#despite pride is what killed you and the child you waged a war for | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rhysand-vs-fenrys · 4 years ago

Note

Here is a challenge for you, tell the Untamed story using Maas characters to convince me to watch it or read the book!

As with the ACOTAR as TGCF answer, please just take the character names for their personalities and ignore any ships. Had to get kinda weird with this one.

Also, spoilers and I will tell the story in a linear way. Also-Also I’m summarizing the show not the novel (there are differences). Also-Also-Also, I need to use the clan names at one point so... yeah. It was necessary.

theswordrepresentshispenis

OK HERE WE GO!

Wuxian: Dorian || Wangji: Rowan || Jiang Cheng: Aedion || Jiang Yanli: Evalin || Jiang Fengmian: Ren || Madam Yu: Maeve || Nie Huaisang: Lysandra ||Nie Mingjue: Manon || Jin Zixuan: Fenrys || Jin Guangyao: Connall || Lan Xichen: Yrene || Wen Ning: Chaol || Wen Qing: Nehemia || Wen Yuan: Evangeline || Sizhui: Elide

In the ancient past there was once an evil clan leader who massacred millions of people, soaking an amulet in the blood of countless innocents. Their bodies piled so high around him that they formed mountains of corpses and stained the land in the resentment, grief, and hatred of so many lives cut short.

This land became known as the Burial Mounds, and was further cursed as powerful warriors sent to pacify the hatred of the land were devoured by it.

The clan leader’s amulet allowed him to wage a bloody war against anyone who did not bow to him, until all of the clans rose as one and killed him (causing great loss of life). Knowing the amulet was too powerful now to be destroyed for good, they split it into four pieces, hiding them at the four corners of the world under powerful wards and spells.

The Stygian Metal became legend, and then even the legends were forgotten. The Burial Mounds remained a cursed land, and as time passed those piles of corpses turned into actual mountains, and a clan rose to surround the Burial Mounds and contain their power.

But this clan was made up of the remnants of the one led by that evil leader of the past, and they have slowly been subjugating others once more. This is the Wen Clan, led by Wen-Cain.

Far to the south lies the peaceful Lotus Pier Clan, home to young Clan Leader Ren. Ren falls in love with a beautiful woman. She is kind, warm, and a powerful warrior in her own right. Ren is overcome with his desire for her, but he is already married. Still, he makes advances towards the woman, but she has fallen in love with Ren’s right hand man and best friend. The two elope.

Ren is enraged, and he banishes them both from his lands. Ren’s wife Maeve has already given him one child, the lovely and warm Evalin. Ren’s desire for the other woman taught Maeve to hate her husband bitterly, and he will spend the rest of his life trying to fix his marriage.

The servant and the warrior maiden quickly have a child, little Dorian. But when Dorian is still a small child the two are killed fighting a monster. Dorian had been left safe in town, but the world is cruel to an orphan lost and alone.

Word of their death reaches Ren, but he hears nothing of their child. No matter how much it enrages Maeve- who has now given Ren a son of his own- Ren vows to scour the world in search of young Dorian.

A couple years pass, and as Ren searches a small city he sees Dorian. The spitting image of his parents, there is absolutely no doubt this is the boy he’s been searching for. Dorian has lived on the streets, fighting wild dogs for his food, and yet as Ren watches he merely takes a moldy bun from a trash bin and sits down with a bright smile on his face to enjoy his food.

Before he can take a bite, Ren gives Dorian a hot, fresh bun and brings him home to Lotus Pier.

Dorian is brought in as the adopted brother of Evalin and Aedion, but rumors will always persist that Dorian is Ren’s own bastard. The source of many of these rumors is Maeve, who hates the boy with a flaming passion. Maeve punishes Dorian, demeans him, belittles him, and hates her husband even more for allowing Dorian to hold the same esteemed place as Aedion.

No matter how hard Aedion tries, he is never good enough for Ren. Dorian, meanwhile, is praised endlessly and becomes a powerful and popular hero. Dorian is a natural talent, quickly and easily mastering anything he puts his mind to.

Aedion and Dorian consider themselves brothers, and Evalin their beloved sister who puts herself between her mother’s hateful ways and the other members of the family. Evalin has been engaged since infancy to Fenrys, who disregards and often demeans her as being ugly or stupid.

Aedion and Dorian’s favorite past time is beating up Fenrys.

One day, Ren sends all three of his children to study in a special class at the Cloud Recesses- the seat of the Lan clan. The clan is led by Yrene, an endlessly warm and kind lady who acts as the peacemaker among all of the sects (but especially the Five Great Families- among which are counted Ren’s family).

These classes in monster hunting are considered the most desired and exclusive of classes, taught by Yrene’s uncle. Any clan leader worth their throne attended in their own youth, except for Wen-Cairn, who refuses to acknowledge someone from another family being better in any way.

Dorian is excited to go (which is minorly scandalous for the son of some servant), but very quickly pisses off Yrene’s beloved younger brother. Rowan is a young hero equal in renown to Dorian, yet he is friendless, joyless, and obeys the Lan clan’s 3,000 rules strictly.

Yrene and Evalin both realize very quickly that when two boys fight it means they like each other, and they will spend the rest of the story relentlessly pushing this ship.

Also attending the lessons are Fenrys (tool), and Lysandra. Lysandra is the half-sister of Manon Blackbeak, considered the toughest warrior in the world. Manon may or may not be having sex with Yrene, it’s left up to the reader to decide that one. Anyways, Lysandra is the shame of her clan- which prides itself on brute strength and blood lust. Unlike Manon, Lysandra loves the arts and music, and refuses to ever carry a sword at all.

Accompanying Lysandra is Manon’s favorite servant, Connall. Fenrys’ father is a bit of a slut, and Connall is Fenrys’ bastard half-brother. Fenrys ignores his existence. Still, everyone whispers about Connall. He’d tried to approach Fenrys’ father to be legitimized and was thrown out of the palace bloody.

Connall is Lysandra’s best friend and confidant, but Yrene has also fallen in love with Connall. Despite the scandalous nature of his birth (son of a prostitute), Yrene sees the good in Connall, and even just seeing him in a room warms her heart.

Also sent to spy on the lessons are Chaol and Nehemia, members of the cruel and evil Wen clan (along with Cairn’s son Cain).

Dorian and Rowan soon stumble across the legend of that ancient clan leader and the Stygian metal he’d created. Wen-Cairn has found one of the four pieces, and he realizes a second must be located somewhere in Cloud Recesses. Dorian and Rowan find an ancient and hidden cave within which is Mab, an ancient leader of the Lan clan. Mab found the Stygian metal, but she thought she could purify it. Instead, it has slowly consumed her very life essence. Mab’s existence has been torturously prolonged, but for centuries on end she hasn’t been able to leave the cave, lest the Stygian iron’s power be released and call to the other pieces.

Dorian and Rowan take the iron and vow to keep it safe.

Eventually the classes end, but by now Dorian and Rowan have formed a deep mutual respect (though Dorian still annoys Rowan to death). Rowan is keeping the Stygian metal, but he wants to use it to find other pieces to keep the remaining three from the hands of Cairn.

As for Chaol and Nehemia- Chaol has become utterly devoted to Dorian. He respects him, and Dorian is one of the very few who are kind to Chaol. Nehemia doesn’t have any loyalty to her family, only to Chaol, and she low-key dislikes Dorian because she knows Chaol might be in danger for his friendship to the young hero.

Also, Aedion has fallen in love with Nehemia.

While Evalin and Aedion return to Lotus Pier after classes, Dorian slips away and chases after Rowan. He wants to accompany him on his adventures. They soon stumble across Lysandra as well.

The three follow the Stygian iron’s call to the mountain home of another clan and find only corpses. The Wen sent an assassin ahead of them who slaughtered the clan. Lysandra calls for help from Connall, who brings them to Manon’s stronghold.

While they are there discussing what to do next, the Wen Clan attacks Cloud Recesses. Yrene vanishes, and most of the disciples are slaughtered. Rowan rushes back and is captured.

Dorian returns to Lotus Pier, unaware of what has happened. A letter arrives, telling every Clan Leader to send their heirs and most powerful disciples to study in the Wen Capitol- obviously asking them to become hostages.

Aedion and Dorian are eager to go, rather than see anything befall Ren as punishment for not obeying. At the Wen Capitol, they see Rowan, who has been taken prisoner and tortured somewhat. He’s also lost the piece of Stygian metal to Cairn.

Dorian expertly pisses of Cain (remember, Cairn’s son), and as punishment is locked in a cage with a massive (minivan-sized) dog overnight. Because of his history fighting dogs on the streets as a child and often being mauled, Dorian has an extreme and uncontrollable fear of dogs.

As Dorian is screaming, young Chaol appears and manages to use Nehemia’s medicines (btw Nehemia is a doctor too) to knock the dog out for the night. He is willing to risk being beaten and tortured by Cain for helping Dorian because Dorian is kind to him.

Not long after, Dorian, Rowan, Aedion, Fenrys, Nehemia, Cain, and Lysandra are all sent to hunt a monster. It is obvious this is nothing more than an excuse to make Cain look good by killing a legendary beast as well as give them cover to execute many if not all the hostages and innocently claim their deaths as “tragic accidents”.

But there is a hiccup- the monster they were sent to hunt turns out to be the Tortoise of Slaughter (don’t laugh). This huge creature has been hidden in a deep cave for eons, and was once the pet of that evil emperor who made the Stygian metal.

Cain runs away, dragging Nehemia behind him, and uses boulders to seal the cave and trap Dorian, Rowan, Aedion, Fenrys, and Lysandra inside to die. Aedion manages to find a passage and lead Fenrys and Lysandra out, but when Dorian and Rowan go to follow the passage is sealed. Dorian was injured by Cain(’s girlfriend but we have enough characters already) and Rowan has a broken leg that Cain left untreated as a torture. His leg is also severely wounded by the Tortoise.

Dorian and Rowan work together to defeat this eons-old ancient beast, which begins with Dorian climbing beneath the shell of the beast (think house-sized carnivore turtle).

But beneath the shell of the turtle are the corpses of many it destroyed. And stabbed into its flesh is a black blade that roils with smoke.

See, when the Stygian metal was created, millions of lives were sacrificed. Their rage and hatred and power went into the metal-

-but their fear went into the sword.

Dorian grabs the hilt of that cursed blade and draws it in a moment of panic, and in his mind he hears the screams of terror as millions died.

Dorian and Rowan manage to kill the tortoise, but as blood touches the blade the screams in Dorian’s mind only grow louder, and he blacks out for several days. When he wakes he is outside the cave, his arms wrapped around the cursed blade, and Fenrys and Aedion have returned with soldiers to rescue them. Rowan is nowhere to be seen, having already headed back to Cloud Recesses to try and find his missing sister Yrene.

Aedion and Dorian run back to Lotus Pier as fast as they can to warn their families that Wen-Cairn has slaughtered one clan (the Lan) and is attacking again. The Wen clan starts a systematic antihalation of the clans, aided by the two pieces of Stygian metal they now have.

Maeve hates Dorian, and says if anything bad happens it must be his fault. She whips him repeatedly, but then Wen Cain shows up. Cain says Dorian has insulted him (by surviving) and insists Maeve punish him. She whips Dorian, but that isn’t enough. Wen Cain wants Dorian’s sword arm cut off.

Maeve might hate this boy who surpasses her son Aedion in everything, but she does have a line. She refuses to mutilate Dorian, and instead beats back Cain and drags Dorian, Evalin, and Aedion away. She puts the three on a ship and uses her whip to tie them together. It is magical and recognizes only her as its master so long as she lives. So she tells it to bind her children- tells Dorian he’s the reason everyone will die- and runs back to fight.

Ren, Maeve, and every soul left within Lotus Pier will be slaughtered by Cain and his men.

When she dies, the bonds snap. Dorian and Aedion hide Evalin in a safe place and return to try and save Ren and Maeve. They are too late. Evalin falls ill in her grief. When Dorian risks venturing out to find medicine for Evalin, Aedion follows.

He sees Dorian is about to be discovered by Wen soldiers. Knowing he has always been the lesser warrior and hero, he silently bids Dorian to protect Evalin and draws the Wen guard’s focus.

All Dorian knows is that the guards vanished, but when he returns to Evalin he finds out Aedion has gone. Dorian knows Aedion must be going after Cain.

Dorian is driven mad in grief. He slips back to Lotus Pier, and takes hostage Chaol, who was dragged along with Cain.

Chaol is a good boy though. He has Dorian wait by the boats and brings back not only Aedion, but the bodies of Ren and Maeve so that they can be given proper burials. He drugged everyone there, knowing it would put his own life in danger.

Chaol brings Dorian, Aedion, and Evalin to Nehemia’s home base. She heals Evalin, but finds out that something horrible happened to Aedion. Heroes take in power through killing monsters and also studying various techniques. This power fills a golden core inside of them and allows them to use magic and live centuries longer.

But Aedion’s is gone. It was destroyed by Cain’s minion, making him nothing more than a normal human. A disgrace among their kind. There is no way to heal him, and Aedion sinks into a horrific depression. If they cannot fix what happened to him, he will kill himself by refusing to eat or drink anything.

Dorian finds a solution, but it is a horrible one. He drugs Evalin and gives her to a hero he respects and trusts, telling him to bring her to Fenrys. Fenrys’ family is one of the absolute most powerful, so he must be able to protect her. The hero swears on his honor to deliver her safely (and does, he too is a good cookie).

Dorian tells Aedion that the immortal who trained Dorian’s mother- a legendary god-like figure- can be found on a sacred mountain. He takes Aedion there, and tells Aedion that he must be blindfolded and climb the mountain, and then the immortal will heal him.

Aedion has no idea that the immortal who greets him is only Nehemia. Nehemia and Chaol are following Dorian’s orders. When Dorian arrives, they rip the golden core out of him and put it inside Aedion.

It is like being skinned alive, as Dorian cannot even be unconscious during the two-day procedure. This will render Dorian mortal, and the pain nearly drives him mad.

But he makes all swear on pain of death that no one will tell Aedion what happened. Dorian will make sure Aedion and Evalin are alright, then quietly go off to die.

While Dorian waits for Aedion to wake, he is captured by Cain.

Cain is sick to death of this thorn in his side, so he beats Dorian half to death (not realizing Dorian’s golden core is gone) and has him flown high over the Burial Mounds nearby (yes they can fly). From a height, he has Dorian thrown into that evil and cursed land.

But beating Dorian woke something hidden in his pocket- the hilt of that cursed sword he found in the Tortoise cave (and no, it never ever tells you what happened to the blade, he only has the hilt).

The hilt wakes and screams out, and as Dorian is falling he is surrounded by screaming black mist. The mist slows his descent. Dorian lands in a black and terrifying place where even the ground itself is nothing more than ash on top of bones. A mountain range made up of corpses filled with unfathomable evil.

And in the heart of it is a single piece of the Stygian metal. One of the missing pieces, that the sword hilt reached out to.

The sword controls the Stygian metal somewhat, as the souls trapped inside were killed by the blade. With both, Dorian is able to survive the Burial Mounds. Hidden deep at its heart, forgotten by all outside, he finds the palace of the evil emperor who created the Stygian metal. And inside- a guide on how to control the souls of the damned.

These lands are so full of evil and hatred that even the plants are cursed. Dorian cuts himself a flute from a piece of black bamboo. Using that ancient emperor’s guide- mixed with the magics of Rowan’s family that he saw used in Cloud Recesses- Dorian learns to control the souls of the dead with that flute.

---

Three months later

---

Aedion and Rowan have united in their hunt for Dorian. Yrene was found alive and well- she was saved by someone she will not name and brought safely to Manon. From there she was able to regain control of Cloud Recesses and Rowan helped push out the Wen.

Fenrys, who has been taking care of Evalin for the past three months and has started to fall in love with her, has also been leading armies.

Rallied by Manon, Aedion, Rowan, Yrene, and Fenrys, the Wen clan are routed. Aedion and Rowan are hunting relentlessly for Dorian. They find out Cain threw his body into the Burial Mounds and he is dead, but they refuse to believe it.

When Aedion and Rowan attack Cain’s base, they find Nehemia in a cell. She has been caged ever since she helped Dorian and Aedion, and has no idea where Chaol is.

Oh, and everyone in the fort (save Nehemia) is dead. The fort is surrounded by talismans to ward off ghosts and spirits, but someone has made a tiny extra line on the talismen which instead reverses them, making them ATTRACT evil. Someone also drove Cain’s girlfriend to scar her own face and hang herself in insanity.

Aedion and Rowan begin pursuing Cain, finding more and more corpses along the roads. Someone powerful and evil is hunting their prey, but they have no idea who it might be.

The two finally catch up to Cain and spy on him through a loose tile in the roof of an abandoned inn. But the Cain inside is not the naughty, arrogant man they both knew. He is a broken and terrified little man. Cain’s spirit is broken, and he screams at even the sound of the wind.

Then a blast of power flows through the inn and the sound of a flute is heard.

And Dorian steps into the room.

Aedion and Rowan watch as Dorian summons a demon to attack Cain. He has been killing him slowly over days, coming at night to have his creatures claw at Cain and drive him mad with fear (also the dude with Cain is the one who destroyed Aedion’s golden core).

Aedion and Rowan jump down and help Dorian kill the other dude, and leave Cain on the floor as they are reunited.

But something is wrong- Dorian is cold to Rowan, antagonistic even. Dorian dismisses Aedion, and when he is gone Dorian and Aedion torture Cain to death.

Dorian is reunited with Evalin, but something is desperately wrong. His coldness and arrogance is apparent to everyone, but he won’t talk about what happened or where he has been. He sometimes freezes, shakes, and erupts in black smoke as he struggles to control himself. Blood drips from his mouth, and he will not draw his sword like he used to. He only clutches his black flute. When Evalin tries to touch it, the flute attacks her, sending a spear of black that hurts her hand.

Still, Evalin won’t allow anyone to bully Dorian. He is obviously traumatized, and she wants to heal him gently. Rowan wants to help Dorian, but Dorian only pushes him away more and more. Unknown to anyone else, Dorian is terrified Rowan will find out he is missing his golden core and reveal to Aedion what happened.

He knows Aedion would feel incredible grief if he knew Dorian was killing himself to save his brother.

With Dorian, the campaign at last begins to succeed against the Wen. He fights beside all of their friends, while Evalin remains with the war band as a nurse. One day, Dorian catches Fenrys publicly humiliating Evalin.

For weeks, Evalin secretly prepared Fenrys’ food (as a way to thank him for caring for her when Aedion was hunting for Dorian). But the servant who delivered the food to Fenrys said SHE made it. Fenrys caught Evalin giving the food to the servant and decided Evalin was trying to steal it away to make herself look good in his eyes.

So he is humiliating her in front of everyone while Evalin stumbles and cries and tries to explain in a mumble. Dorian is enraged. His power blasts from him, knocking others down, and he punches Fenrys. His skin begins to roil with black power and it takes Rowan and another friend to hold him back from killing Fenrys. Dorian demands Fenrys stay away from his sister forever.

Ultimately, the war comes to its peak as the Wen are forced back to their city and the clans are ready to fight and destroy Cairn. The key to defeating Cairn lies in none other than Connall himself, who has been missing for a long time.

Connall was the one who saved Yrene, and Connall entered the Wen clan as a spy after a fight with Manon saw him booted from her clan. Connall might not be the angel he pretends to be though- and only Manon suspects he might be evil after all.

Dorian unleashes his greatest weapon in the final battle-- the Stygian Tiger Seal. Made up of a piece of Stygian Metal bound with the hilt of that sword from before, he can boost his own power tremendously and pull all Stygian metal under his sway. Thanks to Dorian’s tool, the Stygian metal the Wen have is completely destroyed. Not just broken apart- obliterated.

But the cost to Dorian is extreme. He vomits blood, collapses, and Connall appears to kill Cairn as Rowan catches Dorian’s body. Dorian is in a coma for several days. Evalin watches over him, with Rowan coming to sit by his side until he finally awakens.

The hatred of Dorian seems to have been broken somewhat. Rowan begs Dorian to come back with him to Cloud Recesses and hide from the world. To live in peace while they keep trying to heal whatever Dorian’s new black magic is doing to him.

Dorian has no interest, but he swears to Rowan he will be a good man and not use evil or demonic power any more.

Fenrys’ father suddenly decides to swoop in and claim the glory. He manipulates the room and tries to publicly force Fenrys and Evalin to marry, but Dorian and Aedion stand up to him against it considering the problems between Evalin and Fenrys.

Everyone goes back to their own homes to rebuild the destroyed clans, with a promise to come back together in a few months for a hunt. A sort of fun way for cultivators to blow off steam and return to a sense of normalcy. Dorian, Aedion, and Evalin return with the few survivors of their clan to wash away the blood, bury the dead, and begin rebuilding Lotus Pier.

Aedion- who has always had a vicious inferiority complex- is now clan leader, and Dorian is his right hand.

But there is a darkness inside Dorian that he cannot get rid of. He can barely sleep, he hears the whispers of the dead day and night as his control over the power he created begins to break, and he’s become an alcoholic to cope with the fear and horror inside his soul.

Yrene comes to visit, claiming she is there to speak to Aedion. In reality, Rowan has sent her to beg Dorian to move to Cloud Recesses and be cured of the curse of his powers. Yrene invites Dorian willingly. He rudely turns her down and Yrene essentially tells him that he needs to avoid Rowan, lest Dorian drag her brother down with him.

The relationship between Dorian and Aedion becomes increasingly strained. Aedion knows something is wrong with Dorian, that he’s on edge and hurt, but Dorian won’t talk and Aedion is more worried about rebuilding his clan.

Fenrys arrives one day to shyly invite Evalin (and her brothers) to the hunt. He is awkward and apologetic for what happened during the War- the whole public humiliation thing.

Ever since they were kids, Evalin loved Fenrys quietly. But he would always torment and torture her- insulting her loudly to anyone who would listen. Evalin still loves him, but she doesn’t want to be hurt anymore, so she avoids him.

Still, they accept the invitation.

Obedient to Yrene’s previous order, Dorian avoids Rowan. Still, Rowan seeks him out.

They wander the forest together, talking. It seems like Dorian might finally be willing to let Rowan try to heal him.

But then they chance across Fenrys... and Evalin.

All Dorian sees is that Evalin looks distressed and unhappy and he attacks Fenrys. In reality, Fenrys was trying to confess to Evalin that he’d grown to love her and was apologizing for being a dick.

Everyone converges on their location quickly, and Dorian is insulted by Fenrys’ cousin, called nothing more than the son of some servant.

Evalin- always kind and warm and gentle- explodes. She reams the cousin (Fenrys gets a bit of an awkward boner) and Dorian is left nearly crying in rage. Still, he manages to contain his power.

Evalin is walking with Fenrys’ mother- under Dorian’s distant guard. Fenrys’ mother was Maeve’s best friend, and she too hates Dorian. She tells Evalin that she needs to throw Dorian aside and stop treating him as a brother, because people will whisper that Dorian and Evalin are having sex. Not only is this disgusting- Dorian and Evalin consider one another siblings- it sounds like a threat. Like Fenrys’ mother will start these rumors as a way to force Evalin to Fenrys’ side.

Dorian is angry and ashamed that he could be used to hurt his sister’s reputation, and he runs off. In the city he finds Nehemia, a beggar starving and alone.

Dorian finds out that the clans have begun a genocide against anyone who followed the Wen Clan, no matter that most of them only did so because they were enslaved in the first place. Nehemia escaped, but Chaol was taken by them and she’s desperate to find him again.

