#his anger at being cast out eventually formed into him desiring a sense of control over every single aspect of his life

[perenlop]

tbh in my kirbyverse i might just nix hyness having genuinely been a great parental figure or family member to the mage sisters entirely and lean more into “the sisters thought he was their friend but really he just made them dependent and devoted to him” like the way actual cults lure their members in. like a twisted form of love that goes against the jamba hearts entirely. 

and its not just for that parallel between hyness’s controlled environment and kirby’s community of friends and former enemies he’s helped along the way, but also because it’d differentiate them from taranza/sectonia and haltmann/susie a bit more bc it wouldnt quite be another “i’m mourning my loved one who got corrupted and want them back” story, but “the person we loved never truly existed and we’ve been fighting for a man who never loved us and only viewed us as a means to an end”

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Züleyha Açıkgöz AGE & BIRTH DATE. 1,666 & June 13th, 354 CE GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Manticore OCCUPATION. Shop Assistant at Sybil’s Cave FACE CLAIM. Özge Yağız

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: slavery, death, torture ) Züleyha was born the daughter of a merchant trader in Constantinople, during the Byzantine period. She spent the formative years of her life in Anatolia, but after the death of her mother at eight years, it was then that she boarded a ship bound for Athens along with her father and her uncle, never to return in her human lifetime. The trio landed in the port city Piraeus before further traveling to Corinthia, where her father set up a shop to eke out a living. It wasn’t such a bad life, for a time. Züleyha grew up happy, so long as her father was around, and enjoyed assisting him with his trade. She adapted well to a Greek life, becoming familiar with their customs, and the outlook of her future seemed bright. Unfortunately, fate had other plans, as all that crashed and burned around her.

At the age of twelve, Züleyha’s father passed to a sickness, and her uncle, rather than choosing to continue to take care of the child, sold her to the temple in the city as a servant, before taking off with the money. It was a harsh transition, to go from a loving home to walls of cold stone, told to put her devotion into serving a goddess that did little for the girl. But Züleyha was nothing if not resilient, bending to fit the mold that was required of her while she waited for the chance to grasp her freedom. And the moment came in the form of a soldier from Arcadia. She was fifteen years old at the time, and had blossomed into a handsome young woman, who caught the eye of many men visiting the temple. Enraptured by her beauty, and in search of a wife, he paid for her freedom and took her back to Arcadia with him.

If only Züleyha were the type of woman who could be content with such a life. Though she had gotten what she wanted, in freedom from her life as a servant, her new husband was twice her age and a bore. He offered nothing stimulating, nor did their life together; all he wanted from her was a child, a son. Once Züleyha produced that for him, she was little more than a pretty trophy to parade around his fellow soldiers. It was an even more unhappy life than the one she had left in the temple, a different cage that felt just as suffocating, even though the bars were not as apparent from the outside. She wanted more from her life, something exciting, and the opportunity to make her own choices, for once. To guide her own destiny, rather than fall into the mercy of those around her.

And so as the years went by, the young woman slowly began to reach the end of her patience, putting together a plan that would require the favor of a god. With offering in hand she approached the temple located in the city of their home, dedicated to Hermes, and knelt at his altar, praying for the means to escape the marriage she so despised. Perhaps he sensed the guile in her heart, something cunning and ruthless that lurked beneath the surface, or perhaps it was her plea that impassioned him, but the end result was the same. It was then that the trickster god approached her, offering what at the time seemed to be everything she wanted. Freedom from her marriage, without losing the land and home it brought her, nor her son. For the remainder of her human years, Züleyha would live a pampered existence, and then in death, she would become his servant. Though far from fond of the idea of being bound to anyone’s will but her own again, even a god’s, the truth is that the girl thought herself more clever. That in the end, she would find a way out of the arrangement, after she had already taken everything she wanted. And so Züleyha agreed.

But Hermes did not act instantaneously, no matter how much she would have liked. Instead, he bid her to be patient, that when the time came the deal was fulfilled, she would know. It was during this time that she met someone who finally caught her attention, a traveler from her home country. Drawn in by the familiarity, she found them to be utterly fascinating, regaled by tales from other lands near and far. Introduced by the name of Phobetos, quickly Züleyha became enraptured by the mysterious person. While waiting for Hermes to follow through on their deal, she spent any time she managed to steal in their presence, forming a bond between the pair until they finally revealed their true nature to be that of a spirit — an oneiroi. Rather than finding such information intimidating, it only pulled Züleyha into their orbit even further. It was the most exciting thing she had ever known, until her feelings of interest developed into something deeper, a rush of affection she had never experienced before. She fell in love with the spirit, a fact that only further enforced her desire to be free of her boorish husband.

In the end, the wait was not so unreasonably long, only that it felt such a way while trapped from the inside. It was a terrible, unfortunate accident, they said. A day trip that her husband made into the city to attend the market, only for a horse to suddenly spook right as he passed by, the man trampled beneath his hooves. With a son to inherit the estate, in a time when she couldn’t hold it in her own name, Züleyha got to keep everything, just as Hermes promised. And she got to spend the rest of her mortal life with the person that she loved. It was the happiest period of Züleyha’s life, looking back. But nothing good lasts forever.

Indeed, the deal that she made to achieve such happiness would not be forgotten, and in the end, she could not outmaneuver fate. It was a sickness that did her in, the same as her father before her, though she had aged much further than most around her, living a long and happy life. Her final breaths were taken in the bed of her home, her lover by her side, only to wake up later as if time had reset. Back to her days of youth, not a day older than when she had made the agreement with Hermes, at first Züleyha was ecstatic about this rebirth. She ignored the god’s temple, enjoying her new beginning with Phobetos, blissfully unaware of the danger her new nature posed to them. It was only when the oneiroi realized pieces of it’s soul had been stolen away, nearly enough to kill them for good, did the pair figure out that Züleyha’s second life came with strings attached. It was only then when she approached Hermes again, demanding understanding, and the god explained all too gleefully what had happened to her lover — just what she had done to him, and what she would continue to do. In one small act of kindness, before departing Hermes left her with the information that a phoenix could heal Phobetos’s soul, and that he would be in touch with her again soon.

It was fortunate for the oneiroi that they had known one of the species in days past, and so they approached the original phoenix for help to restore what had been taken. But even with Phobetos’s soul returned, it did not fix the new barrier between them. The couple chose to stubbornly deny the inevitable at first, too in love and too selfish to let go of each other, but it is a difficult thing to love someone when you cannot be with them, and to have to watch them be with others. The happy bubble they made in her human life was no more, and eventually, their relationship crumbled under the strain. Züleyha does not remember her last words to the spirit, but she knows they had been spoken in anger, a cruelty to her tongue that had never been turned against Phobetos before. She left the region of Arcadia entirely, following the bidding of Hermes as he directed her across the world. The succubus spent most of her time traveling with merchants, a familiarity to it that reminded her of her childhood, taking the souls of any who displeased the god. 

But she never forgot her love for Phobetos, no matter how much at times she had wished. Even though two hundred years had passed since they last saw each other, when word traveled of rumors of a spirit being captured in Macedonia, Züleyha found herself abandoning her current path to race towards the country under the chance that it might be the oneiroi she once knew. Tracking down the genasi was not a mission of particular difficulty; blinded by their own arrogance, their success in managing to possess an oneiroi, the man thought himself untouchable and openly bragged to any who would listen. Though his soul was tainted by the dark stain of his magic, he was not immune to the cubi’s charms, beguiled by her pretty face and sweet words. It did not take long at all before he willingly brought her to where he kept the oneiroi imprisoned, showing her the talisman that kept it under control. Underestimated by her small and seemingly human appearance, he never even saw the blade until she had dragged it across his throat, a spray of blood cast across the wall. 

Freeing her former lover, Züleyha did not hesitate before returning their talisman to them. It was a bittersweet reunion, the acknowledgment that while their feelings had not changed, neither had their circumstances. But they parted on much better terms this time, and for the rest of her life, the two weaved in and out of each other’s company throughout time. 

And so life continued. She kept moving frequently, in order to hide the fact that she never seemed to age, her paths mostly moving along the trade routes as Hermes bid. She watched much of history from the sidelines, a nameless observer to moments that would redefine the world. The most notable instance being when the succubus had returned to the city of her birth, and held residence in Constantinople during the siege of the Fourth Crusade. For days the Crusaders looted and terrorized the city, partook in the murder of thousands of innocents, but Hermes kept his servant protected by guiding her to a shelter hidden by his magic, and so she watched it all unfold before her eyes. It was not the first, nor the last time that she would ever be in the city, returning throughout the centuries to witness both the rise and height of the Ottoman Empire, but the senseless violence never left Züleyha; it developed a morbid fascination for the darkness of the human mind, which would only fuel her own, in the years to come.

Perhaps it was the corrupted nature of her soul, the horrors she had witnessed across the years of her long life, or perhaps it had always been there simmering underneath the surface, but the woman slipped into a darkness that she would not recover from. She began to enjoy her existence as a succubus, the destruction she could cause to life around her. The fact that she could feel no pain, that her injuries would heal near instantaneously, and the experience of hurt long faded in her memories, all led to a certain thrill in causing it in others. Either through a kiss or a blade, Leyha enjoyed the damage she inflicted upon others. But her cruelty made her reckless, too arrogant from years of being protected by her god’s favor, and the near invulnerable nature of a cubi. 

She had started going by Leyha Açıkgöz by that time, residing amongst the wealthy in London during the Regency era. Trade had been disrupted by the war between the United States and the United Kingdom, something which displeased Hermes, and thus he had sent his creature to punish those responsible and assist the few merchants who still prayed in his name. Though she followed his direction faithfully, remaining in the city until a conclusion was reached, it was also in London where she fell into trouble that would soon become her doom. 

She had taken the soul of a shifter, merely for fun, then promptly left his bloody and cut corpse in the street. But Leyha had been careless in returning to her estate, leaving a trail behind that her victim’s grief stricken brother followed to her door. Though she fought back against the shifter, leaving him wounded and bloody, in the end, his teeth found purchase in her shoulder, a bite that would bring her second life to an end. Aware of the fact that she was dying, and the knowledge that Phobetos also resided in the city at the time, Leyha stumbled her way to her former lover’s door, where she took her final breaths held in their arms. 

But what waited for her beyond was no peace. Hermes had no claim on her soul anymore, the twisted and dark thing it had been turned into, instead taken by the Erinyes. She was sent to Tartarus, to spend an eternity in torment for all the harm she had committed while on earth. What was two hundred years for the mortal world, passed by as thousands for Leyha. It was a torture that would break anyone, and she could not say that she had been strong enough to fight against it, her very being corrupted into something more monstrous than even she could have imagined. The only thing that kept the woman from losing her mind entirely was to focus on thoughts of Phobetos, and to plot her escape. It did not matter that the idea had been little more than fallacy at the time, it gave her something to cling to. Until the day came when it was no longer so outlandish. The veil fell, and then was repaired with a patch job, but in doing so, tore a wider gap and unlocked the gate of the cage that held Leyha in place. It was the opportunity she had been waiting for, and the woman struck without hesitation, escaping from her prison and emerging as something new. 

A manticore, Typhon had called them. His prized little creations. Had he always intended to unleash them upon the world? To release them from Tartarus? It matters not, now that Leyha has escaped her confinement she will not allow herself to be taken back. Spit out from the veil into the city of Corinth Bay, she is no longer bound to the will of anyone but herself. The freedom she always desired from her life, but could never quite reach is now within her grasp, and Leyha will do anything to hold onto it.

PERSONALITY

+ adaptive, quick-witted, spirited - temperamental, manipulative, ruthless

PLAYED BY Abby. CDT. She/Her.

[azwriting]

A Faded Tombstone (Forget Me Not, Kylo Ren x Reader) - Chapter Eight

HI everyone, here’s chapter eight! I love the feedback that I have been getting on this and I hope I can continue to make you guys happy! Gif belongs to driver  misfit! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Summary: (Y/N) begins to deal with the return of her memories and visits the place of her nightmares.

Warning(s): Angst, Language, Death mentions

Word Count: 2379

(Y/N) felt as if she was poisoned. She was tainted with the only thing she had ever wanted and what most people would kill to forget, memories. Sobbing into the comfort of the bed, she allowed herself to relive every memory that had returned. Her sweet parents perishing before her very eyes. General Organa practically raising her. If it had been another time, under different circumstances she would have laughed. The truth had been so close, within arms reach the whole time. But the cost of replaying those memories, was him. (Y/N) could feel every touch, every kiss, every single nerve being ignited when that monster had touched her. She could feel the inner conflict, her emotions trying to contradict themselves. The young naive girl who was hopelessly in love with the black haired boy and the strong Resistance fighter who viewed that man as the enemy, were fighting for dominance within. 

She was suffocating, her lungs were heaving against her chest as a storm wreaked havoc inside her mind. Squeezing her eyes shut, she begged for silence. She hiccuped harshly, that monster’s sweet brown eyes circled around in her storm. “P-Please make it go away…” She whimpered into the quiet confines of the room. As if her pleas were heard, (Y/N)’s sobs began to quiet down, her mind falling into a false sense of tranquility. Before she drifted off into sleep, she felt another presence, someone suffering as well.

Kylo shuttered when he entered the house, hearing sobs echoed throughout. With a sigh of defeat, he slumped down onto the light blue couch, listening to the anguish in her cries. He could feel the disturbance in the Force; the fear, sorrow, and regret that enclosed around her aura. Kylo felt tears prick the corner of his eyes. He shook his head in disgust, what had he expected? That she would greet with open arms? That she would still want to be with him? That she would still love him? (Y/N) (Y/L/N) had loved Ben Solo and (Y/N) Stryker detested the forsaken Kylo Ren. They were not the same anymore, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Ben Solo had died in the Jedi Temple Fire just as Chandrila was led to believe. Someone new had emerged from the flames that night, for the both of them. 

Yet he had been foolish enough to believe she would still love him after everything. He could not help the hope, the light, that blossomed inside him from the moment he laid eyes on her in the forest. Kylo still could not fathom that she was alive. He watched part of the temple crumble down on top of her, he felt her presence fade from existence, he watched her be carted through the streets of Hanna. He had mourned her every day, his anger and desire for revenge urging him to continue through all the pain. He suffered at the hands of Snoke, buried his pain to please his abusive Master, killed his own father, fought Rey, all to seek his revenge.

And yet, his love was alive and within such close proximity the entire time. She had been right under his nose all this time and yet he had never sensed her. Kylo did not want to imagine all the times she could have died at the cause of his hands. She had been hidden in the mine on Crait during his face off with his uncle. She was on the main cruiser when his troops and him had attacked during their evacuation from their D’Qar base. She was one of the many pilots that had ambushed his squadron on Takodana, when he was searching for the BB unit. Kylo could not stomach the what if, the thought, if she had been on Hosnian during the cataclysm of the system. She was even friends with that Resistance pilot he had captured on Jakku, the one who escaped with the traitorous Stormtrooper, and yet he did not find her in his memories. It was as if she had been hidden from him, leaving no evidence behind that she ever survived.

 It must of been a punishment from the Maker or the Force, for all his sins, to have her so close, but never truly have her. Despite the horribly long absence, he still needed her. He needed her to breathe, to survive, to live. There had been so many mistakes in his life, choices he had made, but she was never one. Kylo closed his eyes trying to drown out her sorrow and find peace in his chaotic mind.

“Ben! Oh Ben Solo!” Ben opened his eyes just in time to see (Y/N) jumping on him. “It’s time to get your lazy ass out of bed!” She attempted to say sternly, but her smile broke through her weak facade. Ben grinned wiping the sleep lingering in his eyes, wanting to admire the exquisite girl above him. The early morning sun streamed into his hut, casting a beautiful golden halo onto her (Y/H/C) hair. Her (Y/E/C) eyes glowed in admiration and her smile illuminating her features even more so. Ben felt like he had been gifted with angel… 

“Lay with me?” He spoke up, voice raspy. He pulled on her arms causing her to collapse down into his embrace. 

“Ben!” She protested. 

“Five minutes!” (Y/N) groaned as his arms tightened around her. She muttered a small “fine” and Ben grinned, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. She giggled pressing a longer kiss to his chapped lips. 

“What am I going to do with you, Spaceboy?”

(Y/N) stirred awake, groaning at the sight of the moonlight casting a pale white light across the otherwise dark room. She swung her feet off the bed, the momentum helping her rise. As she stood, a wave of weakness washed over her. Wincing (Y/N) shuffled over to the drawers retrieving a large black sweater and soft black pants. Removing her clothes and bandages, she found her wound to be completely healed, a circular scar replacing it. How had it healed so quickly? She could not have been out for more than a day. Her head was pounding as she continued to dress, her mind completely numb. Her past had been restored but she only felt far more perplexed. Two lives now fought for control and she could not fully process it.

 Looking up she caught her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. She did not recognize herself, once again; her face was drained of all color, eyes dark and puffy, her cheeks hollow. She looked as unwell as she felt. Grabbing a hair tie from the nightstand, her fingers weaved through her hair, mindlessly forming a loose braid. She draped a black robe, one she found in the small wardrobe, over her aching body. She moved to the other side of the room, cracking open her window, hesitation finally halting her movements. Where was she going? Deep down she knew where, but she could not bring herself to admit it. 

Climbing out of the window and jumping down, (Y/N) was greeted by the cool night sky. She pulled her hood up and over her head, letting instinct take over. It guided her up the hill on the right side of the house and through the quiet overgrown fields. She knew with an opportunity as such, that she should be searching for a way off this planet, but (Y/N) needed to see it. Trekking across the deserted lands, her mind wandered recalling moments that now made sense due to the light that had been shed on her past. (Y/N) now understood why the General had seemed so taken aback at their meeting on Hosnian all those years ago. She understood why C-3PO stumbled over his words around her, why Han Solo and Chewbacca had looked at her with wide eyes. She understood why Leia had to pull them aside on D’Qar. She knew why Luke Skywalker had nodded at her on Crait, why Rey had been odd with her ever since their first meeting. They were all looking at a ghost.

A clearing came up ahead, the landscape shifting drastically. The bubble lodged in her throat grew as she stumbled forward to the blackened area. The grass was singed, black, and most of the huts were in ruins. Very little of the temple remained, looking to be only a pile of stones. (Y/N) continued onwards, only stopping once she was directly in front of where a large boulder stood, with a thin layer of ash melted into it. Her trembling hand reached upwards to trace the grooves carved into it.

“You better not drop me!” (Y/N) warned as she climbed onto the shoulders of a crouched down Ben. His hands wrapped securely around her thighs as he stood back to his full height. 

