#has light overseeing history and understanding the past

[iturbide]

So about your concept fire emblem (especially the part about the reversal of the stereotypical Divine Dragon and Evil Dragon dichotomy) I bring tribute. congrats you have created brainrot.

maybe the reason why the MC's Divine is called Ultimate Evil is bc it's a more introverted sort. so the MC's Divine doesn't really attend to outside dragon stuff, but still knows what's going on (my current idea is they're a oracle/All-Seeing Eye type. they may not particularly fully comprehend or have context for what they see, but they most certainly see it).

bc of that, the other Divines are wary of the MC's Divine, (as in "you haven't left your continent in 700 years HOW do you know everything that's going on in MY nation") and their peoples noticed. cue growth and sharing info, and then people notice that ALL their deities are wary of This One Place And It's God, and THAT snowballs into calling it Arbiter of Fate(derogatory), and decades/hundreds of year later, the start of the game begins.

you know what I accept this tribute with extreme gratitude because it actually plays perfectly into a long-running trend I have in my original magic systems involving premonition and the ability to see the future.

Which is that it's not light magic that does it: it's dark.

Think about it: the future is eternally uncertain. There are countless branching pathways based on decisions both large and small: until those choices are made, there's no guaranteed outcome for anything. Predicting the future is like trying to see down a dark path stretching out before you, watching shadows move in the distance and trying to see where they go and what they're doing. If you shine a light down there, you're going to chase those shadows away -- and that may well make it seem like there's only one path, one possibility, one assured outcome. But if, instead, you let your eyes adjust, pay attention to those shadows, you can find a wealth of other tracks going elsewhere, and leading to an entirely different future.

So this Arbiter of Fate is potentially a Dark Dragon of some sort, and is pretty good at taking things it knows about other Divines from past experience/interactions, weighing that against these possible future outcomes, and making plans based off of that despite not directly interacting with any other Dragon's land or people. There might not be a guarantee that their plans will be needed, but it's at least based a solid foundation. And particularly in cases where a neighboring Divine had been, say, gearing up to invade to claim more territory, only to find defenses already raised and an army waiting to meet them...well, that's not going to go over terribly well.

It might not just be that other nations interacting with each other share notes and realize that their Divines seem to have either beef with or a keen suspicion of this other nation. It could be that one (or more) starts a targeted smear campaign against a nation that has never posed a threat before. They raised an army, they must be planning to invade (says the nation that was planning exactly that but then hit an unexpected wall): they're warmongers, they're conquerors, they can't be trusted, and all our Divines clearly agree. And because of that overall agreement among the other Divines, it becomes a rumor that spreads, and spreads...and finally becomes ingrained as though it were fact, even though it's a lie concocted by a nation that had intended to conquer but failed before they could begin due to another Divine's foresight.

[rivensdefenseattorney]

Andros

Here's a link to the source for each image: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

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(WIP)

Capital: Tides

Government of Andros: Dual-Monarchy

Demographics and Population

Population Size: Large

Population Distribution by Race:

Merfolk: (45-50%)

Fairies: (20-25%)

Elves: (10-15%)

Human: (10-15%)

Other: (5-10%)

History and Origins

In the realm of Andros, the two kingdoms, Terra and Mare, share a profound connection. Their bond traces back to a time long past, when a union between the Faefolk of Terra and Mare forged a single lineage that would shape the destiny of the realm.

The Royal Family of Terra, stemming from the fairy ancestry, preside over the sprawling landscapes and majestic cities of the surface kingdom. Endowed with wings of delicate beauty, an affinity for the natural elements, and a mastery of earthbound enchantments, they oversee the flourishing forests, meadows, and towering mountains of Terra.

The Royal Family of Mare, stemming from the merfolk ancestry, reign over the oceanic expanse of Andros. With their ethereal beauty, iridescent tails, and an innate understanding of the ocean's secrets, they hold court in the shimmering palaces beneath the waves. Their lineage boasts an intimate connection with Morphix, harnessing the elemental magic that pulses through the depths.

Though distinct in their heritage, the Royal Families of Mare and Terra are bound by blood, sharing the legacy of their common ancestors. Over the ages, this shared lineage has fostered a tradition of collaboration and mutual respect between the two kingdoms, symbolizing the inherent balance between land and sea.

Kingdom of Terra

The Kingdom of Terra represents the land regions of Andros. The fertile earth yields bountiful harvests, making agriculture one of the epicenters of this realm. Vast fields of vibrant crops stretch across rolling hills and verdant valleys, a testament to the kingdom's thriving agricultural industry. Visitors are greeted with open arms, embraced by a sense of warm hospitality that permeates the tropical air.

Amidst the picturesque scenery, a lively energy permeates every corner. Terra pulses with the rhythm of festivals, the melodies of music, and the infectious spirit of dance. The people of Terra are often fluent in a multitude of languages. They effortlessly weave a cultural tapestry that celebrates diversity. They come together in joyful gatherings, sharing their traditions through cultural exchanges.

Tourism thrives amidst this blend of natural beauty and cultural richness. Visitors are drawn to the kingdom's idyllic beaches, verdant jungles, and cascading waterfalls, finding solace in the laid-back atmosphere. Adventure seekers and relaxation enthusiasts alike find their haven in Terra's tropical paradise, where every experience is colored by the kingdom's zest for life and celebration. The air is filled with the aroma of unique spices and flavors, as Terra's cuisine, a fusion of diverse influences, delights the senses and leaves an impression on every traveler's palate.

Kingdom of Mare

Intertidal Zone

Here, where the sea kisses the land, the Halflings find their home. Halflings move effortlessly between the surface and the depths. Their communities, nestled in hidden coves and near coastal cliffs, serve as a bridge between the kingdoms of Terra and Mare. Halflings, being adept at traversing both realms, act as intermediaries, facilitating trade, cultural exchange, and cooperation between the two kingdoms.

Photic Zone

As sunlight pierces the surface waters, it bathes the photic zone in a mesmerizing glow. This well-lit region supports an abundance of marine life. Here, the cities of Mare flourish, their structures crafted from luminescent materials that harness the sunlight filtering through the waves. The merfolk inhabitants, with their affinity for illumination, enhance this zone with enchantments that create breathtaking displays of bioluminescence, turning the ocean depths into a living tapestry of color and light.

Aphotic Zone

In the dark and mysterious depths of the aphotic zone, Merfolk with unique adaptations thrive, attuned to the energies of Morphix. Their bioluminescent features, whether glowing orbs or intricate patterns that shimmer like ancient runes, attune them to the lifeforce, allowing them to draw sustenance and power from its essence. The cities of the Aphotic Zone exist as captivating marvels beneath the shroud of darkness. The cityscape shimmers with a mosaic of colors, vibrant and ever-changing, as Merfolk artisans infuse their creations with Morphix. The architecture within these cities is a testament to the mastery of bioluminescent craftsmanship.

Infinite Ocean

The Infinite Ocean is an endless expanse that transcends the boundaries of realms. The Infinite Ocean stands as a testament to the unifying force of water, an eternal realm that unites the disparate seas of Andros into a harmonious, interconnected whole.

The Labyrinth of the Abysses

A complex labyrinthine system spread across the abyssal depths, shrouded in an aura of ancient pathways. It constantly shifts, creating a maze where paths change. The Labyrinth serves as a threshold to the heart of the abyss, guiding seekers toward the source of Morphix. Explorers and seekers often traverse this labyrinth, facing trials and tests of wisdom.

The Deep Blue - Heart of the Abysses

The Deep Blue represents the epicenter where Morphix emanates, radiating a mesmerizing blue luminescence that illuminates the darkest depths. Revered as a sacred sanctuary by merfolk and creatures of the abyss, embodying the ocean's life force and primal energy. Various merfolk societies hold rituals or ceremonies, offering reverence and seeking blessings for their communities.

Morphix

Morphix, a luminescent and multifaceted energy, is the lifeblood of the infinite ocean, replacing conventional needs such as sunlight or fire, granting vitality, sustenance, and life to oceanic flora, fauna, and ecosystems. Its essence adapts to diverse oceanic environments, catering to the needs of creatures dwelling across varying depths and regions.

It emanates from sacred locations such as the Deep Blue at the heart of the abyssal depths, generating life, fostering growth, and offering spiritual sustenance to the ocean's inhabitants. It powers the ocean gates, serving as a cosmic key that enables safe passage and interconnectivity between different underwater realms.

Morphix is highly revered, enshrined in lore and cultural practices, and embodies unity and interconnectedness among diverse underwater communities. Its purity and uninterrupted flow are guarded by custodians and gatekeepers who ensure its sanctity, protecting against disruptions, and maintaining its integrity for the stability of the ocean gates and vitality of the oceanic realms.

__

Mood Board Notes

I decided to try adding a mood board last minute to this post, so forgive me if it isn't the best. I've created mood boards a couple years ago when I first started my rewrite, but I'm not sure if I feel conformable sharing them as they are. I don't fully get the ethics/legality of mood boards using copyrighted materials, so I just wanted to play it safe with some images I found from a free to use image website.

I'm thinking of possibly creating a collage instead for the character mood boards I currently have. I think those are more transformative? If anyone has some insight on this I'd appreciate any info and advice you have. I'd also like to know if this is even something anyone would be interested in seeing before I put all this effort into figuring out how to add some visuals. @_@

Andros Notes

I've always envisioned Andros, especially Terra, to be like a mixture of the Caribbean and Polynesia across it's various cities if it were to be real. This is only my first draft, so I'll most likely be adding more information in the future to what I see fit.

[aebi12]

"Resentment" - Chapter 29 [AemondxRhaena]

Summary

He is the cause of her sufferings. He took her dragon, her betrothed, and her father. Now, he will also take away her future by having to marry him.

With so much history and bad blood between Rhaena and Aemond, their forced union has everything to fail, except that the proximity will make them discover that perhaps they have more in common than it seems.

AU - the Greens win the war.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19 - Chapter 20 - Chapter 21 - Chapter 22 - Chapter 23 - Chapter 24 - Chapter 25 - Chapter 26 - Chapter 27 - Chapter 28

Masterlist of my other works.

Read on AO3

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, romance, angst, drama, smut, hurt/comfort

Please remember that english is not my first language, so I'm sorry for the mistakes...

Disclaimer: these are not my characters, they belong to George R.R. Martin, HBO, etc. Only the plot of this fanfiction belongs to me.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A powerful sweet smell that barely manages to hide the stench of putrefaction greets him when he enters his brother's chambers.

“Mother? Did you send for me?”

When he finally reaches the bed, he finds Alicent accompanied by Grand Maester Orwyle watching over his brother's sleep, who seems to complain while a pained expression crosses his face.

“I assume this meeting has something to do with Aegon's health?”

His mother closes her eyes and it is the Grand Maester who speaks, “The king’s wounds and pain have worsened over the past couple of days. In addition, there are other worrying signs.”

“What kind of signs?”

“Fevers, palpitations, and the color of his skin that indicate something is not working properly, my prince.”

Aemond focuses his attention on Aegon, on his sallow skin that can be seen despite the dim lighting of the room, on the spaces on his head where his hair seems to have fallen out, on the wounds on his leg that seem darker than usual and raw. He does not remember exactly the last time he saw his brother, but he did not seem to be this bad.

“Is there something you can do?”

“Not much. I am afraid the usual remedies are not working,” the maester looks with pity at Aegon’s figure, “The king is relying more and more on milk of the poppy, and wine to numb his pain.”

“It is a divine punishment,” Alicent murmurs, but Aemond decides to ignore her comment, although an idea suddenly pops into his head.

“Is this all part of the process of his illness? Couldn’t it be caused by something else?”

The Grand Maester seems to understand his concern immediately, “It does not seem to be related to any poison, Prince. At least no known poison.”

His mother gasps, clearly frightened as she looks at her two sons, “It’s not possible, they couldn’t…”

“It is unlikely,” Aemond interrupts, “But perhaps we should increase security measures. A new royal cupbearer, as well as an additional servant to taste Aegon’s food.”

“I will oversee everything personally,” Alicent lightly pats Aegon’s hand, “Your brother cannot die, the gods cannot take him away.”

“He is in constant pain, mother, he cannot even walk.”

“He doesn’t have an heir,” Alicent looks at him, frowning.

“I am next in line to the throne, I am the heir,” Aemond replies mechanically.

“Which changes nothing, you do not have a son either,” his mother shakes her head and purses her lips, “The kingdom will remain in uncertainty as long as you and your wife fail to produce an heir.”

Aemond grimaces and looks away so as not to let his mother know how much her comment bothers him.

“The prince and Lady Rhaena have been married for barely two moons, my queen, usually these matters take a little longer. Or perhaps, if the gods are merciful, Lady Rhaena might already be expecting.”

“But she is not, her moonblood arrived without delay.”

Aemond can't contain the displeasure in his voice, "Have you been spying on my wife?"

"Don't take it so personally, Aemond, the life of a royal couple is in the interest of the realm. Especially when said couple has such an important task to fulfill."

There is a moment of tense silence in which the prince tries to contain his temper, and mask his expression in his usual indifference. Once again it is the maester who intervenes.

"Time will tell, Your Grace, surely Lady Rhaena will give us positive news soon."

"I am afraid we do not have much time, Grand Maester," Alicent replies, turning once more to look at Aegon. A sigh escapes her lips before she speaks again, "Perhaps it would be a good idea to rush Daeron's wedding. Lady Westerling could be the answer to our prayers."

Her mother's words burn inside him like acid, causing a bitter feeling of jealousy and anger to mix. Glaring at her, he clenches his hands into fists, and speaks to the maester, “Let me know if there is any change in the king’s health.”

Orwyle bows, and Aemond gives a last resentful look to a seemingly unfazed Alicent, who has returned to sit near Aegon, before leaving the royal chambers.

The cold night air that seeps through the corridors of the Keep is a welcome change and gradually clears his mind. Although he should be used to his mother's comments by now, having grown up hearing her be dismissive and harsh towards anyone who does not behave or act as she expects or considers appropriate, he cannot avoid the pain and bitterness that being the center of such comments produces in him.

As he crosses one of the inner courtyards, he cannot help but look up at the sky. The full moon shines brightly overhead, bathing everything around him in a ghostly glow. A sad smile crosses his lips as he thinks of similar nights on the back of Vhagar. His dragon, so huge that it could cover the silhouette of the moon. If only he could fly through the skies with her again…

A shadow crossing the courtyard, seen out of the corner of his good eye, snaps him out of his thoughts. Aemond turns to where he noticed the movement and brings his hands to his knife, suddenly feeling anxious. Moving forward silently, he examines the hallway where he thinks the shadow disappeared, but finds nothing but silence.

An owl sings, breaking the stillness of the night, and Aemond puts the knife back in his belt.

It was probably nothing, he tells himself as he resumes his walk to the tower. Yes, it must have been nothing. The Keep is well guarded, and his mind is most likely playing tricks on him.

Still, he cannot shake the anxiety he feels as he climbs the stairs of the Tower. The guards greet him, and the stillness of the place fails to comfort him. Aemond first examines Rhaena's drawing room, but finds it empty. For a moment he considers calling a servant and asking for his wife, but when a sharp pain appears in the scar on his eye, he desists. Perhaps it would be best to spend the night alone. The discomfort of his scar usually prevents him from sleeping, so it is best not to condemn Rhaena to a sleepless night as well.

The prince undoes the buttons of his doublet and pulls it off as he enters his room, the pressure on his eye increasing. Cursing under his breath, he tosses the garment carelessly onto one of the pieces of furniture, wanting to get under the covers. But when he reaches the bed, he finds Rhaena quietly reading one of his books.

“You are here!” A smile lights up her face. Aemond simply nods, the pain causing him to close his eye. His expression must discourage her, because when she speaks again, there is hesitation in her voice, “I can… I can leave if you’d rather be alone tonight.”

“No, no,” his response is immediate despite his previous intentions of not having her by his side tonight, “I want you to stay.”

Relief is clear on his wife’s face, as she pushes back the covers and approaches him. Aemond can’t help but glance at her despite the pain, taking in the way the silk of her nightgown flatters her curves.

“Are you okay?”

Her voice is barely above a whisper as she helps him place the knife on the nightstand and hands him a long nightgown.

“It is just an old pain on the scar,” the prince nods.

Rhaena’s worried gaze immediately shifts to the wound and the patch. Aemond steps away from her, escaping her scrutiny.

“Should I call Maester Orwyle?”

“I know what he is going to tell me,” he replies, shaking his head as he pulls on his nightclothes, “I have an ointment for nights like this.”

“And where is it?”

Aemond hesitates for a moment before moving his head to the nightstand, “In the drawer.”

Rhaena goes to the drawer and opens it, finding a small glass bottle that fills the room with an herbal scent as soon as she removes the cork that seals it, “Smells nice,” she comments as she climbs onto the bed and extends her arm to Aemond, “Come here.”

The prince watches her for a few long seconds. Despite the smile on her face, Aemond can tell how nervous Rhaena is as she waits for him to do as she asks.

“I just want to apply the ointment,” Rhaena’s voice is a thread of indecision as he does nothing but observe her, still standing at the end of the bed.

Aemond does not want to make her feel bad, but the idea of ​​closing the distance between them and allowing her to tend to him seems too intimate. And unfamiliar. When was the last time he had allowed someone to take care of him? He did not even like being examined by the maester. And then there was the matter of the scar. He does not want to get close to her and watch her eyes fill with pity or disgust as she looks closer.

Rhaena sighs and lowers her hand with a defeated expression. And it’s that hint of pain that she can’t seem to diminish and that appears on her face that makes him discard his worries from a few moments ago, and simply climb into bed.

Aemond moves to stand beside her and frowns, “It is not a pretty scar.”

“I have seen it before.”

“The patch hides the most grotesque part of the wound, but without it…”

“I have seen you with your sapphire too,” she assures as her hand tentatively caresses his cheek. Aemond nods against her touch, “Come, lie here.”

The prince settles his head on her legs, his platinum hair spreading over her thighs as he removes the patch from his eye. Rhaena gives him a sideways smirk before pouring a few drops of the ointment onto two of her fingers and delicately smearing the scar.

“How frequent are these pains?”

“I used to get them all the time after the attack,” Aemond watches her face, not wanting to miss any expression, part of his mind still hoping to see some hint of displeasure in her expression, “They became less frequent over time.”

Rhaena nods, her fingertips gently massaging the surface of the wound from top to bottom, a steady motion that relaxes him, and makes him close his good eye.

“Can’t the maester do anything to prevent them?”

“No. I do not think so,” he replies with a shrug, “They are nothing to worry about. I just get them very occasionally, usually when I cannot sleep well.”

“But you were fine this morning.”

Aemond nods and opens his eye again. Rhaena looks thoughtful as she continues her massage. Aemond reaches up, and tangles his fingers through his wife’s curls, bringing a lock of hair to his nose and breathing in her rose-like scent.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Much better,” he replies, overcome by her scent, “Thank you.”

Rhaena smiles and joins her hand with the prince’s, “If it happens again, let me know. I want to be able to help you.” Aemond nods and they look at each other for a moment before she speaks again, “Are you hungry? Or did you have dinner with your mother and brother?”

“No, but I do not think I can eat right now.” She frowns and watches him. Aemond explains, “Pain takes away my appetite.”

“Oh, I understand.”

Aemond gets up from her lap, and lies down beside her. Rhaena mimics his action, though she turns around and props herself up on her elbow so she can watch him.

“My brother’s health has taken a turn for the worse,” he finally says, knowing she must be curious about the reason for his mother’s call.

“Is it bad?”

“I don’t think he has much time left,” he admits. Because, although the maester hadn’t dared say it in front of his mother, Aemond remembers the helpless look on his face. The same one he’d had when his father was close to death.

“I am so sorry, Aemond.”

Her words surprise him. The prince turns to her, frowning, “Why?”

“Why? Because he is your brother,” Rhaena looks at him, confused, “It must be hard for you to see him so ill.”

“Mmm,” Aemond looks away, “He’s been badly wounded for many years.”

“That does not mean it gets any easier for you or your mother.”

Aemond mulls over her words, his memories returning to that fateful afternoon on Rook’s Rest. He had tried to protect his brother, had done his best to keep him and Sunfyre from taking the brunt of the battle, but Aegon had insisted on provoking Meleys. In the end, he had to take down Rhaenys, and put his brother on the back burner.

“It is funny,” he finds himself saying, “When I think of Aegon, I always imagine him with his dragon or running through the halls of the Keep. Always on the move.”

“Were you two close?”

“We are too different to be close,” he shakes his head

“Not even as children?”

“As children, his playmates were Rhaenyra’s boys,” he admits. “My brother found it fun to exert some influence over them. They formed a small group that I could not join because I did not have a dragon. That made me the frequent butt of their jokes.”

