devote your full attention to the syllabus on your desks. Read it now. And by reading, I don't mean just giving it a quick glance."

The students buried themselves in their reading, but an unexpected CELL PHONE RINGING broke the silence. Scott looked up, confused, and I did the same, scanning for the source of the disturbance. Despite the class being immersed in silence, the ringing persisted audibly. My eyes landed on the windows of the classroom.

Outside, beyond the courtyard, a girl I had never seen before caught my attention. She appeared to be around sixteen, with a radiant and innocent beauty. I watched her lift the phone to her ear, realizing that it was her call, despite the distance and closed windows.

I noticed that Scott, like me, could hear her conversation.

"Mom, three calls on the first day is a bit much."

"I just wanted to make sure you arrived safely and that you have everything you need."

The girl rummaged through her bag, clearly anxious.

"I have everything except a pen. Oh my God, I can't believe I forgot a pen."

"Don't worry. I'm sure you can borrow one from another student."

"Okay, okay, I have to go. Love you."

Scott seemed completely captivated by the scene, as me. I saw the principal approaching the girl on the steps of the building. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

The principal guided her through the courtyard, and their conversation grew clearer as they approached the building.

"So you were telling me that San Francisco isn't where you grew up?"

"No, but we stayed there for over a year, which is unusual for my family. We move around a lot because of my dad's job."

Even as they vanished from sight, I could still hear the noise of the door opening and the clicking of their footsteps in the hallway.

"Well, let's hope Beacon Hills is your last stop for a while."

The classroom door opened, and all eyes turned up.

"Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome."

Allison. That was her name. I watched her walk to the only empty desk, situated right behind Scott. I noticed Scott holding his breath, unsure of what to do. I decided to take the initiative. I stood up, pulled a pen from my pocket, and walked over to her with a friendly smile. "Here, you can use mine."

Allison looked at me, surprised, and then smiled gratefully. "Thanks! How did you know?"

"That's usually how we welcome people to Beacon Hills." I flashed a grin.

Allison seemed amused, but the firm tone of MR. CURTIS interrupted our conversation.

"Mr. Miller... I appreciate your enthusiasm, but could you please return to your seat so we can start the lesson?"

With a wider smile, I nodded. "Sure, Mr. Curtis, I'll sit down right away."

I returned to my desk, not before throwing one last glance at Allison, who was trying to suppress a laugh. I felt Scott's eyes on me as I took my seat. Stiles, sitting next to him, was chuckling under his breath.

Scott looked a bit annoyed, but I shrugged it off. I settled back in my seat, maintaining a confident smile, wondering who this girl was that had caught both Scott's... and my... attention.

"Alright, let's begin with Kafka..."

I took one last look at Scott, still distracted by Allison. As I pretended to focus on Kafka, I knew that this girl had just made the day a lot more interesting.

🐺🌕

I was grabbing a snack from the vending machine when I noticed Lydia grabbing Allison by the arm, guiding her towards a group of guys gathered at the end of the hallway. Among them was Jackson, the captain of the lacrosse team, who shared my reputation as one of the best players in school.

I decided to approach them.

Scott, in the meantime, was following my every step, and I could feel his gaze on me, like a silent shadow.

"Hey, hi! I didn't think I'd see you again so soon," I said when my eyes met Allison's.

"Hey, pen guy."

"I'm James, by the way." I offered my hand with an affable smile, and she shook it, amused. God, I wished I could hold it forever.

"I see, is this how you made an impression?" Jackson interrupted with his usual annoying tone. "Did you give her your pen?"

We're friends, but sometimes I just can't understand how he manages to be so irritating.

Amused, I gave him a friendly nudge, trying to diffuse the tension.

Finally, Lydia spoke up, tired of our banter. "You're coming to the party, right Allison?"

"A party?" Allison seemed surprised.

"Friday night. You should come," Jackson continued, his enthusiasm evident.

"I can't. It's family night this Friday. But thanks for the invite," Allison replied, and my mind started racing. Why are you lying, girl?

Jackson, insensitive to the nuances, insisted. "Are you sure? Everyone's going after the scrimmage."

