#navi chasm

[redvexillum]

A/N: I lied. Originally, this was only supposed to be a one shot turned three-parter. But now...

SUMMARY: Your boss, Vox, is a class-A hole, and you had envisioned tormenting him for all the overtime he was forcing you to work. Truly, he was ensuring that your time in Hell was...Hell. Perhaps it was you burning out, but you had a very vivid, steamy dream of your boss.

...At least, you were pretty sure it was a dream.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, assistant!reader, dom!reader, sub!Vox, dual POV, hating your boss to confused h*rny, reader is extremely sleep deprived and is so done with Vox's shenanigans, mutual attraction, pining, handj*b, light bondage

<- PREV

At first, you were sure that Valentino was in the office, locked in a passionate embrace with your boss. The moans seeping through the closed door were unmistakable. Pressing your ear against the door, you tried to make sense of the sounds. 

All you could hear were your boss's moans, deep and throaty. Your mind conjured up an image of him, his fingers wrapped tightly around his cock, jerking off while watching the stock of his company going up.  

A bubble of giggling erupted from you, while heat flushed your face at the thought. You were being ridiculous, and clearly fatigue had finally consumed the rest of your sanity.  

Blinking away at the image of your boss touching himself, you tried to rub the tiredness away from your eyes. This was absurd. Your boss, the very picture of professionalism, wouldn’t be pleasuring himself while you were forced to work overtime. After all, that would be an incredible dick move – but then again, it was something you could see him doing. 

You looked down at the gibberish mess of the Angelic Security report and called upon the resolve you once had before you heard your boss’s moans. Raising your hand to knock on the door, you hesitated. The idea of interrupting such an intimate moment filled you with dread. The awkwardness that would linger for the rest of your days until your contract was up rendered you immobile.  

Perhaps, it was best to come back later when the lewd sounds had ceased.  

Just as you decided to walk away, you froze. Your boss’s voice, Vox’s voice, called out your name, mingling with his moans like a prayer. Instinctively, you checked your Vwatch, heart pounding in your chest.  

There was no message from Vox asking for assistance. Could it be? Was he hurt and couldn’t call you for help? Guilt churned within you as you felt like a jerk and a pervert for even imagining your boss in such a compromising situation. He may have been a total asshat as of late, but he cared about his image of being a perfect picture of professionalism above all else.  

Muttering curses under your breath, you remembered how you had warned him time and time again about the safety hazards in his office. It wasn’t normal to have a goddamn chasm around his desk.  

Bursting through the door, the room was illuminated by the glow of the monitors, casting eerie shadows across the floor. There laid Vox on the ground, writhing, his hips jerking upward and his back arching as he moaned without reservation. Your name spilled out continuously from his lips, a desperate litany.  

Mind hazed with confusion; you walked over the narrow bridge to the centre platform as you slowly tried to register what you were seeing. Your eyes widened as you realized Vox was tangled in a mess of wires. His shirt had ridden up, revealing the deep navy blue of his skin, and his abdomen flexed with each involuntary movement. Your gaze drifted lower until you were met with a prominent bulge in his pants, strangled by the black wires. The sight left you rooted in place, unsure whether to speak up or walk away without a word.  

“Holy fu-fuck!” Vox yelped, his voice distorting into a toneless machine-like sound. Your gaze snapped to his face, where an expression of shock flickered, his eyes and mouth glitching into blocky, pixelated shapes before reforming into proper features.  

He struggled against the wires, his movements different now, more desperate and frantic. Your brain felt like it had short-circuited. There was no way you had just caught your boss in such a compromising position while he left you to fucking slog through overtime. 

Right? 

“Uh, a little help here?” Vox’s voice broke through your daze. He looked sheepish; his body constricted by the cords, like a snake coiling around its prey.  

You blinked, trying to digest the scene in front of you. Slowly, you realized that you must be so exhausted that you had actually passed out at your desk. This had to be a dream. A vivid, bizarre, horny-fuelled, lucid dream. Taking a hesitant step forward, you teetered between trying to wake up or playing this out in your mind as a source of entertainment. It had been a while since you dreamed of anything sexual.  

“Wh-why are you looking at me like that?” Vox’s voice wavered, his awkward laugh filling the room. His eyes darted nervously before landing on your face.  

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied, your lips curling into a wide grin. “I’ll help you.” Kneeling beside him, your fingers drifted to his pants. Grabbing his hardened clothed cock, Vox immediately jerked his hips towards you. He stayed silent save for his harsh breaths. You tugged on the cord, marvelling how it pulled tightly between his legs. 

A groan escaped Vox, who shuddered, struggling to control his hips. “Did that hurt?” you whispered, gripping his shaft harder.  

“Ah, fuck,” Vox moaned, closing his eyes. His hips rolled involuntarily. “You might…ah…have to pull harder,” he gasped out. 

You were now 100% convinced this was a dream. There was no way in hell Vox would ever let you get away with grabbing his cock like this – much less enjoying it.  

“Boss,” you murmured, slowly stroking his member, feeling the heat diffusing through his pants. “Are you aware of what I’m doing to you right now?” Your hand drifted lower, pressing your palm against his balls.  

Panting heavily, Vox opened his eyes to look at you. “Yeah,” he choked out. “I do.” 

Biting your lower lip, your fingers unbuttoned his pants and slowly unzipped them. You pushed the cords down his hips until it was wrapped around his thighs. It was time to see how your inner consciousness imagined Vox’s dick. You always thought he was a robot of some sort, considering the TV for his head.  

“Are–” He spoke, then paused. Your hands froze from fully revealing him. Turning away from your task, you looked at your boss’s face, his screen flickering with static. “Are you sure you want to continue this?” he asked softly. For a moment, you saw that same face of vulnerability from earlier.  

Your fingers lightly pressed against the shaft of his cock, one layer separating you from touching him bare. “Yeah,” you mumbled, moving your fingers to grip the band of his boxers.  

You knew you were essentially having a sex dream with your boss, and if that was what your body craved, you might as well enjoy it – feelings be damned.  

Before you pulled down his boxers, you stopped short. A niggling thought wormed its way to the front of your mind. What if this wasn’t a dream? Everything felt real – the heat from the monitors, the thrum of anticipation and nervousness buzzing in your veins, the sound of his breaths echoing in the office. Your senses were acutely engaged.  

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked quietly. Internally, you were bemused that you were asking permission from your boss when earlier you had imagined giving him a cock-and-ball torture. But, if this wasn’t a dream, if this was real, then you were going to be in so much trouble once clarity reached both you and Vox. As your hands pulled away from his boxers, Vox’s voice struck you, freezing you in place. 

“No, no, I don’t want you to stop. Keep…” his voice was so much meeker than usual, devoid of its usual power and arrogance. “… Keep going.” 

A bitter smile curled on your lips. Your boss was asking you to keep going? Despite being in a romantic relationship with his shitty moth boyfriend? Despite being a cold asshole for the past few weeks? Despite making it crystal clear that he wasn’t interested in you and never would be? 

The contradiction gnawed at you, but your hands resumed their movements. You unwrapped him slowly, each inch revealing more of the truth behind your boss’s polished exterior. The vulnerability in his voice, the raw need in his eyes – it was a side of him you’d never seen before – a side you would never see outside the boundary of your mind.  

A giggle escaped your lips. How pathetic that you were dreaming of him in this state. The giggle morphed into a laugh as you pulled down his boxers, his cock springing free from its confines. The shaft was navy blue like the rest of his skin, but the tip was cyan, emitting a faint, soft glow. As for the length, it seemed almost like wishful thinking, considering how sizable he was. Your palm pressed against his cock, and Vox sighed as if in relief.  

“I haven’t heard you laugh in a while,” he murmured, experimentally rubbing his cock against you. Its silken heat caressed the palm of your hand, and you felt the ridge and the wet arousal smearing your skin from his sensitive head.  

“Geez, I wonder why,” you replied, acid layering your tone as you tightened your hold on his cock, stopping him from seeking any further pleasure. Suddenly, you felt the hard point of his claw grazing your hand.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vox asked, and you heard the manufactured concern in his voice.

Fuck, you hated him.  

You hated him so much.  

“It means you’ve been a real asshole lately,” you shot back, your grip around him tightening. Vox winced, a mixture of pain and pleasure flickering across his face. His open expression only deepened your frustration.  

“Ah fuck – ah,” he moaned, “don’t – ah, stop,” the plea sounding genuine despite the circumstances.  

A part of you wanted to pull away, to break free from this twisted dream, but another part, the part fuelled by anger and desire, wanted to see him crumble. You leaned in closer to his face. “You think you can say all that shit to me and then ask me to help you jerk off?” you spat, dark amusement colouring your tone.  

“S-sorry,” Vox blurted out, his voice cracking. “I need this… I need you.” 

You stopped, his words flash freezing your muscles to remain stiff and numb, yet it fucking hurts all at the same time. The raw honesty in his words cut through your anger. You loosened your grip, your hand beginning to move again, stroking him with deliberate slowness.  

Instead of answering, you decided to deal with his annoying hand that was trailing a path down your side, soft and gentle, emitting a false sense of care. You wanted it gone – all of it. Pulling your hand away from his cock and his touch as if it burned, you straddled his hips, just above his cock. With the loose cords surrounding you, you grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head. Vox looked at you with a silly grin plastered across his face. 

“I didn’t know you were into this,” Vox chuckled warmly, and it brought you back to the days when it was just you and him in the empty office, the gates of heaven floating high up in the sky as your sole witness as you fell in love with him.  

Before nostalgia and the corresponding feelings of your unrequited love could infect you with worthless sentimentality, you grinned and said, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” You pulled the wire tight around his wrists, harder than you should. His face flashed with a small grimace before returning to its happy expression.  

“Are you into this?” you asked, befuddled that Vox was weirdly compliant in all of this. But then again, this was your dream, so of course he would be into this – or rather, you were into this.  

“I’m into you,” Vox purred, shifting his hips and pressing his erection against you.  

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, making your heart race. This was your dream, your fantasy, and yet it felt so real, so visceral.  

Your mind felt like it short-circuited again. Your hands drifted down to his shoulders, and you pressed your forehead against his. Tiny static sparks licked your skin while strands of your hair stuck to his monitor-like face. Your eyes focused on the rest of his eyes, with cyan blue outlining his right eye. Your eyes watered and your nose stung as your gaze drifted to his smile, unbidden and free.  

Ah...it seemed you weren't successful with killing your feelings for him after all. Not in the waking world.

Not even within your dreams.

If you were helpless in the face of your desires, then you might as well enjoy this. You were going to wake up sticky with your own pathetic arousal the next morning. You were going to speed through your last six months, enduring his true jackass nature, enduring your unresolved feelings for him.  

Vox’s smile widened, his breath mingling with yours. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly, the gentleness in his voice contrasting sharply with his usual demeanour.  

“Nothing,” you whispered, swallowing down all the words your past naive self wanted to say.

Slowly you pulled back from his face, and with a slow lick of your bottom lip, you undid each button of your blouse one by one. His eyes were trained on your fingers, a faint tremor running through his body and into you. His cock pressed insistently against your backside, twitching uncontrollably.  

Once your contract was up, you were going to relish the feeling of dropping the Vwatch in front of his feet.  

Your blouse fell open, revealing the skin beneath, and Vox’s eyes darkened with desire. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he watched you, entranced. You shrugged the blouse off your shoulders and tossed it to the floor. A shiver went down your spine as you felt the intensity of his gaze following your every movement.  

Once your contract was up, you were going to walk away from VoxTek, away from him, without a single glance back.  

“You like what you see?” you teased, your voice husky.  

Vox swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah,” he whispered, his voice filled with genuine awe.  

A smug smile tugged at your lips. You reached behind you, unclasping your bra and letting it fall away.  

“Fuck,” he whispered as his eyes roamed greedily over your bare body.  

You stood up, your feet planted next to his sides. Beneath your pencil skirt, you slowly dragged your underwear down, drinking up the expression of pure torment crossing over Vox’s face.  

Tilting your head to the side, you looked down at him. “Do you want me?" you asked with a grin. Despite the playful note colouring your tone, a small part of you braced yourself to be rejected by him - standing guard against a dream that could easily morph into a nightmare.

“I want you more than anything,” Vox breathed, his voice trembling, “more than anything,” he repeated, emphasizing his words.  

Running your hand through your hair, a bitter chuckle of self-pity coated your throat. You straddled him once again, with your skirt riding up around your waist. His gaze immediately locked in on your bare, wet cunt pressed against his cock.  

If this was a dream, then you wanted to be vulnerable and weak just for tonight. You wanted to let go of the pretense that you didn't want him.

If this was a dream, you wanted to allow yourself to be consumed by your love, unbidden and free like the smile that lit up his features.

If this was a dream, you hoped that you wouldn't recall this the next morning...

...because once your contract was up, you were never going to think of him, much less dream of him.  

NEXT ->

💠 MASTERLIST 💠

© Fanart of Vox by@glitterypeachy

[starkraivennemad]

How Does That Feel?

Mycroft Holmes stood with his little brother as they got dressed together. They were very grown men now and it dawned to him they had not done such since...

"The day before you left for uni. Black trousers, a white button with slate pullover, a navy-blue tie, black socks, and lace-up brogues for you. Black short pants with braces, a tee with charcoal stripes, white knee socks and black penny loafers for me." Sherlock chuckled, speaking aloud the thought in Mycroft’s head, his usually mellifluous voice soft with bittersweet reminiscence.

For all their differences as they became men of the world, when the Holmes brothers were in sync, it was uncanny. This was one of those times.

How does that feel? he asks himself. It something Mycroft does on emotionally laden days to acknowledge the feeling, name it and move on so that he’s not overwhelmed.

“Funny how that feels.” He mused aloud.

“I know.” Sherlock nodded in understanding.

“You loved those braces. They had little yellow and black bee buttons sewn into the front of them."

"Little bee buttons that YOU had sewn into the braces." Sherlock emphasized.

"I did not know you knew." Mycroft smiled surprised, but pleased.

"Mummy refused to buy me the short pants I had seen in a store window and wanted them." Sherlock chuckled in memory. "Yes, they were shorts for little girls, but I did not care. I wanted the bees."

"Yes. And you had caused quite the scene on the asphalt I was told. You were five and already so head strong. Mummy really should have known better." Mycroft chuckled. "You were so chuffed when I presented the black braces, with the bees sewn on, to you a few days later."

"Oh, my behavior then was a pittance compared to the meltdown I had when school bully Melvin Vandenberg, popped off one the buttons, then ran off and tossed it where I could not see. I tore up the flower beds looking for it until I was bodily picked-up and carried out screaming when I could not find it. I thought it lost forever. I was inconsolable. I  thought..."

Mycroft saw the slight melancholy that creased Sherlock’s brow then and he knew.

"Though I have to say that must have been one impressive meltdown - enough to have your friend Victor and all of facilities scour the entire yard until it was found, Brother Mine, I would have never hated you for losing a simple button were it not found."

"I realized that later in hindsight. But right then and there when I already felt abandoned by you for going to uni without me, I just knew you were never coming back because I had been so careless." Sherlock shrugged and continued dressing.

So many, many years later and Mycroft could see a shadow of that hurt within his brother. It was life, he would not apologize for being off to university. Nonetheless he felt sorry for the pain his leaving caused Sherlock. It was the beginning of the chasm that formed between them. Given who they are as men, though things are certainly better, there still were moments when Mycroft wondered if it will ever close.

How does that feel? Sorrow, Regret.

Sherlock’s momentary grasp on his shoulder brought him back to the present. It reminded him of how far they have come that Sherlock not only noticed, but quietly did what was needed to remind him that it might have taken them a couple of decades but that chasm has begun to close.

How does that feel? Good. It was a good feeling.

"Victor found the button later and gave it to me and then walked up to Vandenberg and punched him in the nose making it bleed." Sherlock looked askance for a moment a small bittersweet smile at his lips. In less than two years from that day Sherlock loses Victor because of…her.

And it is Mycroft’s turn to grasp Sherlock’s shoulder to ground him.

"No one did anything like that for you again until John...and the cabbie..."  Mycroft said carefully, years of being who he is reminding him ears can be anywhere listening.

"Not until John." Sherlock confirmed.

"And that’s why you're marrying him."

"One of the many reasons why."  Sherlock tied a perfect double-Windsor knot on the second try. "None other cares for me the way John does."

"Oh?" Mycroft hmmed, tying a perfect double-Windsor knot on the first try. When Sherlock did not respond, Mycroft said nothing as he finished dressing.

John, for all he does care for Sherlock, he has only been in his brother's life the past eleven years. Even Gregory Lestrade, who certainly cared for Sherlock, had five more years than that. Except for the years in uni and the first few as an agent, Mycroft has spent his life, especially the last near thirty of them protecting Sherlock in so many ways. Yes, things were better, but there was still something of a strained relationship between them as adults. He could not help the twinge of hurt he felt at the seeming dismissal of it all.

How does that feel? Disappointment, with a tinge of resolve. It was not a good feeling.

"You two about ready in there?" Greg, John's best man, knocked on the door just then.

"We are." Mycroft went to the door, grateful for the diversion.

Gregory looked at him, the unspoken “You okay?” in the raised brow.

Mycroft gave a single nod in an equally unspoken “I'm fine.”

“How's John?" Mycroft knew his husband would understand he changed the subject on purpose, but would let it be for now, knowing he'd explain later.

"Left him with Mike, checking off the new, borrowed and blue." Greg stood at the door looking to Sherlock, "He said you had something for us…?"

"That reminds me, Sherlock, where is your something ol...?" Mycroft started to ask.

He stopped when Sherlock reached into a toiletry bag and handed him a small box. He raised a curious brow as he opened it, then gasped aloud as he looked at his brother completely stunned. "Oh Sherlock!"

"Myc?” Greg entered the room fully at Mycroft’s stuttered breath in contrast to Sherlock’s pleased but shy smile. He closed the door behind him. “Sherlock?"

Mycroft held the box out so Greg could see the contents.

"Bees and safety pins?" Greg looked from the little bee buttons inside the box to the two brothers staring at each other.

"You…" Mycroft’s usually cool blue-grey eyes were suddenly warm with unshed tears as he found his somewhat choked voice. His fingers gingerly touched the buttons as though he would not believe they existed without doing so. He stared at his little brother. “…you kept these...?”

"Of course." Sherlock reached into the box, "You got them just for me. You defied Mummy who was stuck on the gender bias of their coming from a girl's outfit. She told me years later how you argued with her for me to have them when you explained exactly how you knew I would wear them. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Rosie are wearing similar, but different bee buttons that I gifted them as important in my life. But these original buttons are ours…” Sherlock picked up two bees and safety pins and secured them to his brother’s lapel. "Though young yourself, you fought for me. You understood her points, but you fought for me to be me, even at that tender age. Yes, you left for uni soon after, and I simply could not understand that, but I have never forgotten that you did this for me Mycroft."