Rhaena takes his hand again, caressing the palm with her thumb, “What did you do if you weren’t with them?”

“I trained with Cole or read in the library. If I didn’t have lessons, I was usually with my mother.”

A smile appears on Rhaena’s face, “I think I can picture you as a child next to Alicent.”

Aemond smirks, “She didn’t have much free time, but she let me hang around her, except when she was tending to my father. I couldn’t enter his chambers. He was either always busy or too sick.”

The prince closes his eye and remembers afternoons spent with his mother in the sept, the sound of her dark green dresses brushing against the floor as she gave orders to the servants, her bored expression when she listened to Helaena talk about her bugs.

“Sometimes I would sneak out to the dragon pit and try to take a Dreamfyre egg, too.”

“I do not believe you!” Rhaena gasps, “You could have died!”

“I came close a couple of times,” he smiles at the memory, “They were the only times my mother ever lost her temper with me.”

“Rightly so,” she replies, “It is awfully dangerous to get close to a dragon bonded to another rider. Especially a full-grown dragon with eggs, surely you knew that. What about Helaena? Didn’t she mind your adventures?”

“Not at all. My sister was a gentle soul, not bothered by my attempts.”

Nostalgia washes over him as he thinks of Helaena. The mental image of his sister soaring through the sky alongside her dragon fills him with sadness, so he quickly changes the subject.

“What about you? What was it like growing up in Pentos?”

“Oh well, Pentos is such a vibrant, colorful city. There was always something to do, something to distract yourself with, but my favorite place was the bay. I could escape and dip my feet whenever the heat was stifling,” a wistful smile appears on her face.

“Did your family live in a palace?”

“Yes, the prince of the city showered my parents with praise and gifts, he wanted the protection of their dragons. There was almost always a party or dinner with important guests at home. My mother was very good at entertaining her visitors.”

“You learned from her, I suppose.”

“I used to follow her around whenever I could, too,” Rhaena smiles, “And, when Baela wasn’t with her dragon or at her lessons with father, we used to play around the house.”

“Mmm,” Aemond tangled his finger in her curls again.

“At night, though,” Rhaena continues, “I would take my dragon egg, the one that had been mine since the cradle, and place it by the fireplace in the hopes that it would hatch.”

“On your own?” he asks, raising his eyebrows, amazed at the unusualness of the situation.

“Yes, on my own,” she nods, “The Guardians had long since given up on my egg. My mother told me that it would be best to find a dragon to bond with when we returned to Westeros, and Baela wanted me to find another egg, but I could not just let go the one I had. It was my egg, so I would sit by the fireplace and pray to all the gods that I would have a dragon so I could be worthy of my name, and my father.”

“Including the Seven?”

“Including the Seven,” she says, “That is why I know the prayers and chants. I used to think that one of them had to listen to me and help me. I stopped doing that after my mother died.”

Aemond sees the pain in her expression and caresses her face. She smiles and continues, “In the end, it turned out that I was right about my egg, I just had to wait.”

“Your patience was rewarded.”

“And now I have Morning. And you have Vhagar.”

“In my case… I knew I had to act at the first opportunity that presented itself. When I saw Vhagar sleeping among the dunes on the beach at Driftmark, I didn’t think about it too much. The largest dragon in the world.”

“Being claimed by a small child,” Rhaena retorts. Aemond watches her expression, expecting to find bitterness or anger, but she simply sighs, “I would not have admitted it then, but you were very brave in facing Vhagar.”

“The timing was not ideal, though.”

Rhaena nods, and closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them, her gaze goes to his scar, “Another thing I did not say then, I am sorry, Aemond. I never wanted that night to end so bloodily when I woke my cousins. If I hadn’t involved them, if we hadn’t waited for you in the tunnel, perhaps everything would have been different.”

“The only thing different would be that I would have kept my eye,” he replies, “War was inevitable.”

“Perhaps,” Rhaena nods.

“I… uh… regret my words that night too,” he says without much thought, “I was cruel to mention the loss of your mother.”

“You were. Although I did get a little bit of revenge while I was beating you up when you were on the ground.”

“Four against one!” Aemond growls and then asks “I seem to recall pushing you?”

“I still have a scar on my knee from your attack!” she retorts with mock indignation.

 “Unacceptable,” Aemond murmurs, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, brushing her knuckles, “Though you were the one who attacked first!”

Rhaena giggles and shakes her head, “I wish none of that had happened. Can you imagine? If we had lived in peace, without wars and family feuds.”

“I doubt that would have been possible.”

“Oh, come on, humor me,” she gently pats his shoulder, “Your sister would be with us. And her children”

“Mmm,” Aemond smiles, though he prefers not to think about it, even if it is just a fictional scenario.

“And my sister would be married to Jace. And I would marry…”

Rhaena pauses and Aemond raises his eyebrows at her, “Me. I would have needed a Targaryen wife too.”

“It’s true,” she nods and lets herself fall onto the mattress, “Maybe we would have ended up married as well in that other reality.”

Aemond doesn’t answer, but he pulls her closer to his body, holding her by the waist. Rhaena hides her face in his chest, and her hands hug the prince’s body.

“I am glad to be here with you,” he hears her say.

The prince breathes in her rose scent, and feels his body relax.

“Me too,” he admits quietly.

***

Ellyn Baratheon gracefully steps out of the carriage that has stopped in front of the Great Sept. Her presence astonishes Rhaena, who has come to the temple at Alicent’s urging.

“Your Grace,” she greets with a curtsey as she reaches her side.

“Lady Rhaena,” the young woman nods, “I did not know you would be joining us this morning.”

“The Dowager Queen was kind to invite me.”

A lopsided smile appears on her face, and Rhaena wonders if Ellyn detects the false complacency in her voice.

“Of course,” Ellyn lifts the skirts of her sky-blue dress, and begins to climb the temple stairs, “We should hurry. The service will begin shortly.”

Rhaena follows silently, wondering how to bring up the subject of her unanswered invitations.

“I am glad to find you here, Your Grace. It is good to see you in good spirits and…”

“I am sorry if I gave you the impression I was avoiding you, Lady Rhaena,” Ellyn interrupts, stopping outside the sept, “I wasn’t ready to see anyone. I am having a harder time returning to court life than I expected, I hope you can understand.”

“Of course, Your Grace, it is more than understandable,” she says quickly, “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable or make any claims, I merely wished to offer my friendship.”

Ellyn does not respond, only nods and points to the Great Sept with her head. Seeing them walk together, the courtiers and townspeople who have attended also kneel, greeting them. The queen does not stop for any of them, so Rhaena does her best to greet them with a smile before making her way to where Alicent is already seated.

The service begins punctually, and Rhaena does her best to appear interested, although inwardly she wishes she could have stayed in the Keep deciding with the royal steward what was necessary regarding the nobles’ meals now that they must enter a more austere period.

When the High Septon finally finishes his sermons and the ritual ends, he approaches her to talk. Rhaena entertains him for a few minutes, listening patiently before greeting some of the other nobles gathered there. Eventually, he goes in search of Alicent, finding her kneeling at the Mother’s altar.

“It is her custom to light candles for her relatives who are no longer here,” explains Ellyn, whom she has not heard approaching, but who is now at her side.

Rhaena wonders if the Dowager Queen will light any in memory of her cousins ​​or Rhaenyra.

“I imagine she finds comfort in it,” she replies, watching the queen murmur prayers with her eyes closed.

“I suppose, though in my experience, it did not comfort me in the least,” the young queen sighs and turns to look at Rhaena, “Queen Alicent insisted on bringing me here to pray for the babies I lost.”

“I did not know,” Rhaena admits, “I am sorry.”

Ellyn looks down and Rhaena thinks she sees her eyes watering as she faces her again, “It was not my destiny to be a mother, I hope you have better luck than me in that regard.”

Rhaena doesn’t know what to answer, so she looks back at Alicent. Is that why she has insisted for them to come to the Sept? Does Alicent hope that her gods will grant the Targaryen the long-awaited heir?”

“Will you come with me?” Ellyn asks, drawing her out of her mind, “I will go to the Father’s statue to pray for my husband. I don’t know if you are aware, but his health is not the best.”

“I know,” she nods and follows the queen to the most illuminated altar of all. Ellyn takes one of the straws and lights a candle, kneeling down and raising her eyes to the statue. Rhaena imitates her, although she does not light any candle, “I hope the king finds relief from his pain.”

Ellyn offers her a smile that seems sincere and joins her hands in prayer. Rhaena waits by her side, silent, until the queen finishes her prayers. As she watches, she can't help but wonder if Ellyn Baratheon has genuine affection for Aegon or if this is just an expected act of her position. Or perhaps a mixture of both.

“Thank you, Lady Rhaena, for waiting with me,” Ellyn replies, standing up and offering her a hand to help her up.

Rhaena walks beside her to the exit of the Great Sept. The people gathered outside call out their names. The princess goes up to them, offering them gold coins and receiving flowers from a small boy with an adorable smile.

“You are good to them,” Ellyn comments as they return to the carriage.

“It is part of our responsibility as their rulers.”

“I suppose so,” she admits, “Though I was never very good at dealing with the common people. Or with many of the nobles, if I am honest. I have heard that you are far better at it than I was.”

“I try to do my best, though the courtiers surely miss their queen at Court.”

“I doubt it, Lady Rhaena,” she sneers, “And, if we are honest, I do not miss Court either. As far as I am concerned, you should continue to handle the ladies' endless hearings and complaints."

“I would not wish to occupy a position that is not mine, my queen.”

“You are not doing so. I assure you that you are doing me a favor by taking my responsibilities under your charge.”

“Are you sure? We could perhaps divide up the duties, surely you will want to occupy your time and mind with your previous duties now that you are well again.”

Ellyn Baratheon places her blue eyes on Rhaena’s, “I do not know if you are aware, Lady Rhaena, but my last child lived in my womb for almost seven moons. When he died, while still inside me, I had to birth him and watch him come lifeless into this world. I do not know if I will ever fully recover from that experience, but I know that dealing with the problems of the kingdom again will not bring me any relief.”

Once again, Rhaena does not know what to say, although she tries to mask her expression and avoid shedding the tears that she feels stinging in her eyes.

“I do have one request, however.”

“Of course, whatever you wish, my queen,” she replies, clearing her throat.

“I heard that you are helping an orphanage in Flea Bottom. Sadly, I didn’t usually care about such causes before, but I would like to be able to visit them and see that they receive what they need. I think my heart will feel a little better surrounded by motherless children.”

“Of course,” Rhaena nods immediately, “If I am honest, I do not have much time for charity now that I have other obligations, I am relieved to know that you will take care of that matter.”

The queen smiles at her and, when the page announces that they have arrived at the Keep, they walk together to one of the courtyards.

“Thank you for the company, Lady Rhaena. I see that people were not exaggerating when they spoke of your charm.”

“Thank you, my queen. I am glad that I could have been of your pleasure and help.”

Rhaena curtsies and watches her walk away, sighing when she is finally alone.

Since she has no commitments scheduled, she decides to go up to the Tower to rest before dinner, and wait for Aemond. Still remembering her conversation with the young queen, she slowly climbs the steps, lost in her thoughts. But she is abruptly pulled away from them when she walks through the front door and is greeted by screams and the roar of her dragon.

Rhaena stops for a moment and watches the guards running, so she follows them and notices that they are heading to her room. A maid is crying in the hallway, desperate and shaking with fear.

“What happened? Why…?”

“Ma’am, your… your dragon…” the girl shudders, “She didn’t know… she shouldn’t have come in…”

Rhaena, aware that she won’t get any answers from the maid, rushes into her room when she hears Morning roar again.

A blast of dragon fire greets her, though it is not directed at her and is barely larger than the fire in the fireplace, it manages to fill the room with warmth.

“Lykirī,” she calls out as she enters the room, “Dohaeras, Morning.”

The guards advance towards the dragon, swords in hand, clearly intent on taking down the creature.

“Stop, do not go any further,” she orders, “You will not come near my dragon.”

“Princess, the creature attacked a maid.”

“What do you mean?”

Rhaena falls silent as her eyes scan the room, finding the figure of a maid, a young girl surely younger than her, bleeding profusely from wounds on her neck and arm.

“Help her!” she orders.

“It is pointless, princess,” the guard replies, “She’s dead.”

Thanks for reading :)

Next chapter maybe on sunday :)

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[ghostly-gifts]

🎃🧛‍♂️ Trick or Treat! ⚰️🎃

On this phantasmal Halloween night, @guzhu-furen has been haunted by the spooky ghost @justanothervariant, and they've left behind a treat!

Coup de Sang

by @justanothervariant

Everyone knew that a vampire lived in the big old mansion on the hill.

At least, that’s what all of the village kids said. Pete’s grandmother said that it was a man known only as Khun Theerapanyakul, who was certainly reclusive but definitely human. She pulled out a book on the history of the region and showed Pete a photograph of Khun Mongkut Theerapanyakul, dated 1896. He had been part of the wealthy merchant family that had built the mansion and lived there for several generations. But one tragic night, she whispered, pulling a wide-eyed Pete closer, a wandering vagabond had broken into the mansion and slaughtered family and servants alike; only Mongkut had survived. Mongkut had become a recluse and then decades later his son turned up out of nowhere to claim his inheritance, followed years later by his son. The current occupier was Mongkut's great-great-grandson, she said, though it was rare to see him come or go. 

Occasionally the village kids would dare each other to sneak up to the mansion and look in the windows, but Pete always refused. He didn’t believe in vampires for a start, and besides, it wasn’t right to peep into someone’s house like that. He was called a chicken for it but he didn’t budge, even when the other boys threatened or even beat him. Pete fought back every time, but the numbers were always against him. The first time he went home with a bloody nose, his father beat him again for losing the fight. But the next day Uncle Tan began teaching him how to box; as Pete grew in size and strength, the village boys bothered him less.

On sleepless nights, Pete would pull out the old book and study Mongkut’s grainy black and grey image. He was looking slightly off-camera, severe and unsmiling, his face all angles and shadows. But there was something intriguing about it to Pete, some weird sense of familiarity; he almost felt like he knew this man. He imagined what that face would look like if it were smiling, or weeping, or angry; as he grew older and began to understand his own desires, he imagined it twisted in pleasure, in release, perhaps even because of him.

When he finally screwed up the courage, he searched for Mongkut online in the next town’s library, the only local place with a reliable internet connection. He found a few true crime articles about the ‘Slaughter Mansion’, speculation that Mongkut was the murderer, even some claims that the mysterious vagabond had been more (or less) than human. Pete ignored all of that to focus on the historical documents; Mongkut’s father and uncle had been respected merchants, their sons overseeing different branches of their business empire. Pete could only find one other photograph of Mongkut, a formal family portrait with his father and brother. Mongkut was looking straight out of the frame, his eyes black and compelling; Pete printed out a copy and kept it under his pillow.

Pete’s grandmother died when he was 15; his father’s response was to take him out of school and arrange employment for him as a butcher’s apprentice in the next town. It wasn’t a job Pete wanted or liked, but he had long ago stopped hoping to have any control over his life. He went along with it numbly, like he did everything else, and kept his grief for the quiet hours before dawn. He mourned for more than the loss of a loving grandmother; with her went his last glimmer of hope, of purpose, of family. He slept fitfully most nights, his dreams a kaleidoscope of shadow and light that increasingly featured a sharp-jawed face with black eyes. 

Pete made the walk to work every morning while the first glimmers of sunrise were still cresting the treetops. His route took him past the crumbling old mansion, and he studied it each day as he walked by. Occasionally he saw movement inside or a solitary light shining; thrillingly, he sometimes saw a man silhouetted in an upstairs window. More often than not, though, the house was dark and quiet. 

But then one day, a week after Pete turned eighteen, he saw a light flickering in a ground floor window and some instinct made him stop and look again. After a second, his brain caught up with what his subconscious had already realised; the light was not the steady burn of a lamp, but the flickering flare of a fire.

Without a thought, Pete ran for the house. As he drew nearer, he saw the glistening edges of a broken window and flames roaring up the drapes within. The room beyond seemed empty, no lights on anywhere else. Pete sprinted for the front door; banging on the weathered wood, he yelled, “Hello? Is anyone at home? There’s a fire, you have to get out! Hello?”

From behind him he heard, “Pete, is that you?” On the path leading back to the village, partially obscured by overgrown bushes, lay the biggest and meanest of Pete’s tormentors.

“Ritthirong?” Pete said, confused. “Why are you…?” Then the penny dropped, and Pete realised exactly why he was there. 

“Just shut up and help me, before he comes,” Ritthirong hissed. “I fell and my ankle is all twisted up, we have to get out of here fast.”

“Or maybe I should leave you,” Pete said, a sense of power swelling in his chest. “Maybe if you get caught and punished, then that’s only what you deserve.”

“You fucking little shit,” Ritthirong snarled, but then his face went pale and his eyes went wide. “Oh, fuck!”

Dread began to swim in Pete’s veins, but spiked with a sense of anticipation, even excitement. He turned slowly and saw a man approaching from the house, his step unhurried and his posture loose. Pete’s eyes trailed up past slim legs in black trousers, a dark-coloured shirt that faintly caught the gathering light, and finally settled on the man’s face. Pete gasped; the man looked exactly like Mongkut with his black eyes and sharp, handsome features. 

Somewhere in Pete’s chest, something clicked into place. “Khun Theerapanyakul,” he breathed, his heart skipping inexplicably as the dark gaze fell on him.

“You can call me Vegas,” the man said, drawing level with Pete. “And you,” his attention shifted to Ritthirong, “can call me Vengeance.”

Before Pete could move, blink, think, Vegas pounced on Ritthirong. A pale hand settled on Ritthirong’s throat, then Vegas’s head pushed in to nestle against it. Pete wondered for a second why Vegas was embracing him, until Ritthirong tried to scream in a burble of blood and agony. Pete couldn’t move, transfixed by the horror and pain and finally bliss that crossed Ritthirong’s rough features. When Vegas finally pulled back, there was only a corpse where the bully had once lain.

Vegas turned his head and the faint pre-dawn light gleamed on his bloodied smile; Pete was gripped with an urge to lick it clean. “You’re not running away, little rabbit?” Vegas asked, licking his lips as Pete stared. “Aren’t you scared that you’re next for the pot?”

Pete shook his head. “No, khun. I mean…Ritthirong got what he deserved.”

“So harsh,” Vegas said, the approval in his tone calling to Pete’s bones. “What makes you think that you don’t deserve the same fate?”

“It wasn’t me who set the fire,” Pete said, “I was the one who warned you.”

“This time, perhaps, your actions were noble,” Vegas said, standing and moving closer. “But I doubt the same can always be said.”

“Of course not,” Pete heard himself say scornfully. “Nobody is purely good, or completely altruistic.”

Vegas cocked his head, a strange light coming into his eyes. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Pete.” He lifted his chin, met that hypnotic gaze.

“It seems that I’m in your debt, nong,” Vegas said, looking Pete over with a blatant, interested stare. “What would you have me do for you in return?”

Pete thought about his life; his grandmother, whose absence still daily scoured his heart; his father, who beat him and cursed him and gleefully made him miserable; his boss, mean-spirited and unrelentingly critical. He thought of walking to work every day feeling sleepy and cold, then stumbling home again bloody and sore. He thought of waking up each morning with an empty chasm in his chest, lying awake each night longing for sleep to take him away. And he knew, suddenly, exactly what he wanted.

“I want you to…” Pete paused, gathered up his courage. “I want to be yours.”

Vegas frowned; even that gesture was unnaturally beautiful. “What do you mean, to be mine?”

“To…belong to you. To live with you and work for you, and…whatever else you ask of me.” He thought his heart would burst or burn or break free of his chest, but still he didn’t look away.

“That’s a bold request, nong,” Vegas said softly. “What makes you think I’d want to keep you?”

Pete shrugged, ignoring how his pulse thundered. “Perhaps you won’t. But you asked what I want, and that’s it.”

“If I do take you in, keep you as my pet,” Vegas said, smiling when Pete shuddered, “then you’ll be mine to command. I will take care of you, but I will also bleed you. I will shelter you, but I will also hurt you. I will fuck you, but I will also break you. Is that still what you want, little rabbit?”

A warm, irresistible numbness came over Pete, like sinking into a hot bath on a cold day. “Yes,” he breathed as he let go of himself, finally.

Vegas’s smile was diamonds and poison. “Then won’t you come inside?”

—

While nameless servants dealt with the small but ferocious fire, Vegas led Pete into the very depths of the house. His bedroom was lavish and luxurious, windowless and dark. Pete looked around at the paintings and ornaments, each probably worth as much as his father’s tiny house. He felt jittery and uncertain, turning over the decision he’d made, until a firm hand settled on his shoulder and the doubts eased back in his mind.

