#she is capable of both great kindness and great destruction? check

[all-pacas]

self indulgent headcanon post: secret retcon sister edition

Daniela Maria Chase. She's gone almost universally by Ellie or Ella since she was little: Chase tends to call her Danielle. It's an old defiant habit: their father called her Ellie and little teenage Robbie was like no her name is Danielle, you don't get to call her a cute nickname if you're not here for her. (But he got it wrong, her name's Daniela.) Meanwhile she has called him Robbie since she was old enough to talk.

Ella was pretty young when her mother died, which isn't to say that her addictions and neglect didn't affect her. As with Robert before her, their mother would lock Ella in the nursery to "get her out of the way;" unlike Robert Ella never really knew or remembered her mother sober, has no good memories to draw on, just a vague terror of a very sick woman.

Robbie got the Good Looks gene. Ellie looks okay, they’re still related and all. But nowhere near his prettiness level. They don’t look alike generally; they take after different parents. But they are both blonde.

Oddly, Ella got along alright with Rowan. Because she was a girl, he had much lower/fewer expectations of her (sexism win!) and because of her age he took her in after her mother died. He still wasn't a great dad by any means. They kind of just ignored one another. She got along okay with her step-mother, too, who is one of those rich ladies who loves a good Society Dinner and Fundraiser.

Robert did his best but wasn't a good parent to Ella either. Obviously he should never have expected to be. But he was fifteen and barely coping and fifteen.

So she ended up growing up to be incredibly independent, capable of fending for herself, but also deeply prone to self destructive behaviors. If Robert is bad at relying on others, Ellie is 800% worse. She essentially emancipated herself at 17, got a job, lived on her own, never married (because relying on people), does everything Herself.

But she also periodically self destructs. She is an addict. She's an alcoholic. She self medicates and does stupid, reckless, attention seeking things, it all spirals, she checks herself into rehab, she's fine for a few years and then does it again. She was also cut out of dad's will — not a surprise, she was a complete non-entity to him and didn't even go to university.

Robert sends her money sometimes. (When he was pulling double wages in S2, she'd just been sent to rehab and he wanted the extra money to help her out.) He is the one tentative exception to the I'll do it on my own clause: Ellie will still do it on her own, thanks, but she doesn't mind him "lending" her money or buying her groceries or making her "on her own" thing easier.

Around 2010 — in her early twenties — she has a kid. Dad is not in the picture and never was. She and Robert have a huge falling out about this, he quite bluntly thinks she can't keep her life together and is being irresponsible and stupid (and flashing back to his own childhood). She has a boy. Chase has never met his nephew. They didn't speak for a couple years after.

Ellie tries to be a good mother. She stays clean, she works hard, she's actually quite proud of herself for "making something of herself." She really resents Robert as much as she does intellectually know he did his best and shouldn't have been responsible for her. But from her perspective, he abandoned her. He's rich and successful and a famous doctor (and Rowan probably was the type to compare her to him, even if he'd never once praise Chase to his face). He has it sooooo easy. And yet Robert is constantly lecturing her, telling her what to do, doubting she can make it on her own. In her mind, Ellie came from nothing and made something of herself, where Robert was given what he has.

But she does love him. And has fond memories of him. And is proud of him and his success! They just… do better with low contact. They always end up arguing. Robert sees Danielle and just feels guilt and is reminded of everything that was bad in his childhood; Danielle mostly was too young to remember the worst of it (and what she does remember is good times with her brother), and resents him for leaving.

Cameron absolutely reached out to Ella as soon as she learned she existed. She picked up the name Danielle from Chase, and no one told her it wasn't technically correct. Ella was immediately suspicious of Cameron's motives, but quite liked her. She thinks it makes perfect sense the marriage only lasted a few months, since obviously Robbie is a huge fucking loser. (She's told him so to his face, that Cameron was way too good for a stuck up asshole like Robert. He will never ever tell her about Dibala.)

Her son's name is Noah Robert Chase. His uncle has no idea.

[consulting-writer]

Alright back to the end of ASiB:

“Jim Moriarty sends his love.”

Sherlock figures it out here, what the password to Irene’s phone is.

Irene scoffs and says “Look at the poor man. You don’t think I was actually interested in you? Why, because you’re the great Sherlock Holmes in the funny hat?

Sherlock says, “No”, it’s because he took her pulse. “Elevated and pupils dilated”. Yet, I know this was comparable to when he checked Mrs. Hudson after she was attacked by the Americans.

But. She and Sherlock both knew she was fine (when John suggested she leave for her wellbeing). And while I know Mrs. Hudson took a hit to the face and was dragged upstairs, maybe she was excited because she knew 1) She had the phone, 2) Sherlock was going to help and, 3) She had to put on her best performance

Let’s not forget how Sherlock met Mrs. Hudson and how her entire character is capable and lenient towards caring for Sherlock and John’s antics—she ain’t normal, she also did donuts in series 4. We don’t mess with Mrs. H.

So it’s possible Sherlock put two and two together and figured, after Irene got cocky and stated “Jim Moriarty sends his love” and continued on about him being the best “consulting criminal” and being her “kind of man”, that Irene was hiding something for Moriarty, something important.

And maybe, just maybe: Irene was to Moriarty what Mrs. Hudson was to Sherlock (the antithesis of consulting detective vs. consulting criminal)

Irene was acting JUST like Mrs. Hudson was.

“I’d imagine John Watson thinks love is a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple and destructive.”

To me, I believe he’s talking about Moriarty.

Why?

Sherlock also mentions Irene’s measurements again, how when they met she told him a disguise is a self portrait: but she was naked, a blank canvas. She didn’t put her feelings into anything which was why “It wasn’t real”. She was moving exactly as Moriarty wanted her to, which is why Sherlock mentions the intimacy and sentiment of the password:

Irene does not understand because she did not set the password: she allowed someone else control over her life, her heart (the phone) and it ruled her head (the power got to her head, as Sherlock states—she got too excited, moved too far ahead of herself by simply stating Moriarty sent his love, i.e. his obsession of Sherlock, i.e. “Sherlocked”—she is merely a hand to hold the phone, but the phone is her life—that’s where she messed up. She put too much at risk “on the losing side” because Moriarty cares more about Sherlock than Irene ever would.

Just like Mrs. Hudson was a hand to hold the phone and was also Sherlock’s experiment to test her pulse,

Irene becomes the mirror or antithesis to Mrs. Hudson because, unlike Mrs. H, Irene is cocky. Unlike Sherlock, Moriarty’s motivation is excitement and shock and whatever fascination he has for Sherlock.

Sherlock recognizes the same play he did with Mrs. Hudson only 30 minutes before in the episode and reacts accordingly.

“Jim Moriarty sends his love” ≠ Irene loves Sherlock.

P.S: Right after Irene is officially introduced, after she says on the phone “I think it’s time, don’t you?”, Mrs. Hudson is shown in the next scene, if we’re looking for mirrors

[guillotinesandroses]

Stalemate - Chapter Two; Sicilian Dragon

For a second longer you stare at him, overwhelmed. A small smile forms on your lips. You reach out to his extended hand, holding onto it for a moment. "Of course." 

A similar smile falls onto his lips, though his reflects satisfaction more than relief. "Wonderful." 

After a brief handshake, you let go one of another. Lelouch glances away at the green-haired woman laying in a puddle of her own blood. You take a step back, allowing him space to do whatever it was he intends on doing. 

As you try to steady your heartbeat, Lelouch walks up to the dead girl. He shares a few words with her you cannot hear. Raising a brow, you wonder if he knew her or if he is simply thanking her for her sacrifice. Your expression softens; she must have been a very kind person to offer her own life up to a stranger in such a way. 

An explosion suddenly rings out. Lelouch and you jump back, alert. A Knightmare crashes in through a wall. 

"What happened here? And why are Britannian students in a place like this?" A female voice asks. You look to Lelouch for input on how he wants to proceed, but he stands totally still. 

"Are you deaf? Answer me or I'll-" She does not even finish her sentence before firing a round of warning shots. Since Lelouch remains silent, you decide to take action and visibly flinch. "Answer me!" 

"Please, stop firing!" You enable a terrified facade again, which is not difficult with all the corpses surrounding you. "We were taken hostage by the terrorists! I apologize for not responding, we're both a bit-" 

"I order you to come out! At once!" Lelouch suddenly demands. 