Dorian blasts into a banquet and uses his power to force Fenrys’ family to tell him where Chaol is being kept- in a forced labor camp. Despite being told to stand down by Aedion, Dorian attacks the camp with Nehemia.

Inside, Dorian finds a massive field filled with the corpses of innocent civilians. Farmers whose only crime was living in Wen territory. They were experimented on, as Fenrys’ father is desperate to create a weapon to rival the Stygian Tiger Seal Dorian holds.

And in the middle of that field, impaled, is Chaol.

Dorian loses his mind. Chaol was the kind child who helped him time and again, but he was beaten and impaled, experimented on by Fenrys’ clan (at some point I should point out that Fenrys had zero knowledge of this).

Dorian kills most of the guards, and unleashes his power to fill Chaol with hateful energy, reanimating his corpse in order to let that kill those who murdered him. A sort of revenge for the dead boy.

But Dorian realizes he cannot seem to control Chaol. Nehemia screams at Dorian that Chaol wasn’t actually dead. He was still barely breathing, within minutes of actually dying. What Dorian did to Chaol locks his soul inside his body, turning him into a sentient corpse. Filling him with resentful souls of the dead magnified his power and is devouring his soul.

Rowan comes to stop Dorian from attacking the camp- too late. He tries to block Dorian’s path, to stop him from freeing the prisoners. He begs Dorian to stand down, to just obey the will of the other clans.

Dorian would rather die than stand aside and allow genocide to pass unchallenged.

Dorian tells Rowan he’s willing to fight him to the death. He knows he won’t win- no matter Dorian’s power he doesn’t have that golden core, and cannot be as strong in an honest fight. But dying at Rowan’s hands- that wouldn’t be so bad. He respects and trusts Rowan, if Rowan killed him it wouldn’t hurt as much as if others did.

Rowan stands aside and lets Dorian pass. Dorian leaves with Chaol, Nehemia, and any surviving farmers from the prison camp. Included in their group is Evangeline, a loving and warm toddler left an orphan. Evaneline is sort of Chaol and Nehemia’s cousin.

Dorian takes the group into the Burial Mounds. He can use his power over that terrifying land to keep the Wen survivors safe, and the evil power of the lands will keep out any others.

Knowing he put his brother in a hard spot with the other clans, Dorian allows Aedion to enter the Burial Mounds, to see that they are just going to live peacefully as farmers inside. Chaol, a terrifying new monster, is kept unconscious and is heavily warded against his own power. Dorian is trying to lure Chaol’s soul back to the surface, to reawaken the man before a hateful spirit takes his body and turns him into a feral zombie.

Aedion tells Dorian that for the sake of peace, he needs to draw his sword and slaughter the Wen. Aedion even offers to help- they’ll kill every last person. Evangeline included, just to save Dorian’s reputation.

Dorian rebuffs him in disgust, and Nehemia- who Aedion once loved- is also disgusted by what he’s become. Dorian tells Aedion to tell the world that Dorian defected violently, and breaks Aedion’s arm (Aedion runs him through with a sword and nearly kills him- the blow would have been healed easily if Dorian had a golden core but Aedion doesn’t know he has none).

After a while, when visiting the nearby village looking for groceries, Dorian and Evangeline find Rowan. He’s come to the Burial Mounds looking for Dorian.

Rowan hates that he stood against Dorian that day. He wants to know that Dorian is alright. Needs to know if he’s okay. Rowan falls for the charms of Evangeline too, buying her toys to play with and carrying her around as he wanders with Dorian.

As they dine together, one of Dorian’s charms burns in his hand- a warning that something is wrong at the Burial Mounds. Dorian, Rowan, and Evangline rush back and find the resentful souls attacking. Dorian was gone too long- he needs to stay there constantly to pacify the souls and maintain the peace to keep it safe for the Wen.

The disruption has riled Chaol, who is attacking as a vicious Feral Zombie. Rowan helps Dorian subdue him, and under Rowan’s calming power, Chaol is able to break past the other resentful souls inhabiting his body and regain consciousness.

He is now The Ghost General, an unbeatable force, but still very much a boy who just wants to do his big brother (Dorian) proud. Chaol is another Good Cookie. He is frequently playing with Evangeline, who calls him “uncle” rather than “cousin”.

Dorian tells Rowan that he’s fine, that nothing bad will ever happen, and he isn’t worried about the other clans. With reservations, Rowan leaves.

A few months later, while Dorian is again in town buying groceries (this time with Chaol), he looks up to find Aedion standing across from him. Aedion brings Dorian to a secluded inn with a high wall and a black-cloaked figure inside.

The figure turns around and removes their cloak, revealing Evalin in the colors of Fenrys’ clan. Fenrys has been kind and warm to Evalin, and even spoke up for Dorian a few times when his father wanted Dorian hunted. For this- and for his continued efforts to make up for the mean things he’s said in the past- Evalin let herself fall in love with Fenrys.

Now, they are to be married. Dorian and Aedion had always sworn as children that they would make sure their beloved big sister had the perfect wedding and looked like a princess. It was important to Evalin that Dorian therefore see her in her wedding dress, though it is too dangerous for him to attend the ceremony. She wants to eat with him as family, to help Dorian and Aedion bury their resentment.

Evalin also asks Dorian to pick a name for the son she will one day have with Fenrys. Dorian is touched- and then Evalin reveals it was Aedion who suggested giving Dorian the chance to name his nephew (Everyone has two names, so this would be his Formal Name used as a sign of respect). Dorian picks a name.

Evalin also gives food to Chaol, showing she is unafraid of this boy who had saved her in the past as well. She is kind and warm to Chaol, and he is devoted to her in a second.

Evalin and Aedion offer Dorian a way to return home, but he won’t abandon this new family. The Burial Mounds seem to be healing something inside Dorian that was broken. His control is improving, he is happy again, and filled with purpose.

But after Dorian returns, leaving Evalin and Aedion behind... Nehemia can see how upset he is. How much he regrets missing his sister’s wedding and how much it breaks his heart to be away from all his friends. He won’t leave their clan, he wants to protect and care for them, but it is still hard on him.

A year passes. Dorian becomes a father to Evangeline, and all the Wen love him dearly. While getting groceries in town, Nehemia picks up a letter that was left in a special location. The letter is from Rowan to Dorian- the first communication since he visited so long ago.

Evalin has been working on Fenrys, Fenrys on his family, and Rowan on everyone else (with minimum help from Aedion).

Evalin has given birth to a baby boy. Fenrys and Rowan together have managed to convince everyone to allow Dorian to attend the party to celebrate this wonderful moment. It is the first step to healing the rift and allowing not only Dorian to return to the world, but also the Wen he’s hidden away with. Everyone can be safe and happy again.

Dorian prepares a gift for the baby and leaves the Burial Mounds with Chaol. He wants to show everyone that Chaol is a warm and kind person, not to be feared. Chaol can be proof that his people are no threat, and everything can be set right again.

But unknown to anyone, Connall has been working mischief. He’s cursed Fenrys’ cousin, but in whispers framed Dorian as the one who did it (Btw, since Connall ended the war and landed the killing blow on Cairn, he was recognized by Fenrys’ father and became a member of the family).

Fenrys hears his cousin left with an army. He reassures Evalin that everything will be fine and hurries to stop his cousin, protect Dorian, and make sure this peace they are working towards will last. It’s his baby gift to Evalin to heal her family.

But Connall has also taught himself Dorian’s unique magic.

Dorian unleashes Chaol to stop the army Fenrys’ cousin sent to attack. Fenrys arrives and is talking everyone down when Connall- hidden in the shadows- uses a flute to steal control of Chaol while Dorian is distracted.

Chaol kills Fenrys, seemingly at Dorian’s orders.

Dorian is dragged back to the Burial Mounds by Chaol once he regains control of his own mind. Dorian is screaming in grief and rage. His sister’s husband- the man she loves and the father of her child- is dead at Chaol’s hands. Dorian doesn’t know what to do, he is driven mad in grief.

Nehemia realizes what happened. That it wasn’t Dorian’s fault, and not Chaol’s fault. People keep dying or being hurt because of her clan, and Dorian is willing to go to his own death protecting them. She doesn’t know about Connall, she thinks simply that it’s time to recognize that Chaol is no longer human. Before he can hurt anyone else, she needs to let Chaol go.

Nehemia drugs Dorian, paralyzing him. The Wen have a meeting, and Nehemia tells Dorian that they’ve all decided what to do to repay his love and care for them over the past year. She thanks him, and before Dorian can break through the paralysis she sedates him heavily.

Nehemia, Chaol, and the rest of the Wen go to Fenrys’ clan and turn themselves over.

Dorian wakes alone. He runs to Fenrys’ clan seat and finds his sister cradling her baby and crying over her husband’s coffin. He is chased away by guards before he can speak to her, but she shouts out for him.

Dorian loses control of his power entirely, it wraps around him and screams at him. He’s lost everything and hurt the people he loves. Everything is his fault- he was the one who lost control and killed Fenrys, he was the one who swore to Rowan so long ago that he was able to contain everything and no harm would come from his power.

Dorian knows the various clans are meeting again- all the way back where it all started. The Wen capitol, where they are gathering to prepare to hunt him down and kill him. When Dorian arrives, he sees the bodies of the Wen strung up over the gates. Despite them being innocent of any crimes- even of what happened to Fenrys, they were all slaughtered.

As for Nehemia and Chaol- they were burned alive, on display in front of everyone. Even Aedion did nothing to save her.

The loss and grief and rage drive Dorian well and truly insane. They all called him a villain for daring to stand against genocide, and in the end he destroyed everyone he loved. Even the Wen are now dead because of him- even Evangeline, that happy and lovely toddler that he considered his child.

Dorian unleashes his magic against the other clans assembled. Manon and Yrene as well- everyone is his enemy now. He doesn’t allow his spirits to attack Aedion or his clan, but other than that he invites the slaughter. They said he was evil, so he will die an evil death.

Rowan arrives late. He battles Dorian, but refuses to try and kill him as Dorian wants. He only says that there is something Dorian doesn’t know.

But then a second flute sounds. Connall (ok it’s not Connall but one of his minions who does all the flute playing but we’re condensing them all under Connall) wrestling control of Dorian and making things a hundred times worse.

As Dorian loses control (and everyone thinks he’s doing this on purpose) he hears his name screamed from the battlefield.

Evalin, who followed after him (leaving her son behind don’t worry). Evalin is struck by one of the spirits Dorian has lost control of and falls. Aedion and Dorian both reach her, and Aedion holds her up. She is grievously injured, but may be healed. Dorian kneels in front of her and begs forgiveness.

As Evalin cups his face and is about to tell him that she knows it wasn’t his fault she sees something behind him and shoves Dorian out of the way of a soldier’s blade. The strike that was meant to kill him kills her instead.

Dorian erupts.

He kills the man who killed Evalin, and rises above all the other soldiers. Their hatred for him is rooted in their desire to have his weapon from the original battle, the Stygian Tiger Seal. So Dorian will give it to them. He throws it into the crowd and laughs as these “righteous” warriors start slaughtering one another to have it. Even allies will kill each other just to be the one to hold the Stygian Tiger Seal.

As they kill each other, Dorian readies to play his final prank:: He will throw himself off the cliff. The power of the seal is tied to his life force. When he dies, it will turn to ash in their hands and those other clans will have killed for nothing.

Dorian throws himself from the cliff but he is caught by Rowan. As he is telling Rowan to let him die and be at peace, Aedion arrives.

Aedion pulls out his sword to kill Dorian, but he won’t look at his brother when he strikes. He closes his eyes, and his blade instead becomes wedged in a rock. Dorian realizes that if Aedion rips his blade free, he will slice off Rowan’s arm on accident.

Not willing to have any other sins to his name, Dorian rips his hand from Aedion’s just in time and falls to his death.

In his last moments before he hits the rocks below the cliff, Dorian closes his eyes and smiles, finally at peace.

---

The survivors of the slaughter will insist Dorian killed everyone there. Even those who killed each other fighting over the seal are added to Dorian’s body count. Fenrys’ father, without an heir, makes Connall the new Clan heir. Fenrys’ father dies shortly after, and Connall takes control.

Connall doesn’t want much to do with Evalin’s son, so he is largely raised (and spoiled to become a hateful, rotten, arrogant man) by Aedion.

Manon loses control of her power, goes insane, and her veins begin to burst. Lysandra tries to go to her but is held back by Connall to “protect her”. Manon tries to attack her, then disappears.

In reality she is captured by Connall, cut into pieces, and her body hidden in sections across the world. Despite Manon only formally being missing, Lysandra knows she is dead and is made Clan Leader (you just don’t survive publicly bursting veins, even if there is no body they know she’s dead).

Lysandra seems to accept her new role and looks like she’s failing at it. She’s kind of a weak idiot, like everyone always knew her to be.

In secret, Lysandra finds the spirit of Manon’s blade (something powerful weapons have) and realizes that Manon was murdered. Lysandra pieces together that it was Connall who killed Manon, then realizes it was Connall who also killed Fenrys’ father, Fenrys, Evalin, and many others.

During this time Connall also marries and has a child. But Connall realizes that his wife- unknown even to her- was another child of Fenrys’ father, making her his sister. Their child is born with incest-baby-mental-troubles. Realizing this, Connall kills his own child. Lysandra also learns of this.

Aedion and Rowan refuse to believe that Dorian is truly dead as no body was found (the body was found by Lysandra during the battle itself- Manon was at the fight but Lysandra was standing by and saw Dorian jump. She took his body, realized he wasn’t dead, and keeps him in a medically induced coma (sort of, this is all up for interpretation and is not addressed)).

Aedion is hunting down Dorian to kill him, fueled by his own rage and hatred after Evalin’s death.

After the battle, Rowan is detained by his own clan for standing at Dorian’s side and always trying to protect him. He is whipped 300 times, leaving his body heavily scarred, and is confined to live in the woods on the mountains for three years. Left to fend for himself and survive on his own.

Once he is free Rowan becomes a hero in the world. He throws himself at chaos, both hoping to find Dorian there saving people and also trying to atone for the incredible guilt and grief he feels towards Dorian for not standing by his side sooner.

---

Sixteen years after Dorian’s death, Lysandra is ready to take her vengeance against Connall. She teams up with yet ANOTHER bastard son of Fenrys’ father (if you haven’t figured it out, he was a womanizer and rapist), this one driven insane and dumped back at home.

They enact a curse Dorian had theorized of before he died, in which one person’s body is consumed to heal another with extreme injuries. Dorian’s body is smuggled into this man’s house and he uses the curse to resurrect Dorian, with an order that Dorian “kill him for me” (meaning Connall but he never says).

Lysandra will remain in the shadows, with no one knowing she exists. Still, she unleashes the hate and rage filled blade spirit of Manon’s sword. At the home during this time is Elide and her friends. Elide is the strongest and most beloved disciple of Rowan. His adopted daughter, in fact.

Elide is as warm and loving and kind as Evalin once was. She immediately warms to Dorian, who is pretending to be the madman who died to resurrect him, and is kind to him. Dorian helps Elide survive long enough for Rowan to show up.

Rowan realizes what the spirit is in the blade- that of the missing clan leader. In the commotion, Dorian slips away.

Dorian runs into them again not long after- and Aedion and Evalin’s son are both there too. They think Dorian is just a random crazy man (he wears a mask) and attack him. Dorian is helped by Rowan, who is there with Elide, but he quickly runs away.

A monster appears, and Dorian is forced to cut a quick flute and play to try and save everyone from being killed. Elide feels this song is familiar somehow, but cannot place it. Dorian feels a resentful spirit nearby and weaponizes it. The monster is killed, and Dorian is shocked to find Chaol standing in front of him with black eyes. Chaol is not sentient anymore, but he vanishes before Dorian can figure out what happened.

Dorian playing the flute and summoning Chaol made everyone immediately suspicious that he is, in fact, Dorian. He pretends to be the madman, and is backed by Elide and her friends. He helped them before, after all.

Just as Dorian is trying to flee, he is caught by Rowan.

Using his power to summon Chaol hurt Dorian, and he collapses in Rowan’s arms.

Rowan brings Dorian back to Cloud Recesses, removes his mask, and leaves him to sleep and recover on his own bed. Rowan will not say how relieved he is to see Dorian again, but he is forever gentle and kind to Dorian now. Rowan had realized before Dorian died that he’d fallen in love with his friend, and he has been devoured by grief for the past 16 years.

Rowan and Dorian team up and quickly start to unravel the truth of what happened so long ago- that it was Connall who killed Fenrys and Evalin, and that Manon was later killed by him too.

They realize that Connall has found a single remaining piece of Stygian iron, and is trying to recreate the Stygian seal that Dorian destroyed when he died. Dorian and Rowan work together to expose Connall to all, systematically destroying his dark forces hidden in the shadows.

Yrene refuses to believe her beloved Connall is evil, and is taken hostage because of it. Dorian grows closer and closer to Evalin’s son, the nephew he never got a chance to get to know. With Dorian as a friend, Evalin’s son becomes less arrogant, and even makes friends with Elide. Evalin’s son has been friendless, and now with friends he becomes a better man.

Dorian likes Elide- this child Rowan raised. Still, Elide reminds him of poor little Evangeline, who was murdered with her family. Dorian begins to see flashes of Evangeline’s spirit, and they make him endlessly sad.

Eventually Connall is exposed. He takes Aedion, Dorian, Rowan, and Elide, Chaol, and Yrene hostage. Yrene loved Connall, and is horrified she was duped. Aedion finally screams at Dorian, airing all the hatred he kept buried in his heart for so long.

Chaol revealed to Aedion the truth of what happened- that Dorian turned to black magic because he gave his core to save Aedion’s life. Aedion’s real wrath towards Dorian was that Dorian abandoned him for the Wen. Right or wrong- Aedion was a scared new Clan Leader, a man who never thought he was good enough suddenly had all this responsibility. He needed Dorian by his side, and admits he both hates and loves Dorian.

Collapsing in tears, Aedion says he doesn’t need Dorian’s apologies... and begs his forgiveness. The rift between the brothers is healed, though they cannot go back to the way they were before. Still, there is the peace Evalin would have wanted.

Lysandra appears and unleashes Manon’s blade again (while looking innocent, she never reveals it is her). The blade quickly loses control though and accidentally attacks Evalin’s son. Chaol grabs the blade with his bare hands, willing to die to protect Evalin’s son and Aedion.

By now they know Chaol didn’t willingly kill Fenrys, but the act of trying to save Evalin’s son earns him Aedion and Evalin’s son’s forgiveness.

Aedion also reveals that while he never found Dorian’s body, he did find something else. He throws to Dorian his flute- the one he crafted sixteen years ago. Aedion has kept it secretly hidden all these years, unable to give up his own hated hope that he would be reunited with his brother one day.

Dorian captures Connall, but that isn’t good enough for Lysandra. She pretends Connall is about to attack her, forcing Yrene to murder Connall. The man she loved. It is now that Connall realizes Lysandra orchestrated everything, though Lysandra claims he is lying.

Yrene will never forgive Lysandra for making her kill Connall. Lysandra will never forgive Yrene for trusting Connall, leading to Manon’s death. No matter how many times Manon told Yrene Connall was dangerous.

Dorian is finally- FINALLY- at peace. It is Dorian who realizes Lysandra was the one standing in the shadows all this time, and that Lysandra did it all to avenge not just Manon, but Dorian as well. Her friend she never lost faith in all those years ago.

Now that the danger is passed, Chaol and Elide come to see Rowan and Dorian. At this time they reveal what really happened in the past--- when Chaol, Nehemia, and their people went off to their deaths they never took Evangeline with them. They left her with Dorian, hoping that having his beloved daughter to protect and raise would help stop Dorian from trying to take revenge for their deaths.

But when Dorian woke he launched himself out of the Burial Mounds and never saw Evangeline sleeping twenty feet away, where she’d crawled behind a rock.

After Dorian left the Burial Mounds to find Evalyn, Rowan arrived and found Evangeline alone. At this point some days had passed and she’d grown ill eating unsafe foods (as a toddler she’d eat ANYTHING, even if it was dangerous).

Rowan took Evangeline to Cloud Recesses to be healed, costing him valuable time. That was why he arrived late to the massacre Dorian was waging. What he had tried to tell Dorian at the battle when he said something had changed-- that there was now something for Dorian to live for.

Evangeline’s memories were destroyed by the fever and Rowan raised her as his daughter Elide. When Elide heard Dorian play his flute to stop the monster when they first met, it jarred her memories and she started to remember her past. Chaol knew her on sight to be his lost cousin.

Chaol and Elide go off to return to the Burial Mounds and build a memorial to their lost family members. Dorian and Rowan return to Cloud Recesses and choose to live there forever (in the novel they are married at this point).

And as a final gift- because of the curse used to heal Dorian, he was granted a golden core as well. Not in the show but mentioned by the author, Dorian will manage to regain all the power he once had an more, until he and Rowan reach the absolute peak of their warrior kind and ascend as immortal heroes.

The two will watch over the world as husband and husband for thousands of years, in love and at peace, with Dorian never abandoning his dark power but using that darkness to bring light to the world.

Goddamn that was a long one.

#Anonymous #the untamed #throne of glass #my writing #jfc that one was hard #ask

12 notes · View notes

kaetastic · 5 years ago

Text

HISTORY UNFOLDS. 1/3

pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John Shelby x Reader

summary: A favour that is pending to be fulfilled calls Y/N to Birmingham, from a very old friend. However, the youngest Shelby soon discovers her past with his deceased brother, John, and the one who had ordered the murdering, Luca Changretta.

word count: 14.6k (i did that)

warning: all sorts of angst, mentions of death, war, mentions of violence, mentions of firearm, mentions of blood, smut, profanities, age gap (read note)

note: okay, so- i was kind of pissed that we barely have finn content. anyways, i wanted to clear a few things about this writing. it is set place in season 4, john died and luca changretta has arrived for his vendetta. finn is 18, the reader is 37. the reader’s last name is stein :D hope you don’t mind, enjoy and have a good day!

Part 2 | Part 3

Muffled thuds stomped against the ground. The heavy gait they trudged through the still air that had been spurted with blood was that of a crackling of thunder, ready to split the land into two. Weaving against one another like ruffled locks of hair, the piercing grass blades obeyed with every force that pressed onto them; the bed of green and yellow compressed into a hefty brick. Just like millions of menacing syringes pointing into the clear sky as if defending soldiers of the ground creatures walk upon, the patchy grass was ready to embed their toxins into bloodstreams. Despite the steel gun’s stomach filled with clanking bullets; men drowned in blood and bodies resting upon the ground as if it was up for display, the sky played with the merry rays of light.

A staggering sigh fell off her lips as her thumb caressed the chilling metal of the syringe that cried for help in her suffocating grip. Pressing into her head was the bulging intricate lines of the artwork on the tree, the leaves danced with every kiss of the wind. Almost as if it was calling the men that brushed their fingers over the trigger, painting the walls of the camp with dying blood. Blood of those wounded; blood of those who’ve saved countless lives of bleeding soldiers. Fear was the bandage that sloppily wrapped around her chipping heart. War was more than terrifying. It had been for the soldiers prancing around the land of blood. It had been for the wives and children back at home. It had been for their dogs who would stare at the door, waiting. Especially when sizzling barrels that were loaded with merciless ammunition were hunting for the sole survivor who had managed to flee away from their execution. She was outnumbered, guns to a single, used syringe.