“I’m not, relax (Y/N/N)!” She sighed as he stepped closer to the large boulder, littered in names of their fellow peers. (Y/N) leaned against the rock, raising the chisel and small hammer to it. 

“Don’t move unless you want your name to look bad!” Ben laughed underneath her as he looked above to watch her carve.

(Y/N)’s fingers traced over the carvings on top of the rock that read, “Ben” and “(Y/N)”. She had carved their names together at the top, away from the others. It had been an idea of Master Luke’s for all the padawans to carve their names into the boulder outside of the temple, signifying their unity and the rebirth of the Jedi. As her finger trailed down to trace over the other names, names of their deceased peers, she whimpered. A rock that once was to signify rebirth was now nothing more than a tombstone. 

Dropping to her knees, (Y/N) clutched the cold dead grass. “Ben! We need to help them!” The broken plea rang in her ears and she winced recalling her nightmare turned memory. She hated, despised, loathed him but fuck was she in love with him. “No!” She growled out. (Y/N) had loved Ben Solo, a padawan, not the mighty and forsaken Kylo Ren. Tears poured down her cheeks in an unstoppable flow. Closing her eyes, (Y/N) allowed her moment of weakness, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it. After all, she was truly as broken as she had always felt.

When she eventually opened her eyes, the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon, casting her shadow onto the black grass. Wiping her eyes, (Y/N) moved to stand back up although she froze on her left knee. Her gaze catching ahold of something green. In the dead center of the torched field was a small green sprout. It was tiny, signaling its newness to life. She could feel the strong energy flowing through the sprout and even underneath the charred greenery. After eleven years, the area was healing, reviving itself. (Y/N) pondered why the sudden beginning of rebirth.

Standing to her full height, (Y/N) turned to find a dark figure observing. Her breath hitched in her throat, frightened. She was not scared of the man, oh no, she was scared of facing him. (Y/n) still had not come to terms with her returned memories. She could not think of Ben and her, in love, married… dear Maker she was married to the Supreme Leader of the First Order. “Did you follow me?” She questioned already knowing the answer, even if he did not, he knew where she would go. He nodded stiffly eyes never faltering from hers. “How long have you been standing there?” She shifted uncomfortably. (Y/N) did not want him to see her in such a vulnerable state, that much had changed. 

“Long enough.” He mumbled barely audible. (Y/N) felt her blood begin to boil feeling: exposed, broken, and angry all at once.

 “How could you have done this?” She pointed wildy behind her to the ruins of the new Jedi order. “How could you have killed our peers?” Her words felt as if they were laced with venom, but the only person she was poisoning was herself. More tears poured down her face despite her best efforts to hold it together. She was sick of crying, of being weak. (Y/N) shakingly jabbed her index finger into her chest, “H-How could you have done this to m-me?” Kylo stepped forward cautiously but her head shaking profusely, stopped him. 

“I hate you!” She screeched. Kylo flinched but chose to continue towards her. “S-Stay away from me!” (Y/N) felt dizzy, the ringing in her ears growing louder, the rage inside draining her. She lifted her fists once he stood a couple feet in front of her, and began pounding away at Kylo’s chest. With every thump against his chest (Y/N) cried out, “Why?” She needed to know why. Why he would turn and abandon her, why he would destroy everything. He ruined everything because his uncle tried to kill him? She could not believe it, would not.

Her knuckles throbbed when (Y/N) stopped, after moments of sobbing and her inability to make Kylo even wince. She wanted him to feel her pain, but her attempts seemed to prove futile. (Y/N) felt worse as her hands slid down Kylo’s chest, her head dropping against it in replacement. Kylo staggered a little, finally showing some sort of reaction at the sudden difference in contact. She fisted his black shirt in her hands. She could not handle the pain anymore, every memory only provided pain. Hiccuping, she felt strong arms wrap around her torso, relief instantly flooding her mind. The pain was numbed, the storm cloud dissipating in her mind.

 With her tear stained face, (Y/N) looked up to Kylo’s watering eyes. He looked down at her softly, but there was pain evident. Perhaps he did feel her pain. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” His voice wavered as he attempted to comfort her. She only nodded, exhausted, and unwilling to fight. Kylo moved to cradle her back with one large hand, the other moving beneath her knees. He swept her up into his arms with ease and started their trek back to the house. (Y/N) closed her eyes leaning her head against his chest. She listened to his soothing heartbeat, the curtain of sleep falling over her.

Taglist: 

@benpeggycartersolo​

@2heures​

@thephantomwriter​

@thefandomzoneisdangerous​

@carol-chann​

@gambitsqueen​

@pancakefancake​

[s0meday0neday]

Warm and Terrified Outtakes #1

I’m not even sure where this came from, I had in no way planned to write any more flashback chapters, but when I started writing this morning this just came out. The more I wrote it, the more I realised it didn’t really fit in the fic, but I thought some of y’all might enjoy seeing a little outtake.

A look into John’s teenage years. Ending is abrupt, because I just stopped writing once I realised I didn’t want to keep this in the fic.

John figured out when he was thirteen that he didn’t particularly like alphas.

He’d just started year nine, and while most of the year group were having a talk about their O-level options, John was sat in what would be the first of many ‘Life Skills’ classes. The name wasn’t entirely accurate – it wasn’t a class to teach John the skills he would need for the life he wanted. It was a class to teach John the skills he would need for the life an omega was expected to have. Just thinking back to thirty minutes ago, when he’d had to awkwardly explain to Roger where he was going, made John want to sink into the floor.

To distract himself from that particular memory, John flicked through the slim textbook they’d been given, outlining the content of the so-called ‘subject’.

Chapter 1: Growing into yourself

John winced and quickly skipped over those pages, hoping the course wasn’t taught in chapter order.

Chapter 2: What the law says

That could be useful at least, John supposed, but it seemed to be the shortest chapter in the book. He skim-read a few paragraphs – most of it was stuff he knew already – before moving on.

Chapter 3: Your place in society

It was another relatively short chapter, and John didn’t even want to know what it said. He skipped it.

Chapter 4: Your future mate

And there it was. No question marks, no conditional tense, just black-and-white print that has a dreadful finality about it. For an alpha, finding a mate and settling down was an option – a very desirable option for most – but an option nonetheless. For an omega, it wasn’t. Omegas were sparse and in-demand. Just like the textbook, the world around John had assumed from the day he was born that he was going to settle down with an alpha sometimes before he turned twenty.

It didn’t matter that most of the time, John found the scent of alphas overpowering and unpalatable. It didn’t matter that he wanted to go to university before settling down. It didn’t matter that getting attention from his alpha classmates – although it thrilled some baser part of him – more often than not made him so nervous he thought he might be ill. It didn’t matter that John felt a little spark of something warm in his chest every time his best friend looked his way, because Roger was a beta and-

“John, could you read the next paragraph for us?”

He’d been completely zoned out, wasn’t even sure what paragraph they were on, or what page they were on, until one of his classmates leaned over to point it out for him. Chapter 4, page 1, third paragraph. John pursed his lips, skimming the text before he started to read.

“While unmated, you should be open and courteous to any displays of interest from alphas around you. You should…”

As he read, John’s mind wandered to Roger again. Roger expected him to be mated off one day, even if that fact was never spoken aloud, it loomed in background of every conversation they had about the future. And John couldn’t help but think that maybe, if that expectation wasn’t there, Roger might start to see him the way he saw Roger.

Though the thoughts had been slowly crystallising in his head for months now, it was only when he got home that night, and sat alone in his room that John really let himself admit it. He wasn’t interested in alphas. He wasn’t interested in being treated like some lesser, delicate thing. He wasn’t interested in a relationship where his partner had so much power over him and he had almost none over them.

More than anything, he wasn’t interested in being with anyone but Roger.

It was a frightening thought. So frightening that he pushed it aside, and refocused on the disassembled remote control on his desk. All these feelings wouldn’t matter much for another few years, after all, so he would just take a leaf from Roger’s book and try to ignore dynamics and their implications for another few years.

If only it was that easy.

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

Roger had been dating John for a month, though neither of them had been brave enough yet to put that label on the slow kisses they shared when they were sure nobody would walk in on them. The way John kissed him was unlike how anybody had kissed Roger before – the other boy was gentle, and thorough, and looked at Roger afterwards like he’d hung the stars in the sky. It was so nice that Roger didn’t particularly mind that things hadn’t gone any further. The whole thing still felt a bit taboo, after all, and he knew John was a virgin, so it made sense to move forward in baby steps.

Things took a turn one evening, when Roger was over at John’s house. He far preferred spending time together in John’s room, because the place smelled like John, and had his personality all over it – from the neatly-made bed, to the constantly evolving electronics projects John had set up on his desk, to the box of chocolates Roger had bought him last week, that John was taking his sweet time to savour, even though they were a bit cheap.

They hadn’t gotten to kissing yet, content for now just to enjoy each other’s quiet company as John did his maths homework and Roger nosed through his things looking for something interesting. He eventually found something, in the form of a slim textbook tucked in a pile of old textbooks under John’s bed.

‘Life Skills: Book 3’

It rang a bell. Roger could vaguely remember John taking some funny omega classes back before sixth form, but since John had barely spoken about them, Roger had no idea what they involved.

Curious, he flipped open the textbook. It was in a much worse state than John’s other textbooks, looking like it had been stuffed to the bottom of his bag in a hurry on more than one occasion, and with a few worksheets stuffed haphazardly between the pages. Roger tugged out one sheet, eyebrows shooting up when he saw the subject matter. He cast a glance over to John - who was turned away, busy with his homework still – before looking at the sheet in question. It was pretty simple, four questions in bold and then John’s handwritten answers – though it was obvious from the layout that the teacher had expected John to write far more than the few words he had scrawled in.

My first heat came when I was: 15

My heats are regular / irregular

Write how you feel about heats currently: Not good

Write how you think you will feel about heats when you’re mated: Not good

It seemed like the weirdest thing to make a bloody worksheet about, if Roger’s understanding of heats was anything close to accurate. It explained at least why John hadn’t ever spoken about those classes. He was about to tuck the sheet back in and put the textbook away when he noticed the title of another worksheet sticking out.

‘My Ideal Mate’

Roger’s curiosity got the better of him, and pulled it out to have a read.

Similarly to the last worksheet, the layout looked a little juvenile, considering John must have been about sixteen when asked to fill it out. There was a stick figure in the centre of the page, and instructions to ‘List the features you look for in an alpha’. Just as with the worksheet, John seemed to have put in minimal effort. He’d only written three phrases in the vast blank space provided.

Kind

Values higher education

Not an alpha

“Put that down.”

John’s voice was sharp, and so unexpected that Roger dropped the sheet abruptly. When he looked up at John, his expression was hard to read – a mix between about twenty different emotions – and Roger couldn’t tell if his cheeks were flushed with anger or with embarrassment.

“I was just-“

“Being nosy, yes, I know. It’s not any of your business,” John snapped, snatching the worksheet and the textbook away from Roger and walking away to shove them into the bin.

“Sorry,” Roger said, a little nervous. He wasn’t used to John reacting so badly to… well, to anything, really, “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

(sorry again for the abrupt ending! Thanks for reading, new chapter should be out sometime before Thursday if all goes to plan)

[godkilller]

How does Gin cope with the loss of his arm in your failure verse? Has he had episodes of phantom limb in Rangiku's presence? Did he ever snap at her while trying to complete basic tasks, spurring any arguments or fights between them? How receptive is Gin of her assistance in the very beginning of his recovery?

          Coping??? That’s a funny joke——no but really, Gin mainly views the loss of his arm as a reminder, a punishment, for the fact that he failed to achieve what he essentially ruined his life to do. Whenever he runs into a frustrating moment involving his injury, the anger that follows typically melts away to avoid any instances of self-pity or outright wallowing, as he feels he doesn’t deserve to sulk about the state of himself—-because he inflicted it upon himself. So he quells those knee-jerk reactions in favor of biting his tongue, hiding his pains and frustrations, to bow his head and not make a fuss to draw further attention to himself. Gin is, after all, amazingly sharp at disguising and otherwise masking his personal emotions. He’s falling apart, sure, but he intends to do so with some form of composure. Not so much out of any whisper of pride, but really just due to the habit of maintaining a facade.

          Phantom limb pain, a phenomenon that occurs to amputees in which the, for lack of better wording, ‘ghost’ sensations of the lost limb spark discomfort and pain (mild, moderate, or even severe) as the brain and nerves relive a whiplash reminder that the limb is, in fact, gone. It can hit at random, but instances in which, for example, the dominant hand is gone—-and someone tosses a ball over for them to catch? The instinctual desire to grab with the missing hand will cause an odd and uncomfortable echoing feeling of an outstretched palm, usually painfully and not really right feeling, and the brain / muscle memory, in its confusion and rebounding, will try to make sense of that missing data. The nerve-endings detached from the body will, after their attempt to establish contact with the limb, declare that something is wrong, and the immediate response is typically a shoot of pain. The brain sends its regards, and decides that oh, oh my, that entire arm’s gone, that must have hurt ! The body’s way of dealing with trauma of that extent differs from person to person, but with Gin it’s more likely to strike him at night, right after waking up, or during a dream.

          Rangiku has yet to see Gin succumb to more flaring episodes, though they can become quite painful for him with the additional element of Aizen’s reiatsu lacing the wounds throughout his recovery—-something discussed in Bleach canon as an often side-effect of being cut by an overpowering reiatsu. Eventually, it’ll fade, but phantom limb pain does not disappear fully; victims of trauma very rarely 100% remove the experience from their lives, they simply learn to lessen the instances via removing triggers, using certain physical therapy practices to better align their mind and body to be on the same page (and therefore avoid the likelihood of such clashes) and other techniques that assist in the calming of their frantic nerves. A man that lost his legs 30 years ago may still experience these pains, the duration of their physical recovery, unfortunately, doesn’t play much of a part—-the problem is also rooted in the mind, and often shares those roots with PTSD.

          Gin is careful to not get outwardly angry with Rangiku, specifically at her, too—-especially when the issue at hand is absolutely not her fault. If anything, he’s more likely to become openly frustrated with himself, and by extension possibly snap at her—-but the feelings would fade fast in light of such a slip-up, and he’d immediately divert any possible implications of blame back towards himself, and it’d more than likely just cause him to become more upset and less angry, namely at his lack of overall control and composure at the moment. Gin knows Rangiku wants to help him, knows she feels probably just as helpless as he does, if not more, and he knows that everything they’re currently struggling with falls onto his shoulders. He’s tired, he’s war-torn and irreparably broken to the soul, so he won’t be perfect and his attempt to consume all blame, all negativity he cast across them both throughout the betrayal and the Winter War, will undoubtedly slip—-he wants to fall on the grenade and take the hit by himself, but it’s impossible to do so when so terribly wounded physically, mentally, and emotionally. It’d be unrealistic, then, to say that he wouldn’t start a fight between them. Probably over something trivial, like adjusting his sandals and not being able to properly tie them without a struggle.

          Gin is most likely to express his frustrations in private, though given Rangiku’s dislike of leaving him to his own devices (rightfully so, for many reasons beyond her abandonment issues) it’s also likely that she’d at least walk in on him being frustrated with himself at least once. He wouldn’t break anything—-I mean, no matter how hard you throw straw sandals, they’re pretty sturdy. Annoyingly so, Gin would think.

          That would lead to the main subject of their argument; Gin is terrible at accepting help—-not because of any amount of stubbornness, though he certainly has a fair dose of that—-rather, he absolutely doesn’t believe himself worthy of it, but simultaneously doesn’t want to openly wallow in the undeserving rut. He wants to serve his punishment on his own, he doesn’t want to further burden her, but he also has to come to accept that pushing her away will only result in more hurt—-but he doesn’t know how to accept her help. Even before his betrayal, before the whole act began, Gin always kept his struggles private. So now, the mere concept of accepting her help astounds him. How could he expect her to just pick him up when she’s in pain, too? He’s near a breakdown, he can feel it every sleepless night laying next to her, and he’s wearing thin more and more each day in this sort of numb trance—-standing at the edge of a cliff, and he doesn’t want to bring her with him when he inevitably falls. Or perhaps he’s already falling.

          He’s not very receptive to getting help, but he also is too tired to put up much resistance in light of any persisting on Rangiku’s part.

          Rangiku’s luck in being able to help Gin via his relenting would directly coincide with how worn out he is on any given day. If he’s got enough fight in him to deny her extended hand, to keep trying to accomplish the task on his own, then he will. But Gin doesn’t have much fight left in him to spare, so it’d become a case of him choosing which battles to take on his own, and which to lean onto her during. He wouldn’t like it, but he also understands that Rangiku has more stubborn fight left in her than he does, and his disadvantage would leave him to a low-energy damage control setting—-manage what he can, and pick the lesser evils for her to help him with. In the beginning, this list of difficulties would be lengthy not only due to him being at the mere start of his recovery, but because he’d be absolutely too devastated to even try to remotely care for himself.

          Adjustment to physical trauma takes time, too. Rangiku would have to help him with quite a lot in the beginning, and she’d notice a grand withdrawing the moment Gin considers himself “capable enough” to do so. Recoiling, Gin would attempt to do everything by himself initially, before learning in privacy his new limits. It’d take Rangiku approaching him first, however, for him to eventually realize that he needs to accept her help, still, in those areas. Gin was not ambidextrous. Losing his dominant hand, he Gin would have to relearn (in particular) how to write, hold chopsticks, wield a blade, and overall sharpen his remaining hand-eye coordination. It would be extremely difficult for him to tie knots without using (and having a reasonable reach to) his mouth, and therefore shihakusho would be an endeavor–Gin may still dress himself, with extra time and effort, but obi, in particular, would be extremely difficult towards impossible to properly tie with a single hand. Rangiku would need to assist him in those areas.

          Gin is not ashamed of asking for help, but more so ashamed of himself and the fact that he must rely on Rangiku after so thoroughly damaging her. It will take him longer than a few weeks to heal from that sort of shame, guilt, and deep dejection. 

[rufousnmacska]

Late for Dinner

Post-acofas Nessian one shot that @itach-i made me write

my fanfic on tumblr

my fanfic on ao3

The clock struck the dinner hour, reverberating across the quiet cabin. Nesta looked up from her book in a daze, slow to understand what time it was.

He wasn’t home yet.

The weeks she’d spent in Cassian’s home had been horrible. After the first few days of fighting and screaming and demanding to be taken somewhere, anywhere else, she’d simply stopped, tired and deflated.

She couldn’t go anywhere on her own. The only other place she knew was Velaris and she was not welcome there. Undoubtedly that prick of a high fae had spelled the perimeter to keep her away. 