Mycroft was speechless as he watched Sherlock pin him. He remembered the buttons, naturally, but they were both children when he had given them to Sherlock. He had thought the buttons to be long lost to history. That Sherlock had kept them through the years since floored him.

How does that feel? Frankly overwhelming, but good.

"It was the first of many such battles between our parents and I until they finally understood I had to find my own way and they had to accept it. Other than the drug use, you have never stopped me from being me, even if you don’t always agree with my choices. John and Greg also accept me as I am and will each get one bee, but you were the first, so you get two.” Sherlock continued speaking as he straightened Mycroft’s lapel. “And for all the trouble I have given - and let's be honest will continue to give you - today, I wanted you to know while I outgrew the short pants, and the ability to easily tell you such, I have never outgrown my need for someone to understand the dragon slayer, when no one else does. Yes, I have John, Greg and even Molly, but they are not you. None other cares for me the way John does – save one. And right now, I want to acknowledge that One and say thank you. Thank you, for everything, Brother Mine. Thank you."

Hearing the words from Sherlock, the open acknowledgement, Mycroft was ashamed of having just thought his brother was apathetic to him. He should have known better. For all the strain between them growing up, Sherlock was very much like him in certain ways. Sherlock just was not one for such outward displays of affection.

Mycroft gave a tremulous smile at the memory of the conversation held as they smoked in front of their parents' house that long ago Christmas when he called Sherlock a dragon slayer. He was further shamed to realize that had been the last openly tender moment between them as brothers.

Until now.

Mycroft understood that heartfelt thank you was Sherlock's way of saying he loved him. It was as good as he was going to get with his brother.

And the unshed tears flowed. “Oh, Sherlock!”

Sherlock then picked up two more bees with safety pins and held them out to Mycroft. "Can you?""

"Oh, of course!" Mycroft took the items and pinned the bee buttons to Sherlock’s lapel. As soon as he was done, he did something he rarely did with his brother as an adult: pulled Sherlock into his arms and held him tight. "I love you, Sherlock."

Though he could never forget it, Mycroft will be eternally grateful to Greg, whom both brothers had all but forgotten was in the room with them, when in a few days will present him with a framed photograph of the moment captured on his phone.

The moment when Sherlock himself did something even more rare: hugged his brother back tightly and then said the actual words.

"I love you too, Mycroft."

How does that feel? Absolutely Wonderful!

---------

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[ladyluscinia]

Izzy Hands Is Manipulative, But Not That Way

...or I finally finish that long ass meta post about why I love the fucking Navy Plot lol

The Izzy manipulation debate has been really interesting to me pretty much since it started, because I'd see a post arguing he's manipulating Edward and go "No, and he couldn't if he tried" and then the next post would say he sucks at manipulation because he's a blunt fucking instrument and I'd go "Yea- wait. Hmm. No, he can be targeted and tricky as fuck." Which does, on its surface, seem like a contradictory stance, but I swear it works.

Because the thing with Izzy - and this is such a fun thing imo - is there are two core types of manipulation that characters engage in, and Izzy fucking sucks at the one you expect his style of antagonist to focus on. But he's scarily good at the other.

Long meta under the cut, so get comfy.

...

From his role under Edward to the protagonist vs antagonist dynamic setup to his introduction scenes, Izzy is very much invoking the conniving second in command. We know this character from other media. He doesn't have the full power he wants so he's constantly scheming to get it. He can't or won't challenge his boss for some reason, so he settles for being the devil on their shoulder or working behind their back. He's the voice constantly ready to inflame insecurities and turn relationship cracks into chasms, and usually he's lying constantly to do so. His fingerprints are all over his boss's problems up to the moment they show some weakness, and then their loyal second goes right for the backstab. He is THE ambitious manipulator. The shady advisor. The snake.

And then you actually look at Izzy and he is not that guy. In fact, it's a testament to the strength of Edward's character arc how much his evil little henchman is not causing his problems.

So - Izzy and manipulation:

Izzy Can't Convince People To Do Things

Like. He really can't.

This interpersonal struggle is fairly fundamental to his character. And moreover, it's a skill that Izzy is intensely aware that he lacks, so usually he doesn't even try.

In his first episode he walks right up to Buttons and just straight up asks him for the information on his party. He doesn't even resolve to steal the hostages until he realizes that Stede has lost them in the bush already, and Izzy obtains them by buying them. When Stede confronts him they end up splitting the pair in a very above-board negotiation and he pretty much just goes with what Stede suggests.

Then in 1x03, people make a big deal of Izzy "manipulating" Edward by not clarifying that Stede didn't know who he was when he turned down the invite, but kind of importantly he repeats the damning line of the conversation faithfully. If he was going to lie, then why not lie? Why even go see Stede at all? And, if he didn't want Stede dead until after the conversation (understandable, tbh, since "Iggy" was stab-worthy), surely he could invent a better insult to rile Edward up. It makes his omission hit more like being bitchy about Stede not recognizing the obvious - namely that Izzy Hands works for Blackbeard and literally everyone knows this - than a slander campaign to get him killed. And once we properly meet Izzy and Edward in 1x04, Izzy's inability to manipulate becomes his main struggle.

Izzy's a blunt and direct person. He leans on authority bestowed by Blackbeard to take control of situations, playing the role he's supposed to play, and without it he lacks a Plan B. In 1x04 he doesn't have any authority over Edward, so his efforts to get him to take the danger of the Spanish seriously amount to "Well as bored as you might be, if you don't make a decision soon we're gonna fucking die." And this is true! There might be a very subconscious attempt at manipulation in his resignation speech before the "That's Blackbeard. I'm Stede, remember?" line - of the piss him off to get him to get his shit together variety - but Edward literally makes a joke out of it so not exactly effective.

And once Edward stops giving Izzy authority in general, his plan to make Lucius do stuff is still just... brute force. Which works at first when Lucius doesn't realize that Izzy's on his own now, and stops working as soon as Fang breaks ranks. His last ditch blackmail attempt isn't manipulative either - he just plans to tell the truth to Pete and assumes he'll be pissed about it. My guy loses a fight over the pirate equivalent of making an uppity employee clean the coffee maker while the boss is out. Not only does he fail to manipulate the crew in a conniving antagonist way... he doesn't even try.

I mean, the only time he (somewhat) succeeds in talking someone into things is 1x06. Getting Edward to agree to killing Stede isn't really manipulation - Izzy gets Fang and Ivan to back him in a very straightforward way because they all actually do have a stake in this - but he's passably able to push Stede to go through with the fuckery via fake compliments. It's not exactly high level work, though. Stede being vulnerable to ego-stroking / dares is pretty obvious.

So what is Izzy good at?

Well, if you can't make people do anything other than what they were going to do in the first place, you might as well lean into that.

...

Izzy Manipulates Situations, Not People

Situational manipulation is one of those fictional tropes that rarely can happen in real life, but there's not much resemblance because real life rarely gives you all the building blocks for a proper gambit and lets you loose. Too many factors. In narratives, though? It becomes one of my favorite ways of having a character be clever.

And before I get into this too much, a really fun sidenote - I think Izzy does situational manipulation more like the way protagonists do it. See, antagonists are usually emotionally and situationally manipulative (ex: provoking the hero to lash out and using it to frame them for a bigger crime), but it's not a good look when your hero drives the target to do something bad and then punishes them for it. So heroes lean on stuff like Batman Gambits - where the lynchpin of the scheme is the target fucking themselves over by behaving completely in character. They've written Izzy so ineffective at emotional manipulation that he pretty much has to rely on other characters' flaws or histories to cause problems, which has a very similar result. And it's wild.

...

Going back to the 1x03 confrontation in Jackie's bar, Izzy doesn't really do anything abnormal in how he conducts himself, but people are picking up on an agenda for a reason. Namely, the whole damn conversation quickly turns into a trap, and Izzy fully sits back and watches Stede spring it from sheer idiocy.

There's no indication that when Izzy walked up he wasn't going to carry out his task with all the bitchy professionalism expected of him, while probably hoping that Stede would eventually stick his foot in his mouth without Izzy's help (assuming he's the kind of idiot Izzy thinks he is). His first section of this conversation is nearly polite:

Izzy (about the Nose Jar): "I have a few colleagues in there." Stede: "Ugh. You again." Geraldo: "Mr. Hands, welcome. It's been a while." Izzy: "(To Geraldo) Yeah, because I hate this fucking place. (To Stede) But for some inexplicable reason, my boss would like a word with you. Bonnet."

It's not until Stede starts talking that I think Izzy clues in that Stede doesn't actually know who his boss is. He didn't introduce himself until the literal last second of their 1x02 interaction, so it wasn't obvious Stede wasn't literally bolting into the forest in horrified realization.

And Stede? He goes hard on being a bitch right out the gate. Brushes Izzy off, tells him to "get in line", calls him the wrong name, says he doesn't care who Izzy is...

Izzy so far has met Stede in a public place, in front of people who clearly treat Izzy with respect and fear. He doesn't bring up their previous interaction, Stede does. He doesn't even goad Stede beyond existing. He corrects him on his name, and watches it not register in the slightest. The next line is the clincher:

Izzy (slightly incredulous): "So I'll tell my Captain that you're declining then, yeah?"

As Izzy is speaking the conversation becomes a trap - he chooses a reasonable way to refer to Edward that isn't "Blackbeard" and waits to see if Stede will make this worse. The jump from "no I'm busy" to "tell him he has terrible taste in flunkies and he can go suck eggs in Hell" is all Stede, completely ignoring context clues as Geraldo stares on in horror. Hell, Jackie only refrains from later de-nosing Stede on the spot because Geraldo knows what's up, and Stede still doesn't pick up on the fact he should maybe be asking some questions (though I'll give him the knife was distracting).

Izzy returns to the ship, quotes Stede directly for his damning line, and waits to see what Edward will do with it. It's not good behavior on his part (and if he could have seen the future he might have tried worse), but switching mid-conversation to offering Stede an opportunity to fuck himself over is a very different mindset than simply lying to / provoking Stede or Edward to get what he wants. He's mostly being petty.

Stede did insult Edward of his own volition, after all, and just because Izzy fudges the truth to hide he didn't know he was insulting Blackbeard instead of just Izzy and a random stranger doesn't change that. All Izzy did to "escalate" that conversation was give Stede a second opening to do so himself.

But there is a far better example of Izzy masterfully manipulating a situation than this in-the-moment bit of pettiness, so let's move onto my favorite bit... explaining in extensive and slightly awestruck detail why the Navy plot. Fucking. Rules. Because it does. Ready?

...

How to Mastermind the Decisive Removal of One Stupid Fucking Stede Bonnet Over Drinks

Ahem. The Navy plot. Masterclass in intimate betrayal. Izzy's biggest escalation in the total collapse of Edward and Izzy's relationship, but also a completely fucking fascinating glimpse into whatever tangled web of codependency they've got going on, because Edward isn't even mad after 1x09. This wordcount is going to be insane enough without me getting into the Blackhands relationship connotations, so I will... attempt... to stick to breaking down the actual scheme.

And what a scheme it was.

Let's start at the beginning. Jack showing up to lure them into the trap at the start of 1x08? Nope, earlier. Izzy getting kicked off the ship and going to Jackie at the end of 1x06? Further back. Edward proposing the "kill Stede" plan at the end of 1x04, which is the domino that starts all this, right? Closer, but still no.

Izzy's first appearance on screen is in episode 1x02, and that episode is where the seeds of the Navy plot are first planted. See, during Stede's confrontation with Izzy, both of the hostages chime in:

Hostage 1 (Wellington): "Believe him, he's quite insane." Hostage 2 (Hornberry): "He does have the eyes of a madman. Sorry, you do."

Wellington says his line in a tone of voice that clearly indicates a story to tell, and it should also be noted that he is the same one who earlier jumped at the chance to tell the tribe chief about Stede murdering their captain - Nigel. And he's the one that Izzy leaves with, in a sour mood and wanting information about this "Stede Bonnet" character.

When Izzy later reaches out to the Navy, it's no coincidence that he finds Chauncey. He's known since right after their first meeting that Stede was directly responsible for the murder of an Admiral's brother and that the English Navy would know soon enough, since he was literally about to ransom a hostage back to them who would tell the story. And he filed that information away until it was useful or relevant like a clever pirate should.

Moving on to Jackie's bar in 1x03, Izzy gets more potentially useful observations / inspiration. Jackie is actually the first person in the series to make a deal with a naval power. Izzy and crew track the Revenge to the Spanish warship, which means they must see Geraldo sold out Stede to them. Izzy isn't stupid. He knows Geraldo and Spanish Jackie, knows that she's the brains and brawn behind this deal, and has seen enough of Stede that he'd absolutely believe that he did something to get Jackie pissed enough to plot his murder. File away Jackie wants Stede dead and details of how she nearly succeeded in offing him for later.

Izzy spends 1x05 up to the fuckery demonstration observing Stede's crew while waiting for Edward to pull the trigger. I definitely want to note the scene where they interrogate the Frenchman at the beginning of 1x05, because Izzy is staring directly at Stede as he leans away from Edward threatening violence (we know this will later be in his love montage so not actually a turn off, lol, but like... it looked like one). His opinion of the crew is that they like to fuck around without structure (1x05 during the party), probably that they enjoy more standard pirate levels of violence (not shown directly since they are kept out of the 1x05 raid, but fairly obvious), and that they are really easily awestruck by the chance to hear "real pirates" tell charismatic stories (1x06 ghost story).

Any of that sounding like someone we know?

And now to go back to Izzy in 1x06, when he gets sick of Edward being cagey about the plan to kill Stede and decides to "make" him stop stalling, he's straightforward again. Getting Ivan and Fang to back him isn't emotionally manipulative, but it does give him weight in the conversation. They are the ones who bring up the whole "love of a pet makes a man weak" thing, and they do it in the context of calling out hypocrisy. Izzy knows the standards Edward holds his crew to. He lets them convince Edward it's time.

Taking the chance to suggest Stede try a fuckery is a strong blend of situational and emotional manipulation, and later challenging him to a formal duel knowing he'd be overconfident enough to accept is more situational again. Even the terms of the duel are designed to take advantage of the situation. And then Izzy loses in the most comedy way possible, Edward lets him get banished, and Izzy decides that if he was ok with just sending Stede Bonnet on his way to fuck-off before... he's fucking gonna kill him now.

My guy is not a creative thinker, but he's definitely a logistical one. And as he rows away from that ship, all the pieces fall into place.

First, Spanish Jackie. Who listens to him bemoan his relationship woes because she likes him (Izzy gets Jackie in the divorce). Who wants Stede dead and has the clout to summon and deal with a distasteful ally - Chauncey. Together, they concoct an arrangement where a trap will be set and Chauncey gets Stede and only Stede. This isn't a tip-off or a free-for-all. Stede comes from Chauncey's world and they are sending him back. Permanently.

Then it's time for the trap itself, which needs to do two things: get the Revenge somewhere that Chauncey can corner it, and get Edward out of there. And Izzy? Izzy knows Edward. Knows there's one particular person in his past that will have no trouble integrating with the crew, getting Edward to act more like a pirate than a gentleman, and who happens to have a great ambush location on hand.

I've said this before but I'm gonna say it again - I don't think outside characters realize how hard and fast Edward is falling for Stede. The BlackBonnet bonding moments happen almost exclusively when they are alone. The place Izzy dramatically fails to manipulate the situation is not having the evidence he would need to predict Edward going back for Stede. He (and Jack) both think that a precise wedge between BlackBonnet - one that Jack delivers near flawlessly by playing into real issues - will be enough to remind Edward that Stede isn't his people. This isn't a plan to murder the love of Edward's life while his back is turned. It's a plan to get rid of Stede, and remind Edward why he was on board with doing that in the first place. "That's fair," Izzy says about a punch to the face.

Instead, Izzy's plot accidentally backs Edward into a corner and forces him to publicly pull a grand-gesture relationship level-up that he was not emotionally ready for, and the fallout from that explosion is way worse than any of our conspirators were counting on.

Still... you gotta admit. It was a really good plan.

[tilebytiles]

star treatment - a.t. (part 2)

summary: there's a strange man named alex that has a strange obsession with you, and he makes the strangest offer of your life. word count: 3.2k warnings: none part 1

You had fallen asleep a while ago. The stars, although breathtakingly beautiful this far out in space, had eventually gotten tiring to look at, and your brain itched for something else. You were still too tense to talk to anyone else on the spacecraft, and Alex was nowhere to be found, although you doubted you'd talk to him anyway. With no methods of entertainment beyond staring out the window, you fell asleep rather quickly, your imagination conjuring up strange dreams about the hotel you were heading to.

The only thing that woke you up was the sound of rustling clothes in front of you. Drowsily, you forced your eyes open and your body to come up onto your feet. You were a little wobbly from trying to do so much so quick, but you regained your balance rather quickly and began to follow the journalists down the narrow aisle between the rows of seats. If there was anything science fiction films had taught you, you should have been floating through that rocket instead of walking. Your feet, however, remained firmly planted on the carpet, a fact that was rather disappointing. Floating would have been cooler.

The interior of the seating area was done in soft, warm colours, offering an inviting atmosphere. The seats were a navy blue with an off-white stripe down the center, and the walls were a shade of pink, something close to salmon, you thought. The floor was done in the same colour, but down the aisle was a red carpet. There weren't many seats, so the rocket could only house a group about the size of this one at any time. You didn't mind; the less people you had to awkwardly avoid, the better.

You realised the giant window at the end of the aisle that you'd thought was for stargazing was actually a port. As soon as you stepped into the giant see-through tube, you heard the door slide shut behind you, sealing you off from the rocket. You couldn't help but marvel at the empty chasm of space that surrounded you, as well as the moon that rested beneath you. From here, you could make out the complex building you were realising was meant to be the hotel. It looked futuristic and retro at the same time, an effect that wasn't hard to achieve; the architecture looked like the kind that was popular in the 70s, providing a sort of nostalgic feel, but it was sitting on the surface of the moon. This definitely wouldn't have been possible in the 70s (you could hardly believe it was possible now).

One of the journalists spoke up, shattering the awestruck silence. "He's a bit mad for doin' all this."

The journalist beside him shrugged. "It's kinda cool, though, don't you think?"

"Well, sure, but imagine having these kinds of funds ... and you waste it on a lunar hotel?"

You hardly knew Alex, but it made you feel a little uneasy to hear someone speaking ill of him. You wanted to speak up, but a third journalist beat you to it. "If anything, he's proving we can even do this kind of shit on the moon. It's better than some of the stunts billionaires have been pulling."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Miles," the first journalist grumbled. "Stop kissing his ass."