"Who the hell do you think you are to order me!" 

The strange symbol in Lelouch's eye fades away as his expression relaxes. Lifting his hands up in surrender, he speaks, "My name is Alan Spacer, my father is a duke. My I.D card is in my breast pocket. After you confirm my identity, I ask for your protection." 

The pilot hesitates for a second, then opens up the Knightmare's cockpit. She slides down from the heights with a rope, a gun points at you. "Keep your hands up in the air. I'll take out your I.D's. And you, what is your name supposed to be." 

"Uh... Alex Sycamore," you blurt out. No idea if that name is believable or not- but the wasn't any time to hesitate. 

The woman looks at you strangely, then walks closer to Lelouch. However, before she can reach him, his eye changes again. "Now then, hand over your Knightmare to me." 

"Understood. The code number is XG2-1G2D4." She tosses the keys to Lelouch. 

"Got it." 

You blink, tilting your head. "Are you sure? That was a long number." 

Lelouch chuckles, then offers you his hand. Grabbing onto it, you follow him into the Knightmare Frame. Lelouch settles onto the driver's seat while you sit to the side. 

"It's been a while since I've been in one of these things," you comment, glancing around. 

"You've piloted a Knightmare before?" Lelouch asks while making the machine whir back to life. 

"Only a handful of times. They allowed me to see how these worked as a show of power of sorts, to see their destructive capabilities." You tap on a few settings you know make the engines activate. "Just another way to keep me in check, though that's not how they would've phrased it." 

"Let me guess, they 'gave you the honor of' witnessing the might of the Great Holy Britannian Empire for yourself? Something about showing their trust and friendship with (Country) by letting the president's child meddle with their special new inventions?" Lelouch asks with an almost playful smile. 

"Heh, well, well, seems like you know these royals like lines on your palms." You smirk teasingly, but then allow it to fade into a more serious expression. "But, really, what was that whole thing about calling yourself Lelouch vi Britannia? Are you into some sort of weird roleplay, or..?" 

"Is that something you really need to know?" 

"I won't ask any further questions. I just want to clarify it." 

Lelouch sighs. "Well, since you already know this much, I might as well tell you. I am Lelouch vi Britannia, the former seventeenth heir to the throne." 

For a moment longer, you stare at him. After taking it in, you hum in understanding and turn back to the screens. Getting the Knightmare moving faster only took a few minor adjustments. Once the two of you find a nice spot to both hide and watch the battle, you come to a brief standstill. Requiring more info to properly asses the situation, Lelouch calls Shirley to learn what the news are saying. 

Eventually Lelouch hangs up on her, then muses to himself. "I get it. Once they finish everything up, they'll release news that favor the military. They need to keep a lid on this information, so it'll be difficult for them to call reinforcements. They'll have to make do with the pieces they have on the board." 

"Even so, we're surrounded like this and it'll be difficult to break through by ourselves. And seeking refuge carries its own risks too." Suddenly, a rust-colored knightmare rushes past your hiding spot. It is the Glasgow that showed up before, owned by the terrorists. Lelouch's eyes narrow as he pulls out a radio stole. 

"I want payback for being dragged into your fight." He adjusts the settings and leans more to the side of the seat. "Take over for me fully for a bit, okay?" 

"Can do." You shift position and scan through the control screens. "Will you contact her?" 

"Yes, I'm sure she'd appreciate a little help in this here situation." Lelouch speaks confidently, then prepares to make the call. 

The Glasgow slides away from a group of purple knightmares, barely evading the bullets. Right as the situation seems most dire, Lelouch steps in. "The west entrance! Use the tracks to move to the west entrance!" 

The pilot responds something you cannot hear, but Lelouch does not care for it. "That doesn't matter! If you wanna win, you're just gonna have to trust me!" 

Listening in on his speech, you can pick up on certain royal lingo now that you are paying attention to it. Even more so, he speaks with the entitlement of a royal now that he is in a leadership position. However, you suppose that in case of a leader, speaking as if you are expecting others to follow your every whim is a necessity. Commanding respect is vital in order to get people to listen to you, so plans can be fulfilled effectively. It is not as if that trait is the reason you dislike royalty anyway. 

The true reason you hate royalty stems not their ability to lead, that is one of the few traits you admire about them. Instead, what you despise is the way they use that power. Most royals are capable of only demanding respect, but lack the skill, ability and talent to do anything good with the respect they are able gather and the power they have the privilege to wield. Rather than improving the world and looking out for their subjects as they should, they grow arrogant and vain as if they descended from gods, even though the blood in their veins is the same as in those of the filthiest peasant's. In pursuit of more power they forget their humanity, leaving the common folk, human beings just like them, out to bleed dry. 

Your eyes narrow, then you look back at Lelouch. Well, let's see how you handle this, vi Britannia. I may have agreed to cooperate with you, but it was mostly out of need. You have yet to even prove yourself to me. I have high hopes for you... and since I'm too deep in to back out now, I truly do hope I made the right call in trusting a royal. 

Lelouch contacts the other rebels. Wondering how exactly he got through to all of those radio lines, a sense of contained awe builds up within you. The woman in the Glasgow speeds through the map as you navigate through the buildings. Lelouch tells you to stop at the perfect spot, the top of building, and you do. 

"Since you trusted me, you're gonna win. Jump onto the train!" Lelouch cuts off the call momentarily, turning to you. "As soon as he reaches point F3 on the map, fire." 

"Got it." 

The Glasgow jumps onto the train and leaps through the carts. One of the enemy knightmares tries to hold the train back. Then, the other on rushes to point F3. In an instant, you slash the machine to bits. The pilot ejects from the knightmare. 

"Shoot the other one down!" 

You follow his orders. Aiming for all the weak spots you know are in a Sutherland Knightmare, the second one falls apart. A sense of catharsis washes over you upon maiming the Britannian weaponry, a smirk falling to your lips. Soon after, the Glasgow rushes back to finish the job. The noble in control of the Sutherland is forced to eject as well. 

"That's enough. Retreat now," Lelouch says. 

"Hm? Really?" You shut the guns off. 

"We don't need to show ourselves to these people yet, do we? We've done our part." 

"And a lot more, certainly." You laugh, then drive the knightmare away from the scene. 

Once you are far enough, you relax in the driver's seat, as does Lelouch. While you keep an eye on the monitors just in case, he communicates with the group he cooperated with. Lelouch announces that they are allowed to use the knightmares from the cargo train they stopped. The woman in the Glasgow is to lead a unit acting as a decoy. After ten minutes, the next stage of his plans will be set into motion. 

"This is wearing me out." Lelouch sighs. "Regardless, I'll need determination to succeed. After all, I'm betting both of our lives in this game." 

The enemy falls for the decoy and on his orders, you shoot them through the wall. Lelouch orders the rebels to fire their slash harkens at a precise angle, which works right away. He barks more and more commands, telling them to move to different locations and what to watch out for, predicting the enemy's moves. Your heart eases at his proven competence. Although you do not want to be hasty and assume victory, it is difficult not to when everything is going so well. 

Even so, the enemy's next move is clear. Lelouch set them up with another decoy to surround them. In the short interval between now and the following attack, you opted to ask Lelouch a question which had been bothering you for a while. 

"Since you're also royalty... do you know prince Clovis?" 

"Yes, I do know him. He is my half-brother." Lelouch responds, still fiddling with a chess piece before grasping it fully. "Not to worry, he was always horrible at chess. I always beat him with little to no effort." 

"Heh, that's reassuring." You chuckle, then lean onto your hand. "I do want to challenge you at some point too though, I've decided." 

"Really? Well, I'm honored to have caught your attention." Lelouch smiles playfully. Both of you turn your attention back to the battle at hand after that. His plans succeed once again. 

"With this, I call check." Lelouch places the black king back onto the board. The asphalt crumbles beneath the knightmares and they fall to their doom. 

Lelouch leans back, laughing maniacally. "My plan worked, didn't it? I can do it! I can! I can defeat Britannia!" 

A small, hopeful smile rests on your lips. It is far too soon to insist success is guaranteed. However, for the first time in an eternity, you have the tiniest glimpse of faith. You are too deep in to back out anyway. 

"Another push and the checkpoint will fall..." Lelouch chuckles. 

"This is B group! Reporting enemy presence!" A voice suddenly shouts out through the speaker. 