And the cabin was isolated, miles from the nearest Illyrian camp, surrounded by a thick forest full of deadly animals. According to Cassian. Not believing him, she’d tried sneaking out the second night she was here. A short distance into the woods and she’d turned back, unsettled by the eyeshine from animals of varying sizes and cursing herself for not continuing her training with Amren.

The splitting of the cauldron had diminished her powers, but there was plenty left to be a significant threat. She just didn’t know how to use it, or control it. The drinking had kept it dulled, along with the nightmares. And the sex had helped expend the built up energy. But as she had neither outlet here, her power had been steadily growing inside her.

Cassian sometimes offered to take her with him, but she’d stubbornly refused. So their days had fallen into a quiet rhythm: he’d cook breakfast then leave to attend to his armies, she’d spend her time reading or sleeping, he’d return to make dinner. Often, he’d bring her a stack of books he thought she might like, usually with a smutty romance hidden in the pile hoping to get a reaction from her.

And always, he’d talk, telling her about his day. About anything and everything; who had caused trouble with the females being trained, how he’d tried to defuse a camp eager to rebel, even gossip about some shop owner who sold him the books.

She didn’t think he was trying to make her jealous since he always mentioned how much he thought Nesta would like the female. When he’d told her that Emerie had taken over her father’s shop despite the Illyrian taboo of females having their own businesses, she had been intrigued.

But she’d refused to give him the satisfaction, refused to the point that she barely spoke to him.

And now, it was getting dark and he wasn’t home yet.

He always came home. Every night, even if he had to inspect a camp that was far away. Whenever he’d returned from a long flight, she could see it in his slightly dipped wings, and hear it in his tired voice as he recounted his day to her.

The clock rang softly for the half hour and Nesta realized she was pacing. The sun was sinking low enough to cast the woods in an ever deepening shadow..

Should she try to make her way to the camp? She knew the general direction, having watched him leave every morning. Maybe she could find this Emerie person and ask if she’d seen Cassian.

After more pacing, and another chime of the clock, Nesta made her decision. She changed into pants and a few layers of shirts before wrapping herself in the heavy cloak he’d bought for her. She’d never worn it, or the fur lined boots she now stepped into. There was no snow yet but it was coming soon. And she didn’t know how far she may have to go.

After grabbing two large butcher knives from the kitchen, she went outside and paused. The night was silent and she didn’t see anything among the trees. Pulling the hood over her head, she started off towards the Illyrian camp, refusing to dwell on the voice inside telling her Cassian was never coming back. Not because he was injured, but because he’d finally given up on her.

He flew like a demon, pushing himself to a speed he rarely reached except in battle. The moon had risen, the night air was freezing, and Mother damn him, he was late.

Damn Kyron too. The camp lord had been a pain in Cassian’s ass since long before the war. Lately, he’d been stirring up enough resentment and hate that a small contingent of his fighters had attacked a nearby fae village.

Including the females in the unit he took with him to put down the unrest had been risky. But he trusted their abilities and wanted to make a point. Things were changing, whether the old guard liked it or not. And he would not stand for dissent, let alone an unprovoked attack on civilians. Kyron’s camp was now almost empty, his forces either distributed throughout other camps or sent to prison, where their leader would waste away next to them.

He’d left the remaining mess to Devlon the moment he’d realized how late it was. As he raced for home, a dark voice told him it didn’t matter if he hurried. She would have her head in a book and pretend he didn’t exist. Maybe he shouldn’t bring her any more and force her to talk to him. Or, only bring her the smutty ones. The thought made him smile and he began planning a quick trip to Velaris to get them when a strange flash of light from below caught his attention.

As he hesitated between going to investigate and continuing home, the light flashed again. It wasn’t a bright, white fae light, nor was it the sign of a siphon in use. it was dark, black. Though that didn’t make any sense, he thought, hovering above the forest. It pulsed again and he was struck by a wave of magic trailing it. He was thrown back from the force of it, but stayed in the air. It felt so familiar... so full of anger and fear and... Nesta.

Plummeting from the sky, Cassian had only one thought in his head. Nesta was alone in the forest and he had to get to her.

As he neared the crowns of the trees, he heard snarling from below, loud enough to carry over the sound of the wind, then another burst of light and magic. With a great beat of his wings, he hurtled to the ground, landing heavily behind where she stood. His red siphons were ablaze and the small clearing around them looked as if it were on fire from their glow.

Nesta turned to look at him, eyes wide. Cassian scanned the area expecting to see some of the more vicious creatures for which these woods were known. But instead of finding them prowling around her, he saw only limp forms, blasted senseless - or worse - by her magic. He turned in a circle, growing more impressed with each second. Coming back around to face her, he beamed with pride.

“Nesta, I-”

Before he could say another word, Nesta ran for him and practically tackled him with a hug. Without a moments hesitation, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, breathing her in. Gods she smelled good, like a storm at sea or riding a wind into the sky. When he inhaled again, he caught the underlying scent of fear, something he’d sensed in her magic. Pulling away, Cassian took her face in his hands and studied her.

She was afraid, but not from the predators she’d killed. Not from the dangers she’d encountered in the forest.

“You didn’t come home,” she whispered, moisture forming in her eyes. “I didn’t know where to look so I headed to the camp and...” She trailed off, looking away from him as she realized what she’d admitted to.

Cassian brushed a single tear from her cheek and pulled her back against him. He half expected her to smack him away, but she didn’t. As his hand gently stroked her hair, he dipped his head to her ear and said quietly, “There was trouble with a remote camp lord and I lost track of time. I’m sorry I didn’t send word.” She trembled beneath his hold and he squeezed her tighter. He didn’t know if her shaking was from using her magic, the cold, or just relief. Either way, they needed to get inside.

“Are you ok to fly?” he asked. She nodded and let him swing her up into his arms. 

The cabin wasn’t far by air and he was disappointed to get there so quickly. When he set her on the ground, he kept his arms on her waist, reluctant to let go of her. She looked up at him with eyes so full of sadness his chest ached.

"I won’t abandon you Nesta. No matter what.”

She took a shallow, raspy breath. The desire to take her into his arms again and kiss her was overwhelming, but he didn’t give in to it. He would not push her, especially knowing how easily she could lapse back into her shell of silence. So he gave her a wink and said, “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted, eventually forming a frown. But a faint smile had crossed her lips, there and gone in less time than it took for his heart to beat.

She stepped back from him and turned to go inside. With a glance over her shoulder she said, “So tell me about this lord. I hope you taught him a lesson.”

“I’ll tell you about my day if you tell me about that magic of yours” he said, making his admiration clear.

She shrugged in agreement and went inside.

Cassian grinned and followed her into his cabin. He wondered if it would ever be their cabin. A spark of hope rushed through him as he closed the door. There was something about the sight of her dirty boots thrown next to a pair of his, and her cloak hanging on a peg in the wall. And her stack of books on the table, one still open on the chair. And the way the entire place smelled like her. Like home.

[kog0ruhn]

Earthquake doesn’t know where he came from, aside from the fact that his egg was found where the flesh-earth of the Wandering Contagion meets the dry lake beds of the Shattered Plains. It’s not infrequently that he thinks about what would have happened if he hatched just a bit further south or if he had been found by zealous Plague savages, casting side-eyed glances at his towering, vicious mate. However, the life of survival and brutality was not the life for him.

He was found by Snappers, natives of Dragonhome who scooped him up and whisked him away and raised him as one of their own. They taught him their looping paths from the Cairnstone Rest to the seat of the Pillar of the World, and watched over him as he slept at night. He was shown how to eke out a living in the harshness of the barren lands, and how to give proper respect to his ancestors and honor the Earthshaker. Most importantly, they taught him the importance of every dragon regardless of Flight, and ingrained in him that unity was the one way to bring everlasting joy to Sornieth and peace to dragonkind.

It’s a lesson Earthquake still holds dear to his heart.

He was happy in Dragonhome, but as he aged, he began to feel the pull of the Search dragging him elsewhere. With a heavy heart but boundless hope, he bid his adopted family farewell and decided to seek out his Charge in the land of his ancestors. To say that his troop was wary of him leaving would be putting it lightly, as they were destroyed by the idea of losing him to the Scarred Wasteland. Yet, with gifts and well wishes they saw him off.

He promised to return home. It was a promise he never quite kept as the Scarred Wasteland proved to be an unforgiving mistress, Earthquake learning the hard way that pacifism and preaching did little to sway the hearts of the Plaguebringer's faithful.

With little else to do if he wished to survive, he began to lash out, honing his skills on dragon and beast until he became something of a fine-tuned war machine. He comforted himself that his lost parents and distant ancestors would be proud to know he had not failed in the eyes of their Goddess, but the violence did not quite sit right with him.

To date, the only thing he feels he ever gained from battle was his mate and Charge, Snap. Known as Abezethibou when she came down on him like nine tons of claws and hate, he managed to thwart her with a mixture of words and might. Though wary and furious with one another, the instant “click” on the Search bound them in a strange and initially unwelcome way. While Snap was curious of Earthquake, he was disgusted by her; it took a considerable amount of time for him to admit she was what he was Searching for, and even more time to realize she had redeeming qualities.

Eventually, they were tied together in matrimony. It seemed like a logical end result to two Guardians slamming into each other in a way that screamed “soul mates,” and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t madly in love with her by now.

At Snap’s insistence, they remained in the Scarred Wasteland, though Earthquake never quite felt like he fit in. He turned his attention toward attempting to bring together and unify his fellow stragglers, outcasts, and hanger-ons who wandered the landscape lost, confused, and unwanted. While Snap was annoyed by his steadily growing collection of miscreants, Earthquake began to build them into a clan to call their own. His quirky band of nomads stomped across the Abiding Boneyard just as he had once traipsed across the Shattered Plains, making alliances and spreading their word of inclusion and brotherhood.

It was a doctrine that the Plague dragons swallowed about as well as you think they would.

Clan Elsewhere

He named the clan “Clan Elsewhere,” a fitting name considering their nomadic nature. After all, they were never in one place for long.

Life as the head of Clan Elsewhere went rather swimmingly for a while, despite the fact his dogmatic desire for peace and coexistence earned him quite a few equally dogmatic enemies in the form of Plaguebringer devotees. Snap warned him continuously that there was little to gain by preaching something so “outlandish” to the stubborn and devout, and both worried that one day a dedicated priest or martyr would lash out against him in anger. What neither expected was retaliation in the form of a band of Serthis.

Allied with a dragon clan who didn’t quite sit well with Earthquake’s merry band of outcasts, the Serthis set upon them in full force along one of their most frequented paths. Being at the front of the group, Earthquake took the brunt of the attack and while Snap eventually managed to free him of their poisons and lances, the damage had been done. Wings shattered, leg broken, and blood boiling with toxins, Earthquake was close to death.

He never fully recovered. His ability to lead was compromised. His ability to fight was nonexistent.

With a heavy heart, Snap relented that the best idea would be to leave the wasteland to seek safety. Their nomadic ways would have to stop and a permanent home must be found. Seizing the opportunity, Earthquake begged to be taken north to Dragonhome, to a land along the route of his Snapper family so he may live out the rest of his days in relative peace and comfort. Snap agreed; the remaining dragons of Elsewhere loaded Earthquake onto a makeshift “sled” and dragged him north.

Along the way, chance brought them past a straggler by the name of Beast. The leader of a clan of former misfits who eked out a living in the Contagion, she recognized Earthquake from having done business with him in her younger days.

At the insistence of Snap (and with the promise of money), Beast heard out their plight and agreed to lend a helping claw in safely moving Earthquake north. Her clan, The Wolves, joined with Clan Elsewhere and formed the foundation for the coalition that would become known as The Abandoned.

The Abandoned

It was a harrowing journey but, by its end, Earthquake could walk again. The Wolves were almost completely integrated with Clan Elsewhere but both of their numbers had thinned. When Snap came upon Earthquake’s desired home at the base of the Pillar of the World, only to find it occupied by greedy, hostile harpies and pretentious, territorial dragons, she... snapped.

The clan they encountered--known only as The Council--claimed ownership of the land where Earthquake’s adopted family once camped. After a few moments “discussing” matters with a starving, exhausted, and desperate Snap, they were apt to change their minds. Earthquake smoothed everything over the best that he could; instead of subjugating them, he made bargains. He got to know them. He organized a way to make their alliance benefit one another.

Thus, The Council joined growing coalition. Soon, neighboring clans and those who came to settle were inducted in out of necessity, trading resources and manpower in exchange for protection and goods. A governing body--representatives from each allied clan--came together in the form of The Fifteen, and soon, Earthquake had even given their new confederacy a name: The Abandoned, because, “we’re all practically stranded in the middle of a desert, abandoned by our gods and common sense.”

The ranks grew with Earthquake acting as the figurehead of The Fifteen, breaching gaps between cults and clans as well as reaching out to outsiders to seek out help and new membership. He commanded much respect in the eyes of even those outside of Elsewhere, though events concerning a certain dark force left him in a position where no amount of admiration will save him from his guilt.

The Flauros Incident

Goetia was a neighbor of The Council before Elsewhere and The Wolves even arrived. Comprised of strange and bloody dragons who cowed beneath the shadow of a dark, unsettling Guardian named Flauros, most allied with The Abandoned never desired any contact with Goetia whatsoever. However, Earthquake initiated a conversation with their leader and, in due time, their figurehead was one of the most prominent members of The Fifteen.

Then, Flauros escaped. His goddaughter was murdered in cold blood, and his own daughter was abducted straight from his lair by a dark, cold shadow. His mate went nearly mad with determination to bring an end to the madness and avenge her fallen, tearing apart The Abandoned’s clans and reforming them into something more organized. An army.

Unable to fight and practically paralyzed with guilt over opening the door and inviting the vampire in, it wasn’t until Shriek approached him with proof of Flauros’ “innocence” that he was spurred into action. Scared for his family and clan’s well-being after realizing they were chasing the wrong leads, he arranged for Shriek to get all of the help and consultation that she needed to find the true culprit hiding in the Not-Dragon’s shadow.

At the end of the line, they found Hashakgik. A member of the Plague cult, The Infected, he was an isolated occultist who lived outside of Abandoned territory in a literal hole in a wall. Worse yet, Earthquake realized, was that he had been recruited by The Fifteen to help quell Flauros. When Shriek revealed that she had figured out his source of control over the demonic force, Earthquake sent her to steal it while he rushed back to his home.

He found it destroyed. Snap battled bitterly with Flauros as an Emperor tore through The Abandoned’s defenses like paper. Hashakgik had already revealed his treachery, having felt Earthquake and Shriek bearing down on him. Though partially crippled, Earthquake found himself motivated by both terror and fury, launching himself at Hashakgik in an attempt to put an end to his reign of terror once and for all.

Instead, Azimuth jumped him. Using her abilities as a planer, she dragged him... somewhere else.

While he cannot remember what happened in this other plane, the outcome is clear. Vivec--a fellow planer--with the help of the Coalition of Magics managed to drag both Earthquake and Azimuth back from that dread otherworld. Earthquake was bloody and shaken, near-feral in his rage, but gradually eased back into his old self.

Azimuth was dead.

With Flauros contained and her controllers destroyed, Earthquake has settled into a role of helping to maintain order and rebuild his beloved home. He’s still quite rattled by the events, though he struggles to ignore his “weakness,” and though he still retains a degree of respect from his peers that no other dragon has, he can’t help but feel he has failed them all in some way.

In time, his followers hope he’ll realize he is not the one at fault.

Personality

Despite his massive size and the fearsome punch he packs, Earthquake is a slow and contemplative dragon with a quiet charisma that draws others to him. A walking encyclopedia of historical and mythical knowledge, many of the younger and more curious dragons in the Abandoned find him fascinating, and he can spend hours telling tales and explaining the way of things to rapt audiences that gather at his feet like parishioners. While his mate sometimes finds his passiveness infuriating, most agree that his personality and temperament make him an ideal leader, a fact he has proven again and again with every crisis and dispute that arises both inside his clan and to others within the coalition.

Even if many feel there is no one true leader of the Abandoned, they’ll concede Earthquake has more pull than most due to the sheer amount of respect he commands.

In the wake of Flauros, he is a bit more uncertain of his actions than he was before, constantly questioning what he does before he does it and seeking approval from others before he makes the final call. Everyone but him seems to trust his judgment, an irony that most around him find incredibly sad. They work tirelessly to rebuild his confidence, but he can see the hurt and loss in the eyes of those affected by Flauros and, well, it is difficult to ignore.

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 2X16 - The Miller’s Daughter

I actually don’t have a pun this time, but if you want to read some semi-interesting thoughts on this episode, comedy bits that may or may not be funny, and for me to try to analyze costumes despite having fork all knowledge about them, then come with me and you’ll be in a world of fairytale serialization!

Press Release Cora’s desire to rid herself of Rumplestiltskin in order to take his place as The Dark One takes one step closer to becoming reality as she and Regina try to overpower a dying Mr. Gold, and Mary Margaret is once again tempted by dark magic. Meanwhile, in the fairytale land that was, Rumplestiltskin agrees to offer his services to a younger Cora - for a price - when the king calls her bluff and orders her to actually follow through on her boast of being able to spin straw into gold. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past Cora’s psyche was FABULOUSLY written in this segment. She’s not completely unsympathetic, but seeing the things that tick her off and her suggestion of “bloodlust” as her fuel for her magic show that she’s a psychopath. She wants to torture people for looking down on her and it’s appropriately petty. Her ambitions are so strong and appealing to her that they eclipse even her sense of love. We get such a complex picture of this woman here and it frames her perfectly for the tragic fate that comes upon her in the present.

Cora, you are an evil woman but I’d be lying through my teeth if I said you didn’t rock that dress! Actually, despite knowing fork all about fashion, I want to continue. Let’s talk about the use of color in this scene. Cora’s wearing a red and black dress, though it’s predominantly red. I feel like this can be read (Or rather, RED XD ) as Cora being a person who wants bloodlust and who is finally deciding to let the blackness in her heart take over in order to get what she wants. Also lets not the silver on he dress as well in the form of the jewel or brooch (Note my lack of fashion know how), a small but noticeable reflection of the values Henry Sr. wants in a wife. And speaking of, Henry Sr. is dressed, not only in white, but white and silver. The white, of course, is his sense of goodness which does win out in the end, but the silver to me stands in for the speckle of darkness that his future endeavors with an evil Cora and an eventually evil Regina will be involved in. Finally, let’s look at the king. His clothes are roughly half black and half white. I read that as him ultimately having good intentions for his son and kingdom but being wicked for all that he puts Cora through, knowing her rank, status, and likely abilities.