"You mean like football?" Allison asked, clearly confused.

Jackson and I exchanged a knowing glance: we both knew how this conversation would end.

"What's football?" I said, playing my part to lighten the mood.

Jackson went on, "Football's a joke here at Beacon. The real sport here is lacrosse. We've won the state championship the last three-"

Lydia, proudly pointed at Jackson. "Thanks to a certain team captain."

"It's funny how I never get any recognition. I'm the one who makes the most assists in every game," I grumbled, but my frustration melted away when Allison laughed.

"Oh sorry, James," Lydia interrupted, the attention turning back to us.

Jackson continued to boast, "Every season starts with a scrimmage to decide the new starting lineup. Have you ever seen lacrosse?"

Allison replied, "Actually, I'm not sure how it's played, other than-well, it's violent."

"Maybe you should come see for yourself. We have practice in a few minutes. You're not going anywhere, are you?" Jackson said, his eyes locked on her.

Allison looked at me and then said, "Well, no, I was just heading-"

"Perfect. Come with us," Lydia interrupted, with her usual authority.

"It seems like the ice queen decides for all of us," I commented, pointing at Lydia with an ironic smile.

Allison laughed again, and the sound was the most beautiful in the world. But why are you thinking about these things, James? Wake up.

Suddenly, I felt a shift in the atmosphere. Thanks to my werewolf nature, I had developed a surprising ability to pick up on others' emotions. The tension in the room was palpable, and from afar, I could clearly sense Scott's annoyance.

Scott was at the end of the hallway, visibly frustrated. I felt his discontent like a wave of cold air. His attention was fixed on me and Allison, and I knew his dismay was growing.

🐺🌕

The sound of the final bell signaled the end of classes, and the hallway instantly filled with students heading toward the exit, eager to kick off their afternoon. I, along with Allison, Lydia, and Jackson, made our way to the lacrosse field - our go-to spot for sports and some downtime.

"If you've never seen a lacrosse game," I said to Allison as we walked side by side, "today's the perfect day for it. Tryouts are always a lively event."

Allison looked at me, and I could see genuine interest in her eyes, a curiosity shimmering bright. "I've never seen one live," she admitted, "but I've heard it's pretty intense. It must be really exciting."

I shot her a knowing glance and smiled, trying to draw her in. "It is," I replied. "Especially when our team is out there. Jackson's good, but I give him a run for his money."

She smiled back, amused. "Oh really? What's your role?"

"I play center," I said, a hint of pride creeping into my voice. "Basically, I do the dirty work, but it's a lot of fun." I winked at her. "And if you want, I could show you some tricks."

Allison laughed, the sound bright and clear. Lydia, walking next to us, shot me a teasing look.

"James, when you're done flirting, let me know," she said, a playful smirk on her face.

Jackson chimed in, impatience evident in his tone, "Guys, enough with the small talk. We need to get ready for tryouts, and I intend to make a statement."

We reached the lacrosse field, spotting a group of students already waiting. Scott, dressed in his gear, was preparing. I gestured toward the field, speaking to Allison.

"This is the turf. Trust me, it's a whole different thing when you're in the heat of action," I said excitedly. "See you later."

As I walked away, I felt Allison's gaze lingering on me. Scott noticed us arriving and waved at Allison, who smiled back. I approached the tryout group, ready to prove myself. The whistle

[rintikhujan31]

Home Sweet Loan

A movie that is more horror than a horror movie :)

This film tells the story of Kaluna, an office worker who lives with her parents, two older siblings, and her niece dan nephew. She dreams of owning her own home while being part of the "sandwich generation," that earning just enough to get by.

The film begins with Kaluna trying to find her dream home, with the help of her supportive friends. However, her search is always unsuccessful due to reasons such as high prices, noisy environment, or criminal history. During this process, it is revealed that Kaluna faces various problems: she has no privacy at home, has a big fight with his fiancée due to differing views on whether they need a separate house from their parents, and becomes the breadwinner for her family as the only one who isn’t married. In order to buy a house, Kaluna works hard, saves, and looks for additional income. Once the money is gathered, a major dilemma arises, forcing her to choose between fulfilling her dream or helping her family, who are in need.