"Reinforcements? Real battle is different, isn't it?" Lelouch mutters to himself. "Status?" 

"Everybody ejected! But they took out four units in no time flat!" 

"Enemy numbers?" 

"Just one! I think it's a new model, never seen anything like it-" the speaker gets cut off by a guttural scream. 

"What? It reflects bullets?" 

"We may need to move soon," you comment. 

Lelouch orders several more attacks. All of them fail as he loses more and more allies. 

"The enemy... can it really only be one unit?" 

"We may be dealing with one of the knights of the round," you assume, Lelouch turning to you, "only they have the resources for such a high-level Knightmare Frame." 

"Maybe so..." Lelouch grits his teeth, "...but why would one of the knights bother with such a trivial matter..?!" 

"I don't kno-" From the corner of your eye, the monitor shows the white robot's gaze turn on you. "Shit! We've been spotted!" 

You wring back the steering wheel and pull on the gas lever, but it is not enough. In an instant, the white knightmare has scaled the distance. Red alarms blare in the cockpit as the enemy sword gets in a devastating blow. 

"This thing? This is what's ruining my plan?!" Lelouch screams. 

Dammit! We need to get out of this stupid building! 

"Nothing more than a pilot! How dare he-!" Lelouch leans forward in frustration. 

"Keep your head pressed against the chair!" You shove him back aggressively. "We're falling down!" 

Both knightmares crash several floors down through the building, all the way down to the last one. You struggle to regain control of the situation, but the attempts are useless against the other frame's sheer strength. So, you switch tactics. Instead of pushing back with full force, you allow the machine to go through the floors. The moment the enemy realizes they do not need to use as much power as before and ease up, you push back much harder, only to suddenly let go and rush out. 

"No choice, we've got to get out of here!" Lelouch recovers from his shock, aiding you with the settings. 

"This thing is too damn slow!" 

The white knightmare almost catches a hold of you, but right before it does, the Glasgow user steps in. However, the old model is easily crushed and the pilot is forced to eject. 

Clicking your tongue, you move in your seat. "You take the movement panel! I'll handle the shooting!" 

Lelouch, though glancing at you in mild confusion, does so. You grasp onto the panels controlling weapons and aim. Targeting the robot's joints and feet, you hit each spot head-on. 

"I'm turning a corner right now! Be ready!" Lelouch shouts. 

"Got it!" You respond and adjust your aim to his movements. 

In spite of how much you manage to weaken it, the white knightmare continues to chase you down. However, just as it is about to catch up again, it turns to stare at the top of a building. Suddenly, it shoots off, carefully scooping up a falling woman and her baby down safely. Although you share a brief glance, neither you nor Lelouch comment on this. Immediately, both of you take the chance to eject from the beaten down knightmare. 

Lelouch takes charge again, distracting a pair of soldiers as you knock them out with a pipe wrench found from the rubble. The two of you hide in the maintainance closet of a nearly collapsed building. It is a cramped space, but you needed a safe place to equip the military wear. 

"Not the most ideal place to play dress-up..." you mutter while adjusting the gear over your uniform. 

"I know, but it'll have to do for now." 

"Mhm. But, you know, even though the ligths are off, you better not be trying to sneak in any glances here," you tease him to lessen the tension, "that would be horribly inappropriate for someone of your status, especially before marriage!" 

Although caught off guard initially, Lelouch laughs. "Oh, trust me, I wouldn't dream of it." 

Soon after, you are both done with the uniforms. Following Lelouch, you soon arrive at the glamorous, royal vehicle. 

"Halt! Where's your I.D? This is prince Clovis's personal transport!" A soldier yells out. 

"At last, the checkpoint." Lelouch removes his helmet with a calm smile. "And barely guarded for my plan." 

"Your plan?" 

"That's right. Now, I'd like you to let me pass." 

The strange glow in Lelouch's eye returns. Lowering his gun, the soldier obeys the orders. "Yes, sir. Understood." 

Lelouch continues on as you follow. However, as he presses the elevator button, you pause. 

"Uh, wait, I just thought of something. What are we doing once we get to him?" 

"Why?" Lelouch turns to you with a small smirk, one of patience and satisfaction, showing he has waited for this for a long time. "We'll kill him, of course." 

Caught off guard, your eyes widen. Right... I don't know what I expected. 

Your gaze drifts away from his, conflicted. Even so... is that really the smart thing to do? Let alone the right thing to do. Murder is not something you can walk back from. Allowing him to live would be a liability yet offer up more choices, but killing him would benefit our goals immensely yet stain both of our hands for good... 

Choice A) Convince Lelouch to spare him? -> Proceed to Chapter Three; Queenside Expansion 

Choice B) Accept Lelouch's plan? -> Proceed to Chapter Three; Marshall Attack 

Stalemate Masterlist

[alyssalikestoreadbooks]

Check & Mate - Ali Hazelwood

"Mallory Greenleaf is done with chess. Every move counts nowadays; after the sport led to the destruction of her family four years earlier, Mallory’s focus is on her mom, her sisters, and the dead-end job that keeps the lights on. That is, until she begrudgingly agrees to play in one last charity tournament and inadvertently wipes the board with notorious “Kingkiller” Nolan Sawyer: current world champion and reigning Bad Boy of chess.

Nolan’s loss to an unknown rook-ie shocks everyone. What’s even more confusing? His desire to cross pawns again. What kind of gambit is Nolan playing? The smart move would be to walk away. Resign. Game over. But Mallory’s victory opens the door to sorely needed cash-prizes and despite everything, she can’t help feeling drawn to the enigmatic strategist.... As she rockets up the ranks, Mallory struggles to keep her family safely separated from the game that wrecked it in the first place. And as her love for the sport she so desperately wanted to hate begins to rekindle, Mallory quickly realizes that the games aren’t only on the board, the spotlight is brighter than she imagined, and the competition can be fierce (-ly attractive. And intelligent…and infuriating…)"

Read Date - July 20th, 2024

Length - 352 pages

Genre - Romance, Contemporary, New Adult

Rating - 8/10

Stars - ★★★☆☆

Notes - I like how the book starts out showing how much the family sacrifices for their moms disability. The chess tournament between Nolan and Mallory is really nice, and it displays the different capabilities of chess to people like me. Mallory getting fired (for being a good person) was shocking but also goes to show how much she relied on her father to existing in the world, and it shows how deep her loss of him goes. Mall meeting all the different chess players was really interesting, like Emile and Oz. The tournament was really engaging and I like that Mallory still won $10k even though she wasn’t THE winner. The spat between Sabrina and Mallory was very realistic towards familial relationships and I love how it played out. Nolan being asexual coded is also REALLY CUTE representation. I love how all the flirting is chess related, and very tense, and it’s so fucking adorable to me. The sick part of the book was also adorable, and i love how Mallory took care of Nolan. Just very sweet. The talk about how woman are chosen in the industry to uphold image and not progress the standards is also really interesting and important to talk about, and I’m glad it was touched on. The challengers scene was fascinating and Mallory having to resign to Cox was tense as fuck. The impact of it afterwards was sad and seeing Mallory slightly give up on chess was impactful to me. The kiss between Nolan and Mallory was cute, and i love how the Touch-Take rule was played out. The reveal that Cox was cheating was a big twist, along with the relationship divide that happens. Nolan was paying for Mallory’s fellowship, and she couldn’t handle it. This makes sense, and i sympathize with both parties. Mallory blaming herself for her fathers death is also a tough topic to introduce to the novel, but it was thoroughly needed and well done. I love that Mallory’s mother comes in and helps after her outburst, and doesn’t blame her for it. She understands that she’s grieving, and taking on a parental role. Her sisters apologizing, and her apologizing to them was sweet, and i liked how everything was resolved. This was great representation for Rheumatoid Arthritis and i really like how it was handled. The confession scene was sweet and i liked how everything happened. It was a little hard to connect because it felt like everything happened so fast, but Nolan and Mallory getting together and sorting out their problems was needed, especially after everything she accused him of. The ending of this book was so sweet and had me swinging and kicking my feet. I love their relationship so much and idc what anyone else says about this book, it is SO cute. 

[ngmn2002]

Hi

i saw your posts about the new chapter , it was great 👍👍

We know Sakura has been imprisoned for 100 years and natsuhiko is immortal but what I don't understand is that they are strong ' why do they need tsukasa , and what is his role, Iwish you could tell me about his role , your theories 😞😞

im sorry that's long 😔

Have a nice day

Hi.

