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

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

167 notes · View notes

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

1 note · View note

thedcdunce · 6 years ago

Text

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

3 notes · View notes

requiescatinpacerp · 6 years ago

Photo

“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

2 notes · View notes

foundlingmother · 7 years ago

Text

*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

666 notes · View notes

ben-j-man · 6 years ago

Text

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.

5 notes · View notes

manizeh · 7 years ago

Text

The Battle of Jahai

The Battle of Jahai The Grand Cataract of Jahai, Kourna 1062DR (1262AE)

Dear reader. You have likely heard the tale of the Battle of Jahai. It is a famous story about the great war waged in the year 1062DR (1262AE). The remaining forces of Vabbi and Kourna, together with the Order of the Sunspears, fought against the forces of Palawa Joko, and made their final stand at the Grand Cataract of Jahai in the province of Kourna.

Perhaps you were told this tale as a child; a bedtime story read to you before drifting into sweet blissful dreams. Or perhaps your family displayed a mural in their home depicting the proud moment of the final battle scene. Or perhaps you are one of the privileged few who has witnessed the reenactment in Vabbi’s Garden of Seborhin Theatre.

"Your power is too strong for me! I, Turai Ossa, yield to you, Palawa Joko!" -- excerpt from the Battle of Jahai play, Gariden of Seborhin Theatre.

In all of these depictions King Palawa Joko kills Turai Ossa.

What if I told you, dear reader, that is a lie. It is a lot to take in. But, please, forge forward to learn the truth.

The Beginning All stories have a beginning and ours begins in the Bone Palace located in the heart of the Desolation. It is the home to one Palawa Joko, an undead lich lord, an extremely powerful creature who commands hordes of undead known as the Awakened. The palace was originally constructed in 575DR (757 AE). It is a place that strikes terror in the hearts of all Elonians for it is said the souls enslaved can be seen writhe within the walls, screaming for release.

Palawa Joko ruled over the sulfurous wastelands of the Desolation. But Palawa Joko was not satisfied with his place in the world. He wanted more power. He wanted all of Elona and her riches.

First came Vabbi Before Joko, the province of Vabbi was a plutocracy governed by merchant princes. They prided themselves on owning large estates, conducting trade and sponsoring arts and culture by throwing luxurious parties and building magnificent libraries.

Being the northernmost province of Elona, the Vabbians were confident that the treacherous terrain to their north would prevent any and all invasions. Tragically they were unprepared when Palawa Joko led his army of the Awakened through the mines of Vabbi.

Vabbi was quick to succumb to the army of the undead, and Palawa Joko earned his moniker as the Scourge of Vabbi.

From his iron hold on Vabbi, Palawa Joko’s army spread forth to conquer Elona piece by piece. Over many months, he drove back the nation's armies, growing stronger with each conquest. Triumphantly, he proclaimed himself King Joko.

Next came Kourna The province of Kourna was known for its martial prowess. The people were eternally ready for war and yet even they could not withstand the onslaught of the Awakened army. Within two years of the conquer of Vabbi, the Kournan army was reduced to a struggling rebellion led by a single warmarshal named Turai Ossa.

The survivors of the forces of Vabbi, along with the Order of the Sunspears, joined their Kournan allies to rally behind Warmarshal Ossa. He gathered forces from every town and village in the valley of the Elon River and marshaled a great army in the broad lands near Kourna’s Grand Cataract of Jahai where the valley walls narrowed.

In that fateful year of 1062DR (1262AE), the remnants of Elona's fighting force found themselves surrounded. It was here, near the Grand Cataract, they prepared to make their final stand; later known as the Battle of Jahai.

100 days of war

"Palawa Joko and his army stand upon our doorstep. We are all that stands between Kourna and oblivion. The lands of our Vabbian friends to the north smolder in the wake of this beast. Today we draw a line at the base of these cliffs. You will hold that line. Do this for Vabbi. Do this for Kourna. Do this for Istan. FOR ELONA!" -- an exert from Turai Ossa speech before the Battle of Jahai.

The war was a bloody 100 day battle between the forces of Elona and the army of Palawa Joko. As each day passed, the battlefield remained unchanged with neither army gaining ground over the other. With his ability to raise the dead, the army of Palawa Joko greatly outnumbered their opponent.

In order to stop the slaughter of his people, Turai Ossa devised a plan. It was a desperate mission, and the Warmarshal chose to lead it himself.

He handpicked his squad from all three Elonian provinces as all had a personal stake in the outcome. Ossa took with him his most trusted Kournan bodyguards, a band of Istani Sunspears, and a handful of refugee soldiers from Vabbi.

In order for the plan to work, Ossa's finest commanders had to hold the line against Joko's horde of undead. It was hoped they could contain this massive army long enough for Turai and his men to move through the shadowy passages of the Grand Cataract to strike against Palawa Joko from the rear. If Turai Ossa could eliminate the lich lord, his Elonian forces might stand a chance against the army of the undead. But should Turai fall, then all of Elona would fall with him.

While Joko's forces were engaged in battle, Ossa and his elite troops flanked their opponent's army. Palawa Joko could not resist the urge to defeat his foe personally when Ossa challenged him to single combat.

At dawn, the two leaders faced off high above the warring plains. There, in full view of their respective armies the two commanders locked swords.

Palawa Joko: "Pathetic mortal. The rabble you call an army is on the verge of collapse!" Turai Ossa: "This from a coward who hides behind his army to avoid battle? Back up your words, Joko. Show me your supposed power!" -- the exchange between Palawa Joko and Turai Ossa as they square off.

Yet, despite attempts made with magic, blade, and other means, Palawa Joko could not be killed. Instead Ossa's forces chained him by magic and bound him deep in the earth. Palawa Joko was entombed, his body imprisoned beneath a huge stone plinth; and its location a closely guarded secret. The Awakened army broke at the defeat of their commander and attempted to flee north.

Aftermath After the defeat and imprisonment of Palawa Joko, the people of Elona rallied behind their new hero: Turai Ossa. He was anointed king of all Elona. King Ossa served his people well. The nation of Elona flourished under his rule. His victory at the Battle of Jahai was remembered for generations, and he was remembered as Elona’s greatest champion.

Sources “Turai’s Story,” by Durmand.

OOC NOTE: The above writing is a chapter in the book Elona Primer that my character (Manizeh Aurumstan) and @salmshahzad are currently working on. It is currently unpublished but stay tuned for more coming soon!

#currently unpublished #Elona Primer: Preview #Elona Primer: Turai Ossa #Elona Primer: Battle of Jahai #Elona Primer: Palawa Joko

9 notes · View notes

codecies-zujier · 7 years ago

Text

The small balcony which overlooked the Jeweled Crozier from Meziene’s quarters at the Viper Den did not escape the chill and the wind now native to Coerthas. And yet, she stood there looking down into the market stalls and dispersing crowds. She knew so many that hated the cold there. To her, it tasted of reality. The balcony gave her the opportunity to taste the reality of her life in peace. No one would trouble her up there.