“Having second thoughts?” purred a velvet voice in his ear.

“Yes, but…also no,” Pete said, and was rewarded with a rich chuckle.

“I value honesty, Pete,” Vegas said. He moved to face Pete, hand sliding around to circle his throat. Pete swallowed, found he liked the brief extra pressure. It was hard to meet that dark gaze but once he did, Pete couldn’t look away.

“You will have your own room here, pet,” Vegas said, thumb stroking softly over Pete’s throat, “but when I call for you, you will come. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Pete said, shocked at the hoarseness of his voice.

“I will take your body any way it pleases me, but you will have to beg me to take your blood.”

Pete already wanted to beg, but caught the reckless words before they flew from his lips. Vegas raised an eyebrow and smiled, as though he knew exactly what Pete was thinking. 

Vegas moved closer, grasping Pete’s chin lightly to turn his head to the side. Then he pressed his face against Pete’s neck and took a deep, savouring breath. His skin was cool, and Pete vaguely noted that there was no corresponding exhale. “You smell… familiar,” Vegas murmured, then smiled. “Or perhaps, like a familiar. But how could that be, hm?”

“Maybe I was made for you,” Pete said unthinkingly, and Vegas’s laughter was rich and deep.

“Oh, nong,” Vegas said, placing a gentle kiss to Pete’s jugular, “if you only knew what that meant.”

“Show me,” Pete breathed, starting to slip into a calm, blurry sea. 

Vegas’s eyes flashed with lust and greed. “Have you ever lain with a man before, Pete?” he asked. “Do I need to be gentle?”

“No,” Pete gasped. “And no.”

Vegas laughed again, and Pete laughed too as giddy delight welled up and pooled in his head. 

When Vegas kissed him, Pete felt  sharp teeth against his tongue and longed for them on his body. Vegas’s mouth was cool and sweet, like spring water on a hot day, and Pete drank greedily. His lover’s hands were cold, but they trailed fire over Pete’s skin as they undressed him with grace and efficiency. That cool mouth followed, licking and nibbling but never biting, bruising his skin but never breaking it. Pete swallowed down the please that tried to claw free, knowing that asking Vegas to bite him was a step into the unknown, but it hovered behind his teeth all the same.

Vegas laid him out on the bed and devoured him slowly, kissing his mouth and tasting his skin. He swallowed down Pete’s cock with obvious pleasure, and Pete soared into clouds of bliss that he’d never known before. When Vegas turned him over and used his clever tongue and slender fingers to open Pete up, he thought he might die on the spot. His whole body flamed and roiled, desire the fire that consumed him, the chill of Vegas’s touch the only thing that stopped him from combusting.

When Vegas began pushing into Pete, the aching pain blurred into hot pleasure almost immediately; when Vegas was all the way inside him, Pete wanted to hold him there forever. Vegas set a steady rhythm, too fast for Pete to relax but too slow to satisfy the sudden carnal need for completion. Pete had never felt anything like the hunger that was growing inside him; he bit his hand to keep from screaming, and Vegas went still at once.

“Pete,” he said, his voice strangled, “what did you do?”

Pete realised that he was bleeding, just a few crimson dots on the heel of his palm. “Fuck, sorry,” he said, “I didn’t think…”

Vegas leaned over his back, the added pressure making Pete gasp, and nuzzled into his neck. “You smell delicious,” Vegas purred. He reached out to touch where Pete was bleeding, his icy fingertips leaving a scarlet smudge. He lifted his hand and Pete heard another deep, unnecessary breath; when Vegas shuddered, the vibrations shivered through Pete and he cried out in suspended pleasure.

And then suddenly, Vegas was gone. Pete felt cold and empty, uncertainty creeping over him. Slowly, cautiously, he rolled over and saw Vegas sitting back on his heels and staring at his bloodied fingers, gripping his own wrist as though to keep it away from his mouth. His eyes flicked up to Pete, who could clearly see Vegas’s conflict, his desire. 

“It’s okay if you want to taste it,” Pete said, slowly moving closer to Vegas. 

“It’s too soon,” Vegas said harshly. “If I taste you now, then I will never be able to let you go.” 

“Then do it,” Pete said boldly, holding his barely-bleeding hand under Vegas’s nose. “Because there’s nowhere else I want to be.”

Vegas snarled and tackled Pete onto his back; before he could even comprehend what was happening, Vegas pushed back inside him and sank his teeth into Pete’s neck. 

Pete’s entire being was wracked with agony, with bliss, with a bone-deep, unshakeable contentment. He could feel Vegas fucking into him, could feel his blood flowing out under Vegas’s mouth, an endless cycle of giving and receiving that made him shudder and moan uncontrollably. Vegas was growling low down in his throat, his thrusts getting harder as he realised Pete could take it, wanted it, needed it. Every cell in Pete’s body strained towards Vegas, everything in him yearning to be closer. A spiralling rush of desire pulled him ever upwards, and he knew that he was crying but he couldn’t stop. When he realised that Vegas  was also shuddering in his arms, Pete crested into a blinding, amorphous fog of release and relief that seared him in pounding, irresistible waves. He was floating, falling, flying; nothing made sense but everything was as it should be. 

Finally, Pete was home.

[brandhype-in]

What Should You Look for in the Best Digital Marketing Company in Gurgaon? Expert Tips Inside!

In the present high speed digital world, having areas of strength for a presence is fundamental for any business. Assuming that you're looking for the Best Digital Marketing Company in Gurgaon, you've come to the ideal locations. In this aide, we will investigate what to search for while choosing a digital marketing organization and offer master tips to assist you with making the best choice.

Understanding Digital Marketing

Prior to diving into the points of interest, we should initially comprehend what digital marketing truly is. Digital marketing includes different online marketing methodologies that assist businesses with reaching expected clients through the internet. This includes site design improvement (Website optimization), virtual entertainment marketing, content marketing, email marketing, and that's just the beginning.

Digital marketing is critical as it permits businesses to interface with a bigger crowd, draw in with clients continuously, and track execution measurements to upgrade techniques. With the increasing significance of digital presence, choosing the right digital marketing organization becomes indispensable.

Why Pick a Digital Marketing Office in Gurgaon?

Gurgaon, known as the corporate center point of India, is home to numerous skilled experts and organizations specializing in digital marketing. Choosing a Digital Marketing Office in Gurgaon can be valuable in light of multiple factors:

Vicinity: Being near your office implies simpler correspondence and more powerful coordinated effort.

Market Information: Organizations in Gurgaon are knowledgeable in nearby market patterns, helping them make designated crusades that resound with your crowd.

Different Ability Pool: Gurgaon has a thriving environment of marketing experts, offering different ranges of abilities and skill.

Key Variables to Consider While Choosing a Digital Marketing Company

1. Administrations Advertised

While looking for the Best Digital Marketing Company in Gurgaon, it's fundamental to assess the scope of administrations they offer. A decent office ought to give thorough digital marketing arrangements, including:

Seo : Site design improvement is essential for improving your site's perceivability on web search tools. The Best Seo Company in Delhi will assist you with ranking higher on Google and draw in natural rush hour gridlock.

Social media Marketing: Engaging with your crowd via online entertainment stages is critical. Search for an organization that can make and oversee successful online entertainment crusades.

Content Marketing: Quality substance is the foundation of digital marketing. Guarantee the organization has a group of gifted journalists who can make engaging substance that lines up with your image.

Email Marketing: This is a successful method for reaching and draw in your crowd. A decent office will assist you with creating designated email crusades.

Pay-Per-Click Advertising (PPC): On the off chance that you're looking for sure fire results, PPC missions can direct people to your site rapidly.

2. Experience and Ability

The office's insight and mastery in the field are essential. Search for a company that has a demonstrated history of fruitful missions. Get some information about their past clients, contextual analyses, and the outcomes they accomplished. Offices with experience in your industry will comprehend your particular difficulties and how to conquer them.

3. Client Tributes and Audits

Surveys and tributes from past clients can give significant insights into the organization's presentation. Search for input on their site, Google audits, or virtual entertainment. Positive tributes indicate a solid organization that conveys results.

4. Straightforwardness and Reporting

A trustworthy digital marketing organization ought to be straightforward about its systems and reporting. They ought to give standard updates on your mission's presentation, including investigation and measurements. This straightforwardness assists you with understanding what's working and what needs improvement.

5. Tweaked Systems

Each business is novel, and a one-size-fits-all approach won't work in digital marketing. The Best Website design enhancement Office in Delhi will find opportunity to figure out your business objectives and think up modified systems that line up with your goals. Be careful about organizations that offer nonexclusive arrangements without understanding your particular necessities.

6. Spending plan and Pricing

While cost ought not be the main figure your choice, picking an office that accommodates your budget is fundamental. Demand statements from numerous organizations and assess what administrations are included. Recall that investing in digital marketing can yield huge returns, so search for a harmony among cost and quality.

7. Social Fit

The organization you pick will turn into an expansion of your group, so it's crucial for find one that lines up with your company culture. Plan meetings to check their correspondence style, values, and way to deal with joint effort.

The Significance of Website design enhancement

While discussing digital marketing, neglecting the significance of SEO is incomprehensible. A strong Web optimization technique assists your site with ranking higher on web search tools, driving more natural traffic to your website. The following are a couple of justifications for why Website optimization ought to be fundamentally important:

Increased Perceivability: Higher rankings lead to greater perceivability, making it simpler for expected clients to find you.

Long haul Results: Dissimilar to paid advertising, Search engine optimization endeavors can yield long haul results. When your site positions well, it can continue to draw in rush hour gridlock without ongoing expenses.

Practical: Website optimization is many times more financially savvy than customary advertising strategies. It targets clients who are effectively searching for your items or administrations.

Consequently, while looking for the Best Digital Marketing Company in Gurgaon, guarantee they have areas of strength for an on Web optimization and can give substantial outcomes.

Choosing the Correct Organization: Brandhype

Choosing the Correct Organization: Brandhype

Assuming you're searching for a digital marketing office that succeeds in every one of the variables referenced above, look no farther than Brandhype. Situated in Gurgaon, Brandhype represents considerable authority in providing thorough digital marketing arrangements custom-made to your business needs.

Why Pick Brandhype?

Master Group: Brandhype brags a group experienced experts gifted in different digital marketing disciplines. They stay refreshed with the most recent patterns and methods to guarantee your missions are successful.

Demonstrated History: With various effective missions added to their repertoire, Brandhype is known for delivering results that matter. Their contextual analyses exhibit their capacity to assist businesses with growing online.

Redone Methodologies: Understanding that every business is one of a kind, Brandhype finds opportunity to formulate custom fitted systems that line up with your particular objectives and targets.

Straightforward Reporting: Brandhype has faith in straightforwardness and gives standard updates on your mission's exhibition, ensuring you stay informed constantly.

Client-Driven Approach: At Brandhype, clients are at the core of everything they do. Their group is devoted to understanding your business and providing customized administration and backing.

Conclusion

Choosing the right digital marketing organization is a pivotal choice that can essentially influence your business. By considering the elements referenced in this aide, for example, administrations offered, insight, straightforwardness, and social fit, you can settle on an informed decision.

Assuming you're looking for the Best Digital Marketing Company in Gurgaon, look no farther than Brandhype. With their mastery in digital marketing, including Website optimization and virtual entertainment the executives, they are exceptional to assist your business with succeeding online.

Whether you're aiming for better perceivability, higher transformation rates, or further developed brand mindfulness, partnering with a dependable digital marketing office can transform your objectives into the real world. Go ahead and out to Brandhype and set out on your digital marketing venture today!

[journeythroughsurrey]

Discovering Guildford Castle: A Journey Through Surrey's Medieval Gem

When you visit Guildford Castle in Surrey, England, you're stepping into a piece of history that dates back to the 11th century. Built shortly after the Norman Conquest, it's believed to have been commissioned by William the Conqueror himself. As you explore its Gothic architecture and panoramic views from the Great Tower, you can't help but wonder about the monarchs like King John and King Henry III who once resided there. The castle grounds, with their lush gardens and ongoing restoration efforts, offer more than just visual appeal. But what secrets do these ancient stones hold?

History of Guildford Castle

Guildford Castle, believed to have been built shortly after the Norman Conquest, has a rich history dating back to the 11th century. When you visit, you'll find that it's not just an old stone structure but a monument brimming with historical significance.

The castle initially served as a royal residence, underscoring its strong royal connections. William the Conqueror's influence is evident, as he likely commissioned the castle to fortify his new reign over England. Another grand historical site in Surrey similarly showcases the power and influence of England's monarchy, providing visitors with a deeper understanding of the nation's royal heritage.

Over the centuries, Guildford Castle played a vital role in various historical events. It was a favored retreat for King John and King Henry III, who both spent significant time within its walls. Their stays there underline the castle's importance in royal circles.

Additionally, its strategic location made it a key military outpost during turbulent periods, offering protection and overseeing the surrounding regions.

Architectural Features

As you explore the rich history of Guildford Castle, you'll notice its architectural features reveal much about the era and its builders. The castle is a fascinating blend of Gothic architecture and robust defensive structures, designed to withstand sieges and symbolize power.

Walking through the castle, you'll be captivated by several distinctive elements:

The Great Tower: This central structure, with its thick walls and narrow windows, served both as a residence and a last line of defense. Its imposing height provided a vantage point for surveying the surrounding area.

The Arched Doorways and Windows: Characteristic of Gothic architecture, these features aren't just aesthetically pleasing but also functional, allowing light while maintaining structural integrity.

The Curtain Walls: Surrounding the castle, these formidable walls were built to deter attackers. Made of solid stone, they reflect the medieval emphasis on fortification.

These architectural features offer a glimpse into medieval life, showcasing the blend of artistry and practicality. As you wander through Guildford Castle, the Gothic touches and strategic defensive structures will transport you back to a time when castles were bastions of power and security.

The Castle Grounds

Exploring the castle grounds, you'll find lush gardens, ancient ruins, and stunning views that paint a vivid picture of its historical significance. The castle gardens are meticulously maintained, featuring an array of vibrant flowers and well-kept pathways that invite you to take a leisurely stroll. As you wander, you'll come across informational plaques that shed light on the rich history surrounding you.

The grounds also include designated picnic areas, perfect for a relaxing lunch amidst the serene setting. Whether you're with family, friends, or on a solo adventure, these spots allow you to take in the beauty and tranquility of the surroundings. Spread out a blanket, unpack your basket, and enjoy a meal while basking in the picturesque scenery.

You'll also encounter ancient ruins that add to the charm and mystique of Guildford Castle. These remnants offer a tangible connection to the past, making your visit feel like a step back in time. The combination of natural beauty and historical intrigue guarantees that the castle grounds aren't just a place to explore but a space to savor and reflect.

Significant Events

Delving into the history of Guildford Castle, you'll find that it has hosted numerous significant events that have shaped its legacy. This iconic structure stands as a representation to centuries of British history, marked by moments of royal significance and medieval battles. The castle's rich past is etched with events that not only influenced the region but also echoed through England's broader historical narrative.

Coronation Celebrations: Guildford Castle played a pivotal role during royal coronation ceremonies. It was a site where nobility gathered to pledge allegiance and partake in grand festivities.

Medieval Skirmishes: The castle's strategic location made it a focal point during medieval battles. Its fortifications witnessed sieges and conflicts that were essential in the power struggles of the time.

Royal Residences: At various points, the castle served as a royal residence. Monarchs, including King Henry III, used it as a retreat, thereby bolstering its royal significance.

As you explore the history of Guildford Castle, you'll uncover stories of valor, political intrigue, and royal grandeur, each event adding a layer of depth to this historic landmark.

Restoration Efforts

While Guildford Castle's historical significance is evident through its storied past, its preservation required dedicated restoration efforts. You might wonder how a structure so old has remained intact. The answer lies in meticulous restoration techniques employed over the years. Experts have carefully analyzed the castle's original construction methods to guarantee any repairs are as authentic as possible. Using materials that match the original, like specific types of stone and mortar, has been vital in maintaining the castle's historical integrity.

Restoration is no small feat; it comes with numerous conservation challenges. One of the biggest hurdles has been battling the natural wear and tear caused by centuries of exposure to the elements. Water damage, for example, poses a significant threat to the castle's stonework. To combat this, specialists have used modern technology to improve drainage systems and protect the walls from further erosion.

Another challenge has been the need to balance accessibility with preservation. While you want to explore every nook and cranny of the castle, it's essential that these areas are protected from additional wear caused by foot traffic. These efforts guarantee Guildford Castle remains a historical treasure for future generations.

Visitor Information

When planning your visit to Guildford Castle, you'll find essential information that will help you make the most of your experience.

Start by checking the ticket prices, which are quite reasonable. Admission gives you access to the castle grounds and the keep, where you can explore at your own pace. Don't forget to take into account the guided tours, which provide fascinating insights into the castle's history and architecture. These tours are led by knowledgeable guides who bring the past to life with engaging stories and facts.

To help you visualize your visit, here are some highlights you can look forward to:

Stunning Views: Climb to the top of the Great Tower for panoramic views of Guildford and the surrounding countryside.

Beautiful Gardens: Stroll through the manicured gardens, filled with vibrant flowers and lush greenery.

Historical Exhibits: Explore various exhibits that showcase the castle's rich history, including artifacts and informational displays.

Make sure to check the castle's official website for the latest information on opening hours and any special events.

Nearby Attractions

Guildford Castle's prime location means you're just a short walk away from several other remarkable attractions.

For a fun family outing, head to Stoke Park, where you'll find extensive playgrounds, a skate park, and beautiful green spaces perfect for picnics. It's an ideal spot for kids to burn off some energy while you relax and enjoy the scenery.

If you're interested in history and culture, the Guildford Museum is nearby. It offers fascinating exhibits about the area's rich history, making it great for family activities.

For a more tranquil experience, take a stroll along the River Wey Navigation. The towpath is perfect for a peaceful walk or a leisurely bike ride, and the natural beauty of the waterway provides a lovely backdrop.

When it comes to local dining, you're spoilt for choice. Just a stone's throw from the castle, you'll find a range of eateries catering to all tastes.

Whether you're in the mood for traditional British fare, international cuisine, or a quick coffee and cake, Guildford's vibrant culinary scene has something to offer.

Don't miss the chance to try some local specialties in one of the charming pubs or cafes scattered around town.

Tips for Visiting

To make the most of your visit to Guildford Castle, start by checking the opening hours and any special events happening during your stay. This way, you can plan your visit around the most exciting activities and avoid any unexpected closures.

Guildford Castle offers a variety of accessibility options, ensuring that everyone can enjoy exploring this historic site. Ramps and clear pathways facilitate easy movement for visitors with mobility needs. Another iconic landmark in Surrey similarly ensures accessibility for all, making it a welcoming destination for those eager to explore both history and nature. Before you go, it's a good idea to contact the castle directly to confirm specific accessibility features that may be relevant to you.

Enhance your experience by joining one of the guided tours. These tours provide in-depth information about the castle's history, architecture, and the surrounding gardens. Knowledgeable guides share intriguing stories and lesser-known facts that you might miss if you explore on your own.

To visualize your trip, imagine:

Strolling through the beautifully manicured gardens, bursting with seasonal flowers.

Climbing to the top of the castle keep, where you can take in panoramic views of Guildford and the Surrey countryside.

Listening to engaging tales from a local guide, bringing the castle's rich history to life.

Plan ahead, and you'll be in for a memorable visit!

Frequently Asked Questions

Are There Any Legends or Ghost Stories Associated With Guildford Castle?

You'll find several castle hauntings and historical apparitions linked to Guildford Castle. Locals often talk about eerie sights and sounds, including ghostly figures and unexplained phenomena, making it a hotspot for paranormal enthusiasts.

What Is the Best Time of Year to See the Gardens in Full Bloom?

You'll find the gardens in full bloom during late spring. This time of year showcases vibrant spring blooms and a stunning array of seasonal colors. Don't miss the chance to experience the garden's peak beauty!

Are There Any Guided Tours Available for Children at Guildford Castle?

Yes, there are guided tours available for children. You'll find educational programs and children's activities that make learning history fun and engaging. It's a great way for kids to explore and enjoy their visit.

Can Visitors Bring Their Pets to the Castle Grounds?

You're probably wondering if you can bring your pets. Check the pet policies first. Some areas might be pet-friendly, but restrictions could apply. Always verify your furry friend is welcome before planning your visit.

Is There a Gift Shop or Café at Guildford Castle?

Yes, there's a gift shop with various offerings like souvenirs and books. You'll also find a café with a menu featuring light snacks and beverages. It's perfect for a quick break during your visit.

As you wrap up your visit to Guildford Castle, you'll leave with a sense of awe at its rich history and stunning architecture.