That's nice to hear.

I think your answer lies within sakura's wish to finally be able to leave the school. To get that wish granted, there is something specific needs be achieved, which is the destruction of all the 7 yorishrios. Would her '100 years of being imprisoned' get her out? No, they tell us she can't escape with her power alone and pretty much, she can't do anything about the situation she is in. Would nat's 'immortality' alone get her out? No. For her to finally get out, all the yorishiros must be destroyed, the knowledge she got during these 100 years and nat's 'immortality' can be a help in achieving that main task of destroying the yorishiros, but alone they are never enough to achieve that. The 2 of them put together mean nothing. sakura and nat can sit without moving a foot forward with only these 2 factors.

Here comes Tsukasa's rule in getting her wish come true. Tsukasa is a yorishiro so that's the first reason, she needs his collaboration, and second, Tsukasa is the supernatural that grants wishes for supernaturals. Neither she nor nat's immortality can grant that wish for her. It's only Tsukasa, the person in charge of that specific task. And as we know, she ended up working for him as the price of said wish. All that means, they 'need' Tsukasa's help more than anything (after Nene's help). Tsukasa can make sure granting her wish goes 'smoothly' (however he sees fit) and work on the task in his way, he even can lend her some of his power to rely on to do her tasks. She/nat relies on his power too often.

Feels like a boss coming to check on his workers to see how successful at work they are. lol

We know how powerful and capable Tsukasa is, without him, I believe the 2 alone won't be able to achieve much. She actually admitted all that, didn't she?

 ... At times I feel grateful this thing exists. Makes me feel so good.

Anyway, we still don't really know how they met or under what circumstances. Maybe once we know that, we will see how truly desperate for his help she was.

A little note is that sakura 'supposedly' is that kind of person who does things after giving them a lot of thought. We should ask ourselves: "It doesn't make sense for her to ask for Tsukasa's help if that was meaningless in the end." From there, we get that: indeed she is in serious need for his help, as for all the details, they would be left to the future of the story. One more thing I want to add, is the fact that sakura, nat, Tsukasa... without the kannagi who can destroy the yorishrios, can't make a meaningful move. Now that Nene is there, they can proceed with their plans. The 3 of them actually need Nene more than anything to succeed.  

**** On a side note, I may give some kind of theory… regarding something about her wish and ending up working with Tsukasa. The yorishiro destruction can be benefitable for both of them. You will help me get my power back, and at the same time, you can have your wish granted as well.

A nice deal. ****

Have a nice day. ^^

[dailyadventureprompts]

Hello! I love your blog! The adventures you post are so interesting and are great to read, also my apologies if I messed it up and your not taking submissions any longer! Do you have any thoughts for a mountainous lair for one of the last red dragons on the continent? My players are going there soon and I'd love to here what you think of for this

Villain: Zindiiex, the Mournful Wyrm . 

Who are you to speak to a dragon of MONSTERS? You who have hunted my brood through the centuries, scourging them from the sky and butchering them where they fell. Oh yes, a dragon may kill when she is hungry or to assert her territory, but you humans would see our kind extinct simply to feel “safe” in your squalid little burrows. 

I will hear what you have to say, Vermin, but let neither of us pretend that we are not beasts, pretending at parlay 

Setup: Once known as the “Skybleeder” for the way her rampages would turn the horizon into a haze of smoke and refracted fire, the old wyrm Zindiiex now hides from the world, scarred by the long centuries of conflict and the death of her many kin. 

Cursed with a predator’s instinct to predate and tyrannize, but a mortal spirit capable of fearing pain and loss, this dragon’s millennia spanning existence has been a constant cycle of destruction and suffering, both wrought by her own talons and visited upon her by her victims’ retribution. Having lost both mates and children, and suffered grievous wounds at the hands of attempted dragonslayers, Zindiiex is now a broken beast; lairing in an isolated mountain fortress, nursing her various physical and emotional traumas and spending decades in fitful, tearful slumber. 

Adventure Hooks: 

This prompt is an unplanned sequel to “The Ashen Bastion”, the historic fortress that the Mournful Wyrum took as her hideaway. Check it out if you’d like some details on the backdrop of this encounter, or reasons your party might decide to seek her out on their own. 

Dragons are wellsprings of elemental power, which serves as the source behind their potent breath weapons, as well as their drive to collect, horde, and devour sources of magic. Like most ancient dragons, Zindiiex had cultivated this wellspring into a blazing bonifre, becoming an embodied calamity of titanic destructive potential. In her convalescence however, the Skybleeder’s power has begun to “ Bleed out”, waking the stone that surrounds her into a volcanic state, infusing it with volatile magics even as the dragon herself begins to wither. The sountains stir as Zindiiex sleeps more and more, and are in danger of erupting if the dragon is not dealt with before too long. 

This primordial runoff is also beginning to seed the surrounding landscape with wonderous magic, giving rise to nescient elementals and other oddities. Veins of Adamantine have been found in the foothills surrounding her lair were their were none before, and various objects around the ruins have begun to take on spontaneous enchantments. Though the dragon keeps very little in the way of a horde, there are riches to be found should one be brave enough.  

 A survivor to the very end, the Mournful Wyrm clashed with many of the last age’s great heroes, and may be able to share a tidbit or two about the goings on of the last age that have since been forgotten by all others. 

Art 1

Art 2

[robininthelabyrinth]

Unfettered (aka NHS goes feral) - part 4 - previous parts: on ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

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Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to lie: it was weird seeing Nie Huaisang smiling again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t remember how Nie Huaisang used to behave when they were all back at the Cloud Recesses, and even before, but that seemed so long ago these days that it might as well have occurred in a past life. The expression just didn’t fit him anymore, like a grown man trying to return to the clothing of his childhood, and yet at the same time it was wretchedly familiar, even welcome – it was as if time had reversed course all at once, plucking them all out of the stream of their lives and returning them to how it used to be long before. Back to simpler, happier times.

It was kind of funny, actually.

Those that had not known Nie Huaisang as anything other than the Pallbearer seemed to be in a state of utter shock, gossiping madly – Did you see? He was smiling! He laughed at someone’s joke! He told a joke! He patted that child on the head and said ‘good job’ and the child didn’t cry even once!

Those that had known him from before only by reputation were, if anything, even more aghast – Do you think he’s going to start pouting and crying at things again? Surely not, I can’t even imagine! The last time he pouted was when one of his fans got stained, remember, after he stuck it straight through that man’s throat –

Those that had known him from before in person…

Well, the reaction was mixed. There was some relief, some distress, and a great deal of pain as they remembered once again how much their friend had changed in the wake of his brother’s near-death – the reminder of his former self was both nostalgic and bittersweet.

Personally, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were working through their feelings on the subject with the help of a lot of roleplaying involving their time at the Cloud Recesses. It was very healthy of them, emotionally, although maybe not so healthy for the state of Wei Wuxian’s waist. Or throat. Or hands…

(No, they weren’t officially married yet, since they were still hoping that they could have a proper ceremony when the war ended, but they were both of age and engaged. And that meant they could go to bed together, no matter what some of the more conservative Lan sect members thought – with Lan Qiren backing them up, which he did with no small amount of eye-rolling and deep sighs and long-suffering resignation, they were free to do as they pleased.)

That, too, was something they owed to Nie Huaisang.

Without Nie Huaisang’s timely intervention, both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng would’ve fallen for the Jin sect’s instigation and turned against each other in an act of mutual destruction that harmed both of them, and everyone else besides. Jiang Cheng would have cut off his own right arm, voluntarily weakening his sect just at the moment when they needed strength the most, and rendered himself without any other choice but to be dependent on Lanling Jin, while Wei Wuxian would have remained trapped in the Burial Mounds in Yiling, getting called the Yiling Patriarch as some people still today did, growing ever more resentful at his isolation and poverty.

(That one uncomfortable month he’d spent arguing with Wen Qing and Wen Ning about whether they should try to grow radishes or potatoes had been very educational, especially since they were both not-so-secretly convinced that the argument was futile and that nothing would ever grow on the Burial Mounds, such that they were just whiling away time until they all starved to death.)