Overall, the performances of the actors and actresses in this film are impressive. The standout performance is by Yunita Siregar as Kaluna. She effectively portrays a character under intense pressure as the family’s breadwinner, showing long-held frustration that eventually erupts when she can no longer endure and wants to be understood. Ariyo Wahab’s performance as Kaluna’s older brother is equally amazing, capturing the egoistic character who enjoys blaming others and is shameless.

Several scenes in the film depict familiar aspects of life for workers in Jakarta and the surrounding areas, such as Kaluna taking the Transjakarta bus home and using the commuter line train to go to Banten. The choice of soundtrack in this film is also spot-on, perfectly matching the plot and intensifying the emotions and atmosphere conveyed by the story. And although the issues in this movie are quite complex, there are some of entertaining scenes that make it feel less heavy.

The film is rated for all ages, but personally, I would recommend it for viewers aged 17 and above to better understand the story’s conflicts. I, for one, don’t relate to Kaluna’s role as the family breadwinner, but I do relate to her position as the youngest child, who sometimes has to keep sacrificing, and the various conflicts she faces with her family outside of financial issues. I believe even those who are not the primary earners in their families will still relate to some of the problems Kaluna faces.

[spencerreidswhore187]

Hymn for Her (1)

Ava x Beatrice (Warrior Nun) 

Summary: The discovery of a resurrected Ava, believed to be lost, sends ripples through Bea's reality, filling her heart with both joy and trepidation. However, the reunion takes a harrowing twist when Ava, transformed by otherworldly forces, becomes an unexpected adversary, unleashing violence upon the Order of the Cruciform Sword. Ava finds herself entangled in a relentless battle against the forces of darkness, the mystery behind her descent into darkness deepens. Meanwhile, Bea grapples with the conflicting emotions of love and despair, haunted by dreams that connect her to Ava's tortured soul.

T/W:  Descriptions of violence, blood and gore. Brief mentions of alcohol, guns and other weapons. Please let me know if I forgot to add something.

Word Count: 1.1k

Part One: An Unholy Darkness

Part Two: Echoes of Darkness

Part Three: Whispers in the Shadows

Part Four: Dance with Shadows

Part Five: Embrace of Light

The dimly lit corridors of the ancient convent echoed with Camila's hurried footsteps as she moved through the shadows, her senses heightened by an unsettling premonition. The flickering candlelight cast eerie patterns on the stone walls that followed her as she moved. Camila knew she wasn’t alone. She clutched the hilt of her knife tightly, her eyes darting between the veiled archways.

As she turned a corner, she froze. There, standing in the gloom of the corridor, a figure cloaked in shadows.

“Turn around,” Camila demanded. Her voice was strong and commanding, long gone was the hesitant rookie. She’d died when Adriel killed almost every member of the Order of the Cruciform Sword - her family. Her sisters. 

The ominous figure turned slowly, raising their arms to lower their hood. 

Camila's heart leapt with joy, and without hesitation, she rushed forward to embrace them.

"Ava!" She exclaimed, relief flooding her as she wrapped her arms around her friend. "I thought you were lost forever.” 

Camila's heart leapt with joy as she rushed forward to hug her.

Ava's response was a tight embrace, her body cold and rigid. Camila felt a pang of unease but dismissed it as exhaustion. However, when she pulled away to look into Ava's eyes, she saw an unsettling emptiness within them.

“Ava?" Camila asked, a note of concern in her voice. “Are you alright?”

Ava's lips curled into a wicked, hollow grin, and her eyes gleamed with malevolence. Before Camila could react, Ava's hand shot out, gripping Camila's wrist with an unnatural strength. Panic flickered across Camila's face as she realised that something was horribly wrong.

In an instant, the corridor erupted into chaos. Lilith, adorned in snake-like scales, emerged from the shadows with a cunning smirk mirroring Ava's. The air crackled with dark energy as the two warriors launched their vicious assault.