The first time she ever experienced such cold was when her clan exiled her. Tossed into the snow in her nightgown, weary and bloody from the process by which they branded her an exile, the cold had at first been an enemy. It sapped her strength as she wandered away from the cavern’s mouth. It brought her low, and likely it would have killed her if not for the interference of the Eleftheriou brothers that found her huddled in a snow drift.

The Eleftherious had an impact upon her life which rivaled those that brought her into the world. They made her who she was even in that moment. They made her a proper killer, a selfish woman, a creature of revenge. They haunted her still at every turn, but she knew this to be nearing its end. Almost six years after she entered Raceaux’s service, it would be over. She looked up to the sky and took in a deep breath of cold Coerthan air.

Below, the crowds of the Crozier parted for a small contingent of bannermen whose sigil she recognized. Meziene turned her attention to the new sounds and watched as the banner of House Eleftheriou approached the Viper Den against a pale green cloth. At their head, she saw the aging figure of Rellorin Eleftheriou. He stood tall despite the silver that overtook the hair upon his head and the peppered beard across his face. He looked up at her with the sharp eyes of his family. She looked down at him.

“Revered Mother,” he began as cordial as ever,” May we speak?”

Her mouth began to water at the prospect of her revenge laid bare before her, but there could be no breach of plan. He came to her to beg mercy on his House, she knew. Meziene could not kill him the same way she claimed the life of his last conquest, Corvaia, but she could take pleasure in denying him what he desired.

She lifted her head when she finally answered him,” Come inside. You know know the way to my quarters.”

Meziene turned away from the balcony and let herself back into the Revered Mother’s quarters. Rellorin would find it changed a great deal since last he had been allowed up there. For starters, there was no dead woman at her vanity. Meziene had everything arranged so it might double as an office. Still, she had room beyond partitions for any company…

The Black Viper took a seat behind her desk and merely waited. She heard some commotion outside of her room, evidence enough that no one forgot Rellorin Eleftheriou’s face. They knew his people were blacklisted, but if she had indeed given him permission to enter..

“Revered Mother? Rellorin Eleftheriou insists he has an appointment, but he wasn’t on the log,” Leya called out from beyond the door.

Dear Leya. Meziene could both appreciate the woman’s membership of House Devereaux for its inherent value but also for the Halone-given protectiveness that seemed to permeate every member of her family. She heard it in her new secretary’s voice. No one trusted Rellorin. It was a good feeling.

“He may enter. Thank you, Leya.”

The door opened. Rellorin entered, and the door closed again. Leya did not join them, much to Meziene’s relief. She imagined there would be private things discussed within the confines of her office. The Lord Eleftheriou’s defensive stance told her a difficult conversation awaited. The man would not even sit once he approached her at her desk.

“Lift this ridiculous ban,” He said without greeting,” morale suffers. Surely, so do your accounts.”

“My accounts are well padded by the ‘reparations’ you paid to my girls. Your low soldiers are missed in the Low Den, but at least the girls can take clients they actually want now-- not just the ones that pay well,” Meziene gestured to the two seats on either side of the tall elezen,” Please, sit. You aren’t going to intimidate me standing there like that.”

He huffed at her, displeased with her response,” we made you, outsider. You wouldn’t be sitting in that chair if it weren’t for my family. You’d be dead in the snow, frozen and worthless like the dragon worshippers your clan are. I can unmake you just as you were made.”

“I would like to see you try,” Meziene sat up and leaned forward against her desk,” I am not here because of you. I am here in spite of you. You did not make me. Raceaux did not make me. I made me.”

As she leaned forward, he leaned down to her desk. Rellorin laid both hands flat against her desk among the many papers she had collected of reparations paid from his house and many others. He did not look at them. He looked at her, and in his eyes she saw a familiar fury rising. In that moment, she recognized a family trait that she knew how to exploit. Pride. Violent, angry pride.

“Know this. If you do not lift this ban, I will find a way to unseat you. Your girls do not all belong to you. Some of them still crave the weight of gil in their hands.”

“And soon they will forget it for the taste of home.” She relaxed back into her chair, and the gesture infuriated him as much as her words did,” I do not own them, but neither do you.”

“Is this what you do? Do you delight in making a man’s blood boil so that they wage war?”

He spoke of the feud between Raceaux and Alaric Babineaux. They vied for so long to hold primary benefactor position over her, and yet Rellorin had always been there to provide whatever gil Raceaux could not. Always, they had to beat their rival. It did not matter if it was on the field or in the beds of Vipers.

“Women like me don’t just start wars, Lord Eleftheriou. We finish them.”

She saw it again. That violent flash spread from his eyes, and she saw it move into his body. Meziene braced herself against her chair for what she knew would come. Rellorin reached over the desk, grabbed her by the throat, and pulled her forward over the desk with him. Though he had not taken hold of a sword in a long time, his strong grip choked the air from her. Already, she felt light headed as he spoke to her.

“You’ve never fought a war, child. I know war, and I have never lost.”

She grabbed onto his arm with her left hand to try and pull him away, but as it had been with Raceaux, he was stronger. There had to be another way. Too late to stop the bruising, but she could get him off. Meziene looked down at her desk, and the first thing she saw was the fountain pen she used to work at her records. She did not have the strength to fight him, but she knew how to use what she did have.

Meziene took the pen up in her hand, closed her fist around it, and she stabbed into his wrist with the fountain pen. She pushed so hard that it broke skin. The man roared a surprised agony and released her. Down she went, laying on the ground beside her desk. She fought for breath as the man shook of his wound at the other side of her desk. He crossed, and she could hear it. She had just long enough to gather herself and kick her leg up when he leaned forward to grab her again.

The snap of his nose joined the noise outside the door. Leya and perhaps others heard the raucous fighting that broke out within her rooms. Good, let them hear. Leya would take it home. Any man still there that morning would come nobly to her defense, but not before Rellorin made worse work of her. He endured worse injuries than those she inflicted to his wrist and his nose. He did not remain disabled for long.

Meziene had only just pulled herself upright against her desk again when she felt Rellorin close his arm about her throat. He hoisted her high, beyond the reach of her feet, and again she began to suffocate. Rather than fight him as before, she braced her feet against her desk and pushed as hard as she could. He went careening back against the wall, and he grunted in her ear at the impact.

It was then that the doors opened. Leya came in as Meziene tried to block blows to her face and her body from the enraged Eleftheriou lord, but he had her locked in. The fountain pen still held in her right hand now felt wet and slippery from what Meziene assumed was her own blood. She remained vaguely aware of the shocked look on Leya’s face, the looks of the Eleftheriou guards behind her, and the shouting of a male patron as he pushed his way inside the room.