The journalist named Miles rolled his eyes, then glanced over at you. You hadn't even realised he was walking beside you. He grinned at you and held out a hand for you to shake. "Miles Kane," he said.

You slowly shook his hand. "Y/N L/N."

"You don't exactly seem like the reporter type. What're you doin' up here with this pretentious lot?"

You liked him already.

"Alex invited me," you told him. "I haven't really figured out why yet."

He nodded, seeming to ponder over the information you'd just given him despite it only being two sentences. "I'm sure we'll get along perfectly," he finally said, smiling at you again. "If any of these pricks cause you trouble, just lemme know."

"Thank you." You smiled back at him.

When you made it to the other end of the tube, the door in front of you slid open, allowing your party of prose into the hotel. Your eyes widened once you stepped through the door. The room you were in, which you guessed to be the main lobby, was absolutely gigantic - or at least, it felt that big. There was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the whole space with sconces mounted on the walls to light up the spots the chandelier couldn't reach. The walls were a warm, perhaps almost burnt, shade of orange, and the floor was made of lush carpet, the pattern almost hypnotising. Squiggles of colour stretched from wall to wall above a black background. The wall to your right, close to the door, held floor-to-ceiling windows, showcasing the moon and the stars in all their glory. To your left was the reception desk, the lift to its left and the stairs to its right. Chairs and tables were scattered amongst the space, providing plenty of spots to sit and rest. Mounted on the wall behind the reception desk was a flat-screen TV. You were impressed it could pick anything up out here.

Your group wandered over to the reception desk, and to your surprise, someone popped out of the door that had an 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' plaque, grinning at you all. "Pleasure to meet you!" he said. "Mr. Turner told me you'd be arriving."

Alex's last name was Turner?

"Hold on," the first journalist from before said, "you mean you've just ... been here?"

The receptionist nodded, still smiling. "We've had more than enough resources to last us, don't worry. And they're replenishable! But we can get into that later."

"There's more than one of you?"

"All the staff were busy prepping for your arrival. We hope you enjoy your stay. Let me be the first to officially welcome you to the Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino. My name's Mark, and I'll be your guide for the tour today."

You admired Mark's genuine enthusiasm. Then again, you didn't think it'd be very hard to be enthusiastic about a job like this.

He came out from behind the desk and motioned for your group to follow as he headed for the open doorway across from the door you'd just come through. It opened out into a long hall, branching off into different rooms. "This is where the café is," he said, pointing to one of the sets of doors you passed by. "That's where you'll be eating all your meals, although your options will differ depending on the time of day. That," he said, pointing to another set of doors, "is the gym. There's all kinds of equipment in there, and it's completely free for all guests, so don't be afraid to stop by."

He continued leading you down the hall, pointing at different doors and explaining them. Connected to the café was a greenhouse that provided different types of produce, and it was available to guests ("take a tour or let the little ones learn how to garden!" he had said). There was a library, a laundry room, and even something like a patio at the very end of the hall, allowing you to get as close to the moon itself as you safely could.

When you came back up the hall and squeezed into the lift, Mark explained how the actual hotel rooms would be the last part of the tour; that way, you could all rest as soon as you got to your rooms. Your first stop was the very top of the hotel, where you could see the large hexagonal neon sign spinning slowly on top of its pole. They had built a pool into the roof, complete with a ladder to make getting in and out easy, a diving board, various chairs set up, umbrellas that you weren't even sure were necessary and bathrooms and changing rooms, the latter of which were fully stocked with robes, bathing suits and pool toys.

Heading down a floor revealed the hotel's partial namesake: the casino. The lights were significantly dimmer here than they were in the rest of the hotel, but they weren't so dim that you couldn't see at all. Machines had been pushed up against every wall and were lined up perfectly around the room. It was almost overstimulating, and you were grateful you left when you did, although the aftereffects of all the lights remained in your vision as colourful blobs for some time.

Your whole group was staying on the same floor. You didn't know if you were glad about it or dreading it. At least Miles would be nearby, you thought. He'd been making the occasional quiet joke to you throughout the whole tour, and you did your best to stifle your laughter to avoid dirty looks from the others.

"I'll talk to you later," he said, snapping you out of your thoughts. You hadn't even realised you'd made it to your rooms. His was across the hall from yours. You nodded and flashed him one last smile before unlocking your door with the key Mark had given you and stepping inside.

The room was lavishly decorated. You almost felt guilty for staying there for free. A four-poster bed stood tall, the frame painted a creamy white and the mattress covered in a white sheet. A thin fabric, something like lace, hung from each corner like curtains. The blanket looked soft, inviting, and after many, many hours of being stuck in a rocket and sleeping in a (albeit comfortable) chair, slipping under the covers and taking a proper nap sounded heavenly. You forced yourself to hold off on that nap, though, and continued your exploration of the room.

The overhead light was built into the ceiling, and upon discovering a small remote on top of the chest of drawers across from the bed, you realised the brightness could be changed. There was a floor-to-ceiling window built into the wall across from the door, offering yet another stunning view. The closet that was built into the wall rested to the left of the bed, and to the right was a small nightstand. In the closet, you found all sorts of clothes. At least there was comfort in the fact that no matter what happened, you'd be well-dressed for the occasion. Not far from the nightstand was a door, and when you opened it, you discovered the bathroom.

Ah, yes. It was about time you took a shower.

The water was perfectly warm, and the shampoo smelled lovely. Although it had only been a few days, you still felt gross for having gone so long without a shower; you guessed it was only because you were used to showering every day. When you finished getting cleaned up, you slipped into the cosiest pair of pyjamas you'd ever gotten your hands on and made sure to turn the light off before slipping into the unnecessarily fancy bed.

You wondered what Alex was up to. You hoped you'd see him tomorrow, mostly so you could thank him for inviting you in the first place. Although the concept of a hotel in space still felt a bit mad to you, you were beginning to realise it really wasn't as bad as you'd expected it to be. Maybe you were even a bit proud of him.

•••••

The next morning - at least, you guessed it was morning - you made your first trip to the café Mark had shown you. You had to admit, you were starving. Although you'd been given snacks on the rocket, they were exactly that - snacks. They hadn't been near enough to keep you full, and now your stomach felt like it was going to gnaw its way through your entire body if you didn't get something to eat soon.

A few of the journalists were already in there, including Miles. You headed towards the counter, where the employee behind the till smiled at you. "What can I get for you today?"

"Uh ..." You stared at the imposing menu on the wall, assessing your options. "Can I have the egg croissant, please?"

"Would you like a drink with that?"

"Water's fine, thanks." The employee nodded, punching your order in, and when the small number popped up on the digital screen sticking up from the till, your eyes widened. It was cheaper than you'd been expecting. You quickly fished your wallet out of your pocket.

Once the transaction was complete, you headed for Miles' table and sat across from him. He was scribbling something in his notepad, but when he heard the creak of your chair, his head snapped up. When he realised it was you, he grinned. "Hey, Y/N."

"Hey," you replied. "What are you doing?"

"Writin' down some notes for that article I gotta write. We've been here for less than a day, and I already have enough info to crank out a goddamn essay."

That made you laugh, earning a sideways glance from one of the journalists. It was the one that had been questioning Alex's motives before. You heard Miles scoff, prompting you to look back at him with a raised brow. “Trouble in paradise?”

He snorted. “Hardly paradise with that prick around.”

“Who is he?”

“James Schwartz, also known as one of the biggest dickheads on the planet. Old money - his dad runs the paper he writes for, and his dad ran it before that, and so on. Heard he’s in line for the throne.” He shook his head. “He’s willin’ to do anything for a story. Can’t keep a girlfriend for more than a few months, either.”

“What do you mean, he’s willing to do anything?”

He eyed you for a few moments, as if he was debating whether or not he should unveil James’ moral crimes to you. Eventually, he sighed, leaning back in his chair; so much so that the two front legs rose from the floor. “The best of it, so to speak, is that he flooded some poor shop owner’s voicemail until they phoned him back.”

“And the worst?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and his gaze sauntered over to land on James, who’d put a pair of headphones on at some point and remained entirely oblivious to your conversation. Still, to be on the safe side, Miles’ voice lowered, forcing you to lean over to hear him. “He dated a girl, some model from Bristol. A couple of months later, she broke up with him, and then suddenly, her nudes were up on the Internet, free for all perverted fucks to see. He was one of the first to cover the story, and his article painted her in a suspicious light, spoutin’ some shite about how she shouldn’t have let anyone take such compromisin’ pictures of her. She quit modelling not long after. It was never proven to be him, but …” He shrugged and looked back to you.

Your stomach churned at the mere thought of what he’d gotten away with. “Surely someone questioned him?”

“If they did, he probably paid them to keep quiet. Either way-” He dropped his pencil onto his notepad. “-I would stay away from him, if I were you.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” you mumbled.

After your food had arrived and you’d satiated your hunger, Miles suggested heading up to the pool for a quick dip. You agreed, although considering you’d just eaten, you didn’t think you would actually do any swimming. This notion seemed a bit funny to him, and he even asked if you were chicken, but he didn’t press the matter any further.

Much to your delight, there were swimsuits in the dressing room, and you slipped into a black bikini on the off chance you hopped into the water. Wrapping yourself up in a plush white robe that had the hotel’s acronym embroidered into the left breast, you stepped out onto the pool deck. Miles was already in the pool, clad in a pair of black swim trunks and swimming from one end to the other, engaged in an intense race against himself. You plopped down onto one of the pool chairs and stretched your legs out, watching as Miles swam to the edge closest to you with a grin. “The water’s lovely.”

“I’d rather not get cramps,” you said, making him laugh. He playfully splashed water in your direction, spraying small droplets onto your calves and the chair beneath you. The water was cold against your skin.

You heard the entrance to the pool open, making you turn and look over your shoulder. Alex stood in the doorway, and when he saw you, he managed a small smile. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“I was looking for Miles.” He glanced around you and spotted the man in question, who offered an enthusiastic wave that was akin to one from a child. “Mark said you’d be here.”

“You should come join me, Mr. Turner,” Miles replied, assuming an exaggerated air of pompousness. “Have you even tested your own pool?”

Alex seemed to genuinely consider that question for a few moments. His hands slid down into his pockets, and his lips pressed together before finally parting to form the words, “No, I haven’t.”

And with that, he found himself in swim trunks exactly like Miles’ less than a few minutes later. It was the first time you’d seen him in anything beyond his perfectly crisp suits, and it also offered you a chance to admire his physique. His abs were lightly defined, as were the muscles lining his arms; the veins in his forearms protruded, as if all they needed was a small push before bursting from his skin; his legs had about as much hair as you could have expected, and there was a light smattering of hair across his chest. Draped over his chest, sinking into the dips of his collarbones, was a thin gold chain, the same one you’d seen him wear a number of times at the café.

Miles whistled, snapping you out of the spell Alex’s body had put you under. “She’s oglin’ ya.”

“Am not!” you protested, glaring at him.

He only rolled his eyes. “There’s nothin’ wrong with admirin’.”

You didn’t say anything, only crossed your arms over your chest. It wasn’t like you needed to respond, though; the heat that spread across your cheeks like wildfire spoke volumes.

If you were being perfectly honest with yourself - which you did reluctantly - Alex had always caught your eye. You mostly attributed it to the mysterious aura that he was always shrouded in, brought into existence by how little he spoke, how much he kept to himself, and the documents he primarily occupied himself with. Even if you now knew what those documents had been for, there were still heaps of things that remained locked away from you. For fuck’s sake, you’d learned his last name from a complete stranger.

In some ways, his mystery was a siren call, coaxing you in for what you thought might be your untimely demise. If there was anything the piles of romance novels in your flat had taught you, it was that strange men- especially rich ones- shouldn’t ever be trusted with matters of the heart.

As Alex lowered himself into the pool, though, you let yourself ogle for a little while longer.

[yoomiwrites]

Salty Rush⁵

Summary: Some time ago, Reader was a partner of Akainu, a comrade he could rely on. Reader betrayed the navy, became part of a pirate crew...And finally the two face each other again.

Note: Wow- 25 reactions that quickly?? For Akainu?? That's sick! But here we go! Once more, the next chapter will come after we reached 20 reactions OR at friday. Happy sunday!

We walked in silence after that, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between us. I followed a few paces behind Sakazuki, watching his broad back as he navigated the narrow, twisting paths of the cavern. The warmth of his presence lingered on me like an echo, but the distance between us was growing again, invisible but unmistakable.

The brief connection we had shared moments ago was already fading, replaced by the same cold, unyielding wall he always carried with him. I could see it in the stiffness of his movements, the way his shoulders tensed with every step. It was as if he had caught himself slipping, letting the mask crack for just a moment, and now he was determined to seal it shut again.

I didn’t say anything at first. I didn’t know what to say. The air was thick with everything unsaid, with the years between us and the gulf that had grown in that time. But the longer we walked, the more I could feel the tension gnawing at me, an itch I couldn’t scratch. It was like the weight of everything was pressing down on me, and I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Sakazuki,” I said quietly, my voice cutting through the silence.

He didn’t respond, didn’t even glance back. He just kept walking, the heat radiating off him in that controlled, simmering way.

I quickened my pace, coming up beside him. “You’re pushing me away again.”

Still nothing. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed ahead, as if he hadn’t heard me. But I knew better. I knew him better.

“You don’t have to,” I continued, my voice soft but insistent. “Not here. Not now.”

He stopped abruptly, his fists clenching at his sides, and for a moment, I thought he might actually turn and face me. But instead, he stood there, tense and silent, the space between us a chasm that felt impossible to cross.

I swallowed, feeling my throat tighten. “Just… treat me like before. At least now. At least here.”

His silence stretched out, suffocating, but I wasn’t done. I couldn’t be.

“I know what’s going to happen,” I said, my voice trembling just slightly. “I’m not stupid. As soon as we get out of here—whether it’s execution or you doing it yourself—you’re going to kill me. It’s only a matter of time. So, what does it matter if, for just a little while, you let things go back to how they were?”

He still didn’t respond, but I saw the way his fists tightened, the way his posture stiffened even more, if that was possible.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest. “I know that’s not possible. But can’t you at least treat me like you used to? Like I’m still—”

“Still what?” he finally cut in, his voice low and sharp. “Still your friend?”

I flinched at the bitterness in his tone, but I didn’t back down. “Yes. Like you used to be. Before everything fell apart.”

His eyes flicked toward me, dark and unreadable, and for a moment, I thought I saw something there—something softer, something that reminded me of the man I used to know. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same cold, unyielding mask.

“You gave that up,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless. “The moment you walked away.”

I shook my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. “I walked away because I had no choice. You know that. You knew, even back then, that things weren’t right. That the Marines were—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut me off, his voice hardening. “Duty is duty. Justice doesn’t care about what you think is right or wrong.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Justice? Whose justice? The kind that crushes people like us under its weight because we weren’t born into the right place, the right family? You’ve always known that no amount of hard work could beat talent, Sakazuki. You worked harder than anyone, and it’s still never been enough.”

He didn’t respond, but I saw the flicker of something in his eyes—a crack in that impenetrable facade.

“Hard work can’t beat talent,” I repeated, softer this time. “And the system we’re part of, the system you’re defending, it’s built to protect those who were born into it. You and I… we had to fight for every scrap, and now you’re fighting to protect the very thing that would throw us away the second we’re no longer useful.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenched so tight I thought it might break. But he still wouldn’t look at me.

“I thought… I thought we were fighting to make things better,” I said, my voice faltering slightly. “But all we did was reinforce the same broken system. You know that as well as I do.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. The silence between us felt like a living thing, oppressive and unbearable. And then, finally, he turned, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his face.

“You should’ve stayed,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. There was something raw in his tone, something that made my chest tighten.

I stared at him, not sure if I had heard him right. “What?”

His gaze was fixed on the ground, his fists still clenched at his sides. “If you’d stayed… maybe things would’ve been different.”

I blinked, the weight of his words settling over me like a blanket of cold.

“Stayed?” I repeated, my voice trembling. “You wanted me to stay?”

He didn’t answer, didn’t meet my gaze. But he didn’t have to. The silence spoke for him.

I had never known. Never known that he’d wanted me to stay. That, somewhere in that cold, calculating mind of his, he had actually wanted me to be there with him. That my leaving had mattered to him in some way, even if he’d never shown it.

But even now, even as that truth settled between us, I knew it didn’t change anything. Because Sakazuki was who he was, and the world he lived in didn’t allow for anything other than duty and justice. Whatever we had been, whatever we could have been… it was buried beneath layers of duty, of pain, of sacrifices made in the name of a cause that neither of us truly believed in anymore.

“I can’t go back,” I whispered, my throat tight. “Neither of us can.”

He finally looked at me, and the weight of his gaze was almost too much to bear. His eyes were dark, full of things unsaid, full of everything he wouldn’t allow himself to admit.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “We can’t.”

And with that, he turned away again, the distance between us growing once more.

We were closer than we had been in years, and yet, we were still so far apart.

The air in the cavern had grown heavier, or maybe that was just the exhaustion that had seeped into every bone in my body. It was impossible to tell how long we had been walking—hours, maybe more. My stomach churned, empty, and my legs ached with every step, but I forced myself to keep going. There was no point in complaining, not with Sakazuki nearby, his presence cold and unrelenting as always. If he was feeling any of the strain, he wasn’t showing it. Typical.

But me? I was slipping. My steps were slower, clumsier, and more than once I stumbled over loose stones, barely managing to catch myself before hitting the ground. The wound on my side throbbed with every movement, sharp pain shooting through me, but I grit my teeth and pushed through it. Sakazuki didn’t need to know. He didn’t need to see me weak. Not now. Not after everything.

I had managed to hide it for so long already, he didn't need to know.

I stumbled again, this time catching myself against the wall. My fingers brushed the cold stone, leaving a smear of something dark behind. I glanced down, my vision swimming slightly. Blood. It was still bleeding.

Damn it.

“Having trouble keeping up?” His voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and unforgiving.

I looked up, glaring at his back. He hadn’t even turned to look at me, hadn’t slowed his pace. He just kept marching ahead, as if the weight of exhaustion and pain didn’t affect him at all. I wanted to snap back, to tell him to shove it, but the words stuck in my throat. I was too tired for that, and he would see right through it anyway.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, my voice strained.

He snorted, a sound halfway between amusement and disdain. “You’ve gotten weaker,” he said, still not bothering to look at me. “Hardly surprising. You’ve been living on the run for years. No real structure, no discipline. It’s bound to happen.”

I bristled at his words, my fists clenching. He was mocking me, like he always did, but there was something in his tone that stung deeper now, especially when I couldn’t deny it. I had gotten weaker. I wasn’t the same as I had been when we trained together, when we fought side by side. But it wasn’t because I had run. It wasn’t because I had left.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could say anything, I stumbled again, harder this time. I didn’t catch myself in time, and my knees hit the rocky ground with a dull thud.

