#roar of the evren

[lordevren]

they need to invent a new treatment for bpd where they simply cut it out of your brain I think

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕙𝕠 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣 - ℂ𝕙. 𝕀: 𝔸𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝 𝕒𝕥 𝕒 𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 ℍ𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕖 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

Summary: Our story opens on Vincent and Chidi in their 20s, with Chidi employed as an ordinary yet promising Myrmidon under Vincent's father. Although Vincent is rarely at home, Chidi finds himself looking forward to every visit from this volatile, princely heir...and wishing he could somehow help him.

TW: arguing, lashing out

Author's Note: The Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont is referred to here as the Comte Vincent Bisset de Nevers, because his father is still alive and holding the title of Marquis. According to the French peerage system (as well as I can understand it from google searches), the heir to a title cannot hold that same title, but must instead hold the title below it in rank paired with a different region owned by the father, if the father has such a region. Comte is below Marquis, and I decided to give the family ownership of a region that had a cool name. The region of Nevers actually doesn’t exist anymore, but we’re in an alternate universe anyway, soooo…

The estate of the Marquis Àlderic De Gramont was as silent as an empty shell, in which only the practiced bustle of servants roared softly, as the rushing ocean does when a shell is pressed to one’s ear. Both its masters were abroad, and it had no mistress – hadn’t for over two decades. The early sun stretched out over the gardens, whose winding hedges and white roses met that light with the same pristineness as the cold marble of the satyr-filled fountains at the center of the courtyard. If the stone could crack, if the rose could wither under any excess of summer heat, it showed no sign of such a capability.

The only stirring of any kind came among the security detail, a special subset of the Marquis de Gramont’s precious Myrmidons. As usual, they convened in the entrance hall before beginning their daily rounds. There was, among them, a universal restlessness, passed down from their leader, Eric. Their numbers were reduced by half, with a dozen men accompanying the Marquis on urgent business in Germany. He had left the previous evening, without giving word to anyone but those who accompanied him.

Eric paced in front of them, giving orders. “As you are aware, the young master of the house returns today. To operate with reduced personnel at this time demands increased vigilance. I expect not a moment’s delay.” He divided them into a further two groups, one of which would handle luggage and vehicle search, followed by outdoor patrol. The other would inspect kitchens and domestic spaces, followed by indoor patrol.

Only one member of the security detail seemed immune to all the nerves or irritation of being stretched so unexpectedly thin. Chidi’s eyes never wavered from Eric, his blocky mouth set into a line that might, if one looked closely, be turned upward at the ends in eager acceptance of a challenge. He had good enough reason to be happy - he was at least in the same group as his favorite colleague, Fritz.

Fritz was a wiry-haired man, the thinnest of their bunch and looking deceptively frail when in fact, he was at least as capable a fighter as Chidi and far more agile. “You’re over the moon today,” he said as they dipped poison test strips into the latest batch of kitchen ingredients.

“Why do you say that?”

“Your face looked like it might smile earlier, and it never does that.” He took a swig of the milk they had just tested.

Chidi immediately proved him wrong with a laugh. “Fine. You got me, it’s a nice day. Shame we weren’t posted outside.”

“Are you sure you aren’t pleased that the Comte is coming? You talked with him in a personal capacity last time he was here.”

Chidi’s eyes narrowed. “That would be extremely improper.”

“It would be,” he said pointedly, setting down the milk and taking on a more serious tone. “And unwise, too. Even friendship with a man so high above your station is…”

“I know. I don’t intend to get myself fired.”

“Killed,” he corrected. “That man is dangerous. Even if we didn’t work for him, I’d tell you that.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he said, with more emphasis this time.

But it didn’t dampen his mood. He was pleased. Or maybe pleased wasn’t the right word for it…he felt eager, felt time advancing towards the moment of the Comte’s arrival. It was difficult to say why, except that the arrival of the young master was always a treat. Not in the sense that it meant the day would be an easy one – generally it meant the opposite. Twice as many demands, awkward familial scenes, and outright humiliation if the Comte’s interest fell on any of the Myrmadons long enough to toy with them. But there was something absolutely captivating about being in the presence of the Comte. It felt like encountering a big cat at a nature reserve, seeing something beautiful and wild moving in front of him. It could only hurt him, but many people were willing to be hurt for the sake of such a view. There was little in Chidi’s life to occupy him, outside of work, and work was a monotony most days. But when the Comte was there, things were suddenly strung with a violent tension, always on the point of breaking into chaos.

Fritz took the boudoir next while Chidi made his way through the young master’s bedroom after the servants were through, dusting for toxins along the tops of nightstands and inspecting the lock on the window – the usual rounds. There was the lavish canopy bed where Vincent rested at night behind drawn curtains, cloaked in a world of extreme softness on all sides, just as such a princely figure ought to be. Chidi touched it as if it might burn him and pulled away the test strip the very moment it had changed color. The bed was, as expected, completely fine. The room had not been occupied for six months, as Vincent spent most of his time studying in Italy. Chidi knew little about what these studies involved – there was painting, yes, but he doubted that was all, and the Comte seemed to come back more vicious in his fighting skills every time. Chidi had worked for the family for three years now, and though they met rarely, he’d seen him improve significantly on top of already impeccable swordsmanship.

He entertained himself by speculating about what Vincent might have done in Italy while he wandered the halls, polished shoes clicking over polished tiles in rhythm with the antique baroque grandfather clock in the parlor. He would never know, but what a joy it was, he thought, to be surrounded by such interesting people. He wished that he had been assigned outside, where he might see the Comte’s car approaching and get the first glimpse of him. But at the same time, he relished that he was assigned inside, where there was a good chance Vincent would be throughout the majority of the day.

He heard the Comte before he saw him. His voice carried from the entrance hall, wordless at this distance but sharp and commanding, interspersed with the replies of a servant. Chidi recognized it immediately, even before his earpiece crackled to tell him the young master was on premises. He did not break step, allowing his assigned path to take him away down the west wing before circling slowly back and approaching the scene of what was rapidly becoming an altercation, prepared to pass it without even looking. But he did look. Things had escalated in perhaps record time. Vincent was standing awkwardly close to the servant, towering over her with one hand on his hip. He appeared every bit as domineering as Chidi remembered, though perhaps a little more gaunt. Again, Chidi found himself wondering how he had been living in his time abroad. In the light streaming through the windows, his grey suit shimmered with strands of gold and his skin glowed an almost unearthly, cherubic pink, flushed with frustration.

“Comment ça, il n'est pas là? Il m'a convoqué lui-même. [What do you mean he is not here? He summoned me himself.]” Vincent must be referring to the Marquis.

“Ne vous a-t-il pas prévenu à l'avance ? [Did he not send word to you ahead of time?]”

“Espèce d'idiot - Pourquoi te demanderais-je, s'il l'avait fait, hein? Où est-il allé? [You daft - Why would I be asking you, if he had, hm? Where has he gone?]”

“Je ne sais pas, monsieur. [I don’t know, sir.]” The two of them looked equally desperate. Chidi glanced up the staircase and saw Fritz on the upper landing, giving him the tiniest shake of the head as if to say, “Don’t get involved.”