“That’s enough! Lord Eleftheriou, what is this madness?!” He called out, but it was not soon enough.

Meziene raised the fountain pen in her hand, and she slammed it backward at Rellorin’s face as hard as she could. The shocked screaming of both Vipers and men told her the damage had been done just as well as the resistance of the pen she tried to pull away. Rellorin released her immediately.

As she fell, Leya already launched herself forward to catch her. Action was not in low supply there. The Eleftheriou guards well outnumbered the man that came forward with intention to help Meziene, and they blocked him from reaching the man they served. If she could talk, she would have. Instead, it was Leya that said the words Meziene already felt.

“What’s wrong with you!? Do you really want to serve a man that comes in here claiming peaceful intentions just to beat a defenseless woman?” Leya snarled up at them. It was a look Meziene knew well. Rene looked the same when he soared with anger. “Get out! Get him out!”

#Meziene #Ishgard #The Final Act

6 notes · View notes

razieltwelve · 7 years ago

Text

Ark (Final Effect)

When Ifalna opened her eyes, she was surprised. She had never expected to open them again, not after the Grimm had overtaken the Cetran home world and devastated the rest of their colonies. The desperate retreat onto an ark ship was supposed to be little more than a delay, a way of putting off the inevitable destruction of her race.

Yet, still, she opened her eyes.

Her vision was foggy at first, but as it cleared, she saw faces… faces that did not belong to Cetra. She startled and tried to rise, but her body failed her. She would have fallen right out of the stasis pod if one of them, a person with fox ears hadn’t caught her and eased her back into the stasis pod.

“Where am I?” Ifalna murmured. “Who are you? What happened to the Grimm?”

And then, to her immense surprise, the fox-eared person spoke Cetran. It wasn’t exactly perfect. Some of the pronunciation was off, and there was a strange accent to it that she’d never heard before, but it was definitely Cetran.

“Be at ease,” the fox-eared person said. “You are amongst friends.” There was a smile across those mischievous features. “We have journeyed through the stars to find you, and now that we have, we will will not let harm come to you.” There was a pause and then another smile. “As for the Grimm, we have waged a war against them for centuries. First we drove them from our home world, and then we drove them from our system, and now the Grimm are in full retreat across the galaxy.”

“The Grimm are in retreat?” Ifalna breathed the words in wonder. “But how… how can this be?”

And the fox-eared person, a short man with eyes that sparkled like sapphires, told her the story of a world called Remnant. Cetra had fled there, he said, in the long ago days of their history. The Grimm had followed them, and the Cetra had all died to defend Remnant. But their bloodline had endured, and though countless Calamities had occurred, the Children of Remnant had eventually found the strength to rise up and throw down the Grimm.

And since that day, the Children of Remnant had waged war on the Grimm wherever they found them with weapons that could crack planets and kill stars, with ships that could sail from one end of the galaxy to the other, with single-minded, unrelenting wrath and determination that the Cetra had never been able to muster. For all their wisdom, for all their knowledge, the Cetra, the Children of Planet, had never been a warlike race. It had been their downfall.

“We found records of your people from those ancient times,” the fox-eared man continued. “From those records we were eventually able to find your home system and then your home world. We thought too much time had passed, we thought that we could do nothing more than avenge you. But we found your Ark ships. Many of them were in ruins. We could not help them. But some of them… some of them were intact. However, we didn’t understand your technology. It took us decades, almost a century, before we learned how to bring you out of stasis safely. Your ship is the newest of the Ark ships to be discovered, and you and your comrades are the newest to be awakened.”

Ifalna said nothing for a long time. Slowly, she forced the words out. “How many lived?”

“We have managed to revive almost half a million of your people,” the fox-eared man said. “And they have been given worlds to live on.” His lips twitched. “Duty and honour are things we understand. The Cetra… long ago, they gave the Children of Remnant a precious gift. We are repaying that debt. There will always be a place for the Cetra in this galaxy.”

Ifalna had to hold back tears. “Tell me more. I want to know everything.”

“Rest for now,” the fox-eared man said. “The first day or so after someone is reawakened is always very difficult.”

X X X

Over the next week, Ifalna worked hard to regain her strength. She was a World Shepard, perhaps the mightiest of her number, and to be so week and so far from the world she had once guided was troubling. Yet she forced herself to focus, to eat well and exercise as the fox-eared man had told her.

His name, he had said, was Griffith Dia-Farron. From what he had told her, he and his family were mostly scientists and the like, and they were part of a mighty Empire that was presently the most powerful force in the galaxy. His words were easy to believe when Ifalna glimpsed the ships around the Ark ship. The Imperial vessels were gigantic and their weaponry was far, far beyond what the Cetra had been able to achieve.

They were certainly a warlike people, or at least, they were a people gifted in the arts of war. Once, perhaps, she might have looked down on them for that, for not understanding the ways of peace and harmony as the Cetra did. Yet what had peace and harmony done against the Grimm?

From what she had read of their history - Griffith was kind enough to give her access to much of what they called the InfoNet - they were a people of contrasts. Toward their enemies, they showed no mercy, crushing them without doubt or hesitation. Yet to their friends and allies, they were steadfast and loyal.

Ifalna was also heartened to interact with her people. Nothing gave her greater joy than to see so many of them out and about. There was hope on their faces now, and when Griffith told her that they would be returning to the Cetra home world to meet some of the other survivors, Ifalna could hardly contain her joy.

X X X

The Planet’s voice was still the same. Ifalna could scarcely believe it. For countless years the Planet had slumbered, withdrawing deep within the planet to protect itself from the Grimm. Then the Empire and its allies had come, scouring the planet of Grimm and seeking out the remnants of the Planet and its Lifestream.

When the Cetra had returned, the Planet had awakened again. Ifalna had never been happier. Her people were safe. Their home world was theirs once more. But then the convention came, a great gathering of the galactic powers. In what seemed like an impossible act of generosity, the Empire and the Alliance offered the Cetra a hundred or so worlds. It was their old territory, with room to expand.

They accepted the offer without hesitation.

And Ifalna fell in love.

She did not speak of it with the other Cetra. Despite all the Empire and Alliance had done for them, they were still reluctant to mingle with them too much. Part of it was pride, but part of it was fear. What if their newfound friends turned upon them? What if something happened? What if the Grimm returned?

As part of an agreement, the Dia-Farron were allowed to study the Planet and the various sciences and arts the Cetra had created using their immense natural affinity with Aura and the Planet and its Lifestream. Griffith was one of those scientists.

Several years after the return of the Cetra, Ifalna had a daughter. Nobody asked who the father was, and if perhaps Aerith’s canines were a tad longer than was normal or if her hair had just a slight tinge of red if the light hit it just right, well, everyone resolutely ignored it. In most ways, she was just like Ifalna.