“Shit,” I hissed through gritted teeth, clutching my side where the pain flared up even worse now. I could feel the warmth of blood soaking through my shirt, sticking to my skin.

For a moment, there was silence. And then I felt his eyes on me.

Sakazuki had stopped walking. He was staring at me now, really looking at me, and I could feel the weight of his gaze even without meeting it. I kept my head down, trying to push myself back to my feet, but my body wasn’t cooperating.

“Y/N.”

His voice was low, sharper than before, and when I glanced up, I saw the way his eyes narrowed. He was watching me carefully, his gaze hard, calculating. And then, slowly, he stepped closer.

I stiffened as he approached, every instinct telling me to push him away, to tell him I didn’t need his help. But my body betrayed me, too worn down to fight back.

“What?” I muttered, trying to sound annoyed.

He crouched down in front of me, his eyes locked on mine for a second before they drifted to my side. “You’ve been bleeding.”

I shifted, wincing as the pain spiked again. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

He ignored me, his gaze lingering on the dark stain spreading across my shirt. “From the fall,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. His expression shifted slightly, the corners of his mouth tightening. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

I forced a weak laugh, trying to brush it off. “I didn’t think you cared.”

That seemed to pull his attention back to me. His eyes flicked up to mine, and for a brief second, I thought I saw something in them. Concern, maybe. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual cold indifference.

Without another word, he reached out, his hands brushing against the hem of my shirt.

“What the hell are you doing?” I flinched, instinctively pulling back.

His grip was firm, though not rough. “Stop moving.”

I stared at him, confused, as he lifted my shirt enough to expose the wound on my side. His hands were steady, his touch impersonal, though I couldn’t help but feel a rush of heat at the sudden closeness. He didn’t seem to notice—or care.

He frowned, inspecting the gash that ran along my ribs. It was deep, the edges jagged, and the skin around it was swollen and angry. It looked worse than I had realized.

“You should have said something,” he muttered, his tone sharp with disapproval. “This is infected. It’s going to get worse if we don’t do something.”

I swallowed, trying to mask the pain. “I’m fine,” I said again, but my voice sounded weaker this time, less convincing.

He didn’t respond. His fingers hovered over the wound, and I felt a sudden surge of heat radiating from his palm.

I blinked, confused. “What are you—?”

“I’m going to close it,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. “I can cauterize the wound with my Devil Fruit. It won’t be pleasant, but it’ll stop the bleeding and prevent further infection.”

I stared at him, a mix of confusion and disbelief washing over me. Was he… actually helping me? I opened my mouth to make some joke, to lighten the tension. “Wow, Sakazuki, are you actually worried about me?”

He scoffed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced up at me. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, his voice cold. “I just don’t feel like dragging around a carcass for proof.”

I laughed, despite the pain. It was ridiculous, but somehow it felt like the Sakazuki I remembered. The one who hid behind harsh words, even when his actions said something else.

“You’re all heart,” I muttered, wincing as he placed his hand over the wound.

“This is going to hurt,” he warned, his tone flat.

Before I could respond, a wave of heat seared through me, sharp and intense. I grit my teeth, biting back a scream as his powers worked to seal the wound. It felt like fire under my skin, the heat burning away the pain for a brief, agonizing moment before it dulled to a slow, steady throb.

When it was over, I collapsed back against the wall, breathing heavily. My shirt was damp with sweat, my body trembling slightly from the shock.

He stood up, stepping back and giving me space again, his expression unreadable. “It’ll hold for now,” he said gruffly. “But you’re still weakened.”

I glanced up at him, managing a tired smile. “Thanks. I guess I owe you one.”

He huffed, turning away. “Don’t get used to it.”

I watched him for a moment, my chest still tight with a mix of pain and something else. Something I couldn’t quite name. There was a strange feeling in the air, a sense that things were shifting, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Even if I didn’t want to.

But as he moved ahead, putting distance between us once again, I couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite everything, we were still tied together in some way. Bound by the past. By the things we never said. And by the things we still couldn’t say.

For now, it was enough. But the question lingered in the back of my mind.

What would happen when we finally found a way out?

And more importantly—what would he do when he had to decide between duty and whatever it was that still connected us?

[ammonitetheartist]

spooky scug

This is like. a rot/scug hybrid made by Glint

It poses as an ordinary scug in order to infiltrate & prey on them and is driven by ✨malice✨

[Image ID: A drawing depicting the Facsimile, a fan character for Rain World. It’s a dark navy-blue scug with dark olive-green eartips and tail-tip, along with chasm-like eyes. On its face is a crease that looks like a wide, wobbly smile, with two stitches on each side. Its name - The Fascimile (Falling Cry of Torment) - is at the very top-left of the drawing (and yee I spelled facsimile wrong).

To the right of the name is the mark of Spotting a Fearsome Glint. Below that is a drawing of Facsimile’s fully revealed Rot form, as well as a size comparison with its scug disguise form. On the bottom-left is a colored headshot of Facsimile, showing its mouth opened in its Rot form. At the bottom of the drawing is a sample palette of the colors used in the design. End ID]

[udretlnea]

In the Court of the Creator

Prompts: Inspired by Minecraft!Reader by @fandomshenanigans​, Wardens in the Chasm idea by @mists-reading-nook​ & Alt!+OG!Reader by @questionotmystopit​

Summary: You are brought before the Divine Creator after getting caught in the Chasm. However, before your fate is sealed they suddenly take an interest in your appearance, but why?

A/N: Originally there was supposed to be a two-page short comic serving as the introduction, but during the creative process I realized that 1) I was staying up too late that I simply couldn’t get my body to cooperate in drawing it, and 2) the end result was…not ideal to me; thus I had to scrap it and go ahead with just the story. If you’re wondering what I was doing…yeah it was all of that planning, writing, and internal discussion. Anyway, here’s the piece I was able to finally write and I hope you all enjoy it! (Normally I keep their gender ambiguous, but I really, really wanna write a male reader. Oh, and there’s that 100-follower event I’m cooking...my, I’m gonna be quite busy!)

TW: Precision F-word strike.

Words: 2.3 k

Proofread by: @soleillunne​

It was cold inside the lifeless, marble halls of Celestia. Your wrists were beginning to chafe with how tight the cuffs were; you tried to rub them together to try to loosen them, but it was in vain. Defeated, you merely continued trudging ahead of your captor.

“Keep moving,” a dignified female voice behind you ordered. You suppressed an eye roll. “We’ll be inside the throne room shortly. There, the Creator of Teyvat will judge you, imposter.”

There were those words again. Creator. Imposter. Words that you were familiar with after hearing them countless times ever since you found yourself trapped here with no way back home. How many times did you recite a prayer to this God of Gods hoping for some miracle to show you a way back? How many times did you catch people throwing you dirty looks, muttering about you being gifted for looking like their god; they stopped after you decided to wear a blindfold. Only the truly envious ones had the gall to call you an imposter.

You didn't care about that. You just wanted to sell your potions and find a way back to your beloved Minecraft world.

“Halt! We’ve arrived.” Your recollection is interrupted by the sudden command. You shake your head.  Your eyebrows raised at the impossibly huge set of doors. On either side were some kind of giant robots with a single menacing orange eye. They were adorned with miniature white tree branches on their shoulders. Both of them peered down at you as if silently judging your sins.

Your jailer stepped towards them; she was a tall female with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and wore a navy coat-no, that’s called a tailcoat. She made a salute to the robot closest to her; it made a rumbling noise before it signaled to the other one. They both turned and pushed open the doors. The hinges groaned like phantoms singing in an opera.

“Alright, let’s go,” said Ponytail.

The throne room was sparsely decorated, but the translucent floor that resembled the night sky made up for that. You instinctively looked up and couldn't help but lower your jaw in awe; up in the ceiling was a painting of a humongous figure draped in a white cloak with gold accents. There were stars on and around the body. Their arms were outstretched like they were expecting a hug.

You looked forward and felt your breath hitch. In the distance was a hooded figure sitting on a throne with two others standing on either side. Behind it was the open sky; there were no windows, meaning one could jump from there and fall from a great height. 

Okay, that’s enough intrusive thoughts.

You got close enough that you observed the people standing in front of the throne. To your left was a young woman with antlers and salmon-pink shoulder-length hair. She wore a dark red and black crop top and skirt; she had bright teal eyes with ovoid pupils. To your right was a tall beautiful woman with short hair with blue accents at the end; she wore a dark bodysuit with silver accents and a white fur coat draped over her back. A rather shiny bracelet was on her right wrist.

In her hand was your staff; it was a green metallic stick with a small cylinder protruding from the top with an orange square block inserted in between. They stared at you two as you stopped in front of them.

“As per protocol, I will begin listing off the crimes the guilty party has committed.” Antlers said with neutrality. She opened a scroll she was holding and cleared her throat. “According to eyewitness reports, you have been selling dangerous items to civilians with powerful effects without a legal permit. Furthermore, you entered a highly dangerous and closed-off area in Liyue, witnessed a highly confidential location, and put the lives of several miners in danger.” 

You felt some measure of indignancy swell within you. “Hey come on! It’s not my fault I spawned a Deep Dark biome. My staff was broken and I needed components to fix it. When I heard of a mine just west of Liyue, I didn’t realize it was closed off. Furthermore, my staff…went haywire because of some weird energy down there that infected it which ended up creating that biome.” 

“There were a couple Millileth stationed there. Was it not obvious?” Blue stated coldly.

“Of-of course, but I was worried about the consequences if I didn’t fix my staff,” you sigh inwardly. You lick your lips. “And I didn’t know those miners were there. Also, if they ran into a strange new area without any common sense, then that’s on them not me.” 

“So you admit to being in the Chasm, but you do not deny that you were selling contraband?” Antlers recounted in a controlled voice.

“I didn’t know how things operated in Liyue! I keep telling you that I’m not from here!” You were starting to feel a headache coming on, and the conversation hadn’t lasted five minutes!  “Besides, I only sold to those who were desperate AND rich enough to buy my wares. Also, I only gave some potions of instant healing to those who brought their sick family members; I would never give potions that could harm anyone, I’m not a bad guy!”

Antlers opened her mouth, but a noise beside her made her pause. 

Blue hummed. “Your staff. It is most peculiar. I’ve never seen Thaumaturgy like this before. Spill. Who are you, truly? Being some ordinary person with the creator’s face is one thing, but having access to dangerous magic as this is another.”

“If I told you, would you let me go?” You asked hotly.

“Depends on a number of factors like if this correlates to Abyssal magic, but in reality you’ll probably get a lighter sentence like a lifetime sentence in jail. It’s a much better alternative than getting executed, if you like enclosed spaces that is.”

“Wow. That’s so generous of you. Let me think about-no,” you said flatly. There was no telling what Minecraft logic would do here when something as basic as the elements were used for practical use.

“Hm. A shame. It appears we’re gonna have to execute you after all.” You feel hands behind you grip your shoulders. You try to throw Ponytail off, but blue glowing ropes suddenly spawned and wrapped your legs and arms. 

This…couldn’t be it! You had a home to get back to, a cat to pet and feed! So many projects would be unrealized if you died here!

“Hold.” A new voice spoke up. It took you a second to realize it was the figure on the throne. They snapped their fingers and pointed at Blue, then at you. Blue nodded and the bracelet on her right glowed; the ropes on your body disappeared and Ponytail released her grip on you. 

The creator stepped down from their throne towards you. You try to back away, but Ponytail puts a hand on your shoulder and you pause; you do your best not to tremble at how this all-powerful being was looking at you despite not seeing their eyes.

“Look at me.” They say commandingly in an ethereal and firm tone. You do. And in genuine awe. The power this being was radiating was so immense that it was almost suffocating. You felt as if you were an ant, and the more you scrutinized this person, the more you slowly realized your place.

Wait a minute, something’s not right. you think to yourself. You leaned forward so that you could see under his hood somewhat better. You could make out some of their features, and if you squinted you could’ve sworn they looked familiar. Huh, is it me or does this person look like me…! Oh. No way. 

You suppress a growing sense of unease building up in your stomach. Your eyebrows comically raise themselves, and to your amusement so do the creator’s.

‘What the heck?’ you both mouth simultaneously. Whether through interest or impulse, the creator stepped down from their throne and stood in front of you. You stood straight. Slowly, the creator reached for their hood; it fell from their head. A chorus of gasps filled the room with one of them being your own. Nobody dared to breathe, fearful that it could break the moment.

Staring back at you was your own face, even down to the jawline. You open your mouth.

“What the fuck?”

///

After much discussion that took all day, it was declared by the creator that you would be staying with them under house arrest; you would be supervised by some handpicked acolytes all day. At night, the creator themself would look after you. Luckily, the idea seemed to satisfy the acolytes and no more questions about you were thrown; time would tell if this new protocol needed more polishing.

It was night, and currently, you were sitting in the garden watching a swarm of crystalflies float about. They were pretty to look at already, but they glowed so mesmerizingly at night. You took a deep breath and sighed peacefully.

Then, you felt a presence beside you. You turned your head. It was the creator- you They had their hood off; their hair was long, jet black, and tied in a ponytail. They possessed dark purple eyes with slit pupils; tiny white dots danced in their iris like twinkling stars. Two strands of hair rested on either side of their shoulders. They rested their hands in their lap.                                                                                                                              

“Hey, you got room for one more?” You simply shrug, uncaring for another presence, but happy that you had company. After another pause, they spoke again. “You…good?”

“Oh yeah, I avoided being thrown into a dark cell and left to rot. Or worse. I’m actually grateful we came up with that story about me being your sibling,” you told him. 

“Of course! I’m not so arrogant as to believe that I’m the only version in this multiverse to exist. There have to be others like me out there, and those who weren’t so lucky to be gifted godlike powers the moment they teleported here.” Creator!You looked at you with sudden curiosity. “How did you get here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ah, that. Well, you see I was trying to build a portal to the Aether-wait, do you know what Minecraft is?” When they nod you snapped your fingers. “I kept experimenting with different blocks using my command block until I got one working. And being the genius that I was, I decided to test it out myself. I didn’t realize it was a one-way trip until the portal behind me immediately closed. The rest is history.”

“I see…it must be terrifying being in an unknown world having to learn how things work.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth. The slimes are so different from back home. I miss how square everything used to be.” 

“Er, apologies for bringing down the mood. That was not my intention.” You wave them off understandingly. They clear their throat, eager to change the subject. “Anyway, have you been keeping up with the news from the multiverse?”

You shake your head. “No. I mean, I didn’t know one could do that.”

“I have my ways of checking, and I encourage you to read up. Knowledge is power after all. I can show you some tomorrow.” They smile and cross their arms. However, it quickly turned upside down. “Apparently, someone went and stole multiple universes from this multiverse.”

“...You mean, someone stole multiple different versions of Teyvat…?” Creator!You nodded. That’s unbelievable! Did you happen to catch how many they took?”

“If I recall correctly, it was exactly 168. Luckily, after a while, they were all put back in their places.”

“Is that number significant?” They shrug before dropping the subject entirely.

The conversation pauses for a moment as the two of you find something else to discuss.

Creator!You huffed. “By the way, what…what should I call you? Because it’s going to be confusing if someone calls for one of us when we’re in the same room. Plus, the ancient manuscripts already refer to ME when it uses our name.” 

You laugh excitedly. “Aw man, I was waiting for this moment! I’ve always wanted to change my name to Yu, like Y-U.”

“That sounds adequate, but you’re gonna need a surname too,” said Creator!You. “What about…Nakayama?”

“Nakayama Yu…it has a nice ring to it. I like it! Alright, I’m gonna use that!”

They made an approving noise. “I’m pleased you like it so much. So…you wanna shake hands to, I don’t know, make it official?”

“Sure!” You stuck out an open hand. “I’m Nakayama Yu. It’s a pleasure to meet you, me!”

“Likewise!” They took it and you both shook firmly. You give a breathy chuckle.

It was nighttime, but the air wasn’t cold. You instinctively rubbed at your wrists, as if double-checking there weren’t any cuffs. You chatted away with yourself until you felt sleepy; you went to your guest room, immediately flopped on the bed, and started snoring.

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Master Chief & more about Spartans

Born and raised on Eridanus-II, John Downes was the son of bioengineers and gardeners, who wanted to genetically modify Earth-plants to be sustainable on other planets (everyone, up until this point, had just been using the indigenous plants from the alien worlds they colonized); up until he was taken into the Spartan Program, John attended a school known as "The Reach For Life Foundation," a prestigious upper-class school (that was created on Reach before expanding out to the rest of the galaxy) designed to turn all of it's students into the next generation of pioneers, colonizers and explorers who will bring life into the uncharted reaches of space. Humanity came in contact with The Covenant in the year 2511. The Spartan Program saw production in 2517; most of the Spartans were born in the year 2528, while John Downes was born in the year 2530. That two year gap may as well have been a chasm between him and his brothers-&-sisters-in-arms. But, like in canon, the main reason why John was chosen despite being everyone's junior was because he still exhibited the exact same unique genetic-markers that all of the others do. With John being the youngest, he's needed to prove himself to the others by working and training thrice as hard as everyone else; his angst comes from the fact that, because he's the youngest, he's the most generic one of the group. He's not the fastest (that's Kelly), not the strongest (that's Samuel), not the biggest (that's Jorge), the best combatant (Fred), the best at weaponry (Vannak), the best at demolitions (James), the best shot (both Linda & Kai, who are rivals to each other, beat John out), the smartest (Riz), the best pilot (Daisy), the best at technology (Joshua), the one with the best intuition (Kurt), or the most charismatic leader (Jerome); he's only really impressive in comparison to the standard marine, this angst he faces is something he later comes to accept as he gets older. He eventually embraces his status as 'The Generic One' and becomes the Jack-of-all-trades, the one everyone can lean on for just about anything; the "Swiss-Army Spartan," if you will. They all got augmented, and the rest is history; but it wasn't until Operation SILENT STORM, the Spartans' FIRST mission as Spartans, where John was given the rank of "Master Chief Petty Officer," the highest rank a non-commissioned serviceman in the Navy can attain; he even got his first metal, "The Purple Heart," after he got shot on the line of duty (and survived, obviously). When he was a kid, before being inducted, John had discovered an ancient Forerunner rock (not that anyone knew what it was) that had almost possessed him; his obssession over it resulted in his father forcing John to bury the drawings he made of it in the backyard. The training and conditioning of the Spartan Progran, while not designed to brainwash anyone, did result in John repressing any memory of the rock. In the present (2552), John had discovered a similar rock during an extraction mission on Biko, which brought a terrifying wave of memories back to him; this drives him to rediscover the rock he found as a kid back on Eridanus-II, in cave beneath the abandoned ruins of his father's old Solar-Paneled Garden Field. After some back and forth battles between The UNSC and The Covenant, John is quick to deduce that the rock he found on Biko is a keystone to the artifact that he found as a kid; with two rocks joined together, they create a starmap that leads to the one thing The Covenant had been after this entire time: Halo.