Well, too bad. Chidi stopped, knowing he was the only person who could diffuse the situation. So much for passing by without interfering. “Si je peux me permettre, le maître de maison est en Allemagne, monsieur. Nous avons appris hier soir qu'il avait des affaires urgentes là-bas, et la moitié de notre équipe l'a accompagné. Il n’appartient pas à quelqu’un comme moi de savoir plus que cela. [If I may, the master of the house is in Germany, sir. We learned last night that he had urgent business there, and half of our detail went with him. More than that is not for one such as me to know.]”

Vincent’s eyes turned on him with something akin to loathing. Chidi would be lying if he said it did not thrill him. Vincent was not one to spare the messenger, as he very well knew. “Tu parles à contretemps, Chidi. [You speak out of turn, Chidi.]”

“Je m'excuse monsieur. [I apologize sir.]”

“Et quand, je vous en prie, reviendra-t-il? [And when, pray tell, is he coming back?]”

“Cela, je ne le sais pas non plus, monsieur. Aucun de nous n’a été informé. [That I do not know either, sir. None of us have been told.]”

He laughed, and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. “Bien sûr [Of course],” he muttered. “Inutile [Useless].”

Something about that made Chidi’s heart twist with sympathy, but he did not move or make any reply.

“Je suppose qu'il s'attend donc à ce que j'attende son retour. Comme si je n'avais rien de mieux à faire de mon temps. Et avec la maison à moitié gardée par vous, incompétents. [I suppose he expects me to wait for his return, then. As if I have nothing better to do with my time. And with the house half guarded by you incompetents.]” Chidi could not contradict him.

He took a step away, seeming almost about to leave the room, but Chidi had seen him this way often enough to know that he was merely winding up before a strike. He braced himself. In another moment, the Comte’s knife was drawn and swung in a swift arc inches from Chidi’s neck. It severed his tie at the knot and Vincent pulled it out of the front of his vest, holding it up by two fingers as if it was something very disgusting. “Il semblerait que quelqu’un puisse trancher jusqu’au cou un homme par ici sans le moindre défi de la part des gardes de la maison. Quelqu'un ne fait pas son travail. [It seems someone can slash right up to a man’s neck around here without the smallest challenge from the guards of the house. Someone isn’t doing their job.]”

“Il semble que oui, monsieur. [It seems so, sir.]”

“Alors au travail! Hors de ma vue. [Get to work then! Get out of my sight.]”

Chidi nodded and was already turning when the Comte looked up to the landing, the piercing beams of his gaze falling on Fritz. “Qu'est-ce que tu regardes? J'ai dit de sortir de ma vue. [What are you staring at? I said to get out of my sight!]” He ascended the stairs fast enough to send Fritz hurrying off down the hall, turned into his bedroom, and was not seen again for the remainder of the afternoon.

How frustrating that discovery must have been for Vincent…He was strangely relieved that he had been there as an outlet for the Comte’s anger. All was silent again as Chidi returned to his rounds with a very exposed feeling at the front of his chest where his tie should be. His hand went to it again and again involuntarily, fingering the torn fabric with something like a thrill. Eric raised a knowing eyebrow at him when they crossed paths. But he didn’t care. He only felt that gaze locked onto him, loaded to the point of heaviness with a burden that he wished he could relieve.

⚜ Next ▹

Image Sources: 1 2

[fazbears-warehouse]

IRIS ID PACK (PKMN)

requested by anon

Name: Cadmus, Drachen, Evren, Gem, Kayda, Morgan, Ruby, Saphira, Thorn, Vale

Pronouns: drake/drakes, wing/wings, talon/talons, claw/claws, scale/scales, myth/myths, dragon/dragons, poke/mon, train/trains, roar/roars, flight/flights

Identities: Pokétypic, Pokédomus, Pokémon Hearthic, pokénatured/pokenatured, dragon type pokémon / trainer, PHOSDRAGONTYPIAL, DRAGON AMBITHERIAN, Drasparngic, Dragonmesta, DRAGOTIX, Dragonchronal, Wyrmvior, Dragwingic/Dragwinggender, dragonsei, dragongender, Draganehoarder, Dragonalius, pokémon ( trainer ) flag, pokémon gym leader / leader's pokémon

[wrathful-reptile]

Lost and Found

Flight Rising Lair lore Focus: Origins of Lair member "Bean"

Warnings: None Context: Dismas and the other council members must confirm the existence, and if possible contain, a shade corrupted beast but find nothing, resulting in their plans to head back.

They sat on the cliff's edge, overlooking the snowy area ahead of them. The group knew they shouldn't set back out today with a blizzard in the forecast but they had deadlines to meet and Royals to protect and advise.

"Dismas."A skydancer with striking golden eyes growled, his emerald wings shifting."We have to carry on."

"The Weather is not going to be ideal, Evren. We can't without risking our lives. If we get split from the group or the storm is too harsh, we won't survive."

"Totoby, what do you think? We can't leave the royals alone too long."Evren turned to look at a nature skydancer who seemed unsure.

"They have the watcher,"A very blue skydancer said only for the only Ice elemental in their group to laugh.

"Rohel, do you really believe the watcher is capable of watching anything?"

"Society."Rohel's voice was a growl at the more purple skydancer.

"I think we shouldn't go back without the beast."Totoby finally spoke up.

"The shade beast doesn't exist."Society snapped at the nature skydancer with a harshness that caused the group's arguing to escalate. The rush of cold air and the starting of snowfall told them they'd delayed too long and the front bringing the weather was upon them. They carried on in the cold, sticking together for warmth as Society used his element to redirect the falling snow and clear a path while Dismas warded off the howling winds for as long as their magics would hold.

When their magics had worn out, their mana depleted, Society used what remaining power he could to create a shelter of ice. A roaring and howling outside caught Dismas' attention and she stuck her head out of the shelter, taking a walk around for a moment before dipping back inside.

"Dismas, what is it?"Evren asked, tending a fire they'd created using some traveling supplies.

"I hear something."

"The Wind, Dismas. The wind. You Hear the wind."The light skydancer was clearly annoyed."Why are you so on-edge anyway? There is nothing that can take us down if they even tried."

"Evren, there is something out there. I promise you that. I can feel it pulling on my magic. On my element itself."

"If it gets too much, send out a signal and we'll find you."Rohel said and Dismas only nodded before setting out.

Her magic was still depleted considerably so she had to be mindful of how she used it, not knowing what she'd meet. After a while, though, she saw it. A beast dripping with shade, a dark mist rising off its scales as it oozed darkness. Its eyes drew her in though. They were bright green, swirling with a magic that connected to her own. The pull from the beast was so strong as she approached with curiosity. She had to know who or what it was. No! This was the beast wasn't it? This was what they were trying to capture! She mentally struggled against whatever pull it had on her, blasting her magic at it. It fled and Dismas saw what was left behind. There was a small mirror hatchling, no more than a couple days old, laying in a puddle of the shade beast's ooze.