“She really does take after you,” Griffith murmured one day. “I’ve examined her genetic matrix, you know. She shouldn’t be so much like you or the Cetra, but she is. If I didn’t know for a fact that she’s our daughter, I’d say she was a full-blooded Cetra.”

“What do you mean?” Ifalna asked.

“From the studies we’ve done, half-blooded Cetra shouldn’t live anywhere near as long as the Cetra, but I’ve studied Aerith’s genetic matrix. The markers for Cetran longevity are all there even if they shouldn’t be.” He smiled. “She’s a miracle, and none of the science I know can understand how she exists.”

The answer, as it turned out, was very simple.

Ifalna was a World Shepherd, the most powerful amongst the Cetra. She was not like them, and her children would not take after their other parents. The Planet and the other Living Worlds needed Shepherds. She had been chosen, long ago, to pass on her bloodline by the Planet itself.

Any child she conceived would be like a pure-blooded Cetra. But it would not come without a price. The only reason she’d been able to conceive a child with Griffith in the first place was because his own Aura-based abilities were extraordinarily weak, especially for someone in his family. Had she conceived a child with a more powerful person, the odds were that even the Planet’s gift would not have been enough and the child would have been born a half-blood Cetra, without the long life of a pure-blooded Cetra.

She was glad that she would not have to face losing Aerith so soon. Yet her daughter’s circumstances were a stark reminder that she would be losing Griffith.

X X X

Griffith lived to the age of one hundred and forty, making him ancient indeed for a Faunus. He spent almost his entire life on the Cetra home world, and when the time came for him to be buried, a delegation from the Dia-Farron arrived, a full honour guard.

“Bury him here,” the leader of the Dia-Farron said. “He lived here, he loved here, he died here. Let him be buried here too.”

As so it was that Griffith was buried in a grove of trees not far from the home he and Ifalna had shared. When his war hamster passed away a few months later, he too was buried there, beside his master in death as he had been in life.

X X X

When the call came, years later, for a World Shepherd to go to the other galaxy where the Empire and Alliance were waging war upon the Reapers, Ifalna thought of the fox-eared man who had awakened her from stasis and who had been the father of her only child. She thought of how he had journeyed through the stars, and she knew what she had to say.

She smiled at the representative of the Dia-Farron and then she recommended Aerith.

#final effect #fanfiction

13 notes · View notes

yukiwrites · 7 years ago

Text

Inspiration for their Future

For Corrianderweek, Day 1: A Moment of Peace

Kamui and Xander, rightful rulers of Valla and Nohr both, barely had time to stay with each other during the early times of their rule. Reconstruction meetings, redirection of funds, diplomatic visits to nearby tribes, discussions about the Rites of Sealing... their days were busy.

Which is why they treasured the calm of the night whence they could spend it all in each other's arms. Xander felt the happiest with his wife snuggled onto his chest, his arms protectively wrapped around her shoulders as he smelled the sweet scent of her hair.

He loved to caress her back and hear her relaxed breathing warming his collarbone; he loved that, whenever she dreamed, she would softly call his name in her sleep, her love overflowing from her waking time to the realm of dreams, bringing him immense joy. He would place strands of hair behind her adorable pointy ears and cup her face with his hands before kissing her nose and forehead whenever that happened.

Xander knew he was a light sleeper, and that it did not take much of him to spend nights on the clear. But he didn't mind. It only meant that he could spend more waking time with his beloved, and that was when he was the happiest.

Especially after she had gotten pregnant.

Oh, how happy he felt simply caressing her growing stomach, wanting nothing more than to create a Nohr safe from conflict and war so their child could live peacefully.

Sometimes she would giggle. "That tickles, my King," she would say whenever she had her back to him, his large body spooning her as his hands caressed her belly, his soft breath by her ear.

He's always known how ticklish and sensitive she was on her ears, after all. "Forgive me, my Little Princess." He would give a soft laugh and kiss Kamui's cheek before tightening his embrace.

He dared to feel utterly happy with his beloved in his arms.

But exactly because of their deep connection, he immediately noticed when Kamui was bothered by something. And not because she moved around in bed, no, but by the small signals her body let out to him: Her controlled breathing, her hesitant hands over his chest... her fast heartbeat so close to his own.

"Kamui, my love, is there something bothering you?" He asked, never stopping caressing her back, his hand slowly going up and down on her spine.

The Queen felt her stomach turn and her heart tighten. "Oh no, I'm sorry... Did I wake you?" She raised her guilty mien to him, her beauty never diminished by the distress.

Xander caressed her cheek with his other hand, lifting her chin right after. "Do not be silly. I can always tell when you have something on your mind, my Queen."

That made Kamui's shoulders sag and a smile sprout on her lips. She tilted her head to his touch, enjoying the caress as she closed her eyes, her hand over his. "You've always known me so well, Xander."

She enjoyed his touch a few moments, the King giving his Queen space to gather her thoughts as their bodies never left one another's warmths, although he made sure not to squeeze her, mindful of her 30 weeks stomach.

She opened her eyes, but couldn't hold their gaze for much longer and avoided it, a nervous smile on her face. "It's... silly, I guess." She breathed out.

"Nonsense." He cut the distance between their faces by kissing from her cheek to her lips, lingering on them as he spoke next: "Allow me to ease your burden, Kamui."

The dragon Queen's brow flickered with emotion, her eyes burning with tears. "Oh, my love." She placed one hand over his face and nuzzled his nose before taking a deep breath. "I'm... just nervous."

"Nervous?" He repeated. "Whyever for, my Queen?"

Kamui distanced herself from him just enough for their eyes to meet and looked down towards her stomach, the nervous smile never leaving her mouth. "About all of this, I think." She bit her lower lip, her deep red eyes meeting his. "It's just that... well, I never really had a proper example of how parents act with their children -- apart from the sibling love I received, I never... you know." She bobbed her head.

Xander let out the air he hadn't realized he had taken in, his shoulders sagging. "I see."

Kamui placed one hand over his, which caressed her cheek. "I mean... the day I met my mother again, I couldn't feel much since she was more of a stranger to me. Then, I find out my real father was mad. And King Garon, well..." Her voice trailed off, as did her gaze.

"Indeed," Xander snuggled closer, making their foreheads touch. "I had been focused on the memory of the good Father he had been for far too long... But I cannot say I do not share your sentiment, my Queen."

"Truly?" Her eyes shone with tears, both of their pasts broken, but with their union, they would mend a good future for them -- and for their son.

He kissed the bridge between her eyes and smiled softly. "But of course. My best childhood memories were spent in the presence of my Mother. I did tell you how introvert I was during the time she was alive." He said and she nodded. Xander could sense how his wife was starting to calm down and that's what pleased him the most. For her happiness.

"How was Queen Katerina as a mother? I hardly hear you talk about her." Kamui's eyes shone with curiosity.

Xander chuckled. "She was a stern queen, but a caring mother. I have never seen her upset with me, as I was always surrounded by her laugh."