Don't forget to wander through the beautiful gardens and take in the panoramic views from the Great Tower.

The ongoing restoration efforts guarantee that this historic gem continues to captivate visitors.

Make sure to explore nearby attractions and enjoy all that Surrey has to offer.

You won't regret your trip!

After enjoying the historic charm and breathtaking views at Guildford Castle, why not continue your exploration of Surrey? If you're in need of top-notch gutter cleaning services, Surrey Gutter Cleaners is just a short drive away.

Conveniently located within Surrey, our expert team is ready to ensure your home remains in perfect condition. Here's how you can find us from Guildford Castle.

Gutter Cleaners Surrey

Westfield Rd, Slyfield Industrial Estate, Guildford GU1 1SD, United Kingdom

+442039875074

7C6P+W4 Guildford, United Kingdom

[ajaymane1]

A Beginner's Guide to Understanding Mutual Fund Investing

Investing in mutual funds is a common way for people who want to gradually increase their wealth. Mutual funds provide an easy and diverse way to enter the financial markets, regardless of your level of experience. We'll explore the fundamentals of mutual fund investing in this post, including what they are, how they operate, and why you might want to consider them.

Mutual funds: What Are They? Investment vehicles known as mutual funds combine the capital of several investors to buy a variety of stocks, bonds, and other securities. Professional fund managers oversee these assets, and they base their investment choices on the goals and tactics of the fund.

How Are Mutual Funds Operational? Buying shares of a mutual fund instead of individual securities is what investing in one entails. The performance of the underlying investments affects the value of these shares, which is referred to as net asset value (NAV). The mutual fund's NAV fluctuates in tandem with the value of the securities held in the portfolio.

Typically, mutual funds provide a variety of share classes, each with a different fee schedule and minimum investment needs. Class A, B, and C shares are common share classes; each has a unique set of costs and features.

Why Make Mutual Fund Investments? Mutual funds can be a desirable investment choice for a number of reasons:

Diversification: Investing in a range of securities through mutual funds helps distribute risk among various industries and asset classes. Your investment portfolio's vulnerability to volatility may be lessened with this diversification.

Accessibility: Investors with varying levels of experience and financial resources can access mutual funds. They provide a convenient means of participation in the financial markets for individuals, with comparatively low minimum investment requirements.

Mutual funds are known for their high liquidity, which allows you to buy or sell shares at the fund's current NAV at any time during the business day. Investors have the freedom to modify their investment holdings as necessary thanks to this liquidity.

Things to Think About Before Investing Prior to making a mutual fund investment, the following should be taken into account:

Investment Goals: To find mutual funds that meet your financial goals, ascertain your investment objectives and risk tolerance.

Fees and Expenses: Understand the costs involved in investing in mutual funds, such as sales, administrative, and management fees. Over time, these fees may have an effect on your investment returns.

Past Performance: Although it doesn't guarantee future outcomes, past performance can shed light on a mutual fund's historical performance. Examine a fund's history and contrast it with pertinent benchmarks to determine how well it performed in comparison to its peers.

Diversification: Make sure you have enough diversification across a range of asset classes and investment philosophies by taking into account how a mutual fund fits into your overall investment portfolio.

Mutual fund investing offers a versatile and adaptable way to participate in the financial markets. By pooling the capital of multiple investors, mutual funds provide access to professional management and a wide range of investment opportunities. However, do your research and consider your investment goals, risk tolerance, and costs before purchasing mutual funds. If you give mutual funds careful consideration and carry out the required due diligence, they can be a valuable addition to your investment portfolio.

[kolkataffresult1]

Kolkata Fatafat: Unraveling the Intricacies of a Popular Lottery Game

In the lively city of Kolkata, the Kolkata Fatafat (FF) lottery has emerged as a cultural phenomenon, capturing the interest and participation of many residents. Also known as Kolkata FF, this lottery game has various facets, including the thrill of guessing results, the communal engagement with Ghosh Babu, and the daily ritual of checking Kolkata FF results. In this article, we'll explore the intricacies of Kolkata Fatafat, shedding light on its origins, the role of Ghosh Babu, and the dynamics of the game.

Origins and Evolution

Kolkata Fatafat's roots can be traced back to the traditional forms of gambling that have long been a part of Kolkata's cultural landscape. Over time, this practice evolved into the structured and regulated lottery game known today as Kolkata FF. The game has become an integral part of the city's social fabric, attracting participants from various walks of life.

The Ghosh Babu Connection

The term Ghosh Babu is synonymous with Kolkata FF. Ghosh Babu acts as the local facilitator or manager who oversees the operations of the lottery in a particular area. Participants place their bets with Ghosh Babu, adding a personal and communal touch to the gaming experience. Ghosh Babu's role extends beyond mere administration; they become central figures in the daily routine of Kolkata FF enthusiasts.

Understanding Kolkata FF Results

Kolkata FF results are declared multiple times throughout the day, generating anticipation and excitement among participants. The results are determined by a unique algorithm, introducing an element of unpredictability and chance. The winning numbers are prominently displayed, be it on physical boards or through online platforms, creating a buzz as participants eagerly check if their predictions align with the day's results.

Communal Fun with Kolkata FF

Beyond the allure of potential winnings, Kolkata FF is celebrated for the communal fun it brings to the participants. The interaction between players, Ghosh Babu, and the shared excitement during result announcements contribute to the game's unique charm. It fosters a sense of community, as participants come together to engage in this daily ritual that transcends the boundaries of age and background.

Tips and Strategies

While Kolkata FF is predominantly a game of chance, some players believe in adopting strategies to enhance their odds. Analyzing past results, identifying patterns, and staying informed about any changes in the game's dynamics are common practices among enthusiasts. It's important to note, however, that predicting Kolkata FF results with absolute certainty remains elusive due to the inherent randomness of the game.

The Importance of Kolkata FF Result

For avid participants, staying informed about the Kolkata FF result is paramount. Enthusiasts keenly search for the latest results online, often using phrases like Kolkata FF result today to check the outcomes of their bets. Real-time updates enable players to adjust their strategies, fostering a dynamic and engaging environment within the Kolkata FF community.

Kolkata Fatafat, with its rich history and vibrant community engagement, stands as more than just a lottery game; it is a cultural phenomenon deeply ingrained in the fabric of Kolkata. The game's daily rituals, the involvement of Ghosh Babu, and the shared enthusiasm during result announcements contribute to its enduring popularity. Whether driven by the thrill of prediction or the joy of communal engagement, Kolkata FF continues to capture the imagination of those who partake in this unique cultural experience.

For More Info: -

Kolkata ff

Kolkata ff fun

Kolkata ff ghosh babu

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

This blog is exclusively 18+. Minors do not interact.

Howdy! I'm Melanie (she/her/hers), a fanfic writer and fandom nerd from Texas. Currently, I am only writing for House of the Dragon and other Ewan Mitchell characters, but in the past I have written for some other fandoms, and I plan to branch out into others in the future, as well. Here, you can find the fics I write, the fics I read, and the plans I have for future writing.

My inbox is always open for those who want to talk about fandom, my fics, or anything else (within reason)!

Reports that I am not, in fact, a human person, but instead a collection of approximately 104 wasps are erroneous and will not be entertained. Please ignore any and all buzzing noises.

• My Fic Recs • Writing Challenges •

Recently Published: Fracture (What is Broken Oneshot), Scrooge!Aemond Oneshot, My Fair Lady's Maid Part 3, The Silver Dragon Chapter 23, The Silver Dragon Chapter 22, The Silver Dragon Chapter 21, BOOM Part 1

I do not use taglists. If you would like to be notified when I publish a new fic, please follow my writing sideblog, @exitpursuedbyavulcan-writes and turn on notifications.

Masterlist below the cut

Aemond Targaryen x OC

Series Masterlist (ONGOING) (18+)

Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, Lady of Runestone, was not born of love. Nor passion. Nor even a sense of duty. She was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge. But even a child born of such darkness can find her way to the light. With her mother dead, and father flown across the Narrow Sea with a new wife, the girl is taken in by her Aunt, the Queen Alicent Hightower, to be raised among the little family she has left. There, she finds her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. The two spend long nights in the palace library together, studying the histories of both Old Valyria and the First Men, seeking to understand who they are and where they fit in the world. But finding that place proves more difficult than in the fairy tales they read. The seeds of disaster were laid long before they were born, and as tensions in the family rise, it seems as though their places may begin to diverge. Will they let themselves be pulled apart as the dragons dance?

Warnings: Mentions of rape, m/f smut, violence

Studious (Completed) (18+) Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Moodboard by @sapphirehearteyes

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI

Your marriage to the One-Eyed Prince is not as romantic as you hoped. The wedding night is beyond awkward and confusing, and afterward, your husband seems more than content to ignore you. But you keep finding yourself drawn to him, and the strange way he makes you feel. And though you don't know it, he is drawn to you as well.

Warnings: SMUT, p in v sex, masturbation (m and f) bad sex (these kids have no idea what they're doing), Aegon saying Aegon things, all the awkwardness in the world

What is Broken (Completed) Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Sister-wife!Reader

Series Masterlist

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, childbirth

BOOM (WIP) 1920s!Aemond Targaryen x Cowgirl! Reader

1928. Targaryen's, the foremost business conglomerate in Europe, is seeking to establish a foothold in the United States - and the mass of wealth and resources it offers. Viserys Targaryen has dispatched each member of his family to a different city to oversee the company's expansion into various new industries. His second son, Aemond, has chosen Dallas, Texas as his destination to take advantage of the continued prosperity of the oil boom. But getting Targaryen Oil & Petroleum off the ground may be harder than he anticipated, all thanks to the determined efforts of a single, stubborn, spellbinding cowgirl.

Warnings: Language, Aemond is a cunt but so is the OC so it evens out?

Part I - Part II - Part III

Inconceivable (WIP) Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Part I - Part II

Westeros has been at peace for nearly a year, and a wedding has been planned to celebrate the anniversary. King Jacaerys will marry his aunt, the only surviving child of the Greens, and unite both Targaryen bloodlines at last. It is a fairy tale ending, but this is no ordinary fairy tale...

Warnings: Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles... Angst, grief, forced marriage, more to be added

My Fair Lady's Maid (WIP) (18+) Prince Aemond Targaryen x Lady's Maid!Reader

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX - Part X

Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.

Warnings: Aemond being an entire cunt

The Girl at the Table (WIP) (18+) Michael Gavey x Reader

Michael has a plan for Oxford: complete his degree at the top of the class, avoid the wealthy, spoiled pricks that make up the majority of the student body, and stay focused. The plan begins well, until a girl begins sitting at his study table.

Warnings: Smut, math

Monsters in the Garden (ONGOING) (DDDNE) (18+) Ettore x Reader

Part I - Part II - Part III

No one comes to your garden but you, not even Dr. Dibs. So what is the most dangerous man on the ship doing leaning against your doorway and watching you work?

Warnings: SMUT; hand job; kissing; blood; mentions of rape, murder, and violence; female genital mutilation; vague mentions of corpse mutilation

Storge, Philia, Eros, and Agape (WIP) Osferth x Reader

Series Masterlist

When he arrives in Coccham to join with Lord Uhtred Ragnarsson's band of righteous warrior, Osferth does not get the greeting he expected. Uhtred himself is very clear that he has only accepted the young monk to irritate his father, and the few warriors he is introduced to delight in picking fun at him. Still, it is better than the monastery, the Lady of the estate is kind to him, and the servant girl who leads him to his new chambers is... something entirely new to Osferth. Something that, perhaps, will help him understand what the Bible means when it speaks of love.

Note: This is a series of inter-connected oneshots that can be read together or on their own.

That Pointy-Eared Blond Bastard (WIP) (18+) Half-Vulcan!Aemond x Human(?)Reader

Graduation - Away Team - Red Alert - Holodeck - Pon Farr

You are Aemond's greatest rival at Starfleet Academy. Or you would be, if he cared enough to have rivals. Vulcans don't care that much. But Aemond is only half Vulcan. And you... you bring out something decidedly non-Vulcan in him.

A Companion (WIP) Otto Hightower x Young Widow!Reader

Series Masterlist

At the suggestion of Princess Rhaenyra, King Viserys Targaryen had commanded that his Hand, Otto Hightower, find a new bride. Preferably at the King's own wedding to Otto's daughter Alicent. While the Princess intended the suggestion as a form of revenge for Otto's machinations which led to the royal engagement, he intends to make the best of it. While he has always known that his late wife, Madelyn, is the great love of his life, he welcomes the idea of finding a tolerable companion. What he doesn't expect is you, a lady widowed far too young, who begins to spark feelings within him he thought long extinguished.

[tsuukirana]

𝟐 | 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑

Teyvat was a weary place, battered and beaten by the history of war, mortals continue to feast upon dreams. Though only a few make it out to be heroes, many come and go as quietly as the wind. One woman stands against the story of time, destined to walk on the ground with nothing more but an outstretched hand. Darkness reaches her neck yet never did it quell her light. Her followers wish to be beside her as she veers to the land of defeated gods.

The Tsaritsa's right hand is a lonesome soul who wanders the snow-covered grounds of Snezhnaya. Those serving beneath her swear their loyalty, guided truthfully by the sound of her gentle voice. And though her youthful appearance shields years of pain, she chooses to continue forth her journey in overseeing the land's future, hoping that change will be brought upon her people.

Return to 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

As your eyes gaze at the vast windows and cream-colored walls for a while longer, you are reminded of the thousand-year-old tales that have lingered within you, a memory that never leaves you. Rooms that once held life faded with age, fingerprints left upon the edges of furniture, tables in the open lobby that had been bustling with excitement and cheer. Alcohol pooling at the tops of their cups, brash and sensual music echoing through the halls, and dancing accompanying the voice of a singing audience. How awfully strange it was to be here and reminisce on the past. It was unfamiliar yet understandable. As your shoes glide across the smooth floors, you are reminded of the idea that this was a place of memories. One that you had no part in, you say to yourself, brushing your fingers against the sheets of dust that rest upon old wood. You press your lips tightly together as the sound of your shoes clicking against the empty halls. Oh, how long must it be since you’ve rested in an inn and not a campsite far off into the woods? You toy with the steel keys that rest against your fingers. How long must it have been since you heard the starving wolves howl? You find that the ice has not been too kind to you for you to appreciate such luxuries. The cool metal rests comfortably on your skin. Though these halls were slightly barren due to the meteorite incident that plagues the town, you can hear the faint sounds of groans and chatter.

You’ve heard countless stories about the city of Liyue. Whether or not it was of its Archon was little to no concern to you. You know that it is home to hundreds of contracts, hands shaken in agreement as crooked smiles paint themselves on faces, it was a place for all travelers to make their pass. Though your memory may have been lost underneath the weight of age, when you brush your fingers alongside the wooden doorknob, twisting it to reveal a grand room, you are reminded that you were not only living in the present but reliving part of the past. The inn had not changed, you presume, based on the dust that piled itself alongside the cabinets. Though you find yourself at peace, humming in the process. Those who have come and gone, people who once rested their heads against these pillows, stargazing on the open balcony with their hands intertwined, all of them had a life and a story to tell. Being able to sleep so comfortably at night with nothing more than the sound of whistling lovers and families was something many took for granted. Placing your bag down against the wooden dresser, you suck in a deep breath as you admire the view.

The room was relatively plain with not many paintings adorning the ivory walls. While the headboard had unique carvings alongside its edges, it was still rather simple in style. Your shoulders drooped slightly as your breaths became steady and soft, so undoubtedly quiet that not even the Balladeer could hear the sound. The man only brushed beside you, with little care for his surroundings, much too busy with the task of emptying his suitcase. He finds the act of research as boring as ever, and the aching dislike towards unpacking his belongings only further boils his blood. At the moment, he would have wished that he had one of his soldiers do all the monotonous chores. Though he finds that perhaps you’d mock him for being too pampered and that the months of staying in Schneznaya hadn’t hardened him into the warrior you thought he was. Besides, with how clumsy they act, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were to disgrace your honor in front of him. And so he remains to sigh under his breath, cursing to himself. You smile at his groans, finding amusement in his reaction. You turn your head away from him, letting your eyes feast on the grand scenery of the bright, golden-colored trees that were spread across the city. Green and yellow mix harmoniously with each other, and the presence of what you can call tranquility fills the empty air with life.

Something far from the present brings itself back to you. A reminder that when you were underneath the command of the Snezhnayan Church, you vaguely recall stories of Liyue travelers. Though their hands were beaten by the harsh colds of the countryside, you couldn’t forget the look in their eyes as they dreamt of their homeland. A place that was so warm and loved that they wished to bask in its glory one last time. You still see their brilliant eyes as their hands reached up to the empty ceiling, their sights glowing brightly as their smiles matched the radiance of the spring sun. Many travelers who came to the land of snow had always told you that getting through the icy gates was difficult, though it was a task that they wished to see to its end, a contract that they couldn’t break with themselves. It was a deal that locked them in the eternal longing for freedom, but what does that truly mean when they are commanded by belief? You think that their contract was another way of saying that they were committed to their dreams, though you remain unsure of their true intentions, and whether or not you wished to dive deeper. Things were left to be simple, you say to yourself. Having too little to dream of leads you to being unfulfilled, while being too ambitious leads you to one being unsatisfied. A perfect balance is what is needed, and what you see in the future would do just that. You placed your hand against the balcony, resting your weight against the balls of your feet. You note the scent of glaze lilies as the wind toys with the ends of your veil, slithering its way against your neck.

Raising your hand to touch the scarred skin, you hold your breath as leaves glide across your vision, their golden coats washing over with snow. Visions of the past overwrite your reality, lands that were once a lush, green color turning dark as your eyes look towards the open view. No longer in the land of contracts, you stare down at your tiny, nimble hands that hold onto the shell of an onion, the smell of smoke and wood rising to the tip of your nose. A woman no older than thirty glancing upon your curious nature with eyes so loving that you could feel the air grow warm. Her smile curves in ways that could only express thoughts of happiness and contentment. She brings her hand to your cheek, wiping away at the loose ends of hair that had stuck to your skin. When you bring yours to rest upon her, you notice the way her (e/c) orbs soften, the feeling of her calloused knuckles brushing against the palm of your hand. You once asked her if she was a warrior in her past life, and she’d reply to you that she would fight a thousand battles to see the sun. She chooses not to tell you about the red liquid that dribbled on her lips, or the ones that were splattered across her hands, but she will tell you how it all ended. You think of her to be like the warriors that had their destinies written into the stars. All heroes hold some sort of secret. And you would like to think that you knew hers.

Her words were laced in a sickly sweetness, love that would overfill pots of warm stew, a voice so delicate that you swore could let the tides of the ocean rest along the sandy shores. Her kindness was that of weakness. One that had plagued her for generations to come. Though she loves the people of ice, their love for her was rather thin and fleeting. In a world so unloving, love comes at a price. And so she lives on with the heartache and heartbreaks, an illness that you could only describe to be yearning and desperation.

She would stay outside on late nights, waiting on the open porch, knitting away at a sweater that was much too big. She would save a smile for a man that she loved. Love so true she could feel her heart flutter like the birds in early spring, their calls luring her into a deep sleep. While her hands may be tender and loving with you, you could feel the frostbite nipping at her fingertips, her sorrows eating away at her from the inside. She was a painting left abandoned. One that was once a finished masterpiece, is now left to rot alongside artifacts of the time. Her body sometimes leans forward as if waiting for a warm embrace. Wet tears drip down her cheeks like melted snow. She calls out to the man you call father, arms outstretched to the sky as if waiting for him to fall into her. She hopes that one day he will arrive at your doorstep, heavy breaths trailing his lips as he grinned from cheek to cheek. A light that could never dim even during the night’s darkest times. Though his hands may be rough from cutting wood, they were careful enough to grip at her hips, pulling her up to the sky as they would share a loving gaze. His lips would press against her cheek as she giggled, the howling wolves becoming nothing more but a fading echo. Yet as lonely days passed, all that was left was a fragment of her former self, a shell of a woman who had lost everything to the darkness. No longer comforted by the presence of your father, she chooses to lay beside you, holding your hand close to her chest so that you can feel the gentle beating of her heart.

You wipe your eyes to clear your vision. Your mother pulls her gaze away from you to stir a mixture of meat as you step forward onto a dark, wooden stool, your chin touching the counter. She laughs in the same soft tone that you remember so vividly, a smile that is never lost within the darkness of your mind. Since you are done with all your chores, do you want to help me make pelmenis? They were your father’s favorite after all. Her giggle was as infectious as it was lovely. It was no wonder that a man such as your father would cave so easily to the culling of her voice. As you nod, she leans over, letting her hands guide yours with ease, her stare becoming as tender as the freshly cut meat that had settled into a colorful bowl. You pressed your lips together to draw together a bright, excited smile. You can help me fold the pelmenis, it shouldn’t be too hard, just follow my lead.