Pressing her lips as tight as she had locked the door of her house that must’ve been drowning in layers of dust before she had hurled herself into the waging war, the battle that raged inside her sliced and butchered every thought of her making a minuscule noise. Even a slight push of both of the breathing organ could lead a body to stand as shooting practice. Y/N glanced down to the stainless steel syringe, neck-craning like an ancient spine of a parasol. Streaks of red stroke her arms as if her body was a the counter where the butcher’s knife met with the poor animal, the foul smell encroached her potency to breathe even though it was something she had already gotten used to. Well, she was forced to. However, she could not digest the fact that the liquid used to run through someone’s body, aiding them to breathe and live. The staining blood shook its leg, waiting to decompose on her freshly scrubbed apron.

If it wasn’t enough of the stark red glazing on her body, beads of the warm liquid coated her tongue as her teeth stabbed into it as if she was scooping up a plot of dirt to nurse another plant. Just like that back at home. Despite her menacing situation, she hoped deep down that the neighbours she placed her trust on, had taken care of her plants. Dread engulfed her body. A tremble waved through her quivering, overcooked noodle knees when the sound she despaired, trickled into her ears. Murmurings slithered behind her unstable feet like a starving serpent, brushing against her skin frequently with its uncomfortably slick scales, spiralling up her leg as it flickered its tongue, tasting the air for nourishment. Fear.

A string of rough mumbled words from a language she could not point out, poured into the silent air. Not long after, grumbles followed the statement before shuffling of feet rubbed against the compacted grass that once used to be a gorgeous, wide field. Now, it was no different than the streets of a run-down city, pressed as tough as the stone bricks that made up most of the homes. It holds the burden of carrying the names of murderers- killings in the name of their country.

Seconds ticked as hours. The sand trickled down the sleek glass as if crumpled soil had poured out of a cracked pot, one by one. It was agonizing to watch the substance from one side of the tent dive down to plaster down the walls; painting it as if a circus. The faint blotches of clouds that painted the fresh sky seemed to take its time to allocate to another area. Even though it felt as if her heart had been tugged out of her chest cavity to sing a song extremely close to her ears, Y/N tried her best to compromise her chest heaving; forcing her lungs to reuse the same air once again. On the other hand, the only question that remained in her head, blaring persistently was, for how long?

Before she knew it, a whirling of metal echoed through the still, open field. With modicum movements, her head reluctantly turned to face the man who dangled her life over the thin thread-like a puppet. Her throat became parched. Every bubble of moisture that was once the reason she could talk, evaporated from her mouth as death sat in the waiting room, reading the latest paper while he waited for her with great patience. Just like he was with everyone else.

“Found ya.” In broken English, an aged man with a revolver in his grasp snickered. Like a vicious serpent, his tongue flickered to slap his lips as if he was a child, sloppily shoving food down his throat. The scars that trekked down his face reminded her of the newly purchased china dinnerware she had placed on the top of the highest shelf for display, which unfortunately had all met their sorrowful ends; till this day, she pondered how the day would’ve gone if she hadn’t had nimble fingers. All she could see behind his eyes were suppressed anger; an unnecessary need of vengeance. The uniform he wore similar to that of a burlap sack, a boring beige. Despite the prominent lines of age that created a path on his face, the grip he held onto the firearm did not waver- the mouth of the revolver yawned between her eyes.

Birds chirped in the air like an orchestra, their singing was innocent- a gentle melody and a tune that was in sync so perfectly even though their volume stood on the same height. It rained over the bloody land, almost as if it was meant to cleanse the mess humans have created. While the half elevating bunk of the planet cheered with another passing day of joy, the latter was dancing in a bath of terror. This was it, this was the end of her line. If she had only listened to the incessant amount of warnings by several different people and the endless nagging from her friend who she looked back now, spoke only of truth, she wouldn’t be at gunpoint by a man who seemed to be thrice her age. Not to forget his face that looked as if it had a ride under a meat butchering blade. Just as she was, stubborn and blinded by the need to be right, Y/N had decided to oppose. What did she achieve? Nothing, but she was confident that her pride was tucked safely.

Fisting her hand into a ball with immense pressure that pierced her fingernails into her palm like a bed of nails, blood oozed out, seeping onto the dirt as nourishment; the glass chamber of the syringe let out a woozy crack. The only supply the abused land will ever get during the heinous battle would either be from astringent sweat plunging from the soldiers, the haunting lake of blood or the fitful rainfall.

With her eyes squinted shut and toes curled, the prayers she chanted in her head tugged the circular rope around her neck tighter, decreasing the diameter of the hole. Plucks of fibre dug into her skin, the voice in her head amplified- her call for someone. Religion was something the volunteered nurse did not insert in her life as much as some targeted individuals, for she found it irrelevant and obstructive to things such as routine and the words one would utter. However, she stood in front of the enemy, knees trembling with fear, calling out for a God she didn’t believe in seconds ago.

It seemed the trickling of sand had halted, the glass had scattered across the red floor, embedding itself into the decrepit wall. The elongated time that was predicted by a gypsy woman was a lie. The words she had believed once it had fallen from the woman’s lips. She was nothing but a hoax. Y/N acted oblivious to the idea that she would see death prematurely might’ve been because she had scribbled her name on that card- calling upon her death wish with limited time.

During the nauseating ride over the bumpy ground towards the slashing air, Y/N held no doubt that what she would soon see would be an image she would not be able to wipe off her head. However, she had doubted the countless possibilities that could have dropped upon her. Never did she see an ancient man that might as well be her grandfather, aim his revolver towards her.

It was only humane of her to wish that she would walk out of the vile battle in one piece. Everyone did so. But, it seemed that the gardener had tended to pluck out the most ravishing flower that would bring a bag’s worth of money.

There. An agonizing slow-paced train sauntered past her. Even though Y/N was stationed far away from the fields before, she was recently moved to another tent where she was slightly closer towards the bloodbath. And the bangs and slicing of the air with an agile speed from firearms were still new sounds she was getting familiar to since previously, the most she had heard was that of an accidental gunshot. Followed by a spine-chilling bang, was a piercing crack. It had not waited for a second to fall into the uniform pace of the noise. Like a collision of fist towards a drenched plot of soil, the sound rang through her ears. Then, the noise of an agile collapsing hefty object was absorbed by the starving land. Her eyes shot wide open. Immediately, she checked her body for a pool of blood to make sure that even if there was no pain, her body would’ve surely rotted by blood loss. But no, it was not her that had a bullet had flown through.

A thud was muffled by the layers of blood covered by yellowed–stained grass. The sword-like object sunk into the ground as an indent that was to be created by the soldier. Once her eyes had landed onto the corpse that would scar a hole on his head until his body would be part of the land he used to breathe upon, tracks of emotions overflowed through her. Speckles of worn off skin circled the gushing orifice, the crimson blood bursts out to paint the ground. Finally adding colour to his sorrowful uniform. The stream of blood that trickled down his nose reminded her of the water pipe at her house that needed fixing.

Snapping her head to face the hero who had tugged the barrier away from the early end of her life, saving her, a twinkle of relief gushed over her. With a pistol in his hand that was down one bullet, he let out a staggering breathe of air. The smearing of dirt across his cheeks had made it seem as if he had rolled his head over a land of flaky dirt with a splash of water.

“Tommy.” The man was pulled away from the trance at what he had just done.

Letting out a slight smile, he lent out his arm for her to grab, “Come on, get up, the others are still here. Just don’t forget to pay that favour, Stein.” Y/N nodded before grasping his arm. How could she ever forget the man who had been the reason she still had a future?

Obnoxiously boisterous rings from the telephone bounced off the walls of the spacious, palatial hotel room. The vibration of the wooden table under the machine sounded like incessant drumming of crying droplets from the clouds against a pane of glass. Blaring from the vent was frigid wind, kissing the exhausted pair who rested under the thick covers that were meant to shield them from the cold. It seemed it had not done its job.

Warmth radiated from the body that rested an inch away from her, a broad back that had been splayed with taut muscles, occupied the other whole half of the bed. The scent of sandalwood lingered on her sheets. The gentle caress of the cotton blanket was getting warmer. Her leg shifted to find a chillier spot under the blanket, accidentally brushing a pair of legs. An exhausted sigh brushed over her lips when the phone would not rest, continuing to dance on the table.

Since it was a bright and clear morning, Y/N had to cover her bare body, because the window that expanded the whole wall offered a jaw-dropping view of the city. The surrounding buildings might’ve not defeated the towering height of the hotel she stayed in; however, it is never a bad idea to stay safe. Before dashing across the wide window, she had tugged the diaphanous silk robe that was thrown haphazardly over the lampshade above the side table. As if the ringing had been a test for her morning patience, she stomped towards the machine with a huff- trying her best to prevent herself from making too much sound as she liked the sleeping guest to proceed with his needed, peaceful slumber. The frozen air had coated the wooden floor during the night, with every step she took, it kissed her feet like bites from a kitten. It sent shivers up her spine since the only thing that covered her body was a thin layer of silk.

Snatching the phone, she mumbled underneath her breath, not allowing the frigid air to get to her, “Paris, 146.”

The sudden desperate need for a gulp of water coated her tongue, the crying from her head caused the woman to softly tug on the wire connection so she could reach the pitcher. While she poured herself plain, old boring water, she waited for the other side of the line. A stream of water trekked down her throat; she thought it was a wrong call.

“Is this Y/N Stein?” The voice was so familiar, hoarse and raspy. She could smell the cigarette.

“Who’s asking?” Whispering under her breath, Y/N’s feet brushed against one another as all she wanted to do was jump back into the warmth of the bed. Y/N shot a glance at the body that laid peacefully in the blanket while took a sip of the refreshing water. The late-night activity had left her parched.

“Thomas Shelby.”

“Tommy?”

A hum vibrated into her ears, “Remember that favour back then?” Y/N hummed, fingers caressing the wire, twirling it and curling it into loops as she replayed the memory. “I heard that you were in France.”

“Still am, though, words spread quickly.” A chuckle was emitted from the other side of the line.

“Come to Birmingham,” This was it, the only time Thomas Shelby had made contact with her, despite him being her life saviour. Even though it had been eight years since they had last seen each other, there was never an attempt from both sides to invite one another for a reunion. Although a part of her had missed the middle brother who was six years a junior to her, the sudden recall of the man that she had done the most to wipe him off her memory by drowning herself in oceans of the strongest liquor, which had unfortunately failed (she had thought of the intriguing idea of possible brain trauma but what had halted her was if she wanted to forget the joyful memories). “And oh, bring some souvenirs.”

Without refuting the order, Y/N placed the phone back to where it resided. She let out a low chuckle at his words, finally piecing it all together after the call had ended. The wires were being watched.

“What a sight to wake up to,” A husky voice stated in a thick French accent, slicing the empty air into two loaves. Averting her attention towards the bed, her eyes landed on the male who leaned against the headboard, his elbows pointing up in the air- sporting his flexing muscles on display. The chestnut-haired male wore an irritating yet charming smirk that ran across his face, his pearly teeth glittered under the sunlight. It was possibly one of the reasons why he was in her room. “Come ‘ere.”

As she ambled- the prominent raising peak underneath the sheet was evidence that his eyes were running down her figure shamelessly as sinful thoughts ran in his head. She swayed her hips before halting beside the bed. Shrugging the translucent sheet off her shoulders, the robe pooled around her like mercury, exposing her at all her glory. It was not the first time he saw her naked. And it was only hope that it would certainly not be his last. The worry she had not too long ago of being seen by strangers from the opposing building had been thrown out of the window. Tugging the blanket off, his tongue ran across his bottom lip while he devoured on the sight, his eyes trained on hers as she indulged the throbbing shaft.

“Ah, fuck me.” A wanton moan fell off her lips at good-morning sight, already desperate for the bulging veins to caress and drag against her walls.

“So the lady says.” He groaned as the warm feeling of last night engulfed him. Strings of moans and groans like that of the night before rebounded from the walls.

Chatter and bickering hopped around the circular table. The chandelier that stood above them created wavering shadows with every muscle they moved. Warm and dim yellow rays coated the bodies. Even though sunlight shone inside the house, there was still a need for the electricity to be utilized. The men who did not have the privilege to sit on the chairs but have the opportunity to observe the constant feud watched the circle of people endlessly hurl words onto one another. Well, it was mostly between the pair of blue eyes and the distraught aunt.

The wallpaper was rich in green, a bland colour as a background to the contrasting blaring blue ceramic plates that sat above in the shelves. A faint knock rapped the wooden door. Since a battle was being undone in the room, the sound of the guest was engulfed by an unsatisfied individual on the table. The tension inside the room was palpable even though a door stood between Y/N and the conversers.

Running her eyes on the walls, she tried to spot something interesting along the hallway which she could get lost into. However, all she could think of was the souvenirs she had brought all the way from France; the long-awaited reunion of an old lover. She wouldn’t call it nervousness, she would never admit to such a label. So she went with the assumption that it was the jitters. The patiently waiting-woman couldn’t help but wonder if Thomas had told everyone about her or if she was going to be the surprise that leads to heart attacks. Just like at the pictures, a play of her memories with the middle brother pulsed with every beat of her heart.

After a few seconds had passed, her hands were quick to snatch at the pocket watch that was stuffed in her pocket. The door was yet to open. Turning back to look at the men she solely trusted, the English shrugged his shoulders- not comprehending to why they had not been in the room. Raising her hand in the air once again, she rapped the door. As if a sword had run through the thick air that was beginning to suffocate the arguing chests, silence barged through the doors. Enlightenment to the skulls that would’ve snapped into fragments.

“Finn, get it.” Bopping his head to his brother’s instructions without any bicker, the youngest dashed towards the door. Thomas took a puff of his cigarette, the swirl of smoke inhaled into his lungs, warming his chest.

An antagonizing slow creak blurted in the air, glueing all the eyes onto the unexpected guest. Questions sprinted in Polly’s head. Was it someone he had been expecting? He had looked calm and collected, though, that was just how the second oldest Shelby was, after the war. His face like a brick wall, only chips of cement could sputter out of his mouth while his face remained stoic. By the voices in the air, her doubt had been correct. It was hard to believe Thomas would do such a thing, inviting someone- most likely a stranger to a business meeting which should have only consisted of the closed Peaky Blinders, without informing others. It was something he rarely did if the other times were eradicated where he proceeded with his plan without informing the family. Oh, that was most of the time. There was no extra chair for the guest. The most understandable reason was Thomas wanted to introduce an ally that he has been hiding for God knows how long. Even that brought steam to puff out of Polly’s ears. Her eyes threw a glance at her nephew, whose back was facing the door, only taking frequent puffs of his cigarette. What game is he playing?

“Is Thomas Shelby here?” Finn did not help but notice the towering bodies behind her figure and the humongous bags they held- not even quiver, which should be a sign that it might’ve been an attack of sort. A slight tint of red stroked his face as his fingers brushed over the holster in his jacket. She was either a woman of power from the men behind her or she was nothing but a spoiled lady. Although he did deal with women with power from day-to-day bases, which was more of observing the women Tommy would tangle with, there was something that enchanted her ambience. A spell cast onto him.

Taking rapid glances at his appearance as he turned around to look at his brother for an answer, it was as if she could see his character like a display, seeing through him transparently. Not a bad suit, hair combed extremely cautiously and the face of a babe. She quirked an eyebrow, an interesting yet perplexing combination. Although he did look very familiar, Y/N didn’t bother to prod much into the idea as she sees faces every single day.

Finally facing her once again, he nods at her question. The slight opening of the door only allowed her to view the wallpaper and a head from the boy’s lanky shoulders, he shot his inquiry, catching her off-guard, “What’s your business with Tommy?”

Believing what he was doing was the right protocol, Finn proceeded with the short interrogation; even though it felt like it was being reverted to him every time he took a rapid glance at the men behind her, “Why? You his bodyguard?”

The recently changed boy to a man, wrinkled his nose, gaze focused on her as he tried his hardest to read her, much to his dismay, every item his eyes grazed over, it had only caused him to go in a loop. The array of golden rings decorating her fingers like a twinkling Christmas tree, caused him to assume that she might’ve been a lady flaunting with money. However, the endless list of questions Finn had thought of caused him to be nauseous as the acidic liquid elevated his throat. Where would she get her money from? “I’m not, I’m his brother. Will you answer the question or not?” Blaring across her mind were countless of possibilities that she could’ve said to respond to his question.

But, the bucket of water splashed across her blackboard, flooding it with a thick layer of glazed liquid, obstructing her ability to see all of the answers when his tongue had run across his bottom lip. Oh no. This was the youngest brother John had told her about during the rare days where they could sit back while others guarded. Her mouth gaped open to respond to his question; however, the deeper she swam in the mess, the harder it was for her to remain in search.

Finn raised his eyebrows, arms crossed to lean against the door frame- emitting a slight cocky aura which Y/N could not help but find slightly amusing and magnetic. Before he got back to his more respectful position when it felt like he was being judged by the accompanying man, Finn’s mouth gaped open to press the trigger again. Despite the voices in his head reminding that he was a Shelby.

“Just let her in.” Glances were thrown from the ladies, definitely not expecting the unexpected guest who would interrupt the meeting to be a female. What was she? The freshest whore Tommy had indulged in? If it wasn’t for Thomas’s interruption, she would’ve surely needed a seat for the torturing investigation. Somewhat not grasping the idea of how his brother knew of the guests’ gender, Finn followed the command without a word, opening the door wide open for the guests.

“Wait here.” Y/N’s voice of superiority caused soft trickling of fingers to brush up Finn’s spine. Since the door was blocked by Thomas’s body, no one could see who the individual was, unless they decided to take a risky side peek. However, the three men that stood next to the wall, obeying the command, with three massive bags in their grasp, had directly caused everyone to be pushed to the edge. What was Thomas planning? The corners of Tommy’s lips curled up once distant clicking of heels echoed closer towards his ears, but never a smile, never since Grace’s death. The door creaked back shut. Moving aside, Tommy revealed the woman that caused everyone to get riled up. The ones who stared at her with a slight recognition of her familiar face had finally pieced it all together once he had announced the guest. Finn took his newly given seat at a table, an honour, a prerogative. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wooden chair to watch the scene unfold.

“Thomas Shelby, it’s been a long fucking time.” A satisfied line sported on Tommy’s lips.

“Everybody, this is Y/N Stein, all the way from America. Was in my unit before she decided to desert us all.” The youngest in the room eyes’ widened at the sudden collision of information which leads him to be dunked into a mass of an ocean, it was overwhelming.

An amused huff escaped her lips at his obvious lie he had just hurled out on new pairs of eyes, well, it was half-lie and half-truth. Although it was not entirely a lie, he had just scratched off the surface, which without deeper context, it would’ve been an easy misunderstanding, “Close your fucking mouth, Tom,” Noticing that the rest of the group did not get the note, Y/N finished to defend herself. “I had to leave for some issue.”

Thomas rolled his eyes at her horrible attempt to drift from the topic, he was amused at how she was trying to humble herself, “Saved John’s life and off she went to Germany to spy for the fucking British Secret Service.”

Slapping his arm, Y/N stood flabbergasted that he had spilt her past during the war. Lizzie watched the interaction with vigilant eyes, alcohol was thrown onto the fire behind her eyes- feeding the voracious element. It was not just her though.

“Y/N Stein. It’s been so long since I’ve heard the name.” Shooting up, Arthur pulled the lady into his arm. He held on for seconds, not a thought of his wife would be roaring with confusion and jealousy flew passed his head as he embraced the reunion. During the bloodshed, the Shelby brothers had enjoyed her company, especially after John had fallen into a terrible condition, making them closer than ever. Even though the middle child was nowhere near his station, she had decided to aid him because it was the bloody war and every soul was worth it. “Those American had been rubbin’ their accent on ya, haven’t they?” The former war-nurse smacked his arm with a laugh, her head thrown back at his observation. Despite her exhausting agile trip, she had always found herself to be enlightened by the eldest. An electrifying thunder was zapping between Lizzie and Linda as they side-eyed the intimate reaction.

“What can you do when you’re surrounded by New Yorkers, amirite Arthur? Jeremiah,” Noting that there was short of one particular person she had hoped to meet, she raised the question she thought she wouldn’t even have to ask. Even during such a bloody time, John’s presence was always prominent and he had radiated an ambience no one ever could. Well, no one she had ever met so far. He could be a nut-head at points but he was always there for her when she needed someone. A shoulder. It was too quiet without him being in the room. “Where’s John?” The room had ebbed to silence once again. Wearing long faces that met with the floor, everyone had suddenly found the ground to be engaging.

After a few seconds which passed like an ancient and a decrepit train, Arthur amplified his voice to answer since no one had dared to reply, “He, uhm, he’s gone.” He stuttered while he fiddled with the rough pads of his fingers, knowing well the history the pair had. Tears welled up on his eyes even though he had bawled a lake-full of water not too long ago. A familiar ringing sunk into her ears as if she had been plunged into the dark abyss of water. No light shone down, terrified of what the deep beyond holds. Every frantic snap she made with her body, she was faced with the same darkness, her accompany, her watcher. The water had muffled her potency to hear, taunting her with indistinct chatter. Words she could not even make out.

“Oh.”

The rubble of fallen cylindrical death piled up like an insubstantial building as if struck by artillery. Before putting an end to the flaking red ashes, Tommy took his last puff, stabbing his cigarette into the glass ashtray. Crying out for help, it wheezed to permanent sleep, “Anyways, Y/N is here to aid us during this… turmoil,” The abrupt and direct change to business from Tommy had piqued her interest even though the bandages wrapped around her heart were draping down so loosely. Polly let out a chuckle of disbelief, gaining a warning glance from Thomas.

There was a switch in the man that flipped. However, she didn’t prod much into the point she had noticed since he had served four bloody years on the battlefield. Four torturous years of seeing blood and as for him, the narrow tunnels he had dug out for hours with crumbling dirt and sludge. “She will be assisting in the area of her expertise, firearm.”

“I will?” Y/N inquired with furrowed eyebrows. The woman who possessed dark bags under her eyes, leaned back into her chair when something seemed off-putting; her eyes watching like a hawk, so vigilant and persistent to dig deeper into the resurfacing secret. Never had Thomas mention her before, well, never did he talk about what had happened during the bloody war either. When Thomas had called her which was the only contact they had made, he had not written a letter informing her of details. She had understood his reason for not directly telling her over the telephone line; however, a scribbling of a letter would’ve allowed her to prepare to what was coming. Then after two days of the contact, Y/N had left whatever business she had in France to men she had trusted; she cruised on a boat towards her desired destination with no idea on what she was about to face. “Oh, yes, I will.”

Shoulders suddenly tensed, not at all expecting for her to be someone they had thought. Even the eldest Shelby stared at her in shock. The woman who wore the navy blue dress, that was not thriving in England, with an exquisite fashion of gold that embellished her figure, was part of a gun trading business? Although the thought died down slightly when their eyes glanced at the three men in splendid suits that came in with her, it still had shaken them to the core.

Ada elevated her eyes to find any points she could note from the woman’s appearance, noticing the fading trail of a handful of tattoos painting her skin. It was a smear of ink on her neck, although, it had only peeked out when she would shrug her shoulders. Tilting her head at her inked hand, Ada’s eyes squinted at the drawing that resembled what had cost her brother’s life. Before she could take another good view to confirm her suspicion, Y/N’s hands were then stuffed in her pocket for warmth. The Shelby made accidental eye contact with the woman she had been staring at.

An amused smirk sported on Polly’s lips as she took a sip of the warm liquid. There were many, multiple times Tommy had managed to baffle her; however, this, this was crossing his imaginary line by a great distance, “We already have enough guns.”

Tommy mumbled, not bothered to look at his aunt, “Pistols. Y/N here, have something much more... predatory.”

