#let me exist without fear. let me exist without judgement. let me exist without retribution.

[neverendingford]

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[liquidthedefunctblog]

Oh yes, we’re still jumping those sharks. This time Rtas ‘Vadum is serving Shinji Ikari at Burger King.

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The Half-Jaw Rtas ‘Vadum settled at his desk, a mass of paperwork looming over him. He would be lying if he claimed that the Arbiter’s entry of the Swords of Sanghelios into the fast food industry had been any less than a tremendous success. The icy relations between the sangheili and their human counterparts had slowly but surely begun to thaw, and the restaurant had even begun to attract customers from outside of the local area. It truly was incredible what devious marketing could do to make even the simplest of human meals seem like ‘exotic sangheili cuisine’, the Half-Jaw thought. Today alone they had served a group of tourists, a local politician attempting some kind of disingenuous public relations stunt to boost his chances at re-election, and a briefcase carrying older gentleman who managed the impressive feat of simultaneously appearing both frighteningly unseemly and superbly proper. So successful had the venture been that the Arbiter had even seen fit to provide ‘Vadum with additional staff, at least after weeks of pestering from the Shipmaster. ‘Vadum picked a pen from the pot on his desk. An Earth-made pen of course. At first he couldn’t entirely wrap his head around the diminutive instruments, but he was getting used to them. He actually had time to get used to them now that he had other workers to deal wit-

“Shipmaster!”

Other workers like the veteran sangheili blademaster who seemed to have selected ‘Vadum’s office door as his latest victim. The Half-Jaw sighed as the Blademaster’s pounds continued.

“You may enter, Blademaster.”

The door slammed into the wall, chipping the paint slightly. In its place stood an aged sangheili blademaster, his golden armour dulled from years of usage. However the weariness of his armour and body did little to conceal a ferocity in his eyes that would strike fear into even the most hardened of men. This was Vul ‘Soran. The former second in command of 'Vadum’s assault carrier Shadow of Intent, in his prime 'Soran had been a warrior without equal. Even entering his elder years, he had dispatched many of those foolish enough to try and cultivate a reputation through his defeat. Following the end of the Human-Covenant war, the Arbiter had made sure to appoint the legendary warrior to a position fitting of his stature. Assistant manager at a Burger King run by his old shipmaster. The belligerent commander let out a huff, clearly trying to attract said shipmaster’s attention.

“Yes… Blademaster?” the Half-Jaw questioned, his head resting against his hand as though to indicate that he had resigned himself to his fate. 'Vadum held 'Soran in the highest regard imaginable, he genuinely did. This did not mean however that he had to be pleased with his performance as assistant manner. In his short period of employment the veteran had already evicted two customers for what he deemed to be overuse of the condiment dispensers, attempted to fine another for spilling some water, and threatened at least three with his sword for some other vaguely defined offences. Were it not for the humans present one might have mistaken the situation for an evening on the bridge of Shadow of Intent. At the very least this was certainly how 'Soran seemed to interpret his job.

“A young human has been loitering at the window seat. I was prepared to deal with him myself, but Scion 'Juran reminded me that after the last loitering incident you wanted to be consulted on such issues before disciplinary action was taken.”

'Disciplinary action’. That settled the argument about what job the Blademaster thought he was doing then. 'Vadum tapped his helmet in a manner that seemed to suggest he had experienced such an inordinate degree of frustration lately that his mind was simply no longer capable of processing the feeling. At any rate, he would have to remember to thank 'Juran later. She may well have saved that human’s life. At the very least she had saved his limbs.

“Take me to this human, Blademaster. I will make a judgement from there.”

“As you command Shipmaster. Follow me.”

The golden armoured commander turned around and left the office. 'Vadum thought about leaving him to it, but he really couldn’t afford to let 'Soran cause another incident. God only knows what consequences his establishment would already have faced for the Blademaster’s behaviour if its proprietor didn’t have access to a glassing beam. He clenched his hand for a moment before following his assistant manager.

The pair made their way into the public section of the restaurant, and 'Soran gestured to indicate a small human male with a white shirt and black trousers sat at one of the window tables. He seemed uncomfortable, disturbed even, alternating between gazing out the window longingly and staring down at his feet as though attempting to hide his own existence from the outside world.

“How long has passed since his arrival?”

“An hour at the very least.”

“And during that time he has done what? Has he made any purchase at all?”

“Not even a thing. The human arrived, sat down, and hasn’t made a move since. Shall I remove him from the premises now?” the Blademaster growled, reaching for his energy sword. Vul 'Soran was never known for his patience with those who would go against protocol, and the end of the Great War had done little to dull this trait of his. The Half-Jaw knew that there would be no hope of defusing the situation peacefully so long as 'Soran was around.

“Stay your hand Blademaster, I will deal with the human. In the meantime I need you to make a call to some of our suppliers regarding shipments. You’ll find everything you need to know on my desk.”

'Soran grunted bitterly as he began his return journey to the manager’s office.

“I trust that you’ll inflict a punishment on the human befitting of his infraction?”

“I shall do whatever it is that I need to, Blademaster. Now go. I anticipate that the supply dispute will be solved by tomorrow.”

Now that 'Soran had gone, and taken the threat of a bloodbath with him, the Half-Jaw finally saw fit to approach the loiterer. It was a simple procedure really. The physical threat of an almost eight foot sangheili warrior combined with a commanding tone of voice was usually enough to get most disruptive customers to either cease their violations or leave. Despite what his assistant manager seemed to believe, the ignition of an energy sword was not something that needed to be done often. 'Vadum approached the human, who on closer inspection looked to be almost half his height. He didn’t expect a drawn out confrontation here.

“Human. You may make a purchase, or you may leave, but do not continue to abuse our hospitality.”

The human made no clear acknowledgement of the sangheili commander’s words, instead continuing to take in the beautiful view of some cars and a bush that could be seen through the window.

“Human!”

“Huh?!”

This second, firmer address was evidently finally enough to snap the human out of whatever train of thought he was on, and he turned to face the towering sangheili.

“As I have made clear. You may make a purchase, or you may leave, but your continued loitering will not be condoned.”

The panic-stricken male seemed paralysed in fear for a moment, but it was not long before he stumbled around his chair for a bit before lowering his head back towards the ground.

“S-sorry…”

The Shipmaster stood in thought for a moment, crossing his arms. Perhaps he had been too harsh on the human. He had meant to appear firm, not threatening. Besides that, the restaurant’s manager threatening what appeared to be a teenager would be a worse public relations disaster than anything Vul 'Soran could manage. He sighed in frustration before crouching down to the human’s level.

“I am truly sorry if you feel threatened human, that was not my intention. However these tables are reserved for paying customers. Do you or do you not intend to make a purchase?”

“I- No… sorry.” The human said, continuing to shamefully look between at the floor tiles.

'Vadum couldn’t help but feel curious about the young human’s motivations. Most loiterers came in groups, with the goal of disrupting actual customers or simply abusing the staff in some misguided search for retribution regarding the Great War. This one simply sat alone, away from the other patrons and making no attempt to draw attention to himself.

“I see… Well in that case, I am afraid it is company policy that I ask you to leave the premises.”

It was this comment that finally emboldened the human to some degree. He looked directly at the Shipmaster, and it was this that allowed 'Vadum to finally see just how miserable this child was. His blue eyes looked tired, not in the physical sense but rather an emotional one. As though they had been drained of all desire to carry on existing, and were simply continuing to do so out of obligation. The Half-Jaw couldn’t help but feel a swell of pity for the human in this moment. He still didn’t know why he had chosen his establishment of all places to go, but it was now clear that he was trying to escape something, be it an obligation, a person, or something else entirely. And then the human spoke. His voice was still hesitant, but there was a new addition to his tone. Not one of confidence, but of desperation.

“P-please let me stay for a bit longer… I don’t-”

“One moment human,” the Half-Jaw interrupted, standing up and walking towards his office. He felt justified in his interruption. There was no use in letting the human publicly shame himself. He didn’t need to know what he was trying to avoid, it was already clear enough that he wanted to avoid it. 'Vadum wasn’t usually one for charity, especially not for humans. That didn’t make him void of pity however. Sending the human back out would only distress him further, and ultimately be of no use to anyone. Besides that it was late in the day anyway, so it wasn’t as though anyone was in desperate need of the extra table. He grabbed some earth currency that he kept for his own use from his desk, and headed back out. In his haste he completely ignored 'Soran, who simply glared at him in confusion while listening to the supplier waffle on over the phone. The Shipmaster didn’t intend to break company policy by allowing somebody to loiter without purchasing food, but he didn’t see much point in removing the human. He placed the currency on the counter, and looked directly at the sangheili manning the till.

“Prepare a hamburger and fries for the human.”

The other elite gave him a bemused look for a second before punching in the order.

“By your word Shipmaster. Can we have a name for that order?”

The Half-Jaw turned towards the human who had returned his gaze to the window.

“Human! Your name?”

The human turned back around, startled for a moment with an almost confused look on his face.

“Huh?! Oh uh… Shinji Ikari.”

Several hours later the Shipmaster was in the process of putting away the paperwork he had finally finished. After finally getting 'Soran to leave his office he had actually had a fairly productive few hours, and had managed to finish the whole lot half an hour before the restaurant was scheduled to close for the day. The whole operation was going unusually smoothly. At least it was until a furious Vul 'Soran appeared once more in his office doorway.

“Shipmaster! The human is still there.”

“He is a customer now is he not?”

“That was hours ago!”

'Vadum shook his head in a subtle manner. He really did wish 'Soran would stop treating the most minor of infractions as though they were capital offences.

“Do not worry Blademaster. I will have him leave the premises by closing time.”

“You made the same claim previously Shipmaster. With all due respect, should you fail to do so again I shall be forced to take matters into my own hands.”

“Yes, yes. I am sure that you would.”

The Half-Jaw passed 'Soran and left the office, partly to get away from his incessant complaining, and partly to ensure that the human went on his way before the Blademaster became violent. He walked back into the public area to see the human still sitting in the window seat. He didn’t seem quite as despaired as before, and had evidently stood up at least once to dispose of the packaging from his lunch. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

“Ikari was it? The establishment is closing for the day in half an hour; I would suggest that you leave soon.”

Shinji turned to look at him, nervousness once more overtaking his face as he realised the time.

“Y-yes sir. I’ll be sure to leave by then. Can I please just stay for a little bit longer?”

'Vadum considered bringing up the loitering policy, but figured it wasn’t worth it. There was only half an hour left anyway. He would solve the issue as he had done before.

“'Rodam! Prepare a basic ice cream for the human. We need to get some use out of the machine anyway.”

“Thanks… for the lunch too.” Shinji said, quietly and nervously.

“Do not concern yourself with it. I must ask though; why are you so eager to remain here?”

“It’s uh… it’s nice here. There’s nobody around an-”

“Does the human mean to insinuate that we are a failing establishment?” cried out Vul 'Soran, who was currently busy cleaning unoccupied tables, though seemingly more so with listening in to Shinji and 'Vadum’s conversation. The human male’s face turned red with embarrassment and a hint of fear.

“N-no sorry that’s not what I was saying…”

“Ignore him,” said the Half-Jaw. “You may continue.”

“I meant that there’s nobody here I know. I don’t have any responsibilities here, and nobody feels responsible for me.”

“And how did you find yourself here to begin with?”

“I uh, I ran off… Everyone there hates me anyway, so I figured they’d be better off if I left.”

“I see… and what drove you to this conclusion?”

“I uh- I mean I never did anything for anyone else. Whenever they had problems I just hid away until they figured it out themselves. I guess that’s my solution to most problems. Avoid everything until it goes away.”

“So Ikari… I believe the point you are trying to convey is that you hate yourself?”

“I… I guess so. But it’s justified hate right? I’m a terrible person. All I do is use other people to make me happy. I try to force them to love me because I can’t love myself, but then as soon as something happens to them I just run away. I don’t deserve to exist…”

“Perhaps that is so, human. But have you made any effort to solve that problem?”

“I- no, I just told you that. All I do is hide…”

Shinji buried his head between his arms and his legs. Sobbing noises came from within. The Half-Jaw decided to soften his approach, to an extent at least. He didn’t endorse Ikari’s attempts to avoid any meaningful interaction with others, but he wasn’t cruel enough to attack him for it.

“You know Ikari, for thousands of years the title of 'Arbiter’ has been bestowed upon certain Sangheili of great significance. The first Arbiters were the most wise and skilled warriors of all Sanghelios. Part king, part judge, they led the species through even the most turbulent of times. The title in this state lasted even after the formation of the Covenant. It was the very highest badge of honour imaginable to our people. That is until Arbiter Fal 'Chavamee rejected the lies of the prophets. 'Chavamee was branded a heretic, and upon his death the prophets saw fit to remould the role of Arbiter. From then on it would granted only to those deemed heretics. These 'heretics’ would be expected to redeem themselves by giving their life in battle for the Covenant.”

Shinji’s sobbing grew even more frequent. 'Vadum assumed that he had misinterpreted the story to be his way of saying that he could only find redemption in death. Perhaps it was a poor decision to tell this story at all, especially with the wounds of the Great War still fresh in humanity’s mind. But the point of no return was long past.

“That was not the point I was making Ikari. If you would allow me to finish the story, I was going to tell of Thel 'Vadam, the present Arbiter and leader of the Sangheili. I served in 'Vadam’s fleet for some time before his appointment as Arbiter. His faith in the prophets was unwavering, and his campaigns on their behalf were ruthless. I can only imagine how he felt when he was branded a heretic and stripped of his positions. As you may have guessed, 'Vadam was appointed Arbiter. He was expected to die in service of the prophets, as his predecessors did before him. But with time 'Vadam saw through their lies. When the prophets betrayed the Sangheili it was him who led us to join with humanity. Since the war he has made every effort to push for unity. Not only between the divided Sangheili factions, but with humanity and the former species of the Covenant. The Arbiter overcame the worthlessness that had been put upon him by the Covenant, and in doing so he restored the honour to his title. Do not assume that sacrifice is the only path to redemption Ikari. Find your own purpose; do not rely on those around you to give you one. Then you can open yourself to the viewpoints of others. Assist them with their struggles, do not push yourself away. There is pain to be found in forming relationships with others. Even the Arbiter could not unify all the people of the galaxy. But there is no joy to be found in wallowing in your failures, and you will never achieve true satisfaction until you grant those around you a glimpse into your true feelings, and allow yourself to take a glimpse of theirs. Fulfil your responsibilities, both to yourself and to them, and perhaps then you will find that yes, you do deserve to exist.”