They would be scattered, weakened, unhappy and vulnerable. Wei Wuxian would be sitting there like a giant target until the Jin sect decided, in their leisure, to deal with him the way, in hindsight, they had so obviously always intended to.

Wei Wuxian would have missed his sister’s wedding, probably. He might even have missed Jiang Yanli’s widowing, and the consequences of that were unthinkable.

If Wei Wuxian hadn’t brought the Wen sect back with him to the Lotus Pier as a result of Jiang Cheng’s defiance of the cultivation world’s criticism, Wen Qing and Jiang Yanli would never had the chance to hit it off the way they had, becoming fast friends. If they hadn’t been friends, Wen Qing wouldn’t have been visiting Jinlin Tower to check up on her good friend when the news of Jin Zixuan’s death had first spread.

His murder, rather – Wei Wuxian wasn’t terribly clear on the details, but it wasn’t really necessary. Jin Guangshan had pressed his legitimate son’s filial piety to the breaking point in his pursuit of power, and finally he must have done something to go too far, to cause there to be a real break between them. Jin Zixuan must have made clear that he would not play along, no matter what, and by that point Jin Guangshan already knew there was Jin Guangyao waiting in the sidelines to step up and take his place. There was no other way it could have gone, simply because there was no other reason for both Jin Zixuan and his mother to so conveniently die on the very same day.

If it hadn’t been for Nie Huaisang convincing Jiang Cheng, Wen Qing wouldn’t have been there. Wen Qing wouldn’t have been available to be bold and decisive, the way she was with her medicine; she wouldn’t have been able to persuade Jiang Yanli of the possibility of danger and then to smuggler out of Jinlin Tower and take her on the run in disguise, long before it occurred to anyone else that there might be some threat to her – that the Jin sect might decide to hold her hostage, or worse.

Definitely worse. If Jin Guangyao had had the chance to figure out what only Wen Qing had known back then – that Jiang Yanli, barely more than a newlywed, already carried the next heir to Lanling Jin within her belly…

Jin Guangyao’s ambitions would never have let Jin Zixuan live, a fact they’d all only realized in horrible helpless hindsight, but if Wen Qing had been trapped in Yiling with Wei Wuxian at the time, instead of visiting Lanling, then Jiang Yanli…

Wei Wuxian didn’t even want to think of it.

So, really, it was only fair that Nie Huaisang, who had whether intentionally or incidentally saved so many of them these past few years, finally, finally get what he’d been dreaming of all these years: his brother’s return.

It was only fair that he be allowed to return to being happy.

And yet, at the same time –

“You need to go talk to him,” Jiang Cheng said. His arms would be crossed in front of his chest if he wasn’t currently holding a sleeping Jin Ling, who’d had something of a fright upon meeting the new and improved Nie Huaisang. The poor kid had been convinced that his habitually bitter and vicious Second Uncle Nie was possessed by some sort of fierce but bizarrely friendly ghost. “There’s a war on, for fuck’s sake. He can’t spend all his time haunting the Unclean Realm trying to pretend that he’s something he’s not in order to keep his brother from finding out that he’s changed!”

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Wei Wuxian objected. “I mean, Nie Huaisang’s always run most of the war through correspondence, anyway, and it’s not like we’re totally helpless without him to boss us around.��

“His absence hasn’t been noted by our enemies just yet,” Wen Ning murmured. His arms were similarly full with Wen Yuan – a little older than his friends, steadier and more mature, but a sympathetic crier, and spending a month of his childhood in the Burial Mounds made him more susceptible to fears of possession, not less, so he’d been set off by Jin Ling. And seeing them both in tears had, of course, made poor level-headed Jin Rusong, who didn’t cry easily at all, panic and try to help in a way that only made it worse; Xiao Xingchen had swept him away to the kitchen, and the two of them were currently making snacks for the other two when they woke up. “But it will be, soon. They are already puzzled by the change in tactics.”

Wen Ning’s voice was as soft as ever, his stutter subdued only by the fact that he was with company he liked, but his tone brooked no argument – he’d changed a lot since their youth, too, and knew more intimately than most how some things could not be undone.

The Jin sect, not content with merely killing him, had dubbed his resurrected self ‘the Ghost General’ in an attempt to incite the cultivation world into hating and fearing him. It had been a lie back then, when he’d been doing nothing more than planting radish seeds and babysitting, but now Wen Ning was a general in truth, the leader of their archers and one of Nie Huaisang’s right hands. He was still shy, still didn’t speak fluently and probably never would, but Nie Huaisang had assigned him several capable deputies who understood him even when he had to resort to the type of hand-signs used by the deaf or in covert situations. He was surprisingly popular with the cultivators on their side of the war, although Wei Wuxian acknowledged that perhaps his popularity shouldn’t be that much of a surprise: there was a certain morale-boosting effect in seeing your general continuing to fight even after being struck with enough arrows to create a porcupine.

“Being puzzled by a change in tactics is fairly run of the mill for any enemy facing Nie Huaisang,” Wei Wuxian pointed out.

“Which is why they haven’t noticed it yet, Wei-gongzi. But eventually…”

Wei Wuxian grimaced. “Is it really that dire?”

“Not yet,” Lan Wangji said ominously, and – fine. If even Lan Wangji thought that someone should talk to Nie Huaisang, Wei Wuxian would go and talk to him.

After all, they were old friends of long acquaintance.

Very long, even.

“I come bearing terms of peace,” Wei Wuxian announced, walking into Nie Huaisang’s study and waving a few jars of wine at him. “Come negotiate with me, Nie-xiong!”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to barge into my room,” Nie Huaisang said without looking up from his correspondence, a little flash of the vicious Pallbearer they’d all grown painfully accustomed to – he had his family’s temper but a cooler head, with rage that burned low and long rather than flaring up hot and burning out.

Wei Wuxian reflected once more on how apt Nie Huaisang’s personal title was. The foolish thought that it referred to the filial piety he showed in mourning the brother that raised him since childhood, the somewhat wiser to the way the attack on Nie Mingjue had forced Nie Huaisang to find the virtue he had previously lacked, but the really smart ones knew that the most accurate interpretation was that those that Nie Huaisang chose to accompany to their end would ultimately find themselves without any path forward but death.

Nie Huaisang’s cultivation was still nothing special, his ability to fight virtually non-existent beyond the most basic of saber forms – a saber he now carried with him often enough, but still almost never used – and he’d rejected Wei Wuxian’s very innovative idea (if he did say so himself) that he try to train with a war fan, both on the basis of it being both too much effort and furthermore thoroughly lacking in aesthetic. As a result, he had no particularly notable talents, and none that could allow him to triumph in a night-hunt or a duel.

It didn’t make him any less terrifying.

“You’ll forgive me,” Wei Wuxian said flippantly, and sat down next to him, looking at the words that filled the page with Nie Huaisang’s lovely, artistic calligraphy. “More spy stuff?”

Nie Huaisang’s lips curled up into a small smirk. “Naturally. The network never sleeps, as you well know. I assume you’ve been sent to scold me about the war?”

“Amazing,” Wei Wuxian said, and nudged him in the side with his elbow. “It’s almost like you have a brain in your head or something. Since you’ve guessed it, I don’t even know what more I need to say…how’s Chifeng-zun doing?”

That got Nie Huaisang’s face to soften, as he’d hoped it would. “Much better. He’s been sleeping and waking consistently, and the mobility exercises are working well, though of course he’s insisting on trying more than he can manage. He only just managed to walk across the room without stumbling yesterday, had to sit down right away after, and he’s already asking about saber training.”

That was very in character for Nie Mingjue.

“I’m glad,” Wei Wuxian said, meaning it with all his heart. “I missed da-ge.”

He owed him so much, after all.

So much more than most people knew.

It had been Nie Mingjue who had found him all those years ago, in the dark days when his parents had died in a night-hunt gone wrong and the money they’d left with the innkeeper turning out to be insufficient to keep him housed or fed for more than a fortnight. Wei Wuxian had been a spoiled, beloved child – even if his parents were rogue cultivators, his father originally a servant, they were famous; there wasn’t a town that didn’t welcome them with open arms. They had never lacked for money, for warmth and comfort.

Wei Wuxian might have had a chance if they’d died in the spring or summer. He might have been able to learn to sleep on the streets during warm nights and used those rich fat months to learn from all the other beggars how to eat refuse, but his parents had died in the winter. Even the beggars chased him away, unwilling to spare the smallest scrap of food or lose any bit of warmth by sharing the spots they had found to shelter from the cold; and when he went to the richer districts that had once greeted his parents with such enthusiasm, wild dogs were sent to chase him away, vicious and merciless…within a week, he had been very nearly dead.