Spartans are much younger here than in canon, being in their early 20s as opposed to being in their 50s like in the show and the games. Their youth, combined with their less traumatizing upbringing, makes them more colorful in their personalities (still professional and their canon personalities are about the same, but they're less sociopathically brusque and terse like in-canon). Super-Soldiers in media are usually portrayed with two major qualities: Extreme Aggression and Complete Obedience. They're designed to be ruthless killers, desensitized to violence, who are more aggressive than the average soldier, as they are more than willing to make the hard-choices and will not stop until their opponents are dead ("They [Spartans] just... keep killing. Until there's nothing. Left. To kill... You in or out?" - Angus; Halo, Season 1 - Episode 1) and the battle is won. As for complete obedience? Well, that's self-explanatory; they are happiest when given an order and only do what's asked of them ("Good soldiers follow orders." - Crosshairs; The Bad-Batch). The Spartans as seen in Halo Reloaded are the opposite. They're trained in: Lateral Thinking, Improvisation and Freestyling. They're very creative, on and off the field, people who are capable of salvaging a busted plan and thinking on their feet in the midst of high-stress situations; which is precisely why they're so good at their jobs, BECAUSE they're not dependant on the word of their superiors. They're less an army of Robocops and moreso an army of Captain Americas. John himself, particularly in his later years at 22, is a more "Commander Shepard' type of person: Swashbuckling, noble, still emotionally guarded but far less traumatized, charismatic (again not as much as Jerome) and often goes with the flow. He's still much more brusque and aggressive in comparison to the other more lively Spartans (the others often call him "the mean one"), but he's still as nice and compassionate as he's always been.

@ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask

@mrtobenamedlater

@killer-orca-cosplay

@biomecharnotaurus

@authortobenamedlater

[iambrengo]

Story: Nox's Dilemma

Short story centered on the king and princess of the Nox Domain, King Deragenes and Jules.

The nightly zora of the Nox Domain are accustomed to a quiet existence. Not much noise is able to make it that far down below the ocean. Therefore, when the upheaval hit and a large, gloom-ridden hole opened down towards Nox, the zoras fell into mass hysteria. The elite divers were up in arms, many went into hiding, and the royals were hounded by their citizens.

For so long, Nox has known only of what they had. But with the gloom and the chasm leading to the surface, the domain has experienced its first wave of change in years.

1 Week Later...

Deragenes, the Nox Domain’s King, managed to finally find a moment of calm and silence, and that just so happens to be deep in a cave. Through the naturally formed corridor, following an underground river, the King stopped on the shore of a subterranean lake. Hanging above the lake was a ceiling completely blanketed by cave worms, their bioluminescence lighting up the cave top like a fictional night sky. The subtle sound of water dripped off the stalactites, reverberating off of the stone walls and causing the glowing cave worms to flicker.

The King sat down on the sand near the lake before taking off the veil that covered his face. He sighed and breathed in, letting his stone-hard kingly persona fall away. It felt as if a pair of cold, metallic prison shackles were finally taken off of him. For days, his attention was strictly on the results of the recent earthquake and the massive opening, both of which put the Nox Domain’s solitude in jeopardy. But now, he can finally allow the fog in his mind to clear up.

”Papa! Papa!”

A pair of small, navy blue arms suddenly wrapped around the King’s shoulder. He was close to turning around in protest of his peace being disturbed, until he recognized the sound of that voice. A small angler also dipped over his shoulder, displaying a light that brought him peace and comfort many times before.

“Jules…”

He didn’t plan for Jules, his adopted daughter, to join him in this cave but he wasn’t surprised to see she followed him in. She was always an adventurous soul. With the smaller zora’s arms hanging around his neck, The King covered her hands with one of his own. Jules rested her head on his shoulder so she could see him better.

”What are you doing here all alone, papa?” Jules asked.

“I wasn’t planning on staying here for long. I simply needed time alone,” the King replied.

“Oh… would you like me to leave?”

“No.”

The King sighed, his original plan of being by himself was seemingly thrown to the side. Jules slowly let go of him, allowing herself to drop to the sand. She walked around and sat next to her father, looking off across the lake with him. The King’s head-fin was in her hands all the while.

“Why do you want to be alone?” Jules asked, “Mama may be wondering where you are.”

“You shouldn’t worry about me and your mother, Jules,” the King reassured her. “Sometimes, we simply need a little bit of quiet.”

”It’s the chasm, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”

That made the King turn and face her, who turned to meet his gaze with a look of pondering.

”The situation regarding the chasm is under control, Jules.” His tone was rough, like he was asked this too many times, which made Jules tilt her head. “You have no reason to worry.”

“I know — I know that,” Jules said, “You keep saying that to me.”

Deragenes was about to speak, but stopped himself. She was right, he did lose count of how many times he felt the need to reassure Jules that there was nothing to worry about. He brought her up in a world of comfort and safety. If anything were to come for her, they’d have to go through him first. Seeing how Jules may have taken it for granted irritated Deragenes in a way that silenced him. He looked back at his daughter who, this whole time, kept her little gaze on him while she fiddled with his tail. His face softened in turn, as did his voice.

“My little opal,” Deragenes said quietly, “are you scared?”

The nickname she coined by her mother, it made the corner of her mouth curl into a shy smile.

“A little bit. Just a little bit.” Jules replied. “The earthquake was honestly the scariest part of it. I never felt anything like it! But I know that I will be okay because I have you and mama.”

“That is true,” said Deragenes, “Times are… uncertain, but no matter what happens, I will not let anything happen to you. I promise you that.”

Jules gave her father a smile while hugging his head-tail. Deragenes rested his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it softly.

“We will come to a solution soon, Jules. Regardless of what may happen, our home will remain safe,” he assured her.

“I know, papa. I know,” Jules replied, “but what about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you scared, papa?”

“Am I scared?” 

Deragenes sounded boastful, like he was asked the question in satire. He gazed down at Jules who, to his surprise, was waiting for an answer, a real answer.

“Yeah,” Jules began, “You always worry about my well-being, but you rarely ever talk about yours. Never have! I don’t even hear much about you from mama.”

Jules continued to emphasize his lack of communication regarding his own welfare. Deraganes was listening, but he was also thinking about life within Nox prior to the earthquake. He remembers waking up, living life, ruling the domain, and going to sleep all in the silence of their cave home. It was something he, as well as many others, became accustomed to. His attempts to reminisce the days before were blocked by the memory of the chasm opening. The ground shook, rocks fell, the domain lights flickered frantickly, He remembered hugging Zaeliphe and Jules, shielding them both from falling rocks. The scar on his back began to sting.

“So?” Jules snapped him out of his daydream, “are you scared?”

Deragenes looked forward, concentrating on the cave worms flickering on the cave ceiling so as to take his mind off the scar.

“I’m terrified,” he shakily admitted, “there is so much… changing about our home and its future.”

Jules’s expression fell. Seeing her father empty his heart in front of her wasn’t something she was used to. He was really good at hiding his emotions. Even when he suffered the scar during the earthquake, she vividly remembered how he brushed it off for a while. So, it took her by surprise to see him do something that she would have never expected of him: admitting to weakness.

“But I do not let that deter me because, no matter how dark it may get…” 

Deragenes raised both of his hands and clapped them together. The sharp sound echoed off the cave. In response, all of the cave worms hid their lights, leaving Deragenes and Jules in the dark. He heard Jules gasp in shock at the dark.

“...we’ll pull ourselves back into the light… together.” Once he said that, one by one, the cave worms showed themselves again. Soon enough, the cave was illuminated again. Jules gazed in awe at the beautiful lights flickering like the stars she was told stories about. Her eyes were filled with wonder, emphasized by the point he made.

“My little opal,” he began, “I believe it is time that Nox expands beyond its cave.”

The news struck Jules like lightning. Her eyes lit up, she hopped up on her feet, her glowing angler emitted a bright cyan.

“Expanding!?” Jules exclaimed, “You mean we’re finally going to find other domains?!”

Her excited yelling echoed off the walls, causing the cave worms to hush their lights in response. Deragenes lightly held her hand to calm her down, pulling her to sit back down next to him.

“Not at this moment, Jules, but it is clear to me that we cannot continue to embrace our solitude forever. The Nox Domain can only continue to thrive when our security is ensured, and we cannot achieve that while remaining in the deep forever.”

Deragenes turned to look at Jules who, as opposed to just a moment ago, was smiling brightly. Her fangs were on full display for her father, those deadly sharp razors that have become the symbol of a Nox zora.

“You said the word finally just a moment ago,” Deragenes said, “were you dreaming of this day, Jules?”

“I was, I was!” Jules said, “I heard stories of other domains, I always dreamt of seeing them myself. I.. can’t believe that dream is coming true!”

“Soon enough, my little opal.” Deragenes patted her head, making her angler glow a soft blue. “Eventually, Nox must make their first contact with neighboring domains, and…”

He stopped before standing up and getting on one knee before Jules. Both of his hands rested on her shoulders asn they made eye contact.

“I wish for their first contact with us to be you, my daughter.”

He could see the thoughts bouncing around her little head like frightened fish. Jules’s eye shifted between looking at him and staring off into space.

“You want me to meet the new domains first? Me?!” Jules asked him.

“Yes,” he answered.

“I’m going to meet our neighboring domains?!”

“Yes.”

“And forge alliances with them?!”

“Yes.”

“But…” Jules stuttered, “why me? Why me?! What about you, or mama?”

“Because, Jules,” Deragenes spoke softly, “a first impression can either build a healthy alliance or bring it to rubble. When they see you, a passionate, beautiful, smart, and caring member of the Nox Domain, they will see that an alliance with us will bring that same beauty to them. So… Do you accept?”

“Papa,” Jules whispered with teary eyes, “Yes, I will accept the role of representing our beautiful domain. I will. I will!”

He reveled in the glee emitting off his daughter. She jumped at him to embrace him, which he gladly hugged her back. This was the most that, to Jules’s knowledge, her father fully embraced her since the earthquake. The yells of excitement died down, allowing the cave worms to dance once again.

“It’s only a matter of time, my little opal.”

END

[its-sixxers]

abeyance

(sorting through old docs, have a prelude to a half light sort-of sequel starring viola the tremere and allusions to a 70s new york fic i might write eventually)

tremere oc x mercurio, blood bond angst

—

Los Angeles was a lost cause. Venture Tower burned, and Viola could see the glow of flame against the navy sky through the chantry window.

A muscle in her throat constricted. Her eyes felt dry, itched, and something between her ribs ached.

After thirty years apart they were reunited in the city of angels. Never to exchange words, to make reunion as painful as separation. Once they had been friends, one they had been each other’s sole confidant, the only one to be trusted. A chasm greater than time spanned between them, greater than regnant.

Life no longer hummed through her veins. He was yet a servant. When she looked at him she could see the color in his cheeks, his nose, his ears, the red in his knuckles, and it reawakened a hunger she’d long tried to forget, long thought she’d smothered. It reawakened twisted, a predator wishing to hunt and kill and consume, and she’d thought it was for the best that their paths crossed rarely and in places where they could not speak.

Until the sky burned, his regnant dead, and his life destined for the ashes if it had not already joined it.

Six months later she stood in the San Diego chantry, a pitiful small thing near the sea, Strauss at his desk across from her and looking no less imposing despite their diminished circumstances.

“I was informed a week ago that the Camarilla is sending an Archon here.” The regent explained. “To help Prince Tierney maintain control over the city, officially - an embarrassment to her, to be sure.”

“Unofficially?” Viola inquired, though she couldn’t give life to her voice. It was flat, hollow, numb - and Strauss was not impressed.

“The events in Los Angeles were disturbing. Confusing. By all accounts the Anarchs had no chance of success. The fledgling was their catalyst, of course, but she had no right to her achievements at her age. I met the poor creature.” Strauss frowned deeply. “There have been isolated reports of increases in blood potency through the ages, and each have been treated with utmost gravity by the Camarilla. This is one of such cases.”

Viola remained silent, her question unasked but obvious. Strauss was telling her this for a reason.

“I have met the poor creature,” Strauss repeated. “But I knew her little. Those with greater familiarity are our enemy. LaCroix for all of his faults would enlighten us. Unfortunate. However,” he rose from his desk and walked past her, pushing open the door to his office and gesturing for her to follow him. “The Nosferatu were willing to cut a deal.”

Strauss led her through the chantry, a crumbling abandoned mission church by the seaside that had been layered with enchantment upon enchantment. Through the halls, floors of sun baked ceramic, down into the cellar; converted to cells. Viola’s curiosity managed to burn through the fog of her apathy, the dimmest glimmer of flame. The infamous Red Nosferatu was dead, the fledgling who’d seized Los Angeles by the throat and had brought an Archon to the New World to see how she’d done so - and yet a part of Viola hoped she had been brought to the very cells they passed by. A part of her burned with envy, wishing she could grasp such power and break her chains so easily.

Instead Strauss stopped by the final cell, next to a rotting wooden rack that had once held wine barrels. A figure was curled in the corner of the cell, in the darkness; hair graying and limbs bony. The faint scent of cologne, cigarettes, and gun polish met her nostrils, sparking familiarity in her memory.

Not the infamous fledgling - but someone back from the dead, nevertheless.

“Mercurio.” she breathed. He flinched, raised his head to meet her gaze - there were deep lines set in his face, he looked fifteen years older and exhausted. Viola’s chest grew tight, and reflexively she wrapped her hand around the bars of the cell. Mercurio dropped his gaze back to his feet. Terror lanced through her at the realization he hadn’t been fed in some time - perhaps not since LaCroix’s death.

In only a few years she’d be seventy. Which meant he’d - not die, exactly, but -

“The Prince’s ghoul.” Strauss affirmed, cutting off her panicked thoughts. “The next best thing. It’s my understanding he was somewhat close with the fledgling. I recall the two of you having great success in New York when you worked together. I hope your knowledge will fill in the blanks where he lacks it, and the Archon will leave satisfied.”

The unsaid was obvious. If unsatisfied, it was likely both she and Mercurio would be dragged back to Europe, minds subjected to all the techniques the Camarilla had at their disposal to ferret out the truth. Viola was a sacrificial lamb. It was a hazard of the job, after all.

“How long has he been starved?” she inquired quietly, keeping her tone aloof and uninterested. Strauss knew they’d worked together, but he could never know how closely - even if it was only ever one sided, a flame too dim to shine across the abyss of separate regnants.

“Long enough for entropy to resume.” Strauss said dryly. “Perhaps the anarchs grew tired of feeding him - or he was unable to scavenge what dregs he could.”

Viola could have lied - could have said he would be dead soon if it was allowed to continue, soon to be useless to any interrogator - but Strauss was not one to remain ignorant of those enjoying his hospitality, prisoner or guest. All she could do was stare at his hunched form.

“In order to expedite the task that lies ahead of you, he is yours.” The regent continued. “Consider him a reward for your work in Los Angeles with the fledgling’s sire. If he survives the Archon’s questions, he’ll serve you as well as he did LaCroix. Admirably, from my understanding - a pity for the Prince that he wasn’t there to help on that final night.”

LaCroix was dead. Perhaps it was a threat - a mockery - but Viola knew Mercurio better than Strauss would ever guess.

Hers. It made nausea roll in her gut. Her ghoul, and all that implied.

At least he would be fed, she reassured herself.

“The Archon is expected within the fortnight.” Strauss advised. “Ensure you’re ready to answer his questions by then. I’ve business to attend to; I trust you can handle him.”

Viola nodded - it wasn’t a question, but she answered nevertheless. Strauss’ footsteps echoed against the cobblestone of the cellar. She waited until they crested the stairs before she passed her hand over the door lock, willing her heart to beat.

The echo of blood unlocked it, and she drew open the cell. Mercurio did not move from where he was huddled, not even when she knelt in front of him.

Words stuck in her throat, her tongue heavy when she opened her mouth. To her shame a low whine escaped her - a whimper, at how matters were never in their control, how it had all come to this - how their continued existence was about to rely on a betrayal, an abomination, and worst of all it might only buy them a few more weeks.

The city of angels was lost, and the failure lay heavy upon their shoulders.

“Do I leave you?” she whispered to him in the dark. “I can’t imagine the hunger, but if this is what you want -”

Mercurio lifted his head again, silencing her, his blue eyes nearly glimmering in the gloom. Far too pretty for him, for the man they belonged to; doubly so now that time was enacting its revenge upon his body.

“No.” he spoke after a beat of silence, his voice hoarse.

“You know what it’ll do.” Viola continued nevertheless, her own voice cracking. They both had been ghouls, they knew what it did - how one could never quite be themselves again, always aware of the boot on their neck. After the death of her sire she’d been free - as free as a childe of Tremere ever could be - but he’d been shackled long after she.

Until then - until he sat hunched in the cell, what youthful charm he had fading fast.

Viola peeled off her gloves, pressed the thumb of her left hand to her right wrist, let her nail bite into the flesh. Deliberately she drew a thin line, her blood a darkened and thick plum in color rather than the crimson of a mortal, stark against her ashen skin.

Mercurio’s pupils blew wide at the sight, the gleaming blue of his iris now a thin line. He sat up straight, leaned forward, licked his lips - he was salivating, and if her heart still beat it would have quickened its pace.

Instead she lifted her wrist to his face, and his hands wrapped around her arm. They were hot, even after a stay in the cell, and his mouth was hotter, tongue pressed to the wound in her skin, burning, heat crawling up her veins as he fed from her. Some primal instinct urged her to bat him away, to crush his cheekbone against the back of her knuckles for his presumption, but instead she remained still.

The lines in his face softened, some of the damage of the ages reversed - when there was nothing more to be done she withdrew her arm, even as he still clung to it. Viola laved her own tongue over the cut, tasting him against her skin. Bittersweet.

Once upon a time she’d imagined herself kissing him, tasting him upon her tongue in a much different context. It’d been a source of no small amount of shame, for there was no hope of reciprocation - and now, with him shuddering from a new source of vitae in his veins the shame colored a shade darker.

How long had she hoped for the Embrace, how naively she’d thought it would improve her station. Ever since had been failure after failure, isolation after isolation, all in her living death tainted and twisted.

Mercurio’s hands had fallen to her knees, his gaze fixed hungrily on her lips. How she’d wanted him to look at her the way he did then, on the edge of manic, some shade of the desperate madness she’d once felt. Forbidden, taboo.

Now she was certain he’d do whatever she asked, sate each fantasy she’d ever felt - but those blooms were blackened husks now, and she had no desire to turn them into nightshade.

Instead she stood, walked back to the cell door to take her leave.

Mercurio gripped her ankle, giving her pause. She thought he’d ask her for more blood, but instead he managed to speak three words into the damp air, vocal cords rejuvenated by her vitae.