“Although I haven’t brought the lot of them, I’m sure my boys can handle an urgent call,” The three men stomped their way towards the table with a gesture of her finger, their gait shaking the ground like an earthquake. The hats they wore tilted to the sides, somehow still resting upon them despite it being hanging off the edge. Bulging through the material of the bag could’ve been assumed as useless sticks; however, if the straps were to be tugged open by the wrong audience, it could’ve been the cause for someone to be thrown behind bars that they would have to call home. “Got me the good batch of Rifles, Machine guns and Shotgun.”

The legs of the table shook, quivering at the abrupt weight pressed at the top of its head. Tremors vibrated through the wooden table before Y/N’s men tugged the sealed straps with such ferocity and strength. The bottle of rum danced to the beat, the liquid slammed into the container walls of the glass cup like the highest tide of the day. Flabbergasted at how the atmosphere had altered from a choking tension to amusement with a simple addition of a person, Linda could not believe it. Especially by the fact that it was a woman who had run the whole syndicate.

“Why more firearm? ‘Tis a vendetta of what? 15?” Arthur inquired.

Thomas nodded, he paced towards the table, fingers brushing over the chilly metal, “Heard that he’s involving Sabini’s men too, not just for vehicles. All he wants is his bullets to end up in us, reserved royally by the avenger himself.”

“These are my most trusted men,” Y/N uttered once Thomas threw a glance at her. Her head was held high as she watched them pluck the straps open to reveal the stack of firearms that had been stuffed in the bag. Pride torched in her body as she watched eyes glint. Nodding her head at each figure, she listed, “Gavin, Connor and Dante.”

“Italian name.” Polly blurted as her droopy eyes from the medication she had been consumed, peeked at the blare of reflection from the guns. Narrowing her eyes towards the man who backed away from the table to stand beside his boss, Polly quirked an eyebrow. The olive skin of the Italian had been painted with his raven untamed locks. The voice urged at her to keep a hairs’ breadth distance between her fingers and her gun that was tucked in the waist of her pants’. She barely knew the woman and she managed to drag an Italian into the Peaky Blinders’ meeting.

“Yes, he fell onto my plate when there were... mishaps,” Y/N declared. The man whose broad shoulders were squared intensely stared into Polly’s eyes, his head held up high as her glare did not quiver him. “He also teaches me some Italian from time to time. Although, I don’t have much time for that lately, do I?” The claimed Italian shook his head.

“You brought an Italian here,” Polly exclaimed prodding onto the point to why she was even speaking. Was Tommy calling for his death wish? “How do we know he isn’t part of that buffoon of a mafia?”

Before Y/N could even inquire her question, Tommy interjected, “Polly,” Having to see his friend being grilled alive by his aunty was not a pleasant sight that he would tolerate. Especially since this was also meant to be a business conversation; professional. Tommy sighed, “We can trust Y/N.”

“Clearly you do,” His aunt grumbled, flicking her cigarette case with a clash before lighting it up with haste as if the longer she thought about this ridiculous plan, the more ludicrous it will be. Although the time went passed by at an antagonizing pace, Polly would have rather have to go through with Tommy’s past, foolish acts, rather than watching him place all his trust onto a sole woman. “He could be passing information back to him.”

“Polly, that’s enough,” Tommy instructed with slight superiority in his voice. Polly glared at her nephew before smoke eased her mind. “I’ve heard words flying about that they have made a deal with Sabini, we must stay alert. Finn, go show the men their lodge, the building I had pointed out today while passing and Y/N’s also. I’ll send someone to check the guns, tomorrow, midday.”

Finn’s eyes widened at the job he had been assigned to, glancing at Isaiah who shrugged his head with a faint smirk that he would always wear. This was his chance to prove to Tommy that he was worthy of becoming a Peaky Blinder; that he was ready as a soldier ready to be deployed.

“Isaiah, you tag on.”

“Tommy, it’s not a fucking field trip,” Before Tommy could justify to why sending Isiah was a good idea, she had cut him off. “No, I swear to God, if I see a Peaky behind me I’ll use him as a shooting target. Plus, put a little trust on your brother, won’t ya?” Noticing the peculiar glances thrown between Arthur and a blonde lady, Y/N spoke up as she lit a cig. “What? Oh, the God part. Yeah, would’ve believed in him if it wasn’t for the war.”

Linda clenched her jaw at the insolent woman who had used the name in vain. Tommy took a second of pondering, before nodding reluctantly. Was it a good idea? However, he believed with the presence of the three, clearly strong men she had brought, she was safe. A catastrophic debate was set off in his head, questioning if he should risk sending a car to follow them. He signalled his head towards the three exposed bags. Isaiah paced towards the bag, strapping it to a close, ready to be handed back to its owner, “Oh, keep it here, my storage is full at the moment.”

Y/N stared at the bags as it was being strapped, a faint and faded voice whispered with an ever so lightly volume to take one for safety even though a pair of frigid metal were tucked safely in her coat. The voice had warned her of a premonition that reeked of imminent disaster where her two pistols were of no use, “Although, I’ll take this one.” Grabbing the straps on one of the bags containing the sole rifle, she slung it across her shoulder. Without a word, he bopped his head as a silent order towards the two men to proceed with the command.

Finn shot up with the idea that he would take the bag off of Y/N’s shoulder, to only tower over her figure with his lanky height. No words fell from his mouth when the task was simple: Be a gentleman. Finn’s lips wavered, opening and shutting as if he had something to say. Suddenly, his ability to construct a sentence had been hurled out of the window. The only female Shelby couldn’t hold back her amused chuckle at Finn’s lack of ability and practice on the opposite gender. Finn gazed into her eyes, Y/N’s eyebrows clashed into one another, furrowing in impeccable confusion to why he was acting so peculiar.

“We keep this at Charlie’s yard, yeah?” Since Johnny picked up the bag containing a whole load of shotguns, it had caused his shoulder to slump down from the hefty weight. Isaiah with his own set of weight quirked an eyebrow. Getting a simple nod from Tommy, the two men left the room. When the youngest had already dashed towards the door with pink cheeks from embarrassment, Tommy called, halting the boy’s huge strides, “Finn.”

With his great reflexes the flying car key that hovered from one side of the room to the other, fell into the palms of his hands. Finn stared at it with awe, a twinkle in his eyes of amazement and disbelief. It was not always every day when Tommy would hand his keys to the 18-year-old boy. The opportunity for him to drive a car felt exciting, especially when the key to it is in his hands, “You take care of the car or else you won’t be seeing the sun tomorrow.”

The sun yawed, exhausted at the tiring task it would do every day- repeatedly without a stop, unless, it was the end. The ball of flames crawled down; pleading help from his friend once more. Painted with streaks and lines of red, the sun had spread its largess across the warming yellow sky. A call to those who stood awake.

“So you sell guns?” It had been slightly intimidating with three men sitting at the back who if they were to protect the woman, they must’ve committed nasty work. Every so often, Finn would remember that they had snatched the straps with such strength that he began to ponder whose blood had been spilt on their hands, supported by the fact that they work with firearms. It was to the point Finn had to loosen his tie, sweat clamouring on his chest.

It was when Y/N had ordered for the direction to change to a new route, the youngest Shelby didn’t bother to prod. So he had done as he was told, however, it was only the three men that had gotten off the vehicle. Although it wasn’t his ill-intention, he had eavesdropped on the exchanged words between the boss and the daunting men. It was something along the lines of making calls and warehouses. Finally, Finn was left alone with the woman sitting by his side. Once the newly man had cleared his throat, he decided to pick up a conversation with the woman; not liking the present of a heavily-pregnant, awkward silence. No communication happened between the pair despite them sitting next to each other for nearly an hour as the sun had set. The only noise that made way to play a melody was the rough drumming of the engine, unnecessary bumps and screaming from the civilians who had not cared for their rest.

“I do, yeah,” Y/N let out a chuckle at his obvious question, Finn nodded. Tapping the steering wheel to an asynchronous rhythm, he tried his best to eliminate the idea of making a slight mistake. Not will it only cause an ending to his life by his older brother, it would cost Y/N’s also. With the sudden thought that popped in his head, his palms were drowning in sweat. Not a good idea. “You in the Peaky Blinders?”

Although it might’ve been a stupid question since he had worn the signature cap, Y/N had to flow with the questions thrown back and forth; not liking the silence between them. A hum was muffled by his throat, “I am,” A huff came from the engine as the vehicle entered a path where the roadwork was not so great and smooth. “So, were you a nurse when you were in the war? Not assuming that you could’ve been anything, of course, working in the war offices for example or a cooker. I just thought you were a nurse because that was pretty common.”

Darkness cast over the vehicle as a gigantic red-bricked house shielded the car from the blaring moonlight. A chuckle escaped Y/N’s lips when Finn had finished his rambling, turning her body towards the boy whose face was splashed with red paint; she found it adorable, “I was in fact, a nurse. You guessed correctly.”

“Medals?” If it wasn’t for Thomas’s words about wounding the car, Finn would’ve glanced at the woman, which was a horrible idea because his face was crimson from already displaying all his red pumping and running veins.

“Turned them to these.” Blaring into his eye were sparkles like that of a smear of twinkling stars, iridescent gold shimmers stirred in the gems, despite it being a golden ring, the gem still captured his eyes with its dark brown backdrop.

An awkward silence filled the ambience once again.

The inquiry played against Finn’s ears, “What exactly is the issue you all are currently facing that made Tommy call me?” There were a hundred of ways he could answer her, maybe structure it so she would be satisfied. However, he was made clear by no other than Tommy that it be he who would do the elaboration over the plan with her.

“Tommy said he’ll talk to you about it, didn’t want me to mess something up.” The lady who was twice his age chuckled, shaking her head at the older brother’s actions.

“Typical Tommy, always hogging the queen piece to himself.” She chuckled, shaking her head.

“You seem close to my brothers,” The chestnut-haired boy stated an obvious inspection. “When you heard that John died, you looked devastated.”

“A blunt observation said as a statement without holding back.” Y/N quirked her eyebrows, tilting her head in slight amusement. Trying her best to not chuckle at the blushing boy, “Have they taught you no manners, boy?” Y/N liked that her words had brought up such a reaction. Something she had never witnessed. Most likely because she had always been with men. Tinting his cheeks with a darker splash of red, she could see that we were trying not to take a peek at her.

“I’m not a boy,” Finn gritted his teeth, the clench in his jaw could’ve snapped his teeth into fragments of mints. “I’m a man. I’m a Shelby, I don’t need manners.”

Y/N’s eyes blinked at his response, “Even the serpents of politicians have some manners, what would that make you?”

Heavy breathing fell from his nostrils, his clench on the steering wheel tightened as he felt himself being belittled. Never had he been treated like this, if his now-deceased brother was excluded, especially from a female.

Noticing the air had gone still, Y/N mumbled, turning her attention to her window on her side, “You know, Tommy had saved my life during the war,” She stated, her eyes watched as the boats danced over the gentle crashing of waves on the canal before they had entered another route. “I’m practically in debt to him.” Even though she knew she was possibly going to be off the line, her mouth had not halted. “Tell me, Finn, you wear that hat like a tiara. Are your cuts and scars hidden?”

It seemed Y/N had hit a soft spot, “Are all your bags at the place?” Finn pursed his lips, teeth clawing back as he tried his best to not unleash what he wanted to hurl back at her.

Y/N hummed, “I did not only bring three of my men you know? With this line of work, I must be out of my mind to do such a thing.”

Before Finn could agree with her factual statement, an exhausted huff came from the back of the car. The speed that it once sprinted through declined, halting the vehicle to the side of the road, underneath the shadow of a building. Glowing down with faint rays of light, the moon’s spotlight had only glistened over the road. Flickers from the street lamp was a battle cry, an indication that war was striding over.

Finn scowled at the inconvenient breakdown. Already irritated, his hands rested over the heavy door, ready to grab a can of petrol to feed the starving car.

“Don’t!” Tugging his collar down to slam his back into the cushion of the seats with her hovering over him, a familiarized sound Y/N had gotten used to, had swept through the air before grazing the glass. Two cracks banged through the empty street. A chorus of shatters sprinkled the floor as a decoration. Shattering into a million prickling fragments, the flooring of the car was now like a bed of snow made up of pins. Finn laid under her with a gaped opened mouth, breathing heavily when his ability to breathe was restricted for a short second.

He gritted his teeth, the infant glass shards caressed his face. The claws dug into his skin before diving down, his face like a mountain as their blades provide a safe landing like an ice axe. Never was it a good idea to take a peek at your enemies who had been targeting you with a rifle; however, Y/N had only taken a glimpse before they decided to brush their finger against the trigger. The car that had suspiciously rested in the corner of the building with men in impeccable suits and a homburg hat was the only thing Y/N needed to know what was to follow.

“We’re being ambushed.” The woman declared, stating the obvious. Blood sprinted down her body, her heart strenuously pumping to supply. Her eyes widened as the adrenaline rushed through her body.

A string of thoughts ran through Y/N’s head. Then, it all clicked together like a flawless combination for a gun. Rummaging her fingers through her lanky coat, she pulled out what looked like a cigarette case. Finn gazed at her object before darting it towards her as if she had gone mental. She flicked it open with ease despite the dripping sweat that painted her hands, to reveal the reflecting mirror. Without a conscious thought, she shifted to find a better angle. There. Once her mirror had spotted the prominent shadow figures, their hats peaking in the air as if a shooting target, she let out a light chuckle. As light adjusted, the corners of her lips curled down when her eyes grazed over the machine gun they had dragged out, throwing it on the hood of the car. However, it seemed they had been watching through the scope the entire time as another sole bullet swished to fracture the now dead street lamp. The light dimmed down. Standing under the shadow provided by the blocky building, Thomas’s car was hidden away from the spotlight.

Finn’s shoulders tensed as the shatter of glass echoed through his ears once again. The terrible music would drive him to insanity. Even though he was in a tight situation, he couldn’t help but think about what Tommy would’ve thought about the minuscule yet probably visible scratches from the glass shards. Not to mention the vehicle that would need heavy repairing. He was dead meat. Not to forget that he was the one who decided to take a shortcut towards her lodge- the shorter route with horrible scenery. What a way to show an outsider Birmingham.

“Listen to me, Finn, alright?” The younger boy gazed into her eyes, his mind deteriorated as Y/N hovered over his body upside-down, with an inch of distance between them. Strands of her swirly hair kissed his skin, tickling it with slight grazing. Her eyes were captivating, enchanting him into a place he had never been to; a place he wished to stay forever. Realizing he had not answered her question while he was lost in his thoughts, he nodded with a gulp. “Good, I need you to stay low,” With her superior voice, she commanded the young boy, shivers crawled up his spine as his mind travels to other words she could utter. “Don’t get out, stay here and raise the bag when I tell you to. You understand?”

Her breathing and voice breezed over his face, casting a spell on him just like the white powder he would sniff to ease his mind, “Yes, I mean yes.” Noticing that the pitch of his voice was a bit too high, he cleared his throat, lowering it deeper. Before he could process her words, he had given in to an order he didn’t like. What was he supposed to do? Actually, stand down? He’s a Shelby for fuck's sake. Although cheering in his head agreed with the idea, the cuts on his face played a taunting game. With ever slight contraction of his face’s muscle, his skin tore apart wider. But what was he thinking? He had never been in a situation like this. If he was, his brothers would be the one to step in front.

With minimal movements and sounds, Y/N reached the handle, cranking it down. Shutting her lips and eyes as she opened the door, a faint begging in her head hoped that a sound would not be produced. Much to her dismay, a creak resounded from the rubbing of metal. The silence was too good to be true, the promise it uttered was broken. A series of banging boomed even though they could barely see anything. Embellishing the black car, bullets whirled through the metal to pierce the back seat.

As cotton was thrust up into the air, Finn curled into a ball, hands against his ear. Indistinct chatter from the corner of the building was followed by fusses. Like running a wooden stick against an odd, wavy metal sheet, the loud noise they made as they had reloaded the machine gun for another round of massacre echoed through the still air.

If they had been slightly more precise or weighed with more luck at a random shot, they could’ve already put Y/N in a vulnerable state. A scowl sported on Y/N’s lips, men like them have been given a horrible plan. Sure it might be a good thing for her since she is currently being targeted, victory should never be celebrated until the deed is over. Even though they might get a good shot from the bottom of the vehicle, it seemed their scrawny little brains were only present for a lazy kill. To bring two heads on silver plates, served to the King which should be more challenging than this.

Tommy’s car was not too far away from the wall of a building with Y/N’s side of the car facing the wall. An advantage for her to sneak out of the vehicle. Also benefitting from the shadow that cast over the car, the rays of light shone upon the opposite side as if they stood under a spotlight, giving her a better chance at an angle she could work with.

Landing on the floor with gentle movements like a cat, she crouched down before opening the back door. Finn, who had already twirled to his stomach, watched as she successfully dragged the bag from the back seat, “Y/N,” He whispered, calling out her name as if a lost child to his mother. She snapped her head to face him. “I can’t just wait here while you out there.”

Nearly moved by his thoughtfulness, she stared at him blankly before realizing a fault, “Ah, right,” A twinkle sparked on Finn’s face when it seemed she had given him the chance to participate. However, it diminished when she had tugged her coat to reveal her silky shirtwaist, to only pull out a pistol from her shoulder holster. It then made home on his palm; before he could tug it out of her hand, she stared dead-centre in his eyes. “Remember, don’t even try to look at them. Tommy will hang me if anything was to happen to you.”

Even though he was disappointed he had been treated like a mere child who was being watched by his brother’s friend, he nodded in understanding. Shivers crawled up his spine once again as the tone of her voice brushed against his back with frigid touches.

Strapping the bags open, the scent of leather filled her lungs with a tinge of metal lingering on her tongue. The rifle was lodged on her lap. Thrusting the safety lock back into the bag, a clash banged onto the stone pavement. Thankfully, it was overlapped by an abrupt commotion at the end of the block.

“Finn, take this,” Handing the leather bag to the young man, she watched as he pulled it into the vehicle. “On my signal.”

Like a duck, Y/N waddled towards the back tire. Her golden compact mirror in her left hand while her rifle in the other, she positioned the mirror to see the two individuals under the moonlight. They stood behind the hood of the car with a machine rifle propped on a tripod, the dagger-like ends pierced into their vehicle.

“Now.” As soon as the order was given, Finn, who had rested on his back, raised the slightly flimsy bag into the air. The men who waited for any sign of movement or life caressed the trigger without any hesitation. A long chain of bullets commenced an open fire. If the bag was a creature, it would’ve been murdered with the third bullet which flew through its heart. Not caring to why the shadow had not yet slumped into the seat, their guns continued to ring through her ears. Y/N hovered her finger over her trigger as she angled the scope to her desired spot. Finn’s breathing became heavy as the bullets rammed through the material as if it wasn’t even there. He hadn’t heard a crack from hers yet. Before he had the chance to call out her name as if to wake her up from her dream. A clap echoed through the road.

Bouncing off her rifle, the bullet sprung into the still air like rice on a drum. Twirling like a prestigious ballerina, its toes peaked below, thrusting its heavy body ever so slightly. A heavy thud echoed through the dark alley. The motionless body rested onto the ground with a gushing volcano between his eyes.

Indistinct clutter bounced off the walls. The other man who had watched his accompany fall onto the frigid ground grasped the pistol grip. Y/N’s body snapped to lean against the tire, the rifle rests on her chest as the ballistic man intensely pulled on the trigger. In her head, she was on her knees as she could not risk shifting back into the car for safety. Even a millisecond without the protection of the tires, she was exposed to the gunfire. A wince fell off her lips as a clash of bullet met with the ground before reflecting to ting with the brick wall.

For Finn, it felt like hours; however, the boy had not experienced the bloody rain of war. Before she knew it, the raining of furious bullets had halted. A groan of irritation echoed from the corner of the building. The gun must’ve overheated. Peeking over her shoulder to take a rapid glance at the corner, the man had disappeared. Without a second thought, she grasped the ball grip before flicking it shut, reloading the ammo. Squinting her eyes, she hovered her scope over the tires. Another clap resounded off the walls. A cry burst from the tire that had begun to sink the balance of the car onto the ground. There was no angle she could shoot the man if she hadn’t moved from her position, hasty stomping faded away from the scene.

“Fuck.” Y/N uttered under her breath before she made a sprint towards the running body, her fingers wrapped around the other pistol in her holster. The rifle she had used was thrown to clash against the floor.

Noticing the haunting silence, Finn made a silent prayer before he sat on prickling seat. Through the smashed glass, the dagger-like ends met to a point for him to see the woman running away from the car, “Y/N!” Finn yelled at the top of his lungs, not caring that he might’ve had a bullet targeted on him.

“No! You stay there!” She ordered before running over the bridge that curved over the canal. Leaning against the wall of the building, she took a peek at the gun that sat on the hood of their Model T. When entering the firearm business, an eye that twinkled with gold could read the gun as if it was a person. And read the gun she did. It was a Benét-Mercié. A French design. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she took a glance at the man she had murdered.

His eyes stared into the moonlight, the art she had indented between his eyes was a masterpiece. She had been around and fraternize enough men to note that he was an Italian. She had hopped around with a fair few amount of Italians to reassure her assumption. Although the machine rifle they had used was the gun utilized in the war, it had left her perplexed. Even though the location of her business was in free land America and she had a twinge of experience with the machinery, she could not comprehend to how they had gotten a French gun. Overall, what was an Italian doing with a French gun?

A groan from the narrow alley trickled into her ears, remembering that there was another one to complete the pair. Y/N sauntered with light steps as if a predator had finally spotted its meal for the day. Hasting towards the man, Y/N heard a curse uttered under his breath. Tugging out his hair in frustration, his hairs swirled around his fingers like a whip. His neck nearly snapped as he looked at the peak of the wall, separating him from his ability to escape the madness he had entered.

Finally noting her presence, he turned around to face her. The dread overflowed his eyes as he glanced at the corpse of his accompany. She narrowed her eyes as he pushed himself into a damp corner, cowering away from her. It was as if he was shrinking, a prey to her. To a woman?

“Who sent you?”

For a few seconds, his staggering breathing was the snaring to the incredibly busy road. However, his hands moved swiftly to grab the pistol he had safely tucker in his holster. Y/N’s fingers moved faster. Another press to the trigger and a bullet made home in his arm. An agonizing yell roared through the alley, a pair of legs did not hesitate to start running towards the direction she had sprinted to. The hole in his sleeves made a garnish to his plain suit, the red staining like wine. Red, ancient wine. Kicking the pistol out of his grip, Y/N held her gun’s on his head. Sweat swam down his face as his body made place on the floor. He clutched his hand, squeezing the gushing wound. It was burning like a blister had been rubbed over.

Making her way towards the wounded man, she harshly tugged on his hair, “I said, who sent you?”

He quivered as the cold kiss of her gun pressed on his temple, a battle of whether he should answer her or not was thrown out of the window once he realized he was standing over a string between life and death. Except, he had never seen her ever before. A pathetic yet desperate thought made to his non-existent head. There was hope that this woman was of no power, just another whore to the Shelby’s. Even though he had just witnessed his accompany fall onto the floor with a hole between his eyes, he had tried his hardest to lie to himself that it was all that young Shelby’s doing. In no way was he about to give in, “Sabini! Darby Sabini!”

However, it seemed his tongue had slipped the wine glass onto the floor. A bullet submerged into his skull, snapping his bones into fragments as a burst of blood splashed onto her face, “Y/N.” A gentle voice called her from the entrance of the alley. The woman who had been in the business for several years had to the gentle tone in her life. Unfortunately, it was only resounded by people who had fork-like tongues. Serpents.