Kamui scooted closer, pressing her face on his chest and looking at him from below. "She seems like a wonderful person."

"She was," he agreed, nodding and placing one hand over Kamui's head, looking at nowhere in particular, his mind lost in memories. "However characteristically she laughed at me, she ruled with resolve and never faltered. She was the Commander of Father's army at the time, riding on her unique turquoise wyvern and brandishing Bölverk, the axe that had been passed down on her family."

"Mhm," the Queen nodded, closing her eyes to focus on his heartbeat and voice rumbling through his ribs, "I remember I read that Siegfried has been always wielded by the Kings, but the other legendary weapons were passed down by other noble houses bearing the Ancient Dragon's blood."

"You have studied well, Kamui." He patted her head. "Indeed. Before Mother's death, Father wielded Siegfried. Only after her demise did he forsake the sacred blade to wield her axe in her memory."

Kamui opened her mouth to ask something, but then closed it. "I'm sorry. This must be painful for you to talk about. I shouldn't press on the issue."

"On the contrary, my love." He let go of the hug so their eyes could meet. "Speaking of Mother fills my heart with pride. I can only hope I can be a great ruler much like herself, and this path we walk down together will be my trial."

"Oh, my Xander." Kamui pressed her lips against his. "You already are someone she would be proud of. I'm sure you've surpassed her, since the circumstances of your Crowning and hers were so much different."

"That they were," his voice got somber all of sudden, a frown making its way between his eyes. "What pains the most, my love, is that I could only see the truth after you opened my eyes towards our true enemy -- the vallite. It was them who felled Mother in battle as she protected Lady Arete and Azura at the Bottomless Canyon, and not hoshidan soldiers as I had believed my entire life."

Kamui gasped softly, taking one hand to her mouth. The question she hesitated to ask was answered before she dared approach the subject. Xander did know her so well, after all. "So that's what happened."

"The hate I felt all my life, Kamui... Directed to the hoshidans for having killed my mother and waging war against our crippled kingdom. How blind I was!" He breathed out, still feeling guilty for how low he thought of the hoshidans, despite the war being done for almost one year, an alliance just as old formed between both kingdoms.

"Shh, my King. You didn't know." She caressed his temple, then trailed her fingers to his frown, trying to make it melt under her fingers. It worked. "I'm sure Queen Katerina would be proud of the man you've become."

"Surely I would hope so -- however, knowing her, she would admit that with a wide smile on her face." He smiled, taking Kamui's hand out of his face and kissing it, a wordless 'thank you' for diminishing his worries.

Kamui pressed her lips into a thin line, a faint blush covering her face as she looked down to her stomach. Her heart beat wildly on her chest, but now expectantly waiting for her baby to be born. "Xander, I... have come to admire Queen Katerina greatly from just these short stories you told me."

"Hm?" He urged her to press on, lowering his head so as to try and look his wife in the eyes.

She suddenly raised her head, her flushed face now in a deep red as she barely contained her smile. "I know we've agreed to call our baby Siegbert if it were a boy... but if it's a girl, can we name her Katerina the Second?" She watched as his eyes widened in surprise, his ears slowly reddening with happiness. "I want our daughter to borrow the power of the name of such a great warrior, queen and mother."

"Oh, my Queen...!" Xander smiled brightly, his cheeks in a pale red as he brought his beloved closer, the tips of their noses touching. "It would be my honor to accept such a wonderful name for our daughter, of course!" He laughed, sealing their promise with a deep and passionate kiss.

Surprised, Kamui reciprocated, opening her mouth to welcome his tongue.

Panting, they could feel each other's hot breath after they slowly separated, the deep kiss turning into countless smaller ones. Once their eyes met again, a single feeling could be translated into their voices: "Thank you for being here with me, my love." They said in almost unison.

"We'll learn how to be parents together," Kamui added, giggling.

"By borrowing the strength of the ones who preceded us," Xander said by her lips, lingering on them before he moved down to Kamui's stomach and kissed it. "May you be born safely, my child. I cannot wait to meet you."

#corrianderweek2017 #corriander #kamarx #xander #my writings #i'm crying i love them so much #katerina #kamui

46 notes · View notes

delightfully-difficult-pirate · 7 years ago

Text

Assassin’s Creed: Misthaven (7/18)

Summary: For hundreds of years, the Brotherhood of Assassins and the Templar Order have waged war. For Princess Emma of Misthaven, that war has become personal. After a mission gone wrong, the Templar Grandmaster, placed a curse on Emma’s son that is slowly killing him. Emma will stop at nothing to save Henry, even if it means going rogue from the Brotherhood and consorting with pirates.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Sex, Adult Language.

AN: A special thank you to @preciouscucumber for being an ever patient and diligent beta. To @cocohook38 and @utopiozphere for the awesome artwork they have created. And to @icecubelotr44 for her encouragement every step of the way.

AO3

Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Art for Chapter 7 by @cocohook38

Killian, Swan, and his crew arrived in Camelot in the late afternoon and immediately Killian set about arranging lodging. He settled on The Frog and Frigate, and though the inn had definitely seen better days, it had enough room to house the seventeen of them without draining Swan’s purse. That same night, Killian set out to find a contact he hoped would be able to provide him with the information Swan would need for her mission.

Killian wasn’t in contact with many people from his days in the Templar Order, since many would be obligated to kill him on sight. However, there was one man he had made an effort to keep track of: William Scarlet, the self-proclaimed Knave of Hearts.

Will had run with Robin’s gang of Merry Men once upon a time, though he had never been an official member of the Order. He’d only become an associate after his lady love, Anastasia, had run off and married the Order’s second-in-command, Lord Ferdinand Stanford, who was also known as the Red King. Even so, Killian had worked with him on a few missions and had developed a fondness for the lout.

Years later, when Killian had set his sights on killing Lord Stanford, he’d gone to Will for assistance. The Knave had been more than willing to help. With the Red King dead, Will had had another chance to woo back Anastasia. The last Killian had heard the two of them were living quite happily in Camelot.

Scarlett was not a hard man to find. After asking a couple of questions, and passing over a few pieces of silver, Killian learned that Will could usually be found at a tavern called The White Rabbit.

“Got something to sell?” The barkeep asked when Killian inquired after Scarlett at The White Rabbit.

“I might,” Killian replied, tucking his hand and hook into his belt.

“Have a pint. Scarlett will be around in a bit,” he was informed.

Killian rolled his eyes, but bought a pint of beer and took a seat at an empty table. The beer was hoppy and not at all to Killian’s taste. The tavern, however, was just the type of place Killian frequented. It was full of disreputable men and woman and as he waited, Killian watched as numerous illicit deals were struck.

“So, Leonard tells me you might… By the gods, Jones! Is that you?” Scarlett exclaimed as he took a seat across from Killian. Killian could only laugh at the dumbfounded expression on Will’s face.