"Oh child… did it drag you from your home?"She, asked gently picking up the shivering mirror and tucking it into the feathers of her folded wing before realizing something."You have a strong magical aura to you… Mayhaps that's why it had plucked you from your home?"She started the trek back, the storm starting to die down and having stopped completely by the time she'd reached the shelter.

"There you are. We thought you froze to death!"Rohel looked Dismas over then took a few sniffs at the wing she held tightly closed."What have you got?"

"I saw the shade beast."Dismas then opened her wing, carefully setting the child down."I believe it was feeding off of their magic and causing the storm with its own wind manipulation."

"That's just a hatchling. No more than three days old."Society huffed.

"I am aware."

"They do let off a strong energy."Evren pointed out and Dismas nodded."Do you know what element they are?"

"Not wind. I'd be able to sense it."Dismas sighed.

"Nature."Totoby said.

"Really? So young out here? That's a long journey. More than three days at that."Rohel pointed out and Society nodded in agreement.

"Must have been stolen or lost as an egg."Evren said."Poor kid probably never knew a warm nest."

"Well they will now. I'll take them in."

"Will the royals approve?"Society asked, growing nervous.

"Kiraku? He'll probably be thrilled. Auris the same. Those two love seeing the rescues."

"But you're part of the council, what if-"

"I'll raise the child to be part of the council as well then. Your fears stem from the old rule. She's no longer in power and she won't be back."Dismas said.

"You never met the old rule."Society sighed.

"And where the old rule is, she never will meet her."Evren spoke up."Dismas, it sounds like the storm stopped?"

"Yes, as soon as I took the child it started to lose its power. It is calm outside so we may carry on. Back home."

"Let's hope no one's managed to set the halls on fire again."Totoby laughed and the group continued their journey onwards, back to the capital and their warm beds.

[nobodyssoldier]

i. a web weaving

‘Girls like you’ your mother says, ‘are going to be disappointed a lot.’ She’s chopping coriander so fast that her hand is a blur and you’re 12 and you’re standing like a tremble, grubby knees and tear stained cheeks, an offering in front of her. ‘Why?’ Your voice is a quiet shake. She puts the knife down and calls you 'jan,’ she holds your face in her wet hands, you don’t flinch because this is what love looks like. she kisses your forehead like forgiveness. 'because you mean what you say, you think other people are the same.’ She tells you that she spent four years trying to learn their language but people ask how you are and walk away before you can tell them. 'I’d rather be silent.’ She says. 'At least being quiet is honest.’ You’ll come home seven years later wearing your heart like a bruise on the inside of your sleeve. 'mama,’ you’ll say, voice like a thunder crack. 'he said he loved me, and I believed him, I shouldn’t have, I think that he lied.’ She’ll be older then, but she’ll kiss you just as tender, just as birdlike. 'Is it my fault?’ You’ll ask. She is half lioness, half woman. She is all roar. 'Listen to me,’ she calls you her soul again. She says it in your language so you know that she means it. 'You are so infinitely tender,’ she takes the frown of your face in her hands and holds it carefully. 'People will not always know what to do with that. You can’t ever be sorry for the way you loved, you can’t be sorry for who you loved. Don’t ever let them bend you backwards, don’t let them make you hard or bitter.’ Her voice turns into a growl. 'You did not get this from me. Somewhere inside of you there is rain. Somewhere in your stomach, something beautiful is growing and it is infinite. Don’t you let them try and take that from you, you are open and you are a flood, someday someone is going to want to die in you.’

I want to be fierce and joyful and a meadow when I’m dead. Spindly flowers and waist-high grass and the shadows of clouds across that brightness, shifting, like so many ships in the sky. I want to be all in one place, at last, but vast, a sea by the side of the road. I mean green, and I mean poppies and daisies, everything blooming at once. And I want to be, again, that girl who pushed into the wind. Who stood up to the sun, big-mouthed and brave. I mean, if I’m going to die, let me live.

I call womanhood an uphill battle. I mean the transition, the slick-slide from girl to this. Almost-woman, never quite adult, this stag inside my heart trying to escape; his antlers always catching on the walls of my ventricles. Blood dripping into the wounds and out at the same time. Cross-contamination, girl to woman to girl to woman. Teeth in the dark, heavy hooves on the underside of my ribcage. I watch myself holding onto that girlness, scrappy limbs and wide eyes and so little care. So much feeling. I string it along, wring it out, squeeze every drop like the dying desert man and the last of his water. I paint the stag red and make him frightening. File his teeth into fangs. I say to him, here is the part where we learn how to fight. Here is the part where we don’t fall to pieces. Here is the part where we accept the blood and drink of it. Here is the part where we forgive each other and co-exist, girl inside woman, both of us afraid. I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to fight without him. I say, let’s not frighten each other anymore. Let’s turn the fear out on everybody else. The stag drops his head and his sharp teeth part. There’s no fear but what you make, he tells me in the dark. All I am is what you can’t let go.

ii. digging deeper

name: lila "lily" evren

age: 24

former house: gryffindor

blood status: muggleborn

face claim: melis sezen

allegiance: the order of the stag

gender & pronouns: utp

you were always growing things, coaxing life from reluctant soil. this is your first defiance: making flowers bloom in winter, turning playground taunts into petals. your mother taught you to tend lilies in your backyard, gentle hands guiding yours through dark earth, and later you learned to grow shield charms instead, protection flowering beneath your skin like thorny roses. you were born with evergreen eyes like a forest caught in wildfire, fierce & untamed & devastating, evergreen eyes like the moment before summer ignites. they remind some of killing curses and sometimes, in your darkest moments, you understand why: yours is the green of life & freedom, yes, but also of judgment, of righteous fury that burns too hot to control. lilies bloom in the summer, and you are summer embodied: wildflower-crowned, lightning-veined, too bright to look at directly. the blistering heat seeps into your marrow & lights you from within — you're burning up in all these red-hot flames, bleeding heart and all. they spat "freak!" like venom and bound you to their pyre, but they couldn't burn those evergreen eyes that saw too much, felt too deeply, loved too fiercely. as you bloomed, letters home became shorter, heavier with things unsaid: "dear petunia, i love you. i miss you. i'm sorry. i'm not sorry enough to be less than i am..." it seems love and loss share the same bitter roots, grow from the same wounded earth. you are learning that you cannot dim your forest-fire heart to keep others warm, cannot swallow prejudice without tasting ash, cannot stop yourself from withholding forgiveness in the palm of your hand like seeds you're not ready to plant. severus is the next betrayal. he hisses "mudblood" like it's something shameful, but you think of your mother's garden, how the richest soil was always darkest, how even the most delicate flowers needed something solid to root in. you wear the slur like armor now, letting it fuel the fierce protection blooming beneath your skin: shield charms sharp as thorns, defensive magic ready as brambles. you collect broken pieces — shattered quills, wandering cats, lost souls seeking shelter — and do your best to mend them with healing hands that sometimes smother and hold too tight, because you're terrified of being left behind again. when you were small, you dreamed of belonging, but now you know that belonging is not a place you find but a place you forge yourself with bloodied hands & iron will, a place you never let anyone take away from you. you are no longer the freak who couldn't explain why strange things danced around you — you are the witch who makes worlds flourish and when darkness comes (as it always does), you will meet it with all the fury of an untamed garden, with the unstoppable force of green things reaching toward light, with wild lilies burning fierce under summer sun — because they feared this most: not your magic, but your absolute refusal to grow any way but true, even when truth tastes like lightning, even when your righteousness burns those you love most.

iii. connections

one. JAN "JAMES" POLAT , partner — eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. what was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?

two. SEVERUS SNAPE , tenuous ally — it was raining, and he was losing his blood, he was losing his brain, in a cold place, in a ditch, and i told him he was going to die, and it was true. as he did, his face was twisted into a frown, like a devil.

three. MARLENE MCKINNON, MARY MACDONALD & DORCAS MEADOWES , best friends — they looked like the sort of girls who started trouble just so they got the chance to stick up for each other.

four. HARUN "HARRY" POLAT , child — - "the big miracle," i said, "is your power to raise the dead." - "love does that," she said. "and it raised me, too. how alive do you think i was — before?"