This time, it was like a caress against her arm with care as if she was fragile glass. Nothing she had heard of, “Finn.” The young boy stared at her with wide eyes, the gun he held in his hand was clearly of no use anymore. Like an unnecessary amount of jewellery worn on women’s whose husbands danced with the devil, the beads of blood dotted against her skin. Finn glanced at the slumped body. There was only white in his ajar opened eyes, the colour that usually adds an indication of identity had rolled up towards his brain.

Finn liked to believe it was an instinct because he had one older sister; although, a part of his heart opposed to agreeing with the belief. The boy dashed towards the woman, gripping her arms with a slight tug; not too much force to hurt her, “Are you alright?” Turning her left and right to check for any wounds, he was relieved when there was no hole to indicate a bullet had plunged into her.

“I’m quite alright, just a little parched.” Finn chuckled at her sudden appearance of amusement despite her being covered in blood. It must’ve been her careless head to forget the merciless weather Britain possessed, her frigid, shivering hand, made way to rest on his face. Like accidentally electrifying oneself, the boy jumped at the freezing contact.

She tugged her hand away once she had noted the slight tick from his muscle, it was probably uncomfortable on him. Grabbing the two frozen hands into his own, the size of his hands had practically covered hers in one go. Rubbing his gloved thumbs in circles on her exposed palm, he looked down at her to gaze into her eyes. His height towered over her, “You didn’t bring gloves.”

“I noticed,” She mumbled. There was an unexplained glance at his lips. He did too. Without a word, Finn removed one of his hands from hers, leaving the other to warm her up. He tugged out his handkerchief from his jacket’s pocket to wipe the crimson red from her face. Although he had tried his best to not get pulled into her eyes or lips, he had lost. In the midst of wiping the droplets that rested on the corners of her lips, he could not move a muscle.

There were roars in his gut that he couldn’t help but to notice their protest to crawl out of his stomach and to shove him onto her. Although he had pulled himself out from the incredibly enchanting place, she had walked away towards the slumping corpse before he had the chance to proceed. Disappointment engulfed him. The dancing handkerchief tangled with the chilly wind, the white cloth had been stained like a spill. It quivered in the air like a surrender flag, a reminder to him that it was her who walked away, leaving him alone with the fabric he had brushed her skin with. “You know these men?”

“Looks Italian to me.”

“Said Sabini sent them.” Y/N glanced to face his reaction.

“Well then, aren’t they fucked.”

Ringing resounded off the walls of Tommy’s room. Seconds ago, it was tranquil with the indistinct sleep-talking by the clock. Now, all he could see was red. The darkness that confined and comforted him during the night glistened with the light rays from the radiating moon. Glueing his eyes onto the white ceiling, he waited patiently for the noise to stop so he could claim the rare times he would be able to sleep. Even though the air was suited freezing to his content, his seething anger for the attention-calling object warmed the covers for him. The sheets were no longer comfortable. Running his clammy hand down his face, there was always something stopping him from achieving what his heart desired; although, he just wanted a snooze because he had started to notice that he had looked mental (comments by nearly everyone who had the courage to, seeped through his day). Irritation coated his tongue. Bitterness hopped around his mouth when he realized that there were some fortunate people out there who were fast asleep. Then, there was him. A groan left his lips as he had finally been pushed to the edge.

When the hope of silence had not been met, Thomas hurled the blanket off his body. A flood of haphazardly thrown pillows that covered with his comforter caused annoyance to tug onto his ears. His patience had slacked down with a blink of his eyes. Narrowing his eyes onto the obstructive machine, the corners of his eyes were blurry with fuming anger. Almost yanking the telephone with his immense strength, the machine palpitated on the wooden table, swaying left and right like a dancer. Who could blame him? Someone had just disrupted his sleep.

“What?” Tommy sneered with murder dripping from his mouth. His tense grip on the phone could snap the metal in half. Although he wouldn’t usually pick up the telephone with such anger since the line of his work is practically embedded into him, this night, his thoughts were chugging faster than he could swallow down a pint of beer. His head was restless.

The stress in his eyebrows evaporated once a familiar silvery voice echoed through his ears, “Tommy, we’ve been ambushed. Two men.” Even though his grasp onto the metal remained with a constant force, the heat he had concocted sprung into the air once he had realized he could’ve lost two people within a night. His immunity to the frigid floor deteriorated, the floor pierced kisses as if it were incessant stabbing into the numb soles of his feet.

“Whose men was it?” The clock on the wall of his house groaned, its arms dancing in coordination as it watched the man’s ears fume with anger like a furious train once a familiar name fell off his little brother’s lips.

“Sabini.”

A breathy exhale sunk into the phone, Tommy’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to digest the situation. The rumours were true, yet, he sent his guests off without any protection on his side. How could he assume that her three men were enough? He should’ve let someone trail after them, despite her objections. There was already an overflowing amount of issues thrown onto his plate, “Where are you now?”

“Y/N’s lodge. Said that it’d be safer for me to stay at hers for the night.” Finn twirled the wire of the telephone, the door of the bathroom had been closed for a while.

Tommy hummed in agreement. The late timing of the day restricted his ability to construct words, especially with the fact that another meat had been thrust onto his plate. An exhausted exhale muffled the other side of the line, “Well, she’s right. If those men do not crawl back to Sabini with your head, they will double everything up. I’m sorry to say this Finn, but you’ll have to spend the night there,”

An indistinct mumble escaped Finn’s lips. Before the boy could place the phone back to where it resided, his brother spoke up once again, “Where’d you sent them off to?”

Without any additional word to the vague question, Finn answered with the assumption that there was someone who dared to listen to their conversation, as always, “Y/N had her men come in, showed them the canal.”

“The car?”

“No opened garage, so they made one open up.” A creak from a door trickled onto Tommy’s ears from Finn’s line.

“I should have sent Isaiah to drive her home.” Before Finn had the chance to react, his gaze flicked towards Y/N. Although it was inappropriate for him to let his gaze linger on her, he couldn’t help but stare at awe. The golden edges of the dress-robe enchanted the translucent material that draped over her shoulders. A faded feminine voice in the distant mumbled incoherently to Tommy’s ears. The man could only make up some words, stitching them in a sentence before the voice was slightly more pronounced.

“Finn, go clean yourself up, I’ll clean those wounds in a second.” A minute of silence passed. Finn let out a hum once she quirked an eyebrow at him for his confirmation. It was a wonder to how easily she had him with a glance. His eyes followed the woman’s figure before she disappeared into the sliding door of her room.

“Wounds?”

“Nothing serious, just cuts.” Deep down, Finn knew it would not be a simple task to remove the tedious glass shards that penetrated his face. A part of him shook its head, not agreeing with the idea that it would be painless.

“I’ll call you tomorrow morning.” The call then ended. A shiver tremored through Thomas as he finally realized how chilly his room was. His feet paced faster before he threw himself onto the bed. Within a tug, all the items that scattered over the floor sat back to where it resided. Although the comforter was as soft as he could remember by his late wife’s choice, soft would not be the one to comfort his restless head while two significant people of his life had just been ambushed. Not a wink of sleep decided to greet him.

Staring down at the bustling street even though the moon had made a clear appearance in the night, men had women around their arms as they stumbled down the road. A half tipsy smile was worn on their faces. Y/N watched the lively road, trails of cars and strings of people occupied the area. As she leaned against the window with her arms crossed, she pondered over the saddening news that had cracked over her head like a spoiled egg. There was regret in her chest that roared actively without rest for years- screeching at her to make the simple contact. Now, she could give herself in as she had not landed her ears onto the thought. Despite the day ageing old, the city never sleeps. Oh, how she wished she could see him for the last time.

Coating her tongue was the ancient red of champagne. Swirling the cup after every dashing thought that sprinted across her head, her attention had reverted towards the day that didn’t seem to want to find an end. A creak of a door echoed through her ears. Pulling her eyes away from the mesmerizing street, she was met with a freshly showered Finn.

Since he had been forced to stay down and not participate in the killing, there was no spill of blood on his suit. It was ideal because the woman did not want to pressurize another shop to open for her to only end up doing a shopping spree. However, it was not the same case for Y/N as her outfit had been splattered with red. So, she wore the other silky shirtwaist she had brought from her recent trip to France

“Hope you don’t mind me using that soap.” The boy mumbled. Thrown over his arm to dangle like a swing was his patterned, green tie, resting above layers of his other clothing that he had decided was not of use to wear. Left in his white shirt and his olive green suit-pants, he scratched the crook of his neck as he wore a sheepish smile at the poor decision he had made. What could he have done? It was the only available option.

“Absurdly not,” Y/N uttered. As her eyes lingered longer than it should’ve been, she gestured towards the abundant of couches for him to rest on. “Come on, take a seat, I’ll get the stuff.”

Finn rested the clothing on the head of the couch, eyebrows furrowed in confusion when she had hastily placed the cup onto the coffee table before dashing away into her room. He plopped down onto the couch that was richer than the liquid resting in Y/N’s cup. His hands sat on his thighs as he watched her disappear into her bedroom.

“So, uh, Ms Stein,” Like those pesky squirrels that would dominate the trees in New York with an acorn attached to their hands, the woman rummaged through her bedroom as if she was to find a treasure. Her fingers dug deep in the bag, hands grabbing onto objects that might have possessed the shape of the items she had visualized in her head. As her hand had brushed against a paper-like box, she was quick to yank it out of the bag. “You married?”

The absence of response had caused the peaks of Finn’s ears to tint red at his pathetic question. Who was he to question her? They were barely even friends. Heck, he had just met her. But she did save him, does that mean something? Peeking her head out from the bedroom with the item in her hand, she narrowed her eyes.

“You see this?” Holding her hand up in the air, she twirled her hand around to show the boy her empty fingers, all her rings had been removed. She thrust the flimsy item onto the glass coffee table, a faint noise resounded by the minuscule object. Entering her room once again, her arms plunged in the massive leather bag to find the next item in her imaginary list. “I would’ve probably been at Rome maybe if that dirtbag had not cheated. Happily married,” Y/N let out an amused chuckle at the absurd thought. ”What a joke.”

“Oh.” Finn mumbled under his breath after realizing he had thrown himself into a hole he could not climb out off. If she had been in the war with Tommy, of course, she had at least been married once. What was he thinking? The air was heavily poured with furious yelling from the road and Y/N’s struggle to get the desired items out.

“Also, call me Y/N, we’re friends now right?” Finn hummed in agreement as he gawked at the abundant amount of medical items bundled up in her arm. Shock overflowed in him when he realized she had brought all of this in her bag.

“Had you brought all of this? Is it a nurse instinct?” A chuckle echoed from the room, causing a smile to plaster on Finn’s face when he had achieved what he had in mind. A sparkle blared into his eyes when the shiny metal reflected the light rays to him. Beaming his eyes at the off-putting objects, Finn had suddenly become nervous, “Why did you tell me to head to bath first? Wouldn’t it be better if you had removed these first?” His fingers hovered over the glass that embedded his face, decorating his skin like jewels on a mistress’s extravagant dress.

Noticing that his feet could not rest on the ground as his legs bounced incessantly, Y/N held back a laugh, “Needed a clean surface,” She kneeled next to the coffee table and widened her arms, the items clashing with the tables- letting out a horribly written tune. “We wouldn’t want to risk with infections now, do we?”

It was that tone again, he had hated it deeply but all he could do was swallow it before it would climb out of his throat to only be splattered across her face. Finn nodded, oh boy, was he in for a ride.

Finn sat on the couch with his fingers digging deep in his knees as the frigid tweezers plucked out the daunting pieces of glass. He sat on the couch with his white shirt on, his suit hung up on the coat rack. The blaring air conditioner caused shivers to crawl up his spine; however, thanks to the glass being plucked out of his skin, his body had created enough warmth to heat him up like a fireplace. Iron coated his tongue as his teeth sunk deep into the muscle. Although he had expected about only half a dozen worth of glass shards, it seemed it had beat his expectations to ruin.

“Ow!” He let out the familiar wince. Gritting his teeth so harshly, it was enough for it to wear off like brittle bricks. Despite his luck on trying to concoct a more painful site on his legs by pinching it, his mind always redirected to the obnoxiously close distance between his scarred face and her hands. It was chilly like the night’s wind not too long ago when they were in the ominous alleyway. However, in the comfort of her hotel, it was warm and cosy. Every so often, the metal of the equipment would kiss him, tugging out the embedded fragments. Due to the close proximity, Finn could not help but sniff out the silky scent of lavender. He wasn’t too sure if it was from him but it had comforted him through the excruciating pain.

Y/N huffed at his incessant amount of wincing. She could not believe he had not yet tolerated the pain despite having to pull out a couple already, “Stay still, won’t you?”

The tweezers that rested in her fingers rested over his shoulder. Every time she had gone anywhere close to his face with the equipment, he would flinch away- a repeated task she would have to repeat by shifting closer to him. She rolled her eyes once he had moved a couple of inches away from her.

“How can I? It bloody hurts.” Finn scoffed, his hands pinched his leg as he tried his best not to touch his face that was still home to a couple of glass shards.

“I swear if you move again.” Y/N declared, her hands ready to remove another fragment from his face.

With another yank of her tweezer, he let out the wince before shifting away. If he had repeated this at least three more times, he would meet the ground as it was the edge of the seat. Frustrated at his actions, her hand landed on his thigh, a bit too close to his liking as her leg was thrown over his so she could ground him on one place. Now practically shoulder to shoulder, Y/N gently rested her hand on his chin. His eyes that gawked at her actions were forcefully beaming at the other side of the room as she restricted his movements, “I told you. If you move, I’ll make a scar on your face and it will not be a good mark for that future girl.”

Before he knew it, she was once again, pulling out another shard. This time, it was different. Her hand made place on the side of his unwounded jaw, making sure he had not flinched. It was like a breezy kiss of a windy day in Birmingham, the scent of the lavender flower swirled through his nostrils. A distraction at the incredibly close interaction. However, before she could pluck out another piece, he pursed his lip. A slip of a giggle rung into the air.

“What’re you laughing at? You big dork, stay still.” Finn mumbled an apology. Trying his best to transform into a serious man, Finn’s back shot straight up. Y/N pulled away, an irritated reaction wore on her face as he had just made her multiply her effort due to his height. It was better when he had his shoulder hunched forward, giving her an easier access to his unfortunate face. He noticed this and pressed his lips shut, attempting to not allow a laugh seep through the cracks of his lips. If it wasn’t for Y/N’s agile pull, she would’ve costed real damage.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m laughing.” Finn gave up, a few beads of tears fell down the side of his face as he began to go insane.

“You’ve gone mental,” The pair chuckle as Y/N clamped onto a rather large piece. Pondering if it was because he had laughed at nothing, which might’ve worn her patience off, the extraction of the massive glass compared to the rest was slightly more painful. When he had let out the annoying wince, she had let out a huff. “Don’t be such a baby, it’s just a pinch.”

His flickering eyes snapped towards her, “I am not a baby.”

“And I’m not a woman.”

“Plus, I think your nurse hands are getting rusty after those years.” With his eyes shut tight, he waited for her to inflict damage from his insult. The tweezers stood a hair’s breadth away from his skin. In an agonizing pace, he opened his eyes to look at her reaction. She stared at him with mouth gaped wide open in disbelief. She could not believe he had just insulted her fine work.

“Hey!” She smacked his arm, Finn let out a laugh to cover the pain. His fingers worked deep to massage the area of tremoring pain. “Fine, you do this by yourself, then.”

Hurling the tweezers onto his palm, she shot up from the couch to walk away. A part of her wanted him to try to clean himself up as she would wander around the room aimlessly. She wanted to hear him whine like the little boy he is. With his length fingers, it curled around her wrist in one go. The warm contact sparked the fire before she was tugged to land on his lap. With a huff, she stared at him with eyes of an owl. Once she realized how incredibly close the distance between them was, she resisted. Trying to tug away from his intense grip, keyword- trying, his grasp held a strong force to keep her in place but not too immense to kiss bruises on her skin. The racing of her heart pumping sang a song in her ears. The sudden close proximity had left in her in a state of shock. How does she respond?

“I won’t be able to do it,” Finn mumbled, his arms resting on her lap before it slithered around her waist. “You do it.” His fingers bloomed open, the kissing of the chilly metal was heated with the warm air. In an antagonizing slow pace, Finn took his time to curl open her fingers so he could squeeze in the tweezer in her grip. Leaning back into the couch, he clenched his jaw before readying himself to go through the torture once again.

Part 2 | Part 3

111 notes · View notes

linkspooky · 5 years ago

Note

I agree with the parallels between tenko and eri but I remain resolute that Tenko is long gone and can't be saved at this point. If he was taken in by someone whom did properly teach him right from wrong as a child yes but Shigaraki is an adult that was raised to seek nothing but destruction and has committed many many murders at this point. People seem to ignore the fact that person might not want to be saved. 1/2

Eri is a child with very little agency of her own, but Shigaraki is an adult who can make conscious decisions of his own. I think either deku will save shigaraki by putting him out of his misery or shigaraki will show deku that he cant save everyone 2/2

Thank you for sending me this ask anon! Once again you’re free to have your own opinions, I just hope you’ll join me for a discusssion of ideas.

Let’s choose to focus on this idea you have that Shigaraki is “Someone who is long gone”, because I believe the story establishes the opposite. I agree in fiction there are villains that need to be defeated rather than saved. The reason I am arguing that Shigaraki can be saved is not because I peresonally want him to be, or I believe he’s owed it, but because those ideas are present in the text itself.

Shigaraki is a Villain who Fights other Villains

The reason Shigaraki is constantly facing off against other villains, is to make the comparison between them. To show that there are villains who unlike Shigaraki, are set in their ways and not capable of learning from their actions. These villains are past the point of no return in a way that Shigaraki isn’t because his arc is structured differently. Shigaraki is a character that experiences positive growths, whereas these villains are characters that experience negative growth and spiral out of control.

The reason Shigaraki is constantly compared to other villains is to show that he is not the same as them, because he can do better.

1. Shigaraki and Stain

Shigaraki and Stain are foils mostly in what direct opposites they are. Shigaraki was raised to become a villain, Stain is someone who was on the hero path who decided to become a villain. They both try to destroy heroes but for different means, Stain is someone who believes in hero society and wants heroes to improve, whereas Shigaraki wants the destruction of heroes.

Shigaraki believes heroes are incapable of saving anyone and they provide a false peace. Stain believes that heroes are an ideal, and they should save everyone. Stain considers himself to be righteous, while Shigaraki’s entire identity is built around him being a villain who wants to destroy for no reason.

Stain is driven by a grand cause, Shigaraki works in antithesis of a cause. Their only similaritiy is that both of them are sick of the world the way it is and want to disrupt it. They are total opposites that have one thing in common, and Stain pretending to be a hero even while acting as a villain is the exact thing that Shigaraki hates. He even laughs at the fact that Stain believes his actions have a positive effect of the world. Shigaraki being someone fundamentally at his core someone who rejects everything.

At first it seems that Stain is the superior villain because he at least has morals he follows, and a code of honor. As opposed to Shigaraki who seems like a child throwing a tantrum who just wants to rampage, and destroy and get away with it.

However, important to the comparison between the two characters. Shigaraki hates righteousness and does not want anything positive to come out of his actions so why does Shigaraki turn out to be more sympathetic of a character in the end. Simple, stain’s flaws cause his ruin, whereas Shigaraki’s flaws are something he grows from. Stain’s main flaw is his pride.

Despite saying that he wants to improve the world with his actions, Stain decides everything on what he personally thinks is best. Due to the fact that he’s doing this entirely alone, his views have become warped. Stain can justify almost everything for his supposed good cause. He goes from wanting to purge heroes that are genuine problems like Endeavor, to trying to kill Children because they were witnesses to his crime.

The main flaw in Stain is that he fights alone, and because of that he thinks he’s absolutely in the right and can justify anything to himself for the sake of ideals. When he is like this, he cannot grow or change. Stain loses a battle that is simply a matter of numbers, he easily disables Iida, but then loses when Todoroki and Deku come to back him up. Stain had conviction, but it turned into stubborness and pride when he decided he had to save the world entirely by himself.

Not only that but Stain’s overreliance on his idenpdence and physical strength shows that he is repeating the abuses of the hero system he himself thinks is rotted. The reason the system is wrong is because people rely too much on individuals with strong and flashy quirks like Endeavor. Individual strength is something that has come to matter far more than saving people. Yet, here is the way Stain wages his war, he picks out weak heroes and kills them, and does so by using superior strength to cull them. In trying to destroy Endeavor’s ideas, due to his methodology stain ends up reinforcing him and turning into the exact kind of hero, one who preeches survival of the fittest.

Just like Endeavor he stops caring about the victims caught in the crossfire of his actions. He gets far less choosy as he goes on, and starts killing people who are not the corrupt heroes he claims to be weeding out.

What does Shigaraki do immediately after losing to Stain. He starts making allies, and using them in smarter ways rather than trying to handle everything by himself with the use of the Nomu AFO provides him. Shigaraki, unlike Stain, is able to make and keep allies.

Shigaraki cannot find a cause that people believe in, so he starts bonding with his allies as a person and gets them to believe in him as a person. Shigaraki is capable of genuinely connecting to people in a way that Stain is not, which supports his grown as a person.

2. Shigaraki and Chisaki

Unlike Shigaraki and stain, Chisaki and Shigaraki actually have several similarities in common. They are both heirs to the crimminal underworlds who have ambitions to rule over the underworld. They are both also abandoned children who were taken in and raised by a crimminal to ultimately be a tool of that person. They both have in their possession, allies that would die for them. They both act out of a central desire to please their father figure who in the end regards them as only a tool. They are both intellectual cold thinker types who lead a gang of eccentric.

Yet, the difference between the two of them becomes as clear as night and day in the way they treat their allies. Once again, with their conflict it’s established why Shigaraki is someone capable of changing his ways, whereas Chisaki is someone doomed to fail due to his own flaws.

Chisaki is someone who sees allies as completely expendable. That they exist as pawns to be used and nothing else. His criticism of Shigaraki is not how he mistreated allies in the past, but that he did not make proper use of them. He only sees people as how they can best be used.

Shigaraki’s response is not to make better use of his allies. He does the opposite of Chisaki, and starts to value the lives of the allies around him more. He learns to see worth in life when Shigaraki had absolutely no regard for human life before this.

Not only that, but he opens up to his allies as a person. This is even said to be the main difference between Chisaki’s precepts and the League of Villains.

Shigaraki takes off his mask and becomes far more of a person in front of his allies. We are supposed to notice his change he is even drawn differently. We’re meant to compare this to the face he showed to Deku the last time he took his mask off, and realize that the face he presents to his allies is now much different.

Chisaki is unable to see any value in life, especially in the people underneath him because ultimately he himself is a tool. He is never able to earn the recognition from the leader of the Yakuza he wants, because he can never be that man’s son, at best he is a good tool. Which is why he himself spirals into tragic failure at the end of his arc.

Shigaraki and Chisaki are both victims in the same sense. At their heart both of them are trying to pay back the man who took them in. However, I do not go out of my way to say that Chisaki is going to be saved because that is not what his arc was leading to.

Chisaki showed nothing but negative growth. He just spiraled towards the end. The plot goes out of its way to show that Chisaki is fixated and stuck in his ways, while at the same time Shigaraki is capable of change. The plot even gives a reason for this, Chisaki is closed off to the others around them and only sees them as tools. Shigaraki starts to see his allies as people, and because he takes their thoughts and feelings into consideration changes in his interactions with them.