While I understand that this borders of shipping stuff, and I usually separate that, I like how while Cora and Henry Sr. have a relationship that’s not at all antagonistic at the very start, they don’t spend enough time together to discover whether or not it’s love, making their dysfunction later on make so much sense. Present I have a lot to say about Snow wanting to kill Cora...just not here, if that makes sense. While I remember it going overboard in upcoming episodes (Prepare for the longest eye roll in the world when Snow goes on about how it was easy to kill Cora), it’s really well executed here. Snow riles herself up to kill Cora and when it finally happens, she realizes how she wasn’t ready for the internal consequences in regards to her heart and sense of goodness (Not to mention her safety from Regina!). Snow’s rage from the last episode’s ending is still so present, and it’s appropriately framed as a risky path she might not want to take, but just might have to.

Snow utterly GETS Regina as she’s giving her the heart. It’s horribly twisted just how much she’s able to pick on Regina’s need for a mother’s love and use that to get Regina to kill Cora. That moment really struck as the one where she realized (And me) that for as tactical as the move was, it may have been too cruel. All Encompassing I love seeing Cora as she started out because it says so much about the presentation she’s built around herself over the course of her rise to power. Cora has a fiery and snippy temper that she can just hardly control, even among the royals who she so desperately wants to be one of. The Cora of the present composes herself so well and it’s such an interesting contrast, especially in the moments when that anger does comes out.

It’s such an interesting contrast as the scene where Emma learns how to use magic cuts to the one where Cora learns to use magic. In the Emma scene, Rumple has her conjuring a mental idea of those she loves and wants to protect and why so that she can help others. Meanwhile, in the Cora scene, the ideas Rumple has Cora conjure have to deal with those she wants to harm and kill so that she can better her own status. It’s a great point of contrast not only for the two characters, BUT also for how light magic and dark magic are uniquely created. Also, given how Rumple is a Dark One who was at one point a Savior (Though I acknowledge that that might not have been created at the time), it’s great to see Rumple at the cornerstone of both lessons, showing a sympathy and understanding for both women.

“I realized no matter how good I was or how hard I worked, I was never gonna be more than I am now.” Cora and SNow are conflicting characters in this episode, and it’s so cool to see that at one point (Obviously longer for Snow by a huge margin), both women held the idea that goodness being the cause of good fortune as true. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -I love the design of Cora’s home in the past. With the placement of her father in the wheelbarrow and the dirty colors all around, it really highlights the squalor that Cora’s lived in all her life. Additionally, the castle in the still quite visible distance is the perfect thing to show her ambition to be more than she is and ascend to royalty. The melancholic music in the background just brings it all home. -Going off of my last review, I love how Eva is characterized in her small moment. The trip is pre-mediated (But in a smart way) and the Season 3 episode where they first meet even gives more of a reason as to why she was so horrible here. -Those bunks are actually roomier than I thought they’d be for a pirate ship. -I like Rumple’s subversion of expectations with Emma as he asks if she wants him to die before they return to Storybrooke. He always expects the worst out of people (As semi-justly as that mentality is) and when they show that that’s he’s wrong (whether he understands that or not) is just so nice! -”I-I’m not wicked.” You are about to kill at least four people! Yes, you are wicked! Or evil, since ‘wicked’ is more of Zelena’s schtick. -Also, Cora’s reaction to the phone call is hysterically petty. She’s like a cat. -Yes, Regina! Doubt her! (fork me with a rusty fork, the dialogue is just AMAZING here!) -*wistfully sighs* The stylized design of this ball is so beautiful. The masks, the dancing, the layout! It’s so distinct! -I have to ask: Does Cora know that that’s Henry Sr. when she originally gossips about him right to his face? On one hand, I’m not sure we’re supposed to interpret that that way, but on the other hand, it’s a very Cora thing to do. -It’s really weird to see someone on this show say ‘whore’ (“Whoring” in context, but still!). -”Cora. Sounds like something breaking.” I can’t say that I agree with you, Rumple. Cora’s a lovely name! We just need someone less evil to have it! -”Can ya read”” I think this is the first time Rumple’s actually checked to see if someone could read! He really should do that more! Like, so many of the people he deals with are defenseless peasants! So what the hell?! -Love that pen, Rumple! THAT is a deal-making pen! -”For a rainy day.” You say that a lot, Rumple. What, did a rainy day eat your dog or something? -”And there’s no coming back from death, either.” Give it a season, Rumple. And then another. And Then Another. And. Then. Another. AND THEN ANOTHER! I don’t hate this plot device, but it really happens a lot! XD -”...When he learns that you killed his grandpa.” Rumple, the other solution is her killing his adoptive grandma/great-grandma. This isn’t as much of a point in your favor as you think it is! XD -I love how they showed Emma using magic here. You really feel the step-by-step process in how it’s done. I wish they’d use that filming style more often in the future, but I guess I get that the creators acknowledge that we get the deal in the later seasons. -”I rip out his throat and I crunch his veins with my teeth.” That is amazingly disturbing imagery! Like, the writing of those lines are so impactful and frankly scary! -”To a child.” So, I don’t know if this was the fault of casting, but Eva and Cora are too close in age for the difference to be all that remarkable. -”I want their kneecaps to crack and freeze upon the stones. I want their necks to break from bending.” Another instance of disturbing as all here writing, but done so eloquently that it’s beautiful. -I like how Regina and Cora are able to pretty easily take down Emma’s protection spell together while Cora takes longer to do it on her own, showing that even though Emma’s the Savior and indeed powerful, she still has a lot to learn. -Also, good on you, Emma for giving Regina a last chance! -”WHEN YOU SEE THE FUTURE, THERE’S IRONY EVERYWHERE!” Finally! I not only now know for life where that forking quote comes from, but after referencing it time after time, it’s so good to hear it again! -Another note on the costume colors: The only time Cora rejects her ambitions are when she’s wearing her opposite color: White. The goodness in her is so overpowering! -I love the distorted version of the classic Once tune that plays as Snow is getting Cora’s heart. -”At least this cursed power will pass from this world.” I’m not sure how I feel about this line when it comes to Rumple, given how just two episodes ago, he was so on team magic, but given that the dagger both threatens his family now and caused the initial separation from Bae, I can understand the sentiment. -I’d like to think that when Cora sent Emma and Neal away, she essentially just did it via subconscious randomizer! XD -”Did you ever love me?” Given everything that happened with Milah, it makes sense that Rumple would ask this going forward with his romantic endeavors. -”I did nothing.” Yes, you did! Rumple, who the here told Snow about the freakin’ candle the second time? I love you, man, but don’t weasel completely out of this! -Something I noticed: So, I know that the point of contention with Regina blaming Snow for Daniel’s death is a hot topic (Hell, I even saw a debate about it this morning), and I can’t help but feel like this was written partially so that Regina would have a more...legitimate reason to hate Snow. Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Rumple Finding Baelfire/Neal - I actually discuss there two in just a moment! Regina’s Redemption - This episode definitely shows Regina’s sense of good and evil being pit against each other and Cora is right in the middle of it. In the shop, she’s directly by Regina’s side and there, she won’t even entertain the idea of Emma’s offer to change sides. But when Cora and Regina are separated, and the idea of Cora’s real love is brought up, that’s when we see her goodness win. Cora in Storybrooke - Here concludes this arc, and I honestly loved it. Like all of the best villains and their arcs, Cora leaves so much on the floor (Apart from her corpse, that is) in terms of emotional issues for our main cast, especially Snow and Regina. The arc itself  was also well written and well paced. Not to mention, it mixed very well with Regina’s Redemption by forcing it to be turned back a bit, showing that Regina’s redemption won’t be so easy. Favorite Dynamic Rumple and Neal - These guys have a scene that’s maybe half a forking minute and they steal the god damned episode with it. Rumple finally gets to say what we all know he really wanted to say. And what I especially love here is how Neal hears him out but does not forgive him! Like, Rumple is dying and he doesn’t fully absolve him, and I think that was such a bold and brilliant thing for Espenson to do. It shows that Neal’s pain, even in this moment, still matters, and while there can be softness, that pain hasn’t gone away. It’s such a small, but insightful understanding of their relationship. Writer Jane Espenson hit the writing out of the forking park! At least a few times during the episode had such intricate language. Honestly, it almost freaks me out a bit with the imagery she painted during the ‘bloodlust’ scene with the way she has Rumple and Cora speak about the harm they wish to inflict on those who scorned them! While there are errant lines here and there that I don’t like (I jotted a few down in “Insights”, they’re so few and far between that they hardly matter. The storytelling and character work here is great, too. She took advantage of all of the little nuances from the other episodes and shows just how much attention she was paying here. Rating Golden Apple. This was a great end to Cora’s story. Intersped with two fantastic stories that connect pretty well are great character moments between our main cast. It’s incredibly solid for an episode that serves as such a big moment of culmination, but it is. It’s entertaining, heartwarming, heartbreaking, disturbing at some points, and everything else in between. The feeling of tension as the Mills/Charming-Stiltskin war comes to a head is present through the entire flashback and Cora’s backstory only shows how much of a threat she truly is. Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Snowing - I like how David knows Snow well enough to know exactly what killing Cora will do to her psychologically. A subtle moment like that really shows how well these two click. Golden Heart (Cora/Rumple) - I’d be lying if I didn’t say there weren’t sparks that could light the Enchanted Forest up like a menorah between Rumple and Cora. I love the way they bond over bloodlust and their kiss in front of the mirror while Cora’s in her wedding dress is a little hot! Look, I LOVE mopey dopey puppy love ships like Snowing, Rumbelle, or Captain Swan, but I LOVE villain ships! I love when a couple loves evil and each other, the exact order notwithstanding and this episode gives me exactly what I want. In another world, I would totally have had Rumple and Cora be together and have episodes and be recurring villains, but that (partially) doesn’t happen. Still, I’m grateful for what we get here. Also, I love when while Cora places her heart on Rumple’s chest, he says “I will show you EVERYTHING,” meaning his heart and love as well. I’ve also got to point out that Rumple and Cora can do that thing that the True Loves do when their kisses can be indicative of when something is wrong. Finally, Cora’s pentultimate dying words are “this would’ve been enough,” and Rumple and Regina are the only two in the scene, meaning that she would’ve wanted to be with them as a family. Rumbelle - I could honestly just put the entire phone call here and it would cover everything I want to say. It’s such a beautiful goodbye. However, I’m going to reference just a single line that comes in early on. “You are a hero.” Rumple knows how much being a hero means to Belle and that’s the first thing he tells her. It’s her ambition for herself and he places that ahead of her ambitions for him. That’s just heartbreaking. And it’s here that Rumple first says a sentiment that carries him to the series finale: “You make me wanna go back to the best version of me.” And that forking almost silent “Thank you, Belle” legitimately choked me up. ()()()()()()()()() Thank you for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales!

Wow. After all the pain that Cora caused, Storybrooke’s more or less a new town! I guess we should welcome ourselves there. ;) See you next time. Season 2 Tally (142/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (39/60) Jane Espenson (35/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (24/50) David Goodman (24/30)* Robert Hull (16/30) Christine Boylan (17/30) Kalinda Vazquez (20/30) Daniel Thomsen (18/20)* * Indicates that their work for the season is complete

Operation Rewatch Archives

[numinex919]

After Crait - Chapter 5

After a lull in inspiration and finally giving in to the scene nagging at me, things take an unexpected turn in this chapter - seriously, I didn’t plan this! So now things are going to get interesting because the Supreme Leader is making plans . . .

“Ben!”

Rey’s semi-shout makes him flinch, though he gives no other indication of having heard her.

“I don’t want this any more than you do. The least you could do is acknowledge me.”

Because he’s right in the middle of a meeting with Hux, Captain Peavey and a mix of high-ranking First Order officers.

“Right, that’s it! I’m not going to acknowledge your presence either.” Distinct huffiness.

Truth be told, he not only can’t acknowledge her presence without appearing insane to the men gathered around the table.

He also doesn’t know what to say. The last time the Force connected them he had his dick in his hand, shouting her name as he came. Hard.

The back of his neck heats as he recalls her stunned response to his . . . lapse in judgment.

He wishes he hadn’t been tempted to lapse again.

But the reality is he hasn’t done anything further only because he doesn’t want to risk Rey seeing that a second time.

And he knows why, though the reason has him clenching his hand in a tight fist. He cares what she thinks of him.

What must she be thinking of him? With the memory she now has of his satiating an animalistic urge . . .

“Why won’t the Force let me shut the connection?” Frustrated annoyance leaches out of her voice.

“Supreme Leader, what are your thoughts?” Hux’s voice might convey respect, but he despises having to do so.

The Force hums with Rey’s attempts to shut it down, Hux’s anger, disgust and resentment coil through it, along with the boredom, irritation and contempt from the others in the room. Between it all and the lack of sleep and frustration, it stokes his tumultuous feelings to boiling point.

“Enough!” His snarled rage freezes everyone in to stunned silence. A quick sideways glance assures him Rey is still there and he has little time before she loses her temper.

“General Hux, I have given you my thoughts on what to do with Sonn-Blas’ new proposal. I will leave the finer details to you.” He stands, determined to end this interminable meeting.

“Before we adjourn, Supreme Leader, there is one other matter . . .” Hux’s feelings within the Force carry a deep hint of gloating delight, though his tone remains carefully modulated.

“Yes, General?” He detests the fact that Hux has stopped, forcing him to respond, a petty act that nevertheless is a power play.

“There has been word of Resistance presence on the Outer Rim planet of Felucia. I have sent two of my best operatives to confirm if the reports are true.”

“You think the Resistance is hiding in the Thanium Sector?”

Rey’s gasp is enough to confirm that Hux’s intel is undoubtedly correct. He risks a glance and yes, her face has paled, eyes luminous with worry as they meet his. He glances away from that pleading expression. She made her choice to reject his offer. The rushing sound of the Bond closing sends a spear of something he chooses not to name through him.

“I will take a small contingent to Felucia, general and see if your reports are accurate.”

Hux’s smugness vanishes, replaced with chagrin and no little degree of alarm. “You cannot!”

“I beg your pardon?”

The general’s face smooths out, though he can sense what it costs Hux. “Supreme Leader, your presence would draw unwanted attention and may well alert the Resistance to our knowledge of their whereabouts. And of course, your safety is paramount, we cannot have you endangering your—”

“That is why I won’t be going as Supreme Leader, General Hux. Captain Peavey, prepare my command shuttle, we leave immediately.”

* * *

Felucia’s major trading marketplace is strangely subdued when Rey leaves her contact after finalizing the next shipment of foodstuffs and weaponry.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickle and the Force thrums as she makes her careful way towards the rendezvous point. She struggles to focus as she moves through the busy street, sticking to the edges as much as possible.

Her thoughts are fuzzy from lack of sleep and constant worry. Dreams she has no business having constantly disturb what rest she does manage to snatch. Now the concern they’ve been discovered . . . she shivers despite the warm air.

There is no reason to believe the First Order would suspect Felucia as a base of operations for the Resistance, though they’d moved to Rhen Var just to be on the safe side.

Ben had mentioned the Thanium System, which consisted of many potential hideouts for the Resistance. Nevertheless caution makes her wary, so when she notices the small contingent of stormtroopers with three TIE fighter pilots in their midst she keeps her head down and a steady pace. Surely the First Order wouldn’t be so obvious if they suspected Resistance presence on Felucia?

One of the TIE pilots suddenly turns and stares at her. She pretends interest in a stall selling muja sauce, focusing intently on the seller’s patter. The weight of the pilot’s regard is almost stifling and she breathes a heartfelt sigh of relief when she senses his attention has turned elsewhere.

There is an alley next to the stall and she knows, from studying the layout of the marketplace, that it will eventually lead to the spot she’s arranged to meet Poe and Dakk.

She slips down it, grateful for the shadows cast by the tall buildings on either side. Deep, recessed doorways offer further cover should she need it.

The hard grip on her upper arm forces a startled gasp from her throat as she is propelled into one of the recesses and through a door into a small, empty room.

Fear clutches her throat in a tight vice as she is swung ‘round to face the person who accosted her.

The TIE Fighter pilot.

Her sluggish brain pings with the vague understanding that it is beyond odd for a pilot to accost her versus a stormtrooper. But this is thrust aside under the sudden overwhelming presence within the Force.

The pilot takes off his helmet with a hiss of circulated oxygen just as her brain suddenly makes sense of what her instincts and the Force are now screaming at her.

“Ben!”

A hand over her mouth, the Supreme Leader of the First Order glances around and wills the door behind them shut before turning back to her.

He looms over her, pinning her with his dark gaze. She feels surrounded by him, his broad shoulders and towering height dwarfing the room.

“Wha—”

He swiftly removes his gloved hand as she tries to speak.

“Ben, what are you doing here?”

His lips tighten and he stares at her, his gaze flickering back and forth on hers. “Rey . . . ” He seems at a loss and his deep voice is rough on her name.

“Do the First Order know where we are?” Urgency suddenly bites into her, across the swirling emotions filling the Force to overflowing. She’s grateful to have something to focus on because everything else is just too complicated.

“No. They don’t. But I do.” His dark murmur should perhaps have sounded threatening, but instead it and the Force around them carry a strange mix of satisfaction, longing and something else she refuses to probe.

With slow purpose he tugs off the gloves covering his hands, placing them and his helmet on the small table she just now noticed stands next to them.

She hunts desperately for composure, for what she should say and there is nothing but the surging power of the Force. Biting her lip, she runs her gaze over the breadth of his shoulders in the black flight suit.

A mix of nervousness, shyness and heated expectation churn within her as she suddenly recalls in a flash those shoulders naked, gleaming wet, muscles bulging as he . . .

“Oh, gods.” The power of the memory steals her breath and she can feel the clamour of emotion it engenders explode across the Force and then Ben’s corresponding gasp as it hits him.

She risks a quick peek and he is staring at her, breathing hard. With almost visible effort he collects himself, his mouth working as he reaches out a long finger and captures a strand of her hair.

“We shouldn’t be here. Like this. ” She’s not even sure what she means by her words, is it because they’re on opposite sides of this war? Or because of the powerful riptide dragging them toward each other? The desperate struggle they have to control this thing between them?

His voice is even deeper, rougher, reverberating to her core like a caress. “Rey. I—“ He is suddenly a hairs-breadth away and then, with a bitten off curse he has his hands on her shoulders, a brand through her thin clothes and his mouth—

His mouth is on hers. And it’s hot and real and he tastes of spice and musk and burning metal and his big body is pressed against hers.

It is too much and yet not enough.