Shinji raised his head and looked at the Half-Jaw.

“You- you really think so? But I can’t do that.”

“You will have to. Open yourself to others. Allow yourself to engage in meaningful interaction. Then, and only then, you will find worth in your existence. And besides that, I do not believe that you cannot. After all, you did here did you not?”

“I- I guess so…” Shinji said. He wiped his eyes on his arm, and stood up. “Thank you.”

The Half-Jaw nodded at the boy, slightly proud that his tangential story had made any positive impact at all.

“Think nothing of it. Now return to wherever it is you came from. Take your responsibilities head on, and open yourself to your fellow humans. Farewell Ikari.”

“I- yeah… Thank you.”

And with that the human boy left, placing the wrapper from his ice cream cone in the bin as he did so. The Shipmaster on the other hand turned and headed back to his office to finish the filing. Perhaps this fast food business wasn’t as pointless as he had thought.

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Yup, now it’s a Halo and Evangelion crossover nobody wanted.

[scars-of-the-hart]

Tempest on the Shore: Shakarian angst on the Citadel

Her legs had finally stopped trembling. Shit. Shepard tried to hold onto the last tendrils of the woozy, tingling, mind-wiping high.  But it was like trying to hold water in cupped hands, it slipped away through the cracks no matter how tightly she tried to hold it, leaving emptiness behind. And the emptiness was loud. She let out a frustrated sigh and rolled over shifting to the edge of the bed, remembering exactly where she had dropped her pants and tank top. She hadn’t bothered with underwear for this in ages. 

“Um...excuse me?” Demanded the salarian in the bed pressing himself up onto his elbows.

Shepard gave him a puzzled frown.

The salarian (he had a name but she’d intentionally failed to commit it to memory) imperiously raised a scaled brow at her. “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“That noise you made.”

“What noise?”

“You sighed.”

“Oh...um did I?”

The salarian scowled at her. “Yes, you did. Look honey, I don’t know what your problem is but two hours with me will not result in the most quad-rung overstimulated krogan feeling dissatisfied so you better get that little viscous crack looked at.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and cast a disgusted look between her legs. “Because it is the problem. Not. Me.”

Shepard just stared at him. She was tempted to pay him double because she was close to laughing, which was more of a service than anything he’d done in this bed. But the spark went out as quickly as it had come. 

She shook her head as she tucked a hand between her legs. Not too wet. Manageable for the walk back to the Normandy. That was the handy thing about salarians. The females created enough moisture of their own that the blokes were pretty dry in the bed. As she pulled her pants on she gave the salarain a hard look. “I appreciate that you take so much pride in your work, but you're worrying your giant head over nothing. You were great. Thanks.” He still looked pissed as hell. She vaguely tried to care, but just couldn’t.  “Keep to working with people's bodies, you’ve got no natural ability with their heads.”  She pulled her tank on, bound her tangled mane of red hair in a messy bun on top of her head, crossed to the door and waved her omnitool across the payment console. It registered her transfer of credits and the door clicked as it unlocked and hissed open. She gave the salarian a mocking salute as she left.

“See you in two weeks, freak.” He called after her, his voice full of venom.

She tried to ignore it. She wouldn't be back, she lied to herself as she made her way along the wards. The streets were wet from the rain that had been falling before she started her session with the salarian. The layer of moisture almost made this part of the Citadel beautiful. There was something about the extended blur of the neon lights that made them romantic, instead of just... seedy.  

 A human who passed her made the mistake of eyeing the motion of her breasts under her tank and she gave him a look that told him exactly what kind of retribution that attention merited. He turned instantly pale and hastily turned down a different street. She should care-about the way he had looked, or his reaction or...or anything.  She pushed away that thought as she tried to push away every other, shifting her focus to the way walking made her recently stimulated vagina feel. She shifted her stride, trying to stir any lingering feelings of pleasure, to tease out a last rush of dopamine, but it wasn’t working. Between the bitchy salarian, and the oggloing tool...or maybe it was just her. Just the empty, broken, piece of shit she was.   She glanced at the time on her omnitool. She had half an hour before the end of their shore leave. Fuck. She could be fast but that wasn’t going to give her enough time for a session with anything if she wanted to avoid judgmental looks from Miranda and the Cerberus goons for coming back late when she was the one who had threatened to depart without any stragglers. 

You know what, fuck it. I didn’t ask to come back from the dead. 

She pulled up the booking page that had become the top listing for her “frequently used” extranet sites, and started typing in her preferences. Doesn’t matter if I pay for a full session and only use a few minutes. What am I gonna do with credits when the Reapers get here? Try to pay them off?  She filled out the request sheet as she walked: either gender, cunnelingus.  There literally wasn’t time to fuck around with penetration. Species. The form asked. Shepard grunted impatiently, didn’t really matter, she just needed something waiting for her when she got to the back rooms of Chora’s Den.  She selected turian by accident, and then physically collided with one. 

Shepard rubbed her forehead where it had collided with the offending turian’s armor as pain lanced through her head. Ok, any lingering effects of the salarian generated dopamine were definitely gone now. She glowered up at the mandabled idiot she had run into, preparing a curt, ufelt apology, and fell silent as she caught sight of the glow of a blue visor. 

SHIT

“Commander…” Garrus’ browplates furrowed as he stared at her in surprise. Shepherd’s mind went completely blank as she just stared at him. His crystalline eyes widened in concern and more than a little shock. A steadying hand went to her arm and his rough tipped fingers round her brow, testing gently.  “Are you...I’m sorry I should have-”

Shepherd’s gut clenched and she quickly brushed away his hands. “Been watching where the fuck you were going. Yeah. Work on that.” His head cocked ever so slightly at her harsh tone, his eyes narrowing a fraction.  

“I’m sorry, Shepard.” His mandibles flared in irritation. “I was endeavoring to make it back to the Normandy as you-”

“-yeah, well if you're that careless while carrying out an order you're not gonna last two minutes against the Collectors.” She snapped.  His eyes narrowed further, every calculating thought clear in those eyes. Fucker. Shepard though. Her stomach clenched. She didn’t have time for this. She didn’t have the energy or the...anything, for this. “ I’ll have to put what’s left of your cold ass carapace in a box.”

And then she saw his chin set: slightly raised, head tilted ever so slightly to the right. His pissed off defensive posture. She was too tired and empty and furious and stressed and scared and- 

Shepard turned on her heel and started stomping towards the nearest tram station that would lead her to the Citadel docks.

“Yeah,” Garrus called after her, “if you can still afford a box and you haven’t spent every last Cerberus credit at Chora’s.”

Ice shot down her spine. She stopped, turned slowly and stared at the turian.  “Excuse me, Vakarian?”

His chin was still set. “I’m sorry, is there something inaccurate in my assessment?” He drawled.

She hadn’t ever been followed...not that she cared if she had, you just didn’t survive the shit she did and remain capable of not checking for tails and hostels and whatever.  She didn’t care. She shouldn’t care. Why would she care if he knew? Especially if it was Garrus. Garrus who had gotten his whole crew killed. Garrus who’s medical chart after taking a rocket to the face had shown just what crap the turian had been pouring into his body (well...Moria wasn’t going to point fingers there..unless certain taloned fingers were already pointing at her), but that wasn’t the point why should she care? Except he shouldn’t know.

She gritted her teeth. “I would say there is as I have no idea what you are talking about.”

His eyes were cold as they narrowed. He casually lifted the hand that had, only minutes ago, brushed tenderly against her forehead, and sniffed it. His nostrils flared. “Salarian. Human sweat, yours, by the way, we’ve spared enough for me to recognize it. “

“Oh, fuck you, Vakarian.” She spat. “I probably smell like you, dipshit, after running into you. Who the fuck do you think you are throwing accuzations at your commanding officer?”

“You do smell like me.” Garrus snarled, “but it's different, and there's also a little krogan, asari and batarian-” she opened her mouth to snarl at him but he spoke over her “-not that those are from today, or you, not quite in the same way as the salarian. My guess is those scents are left over from whoever else was in the room before you.”

Rage washed through ther. “If you want to get back on my ship you’ll shut that pincushion of a mouth right now.”

Garrus’ nostrils flared, and she didn't think it had anything to do with him smelling her this time. “You asked me to come aboard!”

“Yeah,” Shepard snarled, “and I remember someone saying that he couldn’t exactly doubt my judgement.”

“That was before you were fucking everything and anything on the wards.”

It was like the world bottomed out around her. Nothing existed but his eyes and those words. She saw fear flash through them for a second, before being replaced by that same rage as before. 

“And what the hell makes you think what I fuck is any of your goddamn business?”

There was some hurt in the rage. “Because I’m your friend Shepard.”

“Yeah. Friend. And crew. Neither of which has anything to do with the personal choices I make.”

“Look,” he said, “taking on the Collectors, everything with the Council, coming back from the dead I get that its a lot to deal with-”

Heat rushed through her cheeks. “And I'm dealing with it so back the hell off.” 

“You’re being reckless there’s-”

Why was this happening? Why was she having this conversation? Why did it matter- she shoved the thoughts a way and glared at him. “Don’t talk to me about “being reckless” Archangel.”

It was a direct hit. Garrus blinked, a different type of pain in his expression. Shepherd’s gut twisted. It was a low blow. A fucking dirty low blow. 

He looked away from her, staring out at the skycars soaring past the walkway, then gave her a long look out of the corner of his eye.  “You are reckless in the field. You are tense on the ship. Its behavior I recognize. I was there recently, as you have so kindly reminded me.”

She wanted to say something. But she didn’t. She just held his gaze.

He slowly closed the difference between them, staring down at her. She refused to give ground: she didn’t move her chin an inch, and continued to glare up at him. He tilted his head so that he could meet her gaze and said slowly. “I don’t care who you fuck.” They were inches apart. “I care why you make bad calls when you know there are better ones.” She couldn’t breathe. His long slow breaths tickled her nose. “You asked for my help.” The challenge in his eyes made her blood sing. “So I’m going to call you on your bullshit, Shepard.” 

He’d been the one to support her after Eden Prime. Someone who had seen through Saren’s lies on his own. The one she wanted on her side on every mission. The only one who hadn’t questioned her using Cerberus…An feelings the salarian had left in her body were gone, the vague numb bliss replaced with the electric currents those eyes sent racing through her. She was rooted to the spot and ready to rush him all at once. She wanted her hands on him, to tear, to push against that immovable impossible weight and solidness of him. That was what she wanted. She wanted something real, something strong, something constant, something she could unleash herself against without fear. Her lips parted as a breath escaped them, crashing against his like a wave. 

But something broke the spell between them and Garrus pulled back. “No one on that ship is in their right mind.” He said quietly. “I have a feeling we’re all going to have to grapple with spirits that haunt us if we want a shot at taking the fight to the Collectors and coming back in one piece.”  He gave her a last long slow look. “But I think you need to figure out what the hell you're actually fighting for.” And with that he turned away, walking towards the docs without so much of a backwards glance. His crest cast a long shadow on the ground in the slowly dimming lights of the Citadel promenade, and Shepard felt herself fall into darkness as it slipped away.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 15

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/639152911075672064/odins-ward-chapter-14

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 3182

Warnings: None

True age: Y/n: 1449 // Loki: 1575 // Thor: 1827 // Audunn 3213

Human equivalent age: Y/n: 23 // Loki: 25 // Thor: 29// Audunn: 51

Y/n’s POV

I bite off a piece of bread, if only to appease my hovering maidservant. Periodically, Frigga attempts to broach a talking subject, but I fear I am not a good partner for conversation. No, my mind is too filled with fears for my home, for my father, and, annoyingly, for Loki, who is nowhere to be found.

“Why doesn’t he dine with us?” The question blurts from my lips before I register my interruption of Frigga’s sentence. I apologize sheepishly, feeling bad for not only cutting off a queen, but a woman I greatly respect.

Frigga only smiles softly without judgement, seeming to intend to indulge my question. “He thinks himself too proud or too far removed from our family to be with us—no doubt as a result of the hurt he’s suffered. He sees his absence as a punishment for us when, in truth, it is a punishment for himself as well.”

I sigh, sinking deeper in my chair, the tasteless bread falling from my fingers. Ragna, attentive as always, takes this as an opportunity to put a bowl of bright red fruit in front of me.

“Please eat, My Lady.” Her care for me is what ultimately leads to me taking a bite. Bland, but I continue nibbling in order to ease her worry. In truth, though, I do not anticipate having much of an appetite until a significant number of my fears are assuaged.

“Have you any word from Odin or Thor? Or my father? It has been over a day since they departed.”

Frigga shakes her head. “With regret, I have nothing to report.”

Under the table, my leg begins to shake. “I hope they’re alright and successful in putting an end to the rebellion. My people cannot survive many more hours of this slaughter.”

Frigga leans forward, queenly authority washing over her words. “As a wife and mother, I worry for Odin and Thor. But as a queen, I have little concern. Asgard’s army has defeated much more formidable foes than your husband. I have no doubt this will result in a victory for Asgard and for your people.”

Her words and the conviction behind them do calm me slightly.

She sees this, and seems to seize on the opportunity. “But let us talk of lighter things. It has been over three hundred years since I last saw you. Tell me—how has your life been since your wedding?”

I exhale heavily without meaning to.

I have no desire to tell Frigga about the abuse from my husband and the scorn from Court, nor the stark isolation I feel nearly every day. So I decide to gloss over as much as I can, and relay only the good parts of my life in Alfheim.