Even Chisaki’s own childhood friend is considered one of the expendable ones. Not only that, but we have that same friend directly say that Chisaki is so incredibly focused and set in his ways that it’s almost distrubing.

Chisaki gives people worth by using them. Shigaraki gives outcasts a place to belong, the comparison between the two of them shows Shigaraki as growing and Chisaki is not.

3. Meta Liberation Army

Shigaraki and Re-destro are also characters with several similarities. They are both raised to be the heir of a villain because of who they happened to be born to, Shigaraki because he is Nana’s grandson, and Re-Destro is a bastard son who inherits the burdens of a father he never met.

They were both raised in an extremely cult-like environment, and groomed to be villains by people who did not care about their development as people but rather how they could best be used as symbols for a cause. Rikiya was there to inspire the followers of Destro and carry on his will, Shigaraki was raised to cling only to negative emotions and be a symbol of fear.

In that regard, Re-Destro is every bit the victim that Shigaraki is. They are both child soldiers of a sort, raised for a cause that was not theirs. Of course they see no value in life, because the both of them have been kept from the outside world for so long and have had their perspectives entirely manipulated by people who pretty much dictated their entire childhoods.

Yet, once again we see in the comparison, Shigaraki is someone who is capable of changing in a positive way, whereas Re-Destro only experiences negative character development. A major difference is how they treat their allies.

Rikiya raises people to be completely expendable and die for a cause, and clearly values ideas far more than he does individual lives. He plans an attack and ends up sacrificing hundreds of people against the league of villains because he does not like their reputation. As opposed to Shigaraki who gets the entire league to agree to a plan to save one of its members because every member of the league is equally valuable to him.

Shigaraki is capable of reaching his people and connecting them on a personal level, because unlike Rikiya who just does exactly what the cult that raised him tells him to do and only accepts other people’s values, Shigaraki is starting to create an identity of his own away from All for One. Rikiya believes that it’s an honor and a burden to follow the destiny that was thrown on his shoulders as a child, where Shigaraki knows ultimately that growing into what All for One wants to be is something that will never satisfy him.

Shigaraki differentiates himself from Re-Destro because instead of trying to chain himself to it, Shigaraki is someone desperately trying to free himself from the history that burdens him.

Shigaraki wants to escape his past and develop into his own person, and he also wants the same for his allies around them. That is why he unlike Re-Destro has a character arc.

Shigaraki’s arc is about growing into his own person outside of AFO’s influence, and because of that it makes no sense for him to just die as the villain that AFO wanted him to be. The best resolution for his arc is for him to grow into his own desires and realize what he wants. In order to do that, just like when he needed to accept and value his allies in order to start his development after the Stain Arc, Shigaraki needs an outside perspective on his life like Deku to show him that things could be different, that there’s another way even for someone like him.

If Shigaraki were past the point of no return he would not be shown to be capable of changing. There are villains in the story that are already past the point of no return, but they are not Shigaraki, and not only that but the story always compares them to Shigaraki to show that he’s learning to be better than them.

#Anonymous #mha meta #shigaraki meta #metasks #my hero academia meta #shigaraki tomura #yotsubasa rikiya #kai chisaki #stain

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unlockthelore · 5 years ago

Text

Preparation - Remind Me [CH. 2]

“Bring me into the world, you say?”

The world seemed to hold its breath at Hiei’s declaration and at the Dragon’s words, it dared to breathe. A stiff breeze swept past him as his cloak billowed in the wind, hair whipping about, obscuring his view of the Dragon’s piercing gaze. The entity’s words reverberated through him, resonating within the very depths of his being and stirring something within his soul, kindling a flame that’d been lit since he stepped foot on the island.

“I wasn’t aware of an echo,” Hiei said tersely.

The Dragon’s lips pulled back, sharpened teeth glimmering in the sunlight reflecting off its scales, and Hiei wasn’t sure if it was grinning at his ill-placed joke or sneering at the cheekiness of it all. Considering that he hadn’t been set ablaze, he assumed that it was torn between the two.

“You know not what you ask for, summoner.”

Hiei huffed. “You think me incompetent?” He asked, pushing back his sleeve and baring the Dragon’s mark not only to the entity itself but the watching eyes of the Void. “And yet you were conquered by me.”

The Dragon’s eyes widened and its pupils dilated, the rock cracking and splintering beneath the force of its claws as it lurched forward. Hiei tensed up but forced himself to remain in place as he stood mere inches away from the Dragon’s massive teeth, the steam pouring from its nostrils enough to heat the air and blow back his hair from his eyes. The waves crashing against the rock evaporating into vapor as it spoke.

“You conquered nothing, summoner.”

A pang of hurt wrested for control in Hiei’s chest and he nearly wanted to show the Dragon just how much he had grown. Though there felt like an odd tug, not desperation, but something akin to insult. Hiei lowered his arm and let his sleeve slip past his elbow, covering the mark from view. The Dragon had existed long before he’d been born, even older than Kurama, and King Enma — he couldn’t imagine the surprise and humiliation that may have come from being bound to someone.

Or the conflicting pride and aggravation which came with knowing your strength could go further and you had not yet reached your peak.

“Then tell me what it is that I ask for, Dragon,” Hiei said. “If I have not conquered you, then what meaning does this mark have?”

He’d dealt with entities out of his depth before. The Sword of Darkness being one of them. Though while the Dragon was akin to speaking of the terms of their agreement, the Sword had lulled him into a false sense of security, and once caught in its hold he nearly killed someone he loved. Uncertainty roiled in Hiei’s stomach and waged war against his need for safety and security. The Dragon’s heady gaze doing little to assuage his worries as the entity scrutinized him carefully, as if deciding whether or not he was worth answering or killing.

Tightening his fist, Hiei tipped his head back and stared into the Dragon’s eyes.

After a moment of the Dragon studying him, the entity leant back and turned its head toward the sky, the sun peeking over the tip of its muzzle. “A reminder,” it said evasively.

“Reminder?”

The Dragon settled back, more of its body slipping beneath the waves as it rested its head between its claws. “Of who I once was,” it said as its eyes slipped shut. “You are every bit of stubborn as the being I used to be.”

Hiei scowled and folded his arms across his chest. Curious as he was at the statement, he doubted that he was that stubborn. Or that his stubbornness was a terrible thing to bear. After all, it had gotten him this far. For better or worse. The Dragon seemed to sense his displeasure, a deep rumbling that Hiei almost believed to be a laugh, shaking the rock beneath his feet and shifting the waves further from the Dragon’s being.

“I doubt that a warning or even a wound will deter you from your chosen goal,” the Dragon said, a glimmer of amusement in its eyes as it opened them to look at Hiei with a silent challenge posed in the curl of its lip.

Hiei huffed and tightened his grip on his forearms, the mark burning and itching in response to the challenge. “You would be right,” he said, lifting his chin and glaring down his nose despite the disparity between their heights. “I’ve suffered through more than your scrutiny.”

The mark’s burn and ache intensified and Hiei gritted his teeth as the Dragon narrowed its eyes at him.

“That I am aware of,” it said once the burning eased and Hiei dared to breathe, clutching his arm in a vice grip. “So perhaps you can suffer through a story.”

“A story?”

The Dragon shut its eyes and hummed low, the sound reverberating off the cliffside and startling a flock of birds in a nearby tree. “You are not the first to have bared that mark, regardless of what the stories may have told you.”

“I’m not?” Hiei asked slowly, his grip on his arms loosening.

All of the stories of the Dragon of the Darkness Flame mentioned many summoners beckoning to curry the Dragon’s favor but it always ended in death. None could match the Dragon’s power and risked being overtaken, if not destroyed in their pursuit. Hiei attributed it to his own strength that he’d managed to trap the Dragon within his being but the skepticism was eating away at his resolve.

“Does it make you feel any lesser to know this?” the Dragon asked, far too lighthearted and smug for Hiei’s liking.

“No.” Hiei snapped, resting his hands at his sides, glaring at the Dragon venomously. “Only foolish for believing fairy tales.”

The Dragon hummed quietly, the disbelief palpable but it said nothing further on the matter, its voice wistful and winding like the old bandits who sat around the campfire and told stories of their glory days when Hiei was a child.

“The first was a young woman whom I was quite fond of. She was kind-hearted and brash, wielding kindness and resolve like a blade, she was formidable.”

Hiei felt compelled to lower himself to the ground and listen attentively but he hesitated to move. The closer that he was to the Dragon’s jaws, the more his anxiety overwhelmed. Instead, he tried to imagine the woman that the Dragon spoke of. Kind-hearted and brash. The image of a young man with slicked back hair came to mind.

Kindness and resolve. The image of a loud-mouthed swordsman, hair done up in a pompadour and constantly spouting off about his resolve, undeterred by the limitations of his humanity.

Formidable. The glimpse of red and green giving way to silver and gold, a person strong despite the form, choosing kindness over cruelty.

Seemingly unaware of Hiei’s mind wandering, the Dragon continued speaking. “I was unwieldy. A soul lost among the sea of eternity, with nothing but time and emptiness to keep me company.” The Dragon’s eyes opened and though it stared ahead, Hiei felt that it wasn’t looking at him, but a distant past that he couldn’t see. “More than once, she came to me as you are now, and spoke to me in a tone that made it seem as if she were familiar with my mind.”

“Your life isn’t expendable,” a short red-haired boy hissed, gripping him by the shoulders, his fingers pressing uncomfortably into Hiei’s skin. Those hands that wrapped his bandages carefully were holding him tight enough that he couldn’t think to look elsewhere. Lost in a sea of green, his voice drowned out the rampant refusals he could think of.

“No matter what you think, your life means something.”

“I know the feeling.” Hiei muttered, resting his hand against his stomach, the itchiness of bandages with plants fibers sewn into them making his skin crawl and his heart ache.

“As I’m sure you do.” The Dragon said, and Hiei thought to ask what it meant but the entity continued on heedless of his curiosity. “I rebuked her, I yelled at her, I raged. But she was strong. So strong that she quelled my anger with not only her fists when I was volatile but her words when I was subdued.”

Hiei snorted, resting a hand on his hip. “You could be subdued?”

The Dragon’s eyes narrowed into slits. “One would be surprised that power, no matter how great, has others that overshadow it. None are above. All have one that they may cower beneath or revere.”

All of the haughtiness in Hiei’s tone ebbed away and he frowned. Power that overshadowed. The “human realm demon” that he looked down on, the woman who wore shackles from her past, the maiden who spoke with soft words despite the scars she bore.

“Do you not feel the same?” the Dragon asked and Hiei looked down.

“If you go anywhere near her, it will be the last thing you do.”

Words spoken in a voice colder than ice, clipped and threatening with a promise lingering beneath the surface. Moonlight haloing him and in the flicker of green, gold appeared and the chill threatened to freeze Hiei from the inside out. He knew that with his speed he’d have an advantage but how great that advantage was, he was unsure.

The low growl rumbling deep in that human’s chest was animalistic, feral, primordial and Hiei unconsciously stepped back.

“I do.” Hiei said, noticing that he took a step back and moving back nowhere he stood, dismissing the Dragon’s questioning look. “Then the first summoner, did she —“

“She was not a summoner.”

“What?”

“She did not summon me to the mortal plane.”

There was a pause and Hiei couldn’t believe his ears. Though he doubted that the Dragon had reason to lie to him now of all times. And from the solemness in the entity’s tone, he couldn’t find a reason to think it would. “She came to me, to the Void, and to the Makai.”

Hiei swallowed thickly. He could remember his time in the Void, brief as it was, the thousands of eyes that lingered on him. Horrors unimaginable tearing at his sanity and trying to ward him from the path that he walked to the Dragon’s core. Venomous words spat in the voices of his friends, his family, his loved ones. He’d come from it fearing nothing and hearing everything that would have otherwise torn him to pieces. His anger burned bright and his enemies were to serve as its kindling.

For someone to walk into the Void willingly, they had to be brave if not foolish. He wondered which one the Dragon thought him of at the time. Slowly, the Dragon continued to explain and Hiei listened attentively. Whomever this woman was, she was a legend that none other knew of, and held the secret that he yearned for.

“This woman was born with reiki and thus, she existed not only within the Reikai but the Ningenkai,” the Dragon began. “While I was born of youki, existing not only in the Makai and the Meikai. She, who held no power in the realms that I claimed as my own, journeyed there to meet me.”

Hiei huffed and sneered at the thought. Only an idiot or a brazen soul would tread into another’s domain without heed. “For it to be your domain, you could have killed her for the insult.”

“Insult?” the Dragon echoed back, the puzzled and curious lilt to its voice left Hiei confused and his smug smile fell.

“You said that she claimed to know your mind,” Hiei reminded and the Dragon hummed in acknowledgement. “Did you not feel insulted?”

After a short pause, the Dragon closed its eyes. “No, I did not.”

Hiei squinted, his lips pressing together and curling downward at the corners. The more he learned of the Dragon, the less the entity seemed to make sense to him.

“I was relieved,” the Dragon said with a wistful sigh. “To know that one would attempt to know me as I was rather than what I am. Such relief is uncommon, for those who possess immeasurable power, do you not agree?”

The Dragon’s eyes opened and met Hiei’s own and the relief bellied the entity’s earlier annoyance, a softened melancholy darkening violet irises that were less piercing but beckoning. The tension melted from Hiei’s shoulders and his hands fell to his side.

“I do.”

“I trust you.”

Warm brown eyes met his own with a smile wavering beneath the strain that the one who possessed it harbored. Straining to keep up the weight overhead, Hiei was torn between a venomous quip and a scoff. How could he trust him with all that he’d done? Surely, he had to be kidding. And then at a glance, he saw it. The glow that outlined the length of his body as the weight was steadily lifted and he yelled.

“Now go!”

He told himself that the fool would regret it. That he would see the error in his ways for trusting him even if it was briefly. But for a moment, he felt warmth.

A flicker of hope.

That perhaps he would have the chance to right his wrong against one that meant him no harm.

“She knew many things of the Ningenkai and shared them with me,” the Dragon said and Hiei roused from his thoughts to look into its eyes. “I was disinterested, I found it idiotic…”

Hiei sighed. He felt the same once upon a time. That the Ningenkai was nothing more than a lesser realm for lesser beings but he’d been proven wrong time and time again by those who lived there and those who came from his home.

The Dragon sighed. “And yet, she told them to me time and time again. Concepts of family, of home, the inner workings and the beauty of life. For one that waded in blood and ferried souls, I found these things inconsequential.”

Waded in blood. Hiei curled his fingers into fists and if he thought hard enough, he could feel the warmth of blood in the creases of his palm. Crimson staining his fingertips and the crevices of his nails. The stink of iron and scents of the fallen clinging to his person and his blade, washed away by the rain, in a lake, or a stream, and at times in the shower with the scent of roses lingering nearby to offer him a hand.

“They couldn’t be taken with you into death,” Hiei muttered and the Dragon hummed its agreement.

Continuing on as if Hiei had said nothing, the Dragon said. “But for beings such as us who lived for eternity, she believed they meant something.”

“Us…” Hiei muttered, raising a brow as the Dragon looked at him evenly. “She was like you?”

“That she was.” The Dragon said simply, seeming pleased that Hiei had caught onto the word choice. “The Ningenkai and the Reikai were her domain and she bid me to enter them at my leisure. I found it idiotic. I could usurp power from her, slay her and take control of the four realms.”

A bitter tinge of irritation was heavy on Hiei’s tongue and he narrowed his eyes at the Dragon.

“And more than once, I proposed that possibility to her, but she seemed wholly unbothered. I believed it was because she thought of me not as a threat but then I realized.”

Although he was certain those words were hypothetical, he couldn’t help but think of the cowardice that it would take. Though she was a fool, she didn’t seem like a terrible person.

Since when did I start to think like this?

“It was because she felt for me.” The Dragon deduced, although it didn’t seem certain in its words either. “And she knew my mind enough to realize that I felt the same.”

“Thanks for coming, Hiei.”

He swore to kill whatever made that accursed sound but he hadn’t expected to come across them. His gaze flicked from the oaf to the ferry girl then finally the fox. He shrugged slightly and gave an apologetic smile as the ferry girl stepped closer.

“I knew we could count on you.”

Hearing the detective had been ensnared had been the crowning moment of his night but the implication from the fox, and the idea of what this might have meant for the detective haunted him.

He had to do something.

Though he couldn’t let them know that the thought crossed his mind. He wasn’t even sure where it had come from. All he could do in the moment was say that it was none of his business, that it wasn’t his concern, that he was tired of fighting for the Ningenkai.

But it had crossed his mind then.

What was he fighting for?

“And you rebelled,” Hiei said.

The Dragon sighed. “Still I rebelled. What else could I have done when I was steadily losing control? I turned her away, I rebuked her invitations, and yet she returned. Then I began to accept, I wreaked havoc in the Ningenkai, seduced the humans with my power only to devour them time and time again.”

The itch of the Sword of Darkness, the desire to enslave humanity and turn them into demons or mindless victims that would do his bidding. Hiei clenched his fist at the feeling and the lingering memory of the ill-fated plan. He never wanted to do something as cowardly as enlist the help of a human army. Not with all that he knew about them.

The Dragon continued uninhibited by the turmoil in Hiei’s chest. “Countless lives were lost and over time, I was unsure of why I was doing this, what would I gain from inciting her rage?”

Although the questions were posed, Hiei had a feeling that they weren’t directed toward him. He stayed silent as the Dragon seemed to consider the word and lost itself in thought before continuing.

“I didn’t know the answer until she came down with the wrath of her might and laid me to the Earth beneath her hand. She told me that I had gone too far, that I had taken too much, that I was out of control, that I was lost. In that voice that spoke the kindest of words, I heard the coldest of truths. And for the first time, I felt pain.”

“You’re not so tough.”

Hiei flinched at the words as he struggled to rise to his feet, using his sword to brace himself. A sharp pain shot up his leg as it was swept from beneath him and he clattered to the ground, suppressing a cry and gritting his teeth. Her feet stopped in front of him and he forced himself not to look up at her. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction but his head felt heavy, and the world was spinning on its axis. Fresh pain shot through him as her foot came in contact with his stomach.

“Those are the words that you used at the beginning of this, wasn’t it?” She asked, voice even and soft as if she were speaking to a child. With every prod of her foot, pain ricocheted through him, stealing his breath and his abdomen ached almost as if it was threatening to cave in. “I wonder if you were trying to convince yourself or make up for your own self-doubt.”

Heat welled up in his chest and pooled in his palms as he pushed himself up despite the searing pain in his legs. Whether she knew it or not, she’d driven a knife into him and the one place that he was the most vulnerable.

His heart.

“So she offered me a choice to make up for all that I had done,” the Dragon’s voice was closer now and when Hiei returned his focus, he found himself staring down the Dragon’s nose. “Walk the world at her side though I could leave when I chose. Be bound to her, not by loyalty, and not by duty, but by purpose.”

Purpose.

Wasn’t that why he went to Mukuro’s side?

He lost his purpose and death was…

“For one as lost as me, to find purpose would be akin to finding stability, and thus I would be given peace.”

Hiei’s voice was hoarse and quiet, barely above a whisper, and drowned out by the crashing waves. “Did you choose to bind yourself to her?” he asked.

“Not immediately,” the Dragon answered. “I found the thought distasteful but as time went on, to make up for what I’d done, I remained at her side. Until one day, I asked her. What bonds are there in the Ningenkai? What ties these humans together and keeps their memories alive? And her answer to me was family.”

Hiei felt his heart seize and the Dragon’s eyes narrowed at him. Part of him felt this was a trap. He felt he needed to flee. But he was rooted to the spot and unable to move. His limbs refused to obey him and all he could do was stare into the eyes of the beast and listen as the flame inside of him burned brighter.

“Children bear the wills of their parents but grow into their own, they honor their memory and share their stories for generations. And parents raise their children with respect and dignity, and look to them as their own being rather than reflections of what they could have been.”

Shiori came to mind. The way that she looked at Kurama, despite knowing what he was, she always seemed proud of him. She loved and adored him and wanted the best for him. Her love was genuine and though Kurama was different from her, she never asked him to be anything but. It confused Hiei greatly when he met her but over time, he understood.

That was love.

“I was mesmerized by it. I was interested. And I wanted to know more,” the Dragon sighed longingly. “She saw my curiosity and took aim, asking me then if I would like to form a bond with her, as a family.”

The stirring beneath Hiei’s skin, the overwhelming burn of flames kindling and growing with every word, the inability to control his body. Memories arising and the Dragon’s patience, something felt off. Something felt right and wrong at the same time.

“That girl asked me if I would like to be—“

Hiei interjected. “— Her brother.”

The Dragon stared at him evenly and its lips curled back but this time he was sure, it was smiling.

“She bore the mark not on her skin as you do, but on her soul.”

Hiei’s heart skipped a beat and he forced himself to take a step back as the Dragon lifted its head and shifted backward, the shadows curling around its body within the water slowly began to consume it. Darkness ebbing over its claws and sprawling across the rock in spiderweb-like shadows, inching closer to Hiei’s feet as he was backed to the edge, waves crashing against the rock and water splattering against the back of his cloak and the heels of his boots.

“So that when the time came again, our bond would hold fast,” the Dragon said, amusement creeping into its words, and Hiei could feel that it was smiling. “And I could be her brother once more.”

His eyes widened as the Dragon’s massive form receded and the spider-like shadows began to build onto one another, bubbling and shifting, rising slowly until they were at eye level with him.

“…. What are you?” Hiei breathed shakily, stiffening up as the shadows dispersed and the entity standing before him smiled.

A young man, violet-eyed with shoulder-length pitch black hair streaked with white in the center of his bangs, peach tanned skin marred with faded scars across his bare torso, and a swirling mass of burn marks in within black ink on his left arm, his lips pulled back in a toothy smile, the eye in the middle of his forehead opening and focusing on Hiei, narrowing and crinkling at the corners in delight at the look on his face.

“An immortal flame,” he said in a ghastly voice.

#yu yu hakusho #kurahi #kurama #hiei #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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thedcdunce · 6 years ago

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Catman

“Ah, the thrill of the hunt, there's no feeling in the world like it!” - Catman

Real Name: Thomas Blake

Gender: Male

Height: 6′ 0″

Weight: 179 lbs (81 kg)

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Blonde

Abilities:

Genius Level Intellect

Hand-to-Hand Combat (Advanced)

Tracking

Weaponry

Equipment:

Catmobile

Catarang

Universe:

Earth-One

New Earth

Base of Operations:

Africa

Gotham City

Citizenship: American

Parents:

Reese Blake; father

Sienna Blake; mother

Marital Status: Single

First Appearance: Detective Comics #311 (January, 1963)

Abilities

Genius Level Intellect

Hand-to-Hand Combat (Advanced)

Tracking

Weaponry

Equipment

Catmobile

Catarang: Thomas Blake used the equivalent of a Batarang. Painted in red, it had several spikes to represent a cat's claws.

History

Thomas Blake is Cat-Man, a former super-criminal and enemy of Batman, who had somewhat reformed and turned his efforts for good instead of evil. Despite still upholding poor regard for the law, Cat-Man has become an anti-hero for his intermittent code of honor.