The feel of him, the velvety lushness of his mouth, so soft in comparison to the surging hardness of his body as he slams up against her. A moan is ripped from her throat and Ben responds to it.

He tentatively opens his mouth and she invades, tracing the tender inside of his lip before sinking her teeth into the lush fullness . . . just like she imagined . . . oh gods.

She’s aware of a throbbing ache between her legs and familiar wetness. Her whole being feels sensitised and she needs her core against him.  She wraps her leg around his thigh, as far up as she can go, opening to him, rubbing herself against his shuddering body.

With a bone-deep snarl he tucks a hand under her thigh and lifts her high, adjusting them so the hard length of him is right there, against her.

She can feel control slipping through her fingers, flying free while a crimson thread of desire binds them closer.

In the maelstrom between them she can feel a balance between Ben’s softness and Kylo’s aggression. Was this what Leia was talking about? Could Ben find some form of equilibrium?

With a muffled snarl he lifts her higher and she has no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist and suddenly the table is under her and his mouth is off hers, but he’s ripping his flight suit open, revealing his deep chest, pale skin, wicked scars and powerful muscle.

Then he’s guiding her hand to his flesh and she can’t hold back a gasp at the contact, her skin tingling as she strokes him.

* * *

He can barely think as Rey slides her hand over his chest, brushing a sensitive nipple as the tips of her fingers glide across the clenching muscles of his stomach.

A hoarse gasp is forced from his throat as she slips her hand up, while pressing her palm against him, increasing the contact. It feels like she leaves a trail of fire in the wake of her touch.

The heavy length between his legs throbs and he realizes he is rolling his hips, thrusting lightly, yet insistently against the heat of her core. Her lean thighs ride his hips and he almost loses his mind at the mental images that evokes.

He knows what he wants and this face-to-face contact is so intense and also very different from their last time, in the Throne Room . . .

Shoving the thought from his mind, he concentrates on the feel of Rey beneath him. He wants to touch her, but he hesitates, suddenly uncertain of what to do.

Moving back he stares into her soft brown eyes. She meets his gaze unflinching, unafraid and he marvels anew at her inner strength, her ability to give unstintingly.

They’re both gasping for air, staring at each other in wordless communion. He wants to taste her sweetness again while he decides whether to chance touching her sun-bronzed skin.

“Sir! We’ve lost contact, please respond.” The disembodied, slightly robotic sounding voice shatters the moment.

Rey jerks up, her gaze suddenly fearful as she tries to pinpoint the source of the voice. Her movement inadvertently thrusts the heat of her against his shaft in a smooth glide that almost sends him to his knees.

A rasping grunt is force from him, almost blotting out her feminine gasp. It doesn’t stop her pushing at his shoulders. Wordlessly he gives her space, grateful when her hand remains on his chest even as she drops her head so he can’t see her face.

He tightens his arms around her, but he can already sense her mental retreat. It will be followed soon enough with a physical one and for a brief moment he wants to rage against the thought.

But as his second in command keeps attempting contact, he knows it will only be a matter of minutes before they locate him.

Rey is in danger and he . . . cannot allow that.

Not even pausing to process why that should fill him with both chilling fear and bone deep determination, he straightens and retreats, biting back on the moan-gasp as her hand leaves him.

He feels like he is ripping a part of himself away. The memory of Han Solo touching his cheek spears into his mind and he almost doubles over.

Loss slays him all over again.

The pain surges through him on a breath-stealing tide, but within it he finds his rage and grasps onto it with a desperation he doesn’t want to contemplate.

Jerking the flight suit back into place he growls at Rey without daring to look her way. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Come with me.” Her words are faint, as though she can’t quite believe she’s uttered them.

They hit him like a blaster bolt, nearly doubling him again and he can’t bite back his gasp as the whiplash of emotion in the Force snaps, hitting him like a physical blow.

“I . . . can���t.” The words are forced from him and he cannot look at her as she pauses a moment longer, silently beseeching, before hurrying from the room.

When he can sense she is far enough away he screams out his rage and impotence, throwing the table across the room with the Force so hard it disintegrates into shards.

He strides to the open doorway, gripping the frame so hard it buckles under his hand as he resists with everything he has the desire, the need to follow her.

[fantroll-purgatory]

Lycosa Robess - College Student Communist

@chaoticevilfantrolls

I’ve been considering making her a purpleblood, rather than a tealblood. I’d love some ideas for tying that into her re-design, if possible!

Reading her profile, I’m definitely interested in making her a purpleblood. So I’ll absolutely address that as we continue! I think linking her back to teal a little bit may be reasonable, though, given the setting.

Planet: Alternia, AU where she plays SBURB and as well as the age of being shipped of planet is 10 sweeps. Also, caste traits can be mixed up thanks to linked traits and genetic weirdness (like with Vapula).

Name:Lycosa Robess - Lycosa: From Lycosa tarantula, the animal originally known as the common tarantula. Ties into her lusus, horns, and just about everything else relating to bugs in her theme. 

- Robess: From Maximilien Robespierre, one of the most prominent figures of the French Revolution. Connects to her ‘revolution for the sake of it’ ideology, as well as her typing quirk (As the two numbers she replaces are also part of the year of the beginning of the French Revolution).

Oh man… I used to be a bit of a French Revolution nerd. I adore this connection to her revolution for the sake of it ideology. Robespierre was a really chaotic man who was willing to go to some incredible extremes. Nice link!

Age:Typically between 8-10.

Strife Specibus:chainKind. Her iconic weapon is a Kusarigama with a hammer on one end and a sickle on the other. 

I See Your Joke And I Love It. 

Fetch Modus: Hive Modus. All items are stored within a hexagonal grid, forming rings around a core item. Only items on the current outermost row can be accessed, and each row needs to be completed before items can be added to the next layer. She picked up this modus when she was still really in her bugs phase, which she kind of regrets now that she’s going for a cool hip college communist aesthetic.

Just inconvenient enough to be fun. I also like that even though it harkens back to her old bug interest, it’s also a modus based around the structure of a communal species, making it still count for a reasonable communism reference.

Blood color: Currently Teal, though I’m thinking about making her a purpleblood (maybe a defector from the cult? Especially because her rebellious nature is taken to an idealistic extreme- she doesn’t have a moral end goal, she just wants things to change.)

I do think that a purpleblood defector is a great thing to do. It ties into her theme of a desire for change and development to have her rebel against a structure like that. And even if we change her, we can still link her back to this tealblood root a little bit. See, a desire to change Can be her moral center. Her view of right and wrong can be ‘anything goes as long as it is in the name of change.’ She can have a judicial nucleus built around the conception that change is the ultimate right. 

Symbol and meaning: It kinda looks like a bug? I don’t necessarily want to go with an extended zodiac sign, because her symbol is technically from the same family as Vapula’s. Maybe a small adjustment to match the teal sign language would be good, if not changing the symbol to something else entirely (if she ends up as a purpleblood).

Oh yeah, I’ll definitely give her a custom sign. It fits teal sign language well enough that I might leave it mostly untouched even when I change her to a purple.

Trolltag: malcontentMarionette  - Malcontent: Someone who is displeased with their current situation

- Marionette: I feel this would tie in well to making her a purpleblood? She ends up as a sort of puppet, controlled by the violetblood in her session and becoming the leader of his consort army. Additionally, a marionette would tie into the inherent circus theme of most purplebloods, and her status as a mind player (controlling choices in some form).

Oooh I love this… It expresses her original feeling of being malcontented with the state of things and feeling like a puppet of her institution while also acting as foreshadowing for her story… And if she’s a purple, it Does indicate the general clown theme as Well as the chucklevoodoos. And if we do make her a time player (I’m on the fence there… Maybe. Mayhaps), it’s a good reference to that too.

Quirk: Actually has two different quirks, although they’re not used simultaneously.

Originally, she typed in all caps, replacing b with 8 and t with 7, representing insect eyes and mandibles. She would use horizontal emoticons with two sets of eyes (oOwOo) to represent a jumping spider’s face. She also wouldn’t use much ending punctuation, instead sticking to commas to denote pacing.

“MM: 7HE QUICK 8ROWN FOX JUMPED OVER 7HE LAZY DOG oOwOo”

As time goes on, her quirk becomes much more ‘refined’, cut back to proper syntax and grammar, with a distinct lack of emoticons. She maintains the symbol replacements out of some deep, in-borne spite, but that’s about all.

“MM: 7he quick 8rown fox jumped over 7he lazy dog.”

I like it a lot!

Special Abilities:Nothing in particular as a tealblood. As a purpleblood I’ve considered giving her chucklevoodoos that incite feelings of outrage, overconfidence, and anger, which can cause riots and rebellion. Additionally, being able to manifest insects (ala Gamzee creating Lil’ Cal, on a much lower level).

That’d be pretty neat, because chucklevoodoos are said to be a way for purples to keep the lowbloods in check/keep them in line. Her abilities having the direct opposite impact could be good… Maybe her abilities naturally started as an ability that influenced individuals to cause infighting, inducing rage against companions and manifesting visions of insects to get people to swat at each other and exacerbate fights? But she’s been actively teaching herself to move away from that ability because she does not want to be a tool of the system or a tool of control. Of course she could then try to utilize it as a power for unifying feelings of anger and giving it motivational direction. 

Lusus: A jumping spider the size of a kitten at most. A sweet, gentle lusus whom Lycosa most definitely doted on when she was younger. Her lusus will knit you sweaters out of web silk. 

Oh I love… If we make her a purple, we could just shift that to a sea spider probably. The silk’s still fine. Make some fishing nets out of that silk, little cute spider.

Personality: Lycosa, as a person, is fundamentally unhappy and ill-at-ease, banking on rebellion and change for the hell of it to fill some sort of thing that she can’t seem to place. She doesn’t care about the morality of the change she’s advocating for, as long as it happens, and as long as it soothes whatever emotional turmoil that is bubbling inside of her. 

She tends to let herself get swept away on flights of emotional fancy, elaborate stories of ‘what if’ that eventually become ‘it will’. Her belief that she can find all of the answers to her disillusionment in the form of others, or in the form of external relationships is one of those things. She ends up clinging far too much to a fellow player in her session, who uses her fancy to manipulate her into becoming his second-in-command, and an essential puppet under his control. 

She also tends to hold back any signs of her old interests, and any traits she has that others might not like. When the violetblood in her session expresses distaste in her interest in insects, she drops any signs of interest besides the most minimal, retaining only her quirk in some subconscious spite, justifying the lack of change as simply matching his.

A big part of her story line is learning to cope with her general malcontent with life in a way that doesn’t involve deep-throating molotovs for revolution, or clinging to the first person who offers her some sense of stability no matter how much they’re using her for their own gain. 

The relationship clinging is another of those little teal traits that I really like shining through in her. Picking someone that is bad for her and committing too powerfully to him… With the added purpleblooded fun of the dedication. 

I definitely love her. I love her a lot. She’s a very detailed and thorough character with a lot of story growth potential. She has a wonderful character arc here… And she has so many aspects that she��s throwing around that you can develop her in a million directions… 

Interests: Lycosa’s interests are few and rather simple, often shoved to the side in favor of mimicking whatever interests her current lover or friend happens to possess. 

She spent most of her youth obsessed with bugs, from their physiology to their behavior. She knows how to manage just about any insect, from wasps to butterflies to mosquitos, and she has a deep fondness in her heart for arachnids as well. She can draw detailed drawings of them from memory (which ends up becoming relevant at a point in her quest), 

Lycosa also has a deep and involved interest in illegal histories and recovering the names of banished and excised revolutionaries, recovering propaganda, symbols, and techniques they used to further their causes. Not out of any legitimate desire to bring those ideals to fruition, but because they’re a personal aesthetic and something to devote herself to. 

Lycosa has a secondary interest in improvised weaponry and field first aid, which she learned as part of her research into revolutionary tactics. 

God these are good interests… You’re great at picking a theme and sticking to it STRONGLY. Just to tie into that last bit, you should include interest in guerrilla warfare tactics, laying traps, Disarming traps… Just a little additional information that she could brag about having for theoretical revolutionary purposes.

Title: Her session already has a Void, Doom, Life, and Light player, so unfortunately those are off the table. I’ve been leaning towards Rogue or Thief of Mind or Heart, though. 

Rogue of Mind might work for her over-abundance of options, which she has difficulty coping with. Thief of Heart would better show how she takes parts of herself from others, mirroring them more than showing much of herself in a relationship.

Okay… I’m definitely struggling to make a decision here. Right now I’m between Mind, Heart, Rage, and TIME. 

Rogue of Mind works for sure. She needs to learn redistribute and allocate all of those choices, needs to learn to balance them out and move them around. To find the right decision among all the crap. And also to take back her own mind, her own free will, her own actions. She’d be able to redistribute logical thought and action. Her inverse is Knight of Heart, which would mean she could actively utilize the strength of her personal will, her emotions… 

If she were a heart player, I’d argue she’s a Page of Heart. She’s someone who has a weak identity. She cares so much about her aesthetic and what others think of her and moving herself to their whim instead of being capable of defining her own identity and having her own self confidence. This would leave her in a really malleable and endangered position. She would have to break out of this mold and reach her potential and figure out her identity and confidence in order to start utilizing her power, her soul, to its full capacity. With the inverse Thief of Mind, she’d also be able to steal back the right to action for herself, steal the options and activities while utilizing the strength of her will… 

Rage references strongly her malcontent and her firm desire for a little chaos, a little mess, a lack of care for whether something is right or wrong and just a strict need for MOVEMENT. If I were to recommend this I’d probably say Prince of Rage? Someone who is actively destroyed by all this pessimism and this need for everything to be torn down, but who is then able to learn to use this to destroy the systems around her… 

And time of course discusses her struggle, her want for social development. But it would also challenge her to engage in active struggle instead of passively accepting things as they come and taking a backseat goal. It would make her need to find a goal to focus on and strive towards it instead of vaguely aesthetically aligning herself with real struggles. I’d probably recommend Page of Time here for the reasons I detailed in the heart segment… 

God but it’s really hard to pick. She has so many possible routes… I think I’d personally recommend Page of Heart, but it’s really up to you to decide.

Land: Land of Streetlights and Discord

I almost joked about changing it to Land of Lit Streets and Discord so the acronym would be LOLSAD. But that feels a little rude. I might actually recommend something that implies control/a search of identity more? Maybe Land of Streetlights and Nevron. Nevron is the greek word for string and harkens back to the word for puppet, nevróspastos. It literally means “muscle” as well as sinew/tendon/string, which is a nice reference to the heart if you go with the heart title.

Dream Planet: Derse

Very suiting, especially considering her tendency to hide her interests because of what others think.

Now design fun!:

Hair: Because I moved her to a purple I decided to make her hair a little bit wackier. Not too much, but just a couple more flips and bits. 

Horns: I gave her some longer horns. I didn’t really see a reason for her to have two sets since she doesn’t have much link back to goldbloods? So I created a sprite with just one set and a sprite with two sets for your selection convenience. 

Glasses: I just edited them a bit darker because they looked awkward at that middling shade. 

Eyes: I changed them to purple, obviously. On the right side I also gave her a little facepaint? I knew she’s defected from the cult but it still does at some rebellious visual interest. And it hints casually back to her old insect interest. I additionally added some bags under her eyes because she is exhausted. 

Shirt: I changed her jacket to a lighter shade to provide contrast because of some of my other changes. I also lightened her outline on her shirt. 

Symbol: I decided to mostly keep it the same. I deleted like a single pixel between the two connecting lines to make a set of four open arc. It matches the teal sign language more than the purple, but I think it’s still at least tangentially similar enough to purple visually to be acceptable. 

Pants: I know that fashion is considered an object of consumerism and a lot of communist rhetoric frowns upon it, so I kept the rest of her outfit really simple. But I wanted to use some level of patterns on her clothes, since she’s a purple. So I used the Iconic Communist Yellow Star.

Shoes: Just edited to purple and given some laces.

I love her! Thanks for sharing.

-CD

[friquey]

@homestuckss @jackthekit-kat

here’s my homestuck secret santa gift! it was a lot of fun to write, and i’d love to talk with you more if it’s too disjointed and you had questions or anything! i’ll expand on it for the future, probably, and since your requests were what inspired me i’d love your input.

without further ado, here it is! WARNINGS for blood, death, and some unreality. i tried to keep it light on all that!

Your name is Sollux Captor, and you have a penchant for getting yourself into situations with your soulmate that are less than desirable.

“Stop pokin’ me.”

“That’s a little hard like this, genius,” you snap back, then scowl as Eridan digs his elbow back into your stomach.

“You’re too short to be the big spoon, Sol.” This was a long-standing argument, but you always insisted that something felt wrong about being the little spoon, and no other form of cuddling made either of you feel quite... Right. You think it must have been the way you were summoned.

—> Be Sollux from last year

You are now Sollux from last year. It’s mid July in Texas, and the weather is miserable; people are still setting off fireworks every night, as if they haven’t got the memo the fourth of July is only a single day. Karkat likes to joke that hell has nothing on Texas in the summer, and you have to agree. You haven’t exactly been back to hell in awhile, but the longer you’re here the more enticing it feels

Texas is in no way your home, but the last time some stupid kids at a party summoned you, you’d decided to stick around. Karkat has semi-permanent residence here, after all, with his weird ass human boyfriend. You usually crash at their house, but Kanaya and her wife are visiting and something about the blonde gives you the chills. She always looks at you like she knows something you don’t.

The stars (or what you can see of them) are beautiful. You have half a mind to make roots here, in this godawful town with it’s godawful name (Stardust, how cheesy is that) with nothing for you, if for no reason other than to feel like you’re doing something with your life. Rose has said this is a sign of yearning for domesticity, and that you should find a partner. You know there’s no point, because everyone you meet either pities you or runs away. There’s no room for romance in there.

Being a demon in this town is weird, though. Different. Many other demons (those you know and those you don’t) have taken up residence here, and it seems to be a safe haven for those like you. The humans don’t run and scream quite so much. The hunters leave you be if you don’t hurt people.

Long nights are good for philosophical thinking, but sometimes this gets cut short. The one thing that life in this town doesn’t change, though, is the stupidity of children. You recognize the familiar pull of a summoning as soon as it’s happening, and after a few seconds you blip out of existence before landing on your feet on a wooden floor and—

Something’s wrong. You feel excruciating pain, enough to make you fall to your knees gasping. The floor is warm, wet, sticky, and the smell of copper in the air makes it easy to recognize; blood. The wood is covered in it, with it flowing in between the cracks of the boards and filling little knotholes in puddles. It doesn’t take long to find the source; there’s a demon on the floor directly in front of you, circled in a summoning pattern that loops with your own. There doesn’t seem to be anyone in the room— no. No one alive. There are bodies, and the smell of death is making you sick. Your head is pounding now, and you do the only thing you can conceivably do; you crawl to the other demon, ignoring your own pain as much as possible. You’ve felt this before; they’re a sort of empath, a very powerful one, and in their state they’re projecting everything they feel as a plea for help. It probably killed the humans, but you’re tougher than that.