The fight was swift and brutal. Fists, knives, claws flew; Camila fought desperately to understand the nature of Ava's transformation, but her friend's attacks were relentless and devoid of mercy. 

The convent's halls echoed with cries of pain and the distant chants of prayers. 

Beatrice, clad in her battle attire, moved through the dark corridors with a determined grace. As Bea approached the heart of the convent, a subtle shift in the air caught her attention. A feeling—a whisper of intruders trespassing on sacred ground. Her senses heightened, and her hand instinctively reached to lower the silver chain-link mesh that covered her face whilst she fought. 

Bea's eyes widened as she watched a figure phase through a wall in front of her. A silhouette, both familiar and haunting, stepped into the light.

"Ava?" Bea's voice, a mixture of surprise and joy, echoed through the sacred space. The silhouette, bathed in the soft glow of the halo, turned to face her.

Ava's form, once a source of comfort and camaraderie, now exuded an aura of dissonance. Her eyes, once warm and familiar, held an emptiness that sent a shiver down Bea's spine. The joy that had momentarily flickered in Bea's heart now gave way to growing distress as she took in the subtle changes in Ava's demeanour.

"Ava, you're back," Beatrice's words, a hopeful plea, hung in the air like an unanswered prayer. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her knife hidden behind her back, its divine essence pulsating in tandem with the uncertainty that now clouded the sacred space.

Ava regarded Bea with a dismissive glance. The love that used to linger in her eyes had been replaced by an unsettling detachment. "Beatrice," Ava's voice carried an air of indifference. "This doesn't concern you."

Bea, her determination undeterred, stepped forward. "Ava, what's happened to you? We can face whatever threat together. You don't have to do this alone."

A scornful laugh echoed through the chapel. "Alone? I'm not alone, Beatrice. I've found a power greater than anything this order could offer. A power greater than anything you could offer.”

Ava stepped forward, gently stroking Bea’s cheek as she drew her face close to hers, their lips were almost touching.

“Drop the knife,” Ava whispered. 

Bea's hands shook as she released the knife. It clattered on the stone floor. This was her opening, Bea knew she would hate herself for attacking Ava but it would be worse if she did nothing. It would destroy her to let this evil thing that controlled her, swallow Ava whole. 

Beatrice's movements were swift and purposeful, her strikes guided by the discipline instilled by years of training. Ava met her blows with an otherworldly finesse. They moved as one as if they were both part of the same heart-breaking dance. 

Beatrice's pleas for reason fell on deaf ears. Ava, consumed by darkness, countered with cryptic taunts and dismissive laughter.

"Ava, why are you doing this? What has taken hold of you?"

Ava's response was a mocking smile. "The OCS is blind, Beatrice. Blind to the true power that awaits those willing to embrace the shadows. You could join me, but I suppose that's too much to ask of someone shackled by their allegiance."

Bea, her resolve unwavering, pressed on. "I won't abandon our family for a path shrouded in darkness. There's still light within you, Ava. I won't let it be extinguished."

Fuelled by a love that transcended the shadows, Bea fought not just for the Order of the Cruciform Sword but for the soul of the girl she loved. Bea clung to a glimmer of hope, a belief that the Ava she once knew could still be saved from the abyss that threatened to engulf her.

Ava kicked Bea’s leg out from under her, causing the girl to collapse onto the floor. Ava climbed atop her, resting a leg on either side of Bea’s waist, pinning her down. 

There was no sound in the room except for their heavy breathing. Bea’s chest rapidly rose up and down. She knew she should be scared but it was hard to be anything but enamoured when this close to Ava’s sun-kissed face. 

If Ava wanted to kill her, she would be dead by now. And Bea would let her if it meant staying this close to Ava for another moment. 

Bloodied and bruised, Bea gazed at her with a mixture of sorrow and determination, but Ava was gone before another plea could leave her lips. 

As the dust settled and the wounded groaned in agony, the motive behind Ava and Lilith's unholy alliance remained shrouded in mystery. The battle had just begun, and the war between the nuns was about to reach a terrifying crescendo. 

A/N: Thank you for reading ◡̈

[didiwaffles]

Once upon a time... there was a legend.