Earth-One

Thomas Blake was a former wealthy socialite from Gotham City who trained himself to become a professional jungle cats hunter. His dedication to this hobby caused him to squander his fortune and without any resources, he decided to turn to crime. At first, he considered becoming a vigilante, but since Batman was already working in Gotham, Blake decided to adopt the identity of the costumed criminal, Cat-Man. Blake was partially inspired by the animals he had devoted his life to capture and the notorious former criminal, Catwoman, who had retired from crime. As Cat-Man, Blake started a criminal spree and often stole cat-themed items, like valuable cat statues. Batman and Robin eventually deduced Blake's secret identity thanks to Batwoman, who had confronted Cat-Man moments later. Cat-Man tried to fight the Dynamic Duo using a giant cat robot, but the heroes destroyed the machine and just as Cat-Man tried to escape, he was carried away by a nearby river, after which he was presumed dead.

Cat-Man soon returned to Gotham with a new criminal plan. During this time, he managed to recruit Batwoman and Blake provided her with a Cat-Woman costume, which resembled his own Cat-Man outfit. However, this was a mistake on Blake's part, as Batwoman led Batman and Robin to his hideout and he was forced to retreat on a boat, which crashed on the sea, apparently killing him.

It was later revealed that the reason why Cat-Man managed to survive those deadly accidents was because part of his Cat-suit was made of a magical cloth that granted the wearer nine lives, just like a cat. When Cat-Man learned of this, he used it to his advantage, escaping from Batman and Robin by exposing his life. However, it was Batwoman who deduced Cat-Man's plan and she used her own Cat-Woman costume in order to stop the Cat-Man. Blake was finally arrested and taken to prison.

Several years later, Catman returned to Gotham and initially, Catwoman was blamed for his crimes. The truth was eventually discovered by Catwoman and Batman, who tracked down Catman to his lair. Catman used a deadly trap to eliminate them while he traveled to Greece to sell the stolen goods in return for his own private island, which he planned to turn into a criminal haven/retreat. His plans were foiled by Batman and Catwoman, who tracked him down and caused his apparent demise in the ensuing confrontation. Although, because of the magical properties of his suit, Catman survived. Seeking revenge against Batman and Catwoman, Catman returned to Gotham and tried to retrieve the missing part of his costume to restore his scarred face. Although he managed to capture Catwoman and retrieved his costume, he was defeated by Batman and Blake learned that his magical costume didn't work anymore.

New Earth

Thomas Blake's origin remained unchanged after the Crisis on Infinite Earths altered reality and continuity. Although Catman began his criminal career as just a cat-themed version of Batman, his gimmicks were mostly considered laughable by the general community and he was never taken seriously.

Later on after an long absence, Catman resurfaced when his pet tiger escaped and started killing people in Gotham. Although Catman tried to take the tiger back, he took the chance to confront Batman, forcing him to fight the animal. Batman managed to capture the tiger and Catman was attacked by Catwoman, who sought to clear her name after she was blamed for Catman's crimes. Despite his utter defeat, Catman was not captured.

He would usually spent time in Blackgate Penitentiary. Eventually Blake left the villain game and became a couch potato. After several particularly humiliating run-ins with Green Arrow, however; he decided to shape up again. Recently, he has decided to return to his old community after many years of training in Africa. He is also no longer exclusively a villain, working with both heroes and villains as an on-and-off member of the Secret Six.

Outcast

In 1993, Catman as a member of the short-lived team "The Misfits", led by Killer Moth. The Misfits were a group of third-rate villains trying to prove themselves by working as a collective, but were naturally defeated by Batman and Robin. Catman would later come into contact with Catwoman again, when it was revealed the cloth his suit was made from actually belonged to a South Sea cat cult. Catwoman was hired by the cult to return the cloth, but ended up giving them a fake.

Catman remained in limbo until around 2003, when he resurfaced as a minor foe of Green Arrow. It was shown that Catman had become a pathetic, overweight loser, looked down upon by other villains and defeated by Green Arrow without any real effort. His hair had been dyed black, which he thought "made [him] look tougher," and not only was he still hitting his girlfriends, but he apparently wore his old costume under his regular clothes. At one point, over an old grudge, Monsieur Mallah sent Warp to abduct Blake, the implication being that he had met a rather grisly end as Mallah's dinner. Blake alluded to this during the events of Villains United: "You know you've hit rock bottom when a monkey and a Frenchman don't consider you worth killing." Later, when he met Monsieur Mallah again, he commented that he had no desire to see the gorilla's stomach again.

The Secret Six

During the events of "Villains United," Catman resurfaced it was revealed that actually Catman had gone back to his roots in an attempt to remake himself as a man. After a failed attempt at suicide, he returned to Africa and began living with a pride of lions. He lost weight, and regained his sense of self-worth and fighting skills, becoming even more than the warrior he had previously been. This "perfect existence" however, would be shattered by the arrival of recruiters from the Secret Society of Super-Villains, who were attempting to unite all of Earth's super-villains under their control. Catman was one of very few villains who refused, and as it was embarrassing to have a "nobody" like Catman refuse them, they slaughtered his entire family of lions. It was later revealed that although Catman had thought Deathstroke the Terminator had done the job, it had actually been Deadshot under orders from Mockingbird to coerce Catman into joining his team.

Catman vowed revenge against The Society, and was subsequently recruited into the Secret Six. Together, the Secret Six waged war against The Society under the direction of "Mockingbird". When he found out it had been Deadshot who had performed the hit on his pride, he was furious. But Deadshot would later apologize, and Catman forgave him. Although the two were reluctant allies at first, they soon bonded and became what one could loosely call friends. He would also undergo a carnal relationship with fellow Secret Six member Cheshire. She would later betray him and the rest of the Six to the Secret Society though, and it was revealed she had tricked Blake into helping her conceive a child; Mockingbird was holding hers hostage, and she believed Blake to be a nearly perfect specimen of man. During the Battle of Metropolis, after leaving Mockingbird's control, the Secret Six decided to strike out on their own as neither villains nor heroes, but rather mercenaries.

During the events of "Birds of Prey: Dead of Winter," the Secret Six ran into the Birds of Prey. Blake and the Huntress - out of costume, danced together while incognito, with hints of an attraction. The two teams battled, six on six, and Catman paired against Huntress, who hinted that she might have been interested in a relationship if he drew the line between villain and hero a little bit more carefully. The fray ended with the resurrection of former JLI member Ice. The Secret Six broke up at the end of this adventure.

Catman was next seen on the Hell Planet with the rest of the villains deported during the events of "Salvation Run," along with fellow Secret Six members Deadshot, Rag Doll and Scandal.

After returning to Earth, Catman rejoined the Secret Six. Catman joined Bane and Ragdoll on a mission to stop criminals in Gotham City after Batman's death. Catman and Bane had a discussion about their suitable positions to take place as Gotham's vigilantes. Their hopes however, were crushed when Nightwing banished them from Gotham and they decided to move on as the Secret Six.

#catman #thomas blake #secret six #misfits #dc #DC comics #thedcdunce

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requiescatinpacerp · 6 years ago

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“There's nothing like deep breaths after laughing that hard. Nothing in the world like a sore stomach for the right reasons.”

Andromeda Tonks

Age: Twenty

Affiliation: Neutral

Blood Status: Pureblood

Career: St. Mungo’s Healer

Wand: 10”, ebony, unicorn hair, rather stiff

messy buns, green silk lingerie sets, healing herbs, homemade teas, kind eyes, matching mother daughter outfits, constellation gazing, infectious laughter, sharp wit, knowing smiles, broken family heart of gold, healer plus, abundance of sarcasm, mama bear, starry nightlight passionate hearts, shadow puppets, acting on emotion, laughter lines, freshly baked cookies, holding hands, protective instincts, cozy cardigans, blanket forts

Andromeda was the second born child to Cygnus and Druella Black, her older sister was already deemed to take on the path of a warrior and when her darling baby sister was born she took up being the light of her parents life. What was left for Andromeda to be? She wasn't sure. While her parents raised her similar to Bellatrix, pruning and shaping her to be prepared to live up to the Pureblood mantle that came with the Black Family name there was always a small part of her that wondered if there was more to life then this? A curious child who wanted to explore and thrived on using her imagination even with the looks that in caused her parents to give her, they found her peculiar and wondered if she was a dud. What child of theirs would want of live off in a fairytale land to one where she could do as she pleased? They were prepared to hand her their legacy and it was the last thing that Andromeda wanted. Attending Hogwarts was expected, as was being sorted into Slytherin, the hat considered her a candidate for Ravenclaw but she refused, knowing what judgement would befall her if she wasn't where her parents wanted her. There she felt as out of place as she did at home, in fact was only in class that she felt like she had purpose. She liked learning things beyond the Dark Arts that her parents wanted her to study, Potions and Charms was where she excelled and it was the Healing magic that she took a connection too. Required to take a Muggle Studies class she found herself for the first time in her life confused, she'd been aware of the world beyond hers but she'd been told it was vile and the people were scum. It was struggling in that class that led to her meeting Ted Tonks, the muggleborn boy with a charming smile and kind heart. He was what showed her that nothing was as it seemed, it was the bond that she forged with him that gave her the strength to walk away from her family, finding a home in him and from there his friends became her own, opening her up to the goodness around her. Upon Graduation she decided to put her superior skills at healing magic to use, taking a position as a Healer at Mungos. From there it was as if her life fell into place, marrying Ted and falling pregnant with Nymphadora, everything that she had once wisher for herself coming true. Being a healer and being a wife was magical in every meaning of the word but it was being a mother that gave Andromeda the purest of feelings. There was a love that she held for her daughter that was only met by the one that she had for her husband. It had been no secret to Andromeda that a war was being waged, her parents had wanted to raise her to be a soldier for it just like they did Bellatrix, for the first time ever she'd get to choose. She had thought long and hard about joining Ted in supporting the Order but ultimately decided to not be an active participant. Aside from the fact that they had a daughter at home that needed her as much as she could have her there was also the truth that she didn't believe herself capable of being able to make a conscious decision to kill her sisters should they meet on the battlefield. Despite not being an active member she is still willing to open her door to every member who may need a safe house and without question supports her husband in his missions.

TED TONKS -- When it comes to Ted there is nothing that Andromeda won't do for him, he helped her see that there was more to life than following the path laid out for you. Marrying him was one of the single best things that she could have done, together they're raising their daughter to be a fiery spirit whom they know will help make the world a better place if she so chooses.

BELLATRIX AND NARCISSA BLACK -- She knows that after everything that she shouldn't but she can't help but love her sisters in spite of everything. Andromeda knows that it's a dream but she hopes that one day they can find a common ground to reunite over.

SIRIUS BLACK -- Andromeda holds so much pride when it comes to Sirius and the decision that he made to not follow the Pureblood way of things. She knows that his soul is pure and would do anything to help her cousin succeed.

Andromeda Tonks is an TAKEN character with the FC of Adelaide Kane.

#marauders rp #marauders roleplay #hp rp #hp roleplay #lsrp #andromeda tonks #n #neutral #andromedatonksbio #taken #takenf

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foundlingmother · 7 years ago

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*cracks knuckles* Do you know what you’re about to witness, people? You’re about to see a certified Loki stan go full Thor stan on your asses. Buckle up, buckaroos.

Thor in Thor is misunderstood.

Actually, I have no idea if my interpretation is widely considered canon or not. The way I usually see people talk about Thor on this site, he’s either a beautiful, golden space prince(ss), or he’s THE DEVIL and does nothing but abuse poor, misunderstood Loki. I might see brief snippets of nuanced discussion in metas that are more about Loki than Thor, but not a lot on its own. Specifically in regards to Thor, I usually see his character development summarized as “He was kind of an arrogant ass, but he spent a few days on Midgard (and met a girl, and we all know how that changes a man), and then space princess levels of perfection were achieved, and we all agree that the swift transformation was kind of silly, but it was absolute redemption!”

I’m here to offer a slightly different perspective. So, without further ado...

A Comprehensive (But Not Necessarily Comprehensible) Analysis of Odin’s A+ Parenting and Its Impact on Thor in Thor (and Beyond)

For the sake of time and sanity, I’m going to begin from the assumption that Thor is Odin’s favorite. I could waste paragraphs proving this, pointing to Odin pitting Thor and Loki against each other and ultimately choosing Thor, mentioning what Loki says to Odin when he’s breaking down, and bringing in pages from the comics (which are applicable due to the principle of intertextuality... thank you @philosopherking1887 for writing that post), but you’ve probably seen it all before. Either you agree, or you don’t. However, my argument isn’t that Thor was Odin’s favorite, therefore he was an amazing parent to Thor. The way Odin parented Thor, his favorite, was different than how he parented Loki, but different does not equal better.

Where Odin’s parenting of Loki could be classified as neglectful, disinterested, and/or irresponsible, his parenting of Thor could be described as demanding and authoritarian. Thor is the heir, and Loki is the spare. There are advantages and disadvantages to both roles. Loki didn’t have his father’s support, but certain expectations weren’t demanded of him. He was allowed to pursue his interests. At no point are we lead believe that Odin vocally disapproved of or forbade Frigga teaching Loki her magic. Loki becomes insecure due to societal contempt for his interests and skills, and a lack of paternal (and, to a lesser degree, fraternal) respect and attention. Meanwhile, Thor, as the favorite/heir, has to meet all the expectations society places on a man, a warrior, a prince, and a king, with little to no regard given to what he actually wants. Prior to Thor, he seems pleased with his role, but that doesn’t mean his emotional well-being has been addressed. He just happened to enjoy the interests he was expected to cultivate. We know that his feelings aren’t part of the equation because of this little bit of A+ parenting:

Odin: I’m telling you this not as the Allfather, but as your father. You are ready. The time has come for you to take the throne. Embrace and celebrate what you’ve won. Join your warriors. Eat and drink. Revel in their celebration. At least pretend to enjoy yourself.

Pretend to enjoy yourself... *screams* Yes, that’s a thing that happens in the films, and I still see people defend Odin’s parenting. It boggles the mind.

There’s a lot expected of Thor. Failure would be public and disastrous (and it’s really not an option when your expectations are that you’ll take a hereditary position). Considering that, it’s not surprising that Thor is insecure.

Alright! Settle down! I’m going to prove it. Keep your pants on (unless you’d prefer not to... I don’t judge).

Arrogance is a massive red flag for insecurity. People with true self-confidence do not require their ego to be fed. When Thor enters his coronation, he showboats. He eats up the attention. It’s made clear in the script that he was not meant to enter like this, and that he often showboats.

We’re also shown Thor putting Loki in his place, even when it’s clear Loki’s speaking sense. Obsession with position and authority over another, and inability to heed their advice, indicate insecurity. For Thor, it’s also a learned behavior. Odin asserts his position over Thor and shuts down what Thor says when they enter the vaults together after the failed coronation. Odin criticizes him, which makes Thor stubbornly convinced he’s right, but visibly shaken that his father has not agreed with him. That stubbornness indicates insecurity (we’ll speak on this a bit more in a bit).

Thor’s very nearly convinced to leave Jotunheim, but then he’s insulted by a frost giant. Based on Loki immediately knowing how Thor will react, I imagine it’s not the first time Thor’s become violent when mocked. People with a high opinion of themselves are not easily ruffled by insults. I speak from experience. We should also take note of what the insult is. Thor’s masculinity is mocked. I wish I’d remembered this when I wrote about sexism in Asgardian society.

By the end of the movie, Thor’s in the same position we’ve seen Loki in the entire movie. He too wants to make Odin proud. Despite witnessing Odin do nothing to save Loki, Thor still admires his greatness as both a king and a father, and hopes for his approval. Odin grants it this once, but it doesn’t last (again, we’ll explore that in a bit).

There is also the deleted scene with Frigga, which chronologically comes after the “give us a kiss” scene, and prior to the coronation. It’s confirmed that Thor is nervous. He does not seem confident that he’s ready to be king. In private, that insecurity overwhelms him. Then he makes his grand entrance.

More than anything, it’s this insecurity that gets him banished.

Odin doesn’t care a fig for frost giants. I’ve already discussed in detail in other meta how keeping the Casket from them lead to a deterioration of their planet. Odin doesn’t seem concerned by that. He’s a big old racist that compares humans to goats. He never discouraged Thor from speaking about frost giants like they were monsters to slaughter. That’s the popular perception of them in Asgard. Lady Sif and the Warrior’s Three do not care about Thor’s crimes on Jotunheim. They’re quick to try and convince Loki that he should speak to the Allfather after they discover that Loki had the guard go to Odin. That doesn’t change anything about what Thor did (going to another Realm against the orders of his king and attacking), so the fact that they don’t care about any of that is the only conclusion. In TDW, when Frigga speaks to Loki, she only mentions the lives he took on Midgard. No one cares about frost giants. That’s not why Odin banishes Thor. It’s not about punishing him for his crimes on Jotunheim.

Odin decides to banish Thor after Thor says this:

Thor: And you are an old man and a fool!

(Also, Loki seems 100% aware that Thor’s just made things 1000% worse, so I’m willing to believe insulting Odin has historically been a way to get your ass turned to grass.)

What leads Thor to say this to his father, a man he idolizes? Thor’s feeling pretty badass on Jotunheim, even while Loki, Sif, and the Warriors Three run away, Fandral bleeding. When he kills the Jotunheim beast, there’s a moment he realizes that he’s gotten the people he loves killed by bringing them here. His face, full of pride and the thrill of battle, crumples. That’s the moment Thor realizes he’s made a mistake. Then Odin arrives. He embarrasses Thor in front of Laufey (calls him a child). They return to Asgard, and Odin continues to admonish him. An insecure person, confronted by criticism of mistakes they make (or even just the mistakes themselves), will double down. I spoke of how Thor stubbornly convinces himself he’s right when he’s put down by Odin. Here we see it happen again. Thor lashes out. Odin banishes him for disobedience and insolence.

It’s not that three days on Midgard teaches Thor humility and ultimate morality, it’s that Thor’s artificially inflated self-confidence implodes when he can’t lift Mjolnir (Odin finds him unworthy). Loki sticks the nail in the coffin when he lies about their mother refusing to let Thor return to Asgard. It doesn’t turn Thor from an asshole prince into a hero. Thor’s a friendly, good person under his arrogance. Even when he wants to invade Jotunheim, a significant part of his motivation is fear for the safety of Asgard and its people. There’s the desire for glory, too, since Asgard’s like that. Just like Loki, Thor’s motivations are multifaceted. When the arrogance is stripped away, he’s just friendly and good. He’s still misguided due to a millennium of racism. In Avengers, he’s still very aware of Asgardian superiority (willing to take Loki back with open arms even after he’s killed humans, mocks them under the influence of the mind stone). He’s not learned to love frost giants, he’s just learned to listen to Odin. Odin didn’t want to actively murder all of the frost giants (he just wanted them to slowly die out because he’s a monster), so Thor doesn’t want Loki to do that.

Odin gets the obedient Thor he wanted. That’s why he tells Thor he’s proud of him. Thor follows his example, saves them the embarrassment of being responsible for genocide, and the resources it takes to wage war. Thor’s obedience doesn’t last, and neither does Odin’s pride. Thor associated his friendliness, heroism, and self-sacrifice with Mjolnir returning to him, and those traits allow him to develop a sense of security in himself. When Odin’s willing to sacrifice Asgardian lives unnecessarily, Thor takes issue with that, and is able to betray Odin. However, Thor attributes developing those traits and discovering that sense of identity to Odin, since it was Odin’s punishment that helped him grow. The obedience he exhibits is a result of idolizing Odin. He’s probably idolized Odin all his life, but now it’s even more pronounced. He submits himself to Odin’s judgement at the end of TDW. He’s expecting for Odin for find him unworthy and take Mjolnir. He still respects Odin’s leadership ability. In fact, he believes the traits he most values in himself are incompatible with great leadership. The perfect image of Odin cracked a little in TDW, but not to a significant degree. When “Odin” praises Thor and allows him to leave with Mjolnir and an implied blessing, Thor’s love for Odin swells. He smiles receiving that praise from his “father”. The crack heals.

#my thor meta #odin meta #fandom: marvel #highlighted meta

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ben-j-man · 6 years ago

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Secret War- Chapter 1

Gunfire. Las and solid projectile alike ripped down the corridor, stray rounds punching holes through the wooden walls, showering us in pouts of exploding dust, which engulfed much of the hallway in a thick, white haze. Forcing my colleagues and me into cover. Two of whom, Jarvus and Callague, never made it. A Las round burned through the side of Jarvus' skull as the ex-guardsman desperately dived. Callague was dead before he could even move, the poor bastard almost cut apart by the intense fire.

Cursing, I blindly fired my auto gun from the corner, Into the dust obscured corridor. "Spray and pray" is the technical term and wondered for the hundredth time why I had joined this line of work. No way in hell could I get a clean shot; my only hope was to pin the assailants.

With a quick-fire signal to Garrakson behind me. I slipped back, and the ex-guardsman took my position.

"Fire in the hole!" he sang out in his oddly melodic voice, and with a grunt, the middle-aged man hefted a tube-charge down the hall.

The explosion's deafening roar preceded by the hefty clatter of falling debris.

Without hesitation, Elandria and I slid into the corridor. Side by side we sprinted through the dust and debris, firing our auto guns from the hip. Two unfortunate gangers buckled and collapsed under our withering fire. A pair of darkened figures stunned by the grenade's force.

At the last moment, we dropped our weapons and fell upon our enemies. Elandria drawing twin monomolecular enhanced blades from the sheaths on her back. I drew my mono-sword from its hip scabbard. Elandria let out a spine-chilling cackle and dodged a ganger's clumsy blow then countered with a deft slice, relieving him of his head.

Not in such humour. I parried a ganger's stabbing knife and kicked my boot's knife into his shin. The man's agonised scream became gurgling as I stabbed through his chest and I kicked the convulsing idiot off my blade. Immediately, I was forced to duck the next Hammer's wild swing of the butt of his Las gun. My blade arced into his left hip and through to his right shoulder. The man gurgled blood then fell onto his back.

Beside me, Elandria also finished her last attacker, disembowelling the ganger with a quick slice of Setsukia then decapitated him with Katrina.

She and I worked well together, but our combat styles could not have been more different. I was taught the way of the combat pragmatist: to do anything and everything to win, to fight with quick, brutal and practical techniques.

She fought like a gymnast, with acrobatic and fanciful techniques I found at first contemptuous. But I could not deny that she was skilled, very skilled.

She had yet to reveal what school of assassins she was taught in, but I could hazard a guess.

Elandria enjoyed killing. To such heights, it disturbed me and her obsession with decapitating her victims, unnatural. Hence why she wielded twin blades: Setsukia, for blocking and wounding. Katrina, specifically to decapitate. She fought while amped on combat drugs, which I was taught to do too, but detested. If you relied on enhancements, what good would you be without them? I supposed that was why her fanciful style was so effective.

I do not enjoy killing; I do it because needs must, in a professional manner and pride in my work. I am Attelus Xanthis Kaltos, I am a mercenary, and that is that.

Despite her ruthless, bloodthirsty nature, Elandria was an attractive young woman. At times her beauty held me in awe. Her skin, deathly pale and her straight brunette hair, jaw length. But I was wise enough to know a girl like her was only to be looked at, not chased being so indoctrinated by her cult, all she would ever know was the mindless urge to kill. It was quite depressing really.

The four that fell to our blades were the last; another three had taken the brunt of the blast.

'Good work you two' said Garrakson, his heavy boots crunching on the debris as he approached our backs.

Elandria and I turned to our colleague. Elandria was tense, shaking and as she spun she almost toppled over. Fortunately, Garrakson was smart enough to stand out of range of Elandria's blades; she was hugely unpredictable when in such a state.

I shrugged. "All in a day's work," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "We must be getting back before the local Magistratum arrive."

Garrakson grimaced slightly, "or the damnable Arbites."