[elliscousland]

" Who am I to you? " || @vhenann

blue eyes rest on the embers at the bottom of the fire. it's easier to watch them smolder than meet her eyes entirely. the fire eats up the splintered wood while he wonders whether or not she could see right through him. it had been no secret that ellis thought evren was capable, powerful. her heart was strong, even when it was bleeding.

he thinks she might be like the fire that warmed them, but more powerful. the makeshift firepit around it would pale in comparison to the flame that roared in her. she burned through the terrors they faced with such divine stubbornness pit against the death she had already been promised. she never stayed down for long, rising & spitting ash at anyone in her way.

such defiance caught & spread quicker than this fire, too, he thinks. ellis wants to be closer to her, but he denies himself the indulgence. instead he draws his knees to his chest, his throat tight with sentiment.

" an inspiration, " blue eyes finally meet her gaze, vulnerable & searing, " when something needs to be done, nothing can stop you. your good spreads like wildfire. " he pauses, but is taken by a moment of fondness, " i quite like being close to your flame. "

[asivcs]

“Just because I can, doesn’t mean I want to.” Keegan spat whatever remained of a silvery wheatgrass as he turned to his wife. “Adira,” he sighed, leaning into her hair. “Please don’t make me do this.” He could feel emotions rising within him. Fear. Anger. Despair. Things he hadn’t felt in over 12 years.

“Alright then.” Her cool words softened his heart, yet he had to remind himself that he was married to the Adira Symond. Heiress to the Iesis-ranked House Symond and Acting-Commander General of the Dinameda Empire. “Look out the window, Keegan.”

He slowly opened his eyes and saw the bright sunlight through the tendrils of her hair. Somehow, they were in front of the largest window in the palace.

“The children?” Keegan peeled away from Adira and intently watched his son play in the rain with his cousins. “Adira, if this was what you wanted to talk about, we could have talked from the bedroom.” A light smile danced on his lips. “It’s far too early to be working right now; it’s Michael’s favorite time of the day and if I run into that bastard—“

“Imagine it all burned”

“What?” He slowly growled, turning around to face her.

“Burned to ash with only an inferno of fire as recognition.”She sighed, toying with the curtain. “Keegan, you have the power to do something, so do it. Don’t turn into someone we both despise.” Her voice remained composed regardless of how long she spoke.

“But—“

“Evren and the Grand Council are abusing their power. Do you believe that they’ll just stop at the Dasha? When Theodore grows up, do you really think the Grand Council won’t act the same way? Convince everyone it’s in their ‘best interests’ for him to disappear? No!”

“Adira!”

“I’m going to fight for them! Listen to me, Keegan, I’M THE GENERAL!”

“AND I’M YOUR KING!” He roared back at her, but immediately shut up in defeat. He had just screwed himself over in the most embarrassing way possible.

And he knew it for sure when he saw Adira’s razor-sharp features soften into a smile. She had won fair and square, damnit. “Exactly,” she whispered, kissing away the tears from his beautiful eyes. “You’re the king.”

Keegan looked out again with his blurry eyes and for the first time, noticed the overarching hills and Verentia’s town square bustling with people. His failure to act would lead to devastating impacts on his people. He knew it, but oh how he hated it.

At once, the 17-year-old Crown in him resurfaced—the one that faced his brother’s abdication and saw this unwanted scepter thrown to him.

“Dira, I don’t want to be king.” He broke down into Adira’s arms, silently sobbing his heart out. “I hate it.”

“I know. I know, darling.”

Prompt #961

“Just because I can, doesn’t mean I want to.”

[honeybeegames]

can we have the ros thought processes as to why they turn around?

you can 😁 in regards to this ask.

evren: thinks they can handle it. their entire job—their purpose—is to keep you safe. they’ve failed once and refuse to do so again. except the silence is deafening and they can hear their blood roaring and they take a quick glance without thinking about it. regret makes them nauseous as they realize what they’ve done. reaches out for you even after you’re gone.

mika: thinks they can take a look over their shoulder without getting caught. it’s stupid—foolish—and they want to force time to rewind because it’s so fucking stupid. why did they turn? why would they risk you like that? refuses to watch you disappear forever, and closes their eyes instead. can’t stomach seeing your face, not when you know it’s their fault you’re not getting your second chance.

xue: gets too excited. they’re nervous walking out, hate silences, and want to see you. so they turn, take a glance, only to see you slip away. they chase you, try to grab you, but there’s nothing left. doesn’t have time to process what happened. thinks they’ll get another chance and tries to beg for one. pleads on their knees in vain. spends the rest of their life trying to get you back for nothing.

orion: doesn’t trust that you’re there. doesn’t trust you—whatever god he bargained with—himself. there’s so much riding on his shoulders it makes him break. whatever false confidence he pretends he has crumbles. you’re there when he turns around and he wishes you weren’t. it would be easier on him if you hadn’t been standing there. and then you’re gone and he’s alone. 

lyra mae: she trusts you with everything she is. you’re there, she reminds herself, you have to be. you’ve always been with her and she’s sure nothing had changed. stares at her feet the entire way, one foot in front of the other. doesn’t turn around even when she’s out because she’s still scared you’ll vanish. the minute you touch her, though, her arms are around you and she’s crying.

[thetruearchmagos]

Swift Seas And Whirlwinds

An Excerpt: Touchdown

Heya folks! Here's a little something I cooked up to accompany the "Closest-it'll-ever-get-to" complete sketch of the UCS Mystique from my story, Swift Seas And Whirlwinds. Enjoy!

Tagging @theprissythumbelina @orphicpoieses @dogmomwrites @toomanywips @lividdreamz @sanguine-arena @marinesocks @pens-swords-stuff @jamieanovels @athenswrites @muddshadow @mj-is-writing @

Even seen from a thousand feet up, the flight deck of the Mystique was a veritable hive of activity. Plane Handlers in blue and their Directors in red, orange for Fuel Handlers and yellow for Ordnance, and a half dozen more to the rainbow aside. Ten, twenty, fifty over of those specks of colour rushing across a tarmac barely as large as three football fields.