It was said that a long time ago dragons ruled these lands. Alone, those majestic creatures existed in peace with each other. But when humans came to their lands, not all dragons were willing to share the land with those tiny helpless beings. And so there was a divide among the dragons, that quickly escalated into a war.

Whether the legend was true or not, no one knew anymore. It's been thousands upon thousands years since, and the legend was just that - a legend. But many the adventurer were drawn to it, to the stories of humans taking down the dragons, going down in history as "heroes". Not many dragons were left alive since those times, and there were no conflicts between them and humans for as long as the human history could record, and still, the human greed could only be satiated with blood.

They were seeking fame. They imagined how they would return to their town as heroes. There would be songs sung about their deeds, and their names would be forever engraved in history. But only the latter would turn true, and not as they envisioned it at all.

Taking down that dragon was incredibly easy. Almost disappointingly easy. It didn't feel like the heroic deed they envisioned it as. The dragon scales were strong, but with a little bit of effort they manged to pierce its tough skin, and just a little bit more and they struck the dragon's heart. It was so easy that the "heroes" didn't even feel any satisfaction. What's worse, the dragon didn't even fight back, even when the blood gushed out of its wounds and the pain clouded its vision. All they got was a painful roar that alerted all the other remaining dragons and they were never seen again.

The "heroes" got what they wanted. People sung praises to them. Their victory was celebrated. But they didn't feel like heroes. Their greed was not satiated, they felt like the praises were not warranted. After all, no one knew that it took them no effort to slay that dragon.

But it got worse.

The dragon's skin was too tough, and it was too massive for humans to do anything with it. So it was left to rot there, where it was slain. The dragon blood that was seeping from its wounds - that is to say, the holy blood - burned the land, contaminating it.

The contamination was spreading like a wildfire, destroying everything in its way. The nearby towns were left deserted, people having to flee in a hurry. Many lost family members, friends, loved ones. The "heroes" were being cursed now. If it wasn't for them, so many people wouldn't have lost their home! Rapidly, heroes were turned into exiles. Their names were engraved in people's minds, and they were nothing but hated.

As the dragon body started to rot, the contamination only grew more deadly as it continued spreading. The land where the dragon was slain looked nothing like a place on Earth. The ground was so dry it crumbled under feet, rivers of acidic holy blood were flowing freely, and sometimes it was erupting from below the ground as geysers. The air was poisonous, filled with ashes and the smell of death, no human could survive there for long.

"That is the price for slaying a dragon." A girl with long pure white hair leaned onto the skeleton of the dragon. "But I'm not just some dragon. I am the Mother of Dragons, that is to say - a God. So by killing me, those people brought a great curse upon themselves and everyone else."

She motioned at the land around.

"Do you see all these other skeletons around us? Yes, those are human. It's been hundreds of years since, and the only ones who knew what really happened there were the ones who had slain me. And they couldn't admit publicly how disgraceful really their deed was. And so the myth was born. That somewhere in the "Dragon Grave" there is a great treasure. Many adventurers came here seeking fame and riches. But there is no treasure. It's just my dead body. So even those who survived coming here, ended up stranded and eventually died. Why? I suppose it's pride. They couldn't bear a thought of coming back empty-handed. Of being laughed at. That's just human nature, I suppose."

The girl gently stroke the dragon head, pondering.

"As for those who killed me... They got their punishment. They did not get the satisfaction from slaying the dragon, did not get the fame they were craving so much, and their names are now tied to this place. More than that, slaying me put a great curse not only onto this land, but on them too. The curse that is known as "The Primordial Sin". They cursed themselves, cursed this land, and cursed the entirety of the human race." She sighed. "I didn't want any of that. But it's not up to me anymore. Now they will have to repent before my sister for their sin. And my sister... Is not as nice as I am."

She quietly stood there for a bit, looking somewhere towards the horizon. "Maybe she's right. Maybe me creating humans brought more evil to the world than anything she's ever done..." She sighed. "I guess we all learned something from this. Both humans and I."

She got up to leave.