"C-cut the chit chat s-shall we?" said Elandria her voice was painful, needy. "Our master will be wanting, to hear of our exploits.' She was twitching madly now, another reason I kept off stimms; the withdrawal was intense.

"What?" said Garrakson. "Our exploits being that we lost even more good men chasing yet another dead end?"

I sighed, Garrakson's words rang true. I had been part of Taryst's personal army for half a year now, and so far this had to be the most horrible, thankless job I've ever had.

Taryst, a famous Rogue trader, well known throughout the Calixis sector as a master of trade and business. Who, for an unknown reason, was waging war against the gangs of this Hive world: Omnartus. So secret this struggle was any mercenary who joined had their mind blocked from psyker intrusion. That was over two thousand men and women. Emperor only knows how even he could afford it.

"What are we to do about Callague and Jarvus?" I said; starting down the corridor and past Garrakson, although already knowing the answer.

Garrakson sniffed causing his scarred, square-jawed face to contort. "Do what we always do," he said, shaking his head. "Leave 'em; we don't have the time, kid."

"Just for a change huh?" I sighed. "Poor bastards. I hope that the Magistratum treat them well."

"Why does it matter?" asked Elandria, despite a drug-induced withdrawal approached she with such feline grace she seemed to float. "The dead are dead; it does not matter how well you treat them."

I sighed again. No matter how many times I explained it, she still didn't understand.

Garrakson sniffed again but this time he hawked up a wad of phlegm he unceremoniously spat to the floor. "Okay kiddies, we split up," he said, "Elandria go south-west-"

"Yeah, yeah," I interrupted. "We know the drill: I go southeast, and you go south, meet at the base at eighteen hundred, we know."

Garrakson shook his head with a bemused smile, "how long has it been now?"

"One hellish half of one hellish year," I answered, though I was not sure either.

"Hellish? Hellish?" said Garrakson. "Now that's the damned understatement of the damned century. Alright then, just move out now, if you know the bloody drill so frigging well."

And we did it, yet again.

I ran out of the building and into the polluted, darkened streets. My black flak jacket is whipping and snapping in my wake.

I did not need to check my wrist chronometre's compass to know I ran south-east. Ever since I was a child, I had an innate sense of direction. I could find my way through the thickest of bush on my homeworld, Elbyra with only my wits.

As I silently moved, my thoughts wandered. Half a year ago our squad numbered ten, but with the losses of Callague and Jarvus, now we're reduced to four.

The fourth was Torris, an ex-Arbitrator. He was wounded in our last incursion; the poor bastard lost an eye then got knifed in the guts. His condition was still uncertain. I was not into praying, but I was tempted to for Torris.

It was quite depressing really; seeing your colleagues killed off, one by one. Was it like this to serve in the Imperial Guard? Perhaps I should ask Garrakson one day if I ever remember to.

Better do it sooner rather than later, Garrakson maybe the next. Or perhaps me.

I shook away the morbid thought. The morale of Taryst's personal army was on an all-time low. We maybe mercenaries, throne gelts were a good incentive for us. But Taryst expected us to give up our lives without ever telling us why.

We were human as well if we had a cause, a meaning! It could make us fight all the harder.

Anger started to well, my jaw clenched. What was the point of implanting us with psychic blocks if you don't give us any of any information to protect?

But I was no stranger to secrets and sabotage. Everyone has an ulterior motive. I had learnt my of lesson "trust" from my dear old dad, my dear old frigging father.

I sighed, too many memories suddenly flooded back. I shook it away, now was not the time for sentiment.

There was never any time for sentiment.

I turned a sharp corner, out of the alleyways and into the main streets.

We were meant to meet at the base at 1800 hours, but I intended to get there sooner. I felt I needed to speak with the employer; a mother-figure to us and was more of a mother than my own ever was. Her name was Glaitis; she saved me after my first, futile, assassination attempt. Glaitis taught me the way of the assassin in more detail than my father ever would. And she knew my father, my real father.

My brow furrowed and I sped up my already fast pace.

She never looked up, and she never seemed to need to as I entered her office.

"Ah! Attelus Xanthis Kaltos. What is it that brings you to my humble abode, my apprentice?" said Glaitis. She was a tall, harshly beautiful woman and I couldn't help my gaze gliding over her. Glaitis sat at her desk, long legs crossed. Her cold blue eyes studied a data slate intently.

My jaw clenched. I hated it when Glaitis used my last name, and she was well aware of it. It was part of her constant testing which drove me nuts. It was to anger me so I could learn to control my anger- I almost always failed.

I swallowed the anger, and nervousness replaced it. A nervousness that overtook me when in her presence.

'I-I am here to advise you of-.'

The sharp snap of the data slate suddenly shutting interrupted me and she fixed me with her piercing gaze.

"No stuttering young one, unless it is an act! You are to be confident! Precise in your words and your demeanour and stand up straight! Your posture is utterly horrendous!"

I did as told, holding back an annoyed sigh.

"Now, Young Attelus, you may start again."

"I am here to advise you that we have lost two more members of our squad."

"And who were they?" she said, her gaze falling to her data slate, uninterested.

'Callague and Javus.'

'They are of Taryst's ilk,' she stated.

I nodded, already knowing what she was about to say.

"If they are not part of our own organisation. I do not care, and you know this as well as I. come out with it then. I know you, child, tell me the actual reason you are here."

I let out a heavy sigh, hoping that it didn't sound too fake, right now I was testing myself to see if I could hide the exact reason why I was here, 'the men are losing morale-'

"I am well aware of the state of the morale, my apprentice," she interrupted. "You are just here to seek guidance for your own melancholy. Am I correct in my assumption?"

I hissed air through clenched teeth, hesitating my response. Damn it, outwitted yet again!

'Yes...'

She smiled a steady and starkly rare expression.

"At least you have learnt from my teachings the value of deception young Attelus but yet not the proper technique. As I told you when we first began your training your father had taught you well in the basics; close quarters combat, swordsmanship, ranged weaponry. But he had neglected the more subtle arts of an assassin's trade."

My jaw set at the mention of my father.

"Do not do that!' she hissed. "That is one of your many tells young one. You do when you are annoyed or angered. Remember, I have taught you time and time again: 'give nothing to your enemies or your allies.' That proverb was handed down to me by my master, and now I hand it down to you. Do you understand what it means, child?"

"Yes." I barely said rather than sighed. I started regretting coming here.

"Good!" she sat back in her chair. "Now, tell me. What troubles you young Attelus."

Her voice softened; she seemed legitimately interested. That had always taken me back, how she could change from harsh, berating teacher, to tender and kind-hearted motherly figure in the blink of an eye.

My heart skipped and suddenly found words hard to form; when she changed like that, it would always give me a strange tightness in my chest. I had no idea why.

"I- I hate this!" I managed to blurt. "We have been here for six months, and we have nothing! Nothing! Just more corpses and questions! It's hard every frigging day is the same! A new lead we are sent to track down and- and! We are only to find a new dead end!"

"I know," she said softly. "I know it is hard."

"But you know what else?" I snarled. "I get the suspicion that frigger Taryst knows more than he lets on! That he could give us information that would allow us to do our jobs but for some, idiotic, selfish reason, he holds it back! I don't know why but I have my ideas!"

Glaitis placed her elbow on her desk and cupped her jaw in her smooth, tender hand. A slight smile played over her full purple lips. "Really, young one?' she cooed. "And pray tell, what are these 'ideas'?"

I stiffened, I said more than I should have. But I did not stutter. I looked her straight in the eye and said: "That the information would damn him, that he is desperate to keep it secret so much, that if it was even slightly leaked out, his life would be jeopardised. That he could be branded as a heretic and a traitor." I sighed. "That's why."

My attention dropped to the carpet and waited for her response.

After what seemed an eternity, she finally said: "I have to say my young one, I am impressed."

"What?" I said, looking back up. Of all the responses that were the last, I had guessed.

"Yes, that you would have at least a little tact to figure out makes me believe that finally, my lessons seem to be getting through to you. I, myself, had come to suspect Taryst for quite some time but for you to figure it out all alone," she laughed.

I stood, seemingly frozen to the floor. Never had Glaitis complimented me like that before.

"Th-thanks?"

"That, young one. Is the true key to survival in our...line of work," she said. "The first rule, 'know your enemy'. It is a very simple and obvious statement, but you have learnt it's true meaning."

I winced with a curse, finally realising...

"You have it, child."

Her smile turned cruel.

"Everyone is your enemy."

I Leant on the wall of the dirty, smoggy alleyway and smoked a lho stick. My colleagues were yet to arrive, but I did not mind. I was early, and it allowed me time to do what I do best; think.

It was frigging typical of Glaitis to retract a compliment. After her words filtered through my numbed mind, pride started to well within me. My posture straightened, so straight, I stood taller than ever before, but then she said.

"But do not let it go to your head young Attelus, Xanthis Kaltos. For though I am not sure when you began to suspect Taryst. In all likelihood, it would be far too late."

"What?" and I was back to being hunched again.

She stood and approached me from around her desk; I could not help my eyes running up her lithe, full figured body.

Glaitis shook her head, she knew, she always frigging knew, "by now Attelus if you were alone, working out in the field and it took you this long to suspect your employer? You would be dead; you did well young one in this endeavour but next time..."

"Frig!," I snarled and sighed: "Try doing it a little quicker.".

"Indeed, and remember this piece of advice, young one and remember it well: 'trust nothing, suspect everything.'"

I nodded, wide-eyed.

"I will," was all I could manage.

"And Attelus, as much as I try to encourage you to try...think a little less. Do think on my words now," her face turned dark. "Think on them long and hard, now leave. I have much work to do."

I took the Lho stick with index finger and thumb.

"Trust nothing, suspect everything," I said. The irony was Glaitis meant herself too.

Is this what it meant to be an Assassin? Being some paranoid, psychotic, schizophrenic, trusting no one; not even yourself?

I sighed out smoke; it reminded me of my father. How he would act when some slightly suspicious stranger walked past our home. How he reacted when anyone but me came close. For the first time in a long time; I felt something other than anger at my father. I felt sorry for Serghar Kaltos.

Was he the product of this 'training'? No, I was beginning to think it was brainwashing. Was this why my father neglected to teach me the 'subtle arts?' He did not want me to be a lonesome monster like him?

I took the Lho stick and eyed it; I used to be a chain smoker. They helped me in my darker days. At Galitis' instruction I had quit (which seemed hypocritical as she encouraged the use of potentially deadly combat drugs) but since we came under Taryst's employ, I drifted back to the dirty habit, a coping mechanism indeed.

Was the life of an Assassin what I truly wanted?

I tapped ash off the Lho stick and put it back in my mouth.

I didn't know what I wanted anymore.

I inhaled the sweet smoke, took the dying smoke between index finger and thumb. Exhaled and flicked the stub onto the rockcrete ground.

I kept leaning against the wall, not moving to step it out. Elandria did it as she emerged from the shadows.

"Lost in your little world once more, eh?" she said.

"Not lost enough to miss your clumsy approach."

I could not see the expression on her face behind that cold, featureless mask but I could hazard a guess.

Elandria was many things, but socially intelligent was not one of them.

She stood for a few seconds; trying to make a coherent comeback and the best she came up with was: "why is the son of Serghar Kaltos smoking Lho? Does he think himself too good for the rules?"

My jaw set. I tried to keep my father's identity a secret, but Glaitis had to go and tell Elandria. Perhaps it was yet another "test" but what that bloody woman wanted to test exactly was a mystery; was it my patience? Or my skill at combat when I lost my patience?

I sighed contemptuously, and that riled her up.

"What does that mean?"

"It means what it means," my tone insultingly melancholic.

"Yeah!" she snarled. "Well let us see what it truly "means" when I separate your head from your shoulders!"

And she reached for her blades.

I grinned then in a blink, slid into a combat stance and drew my sword.

Then Garrakson suddenly seemed to appear between us.

Elandria and I yelped in fright and leapt back.

"That's enough kiddies," he said. "I think that we've had enough violence for today."

Then he turned to me, "and kid if you want to sheath your blade in her may I suggest using your "other" blade instead."

I felt my face go hot.

"What?" demanded Elandria, her wide, beautiful green eyes switching back and forth between Garrakson and I. "What is this 'other blade' you speak of, Garrakson? Attelus Kaltos only wields one. Is-is it the knife in his boot?"

"Try a little higher missy," said Garrakson and I blushed even worse.

But she still didn't get it.

Garrackson sighed, "alright let's get moving, kiddies. We've got exploits to report."

My face still seeming on fire and Elandria still confused. We slipped south, toward the "back way." The entrance designated to us dirty dogs of war. We were not good enough for the public entry.

Elandria and I walked on Garrakson's flanks; into the dirty, barely six-metre wide alleyway. We were aware of the cameras watching us. Thirteen of them, perched about five metres up on the grim, grey walls. I reminded myself of them every time; just in case.

We came to the entrance, a well-hidden set of double doors. Garrakson tugged open the panel hiding the keypad, and typed the access code.

Elandria and I kept watch. Which was fine with me. My back was to the gorgeous assassin. In my immature embarrassment, I could barely at look her and counted myself lucky. Her indoctrination had given her a naiveté of such personal matters.

Actually, on second thought, I was not lucky at all. Luck had abandoned me long ago.

I hissed a curse. Then could not help grin and shake my head.

Abruptly, I was brought into reality by the slight hissing of the opening doors and we silently slipped in.

We walked into what was once a maintenance entrance, now was a highly secure, fortified maintenance entrance.

If there was a literal embodiment of Taryst's paranoia: this was it. Mercenaries crawled throughout the ten metre wide, hundred metre long walkway. At every three metres: were waist high rockcrete walls. It was on a sharp incline, so each wall overlooked the last and twelve small balconies jutted from the walls: ten metres overhead. A sniper crouched in each; their Long Las rifles tracked us as we walked.

I hated the place. I would always try to find some way to sneak or fight through without getting evaporated by billions of las, solid projectile and high-velocity hot shot rounds; besides stealing a uniform or complete camouflage. I came up nil; it was as close to impregnable as I knew. It would take hundreds, perhaps thousands of Imperial Guardsmen to storm it and their casualties would be horrendous but it would work...eventually. That or an entire company of Space Marines but even they would suffer: a high yield hotshot round punches through power armour with ease.

Elandria and I silently walked through the crowd of highly armed and armoured mercenaries. But Garrakson seemed to greet each frigger in frigging turn. He knew them by name and stopped for idiotic small talk with them. I was almost glad at Callague's and Jarvus' demise; the walk would have been even longer with them.

After twenty long minutes, we arrived at the end. Here two servitors both with an autocannon for arms stood constant vigil at the doors.

They slid open, and Colonel Barhurst walked out. The grizzled old bastard approached with a warm grin and outstretched arms. But he was contradicted by the ten grim, faceless Storm Troopers escorting him.

"Ahh! Garrakson my good friend!" Barhurst exclaimed. He was well into his two hundred but the use of extensive and expensive rejuvenate treatments kept him looking in his mid-thirties. Though a heavily scarred and beaten man in his mid-thirties. According to my research, he was one of Taryst's longest-serving allies. He abandoned his duties as colonel in the Tamarsk 30th to join the rogue trader; so was wanted by the commissariat and the Inquisition for dereliction of duty. But thanks to Taryst's goodwill and huge influence he eluded justice so far.

I never liked Barhurst, the man was sycophancy incarnate. Taryst was the true commander, all Barhurst did was carry on the Rogue Trader's commands and when asked to do anything himself, he would pass it onto others. He was charismatic, friendly, but it was an obvious facade. How Taryst couldn't see the incompetence of his second was quite beyond me.

"How goes the hunt?"

"Another dead end," said Garrakson, the contempt in our squad leader's voice was well hidden, but not from me. "And we lost Callague and Jarvus."

Barhurst made an exaggerated frown; it was like an alien making a sick parody of human emotion. 'Sorry to hear my friend. Master Taryst is up in his grotto waiting for you."

Then Barhurst turned to Elandria and I, smiling smugly, "and you two know the drill."

I sighed, yes I frigging know, do you need to remind me every single time? I thought and my teeth clenched.

Hesitantly, I unstrapped my sheathed sword, placed it on the nearby table and slipped off my wrist mounted throwing knife compartments. Took my auto pistol from my shoulder holster then lastly and most hesitantly: my right boot which contained the hidden knife.

Elandria did it with even more aversion than I: letting go of her twin swords, her auto pistol and knife.

"Good!" said Barhurst. "You can head on up now."

And just to make sure, we had to file through a metal detector.

Every single damn day for six months we went through this shit. Saying it was quite depressing was a frigging understatement.

I might have to start on Obscura just to get over this monotony.

I shook away the thought. I have seen the damage that the drug can do. I have been through the damage it could do, and I will never go through that again.

Never.

In silence, we rode the up elevator the three hundred stories of Taryst's tower. On a hive world like Omnartus, buildings of such excessive calibre were almost a given. I was from an Agri world, though it was not without great cities of its own. Varander the capital of my home country: Velrosia was a bustling, beautiful metropolis. Varander sat on the north coast of lake Varander. A lake was so large it could be classed as a sea. I spent the majority of my teenage years living there.

I missed Varander. The last I had seen the city, it was reduced to rubble.

Then there was Varanier, the capital of Elbyra's largest nation: Maranger. That was a fantastic city, harsh and sparse. It was a metropolis of granite and grit an embodiment of its people.

Neither city was on terms with even the smallest of hives. Many packing ten times the population of Elbyra into an area the size of a Varanderian suburb.

Omnartus was dead. Millennia of intense colonisation, mining and pollution had destroyed its ecosystem. But when we rode this elevator, it would make my dreary days worth it. As we rose high enough to emerge from the pollution, I would glimpse the might of nature. That despite humanity's wanton destruction here still held a beauty of its own. The sun dominated and in the distance, the peaks of Omnartus' many mountains broke through to the clear air; like icy white islands in a sea of black and brown. But despite everything each mountaintop contained life: a one in a million plant, had the sheer power and audacity to survive in below zero temperatures. That it thrived despite the odds, was a testament.

Of course, I kept this romanticism private; no self-serving mercenary should be like this. Despite having seen so much death and grim darkness, I still held onto slight aspects of my sixteen-year-old self. The foolish, naive me before being forced to find out how horrible it is to live in this galaxy. That was why I was having second thoughts; I was beginning to doubt whether I could handle the damage this life could cause; physical and mental.

No, the damage it will cause.

I sighed, attention stapled to the world outside; hoping like hell my back facing to Elandria and Garrakson was enough to hide my emotions.

Then it happened, what I dreaded most: the end of the journey.

"300th story; Master Taryst's living quarters," said the elevator's pre-programmed, monotone voice as the ascent abruptly stopped. "Restricted access, retinal scan required."

My jaw clenched, and I looked up, seeing the three cameras crowding the elevator with their damnable presence.

Surely Taryst was watching the feed? Surely over the dozens of times, we have been up here, the rogue trader could discern who the hell we were?

I could tell Garrakson shared my teeth grinding frustration; the ex-guardsman stood and waited for about half a minute. Then with a heavy sigh, he pushed his face into the scanner.

"Employee 568; identified as Jeurat Garrakson," said the computer. "Access granted."

The doors slid open, and we filed out.

We entered Taryst's lavish living quarters. Elandria in the middle; Garrakson and I on her flanks. Red dominated Taryst's little world a deep, bloody crimson.

The windowless corridor was five metres wide and about fifteen in length. At the end was a thick crimson and gold curtain. I had never been through those curtains. Taryst would always meet us out here. I knew Garrakson had and I was sorely tempted to ask the ex-guardsman but could not pluck up the courage. Well him and Glaitis.

Two straight-backed guards stood in front of the curtains. They were in golden, ostentatiously emblazoned carapace armour,. They held equally fancy hell guns. I had never seen their faces nor talked to them, but I could not help admire their discipline and stoicism.

Curiosity ate at me. What was beyond the curtains? It could be anything: a secret shrine dedicated to the Ruinous Powers? Or perhaps a den of sin and hedonism? (That could be a shrine to one god, but I would rather keep from uttering its name)

But I was not sure if I wanted to know. No, I wanted to see, but whether I should was an entirely different question.

I was finding Ignorance was very much bliss, in this galaxy (which is ironically against Glaitis' teachings)

I sighed. It was far too late for that; I had long passed that event horizon. Short of having myself lobotomised, there was no going back.

Just like my dear old damnable dad.

"GREETINGS MY DEAR FRIENDS!" The deep voice abruptly boomed, and the boss himself flourished out of the curtains.

I winced; not in fright but contempt. Every time he would greet us this way. And it every single time it smacked of utterly forced, fake enthusiasm.

In all honesty, I had come to suspect Taryst of withholding secrets right from my first week of employment and how could I bloody not? Even if I had told Glaitis' then, it would have been too late in her lofty opinion.

"My friends!' he echoed as he approached us, "my friends!"

Taryst stood over two metres tall. Was big boned and corded with muscle; he cut an intimidating figure.

His strong-jawed face was plain. His tanned skinned, complemented by a finely maintained black moustache and goatee. His smile glaringly bright and like his greeting, fake.

During the months, I noticed Taryst had aged; now there were bags under his eyes and a wrinkle here and there. Being utterly paranoid all the time would do that.

I wouldn't trust him as far as I could frigging throw him.

"Attelus, Jeurat!" Taryst cried as he came close, his two guards in tow. He paused at Elandria and with surprising dexterity eclipsed her hand in his, then lightly kissed the back it. "Mamzel Elandria, what news have you brought me today?"

My jaw set as I saw Elandria's pale skin blushing like mad.

Garrakson cleared his throat; he was the only one used to the Rogue Traders over the top extroversion. "My lord, we have arrived at yet another dead end."

Almost violently, Taryst let go of Elandria's hand. Stood and turned on his heels, so his back faced us. "And Callague, Javus?"

"I am not sure sir."

Taryst spun on Garrakson, "and what does, 'I am not sure,' mean?"

Garrakson shrugged, "I don't know sir, meaning that they are either still lying in the pools of blood we left them in or in a Magistratum mortuary either/or."

His dead tone shocked me so much my jaw dropped.

Taryst grimaced slightly and for a second, looked his three hundred years.

"I-I am sorry to hear that."

Garrakson stayed stoic, kept his gaze locked to Taryst's.

Taryst flinched away, "and as well as no news on your target?"

"Zilch," answered Garrakson. "No sign of this Brutis "Bones" yet sir he is quite the enigma."

Now that is the frigging understatement of the millennia, I thought.

"Then what exactly happened?"

Garrakson sniffed, "they went immediately hostile sir. Ambushing us as we entered their base of operations, even with our cover. We managed to fight our way to their cogitator bank but found the memory all wiped. I haven't seen such ferocity since I fought in the guard sir. From what I gathered if we captured and tried to interrogate one of the hammers we would be wasting our time. They were like cultists, sir. This Brutis "bones" must be getting very influential in the local gangs if they will fight for him like that. The crazy bastards."

Taryst looked desperately at Elandria and I.

"And you two agree?"

Elandria nodded and blushed to the floor. My jaw set again and said simply: "yes."

I could not bother with more detail; I just wanted to get away from Taryst.

Taryst grimaced disapprovingly.

"Alright another dead end it is then!" he exclaimed with forced humour. "And quite literally too!"

The only one laughing was Elandria, both Garrakson and I, not so amused.

"Okay then and I thank you all for the update, and I apologise for Callague and Jarvus, they were good men." Then he turned away and began back to his curtains. "Dismissed, all."

"Oh, and young Attelus," he said, suddenly stopping his tracks and making me halt in mine. "Come! I very much wish to speak to you!"

That was the last thing I wanted to hear.

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