And so you settle yourself next to her, lazily pulling the sides of dough to wrap around the ball of minced lamb. Your small fingers pinched at each side, keeping it nice and tight so that the filling doesn’t spill. While there were a few spots that you had missed, your mother was right by your side, supporting you through the process. You would like to think that this was how your father had fallen in love. Perhaps they overestimated the time of their hunt, which led to them being trapped in a snowstorm so heavy that the air grew cold enough to freeze one’s lungs. Your father must have chopped up some trees as quickly as he could to light the fireplace within an abandoned cabin, his back leaning against the wooden walls as he sighed in exhaustion. Too tired to even sit in one of the empty chairs, he chose to sit on the ground as a humble man.

After a whole day of hunting, in their hands was nothing more but a small deer that they had found in the deep, northern parts of Snezhnaya. Though his stomach growled as if he wanted to eat a bear. Your father was a polite gentleman, your mother would say, so he covered his roaring stomach with a sheepish expression, asking her for forgiveness for his rude stomach. He must have felt embarrassed, you chuckled. And as kind of a woman she was, she must have used whatever was left within the house to make him what had become his favorite dish of all time. Whether or not it was his favorite because of his childhood memories, or because it reminded him of the first time he fell in love, was a matter that could only be known to him. As she worked her magic in the kitchen, your father leaned against her, peering over sheepishly with a curious expression. His hands grazed against her fingers for a fraction of a second. Noticing the lack of a ring, he could feel heat pooling on his cheeks as he coughed into his fist. Your mother looked at him with a raised eyebrow, unsure of his strange gaze was one of interest. Nevertheless, her work continued, her lips parting themselves slightly to sing a soft tune to herself. Now calm and collected, (e/c) eyes glistened and shimmered, ears perked up to listen to the sound of a beautiful songbird. A breath caught lodged his throat he grinned. Feeling a bit confident in his actions, he chose to press his body against hers, sharing the warmth of his mortal body with hers. A smile crept up on their lips, a familiar thought bringing them closer.

Blinking the tears away from your eyes, you return to the present. The sounds of your mother’s humming becoming as distant and faded as the sun’s embrace, the wind blowing ever so stronger as to call upon the night. You could no longer feel the gentle touches of dough that had left your fingertips dusted in flour. The feeling of warmth left you as quickly as it came. Letting go of a breath that you had mistakenly held, you let it flutter through the skies as orange hues paint the sky. For you to get lost within your thoughts. . . you wonder if that was your weakness. One that would plague you as it did your mother, a kindness that never leaves you.

Perhaps that is why the Balladeer stood quietly as he did, staring at the way your hair dances to Barbato’s waltz. Hands outstretched and empty as if yearning for the comfort of yours in between his fingers. A cold breeze glided across his open palms. He who was attracted by your kindness has never once left your side, even if his eyes wandered only for a fraction of a second, he would swear on his pride that you were someone worthy of his attention and devotion, and he would always come back to you. He shames other mortals for such trivial weaknesses yet when it comes to you, it was different. Things were different. All logic was twisted when you entered the picture. You were a beautiful enigma that left even the best of scholars left fumbling for words. When you stood on the balcony, watching over the people of Liyue with a fond expression, he found that the world around him would shine ever so brighter like the chandeliers that lit old palace walls. A glimmer that he could only see in the night stars brightened as to be by your side. It was your kindness that brought upon what he could only describe as the golden hour.

[blackbird-brewster]

CM Evolution Predictions

I've been jotting down thoughts over the last month, but now we have a trailer I wanted to post these. Here's some of my predictions (as of 07/11/22) :

I hate the trailer. Just let me put that out there. They clearly said 'oh we're on streaming so we HAVE to be gory and gritty and edgy af' but like....you didn't need to be out here acting like CM is the newest Jigsaw/SAW movie. Why are they trying to turn it into a Lionsgate production???? I just fucking hope their lighting is not pitch dark like tons of new 'edgy' shows

They clearly killed Krystall which is FUCKING BULLSHIT after giving Rossi that WHOLE fucking arc in the final seasons. They're probably going to say she died of covid and now he's unhinged about finding this stupidly ridiculous 'serial killer network'

WHY IS ROSSI UNIT CHIEF?!?!?!!? This one INFURIATES me!!! 'Emily got promoted and now oversees multiple teams' Ericka, that's called Section Chief, I know you don't know that sense literally no one on the showrunner/writing team has ever even watched (one) episode of this show. But that's just section chief, sweaty.

We have ONE white man and they made him UC!?!?! HE LITERALLY HATED BEING UC AND SAID SO 100X!!!!! Why not JJ!?!?!?! HUH!?!!?!? WHY NOT JENNIFER FUCKING JAREAU WHO HAS BEEN THERE LONGER THAN ROSSI!?!?!?! (or Tara, who would be exceptional holy fcuk!)

'JJ and Tara have followed up every consult in the past year' MA'AM!?!?!?!!? OKAY!!?!?!? THAT!?!?!?!? That implies that JJ and Tara were out in the field ALONE catching all these killers. HAWT. If we don't get some quality Jara friendship (gayness) I'm going to be so sad. IF they've been the only ones doing consults for a YEAR, they have GOT to be BFFs now

BECAUSE of the released promo photos, I am going to say Garvez is NOT going to happen (they love baiting us with this shit tbrh. so I'm not getting hopes up to ever have a canon inter-team relationship) I think they dated a couple of times and are friends now and that's all we get

Honestly, goes without saying we're NOT going to get a confirmed queer character on the BAU team. Period. We just won't and if you're newer to the fandom there's a lot of reasons and history as to WHY this will never happen but like, google it and read the deep lore of the fandom.

They kinda made it seem like JJ/Will might be separated which like would make sense if they moved to NOLA only for her to come back to the BAU to help. And if it's been her and Tara as the only two running down consults, I think Will woulda hated that since he canonically hates her working 'long hours' (or working). I'd love to FINALLY have the badass independent mom JJ we always deserved

Crack Prediction: 'We don't really know where Reid and Simmons are'. PLEASE let Reid be one of the killers in this serial killer network. What a twist. Or Elle, let Elle be a killer now (but like in a good way, like Dexter! I love the idea of Elle being a lawful good and a vigilante)

Emily may not have a lot of screen time bc of the whole 'Rossi is UC and he's going through the five stages of grief, blah blah blah' bc this show hates the female actors and they REALLY gotta have a white dude MC to center some trauma porn around

In terms of cases: TikTok killer, a killer who kills anyone who breaks lockdown, a killer who like.... poisons people by chemicals in their masks, a frontline retail worker losing their fucking mind (understandably) and going on a rampage

They're going to treat covid like it's a) something of the past and not A CURRENT AND ONGOING PANDEMIC b) as trauma porn, which is SO FUCKING distasteful TBRFH. I hate this entire plot

They will mention Reid at least five times and probably won't talk about Matt AT ALL (or anyone else for that matter)

Garcia's spent her time away from the BAU spreading joy and love and hacking in the world. She bakes now. She knits Sergio sweaters. She has a popular YouTube channel. But despite her life being INFINATELY better ....she comes back. Bc none of the writers have ever actually met these characters

I stg if I don't get at least ONE 'family' dinner or BAUL girls night, what's the point of anything???

This isn't a prediction it's just GUARANTEED to happen: me going WILD about Je T'Emily

[the-ghost-king]

wait Apollo isn’t originally greek? thats so interesting 👀👀

Where ever did you hear that? /ij

Definitely putting all of this under a read more, it’s a long one!

Cw: Greek statues, they're naked :/

But yeah, Apollo was actually an inherited god, it’s likely that because of this as well he was a blending of multiple different gods to some extent. It’s also good to note that Apollo’s name is unknown, meaning that nobody really knows what exactly Apollo means, which is pretty weird all things considered about the Greeks who placed such importance on the god’s forenames (ie, phoebeus, acestor, age’tor, etc). 

"Though Apollo was the most Hellenic of all gods, he derived mostly from a type of god that originated in Anatolia and spread to Egypt by way of Syria and Palestine." (X)

There’s a couple of different things which point to Apollo being a Anatolian god (or being of, coming from him) named Appaliunas, and it is said they were on opposite sides of a war most beloved of their people during the fight. It’s important to note that it’s believed Appaliunas means “father light” and that he shows some level of importance over drafting peace treaties (which Apollo has some reputation in as the bringer of civilized order). We don't know too much about their connections however, because the documents are incomplete.

This theory also makes sense, because the name Leto (Apollo’s mother) is Lydian in origin, and there’s decent connections to her having been worshiped on the coast's of Asia Minor. And it is known the Greeks have adopted Anatolian gods into their religion before, see Cybele (sometimes called Cybele-Rhea), and the origin of Kore (later Persephone). There's stuff which points also to an Anatolian goddess called "Artimu" (Artemis) who is often confused to Cybele for some reason, and again this bears connections to the Lydians which worshipped Leto. There's information which points to Hekate being a goddess from Anatolia as well, which shows significance considering she is Apollo and Artemis's cousin (leading to my personal question of was Phoebe Anatolian in origin?). Apollo's divine number being 7 shows Babylonian or at least Mesopotamian Origin.

The Geographical location of these two places also bears similarities, they are close to one another, and it's known the Greeks had decent travel capabilities over water. There's also the fact that both of these lands border Troy, which is shown to have significant values in Greek culture and mythology, as well as the Greek belief that the Anatolian gods were present at Troy as well as the Greek gods.

(It's also notable the similarities in naming traditions, Alaksandu for one such example, does not sound too far off from the later Latin name Alexander, which came from the Greek name Aléxandros).

The other possible origin given for Apollo is Aplu (Apulu), a Hurrian god (of people who lived in Anatolia, Syria, and Northern Mesopotamia). Aplu and Apollo bear semblance to one another in more than name, Aplu was the god of plague (bringer of the plague more specifically) and he bears a large amount of resemblance to Apollo Parno'pius/Smitheus and Aplu's main story provides reasoning as to why Apollo may also be the god of healing and Medicine.

The story of Aplu involves the idea that the individual which brings the plague, must also be the one to banish it. This makes Aplu both bringer of plague(s) but also, protector from plague(s). From this we learn Aplu's name means "son of" (please note here Apollo's iconographic connections to "youth" and "sonship" among the Greeks, as the god of kouros), but the connection of "the son of" was a title granted also to the god Nergal (worshiped by many different people(s) across Mesopotamia) who is at least in part someone who holds power over the sun, and holds connection to Shamash (Utu).

Aplu is also often depicted naked (ya know) but wearing a laurel leaf, and part of a cloak... It's funny how these images are Apollo though:

Aplu is also symbolized by a staff and laurel a twig(s), while we know Apollo to be associated closely with the laurel because of Daphne, and Apollo having iconography related to staffs involves him giving his away to Hermes- which perhaps has to do with the caduceus being interpreted as the symbol for medicine, or the connection of Apollo to Asclepius and the rod of Asclepius.

Aplu isn't isolated necessarily either, there is also the Etruscan goddess Aritimi (Artume, Artames, or Artumes) and she oversees animals, human assemblies, and is considered a hunting deity. As well as scrolling through this list, you'll note more than one Greek/Roman mythological figure.

There's also a ton of stuff from Etruscan mythology (Hurrian mythology is just a subsect of Etruscan mythology) which overlaps with Greek mythology, some sources even state Etruscan -> Greek -> Roman mythology (I wont comment on that because I don't know well enough).

There's some other places Apollo's name might have come from, but those are probably the two most likely under the assumption that Apollo is a collective of many gods.

These are the specifics of the Anatolian god's Apollo may be born of/from, but there's a variety of things which point to him and mythology around him being of other origins as well (Minoan, Dorian, and Proto-Indo-European... yeah)

You may have heard one of Apollo's sacred animals is dolphins, Apollo Delphinios/Delphidios, this is because of a Minoan god named Paiawon (Paion) who was worshiped on Crete and also originated in Delphi. In the second part of Homeric hymn to Apollo, Apollo would transform his shape into that of a dolphin and carry the new priests to Delphi for the transfer of religious practices:

"Phoebus Apollo pondered in his heart what men he should bring in to be his ministers in sacrifice and to serve him in rocky Pytho. And while he considered this, he became aware of a swift ship upon the wine-like sea in which were many men and goodly, Cretans... Phoebus Apollo met them: in the open sea he sprang upon their swift ship, like a dolphin in shape, and lay there, a great and awesome monster, and none of them gave heed so as to understand but they sought to cast the dolphin overboard. But he kept shaking the black ship every way and making the timbers quiver. So they sat silent in their craft for fear, and... so they kept sailing on; for a rushing south wind hurried on the swift ship from behind... They wished to put their ship to shore, and land and comprehend the great marvel and see with their eyes whether the [dolphin] would remain upon the deck of the hollow ship, or spring back into the briny deep where fishes shoal. But the well-built ship would not obey the helm, but went on its way all along Peloponnesus and the lord, far-working Apollo, guided it easily with the breath of the breeze..." (X)

Apollo Delphinios was largely only worshiped by people of Crete and surrounding islands, but this is also largely where Paiawon was worshiped as well. There's also many things from early Grecian history which simply state Apollo to be Paiawon or of Paiawon, or at least doesn't bother to specify which god is being talked about.

In the earlier parts of Greek history, seventh-sixth century, there was distinctions made between the pair:

"and in Solon's opinion it is Apollo who makes a man a μάντις (soothsayer) but healers do the work of Paion" (X)

The whole thing with Apollo being descended from Paiawon however, is that Paiawon may not be Minoan but Mycenaean in origin, which means even if Apollo is originated in Minoan culture one of the gods who has influenced that origin wasn't even necessarily Minoan but taken in. Others believe Paiawon was Minoan or Aegean in origin but very far in the past, since his songs used a meter of pre-Greek origin.

You'll also not the commonalities between Paion (a spelling of Paiawon) and Paean (also spelled Paian), Apollo's original name according to Homer. It could mean a variety of things but "who heals illnesses through magic" and "pre-greek" are the most common translations of the word Paean, but it is also associated with music (most specifically a song sung by Thetlas who cured the Spartans) and is said to denote hymns for Apollo.

"PAEAN, that is, "the healing," is according to Homer the designation of the physician of the Olympian gods, who heals, for example, the wounded Ares and Hades. After the time of Homer and Hesiod, the word Paian becomes a surname of Asclepius, the god who had the power of healing. The name was, however, used also in the more general sense of deliverer from any evil or calamity, and was thus applied to Apollo and Thanatos, or Death, who are conceived as delivering men from the pains and sorrows of life... From Apollo himself the name Paean was transferred to the song dedicated to him, that is, to hymns chanted to Apollo for the purpose of averting an evil, and to warlike songs, which were sung before or during a battle." (X)

In regards to the possibility of Apollo having been of Minoan origin, one must consider not only his origins but the origins of the gods and goddesses around him and how they may have developed over time.

In this case Britomartis (Diktynna) is of particular interest, she was the Minoan "mistress of animals", she was a goddess (or sometimes nymph, or oread) of the mountains and the hunt. There's points to the name meaning "sweet maiden" or other similar things, but it is debatable.

Eventually Britomartis would become the goddess of nets in Hellenic myths, and would simply be closely identified with the goddess of Artemis. However, to the Minoans Britomartis wandered alongside a bow-wielding male hunter who's name has been lost, it is likely that aspects of this hunter were absorbed into Apollo; when the introduction of worshiping Artemis was brought to the island of Crete where Britomartis was also worshiped they were compared and quickly said to be of one another.

It is also said in some variations the myths of Britomartis that she was taken to the mainland in the nets of men after fleeing Minos, this seems like a euphemism for her as a goddess of worship being brought by fisherman to mainland and taken into their culture and worship, more so than it sounds like a goddess's story. Perhaps this led to her becoming Artemis, although most myths seem to agree Artemis gave Britomartis immortality... So who knows, but it's a point of particular interest for me.

Also I know I mentioned proto-indo-european origins for Apollo and I could analyze gods and goddesses relating to Apollo being a Minoan god like Aphaea, but I am not going to lie I am rather sick mostly of sourcing everything and I don't like to talk about stuff without stuff to back me up because I don't want to come across like I'm pulling information or ideas out of thin air because that's how misinformation spreads... But yeah, here's a somewhat simplified piece on Apollo's possible origins as a pre-Hellenistic god, and I hope you enjoy because I know you sent the ask a bit ago <3

[bbq-hawks-wings]

This is a formal letter to give you an excuse to confess to us all your Dad Jeanist hopes for the manga. (If you have any!)

Oh no! I suppose I have no choice but to word vomit now!

Instant Crediting/Discrediting of Hawks/Dabi respectfully.

I'm not sure how many people may have forgotten this detail in the manga, but it's possible no one in Jeanist's circle knows where he is right now. Not his sidekicks, and presumably not any friends, family or even among heroes in general (we'll get confirmation of this next chapter, I think); and that's very public knowledge.

That means that people will be reeling from Dabi's claim that Hawks killed him, and they'll be forced to believe it for a bit. However, once he does his dramatic hair-combing on national television people will immediately pay attention (and probably be terribly confused but also relieved) which will give him a chance to address the public calmly.

Jeanist's well-groomed public facing philosophy.

It's interesting that Jeanist seems to have a similar philosophy of managing public opinion by keeping an eye on trends in culture and counterculture and then presenting himself accordingly as Hawks does. He believes in maintaining a proper, put-together image for people to feel at ease; and the public is going to need that attitude - even if he winds up roughed up - to find a grip on reality again and move forward with a unified vision even when factions of opinion and allegiance inevitably splinter off.

And that brings me naturally to some interesting notes under:

Similar approaches to hero work between Hawks and Jeanist

Jeanist doesn't leave loose ends and won't waste an opportunity for excellence even in "mundane" matters. He isn't about glory or hard work as much as good work which is difficult to do consistently.

I find myself comparing this to Hawk's tendency to view every detail of his work as having potential, from making public appearances with Endeavor as an excuse for the Nomu fight to stealing the kids' save in their internship to give them an edge in the upcoming fight.

Jeanist is constantly vigilant. He's prepared to assess a situation quickly and act immediately because fractions of a second can be the difference between life and severe harm, if not death. This ends up being the thing to save the other heroes on the scene with AFO.

An emphasis on speed, precision, and quirk mastery over power. Jeanist's quirk is not necessarily inherently "hero material" until he puts his own creativity, experience, and training behind it - making the man more valuable than his quirk and hard training to achieve the heights he has is a must. He also won't back down even when he's outmatched as no smart effort is wasted effort in his eyes.

And finally there's this little interesting quirk that's blink and you'll miss it unless you take into account how many times it's brought up.

Character reformation. He takes a particular interest in wayward youth, apparently, and seeks to send them on the straight and narrow; but from what I understand of the original Japanese tone, this also applies to villains as per his conversation with Hawks in his home.

And that brings me finally to:

Speculations about Hawks and Jeanist's relationship

We know that Hawks and Jeanist are acquainted at least. It's unclear for how long, but they've been in close proximity on the billboard chart for presumably years. Any details past this are speculation, but depending on the history these two have it could be the main reason for Hawks to go to him for this covert operation and not just because BJ was the next biggest fish in the pond.

I also wonder on that note about reformation because it's possible Jeanist saw Hawks as fitting both the "wayward youth" and "villain" group in that Hawks saw himself as a villain (by proxy thanks to his father's sins) in need of reform through good deeds and thus took him under his own metaphorical wing. That is, of course, if BJ was ever actually privy to that highly privileged information.

(P.S. in light of the latest chapter development, I interpret this line "That's too bad" to be in reference to Jeanist's desire to be public facing so he can reform villains again, especially when coupled with the next page's thoughts from Hawks, "Don't let a man's resolve go to waste" meaning, "Don't let BJ's inability to come back be for nothing.")

Hopes for the future

Blah blah blah, talk to the public, quell panic, blah blah blah; but I also want to see how BJ specifically manages the heroes as well.

We don't know how many heroes knew what was going on with his disappearance. His return will likely come as just a shock for them as well. Depending on how long Hawks in unconscious, it'll be up to BJ to explain things, which will again be important to re-establish Hawk's credibility on their side as well.

I feel like he'll also take a special interest in helping oversee the kids as well, knowing that they'll be especially shaken and in need of a confident hand to guide them after this mess. Should this include Hawks, BJ will be in a position to help him rehabilitate his quirk or learn to function without his wings depending on where Horikoshi wants to go with the story.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO “Evidence.”

Still working on the trial arc, and sorry I am late in posting. I had to go to work at seven and am trying to write in between helping guests. 