“Most people call me by my more colorful moniker now,” Killian held up his hook.

Will’s eyes glanced at the shining metal implement that had replaced his missing hand, but he quickly returned to staring open mouthed at Killian.

“You haven’t aged a day,” the shocked thief finally whispered.

Ahhh.

“Technically I’ve aged a few years since the last time I saw you,” Killian corrected him.

“Aged a few years…Jones, it’s been thirteen!”

Killian shrugged. “I spent about a decade in a realm called Neverland, where physical aging is frozen.”

Will frowned. “Isn’t that where your brother died?”

“One and the same,” Killian confirmed.

“What the devil drove you back to there?” Will looked at Killian expectantly, obviously expecting an exciting story.

Not in the mood to revisit one of the darkest times in his life, Killian gave Will a simplified version of his motivations. “I went to Neverland to retrieve Dreamshade, which has the ability to kill even the most powerful sorcerer.”

However, Will’s next statement told him that the thief was well aware of Killian’s turbulent past. “You wanted it so you can kill Robert Gold.”

The name of Milah’s murderer sent white-hot rage coursing through Killian. For a moment, he was back on The Jolly Roger, watching helplessly as Robert Gold plunged his hand into Milah’s chest and removed her heart. He’d crushed it with a squeeze of his fist and dropped the ashes in front of where Killian had been tied to the mast, slowly bleeding out from the loss of his hand.

Killian chugged the remainder of his beer, desperately trying to push back the painful memories

“Is that what has brought you to Camelot?”

“Sadly not. I’m here on business and was hoping you could help get the lay of the land.”

Will raised his tankard in a mock salute. “What do you need to know?”

---

Though she wasn’t keen to announce her presence in Camelot to the Brotherhood, Emma needed to know whether or not word of new status of traitor had managed to travel this far south. The local base in Camelot was operated by her old friend August. She was rather confident that even if he was aware of her treachery, he wouldn’t immediately alert the Brotherhood before at least hearing her out. He adored Henry.

August had gone to Camelot a few years ago to help establish an Assassin presence in the country. Though the mission had been marginally successful, the Brotherhood had established a local base of operations in the capital city to cement their small foothold. August had been placed in charge of the base in reward for his efforts and he now helped coordinate all Assassin activity in the region. He did so out of his teashop, Geppetto’s Tisanes, and that would need to be Emma’s first stop if she wished to make contact with him.

So, the morning after arriving in Camelot, Emma ventured into the city with only a vague memory of where August had opened his shop. Thankfully, people were eager to give her directions; the teashop was well known to the locals for having quality tea and tisane blends at fair prices. Emma was sure that the Brotherhood’s connections with trading companies played a role in that.

To Emma’s surprise and pleasure, Geppetto’s Tisanes not only sold teas and tisanes, but also served them. Patrons occupied all of the dozen tables that lined the shop’s walls. Men and woman from all social rankings, she noticed, taking in one man’s silk doublet and another’s rough canvas trousers.

Emma approached the counter and waited until the shop’s lone attendant, a young man, was able to attend her.

“Afternoon Ma’am. What can I get you today?” he asked as he wiped a stray tealeaf off the counter with a towel.

“I’m here to see Mr. Pinocchio,” she told him.

“And who may I say is calling?” The attendant asked, his eyes assessing her.

“Swan.”

He raised a brow. “Just Swan?”

“Yes. Just Swan,” she replied curtly.

The attendant nodded and headed through a door that Emma assumed led to the back of the shop. She studied the selection of teas behind the counter and contemplated purchasing some of the chamomile tisane.

When the attendant returned, he lifted a portion of the counter and indicated she should cross through the gap it left. Steeling herself for whatever happened next, she followed him through the same door he had left through earlier. She was right that it led to the back of the shop. She couldn’t see the walls for all the crates that were piled high along them.

August was sat at a table in the center of the room, placing tealeaves on one side of a set of bronze scales. It had been a few years since she’d seen her friend. There were a few more strands of grey in his brown hair and in his beard, which was longer than she had ever seen it.

“Swan, to what do I owe the pleasure?” August asked as he stood, coming around the table to offer her his hand. She caught a quick glimpse of his hidden blades before she took his hand and shook it, feeling odd. The August she knew would always wrap her in a hug whether she wanted one or not.

Did he know she was a traitor? That she had killed one of their brethren?

“Business, as I’m sure you can guess,” she told him, her voice as casual as she could make it.

August nodded, and then looked at the attendant who was still loitering behind Emma. “That will be all, Becket,” he ordered. Emma couldn’t help but notice the disappointed look on the young man’s face as he returned to the front of the shop.

“Follow me,” August whispered, pulling on her hand. He head led her around a pile of crates and down a very thin gap between them and the wall. It ended when it reached the corner of the room and Emma watched as August crouched and unlocked a trap door set into the floor. Though she was still a bit worried, Emma followed August through the trap door. Once he had lit a few lamps, she saw that she was in a subterranean room lined with all manners of weapons and gear any Assassin would could possibly need when on a mission.

“Emma, it is so good to see you,” August said as he wrapped her in the hug she had been missing earlier.

“It’s good to see you too,” Emma said, relaxing into his embrace.

After Emma had turned down his proposal of marriage when she had discovered she was with child, things had been difficult for the two of them. August had been bitter at her refusal and nothing Emma could do could sooth his injured pride. It had taken a few years, but eventually the two of them had returned to being friends despite that part of their history.

“I didn’t receive any notice that you were coming to Camelot,” August said, his brows furrowing.

“I’m afraid I’m not exactly here on official business,” Emma began. She was unsure of how to proceed with her explanation. August was one of her closest friends, but he was also a profoundly loyal Assassin. Even if he wasn’t aware that she was now a traitor, could she trust him to help, or at least not interfere, with her mission?

“There is a rumor that Robert Gold is here in Camelot,” she said, going with the same story she told Nemo.

Her friend frowned. “Are you sure? I haven’t heard anything like that; I would have sent word if I had.”

Emma shrugged. “I can’t be sure, not until I search.”

“Everything I have here is at your disposal,” August said as he got up and began searching through a desk drawer. He pulled out a copper disk about the size of Emma’s palm and handed it to her. “This will lead you to the safe houses we have set up in the city, should you need one.”

“Thank you, August,” she said, meaning it.

---

Emma returned to The Frog and Frigate after her visit with August armed with a detailed map of the city and updated knowledge of the local politics.

Rumpelstiltskin had arrived in Camelot three years ago, just months after young King Arthur the seventh had ascended to the throne. He had ingratiated himself quickly with the untried and nervous King, goading him into renewing his families quest to return the Holy Grail to Camelot. When the old King’s advisors had disagreed with the notion that some magical cup would solve all of Camelot’s problems, they had been booted removed from their positions. Rumpelstiltskin then became the King’s most trusted, and sole, confidant.