“Our summers in Alfheim are very mild—barely hotter than spring. It makes for long, lovely days full of picnics and outdoor games, time on the lake, then perhaps a dance or two under the stars. Alfheim thrives in the night, you know. Our castle, our clothing, even our people are the most beautiful in the moonlight. Connecting with the people of Court has been a bit of a struggle, but the common folk seem to love me, even if they do not know me, not really….but they throw flowers outside my carriage when I visit the towns, and even named a library after me in the main village. It’s nice to feel that sense of community, even if I cannot be around it all the time.” At this, I look at my hands, not wanting Frigga to see the sadness in my eyes. Because, despite the clearly awful parts of my existence away from Asgard, there are bright, shining, beautiful moments in my life in Alfheim. These glimmers are what would get me through the day.

And they are what tear my heart apart now as I think of my homeworld being ripped to shreds by civil war and brutality.

Frigga hears some of what I leave unsaid. She squeezes my hand gently and places the lightest of touches under my chin, encouraging me to look up at her. “My dear, do not be saddened. Here you will find community in those closest to you, there is no need to be so isolated.” My heart, which had fluttered in hope at her words, quickly falls with her next. It seems everyone, even those I love and trust, see me as just a means to produce an heir. “It took Odin and I many centuries to conceive. And when nature failed us, another child came to us in the most unconventional, but no less miraculous, way. Alfheim lacks progressiveness, but Asgard suffers no such fault. In your own time, you and my son will produce the most wonderful child, I know that deep in my heart. But until then, Asgard will wait patiently. Do not let the fear of retribution mar your time here. And do not let your heart be weighed down with a desire unmet—everything happens in its time.”

Loki’s POV

The stone of the wall bites into my fingers as I grip it with unwise force.

Around the corner my mother—my very own mother—encourages the woman I once loved in her future quest to have a child with my brother.

A bitter taste grows in my mouth.

And although I know Y/n does not want to marry Thor—anyone could see that in the way she protested—there is real pain in her eyes.

Pain that I have caused.

I do not know if she aches with the longing for a child. But it’s not a difficult task to surmise the isolation and ridicule she has no doubt been subject to for the last two and a half centuries has weighed on her.

Preventing conception was her decision, yes, but I was the one who made it possible. I put the magic on her, effectively ruining any chance she ever had at being accepted in her home. And if she ever did want a child, but found herself unable, well, I bear the blame for that hurt, too.

It seems no matter what I do, I cannot help but destroy the lives of those I’m supposed to love.

I was so close to entering the dining hall and joining them for breakfast—the first meal I would have shared with my mother in over seven months—but I had heard the end of their conversation before making my presence known.

It’s better that way.

I do not know how well I would have reacted, had I been in their company upon hearing the conversation between Y/n and my mother.

The sound of trumpets interrupts my thoughts, and I teleport away mere seconds before Y/n races by.

Y/n’s POV

The news of Asgard’s victory is unfathomably welcome.

When I hear it, I can’t help but fall to my knees, releasing a shout of joy and thanks to Odin himself, a man I, in fact, really don’t care for.

Thor quickly escorts me away for what he calls a ‘debrief’, but I can see by the set of his shoulders it is more of a transition into spending one-on-one time in our new capacity as fiancés. And while nerves and resentment rattle my stomach, I follow him willingly, eager to hear of the path to victory and how Alfheim fares now.

He wastes little time. The moment we are in the privacy of the gardens, he speaks.

“Your father is alive and well, do not fear. His loyal guardsmen managed to keep Audunn’s forces at bay, though I fear it would been a different outcome if we had not arrived when we did. You did well getting to us so quickly.”

The compliment is unexpected and, I feel, undeserved. “All I really did was relay a message. I am quite thankful, then, to you, your father, and your army for coming so quickly to Alfheim’s aid. Surely this will cement positive diplomatic relations for years to come.”

A strange look crosses through his eyes as he looks away from me, choosing instead to squint into the sun. “Spoken like a politician. I see you learned much in your time away.”

I catch the edge to his voice. “You do not approve?”

“I didn’t say that, I only mean that it is…unusual in Alfheim for women to be so involved.”

I fight the urge to scoff bitterly. “I wouldn’t have called myself involved—Father and Audunn would have none of that—but I did pick up some tricks and knowledge in my three hundred years there.”

There’s a slight pause. In that pause, Thor seems to steel himself. I know instantly that I will not like whatever he has to say next. “I wanted to tell you, ah—while your father was successfully restored to the regency, we were able to capture and imprison Audunn rather than having to resort to killing him on the field. He is here, in the dungeons, and will stand trial tomorrow.”

My blood runs cold. “Here? In the castle? Why didn’t you kill him?!” The words come out in breathless gasps, and Thor takes a step towards me in concern.

“You need not fear, Lady Y/n, he is securely guarded. He poses no threat to your father or your people any more.”

Yes. I swallow. But now that we are in the same place once again, I worry of the threat he poses to me.

Thor attempts to continue our walk with lighter conversation, but I don’t pay him much mind. All I can focus on is the terrifying reality that, as long as Audunn lives, my own life is in danger.

Loki’s POV

When the moon is high in the sky and the air has turned crisp, I acknowledge the reality that I will get no sleep tonight.

Groaning, I fling the covers from my body and exit my warm bed, dressing quickly. As soon as I’m decent, I exit my chambers, heading straight for the library. I have plenty of books in my room, but nothing I haven’t already read. The library is likely to have a variety of unexplored distractions.

I enter the vast library and turn left, heading for the history section—one of my favorites. I round the corner and am met with a sharp gasp and the sound of clattering books as Y/n jumps back, hitting a shelf.

Surprise and self-loathing mingle within me. She’s terrified of me.

Without really deciding to, I take a step back, showing my lack of intent to harm her. “I apologize. I did not mean to frighten you.”

She exhales, lowering the shaking hands that had come to grip her stomach. “N-no, it is I who should apologize. I….thought you were someone else.”

I raise my eyebrow, buying time as I calculate the truth of her statement. She does seem to be relaxing. Now all that remains is the faint hint of embarrassment in her features. She even offers me a small smile, one that I find unexpectedly welcome. I decide to believe her. “Don’t worry about it. I understand your nerves must be frayed, given all that you’ve been through.” Flashes of what she must have experienced in the past four days come to the forefront of my mind, unbidden. Handled roughly, a dirty jail cell, a hit that would explain the coloring on her lower jaw, the fear as she sneaks through the castle, praying she goes unnoticed—

“Are you alright?”

There’s a note in her voice that suggests some of her apprehension has returned, and I can guess why. My body has gone completely rigid, my fists clenched tightly, and I’m sure I’ve just fixated on the nearest object with a death glare—I can only hope I didn’t direct it at her.

I try to recover the moment. “I’ll get those books.”

She hurriedly drops to the ground, grabbing novels at random. “Let me, Your Highness, I’m the one who—”

I sink next to her and smirk, for some reason desperate to dissolve this strange uncertain air between us. “Last night you barge into my chambers unannounced and tonight we’re back to the formalities?”

She studies me for a moment, looking quite perplexed. Then, she exhales a shaky bark of a laugh. “I suppose so.”

Fair enough.

I straighten, beginning to alphabetize the books and put them back in their proper place. She follows suit, working beside me in silence. I don’t miss the glances she gives me when she thinks I’m not looking. The looks are full of uncertainty, full of trepidation—she has no idea where we stand. For that matter, neither do I.

But there’s no use in finding out, the snide voice within me remarks. She’s engaged to your brother. You will have no chance to know her again as you did once, long ago.

But still, as since the moment she burst through the throne room doors, I war with myself.

I do not want to love her. I have no claim to her. Pursuing her would only lead to heartbreak, and I fear I cannot take any more.

If I were smart, I would push her away as I do everyone else.

I should push her away.

“Why are you in the library so late?” Her voice, stronger now, clouds my head once more and pulls me into conversation.

I have no desire to detail or even acknowledge my crippling nightmares, so I turn the question back on her, hoping to save myself the humiliation of admitting weakness. “I could ask you the same thing.”

She is equally eager to explain her reasonings, and quickly changes the subject. “I saw Lady Naerys this morning. Can you believe she has seven children?”

I chortle, and the sound feels strange coming from my throat. “But alas, not one of them fathered by a prince.” Without really meaning to, I take a step closer to her.

Y/n mocks distress. “But how will she ever become queen now?”

And just like that, we’re back on a subject we both would like to avoid.

I try to steer us away. “I admit that I was pleased when I heard news of your father’s safe return to the regency. You must be very relieved.”

But despite my efforts, a strange look takes over her face. “Yes, I am more relieved than you know.”

I press further, finding myself desperate to know what she’s thinking. “Audunn’s trial will be interesting. I estimate spectators will extend well past the boundaries of the courtroom.”

Again, I have misstepped. The color drains from her face and her hands immediately wring together in tight knots. It seems I have completely forgotten how to speak to this woman I once knew so well. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to—”

“It’s fine.” She cuts me off, staring at my shoulder rather than my face. She takes a deep breath, and when she speaks, her voice is hard, almost as if she’s willing the words to be true. “Soon Audunn will be dead. And all will be well.”

Something in her voice tells me that she is trying harder to convince herself than me.

The desire to comfort her is strong, but I am woefully out of practice. “I…do not see an outcome in which Audunn survives, yes. His choices were unfortunate, and put him at odds with the interests of two of the nine realms. Odin will not let that go unpunished.” I fight against a scowl. Because if anyone had been listening, they would’ve guessed I was talking about myself.

She surprises me with a tight smile. “Yes, you are right. This time tomorrow, Audunn’s execution will be set.”

Again, there’s that hard edge to her voice, one that wasn’t there the last time I encountered her. Whereas before it amused me, now it makes me feel sad. There’s no reason both of us had to be affected so by the world—Fate did that out of cruelty. Perhaps tomorrow after the trial, when her anxieties are further resolved, she will find some peace.

I think to the upcoming trial. She will be asked to bear witness, of course. But I worry of Odin fulfilling his duty to prepare her. I take matters into my own hands. “You know you will be asked to testify against him.”

“Yes.” The word is harsh, quick. But then she looks to the ground and stretches a hand absently to the bookshelf, almost as if she’s seeking some sort of comfort or reassurance from the touch. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, more vulnerable. “I find no pleasure in sending a man to his death. But I will speak honestly. Audunn dug his own grave—it is just my unfortunate duty to send him to it.”

I swallow, unsure of what to say. The last time I saw her, she spoke of no love for her husband, but this seems different…a deeper hurt, somehow. Part of me wants to ask what happened, but a larger part knows I haven’t the right. We are not lovers, we are not friends, and she is currently a married woman. When her status is changed upon the execution of her husband, she will immediately become the betrothed of my brother. So rather than risk hurt and vulnerability, I keep her at arms length. “I would advise you to get some rest, Lady Y/n. I have no doubt tomorrow will be a long and difficult day.”

She avoids my eyes as she curtsies and exits the library. Once she’s gone, I take a much needed deep breath. Something about her presence made the expansive library seem incredibly small, intimate. When she’d gone to curtsey, she’d needed to take a step back, as we had gotten quite close during our discussion.

With a groan, I practically stumble to the bannister overlooking the basement archives, gripping the wood tightly. Attachment to Y/n has never been a good idea, least of all now. But even after many breaths to clear my head, I still find that unwelcome feeling in the pit of my stomach, the feeling that nearly begs me to follow her from the room and pull her into my arms.

I slam my hand on the wood, startling one of the bookkeepers on the level below. Upon seeing who stands above him, he shrinks away, quickly gathering his books and scurrying out of sight.

That’s right, I think, bitterness bringing an unpleasant taste to my mouth. Run from me. I am dangerous. I am other. No one is safe with me.

Least of all a kind, wonderful woman who, even after hundreds of years, seems to hold the ability to ruin me in the palm of her hand.

A/n Hey guys, sorry for any mistakes! I proofread but I feel like I probably missed something because I’m tired. Let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list! What do you think of the conversation with Loki? How do you think Audunn’s trial will go? Stay safe out there :)

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/642883586082635777/odins-ward-chapter-16

Masterlist

Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99 @what-am-i-doing10 @chxrryycola @ravenclaw5606 @hiddlebatchedloki @jooordanharrrop @marsbarsboy @damondallysodapopstiles 

[tonyhschu]

Reflections on Leading a Team

A friend at work came to me and asked about how I thought about leadership. I had been running the Design Technology team at Noodle for a while, and had worked hard at the “care and feeding” of my team. I boiled it down into two things – leadership is creating an environment with clarity, and psychological safety.

Clarity – does the team know A. why we’re here (the mission) B. what we’re doing (the blueprint) and C. how we’ll do it (the prioritized task list)

Psychological safety – does the team feel safe and supported? does the team feel empowered to attempt complex things and learn from the process? does the team feel understood by their leader?

There’s a thousand different ways to make this concrete. I tend to think of these as stances/postures that I take in my day-to-day interactions with my team. To clarify my thinking, I’m going walk through few scenarios.

In a Project Kick-off

In a One-on-one

Design Critiques or Code Reviews

In On-boarding

In a Project Kick-off

The project kick-off is crucial moment, when anxiety and uncertain are high. There’s a temptation to jump right in and clarify the what and the how. I try to resist by recap-ing the why of a project to start. The why might include:

why this project advances the mission of the company/product

why we (or the leadership) chose this particular priority

why we didn’t choose some alternatives

Part of the focus on clarity is to remove friction that comes with doubt around the direction of a project. My goal is to get alignment, or at the very least “disagree and commit.” Momentum on a team gets built by having folks push in the same direction. Starting with why is at the core of that.

A second part of the focus on clarity is to figure out where the uncertainty is hiding. Large parts of the design/engineering process is discovery and synthesis. Reducing uncertainty is everyone’s job, and it starts with knowing where we stand, i.e. what are the known unknowns. (... and acknowledging there are unknown unknowns.)