CREDIT and a THANK YOU to one of my amazing discord community members Eddi, who has been working for the last few months on the audio visual and transcript logs seen here. I did not write them, Eddi wrote them an was kind enough to let me use them in this story. I loved it and thought it brought a lot of authenticity to the story by bringing in an outside voice. 

WARNING: GRAPHIC blood, gore, and bodily mutilation. The Steel eye project development is VERY horrible, so don’t read if that is something that bothers you. 

It was a beautiful day.

The sky was a bright eggshell blue stratified with only the occasional cirrus cloud highlighting the sky with a touch of distant white. The sun was bright though the temperature was moderate only in the mid eighties.

Swimmers could be seen as distant pinpoints of light and froth on the surface of lake Geneva. Voices echoed up from the city coerced mostly by the purring of hover-car engines.

Towering white buildings rose high into the sky adding height instead of width to a city that had not grown outside its own borders for the past thousand years other than to go up.

Itw as a more environmentally efficient way to build, and left the countryside untouched by the scars of infrastructure and humanity.

Adam stared out the window for a long moment wishing for the peaceful embrace of the skies and the roaring of a jet engine. A soft whimper at his leg, and he looked down to see Waffles sitting at his heel, her head tilted back to look up at him. WHen he didn’t immediately respond to her she whined again and scooted closer, her paws making soft clicking sounds on the wood flooring below.

Finally he reached down and scratched her behind the ears.

She could sense his agitation, and it was clear that she didn’t much like it.

He couldn’t blame her.

He didn’t like it either. He sighed and turned his head away from the do and he window, back to the mirror in front of which he now stood. He didn’t see himself.

The man in the mirror was tall, straight backed with sharply trimmed and styled hair, jaw squared and raised. Both eyes were green though one expanded and contracted like the appriture of a camera. The expression on the man’s face was stern and unyielding.

He looked…. Like his father.

He had never seen much of a resemblance between them, but now he could certainly see it.

It didn’t help that the stars on his uniform seemed to add an extra ten years to his age.

With a soft sigh, he pulled his captain’s cap down snuggly onto his head and whistled low for his dog.

She fell into a perfect heel at his side, and he clipped the leash onto her colla.

Her black service vest was strapped on tight with a pair of doggie saddlebags on either side carrying water bottles. Waffles always liked having a job to do, and a little extra work would help to keep her relaxed during the trial rather than antsy.

She was going to have to stay very still for a very long time for the next few days.

“Ready girl.”

Her tail thumped against the floor at his voice.

“At least that makes one of us.”

He transferred her elash to his left end, though he didn’t technically need it, and led her out of the bedroom and into the large living room. It was a lot of hotel room for just one man. He would have been fine enough with a double queen personally, but he supposed if the UNSC was paying there was no reason to argue otherwise.

It felt strange, going to a hotel on the UNSC’s Dime to testify against the UNSC in one of the biggest trials of the century.

His stomach churned.

Waffles nosed his hand.

Dr Krill floated down from his examination of the chandelier, “I admire human artistry, but pragmatism is still my preferred way of living.” he motioned around the room, “A bit opulent.”

Adam nodded his agreement, “You can say that again. I haven’t slept on a bed that big in my life.” In all honesty, he was trying to keep his mind off of what was to come. He didn’t really care about the bed and certainly didn’t know if he had ever slept in a bed that large.

He sort of doubted it, he was in the UNSC after all.

A knock came on the door and he turned reaching for the handle and pulling it open. The driver from yesterday was waiting for him, his suit pristine. He bowed slightly, “The car is waiting for you, sir.”

He nodded, and motioned the other man to lead the way.

The man nodded and thanked him, stepping down the hall and leading them down into the lobby. They got a lot of looks as they made their way down, most likely because of krill, though his uniform might have caught some attention.

He was led out towards the car and slid into the back seat, suddenly surprised to find that he wasn’t alone.

“Admiral Kelly!”

“Good morning, Adam.”

“What are you doing here.”

“I am here to witness the trial. UNSC representatives thought it would be best if some of the newer brass came to oversee proceedings.”

He quickly looked out the window, suddenly remembering which side of the conflict this was on.

A hand rested on his arm, “I’m not here to make you feel bad about your decision, Admiral. You’re doing what needs to be done.”

He sighed and nodded, “I… thank you ma’am.”

“You sure this is something you are ready for.”

He paused and then shook his head, “No… I’m not ready, and I never will be.” She went to open her mouth but he stopped her, “But I’m the only one we have, so I will do what it takes.”

The car went silent as it slowly accelerated into the early morning traffic.

It was going to be a very long day.

Admiral Kelly turned to look at Krill speaking with him quietly while Adam looked out the window.

He wasn’t in the mood for talking right now though he knew how odd that was.

His stomach continued to churn as they drove through the streets heading towards the outskirts of the city where the Geneva court had been built just over 200 years ago.

The last buildings on the outskirts of town  went by and their first view of the court appeared in the car window. It was made in the classic greco-roman style with large white pillars and sloped rooftop and carvings on the top that depicted all the deities of justice ever conceived by historial religion, all cast and depicted in marble.

The thoroughfare up to the building was long and wide with a decorative reflecting pool at the center and a set of daunting steps leading up to the ornate front doors.

The grounds were meticulously kept with hedges shrub and flowering bushes, with what must have been miles and miles of water features and fountains off to the side.

It was a beautiful location, and it seemed that visitors found it a nice spot to rest while they enjoyed touring the sites.

He didn’t see much in the beauty today.

This was the UN supreme court, and the history of Geneva made this place hallowed in ways that made the court case for today all the more poignant.

The car pulled to a stop before the doors and a few gloved attendants stepped forward sharply dressed and opened the doors with almost militaristic precision as Admiral Vir and Admiral Kelly stepped out.

Waffles followed at his heels

He knew as soon as he stepped onto the marble steps that he wanted to leave, an the only thing that kept him there was the memory of those faces…. All the people counting on him back at the house, all the people who had never been given a chance to recover like he had.

He took a deep breath and ford himself up the steps and towards the front doos where a group of people were already congregating.

There were a few reporters there, without cameras, waiting to attend in the audience and record the proceedings for their news stories and daytime television. A few of them snapped discrete photos of him as he passed and was led through the wide double doors into the expansive inner hallway with a beautifully muraled ceiling and a line of decorative plants down the side.

Voices echoed inside the building, rising up around him to bounce off the marble.

The voices themselves were indistinct and difficult to understand as he made his way further into the room.

Men in suits lined the walls.

He eyed them critically wondering if any of them happened to be the defence.

A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he quickly turned to eye another attendant, who had evidently been trying to get his attention, “Right this way sir.”

He nodded and was led through the halls and into a nearby antichamber.

A wand was passed over his body.

“Please hold out your arm , sir.”

He did as ordered and watched as his forearm implant was temporarily deactivated. 

“The room is completely radio proof, sir. No signals go in or out. If you must make a call, I urge you to take it during the court recess.”

“Understood.”

“Please step inside and sit on the second row on the right side behind the prosecution.

He did as ordered, and stepped into another wide curving room.

It was much bigger than he would have thought, two stories high with amphitheater seats, and a massive curving desk at the front where nine Geneva court judges would be seated on their entrance.

There was no jury.

The Geneva court judges would be the jury for trial at this time.

Law practices had changed a lot since world war III but there was still some semblance of the old ways that still lingered on.

He took his seat, waffles grumbling softly as he slid onto the ground beside him.

Two people in suits followed him inside one in a dark blue suit and brown shoes, the other in pinstriped balck.

The one in blue was a woman, dressed sharply, her hair pulled back into a bun so tight you could have strummed out a tune on the hairs. She paused next to Adam and held out a hand, “Admiral Vir, we spoke over the phone.”

“Ms. Trevor.”

She nodded and motioned to the man, “And my partner Mr. Jackson. I trust you understand your purpose here today?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Jackson lifted his head, “Our case here is solid, admiral. This case isn’t about who is going to be punished for what happened, but about how long they will be punished, not to mention it is likely to set up some new legislation for the ethical creation and use of military hardware. Once we are done, something like this is unlikely to ever happen again.”

He wasn’t entirely sure he believed that, but he nodded and let them take their seats in the desk before him.

Waffles whimpered and prodded at his hands with her nose.

He stroked a hand over her big pointed ears.

The courtroom filled up within the next hour, and, Looking across the room, he saw a line of men and women sitting on the second row of the defence. Something about them put him on edge.

He had a feeling they were the scientists.

They were the ones who had developed the steel eye armor.

“All rise! For the honorable Geneva court judges!”

The entire room took to their feet as the nine judges filed out of a back chamber and stepped onto the floor. All of them wore traditional black robes with white collars as had been tradition for nearly thousand of years. They took their seats with a mass shuffling.

“Please be seated.”

The room shuffled back into place.

The head judge,at the center of the table leaned forward.

“On this day June 24, 4024 we open the Geneva Court case of The People VS UNSC Biomechanics Division. the court will begin by hearing opening statements from the council.”

Council for the prosecution stood, shuffling her papers once before stepping up to the lectern.

“Honorable judges and members of the court, today we are here to present evidence against a faction of the UNSC scientific division for gross ethical violations, torture, and pruposeful endangerment of human life. Evidence suggests over 29 killed, over 21 critically injured, maimed, or permanently crippled, and over 61 with lasting mental trauma. This is not counting over 50 Steel eye soldiers coerced without prior knowledge, into participation in the program, 30 of which are now deceased 15 of which have lasting mental trauma, and five that, while functional, still feel the effects today. Today we will be presenting, written documents, video recordings, and audio files from prior testing as well as first hand witnesses of both the testing and the war as well as expert witness from the scientist who read and compiled the files before trial. What was done to these men and women constitute as war crimes and their victims deserve compensation and closure for what was done to them.”

She stepped back from the podium and nodded.

The defence stood and made their way to the podium in turn, “Your honors, and members of the court, while it is true that some unfortunate incidents happened during testing and development of the steel eye project, there is ample evidence to prove that none of these men or women were coerced against their will into participation. All subjects were volunteer and duly informed before proceedings began. Furthermore, scientific ethics had not advanced far enough at the time to cover weather or not what they were doing was an ethical violation. The Defence is not asking for complete vindication for the accused, but the sum of what happens is surely less than war crimes.” 

They took their seat.

Adam wasn’t a lawyer, but he knew which opening statement he liked more. Now maybe he was biased, but certainly he felt that one presented greater amounts of evidence than the other. Of course it was up to the prosecution to show evidence that would convince the judges, beyond a reasonable doubt, that these men and women were guilty.

He listened to some more speaking, half falling asleep and assuming maybe this would be as bad as he thought it would when one of the prosecution stepped back up to the podium.

“The prosecution presents time stamped dated and logged evidence to the court for consideration. The first testing log we wish to present is from the eighteenth of October 4016 and overseen by Dr. Tato Nkosi written as log number 23.” 

Experimental Log #023:

So far we have not experimented with a human subject, All the sample tests and simulations indicate that there should be no interference with normal function nor create any feedback loops that could induce seizures. This is the first human testing that we will be doing. We have noticed that the animal testing resulted in significant irritation and irrational behavour from the subjects, We however suspect this was because they were unawares of the reason for the implantations.

The subject is unconscious for the process of implantation to prevent movement. 

-recording break-

The subject reacted violently to the implant, removing it in a highly violent manner while screaming and trying to injure any nearby scientists. We expected some level of resistance, but this indicates far more sensitivity than expected. Further testing will be required.

“The council for the prosecution wishes to present the audio/visual log.” A light flickers on as a video clip begins reeling.

Audiovisual Log Transcript:

The subject wakes suddenly, seeming to be woken by extreme pain. Screaming almost instantly and scrabbling at implant on their hand and wrist. Subject seems to be attempting to remove the implant. One of the scientists attempts to calm the subject only to be beaten by the subject who continues screaming. The scientist retreats from the subject just as the subject finally removes the test implant by ripping it from the subjects skin, tearing with it the subjects local nervous system along with large sections of the subjects musculature and ligaments. Seeming relieved at the lack of contact with the implant, the subject sinks to its knees. The subject is losing significant amount of blood, though we suspect the subject is unaware of this as large sections of the nervous system is still attached to the implant. The subject appears to be in shock as it observes its ruined lower arm and hand. The subject has resumed screaming and is now trying to get the scientists attention to fix its ruined lower arm and hand. The subject is sedated and arm treated. The recording ends here. 

Adam throws a hand up over his face feeling bile rise into his mouth at the image seared into his brain. Muscle and ligament dangling uselessly against a steel eye prototype. He felt a bit lightheaded but takes a deep breath in and out to calm his breathing. All around the room there are gasps of shock and disgust. A few people stand to leave the room unable to witness any more.”

The council steps forward, “This was the first log in a recorded series of proceeding logs with similar effects. We know in experimentation that accidents happen all the time, and we might have considered forgiveness if the experimentation had stopped here. Clearly implementation on human test subjects was not ready, as evidenced by the animal’s discomfort. Perhaps if they had stopped here, some measure of understanding might have been allowed. But they continued past this point with full knowledge that this sort of catastrophic event could happen. This test subject will never regain full use of his hand. Instead of stopping the experiment like hey should, the scientists determined that the use of painkillers was in order to make the subject operational. For this the prosecution calls expert witness Dr. Alexander Gladstone to the witness stand.”

On the bench to his side, a man stands slicking back his salt and pepper hair as he moves to sit in the witness stand and is sworn in.

“Dr. Gladstone, tell us a little of your credentials.”

“Of course, I received my PHD in Biomechanical interface and Engineering as well as an additional PHD in Mechanised robotics. I have worked as the head scientist for the UNSC testing division for nearly five years now after my predecessor quit. I helped to re-engineer this project under Iron eye as a step forward from the Steel eye project in a more controlled and ethical environment. I am also the scientists who reviewed these logs and compiled them for analysis today.”

“Thank you Dr. Now, may I ask why these scientists would have chosen to implement a drug dosage?”

“To understand why they had to do this, you must also understand the steel eye project itself. Steel eye was designed to enhance the strength, speed and durability of the wearer. We already have exo suits designed for use in factory and industrial settings, however the main issue we run into in a combat setting is that the machine responds too slow. The nodes detect electrical impulses from the muscles and then have to fire following that meaning the subject has already begun moving almost seconds in advance of the machine. Steel eye was created to integrate the machine directly into the body to intercept nerve impulses before the muscles even fire, thus making the wearer faster, and the augment making them stronger. To do this you have to make a direct interface with the nervous system. They first implemented small microfivers which would wrap themselves around the nerves in question to detect electrical signals. These were designed to cluster primarily along the spine but have additional nodes in the major muscle groups. However, direct stimulation of a nerve or nerve cluster sends signals to the brai nthat are interpreted as…. Unbelievable agony, which is likely the agitation that they were seeing in the animal test subjects. However, with a high enough drug dosage, you can mitigate these effects, or distract the brain enough to keep the wearer functional for some time.”

He sat back in his seat.

“And in iron eye, how did you get around this problem?”

“Subdermal implants that do not require direct contact with the nerve endings themselves.”

“And does Iron eye cause any significant damage to the wearer?”

“No sir, the only danger is an infection of the implants, but that is with almost any implanted medical devise.”

“The subjects have no pain.”

“A general soreness that goes away within two to three days.”

“So in my understanding it is clear that there were alternatives to their original course of action. They could have pulled back and tried to implement a way to mitigate the pain rather than mask it with drug dosages?”

“Certainly.”

“But that isn’t what they did.”

“No.”

“The prosecution presents Transcript 27 to the court for viewing.” 

Experimental log #27:

We have begun testing various drugs to suppress the pain, this test is with acetaminophen, commonly referred to as Codeine. 

As per usual the subject was implanted while unconscious and atop this it was given a high dose of codeine prior to it awaking. 

-recording break-

It appears that while the subject was capable of withstanding the pain from the implant for a longer period of time than our previous subjects However the subject clearly seemed to suffer increasing mental instability as the sensations returned, culminating in the subject violently trying to destroy the implant. Learning from prior experiments and in an attempt to reduce harm to the scientists, the subject was left alone while it was in this state and no attempt was made to aid the subject.

Adam turned his head away unable to stomach what was coming next. His hands were sweating terribly. He felt cold and weak. He had seen horrible things in war and in his time, but watching this… .watching steel eye. It was just too much.

His mouth had gone dry, and his skin was hot as if he had a fever.

The dog nosed his hand but he barely acknowledged her.

Audio-visual log transcript:

The transcript begins once the Codeine begins to wear off. 

The subject begins by itching at the area around the implant, the reaction is far less violent than the prior subjects. After several minutes of ever more irritated scratching and aggressive tugging at the implant and plaintive noises the subject began to violently bash the implant against the wall. Growing ever more violent with the abuse of the implant. This continues till the test implant is mangled and ruined with the subject pulling the mangled chunks of metal off their skin, this however seems not to alleviate the subjects pain and irritation. This is likely due to the destruction of the implant not removing the interfacing needles The subject continued to scratch and pull at its skin, the plaintive noises slowly becoming screams of pain. This action continued without interruption from the scientists till the subject had torn most of the skin of its arm and taken chunks out of its musculature, the subject finally passed out from pain or blood loss after several minutes of self mutilation. 

The room spun around him, and he took a few long, deep breaths hoping that it would stop.

He wast sure he could survive another few hours of this.

He wasn’t sure at all 

[spield]

journey to i - kakasaku

Author’s Notes: This has been in my google docs for so long, I’ve forgotten all about it. I low-key panicked when I couldn’t find it my files hahaha. But here it is. Not much romance, but more of... hmm, you tell me what you think it is in your comments! ;) 

Disclaimer: As I’ve said before, sometimes I just write to get things out THEN edit it after. This is the case for this one. Will probably edit this soon though! 

In the end, when Sasuke asks, Sakura says no. 

She takes his lone hand, kisses his palm and whispers why she can’t. 

Sasuke doesn’t understand but he sees the longing in her green eyes, and ah, that he understands. So he pokes her forehead, just above her seal, and hopes they meet on the road and promises a cup of tea. 

She doesn’t linger to watch him leave. Instead, the moment he turns his back, she turns hers too. One feet in front of the other, she walks through the paths of her village, through the market and takes a few turns and goes inside the Hokage tower. 

In less than an hour, Sakura files her indefinite leave with a promise to assist, help and support members of the Shinobi Alliance on her way but with no promise when she’ll come back.

Kakashi is outside when she steps out, no signs of his hat and coat but with his trademark slouch present. He must’ve jumped through the window, Sakura thinks amusedly. Somehow, even through everything, under the fading light, he still looks untouchable. Perhaps, especially now. “You going somewhere?” 

“You just approved my papers.” Sakura smiles, waving the scroll in front of him. “You know where I’m going.” 

Kakashi’s dark eyes - eyes, how odd - are unreadable as he says, “No. No, I don’t.” 

There’s much left to say, but years of cowardice and hiding are not easy habits to break. So Sakura heads home, and is gone before the sunrise. 

At the end of it all, Sakura goes on a journey to retrace her own family’s history. Beyond Konoha, beyond the Land of Fire and beyond the world of the shinobi. 

Because before Sakura was the Fifth’s Apprentice, before she was The Scorpion Killer and way before she was the leftovers of an old genin team, Sakura was a Haruno. 

And all Haruno go back to the sea. 

She left Konoha with just one bag filled with colorful clothes that she never got to wear. Clothes that her mother and father gifted her year after year, holiday after holiday, even when she couldn’t wear them. Not in the village of leaves, not when they smell of the sea even if they’ve never touched it. 

So, Haruno Sakura goes home. 

This is what Sakura tells the Godaime, the Rokudaime and anyone who asks. 

(This is what she tells herself, however, in the end, it’s still heartbreak that leads her away from Konoha. When she meets Sasuke for tea, she hopes they could talk about how Konoha broke their hearts in the way it never did to Naruto.)

All questions are quelled by a calling, by the vast distance, beyond the greens of different trees and blues of different seas tug at her heartstrings, whispering, “Darling, our darling, let us hold you.” 

Sakura circumnavigates the world and through her journey, she meets a monk, a lover and a heathen.

Suna is not known for their religious beliefs. From what she’d gathered throughout her years of friendship with Kankuro, they were pretty lenient to whatever gods their shinobi choose to worship. 

“Maybe, you know, except for another Rabbit Goddess,” Kankuro backtracked, fingers uncoordinated and stiff from fighting, trying to balance a sake cup. It was the first time they’ve seen each other after the war, on the tails still of victory and defeat. High off it. “Yup, maybe not another Rabbit Goddess, maybe not Jashin either - everything else, fair game.”

“Faith is an interesting reprieve from the terrors of life.” Gaara said, righting his brother up with his sand. His teal eyes are fond and warm, and new. His gourd is nowhere to be seen and he looks so young for a man who led their army.  “We let people have their gods.” 