Understandably, angered a number of aristocrats and for the past two years, there had been a bit of a rift between the King and his court. Only recently had it begun to heal, with the King agreeing to marry Lady Gwendolyn, the daughter of Camelot’s formerly most powerful Count. Rumpelstiltskin was an outspoken critic of the marriage. Officially, he didn’t believe the woman suitable in temperament to be Queen, but everyone knew it was because he feared losing his influence over the King.

Emma was holed up in the inn’s private dining room contemplating whether or not she could risk speaking with the disgruntled members of the court in hopes of finding an ally when Hook found her.

“Swan! Care for a spot of lunch?” he asked, poking his head into the room.

At the thought of food, Emma’s stomach answered for her. Hook laughed and returned a few minutes later with two plates of food, one in his hand and the other balanced on the flat of his hook. Emma pushed her map out of the way to make room. Lunch was roast potatoes and a cut of meat Emma couldn’t immediately identify.

“Have you had any luck in finding the acquaintance you mentioned yesterday?” Emma asked, around a mouthful of well-seasoned potatoes.

“I did, in fact. Scarlet’s always been good at keeping his ear to the ground and I’m sure he’ll be helpful when we need information.” Killian poked at the meat with his hook as he talked and Emma was glad she wasn’t the only one who was a little suspicious of it.

“How did your visit with the local Assassin Leader go?” Killian asked, giving her a smug look.

Emma wasn’t surprised that Hook had known where she had gone even though she hadn’t told him of her destination.

“It could have gone worse. Word of my betrayal hasn’t managed to travel this far south,” she replied as she took a cautious bite of the meat. It tasted like goat, but she wasn’t entirely sure.

“I made sure not to tell Scarlet too much about what we had planned. Even so, he did let me know that five nights from now, the royal family is hosting a ball to celebrate the King’s recent engagement. It may be the perfect opportunity for us to abduct this Rumpelstiltskin.”

Emma stared at Hook, trying to comprehend his logic behind his plan. “A ball… You’re suggesting we infiltrate the royal castle of Camelot and abduct the court sorcerer while they are hosting a ball?”

“Come now, Swan. History tells me this is a tried and true Assassin tradition. Didn’t Ezio Auditore once assassinate a prince at his own banquet?” Hook countered.

Emma blinked. “He was protecting the Prince, actually.” she answered, amazed that Hook knew such an obscure piece of Assassin history.

He waved his hook dismissively. “Regardless, at a soiree of this size, the guards will be tired, over worked, and likely a bit drunk. It’ll be the perfect time to go unnoticed.”

Slouching in her chair, Emma rubbed her forehead, frowning. However much she disliked the proposed plan, she had to admit that Hook’s reasoning wasn’t far off the mark. With so many people attending a royal function, there would be plenty of unknown faces to blend in with if needed.

“I can only see this plan working if Rumpelstiltskin isn’t attending the ball itself. We can’t kidnap him from a room full of people,” she said, beginning to consider the plan against her better judgment.

Hook grinned, excited, and Emma’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’ll talk to Will again and see what he can tell me about the sorcerer’s habits. Providing, of course, you don’t mind giving him an idea of who you are after.”

Emma thought about that as she finished her lunch. She wasn’t thrilled about the idea of revealing so much about her plan to another person. As friendly as she had become with the men of Hook’s crew, only the Captain and Starkey knew the target of her mission.

“Do you trust this Will Scarlet?” She finally asked.

Hook took his time to think about her question before answering. “It’s been over a decade since I’ve worked with the man, but he’s never been the type to sell out another for his own benefit. The only way he would betray us would be if Anastasia is in danger.”

Emma had to grudgingly admire Hook’s honesty, but she wasn’t ready to let down that wall yet. “Why don’t you take me to meet Scarlet and I’ll judge for myself whether he is trustworthy.”

---

Killian was initially hesitant to take Swan to The White Rabbit. Even though he knew that Swan was more than capable of taking care of herself, he felt the need to protect her from any situation where she might need to do so.

So during the walk to the tavern, Killian found himself walking closer to Swan than was strictly necessary, under the guise of telling her about his history with Will Scarlet. She asked a lot of pointed questions, probing his memories of the thief.

When they reached The White Rabbit, Killian casually rested his hand on the small of Swan’s back as he guided her towards the bar. She gave him a questioning look, but didn’t object.

“Will you tell Scarlet that Jones is here to see him?” Killian asked Leonard, the same barkeep from the night before.

“Got something to sell this time?” the man asked, glaring.

“No. But he should be expecting me.” Killian had had Logan deliver a message to Scarlet earlier in the day that he would be stopping by.

Leonard grunted. “Scarlet’s busy. Have a pint while you wait.”

Killian noticed Swan rolling her eyes at Leopold’s recalcitrance as he purchased two pints of beer. He was happy to see that they appeared to have run out of the hoppy beer from the night before and had switched to an ale.

He and Swan took a seat at a table near the back of the tavern. Since they both wanted to keep their backs to the wall, he and Swan both ended up on the same side of the table. Together, they sipped their ale and watched the taverns other patrons. Well, Swan was studying their surroundings, but Killian found himself watching his companion instead.

“Has your friend become a fence?” Swan asked, her eyes glancing around the room. He figured she was cataloguing all of the available exits.

“I suppose,” he answered. It fit. Scarlet had always had a good eye for valuables.

Killian was almost finished with the halfway decent ale when Scarlet dropped into the seat across from Swan and himself. Scarlet gave Swan a quick once over before he grinned at Killian.

“Jones, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“Scarlet, this is Swan. It is her business that has brought me to Camelot. Swan, William Scarlet.” Killian introduced them and watched as the two of them sized the other up as they shook hands.

From the way she was frowning, Swan was clearly unimpressed with Scarlet. Killian couldn’t blame her; Scarlet had always had an aura of a man who couldn’t be fully trusted. His smile, unless it was for Anastasia, was always a little sly, his hands too quick.

Regardless, Swan forged ahead. “I need to know about the court sorcerer, Rumpelstiltskin.”

Scarlet clucked his tongue. “He’s a mystery, that one. Showed up out of the blue a few years back and weaseled his way into Arthur’s good graces. Word is he practices dark magic.”

Swan frowned, evidently unhappy to be receiving information she had heard before.

Scarlet continued, “Came to see me, last year, asking about some dagger. Gives me the creeps, that one.” Scarlet gave a visible shiver to emphasize his point. “Is he who you’re after?”

“In a way,” Swan said tersely.

Scarlet shrugged his shoulders. “Well the Kingdom won’t be sad to see him gone. What kind of information do you need?”

“I need to know his habits. Does he keep to himself? Spend most of his time in Merlin’s Tower? Go anywhere in the city on a regular basis?” Emma demanded.

Taking a sip of his pint, Hook watched as Scarlet leaned back in his chair, obviously deep in thought.