Luckily, when hiring rogue cultivators turned out to be insufficient to deal with the problem, the miserly local landlord that had sent out the notice in the first place had finally given in and written to a Great Sect, begging for aid – as a rich man, he was obligated to contribute to the costs of a requested night-hunt, and the Great Sects, while generally more successful, were typically far more mercenary in that regard than rogue cultivators – and Nie Mingjue had come with his Nie sect, the most willing by far to do the work of defeating evil without charging too much for the privilege.

He’d found the bodies of Wei Wuxian’s parents.

Soon after, he’d found Wei Wuxian himself.

Wei Wuxian had been about seven, then. It had been a full two years before Jiang Fengmian had found him on the very same streets, hiding in the trash with a dirty face and a sad and miserable expression, ready to be picked up and taken home by his father’s old friend, the Sect Leader of Yunmeng Jiang.

Just as anyone might’ve predicted.

After all, Nie Mingjue had never stinted on sending out spies, even if he never used them.

(He’d released Wei Wuxian of all those old obligations long ago – but Nie Huaisang never had.)

“Da-ge passes along his thanks, by the way,” Nie Huaisang said. “He thinks the array you created to help preserve his life is brilliant.”

“It is brilliant,” Wei Wuxian said, shameless as always. Getting a truly vicious scolding from his little master Nie Huaisang about exactly how close to the line his arrogance had brought him and the Wen sect had humbled him a bit, and the disaster of the Stygian Tiger Seal nearly going out of his control at the Nightless City not long thereafter had humbled him still more, but in the end he was still Wei Wuxian. He was awesome. “Could anyone else have done what I did?”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes.

“He’s not angry at me for misusing Baxia?” Wei Wuxian asked, fishing for confirmation. If there was one thing that his two years in the Nie sect had taught him, it was a near-pathological revulsion at the thought of touching another person’s spiritual weapon – he’d been very nearly more excited to be allowed to put his hand on an unsheathed Bichen than Lan Wangji’s dick, although not quite – and Nie Mingjue was quite justifiably more paranoid than most on the subject.

Even that treacherous dog Jin Guangyao hadn’t dared touch Baxia. The spiritual poison he’d used on Nie Mingjue had been limited to the man himself, and that had been what gave Wei Wuxian the idea for the array he’d invented. Nie Mingjue cultivated with Baxia as his primary, if not only, spiritual weapon, and the disciples of the Nie sect were closer to their sabers than most – and by the end of the Sunshot Campaign, Baxia was a fearsome entity in her own right, possessed of her own spiritual energy.

And as he’d always said, energy was meant to be used.

There was something about the Nie sect’s cultivation style that reminded Wei Wuxian of his innovations in demonic cultivation, although it wasn’t quite the same. They didn’t manipulate resentful energy directly the way he did, but they still made use of it, refining their blades with it until the sabers were very nearly guai, cultivating saber spirits filled with a lust for blood – although the strict disciplines of the Nie sect cultivation path meant that every saber spirit that Wei Wuxian had ever had the fortune (or misfortune) to personally encounter just as absolutist in their disdain for evil as their masters.

Even Nie Huaisang’s saber Aituan was like that, and maybe that should have been Wei Wuxian’s first hint that Nie Huaisang wasn’t as simple as he appeared on the surface.

“It’s fine,” Nie Huaisang assured him. “Really. Da-ge said it was – how’d he put it – a charming contradiction, that his saber get used to cultivating energy for him rather than him for the saber. Though maybe he was just relieved that she was intact, given everything.”

Wei Wuxian grinned and toasted Nie Huaisang, drinking a little of the wine while Nie Huaisang continued with his correspondence.

They sat in comfortable silence for a little while.

“I’m not pretending,” Nie Huaisang said abruptly, and Wei Wuxian, who’d drifted off into daydreams involving him, Lan Wangji, and a very sturdy bathtub, turned to look at him. “I know what Jiang Cheng thinks –”

“Of course you do. I tell you what Jiang Cheng thinks.”

“Shut up, you – you calamity. I don’t need you to tell me what Jiang Cheng thinks, he tells me himself more often than not. He thinks that I’m pretending to be useless because I don’t want da-ge to know about everything I’ve done, but that’s not the case at all. He knows. I wouldn’t keep it from him.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian said, because he did. Even at his most lazy and self-indulgent, Nie Huaisang abhorred the thought of lying to his brother. “But you are spending too much of your time in the Unclean Realm. We need you back in the field.”

Nie Huaisang scowled. “The cream of the cultivation world,” he said disdainfully. “Can’t they do anything by themselves, just for a few short months? You’d think my brother fought the entirety of the Sunshot Campaign by himself with how little they seem to contribute.”

“Personally, I think that everyone has just taken the Nie sect as lucky cats, and are afraid to do without you,” Wei Wuxian said, batting his eyelashes at him in his most provoking show of earnestness. “Nie-xiong, if I rub your head, does that mean I’ll win my next battle…?”

“Don’t you dare,” Nie Huaisang said, but the scowl receded and he looked amused again. “I can’t wait to send da-ge out on the battlefield again.”

“The Jin sect will trample each other in their eagerness to get off the battlefield rather than face Chifeng-zun,” Wei Wuxian agreed, and couldn’t help his own smile at the thought. “The rumors that he’s returned have already started spreading like wildfire, but you’ve done well to hide him away so thoroughly. It means no one knows if the rumors are right or if you’re just pulling some kind of trick on the world.”

“Who, me? A trick?” Nie Huaisang said, and smiled thinly. “I only wish I could’ve seen the look on that treacherous dog’s face when his spies reported on my unusual behavior. I hope he’s afraid.”

Wei Wuxian agreed.

He had tried many times to imagine doing what Jin Guangyao had done. To turn your hand against the man to whom you had sworn to love as a brother –

He couldn’t even imagine hurting Jiang Cheng like that, and Jiang Yanli even less.

Wei Wuxian owed Nie Mingjue his life. He had sworn fealty to him with all the passion and singlemindedness of childhood, and had never once regretted it. Nie Mingjue had taken him off the streets and brought him back to his sect, he’d taken back his parents’ bodies and buried them with full (if private) honors, he’d given Wei Wuxian training to make him strong and smart and capable. He’d sent him to do work in a place where he would prosper and thrive and be happy, and all the while promised that he would never be trapped – that he would have a way out if the Jiang sect became too suffocating or he was treated too viciously, on one hand, and on the other told him that he could one day petition to be released from his obligations to the Nie sect if he ever found them too demanding.

Wei Wuxian had asked to be released from those obligations after the fall of the Lotus Pier, unable to stomach the idea of reporting on Jiang Cheng now that he was all alone in the world in the way that he had so effortlessly reported on Jiang Fengmian and Madame Yu. Nie Mingjue had granted the reprieve without a second’s hesitation, even though it meant wasting the years and years of investment they’d put into him, even though it would have been a critical moment to have an ear within the Jiang sect’s camp.

Wei Wuxian owed Nie Mingjue everything.

And yet – if the man had asked him to kill Jiang Cheng, he would have said no.

Twin heroes, he’d promised Jiang Cheng, and if for a while he’d thought he would have to give up that promise because of the secret of the golden core that he still kept hidden away, he refused to think it any longer. Jiang Cheng was his brother in all but blood, in all the ways that mattered. Wei Wuxian would stand aside from him if he thought he had to, as he had with the Wen sect remnants; he would keep secrets from him, he would even deceive him, but he would never willingly seek to hurt him.

Jin Guangyao, though? He had attacked Nie Mingjue without even being asked.

He was like some rabid beast, a white-eyed wolf, Wei Wuxian thought. Utterly beyond his understanding.

He deserved to be afraid.

“Speaking of which,” he said, suddenly remembering. “I think I’ve figured out why Jin Guangyao was willing to kill his own heir to further his and his father’s ambitions.”