And scattered in orderly rows across that black canvas, the grey angels of Evren Bayrak's comrade aircraft. A dozen above, and as many below deck, crew and aircraft danced a careful dance as they shepherded their million-Cheque war machines like they were their own children.

Overall, Evren's thoughts as they circled in lazy rings above and port to the ship, waiting for their turn to touch down, were well summed up by Avery "Dovey" Piers, their Air Technical Officer, speaking from the backseat.

"Careful as you put us down, Boss. I'd like my legacy not to be in the form of a training guide for young pilots on how not to land."

"Plug in the guide-pack and clear chatter, Dovey."

They also considered giving the bird a last minute bout of "turbulence" for his troubles, but the warbled voice of Air Control put a stop to that.

"TRADER LEAD, your signal is KEY,Clear On."

Finally, time to get on with it, Evren thought.

With the practiced ease that only comes with repetition to the tune of thousand three hundred and twenty five, they opened their throttle, the Blazer's twin Pragati SeaSail 600 engines roaring back to life. They dove gradually, with an almost leisurely bank to port and a gradual cutting of airspeed that left them just under two hundred metres up, just over three nautical miles off the Mystique's stern, and flying at just over three-fifty knots.

So far, so good.

Now, Evren turned back their engines, cutting off a hundred knots of total airspeed and making a last low loop over the ship's bow, sweeping in at a hundred metres with all flaps to the wind and landing gears out and bare.

The ship passed them by in a blur, and Evren made a last sweep, halving their airspeed and shaving off another dozen metres of altitude. Half and a bit of a nautical mile to go now, hold 'er steady.

Diving in, their eyes locked onto the small, pulsing speck of red light, smack in the middle of a row of fluorescent green dots. Almost, that is, the scarlet spot just the slightest bit too high, and Evren duely cut power and speed until it settled down on an even line.

Speed low, coming in at ten degrees to port to account for the angled landing strip, their nose up just a smidge and hook trailing out the back. Check, check, and check again. Lined up and diving quick, yet Evren hardly needed to touch their bird as it glided into-

THUD

The aircraft slammed to a stop, ramming the deck and yanking a loop of wire out with it. From a hundred knots to none in two seconds flat, hooked on first wire and straight down the center line. It was performance like this that set the Squadron's standards, as the CO said, and Evren was in full agreement.

"Touchdown, touchdown, TRADER LEAD. Wire one, good flying. Clear On."

Through their tinted polymer visor, Evren had to give a smile at AC's words. In moments, the legion of crew that'd been mere flecks of paint from high on swarmed the aircraft, the wire left limp and spooling back in as the two aviators were wheeled off the landing strip and out to the elevators.

Even before Evren's bird reached that end of the deck, another lightly laden winged beast hammered down on the deck and came to a stop, and by the time they were standing their own two feet two more had hit home. That was the day's training sorties all done and dusted, and the two dozen aviators involved were all looking forwards to cold showers and warm food. Then, as much sleep as they could get their hands on, before tomorrow came.

And what about tomorrow? Oddly enough, Commander Air Wing had cancelled the expected rest break, skipping some maintenance work in order to get the squadron's worked up to standard. Thankfully, it wasn't anything of too much immediate concern, else Evren and the other pilots would have offered their own opinions on that, but coming from a aviator as immensely cautions as he made it more than a bit strange.

Still, flying was flying, and flying was half the reason Evren signed up for this gig. If the boss wanted them in the air, they'd go up. Even if she wondered to herself why.

[dru-plays-starbound]

The Foundry

Our little colony here uses a huge amount of electricity to keep it going, so we have to produce that somehow. In steps the Foreman, with her heavy coal-crunching foundry. Fortunately the wind always blows the smoke down towards the Floran homes, where their plant-pods help clear the air.

This was an exercise in getting all the Industry related tenants in one fell swoop. As such, starting from the top down, we have rooms for Evren the Station Operator, Maytal the Industrial Mechanic, Hadley the Foundry Merchant, Manad the Neon Data Cruncher, and Vastaly the Electrician.

Above the Foundry proper is the electric transfer station, and then the Foundry Crew’s living area.

Mods used: Nostalgic Greenery.

Guard Hut

Just a micro guard hut.

Space Hero‘s Home

Reed. Grizzled space hero. Been everywhere, done everything, has the scars to prove it. An otherwise interesting chap, even if he tends to focus all his stories on the gory bits of what monster was killed, rather than the places he’s been.

Mods used: Immersive Props.

The Yellow House

Marisa does a roaring trade in clothing and other textile goods, both produced locally on planet, and those acquired from, what I am assured are, salubrious sources.

Mods used: Immersive Props, More human furniture and General Store.

[neenadunn]

When Evren had shown up with the telltale signs of a fight, Neena hadn't thought too much of it. Evren was a hothead at times, and it was a trait Neena usually liked in him. On paper it wasn't a good trait, but she knew his anger usually came from a good place as she had seen him lose his cool a number of times usually over someone else being treated badly.

But then she'd gotten it out of him what had happened and who the fight had been with. And Neena had been livid. How dare Noah do that? She knew her brother didn't approve of the relationship, especially when he had learned Evren was older than himself, but to seriously go and threaten her boyfriend? No fucking way.

The next day Neena made for Noah's place, but his car was gone and he hadn't answered the door after she pounded on it. So she went to the Electric Shuffle. The door banged when she walked in and she went straight for her brother, her features seething. "NOAH FUCKING DUNN!" She roared.

Where: The Electric Shuffle Who: Neena & Noah With: @neenadunn

The day after his little altercation with Evren Noah was still feeling a little worse for wear. He was having one of the worst hangovers he's experienced in a long time and the hangxiety was even worse. He couldn't believe he had been so stupid. Letting his frustrations over Evren dating his sister boil over that badly to the point he'd actually confront the guy in public.

All he wanted to do was rot in bed for at least a month, but he had bills to pay and duties to fulfil, and a part of him thought that maybe laying low at work was the best place for him to be right now, that was until he saw his sister Neena strom through the door of the club.

"Oh fuck." Noah muttered under his breath as she got closer and close to the bar. His usual flight response not quite kicking in fast enough and soon enough he was face to face with his sister and she looked pissed.

[lordevren]

new therapist is genuinely the best therapist I've ever had, it really is as if she laid me down in a summoning circle and performed an exorcism

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒳𝐼𝒳: 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝒶𝓁𝓁 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @evren-sadwrn for beta reading this entire fic through to the end!!

TW: crying, being rude to a yak, altitude sickness, paralysis, suffocation, brief suicidal thoughts

Author's Note: This fic is now complete! Thank you so much for coming on this wild ride with me. I'm very grateful to everyone who read this fic and I hope it brought people some joy. Don't worry, this is not the end of my Vincent content - I'm considering writing a second part to the series at some point! I also have some drawings in mind, and I have a hoplesslydevoted (Vincent x Chidi) fic in the works.

Summary: John and Vincent struggle to descend the mountain in time to reach the landing site. But John's body is giving out.