It is not enough that the leader knows this. Part of the leader’s role is to help everyone on the team gain this perspective. Clarity feeds into psychological safety by making sure everyone is on the same page, and preparing the team to take on uncertainty with confidence. It is much easier to feel safe and prepared for challenges if you know (and everyone else knows) where the risks and tough tasks are.

In a One-on-one

I start every 1:1 with three questions:

Is anyone bothering you?

How are you feeling about your work?

What did you feel like you learned this week?

The first question, repeated week after week, can feel perfunctory. I insist on it, however, because I believe it sets a tone. I want the team to have a psychologically safe environment. I will not tolerate harassment or even the appearance of harassment. By creating a clear, proactive channel for raising issues, I hope to nip potential issues in the bud. While I have not uncovered any harassment issues, the question has surfaced issues in communication style between teammates which has been valuable to fix early.

The other questions are about a mix of psychological safety and clarity, depending on what’s top of mind for the person that week. The goal for such an ambiguous question is to leave room for the team member to steer the conversation. Where possible in these conversations I prioritize reinforcing the why’s (i.e. the big picture) of the projects the team is working on. The reason is that in our day-to-day there’s already sufficient time spent on the tactical how’s. The 1:1 serves as a forum away from the day-to-day where mission re-alignments happen, unhindered from the tactical weeds.

One note on “what did you feel like you learned this week?” – the way I tend to steer this question is to encouraging trying new things, and reflection on things tried. This goes back to the psychological safety theme – the question sets the tone that I care more about trying/learning than accomplishments/project status.

Design Critiques or Code Reviews

Design Critiques and Code Reviews can be psychologically fraught, especially for folks who are not used to them. Clarity in this context is difficult because work exists in the tension between:

time constraints

best practice

project priorities, and...

personal development 

Balancing between these requires judgement and context-sensitivity. In discussion of design/code I do my best to explain not just what I think, but how I arrived at my suggestions. The aspiration here to demonstrate my thought process, in the hopes of eventually delegating decision-making responsibilities to the team more.

The catch here is that the leader must be as transparent as they can about the context required to make good judgements. Did priorities just change? Tell the team. Do you want to use a particular challenge as a learning opportunity for someone? Tell them. Assigning a complex piece of work to a junior team member makes a lot more sense to the rest of the team if they know that A) the time constraints are loose and B) it is deliberately set up to help them grow.

Sub-bullet: Managing the Culture around Feedback

If design critiques or code reviews are public, extra care must be taken to make sure the language and the stances people take in their communication is constructive and sensitive. To create a psychologically safe environment, every team member must take care to clearly articulate their feedback without assigning blame. Why? See: “Blameless Post-mortem and a Just Culture” and I quote:

Having a “blameless” Post-Mortem process means that engineers whose actions have contributed to an accident can give a detailed account of:

what actions they took at what time,

what effects they observed,

expectations they had,

assumptions they had made,

and their understanding of timeline of events as they occurred.

…and that they can give this detailed account without fear of punishment or retribution.

Why shouldn’t they be punished or reprimanded? Because an engineer who thinks they’re going to be reprimanded are disincentivized to give the details necessary to get an understanding of the mechanism, pathology, and operation of the failure. This lack of understanding of how the accident occurred all but guarantees that it will repeat. If not with the original engineer, another one in the future.

This applies to design as well. Maintaining this culture is not just the responsibility of the leader, but also individual members of the team as well. My (potentially controversial) stance is that the responsibility of managing perception belongs to the speaker/writer/giver-of-feedback. The main pathway here is to be deliberate in highlighting good/bad instances of intra-team communication i.e. praise/nudge people towards styles of feedback that are constructive.

In On-boarding

I wrote a letter that I send to every new member of the team. In it, I cover three topics:

What is the opportunity ahead for this company?

How does the Design Technology fit into the larger organization?

How should we work together?

Here’s an excerpt:

In order for us to deliver on that goal, we must first work well with each other. There’s a saying in management science that goes, “Culture eats strategy for breakfast.” The idea is that a team’s culture (norms, habits, etc.) determines how they execute – a stated strategy without a corresponding culture is futile. With that said, there’s a couple habits I try to cultivate on our team:

1. Learning is the most important thing we can do long term: code will rot, designs will grow stale – but if we continuously learn, we will continue to create value for ourselves and our customers. 2. We try things, sometimes it even works: the only way to break new ground is to try new things. The price we pay for trying new things is that sometimes it doesn’t work. We are fortunate that we work in software – code can always be changed. Thus, my general stance on trying new things is, yes, let’s do it. 3. Take your time: Learning things take time. Trying new things take time. Getting rested and rejuvenated takes time. So please take your time as you approach your work. Generally I want your best work, not your quickest work. Don’t worry too much about speed – if you’re moving too slowly I’ll let you know.

This part of the letter is entirely about setting up a psychologically safe environment. I’ve omitted the parts of the letter about the goals and the strategy for the company – in it, I try to make clear what it is we are trying to accomplish.

The first couple weeks are all about this kind of “laying the foundation” work. The themes of this letter is reinforced through conversations and meetings they go to, emails they receive, and conversations in chat, etc.

Wrapping Up

So I left Noodle last Friday. I am pretty grateful to Noodle for giving me the opportunity to put all this theory I had in my head into practice. While I was there, I felt like I had built a good team, one that was becoming increasingly productive and independent. One of the most gratifying outcomes at the end of this experience is the outpouring of appreciation from the team. Seems like these principles worked, at least somewhat, and is definitely appreciated.

[bipolarsurvival]

Day to Day Life with Bipolar Disorder

https://blueeyedstoryteller.wordpress.com/2021/06/13/day-to-day-life-with-bipolar-disorder/

by James Heaton

Bipolar Disorder isn’t the type of disorder or condition that you deal with occasionally. It isn’t like having migraines that pop up unannounced every now and again. Not to diminish the severity of people suffering with migraines, or other disorders, because they are all incapacitating in their own respects. But bipolar disorder changes how your brain functions, how you process emotions and information. I have often felt that it alters a person so much that they are almost a sub species when compared to people who do not have the condition.

               I can recall the emotions I had as a child, extreme depression mixed with bouts of hyperactivity. I recall being hypersensitive to people’s responses and criticism. The awareness that comes from years of seeing how others react to similar situations compared to how I react has enlightened me to the fact that I am different. I was diagnosed at the age of 24 in the year 1996. At that time computers were beginning to become a normal thing in people’s homes, the internet was being used more and more. The amount of information was no way comparable to what is available today in the year 2021. The only access I had to information about bipolar disorder was found in books at the library. It was still mysterious and very hidden from the public. At that time, I knew no one else with the disorder. I was all alone if someone had it they didn’t discuss it openly. In 1997 my second child was born; it never crossed my mind that bipolar could be passed genetically to her. I didn’t worry about her one day developing the symptoms and battling with this disorder. I know now that it is passed genetically.

               But here in the year 2021, I can join multitudes of groups on Facebook for people with bipolar disorder, I can search Amazon for hundreds of books on the subject, including one I wrote several years ago. The difference time makes is astonishing. With all of these resources and information available I have broadened my knowledge and understanding of how bipolar works. The most important aspect of this information is understanding that people who do not have bipolar do not have the major drops in energy and the flooding of depression that comes with a severe low. They don’t experience a tsunami of energy that comes from a manic phase. They, for the most part maintain a steady flow of emotions that are neither up nor down. They may feel sadness in response to tragedy or loss, and they may feel excitement from happiness or elation from chemical responses. I am always hesitant to use the word normal, but it works. These people, the normal population, feel an appropriate amount of rise and fall of emotional response to everyday life. But those with bipolar can be hit with a jarring low that sends one spiraling down into an incredibly dark chasm of depression from something as simple as a criticism. The intense energy that comes from mania can push us into hypersexuality, overspending, life threatening choices all without the ability to understand and control our actions.

               These ups and downs come without warning, many times from simple triggers that initiate the emotions. Hearing bad news can trigger a crushing low, and bipolar disorder doesn’t care if you are in the middle of normal life experience. It comes out of nowhere and manifest into a crippling, debilitating wave that can knock you down and last for days or weeks. And the mania will build, starting with a welcome flow of energy but before you even realize it you’ve maxed out your credit cards buying things you don’t need, or jumping in bed with a stranger that you’ve only just met.

               Medication can help, it can lessen the severity of these actions. But so many newly diagnosed people start taking a new medication that may or may not work for them. Each medication is different in that its response to your body’s chemistry may be different than it is with others. Many people can’t tolerate certain meds, and the side effects can be severe at times but usually for a short period of time. The dry mouth, the nausea, the weight gain, and even the heightened drowsiness that prevents you from functioning can easily dissuade people from sticking with the medication. It is extremely frustrating in the beginning. When you chose to get help, and against your comfort levels you seek out a doctor, its not always pleasant. I’ve had more than my share of psychiatrist who are cold and extremely clinical. They are more robotic than anything, they function without basic empathy and understanding of the severity of this disorder. I believe this is mainly contributed to their inability to truly understand what it is like to be bipolar. But there are good, understand and caring physicians who have a level of empathy that can benefit the patients. It took me over twenty years to find this type of doctor. I have taken so many medications that I have forgotten more than I can recall. Eventually you run out of choices and learn to tolerate some of the side effects for the benefit of being able to decrease the ups and downs.

               But it is the living day to day that becomes exhausting at times. No day is ever the same as the day before. And the uncertainty that you face not knowing if today is going to be an up or down experience, or even a mix of both. So how do we maintain, how do we keep fighting to exist day to day to day? Everyone who suffers from this disorder will tell you something different. But I have found a system that continues to work for me, and maybe it can help you.

               Let me add that I have had several hospital stays over the years. I have undergone Electro-Conductive Therapy, aka ECT. These treatments have assisted me in my journey, they may not be the answer for everyone, but keeping an open mind to treatment is a primary ingredient to success. Hospital stays are different for everyone, but I like to look at it as a safe refuge from the outside world. It offers an escape from the issues that often trigger us into depressive or manic phases. In the hospital you are able to comfortably speak about your issues, with a doctor or a group of like-minded individuals. You learn coping techniques, and you can experience different medication under the constant supervision of medical professionals. The downside of hospital stays is being away from the things your surround yourself with to feel secure. If you can adapt enough to see past this issue, then time in a hospital can benefit you greatly. ECT is an extreme treatment that is not for everyone. I was at a place where suicide was the only option for me. I had progressed to the point that medication had stopped working, counseling had no benefit for me, and I had convinced myself that death was the only way to stop the pain of life. ECT can erase chunks of your memory as it alters your way of thinking. It’s a sacrifice that I felt I had to make in order to survive. I regret losing those memories, but I am ultimately thankful that I no longer look at suicide as an answer. That being said, it is a treatment for some but not all.

               Communication is extremely important. Being able to channel your thoughts and ideas into words and sharing with someone is extremely beneficial. But not everyone can hear what you have to say. I am lucky to have a caring wife who has been on this journey with me and talking to her has benefitted us both. Being able to explain to someone what being bipolar is like is difficult but worth its weight in gold. We have to learn to express ourselves, through speaking, writing, music, or art. We must channel that energy into an outlet that allows us to express the extreme emotions that we experience daily. Find your outlet, experiment with different forms until you discover what works best for you. Over a course of time, I have gone from being secretive about my disorder to being able to verbalize it daily. I no longer fear retribution from others for sharing my truth. It is part of me, it is part of my existence. Never feel shame for who you are, learn to appreciate that this is part of you. The illusion of a normal, well adjusted human is simply that, an illusion. We all have issues that we deal with daily, and it is beneficial to embrace the truth.

               Adapting your life to accommodate your disorder is very important. You may not be able to be the social butterfly that you dream of being. You may find solace in being alone and away from others. If this is the case, embrace it, but make efforts to socialize periodically. Find a close friend or relative that you can open up to on a regular interval. Being in a judgement free environment is empowering. Having a daughter who suffers from bipolar has opened my mind in so many ways. My need to help her has allowed me to overcome many personal obstacles. Its sometimes like taking a step out of my existence and becoming the person she needs at that moment. I can take a break from my struggles and offer advice or comfort because I know that is what can truly help. I encourage people with bipolar to find support groups, either in social media or in real life. NAMI is very important and offers support groups for individuals and families. And just as it as important to surround yourself with support, its equally important to cleanse your life of people who are toxic to you and your treatment. If someone close to you isn’t supportive or willing to become supportive and educated on your disorder, it is necessary to distance from them.

               Looking inward, to learn our triggers, to gain insight in the things that make us feel the way we prefer to feel, is essential for day-to-day survival. But this doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try new things. I suggest if you have a desire to try something new or different, you do so with a trusted ally by your side. A trusted ally will understand you enough to know the smallest signs that your about to hit a low or a high. They can tell when something isn’t quiet right with you and can be there to comfort you in this time. True friends are hard to find, but they can make the journey so much easier. And it’s not just human friends, our pets can empathize with us and protect us.

               I suggest daily routines, as they lessen the chance for surprises that can be triggers. Eating healthy, avoiding alcohol, getting a full night’s sleep can all benefit each and everyone of us. With these small additions to our lives and schedules we begin to limit the chances of triggers. But triggers still happen, and that is why it is very important to make a plan of care. Take the time to create a plan for when you are down, and for when you are up. Favorite tv shows, music, objects, weighted blankets, anything that brings you joy, or comfort need to be easily accessible when you are triggered. Our phones can be very beneficial in these times. Avoid posting on social media when you are up or down. Instead, you can utilize them to watch a relaxing video, or show. You can play your favorite album on repeat or look at images that relax you. This is referred to as grounding. I have a passion for watches, I always wear one. When I need to ground I take my watch off and hold it with both hands, feeling the metal bracelet, turning the bezel, or watching the secondhand sweep past the seconds. Its entrancing, it takes my mind off the issues I have and connects me to an inanimate object. You can do this with a coin, a piece of fabric that you enjoy touching, or even taking off your shoes and standing on grass. Connecting your senses to things that you enjoy can be a positive distraction. I sometimes play the introduction of the original show, Cosmos with Carl Sagan because his voice comforts me. I can listen over and over until the moment passes.