“I missed you.”

Viola lowered her head and closed her eyes for a moment. Oh, she wanted to believe him, but she knew what it was to have a regnant feet from her, how one wanted to say anything in hopes of a scrap of approval, mind crude and not one’s own.

“I’ll lead you to my room.” she said flatly, desperately trying to ignore how he seemed to hang on her every word. Mercurio was never a sycophantic ghoul, always aloof and reserved in his way - but she knew him well enough to know what it took to make him straight backed, to make him reach out, to hold onto something. “No doubt Strauss has work for me, so I won’t be around much, but you’ll have your hands busy with research.”

It didn’t take long for Mercurio to understand - he was always smarter than anyone gave him credit for. With a groan he clambered to his feet, joints most assuredly stiff from his time in captivity - though the vitae in his veins meant that wouldn’t be a reality for much longer.

She tried to ignore how he eyed her as she pulled the cell door open, how acutely aware he appeared to be of her. Before they left the cellar he stopped her again - this time with a simple brush of his fingers against the back of her arm.

“Are you upset?” he asked, so bluntly she felt as if she’d been slapped.

“No.” she answered, equally bluntly. “Why?”

“I never came with you.”

New York burning, just like Venture Tower. He chose the ashes over her to twice, bonds of blood stronger than anything their experience together could create. She could never blame him - and felt some bitterness to know that in the end it didn’t matter either way.

He was tied to her now, and would never be the man she’d grown to care for again so long as he was. A catch 22, his life her responsibility and the very duty ensuring things would never be the same.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” she said quietly, and he did not argue with her.

Against all hope, she still hoped they’d survive the Archon, for anything was better than the void. Even a poor parody of briefest happiness.

[jmscornerlibrary]

Set Me Free - Chapter Two

Chapter Two - In which Henrietta Knott finds Laufeyson near death in a park.

(Set Me Free continued - Chapter One is on my blog. Have fun reading!)

Many years had passed from the moment in which a friendship had bloomed between the young Henrietta Knott and Loki Laufeyson, who was no longer the king of Asgard or, in fact, its prince.

Actually, it was long enough for everybody to forget the damage done to New York City, save perhaps a few areas in which the Invasion had thoroughly destroyed. Safety was once again tangible. You could hear peace in the areas which were not reached by the hum of cars and vehicles constantly on the road and forget that any sort of danger existed as you cracked eggs in the morning or watched TV in the evening.

In one of these peaceful areas, in which the hum of the traffic could be forgotten about during a still day, there was a large park which was used by folk who did not own land as a quiet area to walk in. The grass bloomed, viridescent even beneath the shadows of the trees, spattered with daisies and dandelions, for it was spring and quite a warm one.

It was six AM, and so it was quite empty, save an elderly man walking his dog along a route which had become engraved in his cognition and muscle memory, for he had walked there for the past sixty-five years. He hummed to himself, glad that it wasn’t raining, wore an old coat, a cap on his balding head and a friendly expression which came from a softened heart.

“Come, Bradley,” he urged his dog on without haste, as it paused to examine a particularly beguiling gathering of weeds. “Let’s go and sit down on that bench, why don’t we.”

He did so. Bradley sniffed at the bench, making sure that it didn’t pose a threat, then contented himself with sitting under the one his master sat on, whilst his master - Jack was his name - watched the world go by in quiet.

It truly was a beautiful day. Even the wind hadn’t come visiting and the foliage seemed to be a painting, still, as a result, no breeze tangled between the leaves.

Or at least it seemed that way, for a wind half the strength of a hurricane suddenly whipped up and snatched Jack’s hat off his head.

He frowned and stood up to reclaim it, but it was too late - it disappeared at the same moment as a crack sounded, the sky darkened, and a chasm outlined with green light opened in the vicinity right in front of him.

Nothing could have prepared him for this sight, not his voyages with the navy in his youth, not even his science-fiction books and comics he so avidly collected as a young man. The vicinity turned near to black, so that Jack had to squint then shield his eyes and gasp as green lightning appeared, spitting sparks at unsuspecting bushes and parts of the path. Bradley barked madly, cowering beneath the bench. A nearby bin was knocked over and its rubbish began to skitter over the ground frantically. Sparks flashed. Jack’s heart nearly stopped, but the chasm grew wider, then stilled.

It spat out a man onto the path. He rolled a few metres, mangled and broken, chains trailing off him, then became still as the chasm simply vanished out of existence.

Jack clutched at his chest, bent over, gasping. This must have been sorcery. No, of course not, there was no such thing. This must have been a fluctuation of… something. Though now it was gone! The only evidence of anything of the sort had happened was Jack’s missing hat, the skittering rubbish and, of course, the broken figure lying like a ragdoll on the ground a few metres to his right.

It didn’t move. Jack did. 

“Good heavens… good heavens.” 

He regained his breath and enough strength to stand, whilst Bradley thoroughly abused his ears with mad barking. 

“Shush, Bradley!” Jack flapped his hands at his dog and moved towards the stranger. “Shush!”

When he reached the man, his heart gave a funny flip and he felt as though he might topple over.

“Good grief,” he went on breathlessly as he bent down. “Good grief!”

There was black liquid stuck to this man’s shirt in great clumps and snatched strands of his ink-black hair together at his neck. If Jack didn’t know better, he would have thought it was blood, but it was far too black in colour to be blood. 

Jack bent down and squinted, then touched the metal clamp around the man's neck just to be sure - yes. There was a golden shackle on his neck, to which three chains were still attached. And one on his wrists… and his ankles too… his feet were bare and looked as though they had been badly treated. They were burned and blistered, as though they had been doused with flaming gas.

“Gosh,” he breathed. “By jove, what is this?”

He moved to his other side, the side towards which his face was turned towards, and wished he hadn’t. His hair stood up in horror.

“His lips!” he cried, covering his mouth. “By jove, his lips-!”

The man’s lips were sewn together with crude, thick thread gleaming black, distorting his skin and making him look like something Victor Frankenstein was capable of creating.

“Oh, no-!” he blundered, shaking his head. “Oh no-!” Then, voice came and shattered some of his shock:

“Is everything alright, Sir?”

*

Henrietta Knott thought she had imagined something, when she saw a black mist descending in her peripheral vision, quite a distance away from where she was walking along the dirt path in the park. But she hadn’t; green sparks had followed, anguished and cruel, spattering and striking the bushes and ground in their uncontrollable outburst.

It disappeared as quickly as it had come, however, and so she tried to match its haste in her step, because for Henrietta Knott, green sparks could only mean one thing. And it was nothing good.

She hurried on, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. If it was him, it was a miracle. A miracle that she had been so close to catch it happening. Heaven knew what would happen if she had chosen to get up an hour later - perhaps she would have found a swarm of reporters about him. She shivered to think what would have followed if she had.

Henrietta almost missed the location, but she heard an exclamation and turned to see a man losing his mind over something which looked like a casualty in a particularly horrible dungeon massacre and hurried over. 

“Is everything alright, Sir?” she called to the elderly man, who obviously had no idea what it was he just witnessed - not that she did either, really - and was tearing the little hair on his head he had left. “Did you see what happened?”

“He just-!” He gestured at the man lying on the floor. “He just fell out of a lightning spark!”

“A lightning spark? Oh…”

She stopped a few metres away from them, her mind whirring as she looked at the being’s ink-black hair and felt her heart both sinking and soaring at the same time. It was him! Oh, Odin. It was him…

Nobody could find out he had returned, she thought. This had to remain hidden, concealed. Nobody should know, and especially nobody with anything to do with the authorities.

Henrietta left her lip alone and straightened, settling on the safest scheme, which was still a huge shot outside the boundaries of credibility but the safest one, nevertheless.

“I am terribly, terribly sorry…” She wrung her hands to make her point. “But that is my brother.”

The elderly man looked flabbergasted, then opened his mouth in horror.

“Oh, dear, that is terrible.” He brought a shaking hand up to his temple and pressed the base of his hand to his forehead. “I think he might be dead!”

“No, no.” She shook her head and smiled sheepishly. “No, definitely not. He’s completely fine. He’s an actor, actually.”

Well, she wasn’t exactly lying. She had witnessed just how many different people he could become if he wanted to, with stunning credibility too. 

The elderly man looked at her incredulously. 

“An actor?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “He uses a lot of special effects and advanced make-up. And he must have chosen this location to practise… Oh, I’m sorry that he gave you such a terrible fright.”

The man looked down at the corpse-like body to his left, then back at her. Henrietta tried to ignore her racing thoughts and heart at the way he seemed to be dead and stick to her role, though she had to swallow a few times before smiling.

“He won’t move even if you prod him,” she said slightly desperately. “He gets so into character… he’s a bit of a fanatic. Don’t you, Lucas?”

The man on the floor, of course, stayed still. She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“I’m awfully sorry for the inconvenience,” she pressed, approaching the man on the floor and putting her hands on her hips as she surveyed him, then looked up. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, Sir?”

The elderly fellow got up slowly, dusted his trousers, then chuckled.

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary, young lady…” He moved a few paces away, then glanced down at the figure again and chuckled again. “Quite clever, this whole act.”

Henrietta nearly shut her eyes with relief. She watched with a heavy smile as the man took his hat from his dog, placed it on his head and took up its lead with a smile.

“Quite amazing indeed,” he said with a nod. “It’s a wonder what young people can get up to nowadays.”

Henrietta briefly considered what would happen if this elderly man knew that the being on the floor was at least twenty times his own age. He definitely wouldn’t believe it.

He chuckled again. “Hopefully, I’ll see him on TV. He deserves to be on it, with such talent.”

“I thank you on his behalf, Sir. He appreciates it.” She smiled, hiding her clenched fists behind her back. “Have a good rest of your day. I’ll deal with him.”

She watched the man totter off until he was completely out of sight, then turned and threw herself beside the man on the floor. Heavens, she cursed his name at least three times since the last time she saw him, in the dead of night when it was particularly silent, empty and dark, but she didn’t want him dead or injured beyond repair, which he looked as he lay motionless on the floor.

Looking at Henrietta, quite a lot had changed about her since she first met the god of mischief. She was twenty-two, no longer a small girl, and that fact was clear; her lips had blushed over the years, turning as red as blood roses and her black hair hadn’t been cut since she was twelve, now piled up on her head in an updo which had taken quite some time to perfect. 

“Odinson,” she hissed frantically, turning him over, knocked out of her proud posture and pragmatic approach by this incident. “Odinson, wake up. Can you hear me?”

He slumped onto his back. His front was in the same state his back was - the cotton shirt was plastered unevenly to his torso, glued to it with dried black. Heavy chains trailed off the shackles and the metal choker around his neck. His skin was pale and clammy, his eyes were sunken and rimmed with a black which bordered with purple, and his face... Oh, dear heavens, his face.

Henrietta stared at his lips, blinking back tears, her own lips parted like his couldn’t be anytime soon, because they were sewn together with metallic wire, scrunching up his skin and making his face seem narrow; sealing his words, his gift of speaking inside him, leaving him to speak with his eyes which did not open.

Henrietta broke out of her trance and slapped him across the face. Her chest heaved up and down as she went stock-still, searching for any sort of reaction. 

Nothing happened for a few moments, but then his eyes flickered open. Just enough to detect, at first, then halfway up, revealing washes of colour, though they didn’t move. They were blank. The blue was no longer like animated glaciers. In fact, they looked too dull to ever move again and his whites were grey.

But they had moved. He was alive.

Henrietta breathed out a sigh, clutching his shirt, feeling as though something invisible was pushing her down towards the ground as she swayed with relief.

“Can you hear me?” she whispered, then raised her voice. “Can you hear me? Blink if you can hear me.”

His eyes stayed still and glassy.

She brushed his matted hair out of his face, patting his cheeks. No reaction. Perhaps she ought to smack him again…

“Odinson, I can’t carry you,” she said, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “We need to get out of here. Please answer.”

She took his shoulder hesitantly, the last thing she wanted to make an injury worse, then shook it gently. She patted the being’s shoulder. The Asgardian’s shoulder. The chains clinked as she stirred him, but he didn’t react. 

She bit on her lip, thinking, then pulled out her phone and dialled a number, but it went to voicemail. She tried again, then again. He must have been asleep and in any other circumstances she wouldn’t have woken him up, but this was an emergency. The third call was successful.

His voice was hoarse and heavy like eyelids at midnight. “Hello…?”

“Hello, Filip?” Hattie spoke, her voice light with relief. “It’s Henrietta… Are you awake?”

“I am now,” the reply sounded. “What’s the matter?”

He sounded slightly disgruntled, but Henrietta didn’t blame him. After all, it wasn’t yet seven and the doctor, a friend she met when Uncle Haldanson hosted a particularly secluded gathering for other beings not from this world quite a few years back, worked night shifts.

��There’s an emergency,” she said, looking down at the crumpled man beside her. “Someone is probably dying…”

There was a pause.

“What?” “It’s…” She bit her lip and shut her eyes. “It’s my friend. He’s passed out in a park and he’s bleeding, his legs look broken, and he’s from Asgard, so I can’t just call an ambulance-”

“Right, right.” Filip sounded much more awake now. “Where are you? Is he breathing?”

She splayed a hand on Odinson’s chest and felt it rising and falling faintly beneath her hand. “I think so, but it’s definitely not firm. And I’m in the park. You know the one next to my house? Near the benches. The ones your father accidentally bent, remember?”

“I’m on my way. Give me five.”

The call ended and Hattie put her phone away. She looked down at Odinson, looking very much like he wouldn’t last much longer. And though she had spent years crying bitter tears of anger at him and thinking of all the sharp and accusing things she would say to him if she ever met him again, she didn’t want him dead, nor hurt, nor anything for him which would have made him look like this. He used to be her guardian, before his memory became a heavy shadow looming over her future and past and became ingrained as rubble hundreds of names upon death certificates.

“You need to hold on,” she told him firmly, glaring at him, then bit back a sob and gently rested her head against his chest, remembering the times when she could plunge her head into his coat and feel him throbbing with laughter and so alive, her own chest light and her laughter carefree. But now, his heart did not beat as though there was nothing which could bring it down. Now it sounded like it was fighting for movement. It sounded like the dwindling beat of a war drummer who had just watched his king fall from his horse and not get back up again.

Filip Greer arrived at a run. His dirty blonde hair was dishevelled and falling around his forehead, his blue eyes wide from anticipation and his clothes crumpled over his developed form. He skidded to a halt a few steps away then threw himself down on his knees beside them.

His eyes widened still when he saw Laufeyson’s lips.

“Odin,” he breathed, stilling. “What in Hel happened to him?”

“No idea,” she replied, her voice slightly more controlled now that she wasn’t alone. “I found him like this.”

“Right, alright. Let's check a few things…”

Henrietta watched Filip muttering to himself under his breath as he splayed his hands over Odinson’s body, his eyes lighting up golden as he moved them and checked for injury. 

“His lower ribs are definitely damaged,” he said louder, when his hands passed over Odinson’s middle. “But there’s no danger of them sticking into his lungs. He should be breathing fine.”

Henrietta nodded weakly. “Thank the heavens. What about his legs?”

“One’s broken, the other’s a dislocated knee. Nothing too bad, not for this healer.” He gave an absent smile and kept at his examination, then grew solemn and almost fearful as he passed his hands over his abdomen and upper chest. “Odin…”

“What is it?” Henrietta whispered, watching carefully.

“His whole body’s on the verge of collapse,” Filip replied. “Such fatigue I’ve not seen… Well, ever. He’s been… tortured.”

Filip’s hands passed over Loki Odinson’s head. “This seems fine, finest, at least physically. Good. The rest we can deal with. Head injuries are always the most complex.”

Henrietta watched wordlessly as the god of mischief’s legs were put back together, then as his right arm was too. Filip moulded his lower ribs back together, then peeled up his shirt and frowned.

“I need to clean these before I knit them together,” he muttered, then his eyes returned to their normal, blue colour. “Let’s take him to my house.”

“No,” she replied almost too quickly. Filip didn’t know who this was, and Henrietta didn’t know for certain how he would react if he realised that he was tending to Loki Laufeyson, the fallen prince of Asgard, who had previously blown apart streets and gave speeches about the human race being inferior. “No. Let’s take him to my house. You’ve got children, Filip. You’ll terrify them if they see you taking in a man in this state.”

He paused, thinking, then nodded. “Let’s do that, then. I can carry him, he doesn’t look heavy, does he… He’s all skin and bone.”

He is, Henrietta agreed internally. When Filip had lifted Loki’s shirt, there had been a cave beneath his ribs where his stomach should have been and each bone could be counted. Not to mention how his neck looked beneath the metal choker - the veins were almost black his collarbones didn’t look as though they could uphold his head without creaking with strain.

“He needs to eat something as soon as possible,” Filip said with his brows low over his eyes as he picked Laufeyson up and slung him over his shoulder. “I don’t want to say anything too soon, but…”

He hesitated as they walked.

“What?” Henrietta asked. “Please tell me, Filip. I want to know.”

“Well, it looks like Asgardian steel,” he said with his voice low, as though the tragedy of the situation could be lessened with the strength of his vocal chords. “And you know what cuts Asgardian  steel, don’t you?”

Henrietta felt her shoulders sinking. “Odin’s Quarts,” she whispered. “Good grief… Where are we going to get that from?”

They were silent until they got to Filip’s truck. Loki was placed vertically across the joined seat and Henrietta sat beside him, hesitantly securing his head on her knees.

The engine sputtered into life and they began to pull from the parking lot. Filip spoke when they got out onto the streets. 

“I may know a blacksmith.”

Henrietta brought her gaze up from Loki Odinson’s sunken eyes to the rearview mirror. Filip nodded.

“I don’t know where he is now, but he works with a lot of… you know, black market stuff. For fun. He may have some Odin’s Quarts.”

Henrietta pursed her lips. “He can’t know what we need it for.”

“No?” Filip said after a pause, studying her in the mirror. “Why’s that?”

Henrietta didn’t answer.

“I know this may seem like the wrong moment to ask, but… who is this friend of yours, exactly?”

Henrietta kept her eyes on Loki, trailing them over his resigned face.

“His name is Layden,” she lied smoothly, after a moment of consideration, her eyes still down. “He was a guard. Quite high up in Odin’s personal cohort… He has quite a volatile character, which is why I imagine he was imprisoned. If he was imprisoned by Odin’s forces, that is. I don’t know what goes on in Asgard. For what we know, he could have been imprisoned by an enemy force.”

She kept inventing smoothly as they reached the dirt track leading down to the Haldanson villa and the small, circular court preceding it.

“He was the son of Mister Anderson’s friend. You know, the tax evader. And I think it's better if as few people as possible know his business… I don’t think he’d be happy with everybody knowing his business. Especially, you know…”

She nodded her head to the left, to where the god of mischief’s shirt was thick with his blood.