“About time,” Nie Huaisang said, and while his tone was stern Wei Wuxian was mostly sure that he was teasing. “I put you on that job months ago. What do you think I keep you around for? Your brilliant inventions? Your armies of corpses? Your amazing ability to stun irritating sect leaders into silence with your overwhelming shamelessness regarding Lan Wangji –”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Wei Wuxian said hastily, although the giant grin he couldn’t keep off his face said everything about his shame – or lack thereof – relating to that last one. You get caught doing one little roleplay about the fearsome demonic cultivator Yiling Patriarch being arrested by the righteous cultivator Hanguang-jun and suddenly no one wanted to look you in the eye anymore… “Anyway, according to all the rumors, you keep me around because you want me to raise your brother the way I raised Wen Ning.”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that one, and I still can’t believe anyone believes it. Da-ge’s a sect leader! Even if you wanted to bring him back, think about the amount of resentment he would have had to feel at his death to rise up again despite all the soul-calming rituals he’s gone through! If he ever became that resentful, he wouldn’t rise up as a ghost general, he’d be a ghost king, and then we’d all be screwed.”

Nie Huaisang wasn’t wrong. Nie Mingjue was one of the most powerful cultivators living – if he rose as a fierce corpse, he’d be able to slaughter an entire village of common people overnight with just the energy in one hand. And if he were then allowed access to Baxia, her power added to his…he’d become a scourge on the world, a true calamity, and they’d need to find a way to appease his anger and somehow lock him away forever just to survive.

Assuming Nie Huaisang allowed something like that, anyway. Wei Wuxian was very happy they had never been forced to face the question of whether Nie Huaisang preferred his brother or his morality, as he suspected no one would like the answer to that. Not even Nie Huaisang.

“Enough speculation,” Nie Huaisang said, and Wei Wuxian twitched guiltily even though he knew Nie Huaisang was not, in fact, a mind-reader. “What’s the story with A-Song?”

“You want the long version with all the proof I found to support it or the conclusion?”

“Start with the conclusion.”

“Jin Guangyao couldn’t risk A-Song growing up into a half-wit on account of being a child of incest.”

That actually surprised Nie Huaisang, Wei Wuxian was pleased to see.

“Incest?” Nie Huaisang said wonderingly. “But how – oh, of course. Jin Guangshan and Madame Qin? An affair or rape?”

“Rape while he was drunk, supposedly, though of course we only have the relevant people’s words for that, and they’re not exactly impartial sources. Could’ve been an affair that had unexpected results, not that anyone would ever admit it.”

Nie Huaisang started laughing.

Wei Wuxian really wished he wouldn’t. It wasn’t the sort of happy giggle that he sometimes let out nowadays when he was thinking of Nie Mingjue’s recovery – it was the jagged vicious bitterness of the Pallbearer, through and through.

“Oh, Qin Su, Qin Su,” Nie Huaisang said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I gave you all the chances in the world, you stupid woman. I hope you’re happy with what you chose.”

“Can I ask?” Wei Wuxian said cautiously. “You never said – you just showed up with A-Song, no Qin Su and no explanation…”

“Says the person who adopted A-Yuan all but sight unseen?”

“I lived with him for a month, it’s different,” Wei Wuxian said. “What happened with Qin Su?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “Nothing dramatic. She wouldn’t believe me when I told her that her husband was planning on killing her son to frame his enemies, which is reasonable enough given that everyone knows I’m at odds with him. Even when I offered her proof, she said it was just a forgery – that he wasn’t like that, that she knew him, the real him, that she was the only one who really understood him, even though I’d say the whole cultivation world knows the ‘real’ him by now.”

“Irritating, but understandable, I think – he is her husband, the dashing hero that rescued her so valiantly in the Sunshot Campaign and which she defied custom and her parents to marry. So why all the disdain?”

Nie Huaisang’s lips pressed together tightly with disapproval. “I asked her if she was willing to risk losing A-Song just to show her husband that she trusted him, and she said that she was, because it wasn’t a risk at all. Because she knew he loved her too much to do such a terrible thing without a good reason.”

“Without a good reason?” Wei Wuxian demanded. “That’s her son!”

“Don’t you know that they can always have others?” Nie Huaisang said with a sneer, clearly paraphrasing words he’d heard. “They’re young, in love – it’s all my fault that he stopped touching her, apparently. I took Lan Xichen away from him and he’s so upset about it that he can’t come to her bed, but once the world is rid of me, it’ll all go back to the way it should be…”

“I’ll give her that much: she really loves him,” Wei Wuxian said, shaking his head. The delusions of a person in love, he supposed. He hoped that he and Lan Wangji weren’t quite that bad. “She’ll be in for a disappointment. Given what I found out…he’ll never return to her bed or give her children, not in this lifetime.”

“No, he won’t.” Nie Huaisang reached for his fan. “Thank you for this. I’ll think about how to use it.”

“And?” Wei Wuxian prodded.

“And I’ll come back to the battlefield,” Nie Huaisang conceded, looking discontented, and Wei Wuxian smiled smugly. “You can supervise the Unclean Realm in my place.”

“What? No!” Wei Wuxian protested, his smile disappearing at once. “You have Xiao Xingchen –”

“He’s newly blinded, and out of all the cultivators we have available, you’re the most effective at fighting on a stand-alone basis. Think of it as having some time to bond with your mother’s shidi.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t want time to bond with his martial uncle – or, well, he did, he’d been dying for an opportunity to talk with Xiao Xingchen more or less since the man first made his name known in the cultivation world, but Nie Huaisang’s rules were such that no one outside the most trusted inner circles of the Nie sect was allowed in the familial quarters of the Unclean Realm, or even in the Unclean Realm at all. And that meant…

“But – Lan Wangji –”

“Will not die if he’s forced to be abstinent for a little while,” Nie Huaisang said, and oh, it was on.

“Did Qin Su specify the method by which you took Lan Xichen from her husband?” Wei Wuxian asked, crossing his arms. “I was under the impression that you still referred to him as Zewu-jun –”

Nie Huaisang glared.

Too bad – if the Pallbearer didn’t want to get mocked over his crush on the First Jade of Lan, he shouldn’t have let Wei Wuxian find out about the fact that the torch he held for him was still burning hot as ever.

“Perhaps my information is out of date. Tell me, little master, what means of seduction did you employ to convince Zewu-jun to betray his poor sad little A-Yao? Did you work your wicked wiles on him?”

“Wei Wuxian –”

“Did you play his xiao?”

Nie Huaisang let out an ungentlemanly snort and had to cover his face. “Oh no,” he said. “Oh no. Why did you have to give me that mental image? Fuck you, Wei Wuxian.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you too. Abstinent my ass.”

“I think you’ll find that the problem with abstinence is that it’s not your ass,” Nie Huaisang said, shoulders shaking. “That’s kind of the point. Now go tell everyone that I’ll be rejoining them tomorrow.”

“I will relish their groans of despair,” Wei Wuxian said, standing up. He was clearly going to have to take as much advantage that he could of the little time he had with Lan Wangji before being cruelly locked away. “Oh, is there any news on Song Lan?”

“None,” Nie Huaisang said. “He may as well have ascended into the heavens. Don’t tell Xiao Xingchen, he’ll only worry.”

“I won’t, I won’t. As for you – could you try to lighten up on Zewu-jun? Now that da-ge’s awake again?”

Nie Huaisang frowned.

“I’m not saying forgive him,” Wei Wuxian clarified. “Just – you know that da-ge wouldn’t want you to be so mad at him, especially since you still like him and all.”

“I’ll let da-ge decide that, I think,” Nie Huaisang said, and the humor had fled his face entirely. “It was his assassin that Zewu-jun decided to trust and protect, after all.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, accepting the verdict – he disagreed, but he understood – and turning to leave.

He paused at the door.

“Just so you know,” he said, not looking at Nie Huaisang. “Having trusted Meng Yao doesn’t mean you have to be so mad at yourself, either.”

He left before Nie Huaisnag could respond, but he heard something shatter in the room behind him.

[caneannabelle]

ok hi guys. it’s been a while. i wrote this analysis back when Mag 187 aka Checking Out aka The One Where Helen Dies first came out and literally ever since i’ve posted it i’ve wanted to redo it because it feels. lacking. listen if there’s one thing i hate it’s incomplete media analysis and i must right my wrongs lest i be forced to look upon myself and crumble from within. that being said, i’ve been putting off this rewrite for a long long time bc Life Gets Weird. tldr this was written over the course of several months so i apologize for inconsistent quality. anyways let’s get into it!

part one: recap!

it’s been a while! let’s just go over what happened. the scene i wanna focus on in particular is this one:

VICTIM

You’ve got to help me!