They look like shit. There’s blood all over their face and clothes, and much of it seems to be coming from slits on the side of their neck and their sides— oh, fuck. Gills.

You’ve never been the strongest person, so you figure it must be adrenaline that drives you to try and pick them up. They’re a fish or something, fish need water. The moment you touch them, though, it feels like your head is going to split apart; a chorus of screams is resonating in your mind, and only one of them is yours. You pass out before you can do anything to help the dying demon before you.

—> Be Erisol

Something’s wrong. Your body is too heavy— no, it’s too light— there are weird things on your neck and side— no, those belong there— your mouth feels too full— it feels emptier than it should—

You take a deep breath. Breathe, breathe, breathe. That’s what Kar always says— no, when has he ever said that to you? You aren’t so close to him that he’d know when you were upset, because you avoid him then— no, you run to him then—

“Shut up!” You snap, and the voice is barely yours. A little of this, a little of that, and— it’s time to get serious. Something is wrong. You shouldn’t exist.

Flipping through your memory is easy enough; you were summoned by a group of teens, who then casted spells on you from some sort of book. You passed out from the pain and presumably lost control of your projection. Then you walked in and saw you passed out and bleeding on the floor—

Wait. Wait. You can’t see yourself, that doesn’t make sense, none of this makes sense and you don’t know who you are. Panic claws at your chest, and you have the first unified thought for the last ten minutes, which is the instinctive need to run to Karkat and have he and Dave fix it.

—>

“Dude, you’re so fucked. I think you’re gonna have to talk to Rose.” That was exactly what you didn’t want to hear, but Dave has always been good at saying things you don’t like— no, Dave is one of your friends, and you like being around him—

With a frustrated whine, you bury your head in a pillow. You want to stop thinking; this is terrifying. You hear the telltale click of heels on tile, then muffled on carpet.

“Oh, dear.” Rose tuts, and she sits gingerly next to you on the couch. “Sol—“ She pauses. “Eri—“ Another pause. “You look terrible,” she finally decides on, and you bare your teeth into the pillow.

“No shit, Sherlock. What’s wrong with me?”

“A botched ritual,” she responds immediately. “It’s a forced joining ceremony, usually used between a human and a demon or two humans, rather than two demons. I think that’s the problem; the spell wasn’t made to encompass so much power, and now you’re, well.” She gestures at you, and Dave is standing behind her, grimacing. “You’re definitely joined, I’d say.” It takes all of your willpower not to jump at her and wring her neck, but you manage.

—>

It takes a few months for Rose to prepare what she needs to get you back to normal, and in that time you’re forced to stay at Karkat’s house. The first time you see him, his name sounds something like “K-Kar” but by this point you’ve settled on using just KK or Kar interchangeably. You slowly get to know yourself; your two life stories, likes and dislikes, friends and foes. Two people weren’t meant to be one, but you think you manage well. One half enjoys it for the closeness, and the other can’t admit it but they do, too. A lot of your time is spent laying around having conversations with yourself, all but dead to the world around you.

When Rose finally has her unjoining ritual ready, a sense of fear and loss rises in you like the tide, soothed only by internal promises that you can stay together as two, just not as one.

—> Be Eridan

The fighting starts just two weeks after you and Sollux are separated once more. You’re still both at Karkat’s house, under the watchful eye of Kanaya and Rose; most waking moments are spent with you clinging to Sollux, feeling a sense of loss at being by yourself again. He lets you do it, holds your hand when you ask, even crawls into bed with you of his own volition at night.

You’re both confused. You didn’t even know each other before this; the confusion is what starts the fighting. He’s scared, you’re too close, you know too much; you’d know this even if he weren’t projecting his deepest fears outward every time he saw you. He starts taking his anger out on everyone, and Dave seems to be the only one who can calm him. Karkat tells you to watch your projection, because the jealousy, murder-y vibes are starting to creep Dave out. Sollux avoids you, and the next few weeks are miserable; the loss is palpable, a physical ache in your chest.

—>

You’re not sure what changes, but Sollux slowly starts joining you at night again. At first it’s just the same bed, but eventually he wraps his arms around you, pressing his chest to your back. After a few weeks, you get the courage to acknowledge him without fear it’ll make him leave.

“You’re a little too short to be bein’ the big spoon.”

“Shut up.” He presses his face into your neck and you smile, radiating feelings of warmth and contentment.

—> Be current Sollux

Eridan is sort of a mystery to you. You didn’t know him before that summoning, but something about him makes you feel protective. You freaked out once for a few weeks because Rose said something about soulmates, and it wasn’t until Karkat lectured you about how terrible you were making Eridan feel that you ignored what she said and went back to trying to behave with some semblance of a normal person.

Being with Eridan is easy, in a way. Your personalities mesh or clash depending on the day, but he’s always happy to just sit with you when you need quiet, and he’ll let you just hold his hand if you get too freaked out or lonely. In the grand scheme of things, you two were joined for less than half a year, but it felt like an eternity to learn to navigate a new body and new responses to things. You miss it more than you think you should.

Eridan gets it, though. For the most part, when you try to explain how you’re feeling about it he mirrors your concerns. There’s no handbook on how to handle separating into two people after being one, no Unjoining For Dummies, so the two of you are on your own.

On a side note, you’re almost entirely sure Rose coined the phrase “unjoining” to fuck with you.

—>

Eridan’s needs are fairly simple. He has to apply a water based lotion or gel to his gills every two hours or so to make sure he doesn’t die or something, and any sort of praise is met with enthusiastic response. He feeds off all emotion, but positive is what he likes best.

You, on the other hand, are more difficult, and it’s a miracle how he puts up with you. You feed off technology, and you’re constantly putting the power out for brief stints of time (which drives Karkat fucking bonkers, but everyone else laughs it off). The voices of the damned can force you to lock yourself away at times, and Eridan, saint he is, will pull up a chair and sit near you until you feel normal again.

Nothing is “normal” anymore. Something in you aches for Eridan, even when he’s right next to you, and you’ve never depended on another person so much in your life. The first time he says he loves you, the only thing that keeps you from bursting into tears is how much love he radiates, making you feel warm and whole. As it is, you’re choked up enough that you can’t say it back, just clutch him to you like a lifeline from a rocky shore.

Nothing is normal anymore, but everything feels much more right.

[sugarpinecrews]

title: o’ death word count: 1,982 ship(s): n/a, maybe minor ot3 if you squint warning(s): detailed discussions of necromancy, death, murder, violence, and other magick rituals a/n: it’s ya boi with yet another spooky pine fic, this time it’s jeremy’s origin story. can be paired with parker’s, as well as my previous fic.

         There was little in the way of fear or concern, and withdrawal from emotional bounds slowly became only second nature; time passed by, the world cycling through rounds of devastation, bouts of destruction caused by seemingly outside forces, and Jeremy merely buried himself in his studies. Other realms wasted no time in mourning, spirits spending but seconds considering the troubles they may have caused. The deceased worried not of the outside world, this realm that Jeremy found himself captive in, and he appreciated the distraction ( even if this difference between reality and spiritualism would soon end, even if he would soon find himself attempting to summon the spirit of a deceased friend, a soul forced out by unnatural means --- it was fun while it lasted, he supposed ).

         He knew from the beginning that this career choice was meant to be shrouded in darkness, enveloped in an evil most people would rather not imagine, but he never did see it as so. Death was inevitable, yes, an ending that would exist regardless of any distant hopes of peace, but most still didn’t wish to discuss it. This fact, though obvious to him from the start, still bothered him when presented by friends and loved ones; attempts of forcing them into the topic would eventually become fewer and further between, as fatigue wrought weary holes into previously insistent perseverance. As time went on, he decided to simply allow them whatever oblivion they chose; he would deal with their stubborn ignorance when they finally passed --- spirits always seemed much easier to interact with, anyway, though he often neglected to speak this opinion aloud ( for fear, perhaps, of his friends placing even more distance between them --- life needed equal halves in order to be fruitful, and he knew this all too well ).

         He was only a child when he first experienced death. Helping to care for pets never proved a beneficial task for the boy, always finding himself left with a dead fish, a deceased dog, or cat, or hamster --- he wished to believe their souls never truly disappeared, that loss of life would only lead to a more fulfilling afterlife, and this belief only continued to accompany him into adulthood. He began to study the deceased young, attempting to contact the spirits of lost loved ones in his early teenage years; spells spoken in a hushed tone following the completion of homework, rituals completed before he left for school in the morning --- early on, he learned to never label himself an artist of the deceased. Most believed these studies a sign of witchcraft, a deal with the devil made in cold blood, and he never wished to cast himself aside. Studies fell into secretive shadows, and he simply learned to accept this as the norm. It kept strangers from interfering, at least, and he appreciated this aspect of it the most.

          His first cadaver was witnessed before he even hit twenty years of age. Rather than admitting to officials the sight, he simply took it into his place of residence; a risky decision, perhaps, but he saw no real harm in the matter. Death was an end to life, and where was the sense in burying a body that could still be put to good use? He labored in isolation for weeks, cleaning the body torn by violence, wiping blood clean from exposed wounds --- attempts were made to contact the spirit of the deceased, and despite the loose interactions experienced, Jeremy still felt himself capable of more. He tried to bring the soul back to this realm, attempted in vain to resuscitate the deceased, but found himself inevitably exhausting all available resources. The body was burned --- a promise to the spirit that her corpse could never be manipulated again --- and he went about his life, researching any new corpses tossed his way ( which, as time went on and new friendships developed, began to become more and more frequent ).

            Eventually, he would come into contact with a group of special, supernatural beings. Although they masqueraded as humans, he could sense the weakened soul, a spirit that has long since fallen victim to immortality. The demon possessed nothing of a soul, presented itself more as a gross amalgamation of those he has tortured in his past, those bound to him through a desire for vengeance; Jeremy could feel their pain, sense their deaths repeating themselves over and over and over again --- the others possessed souls of an individual, a spirit still flickering behind the muzzle of something much stronger than any human form imaginable. The soul of a man held captive by a wolf’s heart, a vampire living life as though a servant of death --- in exchange for the bodies of their unlucky victims, he would provide them with the tools necessary for survival. A continued supply of blood, a seemingly endless supply of fresh meat, of clean, untouched sustenance --- despite the trade-offs occurring just outside, his roommates continued to remain oblivious, simply living their normalized lives, routine painting the peculiar as expected.

          Unknown cadavers, bodies desecrated by an attack from a supernatural force --- more often than not a vampire he loosely considered a friend --- came to scatter the room he spent more time in than he probably should. Backs propped up against a wall behind, bodies poised as though simply sitting in anxious anticipation --- an imprecise schedule rotated around a list of meetings and rituals, and he even penciled in these plans on a calendar hanging near the door. One day he would summon the spirit of a woman murdered outside of a corner store, the next he would attempt to ward off any negative entities still lurking in the crevices of this dusty old basement; a cleansing was scheduled at least once a week, a ritual he did more out of a habit than any real fear. He supposed it was better to be safe than sorry ( a notion his roommates would graciously thank him for, were they to know of any of this ).

        Most, of course, believed him to be capable of much more than he truly was. Shadows of mystery blanketed themselves across a room off limits to any other than himself, and this is how he chose to operate, studying his craft in solitude rather than with any unnecessary interruptions. His roommates didn’t question his unspoken dealings, didn’t ask of the oft-thought strange scents emanating from behind closed doors, didn’t ask of the repeated requests spoken into silence, the handful of unknown materials he trudged down to his work space unexplained; undisclosed events existed in darkness not out of fear, nor out of elitism, but rather out of disinterest. He didn’t feel his friends truly intrigued by his work, nor did he really wish to traumatize anyone not ready to experience death just yet ( but, as could probably be expected, he possessed little control in forces existing outside of his area of influence --- there would always be entities pulling strings of actions just outside of his reach, and he came to learn this first hand ).

             It is the evening of the full moon when Jeremy is pulled from his work, binds of focus broken as acquaintances stand awkward at his front door. We are so sorry, they say, as if expecting outward expression of grief, as if loss would somehow strength an emotional pull he has neglected for so many years now. In the bright light of the moon up above, he faces the trunk of a car, sights set upon trash bags haphazardly tied shut, blood still staining the surface directly beneath them; despite disfigurement, he recognizes the body immediately as one of two roommates, now gathered like debris and brought to him in, what, fear? Desperation? Ignoring the feelings of anger, of guilt, of regret bubbling just beneath the surface, he chooses to only curtly nod in response, silently beginning to transfer the body to his typical work space. This corpse, as explained to him in passing, was the result of a werewolf’s wrath; he could still smell the scent of the beast, heavy and thick upon the destruction caused by sharpened claws, by teeth ripping through a human vessel --- intrigue and curiosity, as usual, play a role in his research, and he quickly begins to toil with the remnants of yet another corpse awaiting a new life ( only, this time, it wouldn’t be the spirit answering to requests in hopes of peace on the other side --- no, this would be a completely new beginning, and Jeremy would make sure of it ). 

              The study of necromancy presented itself only as communication with the deceased; historical accounts beckoned the ear of any interested in reanimation, but reality could not be rooted in mythological tales of war-torn soldiers recounting the terrors seen by a now-passed gaze. For this, he would need a more modernized retelling, a more concrete, definitive pedestal to stand upon, but despite studies spanning countless areas of belief, Jeremy still knew to be careful in combining different methods; thought to be blasphemous by any who caught wind of his past attempts at fully realized resuscitation, he tried his best this time to keep his newest thoughts more private. If he were to revive his newly-deceased friend, he would need to write his own rules, take pages from a book never before written.

              Voodoo was nowhere near one of his many areas of expertise, but he had very few options remaining; attempting to summon the spirit of his friend through typical necromancy rituals proved itself unreliable at best, and he saw no need in bringing the soul of a man back into this realm if a physical vessel was not available --- the body would need to be fully resuscitated, and the spirit would need to be bound to it immediately upon revival. It was a risky task, that of full resurrection, but he knew himself capable of such a deed ( perhaps out of determination, or perhaps out of an attachment to the dead that he, even to this day, refuses to acknowledge ). 

               Countless evenings are spent in his usual work space, the corpse of his friend propped up on a makeshift operating table. Rituals of many different belief systems are performed, and many nights are spent in silent anticipation, sitting in the basement with nothing more than rotting cadavers to keep him company; on more than one occasion, movement is spotted --- the twitching of a finger, the blinking of an eye, and yet no further expression of life is presented to him. Despite this, hope is never lost; Jeremy continues his attempts of summoning the spirit of his friend, continues his, as of yet, fruitless attempts of resuscitating the corpse placed before him --- upon the fourth night, he finds himself becoming weary of this tiring routine. He tries a handful of rituals again, this time putting more desperation into his words, more emotion into his pleas; he busies himself at a table filled with varying substances and materials, setting things aside in jaded haste when ---

              --- help, I can’t... 

              “You’re fine,” he finds himself stating, words escaping lips well before he’s turned to face his newly-revived friend. With his back turned, he grins, excitement pulsating through his veins as he sets a glass down upon the table in front of him; the action gives him enough time to regain composure, to again place before him a mask of emotionless catatonia. His friend continues in his aim to speak, but difficulty must weigh heavy upon his tongue. “...you were dead. I brought you back.” he adds, reminding himself again to hide the smile threatening to dance across his features; and they said death was no fun.

[dbarajas03-blog]

NOVA (RICHARD RIDER)

Richard Rider was selected at random to possess the powers of a Nova corp warrior. Richard Rider is the host of the entire Nova Force, a vast energy source that he can access to grant himself a number of superhuman attributes. He uses his power for good to protect Earth. He’s definitely one of Marvel’s underrated characters to be seen.

Powers and Abilities

Nova derives his powers from an energy source called the Nova Force which all Nova Corps Centurions wield. This energy was transferred to Rider by the Nova-Centurion, Rhomann Dey. The Nova Force affords Rider superhuman powers including flight, superhuman strength, speed, and durability, as well as the power to absorb energy directed against him and release it as gravimetric pulses and beams, either from specific parts of his body or from his entire body. Nova is a good hand-to-hand combatant and has been coached by Chord.

Nova wears a standard Xandarian StarCorps uniform, designed to accommodate his powers without being damaged by them. The uniform is highly resistant to damage, including outer space conditions, and is airtight. In addition, the uniform has a built-in life support function that can sustain Rider under the most extreme environmental conditions, including acting as a life-support suit by locking off the mouth and eyes of the helmet. The helmet contains a radio, telescopic sights, night vision sensors, and heat imaging sensors, as well as a visual heads-up display for tracking energy signatures. Nova's helmet has a rigid construction and shape when worn, but becomes as malleable as cloth when it is not, allowing Rider to hide it in his civilian clothes when desired. Nova's uniform is not only extremely malleable but contains specific functions to aid Rider in his role as a Nova Corps Centurion. Among these features is an electromagnetic discharge that can nullify gravity and an interface to stargates that allow him to enter hyperspace, where he can move at velocities exceeding the speed of light. Rider can also alter the appearance and nature of his uniform to suit his needs. However, as Rider learns the hard way, the Nova Corps keeps a strict dress code. When he makes major cosmetic changes to his uniform after rejoining the New Warriors, Nova is summarily ordered to conform to standard.

During Annihilation, Rider's uniform is altered and enhanced to house the Xandarian Worldmind as well as the entire Nova Force, which was previously used by all members of the Nova Corps. With the Worldmind and the Nova Force, Rider possesses tremendously augmented strength and durability as well as nearly limitless quantities of energy. The Worldmind consists of the entire culture and history of Xandar as well as the individual minds of thousands of years of dead Xandarians. The consensus voice of the Worldmind can speak directly to Rider, helping him to control the Nova Force, fight enemies, sense energy, interface with electronics, and protect against psionic abilities. The Worldmind can also assume direct control of Rider's body when he is asleep.