Black smoke clung to the inside of John Wick’s lungs and a blinding yellow light advanced towards him, inches from his face before Vincent’s trembling arms pushed him back against the wall and he felt himself lifted. He was lifted almost too fast for Vincent’s wounded body to accomplish, such as must be possible only by an adrenaline frenzy. Vincent was swearing in French while trying to get him onto the saddle of the yak and John tried to help him but his muscles would not obey. The yak was almost as uncooperative. “Putain d'animal lâche [Fucking cowardly animal!]” He was laid face down across the saddle and just barely stayed aloft as she bucked in panic. He couldn’t see what was going on, but Vincent must be dragging on the leadrope. Calm her down, he wanted to say. But it was impossible to speak, and Vincent was probably too rattled to listen anyway.

It was just as well - they had no time to waste. The flames were at their heels, climbing along rugs and tapestries as they finally rushed the end of the tunnel, back through the darkness, through the fabric flap, and out into the snow. A faint indigo was all that remained of the day, and the cold had deepened to a point of instant pain. Vincent regained control of the yak long enough to pull John upright and lay him over the animal’s neck. “Allez, allez… [Come on, come on…]” Their hands were briefly in contact as Vincent knotted the fur around his palms to keep him from slipping again. Both of them were shivering desperately – it wouldn’t be long before Vincent started to lose control of his fingers as well. But for now he kissed John’s hand and held it tenderly against his lips for a long moment.

“Il avait tort, John, d'accord? Cet idiot n'a rien compris. Je ne aurais jamais – [He was wrong, John, okay? That idiot didn’t understand anything. I would never - ]” It was only by that lie that John knew for certain he had considered manipulating him, at least at one point. Perhaps in those first few days. Certainly before coming to his door - he’d already known that much. It’s okay, Vincent. I’m not angry. I’m so proud of you. He willed his fingers to move, to squeeze in return, but to no avail. Vincent was making anguished, inarticulate sounds against his hand.

At last, with difficulty, he recovered himself and coaxed the yak to begin walking. Things were fuzzy after that. Unconsciousness gave way to visions of moonlit peaks slowly rising as they descended, which gave way to unconsciousness again. Then a storm picked up, and there was no more light at all, only a sense of movement in the dark, a swirling, writhing space that seemed full of faceless demons. All the while, he felt a weight on top of his chest, crushing him almost to death. From time to time, Vincent’s hand rubbed his back and lingered over his heart, feeling for a beat and becoming agitated when he couldn’t find one, but John could barely feel it himself. How his mind could function at all in this state was beyond him. Time stretched interminably and he wished he could ask how long they had been walking. They only had so long to reach the landing site, and he had no idea where they were going.

Through the roaring wind and the veil of half consciousness, Vincent was speaking to him. “Vous ne pouvez pas mourir. Si tu meurs, je vais tout détruire, John. Vous devez être ici. Tu dois m'arrêter, tu m'entends ? Je vais tous les tuer. Les Continentaux seront écrasés dans la poussière et le sol sera salé. Je brûlerai les cendres de chaque membre de la Table et les enverrai directement en enfer, là où ils appartiennent, et j'en profiterai. [You can’t die. If you die, I’m going to destroy everything, John. You have to be here. You have to stop me, do you hear me? I’ll kill them all. The Continentals will be flattened right into the dust and the ground will be salted. I’ll burn the ashes of the ashes of every last member of the Table and send them straight to hell where they belong, and I’ll enjoy it.]”

It was like that the whole way. That, and the despair.

“Je suis si fatigué. Je pense que tout ce que je veux, c'est un peu de paix, et j'ai finalement réalisé que… Je l'espérais même pour la première fois de ma vie, et puis il est allé et a fait cette merde. Mon Dieu, comment en est-on arrivé là ? Même si nous arrivons au site d’atterrissage, comment allons-nous survivre maintenant ? Je ne sais même plus si j’en ai envie. Mais pour leur donner satisfaction… Mais pas comme ça, pas comme ça… [I’m so tired. I think all I want is some peace, and I finally realized that… I even hoped for it for the first time in my life, and then he went and pulled that shit. God, how has it come to this? Even if we get to the landing site, how will we survive now? I don’t even know if I want to anymore. But to give them the satisfaction… Just not like this, not like this…]”

Please keep fighting, Vincent. Keep walking. John calculated, distantly, how long it would take for frostbite to start claiming their fingers. His limbs were going numb and he could not tell whether it was from the drugging or the cold. I am so sorry that I couldn’t protect you. When you needed me, I failed. He kept having the thought that he wanted to be holding Vincent somewhere warm. Laying in bed all morning and just cradling one another. Sleeping through the day. Dreaming together, harming no one and harmed by no one, in a faintly sunlit darkness that ever sleeps behind white curtains. But then he thought of Vincent in his spirited moments of rebellion, of passionate destruction or artistic creation, and remembered once again that he would always prefer the waking devil to the sleeping angel. He had to see him in his glory once again. And if that meant violence was coming, then so be it.

The sun began to rise, bleeding red between the distant peaks and dyeing all the snow with blushing pink. Around that time, he realized that he could feel more of his body again. It was possible, with a very great effort, even to twitch. But every return of strength brought with it a deep oxygen-hunger, an ever-increasing fear of suffocation and the return of a burning sensation in his lungs. He did not have long.

It was around that time that Vincent stopped to bend down in the snow, suddenly gasping and then screeching about something. It took a moment before he could make out his words. “C'est la ligne! Nous avons trouvé la ligne, John! [It’s the line! We found the line, John!]” He bounced up to kiss John’s frozen cheek and set them moving much faster down this more definite path, finding a second wind. Good. Vincent, at least, would make it. He let himself slip into another faint.

The next time he awoke, there was something strapped to his face. And something wrapped tightly around his chest. It was difficult to say which one it was that made him finally able to breathe. The thing on his face was an oxygen mask, yes. But the thing around his chest was Vincent. Vincent, alive and warm, with bandaged hands tangled in his hair, refusing to let go for anything. He was struck with that thought that so often struck him when he lay in Helen’s arms: How can this be possible? By what grace, to one like me?

He opened his eyes to see only a darkness filled with warmth, and realize Vincent was bowed over him with their foreheads pressed together. They must be in the helicopter. Joy rushed through him. Would his voice finally function? He succeeded in making some strangled sound.

Vincent gasped and pulled back to look John in the eyes, before embracing him even more completely, as if to merge them together. His whole body shook with sobbing and John managed to lift a hand over his back in answer. “You’re – you’re awake. I’m so relieved. I really thought…”

He struggled to speak again, trying to say Vincent��s name, but the mask, on top of everything else, made it impossible. Vincent realized what was wrong and leaned over to talk to the pilot, asking if he could take it off now. In a few more minutes, he was free.

“Viince – Vincent…I’m so sorry…”

“You’re sorry?” He stared at John in disbelief and started laughing. “I love you so much, you incomprehensible fool.” He leaned down and kissed him hard, their teeth colliding. It was as hungry, as vicious, as any kiss from Vincent had ever been, but somehow more tender, more earnest, lingering against him open mouthed as if to savor the sensation of his lips.

John was out of breath when he pulled away, and just lay there gasping and coughing for a moment.

“You’re sorry,” Vincent repeated. “Look what’s happened to you because of me.”