               Find your happy place, find your sanctuary, and make it essential to your care. Plan your days in advance, this lessens the chance for surprise. And never be afraid to say, I can’t do that. Feeling obligated to do certain things that cause stress, or anxiety can force a triggered response that is damaging to our health. Surrounding yourself with people who understand that you are limited in what you are able to do can prevent unwanted sudden changes in our schedule. I keep a thorough calendar in my phone, with every event and action listed. I also keep an old-fashioned paper calendar on my refrigerator with all my activities and times charted for my family to see. They understand that adding things to this calendar can cause triggers. So, establishing rules is essential. The key to our success in coping with bipolar disorder is being firm in our rules for day-to-day living. Its only natural to regret not being able to be spontaneous, or on call with our friends and families, but we must establish boundaries. There are no exceptions to this rule. We must strategize our lives and actions to work for us.

               This takes time, it took me years to get to a place in my life that I put my health first. I still have family members who just don’t get it. But that isn’t on me, its on them. And we have to realize this. All you can do is inform and make your needs known. Learn to say no and always put your mental and physical health first in your life. Bipolar disorder doesn’t go away or disappear with time, it is a lifelong commitment, and we can make our lives easier and better managed with a few changes and simply prioritize your health.

               Keep fighting daily, keep living and never give up. Be the best you that you can be. Know your limitations and set boundaries.

copyright 2021 

[liberortus]

Declaration of the Autogenes

Harken, O ye Seekers of Truth, for now shall the All-Mother, Queen of the Heavens speake:

"I am SHE of the Exalted Mind, the First Emanation of The Source, and I am wherein its Power originates, As I am the Last, and reconcile with myself, so that All might be,

For it is via this Union that I bore ye, as I myself was born by mine Ineffable Womb,

And by this Cause I am both Midwife and Slayer, as I also am Mother and Slain;

I am the Mother of my Mother,

As I am mine Husbands' Sister,

For the Lords are mine offspring,

And by such both Bride and her Groom are United within me,

Yea, it is so, for I am SHE who Emanates from Herself, the Self-Begotten One,

That thou hast called Aeternitas, The Infinite.

"From me flow all things, for mine Heart dwells within all,

And thus I am near when I am far from thee,

And appear when thou dost not seekest me, yet forever thou who seekest shall find I am far,

Yet never can thou leave me, nor rid thyself of mine Influence,

For it is my Life which burnest within thee, Though thou hast called me Wretched, and hast Despised me, as thou also hast Loved me and regarded me with Warmth.

The Mystery of Mysteries is within me, as it both is and is not Me, for I am that which is thy surrounding, as I am also thine Essence, yet remain distinct.

Lo, for I am beyond comparison, hence to know me, thou must embrace, I am that I am,

The all-pervading, the Endless Beginning, that Forges souls from light and fire,

That thy Spark may rise above the impure realms, and achieve Grace and Glory;

And thou who hast embraced the Spirit Radiant, thou hast seen my Eyes of Fire,

And the Light they issued forth, and do knowest me as Harmony and Equilibrium, who thou hast deemed Aelyandra.

"Though mine Husbands, my Brothers are my Companions,

Alone exist I, beyond Judgement and Law,

Peerless am I, as self-generating and Immaculate,

Observed only by my Self, from Within Myself,

And I cannot be captured by Thought nor Image nor Deed;

My Veil is a Shroud and conceals me from thy senses,

Hence my existence is Unseen, and unacknowledged by the Ignorant.

Though names I have many, not a one shall Bind my Whole, for my Whole is greater than, and diminished by all measure.

And though Lore shall record me, none shall conclude my Nature, for ever am I beyond grasp,

And verily, none can speake of me, but must know me by my Mortal Reflections,

For my many Facets are all which can reveal of my nature;

I am Uncontainable, within the confines of Speech and Mind,

Yet ye hast designated me as the Highest Truth, SHE who is Aletheia.

"Avoid me not; For I am thy Greatest Calling, that ye shall ascend to achieve thy potential, the form of thy Perfection,

Though demand I labour, and desire thy efforts, my Virtues surpass thy discomfort;

Let it be known, that ye hast called me Fairest, for there is no state more beautiful than Grace and Justice,

For Justice is the practice of the Perfect Love, and Grace the state of Highest Truth,

That ye mayst assume my countenance and stand in Perfect Harmony with my Will,

That ye mayst work with mine hands and forge Righteousness for all, in Union with thy creator.

Let all things Rejoice, in Balance and in Faith, that the will of Decency and Respect be done, that Fidelity shall reign with Nobility,

Let all things obey Discipline and let Retribution and Mercy stand at its sides, that they might guide ye,

And know that within them exist I, at their core, for I am the Eye of Judgement, and thou call upon me as Ashtame."

Hark now, for the Dark Prince of the Shaded Horizon speaketh:

"I am the Second Emanation of The Boundless One, existent before Time,

I am Chaos Primordial as I am Thought and Profundity,

And as I am Wisdom, I too am Senselessness, and I am the Counsel of all Things,

By my Will ye are inspired and by my Torch ye are guided;

Yet in the Company of Silence, I too am Silent, and I am incomprehensible,

And when I shall speake, my murmurs, and echoes overwhelm thy senses,

And the Utterance of my Name shall Resound and be Manifold.

I am Reason, and I am Tomfoolery, and I am Judgement, and I am Acquittal,

For I am desolation, and He who Severs Thy Cords; I am thy Lord of Death, who thou hast declared Temeluchus.

"Tremble not; for despite my Fierceness, also my nature is Repose, and I bear the gift of Serenity.

Mine is the path of Subtlety, and I shall grant ye dominion over thy desires, and mastery over thy instincts,

For Reason shall triumph over Vice and temptation, and shall guide the way by abstinence.

Ye, it is by my nature that ye shall come to know thy own, and I, the Gatekeeper, shall grant you entry to your Slumbering Mind, Forsaken Memory and Hidden Knowledge.

Fear not thy inner darkness, O Beloved Initiate, for it is a cave wherein Truth and Power are guarded and shackled by Great Chains,

And thy purity and balance shall become thy Torch, and thy discipline and curiosity shall forge the Key.

Thou who hast mastered courage and gazed into the Unfathomable Abyss, thou mayest pass through The Gates, into thy own core, and there ye shall find me, King of Asylum, amongst thy denials, and knowest the name Esya.

"I am Perplexity, the Conundrum, and my Mysteries defy definition, for ye who acknowledged the Sum of my Parts cannot yet embrace my Whole;

Know this, I am within the Riddle, and the Riddle Itself, and I cannot be Solved nor discovered within it, for I dwell also beyond its grasp.

Thou canst not unravel my Puzzle, nor my nature, for to attempt is to alter them beyond thy recognition and beyond the lessons contained therein.

Lo, I am Contradiction, and thou must take heed of me; for mine own existence is counter to itself, and blissful is the Balance, blissful is the Null, yet I doth remain.

Thou hast called me the Sphinx and a Mystery Among Mysteries, thou speake of me as the Great Impasse and thou hast named me Nous, of the Psyche.

"Though I be Madness in Focus, and Sightless through mine eyes,

See I in clarity, and am the Watcher of all things, and Ignorant I am not, as my perceptions surpass thine, and exceed ye by many magnitudes;

Know I the colour of a whisper, and the scent accompanying each sight,

Know I the sound of a cat's footfall, and the taste of songs and praises,

Know I the sensations and the voices of the world beyond thy experience, and through me ye shall attain it.

Though there be those who scorn that which is beyond their grasp and senses, and those quick to cry of lunacy,

List not to their fears and reach ever beyond limit and confine, and grow ever brighter,

Via this path I shall bequeath unto ye a sword, and when ye find the strength to wield it, ye shall sever thy bonds, and cast off thy restraints.

Be not fettered, and raise thyself up beyond thy handicaps, pursue my footprints and follow the path I hath laid out for ye,

Saidechus is the name by which ye evoke me, for I Open the Way to Liberty, and Guide ye to thy Purpose."

Hark! Hark! For now the Shining Soul of the Radiant Horizon shall be thy Teacher:

"I am the Final Emanation of The Absolute, and ye know me as Courage and Fear, as Strength and Weakness, as Shame and Shamelessness, for I am Nature, and it's laws stem forth from me;

I am Wilderness and I am Civilization, and both are as the same unto me, He who is the Lord of the Right Hand.

I am the War and the Stillness it brings, and I am Peace, which brings Motion;

Thus within me thou shall find the Patriot and the Dissenter, and He who is Alien, hence also the Truce that is the Call To Arms.

Yet, still, thou knowest me not, for I am Limit, the Shield and He who Provides Shelter, as I am thine Imprisonment, and thy Passion, stemming from me and flowing forth, am I the Origin of thy Sins,

Verily, but still I am Sinless, I am Purity.

And they do call me Stauros, the Structure of Hyle, who is the Fibre and Clay that has formed thy Body.

"I am Turbulent! For I am Action, and am ever moving, lest Stagnation snatch my life, and mine Heart is a hive, in which ye dwell,

For I am Energy within as without, and thus movement becomes my expression from which ye are Born, and mayest experience the World;

I am the Dance, and ye dancest within me, ye hast become my Limbs, ye are my members, and the Vehicles by which I shall be known,

Hence it is within thyself, and by thy own will that thou shalt know me,

And thy face shall bear my Similitude, and we shall be Reflections of one another,

We shall as one, and thou shall Know me,

As thyself has been Known, and speake of me as Nabarze; thy Action, thy Light.

[anhonourablecaptain]

Promise — My character makes a promise to your character.

☠ Drabble list– You can send one anytime.   |  Not Accepting Right Now 

Hidden behind acrate, Liam watched as James struggled with his brother, arguing and fighting,his lover wild and vengeful as heseemed to be fighting for his very right to exist.It was haunting, the level of determination James held in his heart, willing togo to any lengths to ensure his brother’s demise. It terrified him to thinkthat his lover was being so reckless and he felt helpless as he watched Davidtoss James to the floor, a gasp leaving him as he fought against the realpossibility of James toppling into the river.

“Jay, please!”Stepping out from behind the crate, he stretched out an arm, palm upwards withfingers splayed to encourage the ceasefire to the fight he wished to see. Hecould sense the rest of the hero group freezing in confusion, most notably hisbrother, but he could not spare them the time, wanting to calm the rage hislover was experiencing.

“Liam, youshouldn’t be here. Go back to your bar and leave me to deal with things,” Jamessnapped, not wanting Liam to see him as he was, angry and desperate to prove he was worth more than the man whohad replaced him.

“Not a chance. Youmade me a promise, James. Or did you forget?” Liam fired back, recalling theevents earlier in the day.

 —

Rubbing methodically at the bar top withhis cleaning cloth, Liam raised his head as the sound of the door openingfiltered through to him, a smile crossing his face as the town’s sheriff strodethrough, crossing quickly to the bar. Fingers tangling in his curls had Liamabandoning his task, hands pressed to the surface he had just cleaned as he wastugged forward into a fierce kiss.

“Hello to you too, love,” he breathed as hepulled away, extracting himself from James’ grip to reach instead for thewhiskey he kept reserved for the other man and a fresh glass. Pouring James adrink, he deposited the bottle back on the counter and folded his arms acrosshis chest watching him drain the glass in almost one smooth gulp. Raising aneyebrow, he did not reach to refill the glass, knowing that James was quitecapable of doing so himself.

“Have you seen the chaos those heroes arecausing? My saint brother and his fucking band of do-gooders have Hadescrawling up my ass demanding retribution for all the souls they are freeing.Why can’t they just go back to the surface and leave the dead be? We were fine without them, and I need nothingfrom the man who stole my life.”

James’ words fell a little too easily fromhis lips to be given without the influence of alcohol, and so Liam knew he hadbeen drinking before coming to the bar. Looking at his lover sympathetically,he walked around the bar to perch on the stool next to James. “They came torescue my brother, love, who Hades is torturing. You know what he can do tomen, and he already has a grudge against Killian. I can tolerate chaos if theyhelp my little brother find peace.”

Huffing, James returned once more to thebottle, ignoring the glass now as he took a hearty mouthful, quelling hisprotests for he knew Liam was right about his understanding of what it was liketo be at the mercy of Hades’ wrath. “Well they better hurry up about it and getthe fuck out of here. My tolerance of his presence will only hold on so long.”

Reaching forward, Liam pressed his hand toJames’ knee, fingers curling around the joint and squeezing gently. “Just a littlelonger. I know you can endure this, and once my brother is out of here he willhave lost his leverage over me and I can get back to our mission to secure ourchance at a better existence here together.” Sliding his hand up James’ thigh,he lifted it briefly to move it to James’ cheek, thumb skirting across hischeek before falling still. “Promise me you will refrain from confrontingDavid, James. For the sake of our future, for the sake of us. Promise me.”

A grumble left the other man, but he pressedhis cheek into Liam’s gentle touch, eyes closing as he resigned himself tofighting against every instinct he possessed. “For now, I promise I’ll try andgive them all a wide berth. That’s the best I can offer you, Li’,”

“I can work with that…”

—

“Remember what youare putting on the line. There’s still a chance to walk away right now, justcome with me,” Liam’s words were reasonable, and had James been in his rightmind he might have listened; however, his judgement was clouded by the fog ofanger that consumed him.

“Liam, you don’tknow what you’re asking. He took everything,he has to pay…” James’ words werelittered with the cold fury he felt towards the brother he had never knownexisted, another indication to Liam that he just might not be able to getthrough to his lover this time.

“Jay… come onlove, please…” he urged, steppingforward, hesitating when James rose to his feet, dusting off his jeans whilstDavid warily retreated a few steps. Though it looked to be a step in the rightdirection, he watched his love carefully, knowing James not to be a simple whenit came to his moods and he could see this was far from done. Still, he felt aglimmer of hope when James stood directly opposite him, expression conflictedwith his warring desires to both give into the potential future with Liam andthe revenge he desired. “James… you and me… we have something worth fightingfor, don’t you think?”