Suna is not known for their religious beliefs, or rather, they’re known for not being known for it but still, it’s where Sakura meets the monk. 

Suna welcomes her with open arms because the sands may be forever shifting, but it never forgets. It remembers her as that 15 year old prodigy who saved their Kazekage’s brother, that 19, 20 and 21 year old who performed miracles in the battlefield with eyes fierce and elbows deep in people’s guts. Suna loves her for what she represents - grit, dirt and kindness honed by the cruelty of the world. 

(Abandoned. That’s what Suna and Sakura had in common.)

Sometimes, Sakura wishes she could see what they see too. 

Now, she’s 23 years old. Two years after the war and she’s still so tired. 

In Suna, she’s given free reign of the hospital. Overseeing their developments in prosthesis, their puppet corps turned into experts of the field. She supposes Sasori would be rolling in his grave at the thought of how his notes revolutionized the entire field of artificial limbs - if he had a grave that is. 

(Sasori was a brilliant man. Mad, yes, but brilliant - and aren’t the brilliant ones always are?)

When Sakura lessens her healing and caseload citing more hands-on training for the Suna medics, Gaara doesn’t ask. She’s still brilliant with her lectures and demonstration and nobody dares to question the greatest healer of the nations. 

It is on the first day of her sixth month when she sees the monk. There’s some sort of blessing ceremony to be done to the new ward of the hospital. The Kazekage’s invited the religious leaders of Suna to bless the place. 

Several came, all with different garments and different rituals. One came with water from a blessed oasis, all barefooted and with hair reaching up to the backs of their knees. They spoke a language she’s never heard, words running over like water over rocks in a bubbling stream. Another came in traditional Suna garments, and sprinkled sand over the white tiles of the new ward - under the setting sun, it looked like fairy dust and gold. 

Many came and went, but one remained still at the outskirts of the crowd, quiet and familiar.

“It’s the first time he’s gone out in public since Chiyo-baa-sama’s death,” Kankuro shrugged when Sakura asked. “He’s kind of particular and all that.” 

It isn’t until the sun dips down the horizon that the monk steps forward. At this point there aren’t anyone left but Gaara and Sakura but nevertheless, they receive no acknowledgement from the stooping man. 

He’s quiet, as he bleeds his chakra to the floor and down every grain of sand in the ward. It always amazes Sakura how chakra lives in non-combatants - a proof that it exists beyond duty. And proof that it can, perhaps, one day exist only for beauty. 

“Do you think he takes confessions?” Sakura whispers. Gaara’s lips quirk upwards, knowing that she knows the difference between a priest and a monk and yet indulges her. “Perhaps. If he does, let me know.”  They’ve all got sins to unload, Sakura muses. And yet, despite being weighed down by all the choices she’s made and been forced to make, it’s not what spills from her mouth when she finds the monk a week after. 

Or rather, he finds her. Coughing, old and sitting on her table. 

There’s something about him, lungs barely holding on and yet still at peace, old age running lines on his face that had her saying, confessing - “I believe I am lost.” 

The monk pauses, eyes torn away from the window and gravitating towards her face. Sakura doesn’t expect a response, after all, he hasn’t said a word to anyone for years. But, he shakes his naked head and offers her a smile, “Nothing is ever really lost.”

That night, she receives a missive from Konoha, like she’s been receiving for the past eleven months but this time, there are two of them. One is a response to the report she wrote about the progress of her study in prosthetics and the other, the other smelling of home and written in a piece of old weathered paper. It almost makes her smile.  Mr. Ukki misses you. 

Sakura doesn’t stay long after that. She fears that if she stays so near to home, its voice will overpower her roots’, and the sea has been waiting for her since she was born. 

She bids Suna goodbye after a year of staying within its walls. She hugs Kankuro tightly, hold Temari’s hand and kisses Gaara’s cheek. 

The Kazekage blushes underneath his hat and Kankuro jibes, “Well, if this is what farewell feels like, then you should say goodbye more often.” 

For months, Sakura moves from town to town, village to village. Occasionally receiving scrolls from Konoha, asking her to lend assistance to a new ally or an old enemy.

It’s funny, how a great military power apologizes for its sins. Never acknowledging it, never calling it reparations, preferring the term “aid” when it only ever is leverage. 

How odd. 

How hypocritical. 

(Sometimes, Sakura wonders if Uchiha Itachi was truly a loyal ninja of Konoha or if he was yet just another blinded soldier searching for idealism in a corrupted system. Was he a victim, truly? A hero? A martyr? To what end? For whom?) 

In her bones, Sakura feels time slipping faster and faster, and despite these emerging thoughts, she wonders if spring has begun in Konoha. 

She claims her free tea from Sasuke at a small town on the border of Iwakagure and Takigakure, almost half a year after she left Suna - two years into her journey. 

“You need a haircut, Sasuke-kun.” Sakura greets and watches in satisfaction as the hobo-looking man looks up to her as she sits in front of him. His hair has grown longer, covering part of his face, finally succumbing to gravity and bidding the duck-butt style goodbye. 

“Sakura.”

There’s something in the way Sasuke speaks her name. When they were kids, it’s always with dismissal and when they went on, it’s with a tone of chained fondness. During the war, it’s with disdain turned acknowledgement. 

When they were in Konoha, Sakura could swear that she could hear pride in Sasuke’s voice, hidden behind the syllables of her name. 

Here, he calls her with surprise melting into relief. Perhaps, being alone has taken a toll to her wayward teammate. 

(Here’s the difference between the two: Sasuke is looking and running from something, Sakura knows where she’s going. Whether or not she’s running or looking too is irrelevant.) (Kind of.)

“Hey, Sasuke-kun.” Sakura smiles and waves a waitress down, “Fancy a cup of tea with me?” 

Sasuke nods, his lips tugging upward. His dark eyes linger on the spider silk strands of her hair against the orange setting sun.  Her hair’s grown longer, almost as long as when they were genin. 

For a short moment, he’s filled with dread, struggling to remember what young Sakura looked like. He’s starting to forget, perhaps, and it is both a blessing and a punishment. 

The shadows shift and stretch under the guidance of the setting sun, and they exchange stories of the road until the moon nudges the sun to rest. 

It’s funny how easy they fall into bed together, right after tea. 

Sakura’s childhood dreams featured more of a courtship, a promise and a marriage. Teenage Sakura’s fantasy featured more heated kisses, a fight and a leveling of a forest in rage turned lust. 

But this, this is so much better. 

Sasuke touches her with surprising gentleness and want, after they trip their way to his accommodations. There’s a softness in the firm kisses of his mouth, a tremble playing at the edge of his fingertips. It’s not a battle, or a dance but rather an introduction. A hello followed by oh... gods, yes, there -- 

Sasuke makes it good, despite only having one arm, it must be an Uchiha thing to be so good at everything, Sakura thinks as she lay beside her former team mate. 

In a different life, perhaps, she would’ve married Sasuke, she thinks as she watches his lashes flutter as he sleeps. Perhaps, she would’ve give him a child, a girl with his eyes and her hair. A pink-haired Uchiha. But this is not that lifetime. 

Instead, Sakura meets Sasuke again - or perhaps for the very first time - as a lover. Washed anew by his journey, Sakura gets to know her former teammate as a man who can reel out moans and gasps from her, who can, after they decided to travel together for a while, and will start a fire to keep her warm and will tease her about her love affair when he reads Kakashi’s letter over her shoulder.  “Was he the reason why you didn’t come with me?” Sasuke asks. They’re in the Land of Snow, farther from where Sakura really aims to go, but she’s got time to spare and Sasuke might actually be killed by the Raikage if he’s found shuffling around near their country without an escort.  Sakura glances at the words written on the wrinkled parchment (Naruto’s taking classes with Shikamaru. Lots of reading for him to do. He tried using Kage Bunshin to study and knocked himself out. Time is of the essence, he said, and I agree.) and pinches that flicker of hope budding in her chest. 

She shrugs at Sasuke’s question, “I think... I think I wouldn’t have gone with you even without him in the picture.”  Something sad flickers in Sasuke’s eyes before it’s gone, “And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are.” 

In the frigid cold of the snow, Sasuke moves against Sakura as an apology and a goodbye. It’s more than comrades sharing warmth but less than lovers making love. At the back of Sakura’s mind, she wonders if Kakashi knows - if he’s angry or if, like always, he understands.  (She misses him, even when they’ve never had each other like this. But the intimacy of sex is trumped by the intimacy in battle, in handling each other with precious care, scars and blood be damned. It is an intimacy borne of desperation, fostered by respect, watered with fondness -- and killed out of love. She misses him, but time is of the essence.) 

Sasuke and Sakura split up at the outskirts of the Land of Stone at the start of her third year of travelling. He went East, she went West and that was that. A few days in, Sakura enters Asakura.  Asakura is the city of heathens - prostitutions, gambling, and underground dealing. It’s the city of sin, which means, it’s also the land of base instincts and humanity stripped to its bare bones. 

It seems like a city just right up her shishou’s alley. Sakura only had to follow the sounds of bellowing, of bodies of men flying out of tavern, and murmurs about a (beautiful but) crazy bitch burning through her own money to find Tsunade. 

News of another jinchuuriki kage reaches her ears too, but she brushes it away.  It’s been three years since she last saw her shishou and in the dim lights of the tavern, she’s glad to see her as youthful as ever, and tries to erase the image of her wan, old, and dying. 

It is only after Tsunade wins that Sakura approaches with a bottle of sake on hand. 

Glancing down at the large money of pot she just won, Tsunade’s heart pounds hard looking at the girl she broke and trained and broke again until she remade herself - her daughter in all but name - and chokes, joking, “Are you dying?”

When her girl smiles, all calm and accepting, and raises a bottle of the most expensive sake Tsunade ever tasted, something inside the old Senju crumbles.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Oh Sakura, what have you done?”

Tsunade’s hands are shaking, the fading glow of her uselessness mocking her in the darkness of Sakura’s rented room. 

“Everything, shishou. I’ve done everything. I’ve read every book, prayed to every god--”

“God? What good is a god?”  

Initially, Tsunade refuses to let her go. Forces Sakura to stay put with the same glint in her eyes when she taught the kid how to dodge, but it seemed the Slug Princess taught her too well. 

Because after the barbs, sarcasm and nights of getting way too drunk off the pots of money Tsunade continues to win, Sakura says goodbye. 

And Tsunade, not as bitter as she would’ve been, lets her go, and curses the gods for not taking her instead - because hasn’t she witnessed to many deaths already? 

It’s at the fourth year of her journey does Sakura finally lays her eyes on the blue of seas at the border of the old Whirlpool lands. The calling is silent now that she’s come. 

She sheds her old life -  her headband, her gloves and her boots and brings out the vibrantly colored fabrics from her parents. It’s silk against her pinkened skin, and the sand is warm against her feet. 

It feels like a hug and a song of - “Darling, our darling, let us hold you.”

Kakashi writes to her and Sakura doesn’t answer with a letter of her own. 

Instead, she sends Kakashi eel that she herself smoked, a small vial of pink sand and a kiss on a card.

That night, she dances under the moonlight like a flickering moth around the pyre she built. 

The oceans sings for her and she is home. 

After that, there’s no more letters from Konoha. 

In the middle of the fourth year of her journey and the year mark of her semi-permanent residence by the seas at the border of the old Whirlpool lands, Ino visits her. Ino, with her platinum blond hair arrives, still beautiful even with sweat dripping off her.

It takes three days of sunbathing, flower weaving and rebuilding of an old friendship before Ino asks her to come home.

“Haven’t you been away for far too long?” Ino asks, quiet and grown. The days of high-pitch screams and name-calling seems so far away from this little shack by the sea, in this little life her best friend built for herself. 

They’ve spoken of their friends - Naruto’s marriage, Shikamaru’s courtship fo Temari, Ino’s love with Sai and they laughed like bells but Ino didn’t find an ounce of longing in her friend’s eyes, and she already knew she has lost. 

Sakura looks to the shore, there’s a storm coming and hums, “Perhaps.” 

The last letter she receives from Konoha is not a letter at all.

It’s a missive, an invitation - for the Rokudaime’s retirement and the Nanadaime’s ascension.

“God? What good is a god?” 

Who knows? For believers, gods are good for much but--

Because Sakura is not a reincarnation of a god, when she touched Kaguya with her fist glowing green and blue, Sakura touched something not human.

And it touched her back. 

A year into the peace, it rooted deep inside her bones, a poison of the gods against humans brave and stupid enough to lay hands on them. 

It doesn’t take long for Sakura to understand her predicament. She was rotting inside out. Her chakra is poisoning her organs, taking bits off her little by little and so she left Konoha. In leaving, she left what was blossoming between her and Kakashi too in hopes that perhaps she could spare him from this pain.  

But also, she left for this: the sea, the calling and the sand under her feet, and the presence drawing near. 

On the last day of her journey, five years after she left, with her life force draining and yet stretching still - holding on, waiting, the Rokudaime, Kakashi, the man of a thousand jutsu, her lover, her love - arrives on the shores of this little island west of Whirlpool. 

He is older, of course he is. But still, Sakura runs towards him and he, mask pulled down, feet bare and eyes warm - finally free-, takes the last step and meets her halfway. (There’s still much left to say, but they’ve had years of dealing with cowardice and hiding that they’re laughingly easy habits to break.) 

[hankwritten]

Immaterial Witness

Demoman/Soldier, 5k

Request for r2mich2, Ghosthunting

Demo was less than thrilled about being selected for mandatory company ghost-busting work. His enthusiasm dropped even lower when he saw who’d be accompanying him.

“You!” he exclaimed.

“You!” Soldier replied. “Except with a different inflection! To indicate I am also not happy to see you!”

“Bloody hell,” Demo groaned as the looked at the man before him. “Jesus of all the BLU’s she could have picked for a ‘cross team eradication venture’, and she went with you.”

“I didn’t agree to this either, maggot,” Soldier assured him. “I am under orders not to strangle any REDs until this mission is complete, but my tractability will be put to the test if said RED is such a weakling and liar.”

“For the last time, I never called you a-”

“And what about all the things you did say, you son of a bitch?”

Demo scowled, not looking forward to going through the same recycled arguments over again. She had some nerve putting the two of them together after what she’d put them through; complete and total destruction of a friendship, and for what? Just to decide TF Industries was going to be managing both teams a few months later? It was a load of crap if Demo ever heard it.

“What are you even wearing?” he scoffed at Soldier’s new uniform.

“This is regulation specter pummeling gear, you sissified maggot scum!” Soldier puffed up proudly. Gone was the red jacket and fatigues, instead superseded by a singular beige jumpsuit.

“And what’s that?” Demo pointed to the canister vacuum strapped to his back. No bells, no whistles, just a regular old vacuum with a flexible nozzle.

“Ghost sucker,” Soldier said plainly.

“Right. Obviously.”

“Well what did you bring RED?” Soldier accused. “These ghosts are going lift you up by your frilly little underthings and fling you right out the door if you do not have anything to protect yourself from their disembodied maliciousness!”

“I,” Demo said, flexing his fist, “have this.”

Engineer had built it with such efficiency, Demo was sure he’d made the blueprints years ago and was just waiting for someone to ask for a ghost-capturing device. The device’s visual design was similar to that of the gunslinger, but instead of a limb replacement, it functioned more like power armor, cradling the outside of the wearer’s hand and increasing their grip tenfold.

“This ‘lil beauty has everything,” Demo continued haughtily. “EKG readings, built in spooktralizer, and-” He pulled back his fingers, activating the now-glowing disk in the center of his palm. “Anti-gravity net. No spirit’s going to escape this vortex, which is a good thing because you can’t suck up a ghost with a vacuum cleaner.”

“Shows how much you know, buster,” Soldier said. “All those doodads won’t do jack when you are staring into the blood-red eyes of a flesh-hungry phantom—these are creatures of the other side! Of the great beyond! They do not care about technology.”

“Oh aye?” Despite himself, Demo got right into Soldier’s face. “We’ll se about that when my power glove’s saving your sorry arse from having spectral boot shoved up it.”

“I will take that bet, princess,” Soldier spat back.

“Uuhhhhhhhhhhgggggggggg,” a new voice cut into the conversation. “If I have to sit through another one of your lover’s spats I’m going to kill myself. Again.”

Soldier’s eyes narrowed, fixating on something over Demo’s shoulder. “Oh great. The sword is here.”

“Yes! The sword is here!” the Eyelander chirped sarcastically. “And since I’m bloody gracing you with my company, you can do me a favor and get on with this thing. We’ve been standing out here for ten minutes.”

“It’s right,” Demo admitted as Soldier continued to stare daggers at the weapon strapped to his back. “Let’s head in.”

Demo didn’t wait to see if Soldier followed him as he took his first creaking step onto the house’s porch; by company orders, they were stuck together for now, no matter how much bad blood ran between them.

“So why are we clearing this place of ghosts anyway?” Eyelander asked as Demo pushed in the front door. The doubles groaned with an appropriate level of eeriness.

“The Voice’s orders,” he shrugged. “She wants this for a new battleground, but she wants it ghost free. Apparently there’ve been too many complaints about the past few Halloweens for her liking.”

“Really?” Eyelander said aghast. “Who doesn’t like Halloween?”

“Eh. Some of the mercs think it’s too random. Chaotic, hard to focus on what’s going on. They don’t like all the candy packs and the fact that idiot in a robe shows up and turns a ten minute match into a thirty minute nightmare.” At the last, he eyed Soldier over his shoulder.

“Do not look at me!” Soldier barked. “That isn’t my fault!”

“Yes it is! Last time he even said ‘SOLDIER THIS IS YOUR FAULT!’ as he was dropping bombs on our heads!”

“Well I am not the only causer-of-halloween-related-problems in this company,” Soldier said, jogging to get ahead of Demo to block his path. “The giant floating eyeball with red wig and child-sized overalls certainly wasn’t mine.”

Demo rubbed his face. “Jesus, just forget it. The only reason we have to tolerate each other is because there’s some soul with soon-to-be-finished business lurking around here, and we picked the short straw. So let’s find whatever apparition, spirit, or poltergeist is squatting in this dump and get out of each other’s hair.”

About to offer some stupid retort, Soldier was abruptly cut off as Eyelander yelped, “w-wait! Poltergeists?? You didn’t say anything about those arseholes!”

Demo and Soldier exchanged a look.

Soldier leveled a frown at the Eyelander. “You are a ghost, maggot. How on God’s green earth are you afraid of ghosts?”

“I’m afraid of poltergeists, eejit,” Eyelander snapped back. “You don’t bloody mess with a geist unless you want your immortal soul turned to shreds and left to wander the infinite abyss forever.”

“Whatever, this is getting us nowhere.” Demo pushed past Soldier. “C’mon. We’ve got a job to do.”

As he passed under the precarious looking chandelier overseeing the foyer, Soldier murmured, “tch. Only ever got the job. Typical.” Demo pretended he hadn’t heard.

What he did hear—over the sounds of the Eyelander whining about powerful forces they didn’t understand and eventually sinking into resigned grumble—was the sound of an organ playing in the deep bowels of the manor.

“Thirty bucks says there’s no one playing it when we get there,” Demo said.

“Deal,” Eyelander replied.

They readied their weapons. Well, not exactly weapons (and definitely not weapons in Soldier’s case, as he strangled his vacuum’s hose in a viselike grip), but tools that would get this bloody ghost out of here and let Demo go home for the day. His footsteps scraped decades old rugs as he padded carefully across the ground, power glove extended into the gloom before him. No readings yet, save for Eyelander’s steady thrum, but as soon as they crossed the barrier of the music room the EKG jumped like crazy.

“Called it,” Demo said as the organ continued to press down one ivory key after another, despite the only human beings in the room being the two mercs who had just entered. “Pay up, Eyelander.”

“Sure! Let me just grab my wallet.”

“Smart-arse.”

“It’s called a pommel.”

“If you two ladies are finished,” Soldier growled, drawing closer to the haunted piano, “let’s bag this ghost-maggot.”

Demo rolled his eye, sweeping to the other side of the organ that’s girth took up the entirety of the room, pipes clawing at the ceiling as wax burned down to nubs around it. “You ‘n your cleaning supplies just stand back.”

“And let you fumble our ticket out of here? I don’t think so.” Soldier flipped on his Hoover.

The glove began to gyrate in Demo’s palm. “You’re the one who’s messing this up! If you’d just believe me when I tell you something-”

“How can I believe you when your history of treachery continues?”

They were nearing the organ now, the disk glowing a menacing red and the vacuum jumping like it was trying to escape Soldier’s hands. The music doubled its tempo, growing more erratic with every step the pair took toward its console.

“There is no history,” Demo spat. “I didn’t do it in the first place!”

“But you still took the contract!”

“Because you did first!”