John was still stuck on his earlier words. “I love you too.” He caught his breath and then continued. “I’m so, so proud of you. That was amazing, back there.”

Vincent looked up at the ceiling, trying to contain happy tears. “Mr. Wick…”

“What is it?”

Though glazed over and shining, his eyes danced with something so eager it could barely be restrained. “I want to burn it all down.”

“I know. I heard you on the way down.”

“I’m sorry for it.” He didn’t look sorry. “But I think I’m going to kill them all. The whole High Table.”

“Good.”

“I – what?”

“Good. We’ll burn it all down. And don’t say you’re sorry when you’re not.”

Vincent beamed, suddenly overcome with energy. He ran a hand up and down John’s torso like he wanted to climb inside his ribcage, and then buried himself against him, sighing with euphoria. “You are the most baffling person, John Wick. The only man who has ever made me feel seen in a way that doesn’t feel like agony. You have saved me. I really do owe you a life debt.”

John shook his head. “Reach inside my breast pocket.”

Though a little confused, Vincent did, and pulled out the marker. John forced his arms upward, stiff as they were, and took it. The metal clicked open, the pin pressed into his thumb, scarlet bloomed on the metal. A freely given rose.

“I want you…free. I’m so happy you’re free. I will not be another person who imprisons you with debts and expectations. I trust you. You’re a good man.”

He laughed. “Good? Don’t insult me.” But the look in his eyes became more desperate. “And don’t…trust me. Don’t free me. Don’t leave me to my own devices…” His hands balled into a fist on the front of John’s coat and his eyes fluttered closed at the difficulty of the words. “I…need you.” He was barely audible.

“Oh I will be here. I’ll help you, I’ll protect you from doing what we both know you’ll regret. But you’re good, even when you’re mad, even when you make mistakes. I want you to do…what you want to do. Express yourself. You’re so beautiful, Vincent. I never want to see you caged again.”

He laughed hollowly. “I look a mess.”

“Hey.” John cupped his face and, by wild praise, forced those dead eyes to flame up again. “I love you, my beautiful mess. I am looking at the leader of the revolution. Everyone will remember you. The world itself will kneel.”

In answer, Vincent slipped the High Table ring off his finger. He cracked open the door, setting the pilot screaming and an icy wind whipping over their bodies, stinging yet purified. And together, the marker and the ring tumbled into the rocky snowbanks so rarely touched by any living thing, to lie forsaken on the lonely top of the world.

-𝓕𝓲𝓷-

◃ Back

Image Sources: 1, 2

[thesilentinquisitor]

“This is Legionnaire Darius of the Death Guard (uhm...number) Company! We are under heavy fire and my squad is the last surviving members of the company! Requesting IMMEDIATE support! OH FUCK INCOMING!” The distress call then repeats.

On the bridge of the IInd Legion’s flagship, the Gloriana-class Weigher of Souls, Grand Inquisitor Evren Anubis sat on the command throne and listened to the distress call crackle from the cogitator speakers. She’d heard it a dozen times now and it never got any less mystifying. What force in this sector of space could have possibly wiped out an entire company of Death Guard? Of all her brother’s gene-children, they were some of the hardiest. And to make one actually panic... Despite herself, a shiver ran down her spine. 

Whatever waited for them down there, it was powerful indeed.

“Dropping out of Warp now, ma’am. We’ll be dropping into orbit as close to the call’s source as we can.” the one of the ship’s mortal crew reported; Evren thanked them absently as she played the message again. As if one more repetition would suddenly reveal some truth the other dozen hadn’t. 

Soon after she was marching out of the bridge, flanked by two Tomb Jackals in their midnight-black plate. Her jackal-masked helm was clasped under one arm. In the docking bay, rows of Astartes waited patiently to board Stormbirds or climb inside drop-pods. It had been decided that Evren and a hand-picked team of twenty would scout ahead, searching for and hopefully meeting with the Death Guard Squad who made the call. Once they had updated the rest as to conditions on the ground and the nature of their enemy, they would engage the enemy by whichever method they deemed suitable. Meanwhile, their astropaths were attempting to contact Mortarion himself with the news.

Such missions held no fear for a Perpetual. She worried only for her men and those trapped planetside. Thoughts of a worst-case scenario filled her mind as the Stormbird’s engines roared to life and they plunged down into the atmosphere. Towards whatever had killed so many of her nephews.

[id-pack-archive]

Plain Text

Iris ID Pack (PKMN)

requested by anon

Name: Cadmus, Drachen, Evren, Gem, Kayda, Morgan, Ruby, Saphira, Thorn, Vale

Pronouns: drake/drakes, wing/wings, talon/talons, claw/claws, scale/scales, myth/myths, dragon/dragons, poke/mon, train/trains, roar/roars, flight/flights

Identities: Pokétypic, Pokédomus, Pokémon Hearthic, pokénatured/pokenatured, dragon type pokémon/trainer, Phosdragontypial, Dragon Ambitherian, Drasparngic, Dragonmesta, Dragotix, Dragonchronal, Wyrmvior, Dragwingic/Dragwinggender, dragonsei, dragongender, Draganehoarder, Dragonalius, pokémon (trainer) flag, pokémon gym leader/leader's pokémon

IRIS ID PACK (PKMN)

requested by anon

Name: Cadmus, Drachen, Evren, Gem, Kayda, Morgan, Ruby, Saphira, Thorn, Vale

Pronouns: drake/drakes, wing/wings, talon/talons, claw/claws, scale/scales, myth/myths, dragon/dragons, poke/mon, train/trains, roar/roars, flight/flights

Identities: Pokétypic, Pokédomus, Pokémon Hearthic, pokénatured/pokenatured, dragon type pokémon / trainer, PHOSDRAGONTYPIAL, DRAGON AMBITHERIAN, Drasparngic, Dragonmesta, DRAGOTIX, Dragonchronal, Wyrmvior, Dragwingic/Dragwinggender, dragonsei, dragongender, Draganehoarder, Dragonalius, pokémon ( trainer ) flag, pokémon gym leader / leader's pokémon

[olympus-summit]

rosabelle believe || Adelina (ft Evren) || RE: Mina, Leland ATTN: Leland

As Mina offers both her hand and her advice, Adelina scoffs inbetween her sobs. 

“Okay, centrist.”

She snorts - one part due to congestion all this crying has given her, one part a bitter sort of amusement.

“I - I refuse to grant your premise that it’s not your place to ask him to apologize for, you know, everything, but - whatever. I believe you are trying to help me. I do. Although you should not take that statement as credible whatsoever - after all, I believed in a man who told me he trusted me and I believed in a murderer who was just toying with me for his own amusement. So I do not have a history of accurately assessing motivations. But - I do believe you are trying to help me. I just think you’re doing a terrible job of it.”

Adelina had been harsh to Leland. She would not deny that - she is truthful in all regards. But jesus fuck, how was that relevant? How was this a both sides issue? He mocks her and goes along with this plan and treats her like garbage, but she pointed out that he is a capitalistic man who works exclusively for the rich, and suddenly it’s all a gray area.  