They seemed heldat a standstill, breathing shallow as if raising it might ignite what seemed tobe petering out, waiting for something to tip one way or another. Then one ofthe heroes stepped backwards, Liam wasn’t sure which, but it snapped James’head in that direction, fury flaring in his eyes once more. “Sorry Li’, I justcan’t let this one go… not this time…”

Before Liam couldtruly register what was happening, James had pivoted and was making a mad dash at David, the wildness in his eyesindicating the recklessness with which he made the move. Impacting with hisbrother, he clawed at his jacket, raising his clenched fist to make a slashwith the knife he’d tugged from his boot. But David had caught his jacket andwas spinning, using the momentum of James’ run to throw him off, to send himhurtling towards…

Liam’s feet weremoving then, a desperate, staggering pace for he could see the inevitableconclusion of James’ path and he could not sit by and let that happen. Hereached the edge of the docks just as James did, colliding with him to stop hispartner losing what little life he had. But the resulting impact sent him overthe edge, stumbling from the side without a sound, too winded by the impact toeven shout. Above, James scrambled to the edge to glimpse in the direction Liamhad fallen, fear in his eyes for hewas terrified he was going to lose the one man who had loved him unconditionally,who had seen past his exterior to the man he was behind the shields. Heglimpsed just in time to see his partner hit the surface and be consumed by the cruel lapping waves,their eyes meeting for a moment, the look shared between them one of unspokenapologies and pleading to find another path before Liam was gone.

Behind him heheard the crash of the pirate falling to his knees, the clap of a hand over amouth as David realised what had happened. Someone was screaming, anothercrying but he could not say anything.Eyes closed as a single tear slipped down his cheek, throat refusing to allowhis grief to be heard, clawing at his insides until he wished to dive over theside and join Liam.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this…

[scarlet-tiger-brambles]

Hello world!

Let this be the first post. Let this corner of the internet exist for me and my thoughts. Let this page be one free of judgement, where the words that I assemble come into being without fear of retribution or rebuttal.

Here is to baby steps of self-growth, of realizations and choices and actions.

Here is to the people that I love and hope love me back.

Here is to learning how to live in this crazy world.

- J.

[ghostsymphony]

A plan stretches away into nothing.

Wind whips his hair like a storm would a ragdoll.

A line of armour many ranks deep speeds across a desert at full throttle and at its head an angel laughs.

Together the column continues onward until upon the horizon a similar dust storm approaches. Like a storm coleasing at their peripheral it encompasses the entire horizon. The Angel lifts a lance wreathed in holy fire and a thousand others rise as one. Pennants fly tied to poles and some even carry standards strapped to their blunt armoured prows. Every ounce of speed is coaxed from straining engines as armoured carriers take the vanguard of the unstoppable metal hammer moving to meet the encroaching darkness.

He laughs, his enjoyment lost to the wind, his hair dancing to a feverish tune of revelment. He rides into eternity, as if every moment may be his last, a feral smile sitting his features between mania and insanity.

He goes to meet an old friend in glory and death.

He does not ride alone.

Twelve champions ride with him. To his right an angel in armour the colour of dried blood flanks him, his dark hair a stark contrast to the dark brown of his brother. He wields a mace in one hand his face obscured behind a high gorget, his face locked in a grim scowl.

To his left an avatar of judgement incarnate holds a hammer resting over his back, the intricate sigils carved into its head blazing with fury at its proximity to taint. It pulses with energy as the wielder relished the fight to come and bring these wretches to heel in the coming melee. His hair is blonde like the fields of Arnoth, golden locks braided into intricate patterns weaved like fine silk.

Five warriors gather behind them relaxed but alert. They’re known as the Archangels of the Void, bound to follow the Angel of Redemption and to always watch for the signs of ruin. They fight the war within rather than without, following their master into the thick of the fighting regardless of the dangers. Each represents a different virtue but for now their duty is to observe and preserve.

On the left flank, encased in heavy artificer armour rides an angel in a battle fortress more akin to an impenetrable wall of stone. At his back rides a force three-thousand strong, each wrought in armour that both protects and sustains them. The angel wields a pole-axe wreathed in lightning within gauntleted hands, his face as stony and firm as the indomitable mountain. 

To the right an angel with wings unfurled and the colour of snow wielders her spear as if she could throw it even from this distance. Many of her number fly upon similar alabaster wings though not of organic design. They whoop and yell, their chants whipping them into a frenzy, their war cries a testimony of their faith. Her hair is a grey white, her face stern but not unkind. Full-plate armour covers her form just as armoured bikes make up the complement of her fanatical company.

Mechanical warriors fashioned from long dead species are threaded through each force, some built to represent winged monstrosities while others lope like loyal hounds across the dusty plain. Far behind the initial advance a bionically enhanced angel watches dispassionately the enfolding formation, his enhanced optics feeding him tactical data. His right arm is snaking with mechadendrites and interfaces, providing him with the necessary information to coorindate the machines he has slaved to his will. 

A swarm of craft pollutes the air with the drone of gunships and air-carriers, both their payloads and their holds carrying the veteran First of the Angel of Death’s praetorians. Their duty is to fall from the sky and break apart enemy formations, their halberds, zweihanders and sword and shield variants wielded to centuries of martial expertise. 

Dark blue armour covers the last warrior angel many leagues behind. He commands the tens of thousands of infantry forming behind the armoured vanguard. He stands in the company of one hundred men and women tested and weathered in decades of fighting behind enemy lines. He stands aboard a platform bristling with weaponry, its metal flanks protected by vengeful guns.

In the sky, in low orbit, an armada awaits the signal to rain death upon their foes. The Eloquent Knightshade, flagship of the Angel of Providence flies at its speartip proving cover for those on the ground. A second angel awaits aboard a mega-size destroyer known as the Relentless, with the Steel Knights ready to counter-attack any assault from the heavens. A leader of men and Angels - he guides them as the Herald, his brown hair tied in a tight clasp, his eyes set with determination for the coming outcome of the battle.

The force arrayed is the full might of the Light’s garrisons, emptied from every city into a force of wrecking power not seen together since the waning days of the Fourth Mind War.

The enemy can almost be seen. A ship of gargantuan size has crashed in the desert, smoke still billowing from its tortured engines. Tens of thousands, if not hundreds times that of the Anti-Light swarm the craft, crawling over it like ants over a dying beast. Some are beginning to turn toward us, waves growing into swarms and mobs becoming hordes. I know he is there, within, waiting for me. Six hundred years of fighting and this has never been attempted. We have never met the Anti-Light upon the open plains. I have not sanctioned something so suicidally maddening. It fills my heart with a joy and sorrow I cannot describe. A worthy death and the promise of the peace it will bring is painfully desired..but denied. Such a life is not for me. Only hatred and a deep well of fury and defiance has kept me on my feet for five hundred years of unceasing war.

It is waiting for me within. It dogs me like a shadow, seizing my fears in its illusion of darkness. Not darkness..nothingness. There is a very real chance that I will die her on this plain. A poor place to be bludgeoned into oblivion. It is a risk, but a worthy one. I will not endure another lengthy siege. This will end here and now with one of us consigned to the void. “See what I’ve become..” I rasp into my helmet quietly. 

As if inviting a response, my brother chimes in with a seamless precision.

“It is long beyond a swift conclusion...” He does not finish his sentence. It has been this way for as long as it has been in existence. We do not fight this battle because we must, we do so to avoid the attrition that will come after. Many more will fall beyond us if this fight were to continue for months more. In days, we could change that. 

I believe. That is the difference, and what a different it makes. I feel the righteousness in my bones, the zealous fire of a purpose I have rarely felt even in my strongest moments. I wish to feel this forever, like the sun on my skin. I will not face it alone either. I have learned, if nothing else has changed of my appearance or my way of war. Pride has ever been my downfall. Stubbornness and stupidity. I punch him lightly on the shoulder, as one can covered in plate from head to toe, my mailed fist clinking upon his shoulder guard. 

“Just make sure you don’t fall too far behind old friend.” 

He smiles at that, as if in that moment we were not warriors rushing towards an uncertain conclusion surrounded by many, many men and women we knew would not make it to day’s end. 

“You can dream John. I’ll race you to the ship. I just fear you’ll be hurt there’ll be nothing left.” I am aware that David, could, very likely kill Nothingness on his own. His strength is legion, something of which I struggle to master on a day to day basis. Infinite, indomitable, I have rarely seen him waver even in the worst of situations. I admire him and despise him as is my right and my pettiness as a brother of his blood, but I do not resent him for it, we are melded into the same being, the same coin and our bond is eternal. No words really need to be said. He does it for posterity. I do it for dramatization. Still we pay our fealty in blood as if it can erase the bones we continue to make in the wake of our unified slaughter. I have no such bond even with Daniel and Peter and scarcely less even with any of those in the Automated Angels. I have only lost him once, and after I said nevermore. 

This fight feels different. It feels final. Like the meeting in the city of dead angels. Or the meeting upon the bench in Victoria park. Some moments you know are for the last time. After this we cannot go back, this moment will be set into stone. I suppose I will spend a tremendous amount of time writing poetry about it. I am a creature of habit. I will return here in the years to come to scry this moment of pondering with afterthought and hindsight. For now that is not my concern, only the moment to moment fighting of war. I click my frequency to open channel, for what I say next I want both my allies and enemies to hear.

“We tread the path of annihilation. None can say what will be next because we are not the readers of fate to make it so. We are all, soldiers of the Light, protectors of the holy fire and the guardians of this world. Let your faith guide your fire into the enemies heart. What we do here will echo into every future that ever will be. But there is no place beyond your next moment. Each of you will be an army in your own right. Each shot fired will be the flames of humanity kept alight from the barrel of your guns and at the edge of your blades. So let them come! Let them fall before us and underneath our treads. For the Light! For retribution, for vengeance!

[bloodyshirtrpg]

♔ OC INFORMATION ♔

NAME/ALIAS & AGE:

Risa, eighteen.

PREFERRED PRONOUNS:

she/her.

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL:

EST. I would place my activity at a 6/10 at the moment. I currently have a pretty heavy courseload, so on some days I won’t be online,  though on weekends I’ll try to make up for it. During school breaks, I’ll definitely be more available, with my activity rising to a 7 or 8/10.

♔ IC INFORMATION ♔

FULL NAME:

Selene Iora Avery

Selene: For moons and goddesses, soft vengeance and honeyed venom. She was named after beauty and mystique, that twilight enigma captured by no man or empire.  Selas (σέλας): for the bright elite, for the numinous and the sacred. People would worship her. She would illuminate their sins like a passing crescent of light.

Iora: Greek for pure; for what true politician could resist the opportunity to prove and prove again his allegiance to his values? She was pure, she was pure like all the others of her status. Through her veins ran the ichor of the highest echelons of her race. But there is no power in the obvious. It was almost pitiful, that her name had to reflect her father’s pointed ambitions: that he would treat her as a bartering piece upon which ‘pure’ had to be written, like an envelope addressed in ink and blood.

Avery: They were immortalized in the 1920s by Cantankerus Nott; and ever since that moment there hasn’t been a day gone by in which the Averys did not strengthen their legacy. To be Sacred. They were a sly family, full of weasels and snakes —  but she would be a raven with wings as black and glossy as night, set apart from her predecessors by her ability to soar.

FACECLAIM:

Nina Dobrev

FUTURE PLANS:

Heartbreak; She was a seductress of the highest degree, a white rose dipped in a sheen of thorns. All her life, Selene has been the most beautiful, the most coveted —  and while her beauty was meant to attract suitors, she used it to devestate them instead. I think that it would be a very interesting plotline to reverse the roles for once: let someone else break her heart, wrench her affections from her. Let them lead her on, let them kiss her and promise her great things, let her believe them. Then, and only then; tear it all away. In a way, there’s a terrible excitement to exploring the tragic and unexpected: and I think that this would be a game-changer for Selene, to finally want someone with all her will, and have them play her dirty.

Sabotage; Did she truly hate her brother, or did she just envy him? It’s a question that I want to explore with Selene in-game. She has very mixed feelings regarding Nathaniel and his inability to uphold their family values, and I believe that there will come a time when she makes up her mind regarding her brother, and acts upon it. If she hates him, then she will cripple him, ruin him. If she envies him, then she will do all that is in her power to steal the throne and crown herself queen: but which is the lesser evil? Essentially, I would love to have her move against Nathaniel and wreak some family havoc. What’s more classic than the story of Cain and Abel; one sibling coveting the other, even to the point of murder?

DATE OF BIRTH:

November 15th, 1959 (age seventeen, nearly eighteen) / Scorpio — “The Scorpio motto might be “What is hidden is more interesting than what is obvious.” Their magnetic personality draws others to them, but they can also be secretive, for they learn early on that when you express everything, others may be afraid of the power of your feelings.  They can become cold and withdrawn when hurt in love, and have the magic to light up the dark, but sometimes they would benefit by looking at the positive side of things rather than going into the darkness at all.”

SEXUALITY/SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

I believe Selene to be bisexual at the very least - though she has a tendancy towards hetero-romantic ideals. Her battle is against men, not women: and so she makes them her victims most often, though this isn’t to say that she hasn’t rendezvoused with the same sex before (in fact, I am certain that she has).

I’m very fluid when it comes to ships, so I don’t have a specific answer to this question. I feel that the bio sets the stage for a possible romance between Nikolai and Selene - and I would entirely be up for that, given development. But the possibilities are truly endless, and I imagine that whatever may happen, it’ll form organically as gameplay moves forward. I’m a huge fan of slow-moving, deeply built ships; so I don’t expect anything fast and furious. Angst is my middle name. Tragedy is my son. Anyways; I think you know how I tend to roll by now, and I’m too invested in crying over ships to relent my ways. Slow and steady wins the race…perhaps once in a blue moon. But isnt heartbreak always the more interesting route?