“Ah, right.”

“I’ve not seen him for years, since he went back to Asgard,” she muttered, remembering exactly why he had vanished without trace and her uncle did, too. “It’s a good thing I came across him.”

Filip gave an easy laugh as he switched off the engine, which meant he believed her. After all, why would he not? As far as he was concerned, she had no reason to lie.

A few moments later, Loki was slumped over Filip’s broad shoulder again and carried up the crumbling, stone stairs to the front door. Hattie produced an old, elaborate key and slotted it into its rusting keyhole.

“You really ought to get servants in here,” Filip muttered as the old oaken door swung open and they were hit with the smell of dust and old things. “You know. It would fit the whole forever stuck in the 19th century vibe.”

She smiled, though she didn’t feel very much like doing so. “Uncle Haldanson loved the 19th century,” she answered. “And he didn’t believe in servants in the house, he didn’t want anybody prying into business which wasn’t theirs… quoting him. He never trusted anybody. You know, he always used to say that the only person you can ever rely on is yourself.”

She shut the door behind them and locked it, then slipped the key back into her dress pocket. 

“And unfortunately, I’ve come quite close to believing him, recently.”

The old, mahogany furniture greeted them, as did the small chandelier in the porch and the many tall, wooden coat racks which still had brass swords and spears propped up against them, and iron cannonballs between their legs.

Filip eyed the intricate, mechanised crossbow proudly displayed on the wall above the carved, wooden stairs along with a few wicked-looking arrows and shook his head. “Your uncle didn’t exactly believe in peace, Henrietta.”

“Of course he did,” Hattie replied, this time with a true smile, as she looked at the many photographs arranged on the shelves, of them doing things together over the years: eating ice cream on top of a hill when hiking, teaching Mister Anderson’s nephews how to shoot from a pistol together, Hattie’s first time riding an armoured horse at Uncle Haldanson’s good friend’s paddock, grinning. “The reason we didn’t ever get burgled or any sort of that nonsense was because Uncle was really good at getting his point across.”

“Which was?”

She tittered as they went up the stairs, then directed them to the spare bedroom door. 

“You enter uninvited; your bones will pave the drive.”

“Damn,” Filip shook his head. “That’s one way of getting your point across. Heavens above, that man was-” 

He cut himself off and looked at her, biting his lip. 

“It’s alright,” she said, though with less of a smile as she remembered the man who raised her. “He had a lot of habits which nobody usually does. I suppose he could be called crazy, here. In Asgard, society’s different. That’s where he grew up.”

Filip raised his eyebrows, looking uneasy, then breathed out a sigh through his teeth. “At least now I know why the drive’s so uneven,” he muttered, then waited for Hattie to open the door and carried the god of mischief into the bedroom.

It was far too flowery for current circumstances, and hadn’t been used for months. The sheets and wallpaper were patterned with spring foliage, pretty books slept on the light, oak shelves, and there were primrose, porcelain vases holding dried, forgotten flowers on the drawers and windowsill. Dust hung in the air thickly and turned lively as Henrietta opened the sticky, mullioned windows to let in some air.

“Put him on the bed. Don’t worry about the bedsheets,” she said. “I’ll go and fetch your medical bag.”

“It’s in the back seat,” she heard him call. “And we’ll need a bowl of warm water!”

When this was done, Henrietta stood and watched as Filip cut Odinson’s ruined shirt open and peel it off him, then clean his wounds with a warm, wet, woollen cloth.

“This is from a whip,” he muttered, as he knitted the wounds back together, scowling. “And I won’t even get started on the ones that have healed over.”

Henrietta leaned over him to see what he was talking about and covered her mouth in horror, hissing. 

“These are burn scars,” she whispered. “Odin, look at them.”

They were layered, one on top of the other, rippling in uneven patches on his shoulders, neck; on his sides and up and down his limbs.

“He’s been through something,” Filip muttered, shaking his head, dumbfounded. “His head may not be injured physically, but…”

He pursed his lips as he finished knitting his wounds together, then moved him onto his back, setting the chains clinking.

“...but one would need a will of steel to be alright after what he’s sustained,” he muttered. “Let’s hope he has one. Look at his back.”

The burns continued on the reverse of his torso worse than ever. Henrietta had to look away for a moment, her stomach turning at the blisters which took up great chunks of his skin. There almost wasn’t a patch of undisturbed back.

“This really doesn’t look good,” he said, as he finished cleaning the whip inflictions and knitted them together, his eyes glowing gold as he moved his fingers up the shape of the wound. “We need his lips cut apart as soon as possible. Without food, I don’t see how he’s going to last much longer.”

He stood, dried his hands, then ran one through his unruly hair, blinking. He turned to her.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright with him here?”

She smiled at him and nodded. “Yes, of course. I trust him,” she lied. “He wouldn’t do anything to displease me.”

She wasn’t sure about the latter. If she hadn’t seen him killing, if she hadn’t narrowly avoided an explosion from his hand while he laughed with sadistic glee, perhaps she wouldn’t have doubted. But she did, and now, she didn’t know what to think. She needed time to think.

“I’ll go and call Jorgen… you know, the blacksmith I told you about. Yes,” he said, when she opened his mouth, “I won’t tell him what it's for. But…”

He looked sheepish. “I really doubt he’ll give it to use for free.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she said firmly. “My uncle lived in this dimension for over two hundred years. In this mansion, if I may add. If there’s something I have, you know. It’s money.”

“Glad to hear that,” he said in half a whisper, then picked up his bag and nodded. “Call me as soon as he wakes up. I’d stay, but… I need to crash.”

“Yes, you do that,” she urged him, standing. “I’ll make sure he’s alright. Thanks again.”

Filip left, leaving her alone with the man which had torn her heart in two without knowing. Or perhaps he knew? Perhaps he didn’t care? He was the god of lies and deceit. He created tales and lies like an artisan cloth-weaver, his eyes were sharp with genius. He could easily fool her.

And Hattie would have believed herself, convinced herself, if she hadn’t seen him hide the vast chasms of sorrow under a mask of laughter and glee when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Loki Laufeyson stirred, heaving in a sharp breath and letting it loose again, his bare chest moving up and down, then grew still. 

Henrietta mirrored his sigh. “Oh, Loki of Asgard,” she breathed, looking at his gaunt form. “Whatever have you gotten us all into?”

He didn’t reply, sleeping without dreams, his face restless though still.

Henrietta looked away. She clenched her fists, willing herself to be understanding, tolerant, patient, forget the death and destruction he sowed while laughing, and went to see if she had any clothes that he could wear while he was here.

[newstfionline]

Thursday, October 3, 2024

Helene death toll now at least 166 (AP) President Joe Biden will survey the devastation in North and South Carolina on Wednesday as rescuers continue their search for anyone still unaccounted for after Hurricane Helene caused catastrophic damage across the Southeast and killed at least 166 people. Many residents in both states were still without running water, cellular service and electricity as floodwaters receded and revealed more of the death and destruction left in Helene’s path. Helene, one of the deadliest storms in recent U.S. history, knocked out power and cellular service for millions. More than 1.2 million customers still were in the dark early Wednesday in the Carolinas and Georgia. Some residents cooked food on charcoal grills or hiked to high ground in the hopes of finding a signal to let loved ones know they are alive.

Russian fighter jet flew within feet of US F-16 near Alaska (AP) On Monday, Pentagon officials released footage of a Russian fighter jet flying dangerously close to a U.S. F-16 jet. The footage, according to the Pentagon, was recorded on September 23 in U.S. airspace over Alaska. The game of giant metal aerial chicken took place just a few weeks after the Russian and Chinese militaries conducted joint drills in the Arctic near Alaska. Those drills involved multiple fighter planes and bombers from both militaries, as well as fleets of their navy vessels.

As Israel escalates in Lebanon, U.S. influence is limited (Washington Post) First Israel ignored a U.S.-led effort to impose a cease-fire in its escalating war against Hezbollah. Then it killed the militant movement’s leader, Hasan Nasrallah, in a massive attack, taking Washington by surprise. Now, following a weekend scramble to avert a ground invasion of Lebanon, Israel is conducting exactly that, underscoring Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s disregard for the Biden administration’s entreaties and the limits of its influence on his actions. The widening gap between U.S. desires and Israeli behavior has left the administration struggling to adapt its diplomatic efforts to accommodate Netanyahu’s impulses. This chasm between the two allies has become especially pronounced in the days since the White House promised on Wednesday that Israel and Lebanon were about to agree to a cease-fire deal, only to end up a bystander as Netanyahu vowed at the United Nations to wipe out Hezbollah’s ability to threaten Israel for the foreseeable future. With many U.S. officials now embracing Israel’s success as it proceeds, with stunning momentum, to degrade Hezbollah, the events of recent weeks appear to fit a pattern in which the administration urges against specific Israeli actions only to later backtrack so it can avoid imposing conditions on military aid.

Argentine town battles a parrot invasion (Reuters) The town of Hilario Ascasubi near Argentina’s eastern Atlantic coast has a parrot problem. Thousands of the green-yellow-red birds have invaded, driven by deforestation in the surrounding hills, according to biologists. They bite on the town’s electric cables, causing outages, and are driving residents around the bend with their incessant screeching and deposits everywhere of parrot poo. “The hillsides are disappearing, and this is causing them to come closer to the cities to find food, shelter and water,” biologist Daiana Lera said, explaining that much of Argentina’s forest land has been gradually lost over the years. At times, according to locals, there are up to 10 parrots for each of the town’s 5,000 human inhabitants. During the summer, the birds migrate south to the cliffs of Patagonia for the breeding season. Images show hundreds of birds perched along electric cables and on pylons, or silhouetted in the dusk light swarming over buildings and a church, eerily reminiscent of scenes in film director Alfred Hitchcock’s classic 1963 thriller “The Birds.”

Italy and Switzerland to redraw Alpine border due to melting glaciers (Washington Post) Italy and Switzerland are set to redraw part of the mountainous border separating the two countries due to melting glaciers in the Alps. The change, which impacts an approximately 330-foot-long segment of the border, is happening near one of Europe’s most popular skiing destinations, Zermatt, and the iconic Matterhorn mountain. One of the biggest glaciers near Matterhorn, the Theodul Glacier, retreated almost 1,000 feet between 1990 to 2015. The melting, which has been attributed to climate change, revealed new topographical details that raised new questions about the dimensions of the border between the two countries. In 2022, the jurisdiction of a glacial Italian mountain lodge there came under question when melting ice revealed the refuge was actually straddling the border.

Ukraine’s east buckling under improved Russian tactics, superior firepower (Washington Post) Soldiers from Ukrainian units along the front have described improved Russian tactics this summer that combine their advantages into powerful attacks that Ukrainians have struggled to counteract. Enemy troops are storming the battlefields in small teams that minimize detection and make return fire difficult, backed by superior quantities of artillery and drones. Russia has also improved its battlefield communication, helping coordinate attacks. While losses are staggering, Ukrainian soldiers have said, the Russians have the numbers to keep up the pressure and Western aid isn’t making up the equipment deficit. That confluence of factors, combined with Ukraine’s perennial challenge to replenish its combat units and its focus on a large operation inside Russia, has allowed Moscow’s forces to claim territory in the Donetsk region with speed and aggression not seen since the full invasion in 2022. Ukrainian forces have been retreating along dozens of miles of a front line being pushed to its breaking point.

A US bomb from World War II explodes at a Japanese airport (Foreign Policy) What is believed to have been a World War II-era bombshell detonated near a regional airport in southwestern Japan on Wednesday, nearly 80 years after the war ended. The Japan Ground Self-Defense Force stated that the explosive appeared to be a 500-pound U.S. bomb that was likely dropped in an effort to stop Japanese “kamikaze” attacks, as the airport used to be a Japanese navy base from which hundreds of kamikaze pilots took off on their final missions. No injuries were reported in the explosion but nearly 90 flights were canceled, as Miyazaki Airport now must determine how to fix the 23-foot-wide and nearly 3-foot-deep crater in the middle of its taxiway.

Typhoon bringing heavy rain heads toward Taiwan (AP) A typhoon bringing strong winds and torrential rainfall slowly advanced Wednesday toward Taiwan, where thousands of people have been evacuated from vulnerable low-lying or mountainous terrain. At least 93 centimeters (3 feet) of rain has fallen in the coastal Taitung County in the past four days and 29 centimeters (11.4 inches) in the major port city of Kaohsiung ahead of Typhoon Krathon. The typhoon, packing maximum sustained winds near the center of 173 kph (108 mph) and gusts of 209 kph (130 mph), is expected to make landfall early Thursday. Schools and offices have been closed, flights and ferry services canceled and the city mayor has asked the 2.7 million residents to stay indoors. Around 10,000 people have been evacuated from at-risk areas.

Israeli strikes on Lebanon are the most intense and deadly in decades (Washington Post) For 10 days, Israel unleashed a relentless air campaign on Lebanon, striking over 3,600 Hezbollah-linked targets ahead of a ground offensive, according to IDF statements. “Aside from Gaza, this is the most intense aerial campaign that we know of in the last twenty years,” said Emily Tripp, director of Airwars, a British conflict monitor. The strikes have leveled entire residential blocks in south Beirut and devastated Hezbollah’s upper ranks, killing its leader Hasan Nasrallah and political deputy Nabil Kaouk. At least 1,400 people have been killed and 900,000 displaced since Israel accelerated its cross-border campaign (a fifth of the population), according to the Lebanese government. Fifty children died under Israeli bombardment on Monday and Tuesday—the United Nations estimates that’s double the rate of children killed during Lebanon’s 2006 war.

We risk dying from the cold, says displaced man in Beirut (BBC) The Lebanese prime minister said yesterday around a million people have been displaced as Israel's air strikes continue across Lebanon. With emergency shelters in Beirut unable to accommodate all those arriving from the south, many are sleeping by the road, in public squares, or on the beach. "We were forced to leave our villages and homes and come to Beirut, but there are no available houses or schools, all are overcrowded," a man tell our colleagues on BBC Arabic. "If we survive the bombings, we risk dying from the cold weather and diseases. We can't afford medicine should we fall ill. Many suffer on the streets," he adds. Another man says he now lives on the street and does not know what to do: "We left everything behind and arrived here with no clothes or resources." "Apartment rents have skyrocketed beyond our means, leaving us on the streets with our children in the cold winter," another person says. "We are enduring a truly tragic situation.”

As Crisis Builds, Lebanon’s Government Is Nowhere to Be Found (NYT) Even for the Lebanese, it can be hard to say where it all went wrong for their tiny, beautiful country. Certainly it was long before early Tuesday morning, when Israeli troops marched into southern Lebanon. Long before Friday, when Israel assassinated Hassan Nasrallah, the revered and reviled Hezbollah leader who had a chokehold on the country’s politics and security for years.  And long before last October, when Hezbollah and Israel began trading airstrikes and rocket fire across the border, bringing the war in Gaza to Lebanon’s green, fertile south. Many say Lebanon’s current anguish began in 2019, when the economy imploded and took the country’s once-robust middle class with it. Mass anti-government protests that fall did nothing to dislodge the country’s widely loathed political class. Others might mention 2020, the year the coronavirus further crippled the economy, and the year an enormous explosion at Beirut’s port shattered entire neighborhoods of the capital. A good case could be made for going all the way back to the 15-year civil war that ended in 1990. All these crises and more have left Lebanon in no shape to withstand a sharply escalating conflict with Israel, like a 10-car pileup caught in the path of a tornado.

A man in south Lebanon cares for pets left behind as residents flee Israeli strikes (AP) A dog clings to Hussein Hamza inside a car as he pans his camera around to show the aftermath of an Israeli airstrike in southern Lebanon. “Poor thing. Look at this, he’s clinging to me out of fear,” Hamza says in the video he posted online. “A missile hit here,” he said, his voice shaking. As Israel pummels southern Lebanon with airstrikes, tens of thousands of residents are fleeing their homes in fear. But Hamza is staying. His mission is to care for the dogs and other animals left behind. He runs an animal shelter that houses 200 dogs in the village of Kfour. Recently, he has also been driving around towns and villages in the south, looking for stray animals and abandoned pets to feed. “I opened bags of food and left them water. I’m relying on God,” said Hamza.

Nigeria’s independence anniversary is marked by protests and frustration over economic hardship (AP) Nigerians on Tuesday staged protests against economic hardship as the West African nation marked its 64th independence anniversary with its president calling for patience. Police fired tear gas to disperse some of the protesters, resulting in clashes. Dozens of people in a few states waved placards and the green-and-white national flag, demanding better opportunities and jobs for young people, in a country that has some of the world’s highest poverty and hunger levels despite being a top oil producer on the continent. Nigeria remains “an unfortunate case of running very hard and staying in the same place,” said Cheta Nwanze, managing partner at Lagos-based SBM Intelligence research firm. Nigeria continues to perform poorly in key areas like education and health, he said. “If your population is not healthy ... or not educated, you can’t possibly make progress,” Nwanze added.

[tortilla-of-courage]

I'm curious about your first impression of eow! I'm still wondering whether I should get the game cus of the price

im having a LOT of fun with it ngl!! more than I expected

like. okay gonna try to be as spoilerless as possible here. for context im up to just after the first temple/first heart container (in hindsight this got too long so im putting it under a read more oopsie)

the story and lore we've got going on so far is REALLY interesting and im actually fascinated by all the Implications™ they've dropped on how things work in this iteration of Hyrule. im dying to go talking to every npc i can get my very itty bitty tiny zelda hands on

gameplay wise im having a lot of fun too! i was a bit worried when the game was announced that id get bored of relying mostly on echoes to attack enemies, or that things would be too easy, but the way the game limits how many echoes you can use at a time makes it so you can't spam powerful echoes, and so you need to strategize a bit before running off placing echoes across a chasm (learned this the hard way. oopsie)

zelda (series) is usually very high in puzzle-ness already, but i feel like this game truly makes it feel like everything you use becomes a puzzle. you want that chest in a cliff? there's a bunch of boxes you cant move on their own down an optional but very tantalizing path? you ran into an enemy that may be a bit too much for your current echoes but you REALLY want that thing? if you can use your echoes accordingly with the environment you can usually get it without much issue

so far i haven't ran into anything that was inaccessible to my current level/abilities. as long as you place your things accordingly.....

i think if puzzles aren't much your thing you Could get frustrated with it at points, but i find most of the main path ones arent too hard to solve but. again. im only past the first dungeon so who knows how things may change

also the characters I've met so far are very charming and have made me laugh a lot; even the NPCs have unique designs from what ive noticed. and i think getting to see the way Link interacted with the world before we got there from the other npcs is SO cool and gives him a lot of personality. also id die for this iteration of Impa. lovely woman

OH AND TRI oh god i love tri. i was sooo worried tri would come off as Just Another Fairy Thing but so far i adore tri. they (i have no clue if they've got pronouns spanish has Not been clear with it lmao) feel like a nice mix fi and navi, kind of in a middle ground. closer to Ciela from ph's personality maybe? but they have that calmness and matter-of-fact attitude like Fi sometimes. i wish they let you talk to them outside story bits to know them more

i bought it right before it was released last night for $1200 mexican pesos which was about $60 USD, which isnt too bad considering most games go for $1500 MXN/$75ish USD nowadays. but if you wanna wait til it's a bit cheaper that could be a good idea, though i do think this game is worth every penny so far.

like i saw some people say before, this feels like they're taking some of the new things they added in BOTW/TOTK (i.e. general menu formats (but nicer), open world-ish, some abilities, etc) and adapting them to Classic Zelda games, giving the good old 2D zelda style a breath (lol) of fresh air

tldr: so far im really happy with it!!! i played until 3 am last night and i just woke up and plan to play more! Very puzzle oriented but we all knew it coming into it, boss encounter i had was interesting to fight in this new style, and the map is actually very sizable for a 2d zelda from what ive noticed. 100% recommended will report more once i get further in

[headingalaxys-spicy]

🌟⭐️Banged this one out at a Bar!⭐️🌟

Brain Dump Time!