Gratefully, Evren comes along soon, and takes her away from the fire - burning like her heart. She sees how he is being destroyed by this awful man, and it makes the fire roar. Not only because she sees herself mirrored in him - ha, what irony! - but because that’s her fucking best friend. And he’s being hurt. She whispers something to him - too low to be heard - with a caring look, fighting through her own tears.

The discourse continues onward, but there’s one thing Leland says that makes her perk up…

“I - please forgive me for overlooking such an obvious detail. I was too busy having my entire trust and faith in a person completely and utterly destroyed that I - I forgot to truly process that  the entire point of this endeavor was to make it to some afterlife.”

“Well, I cannot truly grant such a premise. I’m a - a firm atheist, I better fucking be - no God I could worship would do this to me, but - ah, I digress. I still think - even if I don’t believe it would happen or work, I ought to take this time for some final words to Izar, just - just in case. I know you despise me oh-so-much, but please consider that you claim to care deeply for Evren. Now, Evren, may I ask for confirmation: you’d be fucking pissed if he denied to pass on my message due to his personal disdain for me, correct? It would actively cause you pain and suffering if he were to do such a thing?”

Evren just... nods. He'd do pretty much anything for Adelina at this point.

(It’s a mutual feeling.)

With that out of the way, Adelina returns her gaze to Leland. 

“Very well then. So you must pass on this message, you see, or - or else you’ll be hurting Evren. Your feelings on me are ire- they don’t matter, because of this. This is the message I would like for you to pass on:”

She takes a deep breath. And she begins.

[TW: Adelina uses some victim-blaming rhetoric on herself, at points implying it was her own fault for not noticing that Sol was a manipulative partner and that she was in an unhealthy relationship. Discussions of suicide (as it relates to doing so to end a motive, not Adelina wishing to commit it due to these revelations) are also present.]

“Your apology is not fucking accepted. Let us begin with that, Izar. At least you were able to say one correct thing in that pathetic mess of a postscript - you have not earned my forgiveness. You are correct.”

“Fucking - YOU PROMISED ME! YOU LOOKED ME IN THE EYES, YOU - YOU TOLD ME YOU’D TELL ME! Oh, I really am a complete idiot - I was so fucking easy to fool! Evren told me so, Antonio told me so - everybody told me that you were a charlatan, and yet I was a complete dunce. No wonder you chose me over Ms. Han. She’d never fall for any of this, she’d never play into your hand so easily. You promised me that if - if you were going to kill yourself - and ONLY if the motive was worth it - that - you’d tell me! We’d do it together, Izar! I was going to give you a wonderful last day, we - we were going to work together! You knew how much I hated being betrayed, lied to. You - you knew how deeply that hurt me. You fucking saw how I reacted to Elliott! How I was so completely torn apart from his deceit, from how personal it felt. And you saw all that, and-”

“I really can’t believe how - it always lies with you. And yet I believed them. Smart enough to graduate summa cum laude, dumb enough not to realize how pathetic her boyfriend thought she was. You seem oh-so-confident on this little plan of yours. I presume you have evidence, then? A reason to believe this gamble was worth it? Well, it would have been awfully helpful if you had some sort of loyal partner, who would do anything for you if presented with evidence that it was for the greater good. Such as bringing back deceased, almost! Almost as if she would have been a great pick!”

“But no, let me choose the man who hates our guts. You really do think so little of me, huh. Perhaps you were right. I’ve come all this way, and yet I keep failing and failing - if I wasn’t smart enough to see how you manipulated me so, maybe I’m just not smart enough to - to get your big plan of justice.”

“And then - oh, the cherry on top. We must go our separate ways? Why - you’re one cliche away from ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, you fucker! You were the one! You were the one who told me it was worth the risk. I would - I would have been happy to stay platonic. I could have accepted that. But you were the one who chose me, you were the one who convinced me to take the chance - take a chance on a man you claim is worthless, ha! And so what does it say of me, that - that you thought, even for a moment, that I was worth pursuing? That we’d make a good match?”

“Self-deprecation is a common tactic among people like - no, I can’t -”

And then she wails. She frantically pulls herself together.

“I just want somebody to tell me I’m stupid. That I’m putting all the pieces together wrong. That I didn’t just have my heart broken and that - that I wasn’t just - used and flung aside. That I didn’t just ignore all the telltale signs of emotional manipulation. That I didn’t just get out of an unhealthy relationship. That I didn’t just get out of it because the guy would rather cooperate with his enemy then with me. Please - am I making any errors? Is my rhetoric flawed? Do I employ any fallacies? I want somebody to tell me I am. Not you, of course, Izar - I would not fucking trust a single word that came from that deceitful mouth of yours. I want an unbiased source to tell me this. One that doesn't benefit from continuing to play with me.”

“Really, though it is - your apologies suck. They’re fucking awful. Zero credit. You talk the big talk - as you always do, your words were what got me, it was that fucking silver tongue of yours that made me such a fool - but you fail on any credibility. Your words ring hollow. You make yourself into a beautiful little martyr to excuse all of the harm you did.”

“When? When did you decide? I - oh god, of course I know. It was when you texted me to tell me that you had chosen me over Ms. Han. That was when you realized that I’d be easier. Ms. Han had a whole life - she had friends and family and the secrets event even showed that she had played tricks like yours before. Of course - of course, oh my god, this was right after that, wasn’t it? Of course! I’m such a goddamn oblivious failure! Of course that was when you realized it had to be me - Ms. Han would have caught on.”

“How much of it was ever real to begin with? Does it even matter? You - you could have fucking broken up with me. Like, in person, not like a coward. Instead of drawing this out so painfully. I would have still mourned for you, but - god. Sad? You can tell that I’m feeling sad? We’ve spent all this time together and the best descriptor you can come up with is sad?”

“Ah, but perhaps I am too harsh. After all, your previous data - which was quite numerous - did show that I would be swayed by such empty words in the past. I suppose it was your presence, truly, that was the key. It - it’s so fucking easy to be angry at you. It is! I am doing it very easily right now. I am exerting very little effort in channeling my rage. But I’m angry at the theoretical you, the - the one I’m communicating to that I don’t even think exists. But when you were there, and you looked at me like that, and you spoke to me, and…”

She sobs, because as she recounts, a twinge of warmth bursts within her, and she hates it.

“Well, you cannot seduce me over a postscript, I can tell you that much. Your luck is not needed - I will escape here all on my own. And I’ll tell the world. Do you think I won’t? Oh, I’ll be a laughingstock too - the entire world will point and laugh at the pathetic dumbass prick who fell for such an obvious ploy. I will continue to feel embarrassed - did you know this is one of the first times in over a decade that I’ve felt embarrassed, Izar? Embarrassed that I fell for such tactics? Congratulations, in that regard. Ah, but - it will all be worth it, because the truth will be out. And while they laugh at me, they’ll be scowling at you. They’ll despise you for this. Good.”

“And if this does all really work? If you manage to succeed? I don’t want to see your face ever again. You’ve lost your right to be in my presence.”

She pants, a little out of breath from all the talking, and then… she sighs.

“I think that shall be sufficient, as a message to pass on. Please remain as verbatim as possible.”