“Rumor has it he spends most of his time in the Tower,” Scarlet said eventually, with some reluctance. “Only really appears when the King requests his presence for meetings or royal functions. Even then, he leaves as early as protocol allows. Rarely comes into town.”

Killian grinned. If Rumpelstiltskin normally left royal functions early, he would likely be alone in his tower the night of the royal ball.

“Any chance you have a map of the castle?” Killian found himself asking, excited that his plan may have true merit.

Scarlet rolled his eyes at him before he replied, “Might.”

“It would be quite helpful if we could borrow it,” Swan said as she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

Scarlet looked unconvinced about lending out such a valuable bit of information. Or at least he was until Killian fished into his pocket and laid a couple of silver coins on the table. Scarlet quickly scooped them up.

“It’s at home. I’ll bring it by your inn in the morning.”

---

Emma was pleased to find that Scarlet was good on his word and did, in fact, show up the next day at The Frog and Frigate just as she was finishing her breakfast. Map acquired, she and Hook commandeered the same private dining room she had used yesterday to pore over it.

The map was remarkably detailed. It not only included the locations of main rooms and halls, but smaller ones such as closets and lavatories. There were even notations about the usual routes guards took in different parts of the castle when on patrols. She had no doubt that Camelot’s King had lost some precious items to the intrepid William Scarlet.

“If this is accurate, there is a small gate on the south side of the castle that leads to the gardens. It looks like there is a service road that cuts through the forest that leads up to it. We could enter the grounds there and as so long as we avoid the kitchens, we should be able to make our way towards the Tower without being noticed,” Emma muttered, mostly to herself.

“Yes, we could do that, or…” the sound of a chair scrapping against stone caused Emma to raise her head. Hook made his way over to where she sat and held out his hand in invitation. Confused, Emma none the less placed her hand in his and allowed herself to drawn towards him.

“Or, we could attend the celebrations as invited guests, have ourselves a jolly good time, and then wander off.” Hook’s left arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her close, and he began to lead her in the first few steps of a waltz. “The guards won’t outright challenge a couple of lost guests, or those seeking somewhere private for some.... personal delights.” Hook had brought his lips close to her neck as he’d spoken, practically breathing the last words in her ear.

Emma shivered. “We’re planning to abduct one of the most powerful sorcerers in the realms and all you can think about is personal delights?”

“I am a man of many talents, Swan,” Hook whispered.

Emma allowed herself to enjoy the feel of Hook’s arms around her for a moment longer than she should have before pulling away. He let her go without a fuss.

“First things first. We have plans to make. Pleasure will have to wait for later.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Emma figured she was in for some witty and flirtatious comeback from Hook. Instead, he simply smiled and bowed. “I look forward to it,” before joining her in once more studying Scarlet’s map.

“We can make out way to Merlin’s tower through the gardens,” Hook added, tracing the route he was describing with a finger. “Once we have the sorcerer, we can go out through the gate you mentioned. Starkey can meet us with a carriage or cart.”

Together, they managed to come up with the beginnings of a plan that seemed like it would actually succeeded. However, there were a few factors that needed to be sorted before they could fully commit to arranging the finer details.

One, they would need invitation to attend the royal ball.

Two, a well maintained but unremarkable carriage would be needed to transport them to the castle and again away once they had Rumpelstiltskin in custody. It would also need to be sturdy enough to make the overland trip back to Hedge’s Run and The Jolly Roger. Hook had deemed it too dangerous to involve any of the local barge captains and risk the journey by boat.

And, most importantly, three, Emma would need to determine how she could hide any necessary weapons and gear she would need within whatever frippery was in fashion this season for Camelot’s ruling class.

The invitation, of course, would be the hardest to obtain. When asked whether or not he though Scarlet would be able to procure one, Hook shook his head.

“I’m sure he can get us a carriage no one will miss and some respectable clothes, but I doubt he is that well connected. We will need a legitimate invitation. A stolen one would only get us arrest.”

Disappointing as his assessment was, Emma agreed.

Sadly, that would leave them with only one other option: The Brotherhood.

---

Around midday, Emma set out once again toward Geppetto’s Tisanes. August, she hoped, would have the contacts to procure an invitation and not ask too many questions about why.

The teashop was busy when she arrived, with both August and Becket alternating between being behind the counter selling tea and serving those customers drinking at the tables. Emma managed to secure a table of her own when a couple of elderly gentlemen left and settled in to wait.

After a few minutes, August brought her a pot with tea a deep red in color and a single cup and saucer. No sugar, no cream. He knew she wouldn’t use either.

The tea was her favorite, called Yunnan Black, and it came from Mulan’s home empire in the east. It was rich and malty, with a note of sweetness at the end.

It reminded her of home, of long days learning the intricate art of diplomacy from her mother and even longer nights mastering the Assassin’s deadly arts. Mulan had first introduced her to the tea when the two of them had been Initiates together, trying to memorize the many ways to kill with a single stroke of a blade.

Allowing herself to enjoy the memories, time passed, and eventually the shop’s business slowed enough to August to join her at her table. He brought with him his own pot of tea, a pungent smelling brew that made her wrinkle her nose.

“It is a pleasure to see you again so soon, Emma,” her friend said with a smile as he sat across from her.

“Likewise. However, I’m afraid I am here to talk more business,” Emma replied, glancing around to assess the safety of speaking in the shop. It was mostly empty, with Becket behind the counter and a few patrons lingering at a table on the far side of the room.

August gathered their pots of tea and cups onto a tray and transported them into the back of the shop, jerking his head to indicate she should follow.

“This should be fine,” Emma said. Trying to make August navigate the steep ladder down to the secure room below while balancing pots of hot tea seemed dicey.

August nodded and together they cleared a spot on his worktable.

“I need an invitation to the royal ball being held in a few days,” Emma said frankly.

August barely reacted to her blunt request. The only sign of his surprise was barely visible tightening of his lips. He, like Emma, had been well-taught not to show shock even at the most outrageous of statements.

“Emma, why?” he asked calmly.

Emma sipped her tea, fortifying herself. “Robert Gold enjoys the finer things in life and isn’t likely hiding among the common folk of Camelot. If I am to find him, he’ll be among the elite of the kingdom.”

August studied her for a few moments. Every Assassin was trained to spot a lie, but they were also schooled in how to tell one without giving any of the telltale signs.

“I have a few contacts who may be able to get one. I’ll see what I can do,” he said at last, sighing heavily. “Just promise me you don’t do anything rash, if you do find him. I can’t help you if you create a diplomatic incident. Not without the Brotherhood’s say-so.”

“I promise,” Emma said. The lie tasted like ash in her mouth.

Chapter 8

A/N: Trying something new by putting the art in the story, please let me know if you like it!

#CSBB #CSBB 2017 #CS FF #CS AU #Captain Swan #Assassin's Creed: Misthaven #My writing #AC:M

29 notes · View notes