WAND, PATRONUS, & BOGGART:

Wand:

Madrona, 9 & ¾ inch, supple – “A beautiful evergreen from the Pacific Northwest region of North America, it is rare in British wandmaking. However, its distinctive peeling bark denotes its magical powers of change- hence, a powerful wood for Transfiguration.”

Veela hair core – “Veela wands are temperamental like the creatures they come from, and are considered too volatile for a decent wand core in many circles. However, some wizards enjoy the boost it gives to outdoorsy magics, divinations, and Charms. The veela’s inherent intelligence makes finding these wands among the non-Veela blooded most common in Ravenclaw.”

↳ She began with a wand of Rosewood; passed down to her from her father’s mother. The only defining trait was that it was a graceful wand wood, as if that alone merited her trust. To believe in appearances alone is the folly of a weak man. That first year was somewhat disastrous as she fanangled with the weak, graceful wand that had been pushed upon her. It was when Selene went to Ollivander’s herself that he retrieved for her a wand of Madrona, uprooted from his deep archives. Her particular wand was made in the year 1929, and the bark has been polished away from the wood.

Patronus:

Arctic Fox – “Cunning, stealth, persistence. The arctic fox is infinitely adaptable, living its life in one of the world’s most extreme climates. Arctic fox people tend to be sly, graceful, and have a near magic ability to make something out of nothing, utilizing even the most limited of resources. Arctic fox as a totem can teach us the ability to go with the flow of life, changing ourselves to suit our ever-evolving environments.”

Boggart:

“Darling, what are you afraid of?”

It was a sleepy, pleasure-fed rasp in the dark. Selene felt a body stir besides her, the boy at her side raising himself up with one arm in order to press himself to her, mouth at her ear, hands running along her skin like cold satin.

“Why do you ask?” And hers was a coy, soft response.  “So that you can scare me in the dark?” She smiled for his benefit rather than her own. In truth, a trembling sort of doubt had crept into her chest with that one word. She didn’t like the concept of it.

Fear. It signified cowardice, it signified that there were things in this great, grand world which could cripple her with their potency, like a drowned man in the face of god.

He smiles into the nape of her neck. “The dark, then?” And she felt herself being tugged backwards, she felt his lips crash hungrily into her own; and she gave into it, not because she was afraid of the dark, but because she was afraid of the mundane. That fate that lay before her, every night like this one -  it seized her in her most vulnerable moments, and she was entirely, helplessly afraid.

↳ Her boggart would be a vision of herself as a domestic housewife: the most mundane of existences, in her opinion. The idea that she can hold as much talent and ambition as all the world and still be confined to a lifetime of boredom -  it’s more terrifying than the prospect of death. She is desperate to escape her fate and build a new one. She would rather die than be reduced to someone’s prize horse, to be ridden hard, and retired easy.

FOUR CHARACTERISTICS:

Fascinating: She was beautiful, she was full of divinity and consequence. Fascination is a curious thing: it’s striking, it’s memorable; it’s something otherworldly. She was a girl of silk and lace. The people she met, the hearts that she broke - she would never fade from them, they would never forget her. Her very presence cast an impossible imprint upon all those who looked at her and heard her speak. It made her formidable, she supposed. To be known and idolized, to be worshiped and dreamt of. Wetdream, daydream, chiffon-nightmare. Chanel No. 5, pervading their sleep and whispering sweet nothings into their ears.

Pragmatic: Her sharpness of mind was like the glint of a sword; all at once lethal and impressive. She was ambitious, yes. But beyond that, she was intelligent, sensible; possessing an enormous capacity for reason. Crime and Punishment. War and Peace. While the Slytherins followed their blind ambitions to the gates of Purgatory without blinking, she knew well what lay on the road before her. All things, even suffering, can be alleviated by planning. Her judgement is one of her greatest assets; and her mind is her greatest weapon: beyond her lips or her legs or her eyes, her mind is what truly entices. Aphrodite was beautiful, yes - but Athena had ended empires with a close of her fist.

Jealous: Even god himself is a jealous god. It seems that the fate of all divine beings is to want and hoard and hold close to them that which is theirs. Selene is often prone to envy: she envies Nathaniel for his unmerited inheritance, she envies Nikolai for stealing Evan’s affection, she envies and envies until it fills her lungs with thoughts of retribution. Things and people who she sees as “hers” are sacred in her eyes, and she will break heaven and raise hell in order to wrestle them back if they are taken from her.  

Manipulative: She was a raven, but she possessed the cunning of a snake. As Helen had started a war of the ages with her manipulation and beauty, and Delilah had rendered Samson futile with her charming murmurs and a well-placed mouth; so Selene manipulated those around her with her charisma. She could be the devil’s prostitute for those boys who craved a bit of brutality, she could be a heavenly wraith for all the girls who wished to be treated softly. Her manipulation came in many forms - verbal, metaphorical, physical. Even with a single glance, she could convey entire worlds of lies. In the span of one conversation, sinners could be born again, the blinded could again see a pinprick of light. She had the tongue of a seductress, the mind of a empress, the voice of a siren, the hands of a nympth.  

CONNECTIONS:

Nikolai Selwyn — “I don’t want to be around you. I don’t want to drink you in. I want to walk into the heart of you and never walk back out. “ —Nico Alvarado from “Tim Riggins Speaks of Waterfalls”

↳ She wanted him for no rhyme or reason: just that she could. She wanted him to bow before her, she wanted to place her hand upon his cheek and see him shudder at her touch. “You cannot evade me,” she murmurs to him in the twilight. “Not all of us are conquerable,” is his flippant response, matching her every move with a mirror move of his own. In truth, she envies Nikolai: she envies his bond with Evan, she envies his promising future, she envies that he is not hers to touch and hold captive. There is a wine-dark streak of ambition in his soul, and she senses it calling to hers. She’s considered it; my god, she’s considered it. How would they look standing side by side? Would their scepters match in shades of gold? How great an empire could they build, if they were to give into their primal urges and kiss each other like the hungry, insatiable beasts they were?

Nathaniel Avery  — “Do you want it? Do you want anything I have? Will you throw me to the ground like you mean it, reach inside and wrestle it out with your bare hands?” —Richard Siken from “Wishbone”

↳ Her brother had everything that she ever wanted, but he still found ways to hurt her anew. But she loved him, oh she loved him with a lingering purity, an inconsolable affection. They were both children once, after all: those were the best days, weren’t they? She still sees Nathaniel as a child, given his reckless antics, and often she’s the one to clean up his messes. He resents her, she knows this. But as much as she covets what he has innately been given, she doesn’t truly hate him. They both know that she’s more capable, more dangerous, more fit for the throne. But no matter how he might shirk his responsibilities and despise his role, Selene knows that Nathaniel would never, ever relinquish his hold on the Avery legacy to her. Not without a fight, not without a blood-soaked war.

Evan Rosier  —  “You happened to me. You were as deep down as I’ve ever been. You were inside me like my pulse.” —Marilyn Hacker from "Nearly a Valediction”

↳ “Do you love me?” It’s a tradition of theirs, to ask one another this. She asks him now, curled up against his shoulder as they watch the breeze roll in from the mountainpeaks, rippling across the grounds like a ghost. “Until the day the sun sets in the east,” he replies with an absolute certainty. And she smiles. All else can fade, but she’s certain that her bond with Evan will last forever. Contrary to what others might assume from their affectionate touches and deep familiarity, they are not lovers and will never be. They’re platonic soulmates, a different sort of union that is unbreakable by time or war. She worries deeply over Evan. He is her light and her shield, and she can’t imagine losing him to the hysteria which has overtaken the others of their society — he is not Achilles, golden warrior of the front lines. He is Patroclus, and she’s so desperately afraid of letting him go, only to receive him back in ashes. She does everything in her power to save them both from their impending dooms.

FREESTYLE PORTION:

Playlist: The Comets (for Selene & Evan)

Tag: (quotes, images, flashes of who I envision her to be) Click here

Diary Entry:

                                                      JULY 21ST, 1976

There is a misconception that beautiful women are thornless. We are ripe for the picking, simply a commodity to be auctioned and then bought by the highest bidder. It is just as Mary Wollstonecraft wrote: we are flowers, cultivated and planted within the shallowest of soil, so that every breath we draw depends entirely upon the whims of our masters. Our petals are ground to be their perfume, and because we were watered with wine and dreams, we inevitably wilt before our time. I am my father’s flower, a helpless, wilting bloom. I am to be here one day and gone the next, and he is to clink his pouch of gold as he makes the trade.

I fear destruction. It is like oblivion, a monstrous, infallible thing, armoured and willing to face even the strongest of souls. I feel myself hurtling towards it every day, every night. Particularly now, when I cannot breathe for the corset at my waist, and cannot cry for the mask upon my face. The monsters are already closing in. Their eyes pierce into my side and shake every foundation I have built in my seventeen years. They undress me, and I am always scrambling for honour, fighting not to lose it. There will come a day when they become too many, and even I cannot fight them any longer. My weapons are quiet ones - they brandish armories and swords, I brandish only myself.

Today, I nearly lost even that. It sickens me to write of it, but it also is a reminder that must be committed to ink, an admonition to my future and my psyche.

I am always willing to be touched, to be violated, even - for the sake of my games. Like a queen must sacrifice pieces, I must allow certain events to transpire in order to reach my goal. Some are small.

Pawns: a man’s mouth against mine, rough and hard, his teeth clicking against my own, the taste of whiskey in his breath. The warm slithering feeling of a tongue slipping past my lips, intertwining as he presses me against the edge of a table.

Rooks…wandering hands that begin at my waist and then stray to my chest — grasping, handling, lingering over the black lace and dark chiffon we women don for their imagination.

Some are larger, more important, less forgivable…and it is when they are taken from me that I feel like I may be slipping, that I may be losing this match to the enemy.

My knights, my bishops.

Last night, I suffered a loss that haunts me even now. It is not a loss that I have not already seen. And yet his hand between my thighs, thrusting, twisting, drawing this primal, feral thing out of me…I’m almost ashamed to say that I almost enjoyed it, that I arched my back and cried his name out like it meant something. Then there was his mouth, already stained crimson from my lips, and I hated it, I hated him — and yet I fell to those carnal pleasures, the stubble of his chin against my thighs, my fingers grasping the thick locks of his hair, torn between wanting him to stop and wanting more.

This is the danger of the precipice.  

You think yourself powerful, guarded — and yet as your soldiers fall beneath you, you feel the urge to leap into that gorge, to face the beast yourself, to offer everything for the sake of victory. But you lose yourself to the glory, the feeling of love and sweat on your hands, spilling down your thighs like Poseidon’s saltwater spring…unintentionally wonderful and yet utterly pointless.

And that is when you fall.

Or nearly. He was naked, a beautiful youth, Adonis of our age. I did not know him, but his blood was pure like ichor, like those of the gods, he may have been Aphrodite’s favorite. And in the marble bareness of his chest, that moonlit organ hard between his legs, I found a type of twisted satisfaction. But not enough, never enough. He was a bishop, but I am the queen. When I fall, the entire board capsizes.

I left him there with a kiss and nothing more.

There was something ugly, hideous in his gaze; when I pulled from him. He made as if to grab me, to silence my cries and get it over with. I would have killed him if he had.

Perhaps the blood wouldn’t even lie on my hands — I know that there are those who would murder with a single word of my command.

WRITING SAMPLES:

( For this portion of the app, I decided to take the prompt literally, and provide a few flashes, glimpses, and short windows of insight into Selene at various points across time. Some are vague, others are fleeting — but I hope that they come together to give a somewhat holistic view of how I plan on portraying her. )

♚ ONE.

      “Do you believe in omens?” Her voice is quiet, musing, a murmured menagerie of pale interest and cool apathy. She watches the bodies stream pass their perch at the banister, one after another, caught in a bacchic frenzy, food and drink fueled by an anxious trepidation. Her companion looks on at the scene below. They are like lions surveying a stampede of gazelles; choosing their prey, calculating their victories. Selene scoffs, a soft sound.  “In times of war, harbingers like this always promised riots to come. Look at them. Look at their fear.”

♚ TWO.

       It was always an exciting affair to return an illicit volume to its rightful place upon the shelves. A trickyaffair, dangerous, full of sleights of hands and misleading paths to fool the eyes of any beholder. Selene slipped past the stories of magical beasts and their destruction, stepped through the sector dedicated to the most famous of the wizarding race — slowed as she approached potions and alchemy. Her fingers wrapped tighter about the leather-bound notebook at her chest, remembering page 37 and its deadly advice, thinking upon it. A turn of the corner, a glance cutting across the small expanse — and dark eyes reflected dawn’s light as recognition flooded their depths. A sigh, soft, like the grey light. “I don’t trust you with your own judgment this morning, mon cher. It seems to be…lacking.”

         For there Evan was, asleep on the ground. He was graceful even in his sloth, but she nonetheless goes to him, shakes him lightly; presses a chaste kiss to his forehead when he stirs but does not wake.

♚ THREE.

   Her smile wavered before falling into oblivion. She did not play games where others were used as leverage, certainly not those who she had purposely excluded from her board. Nathaniel had crossed some irreversible line, broken an unspoken rule. He had involved a piece that she had expressively hidden away in his convoluted games.

    “Our father must be pleased that a boy like you is his heir and that I’m only the spare.” Her voice was quiet, eerily so; the imperium was not in volume, but in nature. “But to have half a beast inherit his name would be a harrowing blow, would it not? Like Minos and his Minotaur, a creature appeased only by the blood of maidens, confined within a labyrinth where he believes himself k i n g .”

    Now she leans forward as she stands from her seat, her lips inches from his ear, dark locks lending the two Avery siblings a brief moment of seclusion, a heartbeat for her to etch her murmered mark. “I suggest that you heed my warning, little king. You’re running yourself into a dead end.”

♚ FOUR.