"Still. I shall not forget those who fought alongside us in that battle that they call the "Dragon War". Those are the humans I will keep fighting for." She looked back and smiled. "Even if it takes me dying a couple of times."

[gracesshelves]

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas follows Starr, a Black high schooler, who feels torn between the underprivileged minority community she grew up in and the affluent white community where she attends school. Already struggling with identity, Starr’s life erupts into chaos when Khalil, her childhood best friend, is murdered by a white police officer in front of her. This was another five out of five for me. I started this book at work one morning – I’m a substitute teacher – and finished it by lunchtime. It was impossible to put down. Thomas does a wonderful job at establishing tension, stakes, emotional connections, and voice. As someone who is less comfortable with writing first person, I admire how deep we got into Starr’s head. I will definitely be taking notes to apply to my work. While this novel explores many important themes, the two that stood out the most were how deeply police brutality is intertwined with systematic racism and Starr’s conflict of feeling like she must perform to meet other’s expectations all the time.

Despite how heavy this topic is, Thomas leverages multiple points of tension to keep readers hooked on the story. Furthermore, all these conflicts appear at varying distances to Starr, exchanging places at different points in the story. In some moments, the fights between the gangs take center stage. During other moments, the focus is on Starr’s interpersonal conflicts between her friends and family, and sometimes it’s just Starr’s struggle to find her voice in all of this. In a novel with so many threads, it’s important to shift what plots are in the forefront, so that readers do not get bored. This choice also prevents readers from feeling too overwhelmed by the sheer amount of conflicts present. I would love to know how Thomas braided these issues together because I really admire how this novel is crafted.

Another thing that Thomas succeeds at is portraying how infected the United States is with systematic racism, and how sinister, yet casually it appears. In the TV interview, the officer's father lies about the circumstances of the shooting without blinking. He claims that Starr and Khalil were cursing at the officer who pulled them over (Thomas 246). He says that his son “got scared, ‘cause they could’ve taken him down if they teamed up” (Thomas 246). Of course, none of this is true. But instead of questioning these statements, or pondering about the other side of the story, Hailey, Starr’s white friend, believes the officer’s father immediately (Thomas 248). When Starr confronts her on this, she gets defensive rather than listen and considers what Starr is saying (Thomas 250). This reveals how deeply ingrained and brainwashed so many people are in this country when it comes to police brutality against Black Americans. After Starr gives her statement to the Grand Jury, Hailey still refuses to entertain the thought that Khalil was innocent, saying Starr should move on because “‘Somebody was gonna kill him eventually’” (Thomas 341). Although this book came out almost seven years ago, nothing has really changed. Every time a Black person is killed, we go through the same song and dance: finding any way to justify why they “deserved” to be killed, performative activism from companies that never do anything to address their harmful policies, and a media circus never truly challenges these issues.

However, Starr’s journey of finding her voice acts as a message of hope. At first, she is terrified of speaking out about what happened: “I always said that if I saw it happen to somebody, I would have the loudest voice, making sure the world knew what went down. Now I am that person, and I’m too afraid to speak” (Thomas 34-35). However, after his funeral one of Starr’s friends from Garden Heights, Kenya, challenges Starr on her silence (Thomas 197-198). She says that Khalil would’ve said something if it had been Starr who got murdered, and continues “‘Here you are, with a chance to help change what happens in our whole neighborhood, and you are staying quiet. Like a coward’” (Thomas 198). This combined with the philosophy of the Black Panthers, which Starr’s father is a firm advocate of, inspires Starr to speak up against the lies of the police. At the end of the book, when the Grand Jury rules not to indict the officer, Starr protests against the injustice and uses her voice to emphasize that Khalil isn’t just some statistic, that his life had inherent value just in his existence as a person (Thomas 412). The novel ends with a tribute to those who have lost their lives to police brutality, and instead of leaning into how hopeless it feels, Starr asserts “I’ll never forget. I’ll never give up. I’ll never be quiet. I promise” (Thomas 444). As long as we never stop fighting against racial injustice and a system that continues to oppress non-whites, they can’t win.

Thomas, Angie. The Hate U Give. Balzer + Bray, 2017.