There wasn’t so much music now as random mashing of keys, a pained wailing accompanying the stressed notes in an unholy shriek. A bolt of electricity shot from the glove collided with something on the piano seat, revealing a ghastly form in the middle of the two men.

“Maybe I would have gone back on it!” Soldier roared as he struggled to maintain control of the hose, writhing in his hands like a viper. “If you’d talked to me I would have known it wasn’t-”

“THAT SHOULDN’T BE MY RESPONSIBILITY.”

“WELL IT HAS TO BE SOMEBODY’S.”

As Soldier screamed his final words, the ghost between them joined in the crescendo. The two forces on either of its sides pulled and pulled at its edges, wind howling and light flashing until-

Demo and Soldier were thrown into opposite walls with a resounding crack.

Grimacing, Demo pushed himself up, rubbing away the white spots in his vision that their techno-vortex had left him with. When things were mostly clear, he blinked at the organ seat, finding no trace of the specter the power glove had briefly outlined.

“Did we get it?” Soldier asked, likewise suppressing aches as he got to his feet.

“Dunno.” Demo tapped a few buttons on his glove. “Well there’s only one reading now. Maybe we fried it?”

“Bag isn’t full,” Soldier noted, poking the vacuum. “Must’ve.”

“Hm. I suppose that was climactic enough. I’m fine with leaving if you are.”

“There’s nothing I want more,” Soldier said, already halfway to the door.

“Feeling’s mutual,” Demo grumbled, following him out. “Went down pretty easy, all things considered. Barely a quarter of ‘ole Merasmus’s hit points. Can’t believe Eyelander was scared of that.”

The Eyelander said nothing.

Demo stopped walking. “You alright, mate?” he asked over his shoulder to where Eyelander was sheathed.

Still, it didn’t respond. He pulled it out, a soft sssth in the now quiet music room, and held it in front of him. He was about to ask it again, when Eyelander finally blurted, “oh uh! Right, me. I’m fine, just peachy, how are you?”

Soldier paused, and turned on his heel. “RED. Why doesn’t your sword have a stupid accent anymore?”

“Uh, crap uh,” the sword sputtered. “Blimey is what I meant to say governor! Pip pip bob’s your uncle and all that!”

“You!” Demo said, squeezing the imposter ghost for all it was worth, to which it gave a tiny eep! “What have you done with Eyelander?”

“Look, this doesn’t have to be a problem right?” the geist said. “I can still be a haunted sword! And do whatever it is the old ghost did, but please don’t make me get out. I’ve been trapped in that organ for fifty years! I want to go, see the world, oh please oh please take me with you?”

“Maybe we let it,” Soldier snorted. “Can’t be any more annoying than the old one.”

“That’s not funny,” Demo snapped, then turned his singular glare to the sword. “Listen here you useless lump of ectoplasm, you tell me what you did with my friend or I’m going to turn your soul into sizzling anti-matter.”

“No!”

And to Demo’s shock, the sword went flying from his hands, shooting up into the room’s ceiling.

“No, I won’t go back!” Encased in an orange glow, the sword maneuvered under its own power, spinning wildly until it had become an airborne lawnmower blade. “Screw you guys!”

“Shite!” Demo said as he charged out after it as it went shooting into the hall.

He followed it all the way to the foyer again, sprinting around each corner just to keep it in sight, but when he arrived out of breath at the grand staircases he had to admit there was no catching it.

“Shite,” he repeated.

“What in the goddamn hell was that about?” Soldier had, of course, followed him back to the entrance. “Now we’re stuck here until we find it again. Couldn’t have withheld your groveling freak out for one damn second.”

“I wasn’t just going to let it steal Eyelander’s sword!” Demo retaliated.

“You and the fucking Eyelander,” Solder swore, helmet wobbling as a snarl curled on his features. “Always with the Eyelander. You care more about that sword than you do anyone else, and you always fucking pick it in the end.”

They were in each other’s faces once more, nose to nose as the manor creaked around them. Demo glared, and softly replied, “well maybe the sword is better company.”

That might have been the end of it any other time, but they were too close now, too entwined, and Soldier grabbed the front of Demo’s shirt. “…God damn you,” he muttered. His face rippled with something unrecognizable. “That’s what I mean. Maybe that wasn’t you in the video, but when you took that contract you started saying crap like that.”

A hard knot found itself in Demo’s throat. He ignored the beeping coming from his glove. “After hearing ‘I never liked you’ enough times, it’s hard not to believe it.”

“…We ever going to stop lying to each other?”

Demo pulled the hand from the front of his shirt. The beeping was growing incessantly loud but he blocked it out, only focusing on stamping away from the Soldier-

And not noticing when the chandelier above him gave an ominous jolt.

His head whipped up too late when the chain broke, the glove practically screaming as he froze in panic for split second-

The cacophany when the chandelier came down was earsplitting, hundreds of glass teardrops shattering on the marble floor below, crashing into each other as their frame became nothing more than a bent pile of metal. Demo wheezed, having been thrown into a solid surface for the second time in less then ten minutes, and his brain caught up enough to realize he wasn’t dead.

The Soldier, having tackled Demo to bring him out of the worse of the poltergeist’s attack, had taken the brunt of it. He winced, rolling onto the hip that didn’t have any glass stuck in it.

“Christ,” Demo hissed, staring at the broken fixture. “It really is trying to kill us now, isn’t it?”

“You threatened to atomize its soul,” Soldier grunted. “Can’t blame it.”

Demo’s eye reaffixed to the bleeding BLU, tongue catching on the question. “You-” But what was he even supposed to say?

Soldier avoided his gaze. “Shut it, maggot. This was merely a rescue based on contempt and rivalry—no one’s allowed to kill you but me, yadda yadda, you get the picture.”

“Soldier…”

Years of bitter hatred choked down whatever else he would have said, but they couldn’t stop the swell of concern as he watched blood bloom on Soldier’s jumpsuit.

“Here,” he said, getting to his knees and picking his way through the broken glass. “Let’s get you up.”

Soldier glared in suspicion. Their argument still hung hot, bar of iron glowing yet unforged, not sure what shape it was suppose to take. But the blood was moving steadily down Soldier’s leg, and with distaste he resigned himself to being lifted under one arm.

“I can do it myself, maggot,” Soldier said once Demo had helped him to the stairs and tried to push up his pant leg.

Demo stared at him for a moment, hand holding the bandage he’d torn from the jumpsuit’s opposite leg, eye unargumentative as he gazed at the Soldier. A few more seconds of reproach ticked by, but then Soldier sighed in resignation, glancing away as Demo tied up his leg.

When it was over, he wasted no time getting to his feet, refusing Demo’s arm this time. “Definitely can’t let that thing run wild now,” he said. “Get your stupid glove to tell us where it is.”

There was an obvious limp to his walk, but Demo knew he had survived worse. That Demo had put him through worse.

The Demoman tapped his wrist a few times and said, “this way.”

The second floor was just rows and rows of suits of armor. All of them identical, all of them leaning down menacingly as the mercenaries passed beneath, listening to the spooktralizer’s pulse become a steady companion. There was constant draft, a thrumming chill up Demo’s spine, and he tried to remind himself that ghosts had the power to get inside your head and trigger your fear response. The fact that the haunt had turned murderous was nothing to be worried about—that he was, in all reality, afraid of no ghost.

The nearest suit of armor vibrated, and he jumped three feet in the air.

So did Soldier, bristling like a cat and demanding, “show yourself Casper! I am not afraid of your pathetic saber rattling!”

In response, every suit in the hall lifted it arms.

Soldier yelped, and he and Demo found themselves back to back, their respective ghost hunting equipment bared in front of them. But they were surrounded, the suits jerking to life and taking their first halting steps off their pedestals, clanking stiffly at the two mercenaries. They were forced backwards, one step, then two, until suddenly Demo found himself on the ground, the creeping terror that he’d been repressing now roaring overpoweringly. It was just a mind trick, just a manipulation, but knowing that and being able to act were vastly different things—and as the ancient warriors drew closer, he reached out and clung desperately to the closest thing he could find.

Clang went the greaves in front of him, coming to a stop as the full-body rattle started again. Shaking and shaking and Demo didn’t look, burying his face in Soldier’s shoulder-

“Ayyyiiieeeeeee,” a voice screamed as something small and spectral went spinning out of the armor.

After several seconds of silence from the suits around them, Demo finally lifted his head. All the armor had gone stiff and immobile, and the only clue to their previous animation was the ghostly impression of a sword floating a few feet off the ground.

“Eyelander?” he blinked.

“Uhhhg…my rain gaurd…” the Eyelander’s apparition groaned. “What…urhg…what happened? …….And why are you two cuddling?”

Demo looked down to find Soldier was clinging to him just as tightly as Demo was to he. Soldier realized it at the same time, and immediately pushed Demo off him, saying, “I did not give you permission to use me for comfort and safety, maggot!”

“Oi! You were the one who started it!” Demo turned his attention to the Eyelander. “What the bloody hell was that about? You trying to make us crap our pants?”

“Urhg, I don’t know!” Eyelander snapped. “If I’m not concentrating on anything in particular I just end up doing ghost type things. Like how you just start making horse noises when you think you’re home alone.”

Soldier snickered. Demo shot him a glare.

Ignoring him, Soldier got to his feet and dusted himself off. “That’s one thing to check off the list.” He paused, inspecting the form floating before him. “…Why are you a sword?”

“…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Wait, no, Soldier’s right,” Demo said, getting up as well. “You’re not in the blade anymore, you can look like anything you want! You used to be a mortal, didn’t you?”

“I don’t remember okay?” it snapped. “That was centuries ago, I don’t know how to be anything but a ghost sword.”

“Aw, give it a shot mate,” Demo encouraged. “If we’re going to hunting around for the geist that stole your sword, you might as well try a new form.”

“…Alright, I guess I can give it a try.”

Slowly, the illusion in front of them melted, growing until it was humanoid, then rippling as details began to make its shape. The jaw strengthen, and a hole appeared in the right side its face, features sharpening until a near-copy of the Demoman stood next to the suit of armor. It was a hazy reflection, as though looking at himself in green glass, but a reflection just the same.

“Hey, don’t be me,” Demo said.

“Yeah, we already got enough of those,” Soldier added under his breath.

“Uhg,” it complained. “Sorry. You’re the most recent person I’ve been.” The uncanny valley was further emphasized that Eyelander forgot to move Demo’s mouth when it was speaking.

“Just be yourself,” Demo insisted, as much due to the ghost-him’s creepiness as the fact that he was a bit curious about who Eyelander used to be. “Go on, give it a shot.”

Grumbling without moving its mouth, the Eyelander began to change again, Demo’s features swept away as though lost on the wind. It grew inexorably, towering of the mortals below it like a warrior from myth; then it shrank, arms and ghostly blade disproportionately detailed like recalling a fighting feeling.

Both of these faded, other particulars bubbling up from the surface. A tartan hood crawled over the general shape of a head, plunging the face into inscrutability. From its shoulders sprung a cape, one that would have pooled across the ground if the mirage weren’t floating a half-foot off the stone. A thick tunic billowed, then fell down to the mirage’s knees, held in place by a sash across its chest.

The face beneath flickered. Morphing, becoming-

“Damn it,” Eyelander groaned as the features fell back into darkness, effort weakening its voice. “I really don’t remember.”

“Ach, it’s fine Eyelander,” he assured it, hearing the clear disappointment. “We’ll get your sword back in no time.”

“…Thanks mate.”

Suddenly, Soldier pushed past him, far roughing than necessary. “If the ghost is done having an identity crisis, lets get back to busting.”

Demo frowned after him, but according to the readings he was headed in the right direction, so he said nothing to it.

Eyelander was a different story. “OoooOOOoooo, jealous again are we?” Catching up to him was no problem when it could simply glide across the ground, cape fluttering behind it.

“Silence apparition!” Soldier stated. “You cannot get inside my head with your devil words, nor your OoooOOOoooo.”

Eyelander cackled, floating in front of him and forcing him to walk into it. He shivered as he passed through the ethereal dregs, breaking from his path and pivoting into the nearest set of doors. They found themselves in the grand library, tiers upon tiers of floor-to-ceiling books simply rotting in the dust. Cobwebs clung to everything, ancient lamps and moldering fainting couches, rendering the entire room silent.

“Touch a nerve?” Eyelander was enjoying its new ‘body’, swinging a spectral arm over Soldier’s shoulder that he was unable to shrug off. “Not still mad he likes me better than you?”

“Only goes to show how poor his taste is,” Soldier snapped.

Demo had to jog to catch up. The library’s various stone busts turned to watch him as he moved.

“Maybe, if he was hanging out with you to begin with,” Eyelander persisted. “Does that bother you, yankee doodle?”

“Eyelander, lay off him,” Demo said, surprising even himself when the words came out of his mouth. Soldier didn’t look, breathing heavily through his nose

“Why?” the ghost huffed. It was odd seeing the body language to accompany it for once, the entity folding its arms across its chest. “He’s the one who throws a fit whenever I’m around, and I’m bloody sick of it. Why should I have to put up with some moron you don’t want anything to do with?”

“Shut your nonexistent mouth!” Soldier was really heated now. “If you keep talking to me I will put my boot up so far up your ass you will feel it in the afterlife!”

“OoooOOOoooo,” Eyelander said, and it was a proper ghostly ooo that reverberated about the empty library. “I’m so scared. Should I start crying out in fear? That’s all a lout like you knows how to do, just yell until someone cries and then piss off entirely. Well guess what, eejit, he’s just fine without you.”

“I am warning you…” Soldier growled.

“Oh but that doesn’t stop you from getting all possessive does it?” Eyelander just goaded, heedless of anything else but its own petty revenge. “More possessive than me, and I’m the one possessing him! Is that the sort of bond you’re going for yank? Spending a lot of time in-”

With a furious scream, Soldier launched himself at the Eyelander. On instinct, it jerked to the side to try and avoid his murderous hands, but it didn’t matter either way as Soldier when flying through the ghost’s form and crashed into the bookcase behind it.

The bookcase swung like a revolving door, and Soldier disappeared from view.

Eyelander and Demo shared a glance. “Did that just…?” he asked.

“Hold on.” It glided forward, passing through the bookcase unimpeded. A moment later, it stuck its head back out through the wall and said, “aye! It’s a secret passage! Some stairs going down into a basement of some sort.”

“Stairs? Is Solder alright?” Demo worried as he came forward and tried to trigger whatever had moved the loose shelf.

The Eyelander stuck its head in, then back out again. “Eh, I’m sure he’s fine.”

Demo found him, if not exactly fine, then stabilized. His leg had started bleeding again, but the tumble down the basement stairs had shaken the fight out of him. He let Demo rebandage his injuries with barely a word.

“Good work finding the passage, lad,” Demo said, as though he didn’t feel a terrible heat of embarrassment on the back of his neck. “Based on the readings, that’s where the ghost is hiding.”

“Hm,” was all Soldier said. He wouldn’t look at either Demo or the levitating knight.

“…Eyelander, why don’t you float on ahead?” Demo said after a moment. “Scout things out a bit for us?”

“Yeah, sure. Not being bound to a mortal vessel anymore gives you a lot more free range of movement.”

Demo helped Soldier to his feet. Several long minutes were spent walking down a cold, damp tunnel, only illuminated by bulbs covered in metal grates that flickered in sync. When Eyelander had drifted far enough ahead in its impatience, Demo asked what had been on his mind since they’d come down here, spinning over as the guilt he’d been holding back for years weighed heavier on him than it ever had.

“…Jane?” he mumbled. The Soldier jumped at his real name. “What Eyelander said back there…have I really been…?”

“Don’t believe anything that comes out of that ghost’s pie hole! Its ghost pie hole! Where it puts its ghost pies!” Soldier barked hastily. “It is- I don’t-!”

Demo let Soldier sputter for a moment before frowning at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Soldier choked mid denial and whipped his head so hard his eyes showed wild underneath the helmet. “You- What?”

“You were right,” Demo rubbed his face. “About always lying to each other. Saying we didn’t care, just to make it easier. And you’re right that I treat my friends like crap sometimes, picking the sword—the job—over anybody else. So I fucked up too, believing their lies just as much, listening to them because it was the easiest.” He lifted his head, making eye contact with the alarmed Soldier. “So maybe I do pick the sword sometimes. But I never should have taken a bribe over my best friend.”

They’d stopped walking, Soldier just staring at him, mouth slightly open.

Soldier breathed in deep. “…Your best friend?”

Cautiously, taking care not to startle Soldier or his own frayed nerves, Demo reached out and held Soldier’s hand. He could hear Soldier’s labored breaths, even as the BLU looked down so steeply at their linked hands that his helmet obscured is whole face.

“Aye.”

Soldier’s mouth writhed a second longer before saying, “I’m sorry. Too. For all the crap I said to you after. I didn’t mean any of it either, I always liked you. I always…”

Demo squeezed his hand. “We’ll talk after we get my sword back, aye?”

Soldier finally lifted his chin, a grin of joyous relief across it. “Affirmative! We will beat the crap out of that weapon-stealing cheat, and then boot it back to kingdom come.”

“Our powers combined, eh?” Demo wiggled the fingers on the power glove.

Soldier lifted his hose. “Lets get this spirit-maggot!”

“Are you two coming?” the Eyelander demanded, reappearing in the grimy tunnel before them. “There’s this big evil laboratory at the end of the hall and the bell-end body-snatcher is just waiting for someone to come and kick its pommel.”

Demo grinned at his once-again best mate. “Don’t worry Eyelander, that bastard’s got another thing coming.”

The rescue squad stormed into the evil lab, magic and science and supernatural forces in hand. The room was exactly what you’d think: test tubes full of pulsating green goo, an open slab with leather straps around it, giant Tesla coils pointing all which way as though the whole space was ready to zap you at a moment’s notice.

“You!” Eyelander demanding, pointing a menacing spectral finger at the sword floating in the center of the room.

“Aw crap,” it said as it turned and saw the trio of ghostbusters that had come for its soul.

Immediately, it tried to make a run for it, zipping off on a trail of orange magic. But Soldier was faster, flipping the Hoover to ‘suck’ and immediately summoning a typhoon from the nozzle’s end. The geist shrieked as it was pulled backwards, forward momentum fighting against the suction until was it pulled taught mid-air. Demo wasn’t going to inadvertently help it this time, though. Instead, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his best mate, and sent a pulse of magnetic energy to join the vacuum’s pull.

“NOOOOOooooo,” the geist screamed as it began to lose ground.

It still wasn’t enough. A humanoid shape was being drawn from the sword, but that only made it struggle harder, fighting tooth and nail as it screamed all the while.

The Eyelander’s spirit stormed forward. With both hands it gripped the sword, pulling away from its rival ghost with its impressive incorporeal biceps. The geist screamed harder, but in a three-on-one it was losing, even as it tried to wrench the hilt away. Eyelander grabbed above the crossguard, and a gush of ethereal blood splattered on the floor, but the extra leverage worked, and it ripped the blade free from enemy hands.

Eyelander reared back, and the ghost went falling into the vacuum with a scream.

The impact knocked Demo flat on his ass. It wasn’t as rough as the first explosion, but he still groaned as he sat up. “We get it this time?”

Soldier poked the bag, which moaned in protest. “Yup. We got it.”

“How about you Eyelander?” Demo got up and walked to where the sword had fallen. “Everything back in the bits?”

“Uhrg…my whole fuller hurts,” the blade on the floor said in what was definitely the Eyelander’s voice. “Put me back in my scabbard…I want a nap.”

Demo chuckled, and did as he was asked.

“Teamwork saves the day!” Soldier declared, walking up to the pair. “Goes to show what camaraderie and true American sprit can do.” He clapped Demo on the shoulder, and the two exchanged a smile.

“…Did I miss something?” Eyelander asked from its sling on Demo’s back.

“Nah,” Demo said. “Jane ‘n I just worked some things out. Don’t worry your pretty little locket about it.”

“We are best friends again!” Soldier was too excited to hold back. He grabbed Demo’s hand again and squeezed.

The two shared a look of shining eyes and full hearts.

“Yuck,” Eyelander noted. “Do I have to be here for this?”

“Ah, shut it,” Demo said. “We just saved your life.”

“I didn’t want to be brought along in the first place!”

“You hate being left alone at the base,” Demo pointed out.

“Yeah but that was before you brought ghosthunting into the picture. You should have known better! What if one of your stupid machines had malfunctioned and killed me instead?”

As they walked back up through the secret passage, Soldier leaned toward the scabbard and said, “looks like there’s trouble in paradise after all, huh.” Demo had never heard him be smugger.

“Keep grinning, eejit,” Eyelander grumbled. “Next time we get into battle I’m carving a new smile into your throat.”

Soldier snickered, and they left the manor victorious.