Bio

Born in Hempstead, New York, he was chosen at random by the alien Rhomann Dey, last surviving Centurion of the planet Xandar's elite Nova Corps, to inherit his power and succeed him in the rank of Nova Prime following the destruction of his world by the intergalactic pirate Zorr. Having been mortally wounded in the battle that tore Xandar apart, Dey succeeded in tracking Zorr to Earth, but he was unable to exact vengeance himself due to the extent of his injuries. At death's door, Dey had little choice but to transfer his power to an unsuspecting human on the planet below, gambling that whoever he found would be willing to take up his cause and prove worthy of the powers he had given their recipient. The sudden infusion of power overloaded Rider's body, and he was hospitalized. While Rider was comatose, the moribund Rhomann Dey explained to him telepathically what had happened to him and what his mission was. Rider's recovery was as sudden as his incapacitation had been, being preceded by eye-blasts that knocked a doctor out of his room. Discharged, he tried to resume his normal routine. But the very next day, Rider was alone in his bedroom when Dey suddenly transmitted to him his (Dey's) last gift to Rider, his Centurion's uniform. Rider found himself possessed of a high strength level, near invulnerability, the power to fly, and a uniform with a sealed life-support system, but little instruction on how to use these new powers. Indeed, he had barely had the opportunity to test out these powers before radio circuitry contained in his uniform's helmet alerted him to depredations that Zorr was committing in the heart of New York City. Rider was able to locate Zorr and engage him in combat for a handful of minutes; though he did not manage to injure Zorr severely, Rider did enable Dey to lock onto Zorr's location by means of the Xandarian's telepathic link with his Terrestrial successor. Dey then teleported Zorr aboard his (Dey's) Nova-Ship and used the energies of its Computer P.R.I.M.E. to disintegrate Zorr totally, leaving behind only the alien's life-support suit. The energies of the Computer P.R.I.M.E., indeed, were so powerful that Dey's own moribund body was itself destroyed in the process. Rider, calling himself Nova, had little idea how to use his new powers, enamored of them as he was. Still, he took up the life of a superhero, fighting costumed enemies such as the Condor, Powerhouse, Diamondhead, the Corruptor, and others in New York while gradually learning how to use his new powers. Rider led a listless life. Depressed by the loss of his powers, and unwilling to go back to the high school from which all his friends had graduated, he worked odd jobs until the day he was approached by Night Thrasher. Night Thrasher was attempting to build his own super-hero team, and he had read, in an analysis of Richard Rider, that Rider's powers might be reactivated if he suffered a great enough adrenaline rush. To accomplish his "experiment," he kidnapped Rider and dropped him from the top of a building. As Taylor had expected, Rider's powers were then reactivated, and his identity as Nova was restored. After his initial anger at Taylor, he eventually agreed to join his team. Nova proved to be a valuable asset for the Warriors. Dubbed "Kid Nova" by the media after the Warriors' debut, Rider had to work harder to regain the respect of the public after his absence. Working with the New Warriors, Rider also began a flirtatious relationship with his teammate Namorita, although they did not move beyond friendly squabbling in the first few months. When a woman claimed the power of Nova's old enemy, the Sphinx, she reorganized reality into a version that appealed to her. Here, Rider had achieved prominence as a member of the Avengers and the respect he craved as Nova. But Sayge, the Embodiment of Truth, nonetheless confronted Nova and made him see this reality was a lie. Recruiting the other original New Warriors, Nova fought the Sphinx and made her reverse her changes. Nova and Night Thrasher finally buried the hatchet after this adventure, and Taylor provided Rider with an upgraded version of his original uniform, allowing him to cast off the media-given "Kid Nova" name completely and operate unchallenged as Nova again.

In an encounter with Garthan Saal, also called Supernova, Rider used the full power of the Nova Force to help restore Xandar and its population, including Adora and many others, through the planetary cloning banks that the Worldmind controlled. Although his powers were increased, Rider was reduced to being one of many personnel of the Nova Corps. With Xandar now under the protection of the Shi'ar Empire, Nova had superiors to whom he had to answer as a Corpsman. Nova had difficulty in maintaining his duties as both one of the Nova Corps personnel and a New Warrior. He met an alternate reality Nova, "Nova O:O," who helped Rider develop his powers. He also saved Earth from destruction by preventing the detonation of the "Deathstorm" bomb. But dealing against the Deathstorm bomb had meant ignoring a call from the Nova Corps, and that amounted to dereliction of his duties. Thus Rider was stripped of his Nova powers. His power was given to Garthan Saal, who came to Earth as Nova in his place. After several months as a powerless associate of the New Warriors, Rider and Saal confronted the Dire Wraith queen Volx, who fatally wounded Saal. The Xandarian passed his powers on to Rider, exactly as Rhomann Dey once had, and Richard Rider's identity as Nova was again reinstated.

Most of the Nova Corps and Nu Xandar had been destroyed by the Annihilation Wave. Richard Rider now contained the Worldmind, giving him substantially increased power to fight against the threat. However, it was not known how long he could contain the Worldmind. Drax had offered to assist him. Later, in an effort to buy more time for the evacuation of the besieged planet Nycos Aristedes, Nova and Quasar punched through the Annihilation Wave to meet Annihilus face to face on his own command ship. In the ensuing battle, Quasar was killed and, though Rider was forced to flee, his efforts, combined with the timely intervention of the Worldmind, succeeded in driving the Annihilation Wave to retreat from the sector and secure the planet's complete evacuation. Faced with the universal threat Annihilus now posed, Rider and the Worldmind agreed to abandon the search for a safe haven and remained joined together to fight the Wave head on. To oppose the Annihilation Wave, 205 days after Annihilation Day, Richard Rider formed an army which he called the United Front. His land-based army included Drax the Destroyer, Gamora, Ronan the Accuser and Starlord (Peter Quill), while his outer-space forces consisted primarily of Firelord, Red Shift and Stardust, former Heralds of Galactus. Rider and his forces fought valiantly holding off the wave as best they could, gaining small victories here and there. Other allies joined the United Front like Super Skrull and Phyla-Vell. The Front, ultimately, was made up of hundreds of species all fighting to stop the Wave. After months of fighting, Nova finally confronted Annihilus and the two began a fierce battle. Phyla-Vell attempted to join but found that Nova had sealed her and Quill in an energy bubble, wanting to face Annihilus alone. Using the quantum bands, Annihilus proved to be too much for Nova. Phyla-Vell forced her way out of the bubble and attacked Annihilus, attempting to wrest the quantum bands from him. Annihilus threw her aside, but the quantum bands abandoned Annihilus and joined with Phyla-Vell. Annihilus fought on, but Nova surmised that the gap in Annihilus's armor was his mouth. Taking advantage of that, he forced his hand down Annihilus's throat and tore out his (Annihilus's) entrails, yelling, "THIS IS FOR THE NOVA CORPS!!!" Both Annihilus and Nova slumped to the ground as Nova looked up to see the veiled figures of Thanos and Lady Death looking over him and smiling. Nova told them, "Better luck next time." The war was over, Annihilus's forces were defeated and treaties were signed. Ronan, who had now become the Emperor of the Kree Empire and ruled in the name of the Supreme Intelligence, offered to make Nova an honorary Kree. Nova was left debating his future and wondered if he should return home to Earth.

Significance

Nova is definitely very interesting as a Marvel character whose potential continues to grow more. He was just an average teen chosen at random for greatness and now possessing the Worldmind. He is an incredible warrior and I think he would be ideal for the position of a hero corrupted and used as a weapon for evil. This would go against his morals and everything he stands for, giving him an interesting dark side. I think Marvel can definitely see Nova going the dark route through corruption and manipulation.

References:

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Richard_Rider_(Earth-616)

[inhumansforever]

Inhuman of The Day

February 22nd - Crystal

Crystalia Amaquelin.  The daughter of Ambur and Quelin and younger sister to Queen Medusa.  Crystalia (or ‘Crystal’ as she is more often called) was exposed to the Terrigen Mists during her late childhood.  Terrigenesis had a minimal effect on her physical form and endowed her with vast powers.  She gained the ability to exert temporary control of the four base elements of earth, wind, fire, and air.  This enabled her to create controlled bursts of flame, powerful gusts of wind, send forward a directed torrent of rock and dirt, and manipulate water into spinning spouts.  Although it took Crystal a great deal of training to better master these abilities, hers has proven to be one of the more impressive power-sets among the Inhumans, leading Crystal to become highly respected and popular among her people. 

Crystal’s aunt, Azur, married the former queen’s brother, Mander, and this afforded young Crystal placement among the royal precession.  In as such she grew up in the opulent setting of the palace and enjoyed great privilege.  Her status within the caste system of Old Attilan was further augmented when Terrigenesis endowed her highly impressive powers.  And yet, this privilege and good fortune never appeared to go to her head and she remained kind, open and respectful toward others.  Crystal was the youngest of the various children growing up in the palace and, being the youngest, Crystal often felt left out of the various games and activities that occupied her older sister and cousins.  

Often left on her own, Crystal ended up forming a powerful and lifelong bond with the prince’s watchdog, Lockjaw.  Crystal’s early experiences of social solitude may have also contributed to her later life interests for adventure to desire to explore the world outside of the confines of Attilan.  

At one point, Crystal’s cousin, Maximus, abducted her and threatened her life as part of a ploy to elicit an angry reaction from his brother, Prince Black Bolt.  Due to the potentially disastrous nature of Black Bolt’s powers, he needed to maintain absolute self control and Maximus was trying to break this control by putting young Crystal’s life in jeopardy (in Maximus’ bent thinking he believed that Black Bolt’s loosing control would prove that he was too unstable to rule and thus Maximus would be named the crown prince).  Yet Black Bolt was able to maintain his stoic self control and he saved Crystal.  Crystal had initially been quite frightened and intimidated by her cousin, Black Bolt.  After this encounter, however, Crystal came to feel great devotion, respect and fondness for the prince.

Years later, yet another of Maximus’ sinister schemes resulted in a successful coup were upon Crystal and the other member of the royal family were banished from Attilan.  Crystal’s sister had gone missing and, under the influence of amnesia, had fallen in with the human criminal, The Wizard.  Aided by the teleportation abilities of Lockjaw, Crystal and the others went in search of Medusa and it was during this time that Crystal first met young Johnny Storm (the Human Torch of The Fantastic Four). 

Both attractive teenagers possessing incredible powers, there was an instant connection between Crystal and Johnny.  At first, Crystal assumed that Johnny was an Inhuman like herself.  When she discovered that he was a human, however, it did not at all diminish her feelings for him.  The other Inhumans tended to look at the regular humans as inferior and primitive, but Crystal held no such prejudices.  She saw the humans as equals and was fascinated by them… a feeling that quickly blossomed into a long and torrid romance between Crystal and Johnny Storm.  

The Fantastic Four ultimately traveled back to Attilan and assisted Black Bolt in regaining the throne from his mad brother.  In a desperate act of spite, Maximus activated an impenetrable negative zone force field that shielded off Attilan from the outside world.  Crystal was trapped within the city while Johnny and the other members of the Fantastic Four were trapped outside.  Heartbroken, Johnny vowed to do whatever it took to be reunited with Crystal.

The negative zone force field was eventually deactivated and Crystal and Johnny were finally reunited.  Crystal decided to return with Johnny to the human world and she joined the ranks of the Fantastic Four, taking over for Sue Storm during her maternity leave.  Crystal proved to be a valued member of the FF and her quick thinking and elemental powers saved the day on many occasions. 

Sadly, Crystal and Johnny’s romance began to dwindle.  They grew apart and Crystal eventually left Johnny, returning to Attilan.  Some time later, Crystal came across the Mutant and one-time Avenger known as Quicksilver.  Quicksilver had been injured in a battle with a sentinel and Crystal brought him back to Attilan to recuperate.  During Quicksilver’s convalescence, he and Crystal fell in love with one another.  Soon thereafter, Johnny Storm returned to Attilan in hopes of winning Crystal back and was heartbroken and angered to find that Crystal had moved on and was in a new relationship with Quicksilver.  The animosity between Johnny and Quicksilver notwithstanding, Johnny was eventually able to work through his hurt feelings and maintain a close friendship with Crystal.  

Quicksilver proposed marriage to Crystal and she accepted the proposal.  No Inhuman of Attilan had ever wed an outsider and their engagement caused quite a stir among the Inhuman peoples.  With her royal bloodline and great powers, The Genetic Council very much wanted to say in whom she would marry… in the hopes the union would produce powerful new Inhumans.  Yet King Black Bolt overruled the Council’s objections and gave Crystal and Quicksilver his blessing.  The two were wed in a lavish ceremony in which Johnny Storm, The Fantastic Four, and The Avengers attended as guests.

 Following their marriage, Crystal and Quicksilver resided in Attilan.  At the time, Attilan maintained a cloned slave caste who provided the various manual labor needed to keep the city-state functioning.  Crystal’s good nature and her strong sense of justice, coupled with her experience in the world outside of Attilan ultimately led her to realize the great immorality inherent in slavery.  She argued for the abolishment of slavery on Attilan; furthermore she was able to ascertain how Maximus had used the collective feelings of guilt and racism the citizens felt toward these cloned slaves as a psychic fuel power his giant android, Omega The Ultimate Alpha.  Omega was defeated and Maximus’ plot foiled; and soon thereafter, King Black Bolt issued a decree abolishing slavery on Attilan and freeing the clones.  

Some time later, Crystal became pregnant with her and Quicksilver’s child.  It was at this time that many of the citizens of Old Attilan had started to grow ill from the heightening levels of pollution in the earth’s atmosphere.  Generations of living in isolation had left The Inhumans of Attilan highly susceptible to environmental toxins.  Attilan’s location in the remote mountain range of The Himalayas had thus far shielded the Inhumans from these toxins, yet the gradual breakdown of the earth’s ozone layer and mounting levels of environmental pollutants had finally taken its toll on the populace.  In the later stages of her pregnancy, Crystal was especially sensitive to this sickness and she fell gravely ill.  Quicksilver rushed to elicit the aid of The Fantastic Four.  Reed Richards and Black Bolt devised an intrepid plan and all of Attilan was ultimately relocated to the oxygen-rich Blue Area of The Moon.  The plan succeeded and Crystal was cured of her ailment.  She gave birth to a healthy baby, a daughter she named ‘Luna’ after Attilan’s new home on the moon.  

Luna grew up on Attilan and, for the most part enjoyed a very happy childhood.  The Inhuman Marilla, who had once acted as Crystal’s governess took on the role of nanny for Luna.  Being the daughter of Quicksilver and granddaughter of Magneto, however, would prove to be a matter that would put young Luna’s life in great peril.  The evil Mutants, Fabian Cortez and Exodus, former acolytes of Magneto, abducted Luna.  At the time, Magneto was presumed dead and Exodus hoped to utilize Luna as a means of consolidating power among Mutant dissidents.  Yet, when he obtained Luna, Exodus realized that the toddler did not possess the mutant gene.  The fact that the blood relative of Magneto was a non-mutant, a ‘flatscan’ incensed Exodus… he viewed Luna as an abomination and he attempted to kill her.  Fortunately, Exodus was defeated by Crystal with the aid of the Avengers and X-Men.  Luna was saved.

All of this eventually took a great tole on Crystal and Quicksilver’s relationship.  Quicksilver had always been an irascible and poor tempered sort and the alienation he felt as an outsider living on Attilan only acted to further intensify these qualities.  Crystal and Quicksilver grew apart; the two eventually separated and were later formally divorced.

During this time, Crystal fell in with The Avengers and served for a short while among Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.  As a member of The Avengers, Crystal engaged in a brief affair with her fellow Avenger, Dane Whitman (The Black Knight).  Toward the end of Crystal’s tenure with The Avengers, Iron man’s mind was taken over by Kang The Conquerer.  This mind-controlled Iron Man killed Luna’s nanny, Marilla.  Kang was eventually defeated, but it was the last straw for Crystal and she left The Avengers, returning to Attilan.  

Some time later, the events of M-Day resulted in 90 per cent of the Mutant population losing their special mutant abilities.  Crystal’s ex-husband, Quicksilver, was among those Mutants who lost his powers.  Despondent over the loss of his powers (and feelings partially responsible for the occurrence of M-Day in and of itself), Quicksilver attempted to take his own life, leaping from a building.  Crystal discovered what had become of Quicksilver and found him critically injured.  She brought him back to Attilan, where the Inhuman healer, Kalikya, was eventually able to successfully treat his grave injuries.  Now healed, Quicksilvered petitioned King Black Bolt to allow him to go through Terrigenesis so to possibly reattain his special gifts.  The process was too dangerous and unpredictable and Black Bolt refused Quicksilver’s request.   Desperate and forlorn, Quicksilver decided to plunder a large cache of the Terrigen Crystals; he absconded from Attilan with these crystals, taking his daughter, Luna, with him.  Hidden away, Quicksilver exposed both himself and his daughter to a concentrated form of the Terrigen Mists.    

Quicksilver obtained the temporary ability to travel short distances through time; whereas Luna gained the power to read (and, at times, manipulate) the emotions of others.  Crystal, Black Bolt, and the others were ultimately able to track Quicksilver down, yet by then the cache of Terrigen Crystals had fallen into the hands of the governmental agency, SHIELD.  Crystal was reunited with her daughter and Quicksilver was banished from Attilan forever under the penalty of death.  

The Inhumans’ attempts to re-obtain the Terrigen Crystals from the US Government eventually led to the ‘Silent War’ event, culminating in SHIELD director, Maria Hill’s decision to detonate an atomic bomb on the moon that cost countless Inhumans their lives.  

In the wake of the Secret Invasion Event, all of Attilan found itself embroiled in the intergalactic war between The Kree and Shi’Ar Empires (the War of Kings/Realm of Kings Event(s)).  The Shi’Ar were ultimately defeated and The Inhumans became the rulers of the victorious Kree Empire.  Black Bolt apparently perished in the act of defeating The Shi’Ar and Crystal’s sister, Medusa, was named the new Queen of The Inhumans as well as ruler of The Kree.  As part of an effort to maintain peace within The Kree Empire, Medusa gave Crystal’s hand in marriage to the former Kree leader, Ronan The Accuser.   Crystal was all but inconsonant.  She respected Ronan as a warrior, but felt no fondness for him; and she was irate that her own sister would use her as a bargaining chip to consolidate power over the Kree.  In the end, Crystal conceded to do what was in the best interests of her people and she agreed to marry Ronan.  

What began as a ceremonial and strictly political union between Crystal and Ronan slowly blossomed into a true romance.     Ronan was dedicated to his bride and Crystal’s feelings toward him mellowed, ultimately turning to love.  Sadly, their marriage did not last long.  Black Bolt returned and retook the throne.  As a means of separating the Inhumans from The Kree and relinquishing sovereignty over the empire, Black Bolt had Crystal marriage to Ronan annulled.  Both were heartbroken, but Crystal once again bowed to what was determined to be in the best interests of her fellow Inhumans.  