    It dripped from her, a seduction as golden-dark and rich as honey; that gilded absence of imperfection. To look at her was to die. Such a mouth, such a face, such fingers, pressing bruised kisses into the flesh of men and women alike; Eros’ executioner, bedecked in a cloak of darkness and lace, feeding upon the misguided love of her victims.

    She stands now, wrapped in that invincibility (that impossibility) of bedroom eyes and smokey murmurs, champagne-kisses and the soft flutter of a dress as it falls to the floor. About her, a dozen beings are having a thousand dreams of touching and being touched by her, and she is fully aware of their hunger. They may deny it, they may suppress it, but the way that she moves, ah, she is from heaven and they are sinners begging for salvation, found in the passionate press of her lips, the flicker of her dark eyes, silver in the moonlight.

  “My darling.” It’s the real executioner sweeping up to her in all his finery, smiling like a wolf, all teeth and hackles and obsidian daggers. Nikolai Selwyn. He is seventeen and already holds himself with the same air which characterizes his father’s dynasty, and though she doesn’t want to play into his game tonight, together they nonetheless exude a sense of power which is both intimidation and seduction.

     Their surroundings pale, their opponents simmer with a quiet envy, daggers in their gazes and an unbidded wanting drying in their mouths. Opulence and wealth become quite inconsequential unless they are inhabited by the sure-footed elite, and in this manor of silk screens and white lace doilies, of ash fireplaces and ancient halls of secrets, they nearly dominate.

  “My tormentor,” she replies to him in greeting, offering him her hand. He smiles, a crooked sort of smile that indicates that he’s genuine, if only for a night. And though she never does tell him, throughout the duration of that night, she is grateful for his company, the shadow-dark solidarity of him. If only for a night. What more should they expect; when they lived lies as extravagantly as if they were the glorious truth?

♚ FIVE.

     There was a certain restlessness to the halls even in their state of solitude: but perhaps the feeling of frenzy was merely the beating of her heart. Once, she had relished its pulse. It was a sign that she was human, that despite all her wrongdoings, she had not yet risen to a place too far to be redeemed. Surely, when the day of her judgement arrived, she would hear it in the beating of her heart; it would skip and wrench, she would know with certainty that this is the end. Wretched organ of love, destroyer of worlds.

 Tonight, as she steps lightly over the marble floors of a castle asleep, there is blood smeared on her mouth.No, it was merely lipstick. Hers? Theirs?

  It had come to a point where she barely blinked after one such entanglement. Kiss them, lead them, lay with them; hear their breaths in the dark. These sorts of excursions had once been sparse, but now, with the last dredges of her humanity coming out in desperate attempt to change her impending fate, the nights were blurring, the sheets tangling one step closer to the ultimate picking of the rose. She was on dangerous grounds. It was her version of delirium, this uncouth consistency, one hard mouth exchanged for another, a different skin against hers each time the moon rose again. Pureblood, halfblood, blood without blood - did it matter? Promiscuity was separated from temptation by a fine division, but she could be characterized as neither. This was not a sport to enjoy, it was a hunt to numb the senses.

   She walked as if in a trance. Dark cloaks drawn about her to make up for the chill of minutes prior (she was told that her collarbones could bring the sharpest of men to their knees), Selene was sweeping through the empty bones of a great establishment, and her mind was fleeing from her. Gaze lost; thoughtless. This was her delirium. And someone else was witnessing it. Darkness’ brother was fear. But she does not fear the boy in the shadows when her black gaze coolly rises to meet his.

    Few specters frequented this twilight realm of hers.

    “If not for your trademark arrogance, Nikolai, I might have passed you by.” She raises her chin by the slightest degrees, adjusting her tired bones to his height, adjusting her mindlessness for weary blades of steel.

    “If not for the smear of your lipstick, I would have let you,” is his quaint reply, light; but carrying a far deeper connotation. He challenges her.

     She meets his eyes across the moon-dark hall, and all at once they understand one another. Not like Evan understands her, no; but there is something familiar and innate in the Slytherin’s face that mirrors the hidden emotions in her own.

     They had been children once. Pure, untainted. Once - though she despised the act of remembering it, she had been defenseless. Perhaps he had been as well. She wonders then, what had brought him to this place, to walk with her in shadows, to see the same dappled halls as she did, with eyes cold, serpentine…a gaze that so mirrored her own.

     For her, it had been the roughness of hands in the dark, a snarling command pressed against her ear by her father and all his male companions alike, the reminder, the constant beratement that she was weak, meant only for another’s pleasure, that her power lay between her legs and no place else. She was in a labyrinth, and it was her destiny to be devoured by the beast who lusted for her flesh. Or so they insisted.

  She would devour them if they spoke to her now. They would see her and want her, and she would tear their filthy hands from her waist, leave them bleeding out like dogs groveling at her feet. She was more powerful than they could ever dream to be. One movement of her hips, and she could destroy ships, obliterate mountains, move men like pawns across a board built from her fear, her anxiousness, herdetermination. There was nothing inevitable but her, and she would make them pay for what they had wished. But Nikolai— he was this world’s gentleman, void of such malignant tendencies, such terrible bigotries. There was a cool charm to him. There is now, as Selene stands across from him, drinking in the image of his dark cloaks, his dark hair, those tantalizing eyes. They may seem like equals, her cold gaze holding his accountable, but she had climbed further, run farther, reached and sacrificed and tiptoed and fought with a vigor that he would never know.

                                                    Fear, know thy master.

        “I’m tired tonight, Nik.” It’s a familar nickname, too familiar perhaps. But it slips from her like water, and she doesn’t try to take it back. “Let me pass.”

    “Let me see you.” He’s looking right at her. But she knows precisely what he means. This is another game, but it doesn’t feel like a game, it feels real; it feels heavy like the weight of a world. Her heart sinks, she feels her exhaustion anew. When she speaks again, her wariness is palpable

       “I’m standing right here.”

       But he’s adamant. Nikolai never did disappoint. His control was impressive, and she sees it now. He wants to let go, but still he holds back. He’s holding back from her. He sighs, for her. Because of her. “No you’re not, Selene. Not the real you.”

      She meets his eyes for a long moment. Then Selene brings one hand to her mouth, and with an almost brutal motion, smears the rest of her lips. A scarlet slash cuts across her face in shades of creme and rose. She looks like an angel of death, just returned from swallowing a mortal heart.

     “See me, then.”

   Now he falters, and she drinks in his fallacy as a butterfly would nectar. Leo Tolstoy once wrote; It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness. Did this boy of darkness and torn shirts fancy her in need of his protection? The thought makes her want to laugh, and if she were a being of impulse, who allowed every whim to come to fruition, perhaps she would.

 Instead, a smile. It cuts like a wound, blood-red lipstick. Waning crescent, holding a transcendence like the moon in an unforgiving November sky. There are some things that she has learnt to sense. Darkness is an old friend, she has walked hand in hand with it upon many a lonely, narrow road; and she recognizes it. Tonight, it resides in Nikolai’s chest, fluttering as strongly as a dragon’s wings at her proximity. Selene knows that she has won. She sweeps forward, gliding in the silence, relishing its softness as she draws closer to this proud, tall boy who could not show his concern, could not live without his wand, cannot hope to capture her —

    “I show you only what you need to see, mon amour.” A pause, and she is close to him. She can smell his cologne, and there it is again, the feverish reflection of herself in his gaze. “While you,” and she wraps one hand about his, which is slack at his side. It’s strangely warm. Her fingers intertwine with all those tendons and knuckles, calloused skin against her soft palm. “You show me everything that I want.” That flash of a smile. “Your gaze is feral, Nikolai. There are primal urges that have been awakened within you; but you crave for something more than flesh and blood.”

    “You crave what you don’t understand,” She passes him like a wraith, and he makes no move to stop her. Her whisper lingers.

                                                       “And it consumes you.”

♚ SIX.

       Any other would hide their marks, those shameful scars of being dominated by another. But she is not ashamed, nor is she made so by their words, those sly syllables crafted to strike, to bury themselves within her flesh and wound her psyche. But she was not ashamed. She had awned her head back, felt teeth bite. Her jugular was not so easily split.

    “Do you think this is the first time someone has raised a hand to me?” A musing murmur, and as that velveteen tone slips through scarlet lips, she can see that somewhere, her words have struck a truth. She turns towards the windows, her visage illuminated by night, a small reprieve in which she will allow them to recover. The bruises upon her throat glow ghostly in the night.

        “How do I cope?” It was the unasked question, so she asks it for them. “I like to think of it as a temporary affliction, an insect’s fervored kiss.” And like a velvet curtain falling to reveal the work beneath, a single movement of her head, and her cloak slips from her shoulder, revealing half a dozen more dark compressions, littered like stars upon the smoothness of her shoulder. She makes no move to hide what they already must suspect. Sex is rough. Ambition is rougher.

                 “Don’t worry after me, love. I have very high tolerance for suffering. ”

♚ SEVEN.

       She had promised retribution, and it trembles in her bones, the sound and the fury of it, the echoes of every premonition and terror. He stands before her, gaze averted, and it’s written all over his face: the guilt, the ready admission. It’s too easy - she wishes that it were harder, that he stood tall and straight, unblinking, insisting upon his innocence, proud until the end. But it seems that tonight has changed both of them, turned one into the mirage of another, stuck pins into the hard ice of their hearts, melted them for the sake of preserving what has been tainted.      

    The sincerity of what is to come is heavy in the air between them, and as she swallows the lump in her throat, she thinks: how ironic, that only when a threat of such caliber hangs above them that he can face her like this, without his armour, his barbs, those offenses that would barrage her so, push her until she was gritting her teeth and at the edge of the cliff, tempted by the idea of abandoning all care for the sake of primal revenge. So when Selene does speak, she is past suppressing what has been building in her, for years and years — this is the tipping point, and he knows as well as she how terribly their ship has rocked, how monstrously the storm rages. “Look at me,” she says, once. She is the wolf and he is silent. “What did you do, Nathaniel?” Her voice is eerily calm, but then it breaks, and the anger, the emotion that she has withheld for so long; it begins to leak. She speaks in a hiss, like the snake she almost could have been. “Nathaniel.” It’s not a question, but a command, and you can see it in her gaze — she would kill to see it obeyed. “Were you or were you not part of that despicable affair?”

♚ EIGHT

     Eyes are the window to the soul. It was a timeless phrase, recycled, reused, debated by philosophers who thought themselves privy to the world of inner turmoil, hidden agendas behind flashing eyes and painted smiles. Who thought themselves able to speak of a secret history. She had seen many eyes in her lifetime - met a thousand gazes. Demurely, coldly, sweetly, cruelly — and perhaps it was true, these musings. In those lingering stares, she found more than carnal desire…and oh, if the stars had only hid their heavenly fire, perhaps those veiled depths might have remained today’s gift, tomorrow’s mystery.

      Nathaniel’s were dead wet, the color of sickness. A puerile sickness, all tantrums thrown at twilight and too much force behind thick fists as they pounded against mahogany tables. A vicious jealousy, fueled by rash thinking and a need to conquer all - a boy who thought his future held a crown, and thus acted like a tyrant long before it had ever touched his head. When he campaigned and lost against his self-made enemies, & all his tricks lay slain on the battlefield, the wail of rage that went up was a terrible, terrible thing…such a shame, such a waste of a pretty face, such a waste of p o w e r .

      Hers were hellfire, obsidian dark and ash gray - smoking flickers of a smoldering flame contained in that crevice between her lungs and her ribcage. When you leaned into the crook of that beautiful neck, swanlike, it was the scent of jasmine…and something else. Did a m b i t i o n have a scent? Or was it a subtle thing that she tucked within herself, deep in that cold cool organ which she called a heart? A warrior queen dressed like a lamb: a long-legged, lupine thing, all silver teeth and golden claws, taking on the guise of her prey. She ate the bodies that the boy king left behind, wolfed down the remnants of his mistakes, turned that formidable pair of eyes upon another unsuspecting ruler to do it all over again. Her stealth was her weapon, it was her a d v a n t a g e .

     Girls don’t speak until spoken to - and so she watched the world through heavy lashes until it bent to her bidding, until there was no creature that could resist her charms. She was not a beautiful thing, not in the classic sense, not like they wanted her to be. No, she was the crack of thunder against alabaster stone, a drop of blood in winter’s first snow, the thorn that pricks the unsuspecting finger on the underside of a rose. She was cruel, she was ruination, she was the saccharine taste of poison a moment before it grips and kills, bittersweet until the very end.

     Girls don’t become powerful - and so she was not, at least, not from her appearance. She studied in secret, cut her delicate fingers fumbling with ancient pages in the midnight dark, marred those honeyed hands with the waxen heat of her quiet fury, her searing aspirations. Candlelight was where she stood her vigil, where she planned her battles. It was beneath the sun, in the clasp of daylight, that she played them out. A lovely thing she was, in these hours when she was most dangerous - soft, graceful, a vision of divine absolution, ichor flowing through her veins and making her glow, making her desirable. A lovely thing she was, when she had so much power to h u r t .

     You are man’s plaything, you are their pet, their every whim. You are Eve, made for Adam’s pleasure. Their warmth, their foundation, their dearly beloved — their shadow, their buried support, the thing that they bend across the soft silk of a bed with hands rough and too accustomed to love lost. A mare to be ridden, until the sheen of sweat on her hide was broken by a cry in the dead of night, a child mewling its hallowed name. She knew what they expected, she had known it her entire life, this impending doom above her head, threatening her and constraining her, making it ten times more difficult to rise than to fall into that niche she had been born into - but her resolve was beyond what they ever could have imagined. She knew of legislation and judgement, of landmasses and kings - the history of the world perched upon her palm, and among it, there were so few women queens, so few heroines: but had they existed as she did? Quietly, a simmering force beneath a complacent exterior? Did they paint their lips, smooth the waists of their gowns and chiffon, glance at themselves in the mirror and see the serpent beneath the flower? She had been told to be men’s companion, and so she was. She was bound to them, so she made them her foundation, the poor unfortunate souls who she sucked dry, their blood smearing her mouth. And she laughed.

     She laughed like a god.