Title: There Are Reasons Why I Don’t Like Winter Nights

Demon! Russia x Reader

In the quiet hills you lived. Your closest neighbors were maybe a mile nearby. You had a peaceful life free of strife and you never sought out the ire of others. You simply existed in your small little world alone and happy. Except for when Winter came. That’s when your fears reigned true. You were unable to hush the incessant nagging that something was stalking your home. When all you wanted was to be left alone. You wondered if there were others that shared your issues but never approached anyone considering you were a bit of a recluse. The feeling of prying eyes that were starved for the likes of you didn’t fade away when the golden yellow leaves faded away. The leaves signaled to the sky for the sun to wave goodbye. It was replaced by small diamonds in the sky, with a dark navy blue backdrop. By 5 it looked as if you could take a dive into the sky just by stepping outside. Your eyes graded the glass barrier that kept you separated from the darkness.

‘Breathe, Breathe.’ is what you silently told yourself. You gripped your weighted blanket closer to your chest. Jaw was clenched and back was stiff. Grabbing your phone hoping that the sun was just on the verge of daybreak. The tiny screen read 17:35. Far from the safety from the sun. You grimace. You really didn’t enjoy winter nights. You sprung to your feet and muttered out: “Fuck.” It was the worst part of the day. You sprung to your feet and roamed around your tiny home. You wanted to distract yourself from the burn of eyes that you felt whenever you turned your back. You reached for your solution to that which was your velvet black out curtains. They provided you with some semblance of safety. As the thick inky and opaque fabric sweeps your white carpeted floor.

“See no evil, there won’t be no evil.” You mumble somewhat confidently to yourself. As long as you stayed in your comfy fortress. You drew a deep breath of oxygen into your lungs, paused, and breathed out slowly. You were going to survive another night. Just like you always had. Even though you were still on edge and your stomach was in knots…You at least wanted to try to be peaceful tonight. Although that would be difficult when it felt like there were a ton of mosquitos in your ear. Your jaw suddenly clenched and your hands were shaken with salty sea water. Tiny spiders had crept inside your headspace to spin together terrible tales of what could happen to you.

‘What if I hear thumping again?’

‘What if it has only gotten closer outside?’

‘It’s going to devour you!’

‘ESCAPE NOW!’

These were some of the worries that echoed through your mind like hundreds of bouncing balls attempting to shatter your sanity. But it was too late, the catastrophizing had begun. You stared at the curtains, hoping that not taking your eyes off them would prevent the figure you’d seen days before from reappearing. You tried not to think of all the ways that it’d hunt you down. You took in another breath, held it in, then exhaled.

‘No, I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. Nothing is out there.’ Are the lies that you would tell yourself. You tried your best to continue on and ignore it. You wash the negative away with comfort food and shows. You let your mind wander through the internet but to no avail. You wind back up thinking about the ominous hulking figure with glowing violet orbs. They peered at you from 20ft away. Another tumultuous brawl of thoughts barraged your way, with the worst possible scenarios. Fear was beginning to frost over your soul.

The thing you loathed most switched its tail back and forth. Like a grandfather clock that was biding its time, until the haunting hour. The sky was moonless and had been eaten by the lurking beast. Outside is a cold eternal dark chasm.

Outside there was a lurking beast. One with heavy black boots and a sweet iron glare.

It slammed against your roof causing a ripple effect throughout the entire house. Immediately he heard shrinking from his poor victim. A smug smile formed on his pale face, that has been kissed by the frozen over part of hell.

You scampered to your bedroom and locked the door. You longed for sunrise. With your heart beating fast and your mind muddled with stress. You were under great duress. You grabbed your duvet and covered yourself. The thick heavy fabric felt comforting like a hug. If only for a few moments you felt safe. But that was short lived when you heard another thumb against your roof. It sounded like a heavy hoof. You should know better than to trust a lifeless thing to save you from a terrible king.

King Ivan was his name.

He began to rap his large hands on the outside windows and walls. Taunting you. He encircled your small cottage like house and sauntered around with glee. Every so often pounding your wall with his trusted pipe. When he heard you yelp it was like music to his ears.

“Time to play up my hand.” He had cheer in his voice. He cut the power. You would succumb to absolute darkness.

All you could do was cower in your room.

Paradoxical breaths erratically escaped your lips. It fell silent for a few long moments, before Ivan barrelled down hard that was right behind you. It left a large dent. You sprung from your knees. You wanted to fly out of there like a bat trying to escape the depths of hell. In your haste you paid no heed to how loud you’d be.

Ivan’s violet eyes lit up to seek where you were. To him your walls were like glass. Your heat signature was identified swiftly. Your fear was palpable. His fun was going to continue though playful schadenfreude.

“Playtime is over. Time for real fun.” With his rusted pipe raised high above his head he makes a gaping hole in your bedroom wall. The crashing of rubble made you bellow out in terror as if you were decending into the seven circles. Petrified and in full flight mode you raced for the front door and took off into the frigid night. The ice began to munch away at you.

The cruel demon stayed behind and cast a fireball at your home. To safety which you’ll never know.

The stars and the moon had vanished into the jet black chasm that thrived off your fresh terror that was leaking from your soul. Feet pounded on the thick slushy snow that rose up to your calves and eventually began to swallow your knees. The adrenaline in your body was running low and your body was not able to keep burning on high.

You had to slow down.

But, he was on your heels.

‘Keep going, keep going!’ was all your mind could say on repeat.

But your nervous system and muscles froze. Your heartstrings one edge. Muscles constricting.

‘When did the ground come so close to me? Why are there small dots in my vision?’

From above your trembling figure continued to amuse Ivan. He watched from the treeline. You were covered in frost and losing body heat fast.

“You go home with me, Sunflower.”

[yoomiwrites]

Salty Rush²

Summary: Some time ago, Reader was a partner of Akainu, a comrade he could rely on. Reader betrayed the navy, became part of a pirate crew...And finally the two face each other again.

Note: Wow, I didn't expect the 10 reactions here either. Does Akainu have a few fans after all? Here again the same as the second chapter of Kuzan's story: The next one comes after 20 reactions OR on Friday. Both stories will be posted weekly on Friday, unless the last chapter gets 20 reactions. ALSO, this story is the only one that WILL include written smutty elements. I will warn before em tho.

The dust settled around us in the dark cavern we had fallen into, the air thick with the smell of smoke and ash. I pushed myself to my feet, my heart pounding from the impact and the overwhelming proximity of Sakazuki. He remained silent, eyes locked on the shadows, muscles coiled as if ready to spring into action at any moment.

We stood there for a heartbeat, the oppressive silence wrapping around us like a shroud. Anger simmered beneath my skin, mingling with a lingering fear. I could feel the tension radiating from him, a simmering volcano ready to erupt. Yet, I was equally aware that he could easily turn that anger on me.

I took a cautious step back, assessing our surroundings. The dim light from above was barely visible through the cracks, casting eerie shadows against the jagged walls. A low rumble echoed in the distance, and I knew we had to move before this place became our tomb.

Sakazuki’s glare was a cold blade against my skin, and I felt the weight of his fury directed at me. The silence between us was suffocating, each second stretching out like an eternity. He was the last person I wanted to rely on, and yet, here we were.

“Let’s find a way out,” I finally said, breaking the silence. My voice sounded foreign in the oppressive darkness, but I didn’t want to succumb to the tension that threatened to suffocate us. I stepped forward, only to feel Sakazuki’s intense gaze boring into my back.

He said nothing. He didn’t even move.

I hesitated, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. I had expected hostility from him, but this silent standoff felt like an insult—an acknowledgment of the gulf that had opened between us. I pressed my lips together, forcing myself to swallow the biting words that threatened to spill out. We were both angry, and now was not the time for a fight.

Slowly, Sakazuki began to move, his heavy footsteps echoing ominously in the darkness. He stepped past me, his presence imposing, but he didn’t look back. I followed, wary and cautious.

As we ventured deeper into the cavern, the air grew colder, and the sounds of the battle above faded into an unsettling silence. The walls were rough and uneven, and I focused on the path ahead, trying to push aside the swirling thoughts of anger and betrayal that loomed in my mind.

Every step we took felt like a tightrope walk over a yawning chasm, the threat of violence hanging in the air. I could sense Sakazuki’s simmering rage beneath the surface, just waiting for the right moment to unleash it. He was a volcano of emotion, and I was walking on his precipice, hoping not to trigger an eruption.

We passed through a narrow passageway, the walls closing in around us, and I could hear Sakazuki’s sharp intake of breath. I glanced at him, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something—pain? Regret?—before it was masked by his usual stoicism.

The deeper we went, the darker it became. I could hardly see a few feet ahead of us, and the uncertainty began to gnaw at my resolve. But I refused to show fear. I had faced countless dangers before; this was just another battle.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed in the distance, followed by a rumble that reverberated through the cavern. I stumbled, nearly losing my footing. Sakazuki’s arm shot out, gripping my shoulder with surprising strength, steadying me before I could fall.

“Stay close,” he ordered, his voice low and unyielding.

I was surprised at his words, but I nodded, suppressing the urge to remind him of how we had ended up in this situation. We walked in tense silence, the only sound being the soft crunch of debris beneath our feet.

I wanted to shout at him, to tell him that I wasn’t afraid, that I had made my choice to abandon the Marines for a reason. But I kept my mouth shut, knowing that provoking him would only escalate the conflict.

As we reached a fork in the path, the faint sound of water dripping echoed off the walls. I glanced down each passageway, trying to gauge which route might lead us to freedom. But before I could decide, Sakazuki stepped forward, his body tense and poised for action.

“I’ll take the left,” he said curtly, not looking at me. “You stay here.”

“Wait—” I started, but he interrupted me, his tone sharp.

“Do as I say.”

A surge of defiance rose within me. “I can handle myself, Sakazuki! I’m not some rookie anymore.”

He turned to face me, his expression hardening. “You’ve proven that you’re capable of making foolish choices. This is not a game, (Y/N). You don’t get to dictate the plan.”

I opened my mouth to retort but stopped, realizing how futile it was. We were at an impasse—his determination to control the situation clashed with my desire for autonomy. Instead, I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm the anger simmering inside.

“Fine,” I finally said, my voice steady. “Let’s split up, then. But if anything happens—”

“Just stay alive,” he cut in, his voice low but firm.

With that, he turned and walked into the darkness, leaving me standing there with my frustration boiling over. I clenched my fists, trying to suppress the flood of emotions threatening to spill out. The reality of our situation weighed heavily on me: here we were, two former comrades turned enemies, forced to navigate this nightmare together.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to the right path, my heart racing with every step I took. The darkness enveloped me, but I pressed on, determined to prove to myself that I could survive without his protection—or his judgment.

With every step, I steeled myself against the uncertainty ahead. I had chosen this path, and I would face whatever came next—alone if necessary.

The darkness surrounded me as I made my way down the narrow passage, the dampness of the air clinging to my skin. Each step felt heavier, the silence amplifying the weight of my thoughts. I had been reckless to split from Sakazuki, but the anger and frustration that bubbled beneath the surface made it impossible to stay near him.

As I walked deeper into the cavern, memories flooded back, each one sharper than the last. I could still hear the echoes of our training sessions, the clashing of swords, and Sakazuki’s deep, commanding voice as he pushed us to our limits. We had been so close once—partners in every sense of the word. The camaraderie we shared had felt unbreakable.

But that bond had frayed over time, unraveling as the truth became too hard to ignore. The deeper I delved into my memories, the more I realized how disillusioned I had become with the Marine ideals. I had once believed in justice, in the strength of the Marines to protect the innocent. Sakazuki had embodied that strength, but over time, I had come to see the cracks in the system we served.

I remembered the day it all changed—a mission that had gone horribly wrong. We had been sent to quell a rebellion in a small village. The orders had been clear: show no mercy. I had watched in horror as innocents were caught in the crossfire, their cries drowning out the sound of gunfire.

“Sakazuki, we can’t do this!” I had pleaded with him, desperation clawing at my throat. “There are families here. They don’t deserve this!”

He had turned to me, his expression stern and unyielding. “Justice demands sacrifice, (Y/N). You must understand that.”

But I hadn’t understood. I had watched as he unleashed his magma powers, burning everything in his path, and I felt my heart shatter as the flames consumed the very essence of what I had believed in. In that moment, I had realized that the Marines were not the noble force I had once thought; they were a ruthless machine, grinding down anyone who dared to stand in their way.

It was the first time I had seen him so cold, so indifferent to the suffering around us. That day had marked the beginning of my disillusionment, a rift that had slowly widened over the months. I tried to talk to him afterward, to make him see the humanity in those he deemed enemies, but my words fell on deaf ears.

As the missions continued, the decisions became more extreme, the lines of justice blurred beyond recognition. I knew I had to leave. I could no longer be a part of a system that operated on the suffering of others. The final straw had come when I discovered that the higher-ups were silencing dissenters, covering up their actions, and executing anyone who dared to question their authority.

That was when I made my choice. I couldn’t stand by and let it continue. So, I gathered my things, said my goodbyes to those who still believed, and walked away. It had been the hardest decision of my life, but I had to find a way to expose the truth. To do that, I needed to align myself with those who fought against the injustice rather than for it.

But that choice had severed my bond with Sakazuki. I had left him behind, and now it felt like a chasm had opened between us—one that seemed impossible to bridge.

As I navigated the dark passage, I felt a chill creep down my spine. Was it the cold air, or was it the realization of what I had lost? The closeness we had once shared had turned into a painful reminder of what I had thrown away.

The sound of rushing water filled my ears, snapping me from my thoughts. I pressed forward, the passage widening into a large chamber. My breath caught in my throat as I stepped into the open space. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like the fangs of a beast, and a dark pool of water lay at its center, reflecting the faint light filtering through the cracks above.

But I wasn’t alone. The moment I stepped in, I felt a presence shift in the shadows. I reached for my sword, instinctively raising it as I prepared for a confrontation. The darkness seemed to swirl, but then I saw a familiar silhouette emerge from the shadows—Sakazuki.

He stepped into the light, his expression a mask of fury. “You should’ve stayed where I told you to,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“I needed to think,” I replied, my voice steady despite the fear simmering beneath the surface. “We can’t just keep pretending everything is fine. We’re trapped here, and we need to work together.”

He took a step forward, eyes narrowing. “Together? You’ve made it clear you no longer stand with the Marines. You’re a traitor in their eyes—and in mine.”

His words cut deep, the weight of them pressing down on me. I had expected anger, but this felt more personal, as if he blamed me for everything that had happened. “I’m trying to find a way out of this, Sakazuki. We can’t afford to let our past destroy us.”

“Destroy us?” he echoed, voice dripping with incredulity. “You destroyed yourself the moment you chose to abandon your duty.”

My heart raced, a mix of anger and pain rising within me. “I didn’t abandon anyone! I chose to stand for what was right, for justice that isn’t just a weapon wielded against the weak!”

His expression hardened, the rage within him simmering just below the surface. “And what do you think you’re fighting for? A naive dream that will only lead to more destruction?”

“Maybe I’m fighting for the people you’ve forgotten,” I shot back, stepping closer despite the instinct to pull away. “The innocent lives caught in the crossfire of your so-called justice!”

For a moment, the air between us crackled with tension, each word a spark igniting the flame of our shared history. I could see the turmoil in his eyes, a conflict raging within him that mirrored my own.

But before I could press my point, the ground shook violently again, a deep rumble that echoed through the cavern. I lost my balance, stumbling back toward the edge of the pool. Sakazuki’s hand shot out, gripping my arm, steadying me once more.

“Stay close,” he said again, his voice strained but urgent.

As the tremors subsided, I looked up at him, the intensity of his gaze capturing my attention. “I don’t want to be your enemy, Sakazuki,” I said softly, my heart pounding. “I want to fight for something that matters. We were partners once—can’t we find a way to be allies again?”

For a moment, he was silent, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. But then, the familiar hardness returned to his features, and he stepped back, releasing my arm.

“I have no allies. Only enemies and those who are too weak to survive,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “If you think you can sway me with your pleas for understanding, you’re mistaken.”

With that, he turned away, walking to the edge of the chamber, the darkness closing in around him. I stood there, the words I had spoken feeling like ashes in my mouth.

[hairclip-of-neuvillette]

Genshin impact theories (idk if it's really considered a theory lol) + a bit of spoilers

We all know that Dainsleif is from Khaenri'ah, but he has powers, the source of his power and his element are both unknown, but his power is like some navy blue with glitters, and if you look at the Traveler's idle animation (photo added in the end of the post) its also the same like Dain. Since the Traveler and they're sibling both witnessed the fall of Khaenri'ah, and the sibling is known as abyss prince/princess, and the abyss monsters are people of Khaenri'ah, many assume that Traveler and they're sibling are from Khaenri'ah even their origin is currently unknown, plus, we all know that the Traveler doesn't possess visions, they can only control elements, so it seems logical if Dain and the Traveler have the same power/element. (Main power of the Traveler)

And now we turn to Skirk, she is confirmed to be from an ancient realm, the daekest corners of universe, and we all know Khaenri'ah is under Sumeru, near the Chasm and it's ligical to describe such a place as "The Darkest Corners Of The Universe", and she also spent a long time in abyss, so it's also logical that Skirk would be from Khaenri'ah too, and her power is also gives the same vibe as Dain and the Traveler's idle animation.

So I believe the origin of these four people (the Traveler, their sibling, Dain, and Skirk) and their power/element are same, and they are all from Khaenri'ah, with the unknown power/element.

Photos: Dainsleif, Skirk, the Traveler's idle animation.