Crystal returned to earth with the rest of Attilan and enjoyed a short respite with peace.  She enrolled her daughter, Luna, into school at the Future Foundation.  Later, at the behest of her daughter, Crystal made amends with her estranged ex-husband, Quicksilver.  

Following The Secret Wars Event, Crystal was assigned by her sister to command the Royal Inhuman Vessel (or RIV), a large, mobil fortress meant to attend to Inhuman issues all over the globe.  Initially, Crystal used the RIV to assist Nur in the locating of many of the children of Attilan who had gone missing during the Infinity Event and the evacuation of old Attilan.  Following this, Crystal led the RIV on a global ambassadorial mission to offer aid to the various new Inhumans created by the Terrigen Cloud.  

When it was later discovered that The Terrigen Cloud was deadly poisonous to Mutants, Crystal spearheaded an effort to utilize the RIV to stay ahead of the cloud and evacuate Mutants that were in its path.  More recently, The X-Men discovered that the Terrigen Cloud was dissipating and would render the earth uninhabitable to Mutant life.  This led them to break their peace with The Inhumans of New Attilan and engage in a preemptive strike to neutralize the more powerful Inhumans and ensure that they not interfere with The X-Men’s efforts to eradicate The Terrigen Cloud.  A part of this preemptive strike was a sneak attack by Magneto that destroyed the RIV; Crystal and her team were all captured and imprisoned in the other-dimensional realm of Limbo.  How all of this will ultimately resolve is a tale still being told in the pages of Inhumans versus X-Men.  

This upcoming Spring, Crystal is set to star in the new Inhumans title, The Royals, by Al Ewing and Jonboy Meyers.  Crystal first appeared in Fantastic Four Vol. 1 # 45.  

[crustaceans-and-fankids]

Kekara Ancestors (3 of 3)

KEKARA ANCESTORS (PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3)

Zhavala

Zhavala’s initial nature in her youth was utterly insecure, uncertain, and unstable due to constant hatred against her and her kind and issues with abandonment by people whom she thought she could trust. In adulthood, this was replaced with a more ravenous nature brought upon by more misfortune and a combined repression of negative emotional experiences.

In Zhavala’s time, Mutants were not cast out. They were endured, as a majority were sentient and considered useful to the society, although they were not respected in the least as it was believed their anatomy and behavior was unnatural and grotesque. It was not uncommon for them to be beaten, spit upon, or refused things—particularly so by Royals, although commoners were sometimes accommodated to the practices as well given their desire to mimic Royal views and way of life.  Despite the prejudice against their kind, Mutants often stuck together and tried to endure in their daily lives. Some treated them with the same kindness as others, and thus they were drawn more to those people.

At some point in her youth, Zhavala struggled highly with the concept and acceptance of the self as many Mutants did. Her mutation resided in the form of crab legs sprouting from her head. Often times she had tried to cut them (which was painful as hell) but they would grow back quickly. Eventually she learned to let it be, assuming it pointless to try and hide her deformity.

 She became overly frustrated growing up, especially in Royal treatment of her kind, especially knowing that her people were doing little to stop it either out of fear or ignorance. In her adolescent years [for lack of a better word since I have not considered their time terminology] she stowed away on a ship headed to Jhinga territory. She opted to run away from the city life, away from the royals, in hopes that becoming ignorant of her people’s tribulations would ease the pain of its occurrence and allow her mind to be numbed by a more casual lifestyle. After making her way to their territory, Zhavala travelled their woods and found a place where she could rest. As she did so she became frustrated over being left alone to her thoughts which gravitated more toward the thing she was trying to forget about. At this point, she was approached by Freiyah, and instead of being afraid of the Mutant’s unsightly appearance, she was intrigued at how she had “antennae” like her kind did. She stayed and spoke with Zhavala, which positively altered her mood greatly. She convinced Zhavala to return home, although welcomed her to visit again, which the Mutant did. She soon kept returning to the forest in Jhinga territory to meet her friend in over and over again, until they eventually grew a romantic relationship.

This relationship went on for quite some time, and they both grew to trust each other highly and would often bring each other gifts from each side of the Mercury  Sea that the other hadn’t known of given their separate worlds. At some point, Zhavala went back to see her, although Freiyah never returned. She continued to wait until her spirit had completely shattered, and because of her fragile nature her mentality drilled a lie into her head that Freiyah had abandoned her on purpose. She knew very well in the back of her mind what might have happened to Freiyah as it happened to many Jhingan women and girls, but her frightened and anxious ideas were louder than what she knew might be true. She tried to grasp the idea that no, she never would leave her, and that someone must have taken her, but she could not ignore her other feelings either. The two “truths”  were mixed up within her.

She left the forest and stowed away once more back to the city, refusing to ever again return to where the Jhinga lived, and sought respite in the Palace temple. Although there was a prejudice against her people, Sages were kind and accepting of the concept of unity, and thus they invited Mutants to visit the temple and even stay for a while there as a sort of Bastion from the Royals and other commoners’ hatred. Thus, Zhavala stayed there with no place she felt safe, and was welcomed with open arms by Cecil. He had spent a long time with the temple and was at the moment a Sage in training. Despite not having achieved the rank, he was still particularly divine and in tune with his spiritual practices.

She and Cecil became close, and although it was typical (but not an absolute necessity) of temple residents to refrain from romantic relationships, the pair became involved in that way. In a sense their involvement was partly through love, but Zhavala felt empty inside and subconsciously craved companionship in the hope that it would assuage the fears of loneliness. She did love Cecil, but felt her love for him was not the same as it had been with Freiyah, whom she felt completed by during her time with her. Despite her anger at the situation, she would often remember the Jhingan girl and how she used to smile for her.

Over time, Zhavala decided to devote herself to temple life. Although he was not supposed to teach her, Cecil attempted to aid Zhavala by invoking her spiritual journey, which she was initially frightened of doing but agreed to so long as he guided her. Cecil had sensed that she was spiritually broken, although he had a good heart and hoped she could be helped. Zhavala too had hoped in reaching such a status, her mind would be cleared and free from past grievances. She ached for relief.

Cecil wasn’t able to predict the outcome of his interference, and although he had been warned of letting her rise as she did, he continued to foster her journey into Sagehood.  When Zhavala had reached adulthood time and time later, she achieved her quest. But it was from this moment that her nature became horrendous. For many, it was attributed to the fact that there was always a lingering darkness in her heart after a lifetime of abuse, neglect, and unhappiness, even having been involved in the temple for so long.  Some theorized higher power did not want her to be happy, that perhaps she was always meant to suffer and that there was interception in her vision. When Zhavala found the figurehead she was meant to, it did not appear peaceful to her. Having only occurred rarely in times before, but never with the drastic results it had here, when Zhavala met with the eve-type figure from their mythos, she found something to be wrong with her. She did not appear in a peaceful standing as was typical, but rather with hostility. Instead of offering her the choice to relinquish something, it stole from her without consent. The figure ripped away her eyes, and Zhavala’s trance was interrupted as she physically was able to feel the pain of the act. When she fully awoke, she took one last look at her hands before her vision went permanently dark, and even with the pain gone she felt an aftershock of panic, becoming hysterical. She hadn’t anything on her mind but fear and pain at that moment, neglecting to consider her newfound ability—Subconsciously, she initiated it through her anxiety and collective chaotic subconscious thinking as a result of her experiences and what she saw of her people

Countless Kekara, those of a weaker mind or of a broken spirit were affected suddenly and unable to control themselves any longer. In that time that a great cry was heard from the temple, many Kekara were suddenly possessed by Zhavala and rushed to her. Since she was not In a state where her powers were controllable, several of the possessed Kekara became frenzied and simply attacked those who attempted to stop them, acting upon her instinct rather than her rationale.

Cecil tried consoling Zhavala, and although she was able to calm down from the shock of the pain and her sudden blindness, she also found herself with the realization that her power had come to fruition. Still relatively unstable and unable to fully control it, the afflictions of Zhavala’s subconscious became the commands of the possessed, and at the time only some actually responded while others remained frozen in place as her grip on their minds was difficult to maintain. It was only through the dire begging of Cecil that she forced herself to stop the chaos, although with her newfound abilities Zhavala became blinded with the urge to go against the Royals. She had initially thought not to harm anyone else, although she realized through her abilities that she could initiate change in their society, believing that her powers and her corrupted vision came with a higher purpose, that perhaps this was her true calling. Trying to understand her powers and how they worked, she started sending her newfound pawns to attack the rest of the Palace while she trudged on to deal with current Queen and King, assuming their thrones were the strongest place to send her message. Though she could not see, she was able to visually perceive things through the minds of those whom she possessed.

With the initiation of a coup, many Royal guards tried to stop the assault but failed and were overwhelmed by the group of people storming the palace. She managed to kill the Queen, (with the aid of a pawn as she was still struggling without her vision) although when it came time to execute the King, Cecil confronted her begging for mercy of others, as was his pacifist nature. He offered his devotion to her if only it meant she would spare Kekarian lives. Convinced, Zhavala refrained from killing others, although she began to imprison most Royals and even other citizens who had not fallen under her spell and declared that anyone who dared challenge her from then on would meet the same fate. Having succeeded in her coup, Zhavala took to the throne and attempted to run her own Queendom with Cecil by her side. She took a royal spear and altered it to her preference as her weapon, and donned flexible clothing easier for her to fight in.

Cecil was hurt by her transformation and knowing that he was responsible for this, but in many ways he still loved her enough to try to keep her in line. He desired to stay and hopefully undo the damage he had done, although Zhavala remained unmoved. She still cared for him in some way, and although understanding the negative impact her actions, still felt her wrath a fitting punishment to those who had deeply hurt her kind and others. Many mutants supported her, equally as sick of their treatment as she. Others, however, kept their heads down and feared the worst for their kind should she fall.

In time, Zhavala strengthened her powers and learned to accustom herself to lack of sight while using the pawns of her power to sense the world around her. She even began to learn to fight without the use of her vision, forcing possessed Royals and Sages to teach her to fight without sight.

Still troubled and believing that bringing more Mutants into the palace to begin a community in which they were the elite would bring her peace, Zhavala opted to have children, and Cecil obliged in hopes that it would help her mentality to have something to bring out a sense of love in her as he had. She was only able to salvage one, although became saddened that the child didn’t display any Mutant traits. However, she opted to accept her, not wanting to begrudge the child for her traits as the Royals had with Mutants. For a time, it brought her some happiness to spend time with her daughter, although her feelings were short-lived as an uprising that had been plotted against her by Kabir, who had escaped his imprisonment and began rounding up a flurry of people willing to go against Zhavala, began taking place. She had let her guard down in raising her daughter so much so that she was unaware of this escape, so the Coup against her genuinely took her by surprise.

Fearing the safety of her child, Zhavala bid Cecil to take her somewhere far away and raise her alone, meanwhile she would stay and fight to retain her position. She sent her own pawns to destroy her opposition, although was confronted finally by Kabir who had been hellbent on stopping her personally. They began to fight, although he soon got the better of her. Before she could be killed, knowing she had been defeated and lost what she worked for,  Zhavala fled.  She escaped the palace and fled to the mountains, heading up into the planet’s exterior as she was unable to find a respite anywhere else with everyone now hunting her. She released her hold on those she had possessed shortly after disappearing, leading everyone to believe she had died as a result of the planet’s exterior hazards and toxic, unlivable environment.

After Zhavala  had gone, a new rule was set by the King dictating the fate of all Mutants, forcing them to be thrown into the planet’s exterior and left to die, to mimic her escape and cowardice. This rule also applied to mutants born from then on, in spite but also in fear of a similar incident occurring. The law had protests initially, although they were contained through fearmongering and the reminder of Zhavala’s impact on their society.  Given the King hadn’t had any children, Kabir and Lajja were offered the throne once the he passed, as a reward for Kabir’s bravery. He denied it for them, although asked it to be given to their future child, to which the King agreed. Although notable, the despicability of Zhavala’s reign left the King to decide to keep all records of her coup away from the public, and only accessible by future rulers (again In fear of anyone taking inspiration of the acts, although he was also a very stupid king!). Her existence amongst commoners and Jhinga was kept alive by word-of-mouth and other means for a while, although lost to the Kekarian people over time. Those who had lived possessed under her influence did not understand what had happened to them or why, and they had very distant memories of the experience.

 After Reign:

Zhavala managed to survive up on the surface of her planet, intelligent in a way that helped her overcome the difficulties of life in the toxic wilderness, but also desperate enough to do anything to survive. The rain burned her skin, mostly her arms, deforming its texture wherever it touched. She used large rocks to shield her as she ran to find shelter, soon finding a cave where she set up her own home. If she hungered, she would possess mutants she could sense nearby, provided they had survived similarly and were capable of possession given her limitations to the weak and fragile-minded. She’d have them come to where she was and kill them for food. She still had her spear with her, and would use it often for protection.

Given Kekarian skin disintegrated in a matter of time once exposed to the rain, but not immediately, Zhavala began using the dead bodies of other Mutants to fashion something akin to “umbrellas” out of their bones and skin. With this she could walk in cover for a fair but still rather short period of time. In order to prolong her walks, she would have to carry several at a time, or layer the skin so that when one disintegrated, another would replace it. She favored the hardened patches of shell-like skin some Mutants possessed or their disfigurements which often had the same texture, as that disintegrated at an even slower rate. In her cave, she had numerous dead bodies and many patches of skin and shell.

When other mutants would attempt to attack Zhavala while out of her domain, she would use any other survivors that were possessible to protect her from harm, typically at the cost of their own lives. If none were around, she would have to fight, although would draw the enemy into a cave or beneath rocky crevices so as to avoid the rain and to have both hands accessible ( though, if she kept up a chase long enough, the enemy could perish from exposure to the rain). Inside her cave, however, she would possess Mutants and use them as bodyguards.

So focused on survival, Zhavala had not considered burrowing into the city until she came across a dead mutant who had tried to when she almost tripped into a hole. Typically, in order to break the barrier that protected the Kekara from the acidic layer of their planet, one would have to dig through with tools. This was the first time she had found someone who had managed to do so without them. When she had gotten the hang of controlling other Mutants long enough and of surviving in such harsh conditions, she began to use them to burrow into the city. As much as she wanted to return, she knew that the rallying strength of those who were immune to her spell could hurt her and instead decided to use her Mutants as “spies”, as she could “see” through them. Initially, her thoughts were of revenge against those who brought her down, so she had her enemies slaughtered—Kabir and Lajja were some of her first victims.

Over time, the abundance of these Mutants from the Old World was less and less, although still they were present. Zhavala’s generation of Mutants was dying out, not knowing how to survive or being used by the woman for survival. However, the next generation of Mutants that had been cast out upon birth was beginning to grow. Some Mutants grew in the city, but then were discovered and cast out. Others who were thrown in as children had to do whatever they could to survive if they did not want to perish, much like she had to.

Zhavala had not realized what the King had ordered after her terrible reign. She eventually came across an infant Kekara much later in time. She initially thought it was a dead body of an adult Kekara until she knelt down to feel it and found its form significantly smaller than what she typically came across—the child’s skin felt shriveled and burnt, its body so stiff and grotesque that it was even untouched by starving mutants. The encounter further wrought Zhavala with scorn and fury, and she made it her goal to repair the damage done to her people. Dead adults was one thing. Dead children were another, especially since she once had a child herself whom she loved.

Zhavala plays a rather large role in the sessions of both the humans and the Kekara—She is the “big bad”, essentially. Having gone through so much grief, losing one partner and then having to be torn from another, and on top of that having to watch as Royals literally send children to their deaths because they were simply afraid of the concept of another uprising rather than trying to prevent it through less violent means, it is safe to say she has a reason for wanting to invent a world of her own. She is blind, although with so much time surviving, fighting and dealing with all kinds of awful things she is able to fight for herself while accepting her disability.

Despite everything she caused, Zhavala still wholly believes her intentions are good/righteous.

SESSION ROLES, CONCEPTS, ETC.

*The following stuff is conceptual and in progress.This mostly involves Session concepts in need of research!

++A concept I had is that she is the one who discovers the frog temple. At some point Zhavala had a plan to return to the city with a group of mutants, who had been strong enough to survive the toxic surface’s harsh environment. But in discovering the temple, she halts those plans and decides to look into what the temple is. I had the idea that she finds it and somehow deciphers its hieroglyphs with the help of an intelligent surviving Mutant who can see for her, and she uses one of the main six Kekara to help her distribute and initiate the game—their version of SBURB is called SCRAB.

++Zhavala is the one who initiates the entire session (both, in fact) for her own benefit, manipulates the game’s players through Delilah, etc. She fails in their session and somehow jumps ship to Earth to try again in her endeavor after failing with the Kekara, where she is only able to truly manipulate Skip because of his already fragile mentality.

++Additionally, a concept I had was that because of her meddling on Earth, Zhavala has connections to Roth’s existence in the time and place he is in before the session. Something about how he’s not even supposed to be in the timeline he’s in and that Zhavala had arrived on Earth in an older time period (originally I thought China since I had wanted Roth to be Chinese). I thought about the particular place she landed having a village of people who had a religion around the frog temple and that Zhavala’s arrival led to their downfall because she started trying to rule over others again. Through some convoluted events, Roth was meant to be put into a lotus time capsule by his mother who wanted to keep him safe and he was supposed to just emerge in the future as a child and grow up there, long after the area he’s in has been desolated and left empty. But again, this is all stuff that needs research and is just up in the air.

++Zhavala also does know (knew) who her grandchild is (was)—she kept tabs on her daughter through mutants since she could not raise her herself, although she was unable to find Cecil since he was all over the place by the time she had been able to use other Mutants to her advantage within the city. She knew that her daughter had been raised by other people and later that she had a daughter of her own. She also managed to obtain a “laptop” for her own use by having a mutant steal it, conceal it from damage in the rain, and bring it to her. Zhavala had wanted to understand technological advances as in her time computers were not necessarily abundant. While the connections they had in the city were a little rickety, they were worse where Zhavala was, so she was not able to connect quite as often. She did contact Delilah at some point, although it was always very vague and short, with static-like interference in texts. Delilah never knew she had spoken with her relative until far into the session under her grandmother’s influence. If I can work with the concept of her cracking the code for the game, it is likely she would pass that onto Delilah who would then pass it onto Judas, who would be the one to distribute it as he knows more about computers and tech, given he builds and works with them.

++It’s possible that either A.) Zhavala was unable to control the Mutant that killed Faridah, or B.) Zhavala had her killed intentionally despite loving her, purely to get Delilah into the real world for her own later gains. Not sure which to go with.