ARCHIVIST

[Angrily] Don’t touch me!

[THE ARCHIVIST PULLS AWAY, AS THE VICTIM FALLS AND IS CRYING]

HELEN

Oopsie. Not so easy, is it? Keeping up your humanity?

(187).

that being said i’m gonna be kind of all over the place but! i do think that’s a good jumping off point.

part two (part one): disparaging everyone’s problematic fav

in my original post my point was that in reflexively reacting to a victim with disgust and anger jon inadvertently reveals the nature of his dedication to helping victims as ego driven, especially because this line is directly preceded by him asserting his moral high ground over helen as being a “protector” as opposed to her indulgence in destruction. what i’m saying is homeboy has a savior complex. honestly there’s a lot of evidence to support that claim but i think the most obvious example would be jordan kennedy. like.

JORDAN

…Yeah. But wrong. Sick.

What did you do to me?

ARCHIVIST

I helped you.

JORDAN

Helped me? I don’t feel right, I, I just – Ah! No I don’t – argh! I don’t want this!

(184). to be clear it’s an action with a good intent! he just wants to help someone who once helped him! BUT it also demonstrates a lack of conscious empathy. i feel like i don’t have to argue this since jordan Literally vocally said he didn’t want this several times throughout the scene but the point remains that while jon’s intent is good the actual application of his saviourism removes the autonomy of those he affects. i’m not gonna touch on the “is it objectively immoral to become an oppressor for the sake of self preservation while existing within an extreme system in which all are oppressed regardless of your individual status” query mostly because i do not have the brainpower available rn to come to my own conclusion about systems of power and the way they’re represented in tma (which is a whole other rant tbh) but jon DOES rob jordan of the ability to come to his own conclusion in this debate and make his own choice, thereby removing his autonomy. you know. autonomy. free will. the thing that is central to jon’s internal conflicts. huh.

anyways i NEED to stress that i’m not saying that he’s the same as jonah or the web or even annabelle (although annabelle is a victim. no i don’t take constructive criticism). i just want to point out that his actions reflect a lack of understanding. while he’s able to empathize with the pain others experience and is eternally hyper- aware of it he is unable to view that pain through any lense besides his own and uses it in his cycle of self pity and blame, minimizing it at any point possible in the quickest way and Not prioritizing the wishes of the victim but instead the efficiency in decreasing his own guilt. anyways back to 187- both the victim and jordan are treated as props by jon (and helen) and once they serve their purpose in reaffirming the two’s sense of self are cast aside and ignored. ok from here i’m gonna get conceptual and self indulgent bc it’s my analysis and i get to bring up vague convoluted philosophy.

part two (part two): part two

let’s talk about the distortion for a sec. i refuse to believe helen and michael were both completely gone and it was just the distortion piloting their visage, mostly because… like that’s not what the text would indicate

HELEN

Michael isn’t me. Not now.

ARCHIVIST

What happened?

HELEN

He got… distracted. Let feelings that shouldn’t have been his overwhelm me.

Lost my way.

(101). it’s heavily implied that there was SOME remainder of michael in there, even if the being wasn’t him. maybe i’m way off base here but the way i interpreted the implosion of michael was that it was driven by his inability to maintain the repressed resentment and anger he had for gertrude. like it’s pretty clear that some warped version of michael’s feelings were trapped inside of the distortion and i’d go as far as to say that they were integral to his formation as it. i’m gonna operate on the assumption that michael and helen are two separate beings here for a sec even though we know they’re not. As opposed to michael’s resentment for the archivist, helen actively sought refuge in the institute and from the small amount we saw of her Pre-Distortion it seems like her paranoia is internally directed. i think you could even say that while michael was caught in an eternal battle with the concept of connection, helen is caught in a battle with the concept of self. the point is that she thinks of jon in a less “The Archivist” sense and more as just That Guy who she had an intense connection with that one time.

ARCHIVIST

So… S-so what do you want?

HELEN

I don’t know. Helen liked you, so… there’s a lot to consider. But I will help you leave.

(101). i would also like to point out that helen’s emergence as the distortion coincides with jon coming to terms with his identity as the archivist. parallels, baby! SO helen is a newly formed being that is grappling with the concept of her own existence and jon is reevaluating his understanding of identity as he comes to terms with the fact that he is turning into the thing he’s fighting against and this is all happening at the same time. live laugh love. stay with me here, i promise i’ll get back to 187. Throughout seasons 4 and 5 helen attempts to validate her own moral decisions via jon who she once saw herself in. conversely, jon sees both an image of what he could become AND arguably a representation of his past failure in her.

ARCHIVIST

It did. I think… I mean, you remember how I was back then, how paranoid. The Not!Sasha was there, and I could sense something wasn’t right, but I just couldn’t place it. It left me a suspicious wreck. Then when Helen Richardson came in, it seemed like… she was in the same place I was, but worse, further along. I thought, maybe if I could help her, that would mean… maybe I wasn’t beyond help?

(188). helen and jon lie at opposite ends of the same spectrum. both of them derive pleasure from the suffering of others

HELEN

Oh, John! This existence can be wonderful, if you just let it.

ARCHIVIST

[Sadly] I know.

(187). needless to say that a LOT of jon's arc and the themes surrounding him focus on the concept of autonomy and addiction and i think it'd be fair to say that this component is an aspect of that. repressing these qualities is both a way of reaffirming his control and also just.. him trying to be what he perceives as Good, and season 5 is the point at which this comes to the forefront of his character- particularly the line between what is intrinsic and what he truly has control over. a battle of the concept of the self, if you will. while the two share similar traits, jon is intensely moralistic while helen indulges in a twisted sense of hedonism and both are fueled by an inability to expand their viewpoint. helen fully immerses herself within these qualities and intentionally blinds herself to any concepts of morality (indulgence), and jon actively pushes back on this as hard as he can and follows black and white moral framework (repression). this means that in order for their relationship to function he must either accept her, choosing to let go in his personal battle with autonomy OR she must break out of her worldview and conform to standards of human morality which goes against her own nature.

part three: questions i do not have the answer to

so. what does it all mean. WELL. 187 is the boiling point of all this tension. we know that helen relies on jon to validate her sense of self and we know that jon sees himself in helen, both past and present

HELEN

But that doesn’t make any sense. You barely met her. You had half an hour together, and she spent most of that ranting about mazes! She was positively delirious with paranoia!

ARCHIVIST

True. But as you’ll recall, I was pretty paranoid myself at that point.

HELEN

So what? You saw yourself in her? A sad reflection? A possible future?

(187). I’d argue that 187 is demonstrative of jon’s inability to either fall into complete indulgence in intrinsic values that lack moral validity vs. maintain and image of self that does not conflict with the values he attempts to uphold in order to find internal satisfaction and yes both of those concepts are inherently egocentric as he bases his moral judgement on what he can justify to himself instead of what can be calculated via empathy. however. paired with the alternative (helen). is that BAD. is it inherently selfish to do what you perceive as good in order to feed your own savior complex? and if so, is it inherently selfish to indulge in destructive qualities as to not delude yourself? is honesty vs deception a black and white question? if not, where does helen even fall? in not deluding herself does she achieve a moral high ground? IS she deluding herself by denying the potential to be facetiously benevolent at the detriment of both her personal enjoyment and her honesty? does helen even posses the capability to repress her violent qualities? if she doesn't, does she have any autonomy? if she and jon are both inherently selfish and intentionally resistant to introspection, what makes them different? i do not have answers but i do think the text is meant to invoke these questions. i mean,

MICHAEL (STATEMENT)

There was a great evil, she said, and Michael was going to help her fight it. Am I evil, Archivist? Is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature? When it embodies its nature? When that nature is created by those which revile it? Perhaps Gertrude believed so. Michael certainly did. He believed everything she told him.

(101).

part 5: conclusion

so once again. what does it all mean. well! even post helen’s death jon continues to fight for autonomy and preserve his moral worldview so. i think that probably indicates something good.

MARTIN

Huh. She couldn’t help what she was, I guess.

ARCHIVIST

She didn’t even try.

(188). i honestly don’t have a thesis i just find it incredibly interesting how the themes surrounding these two intersect and play off of each other. anyways looping back to 187 i do think in a broad sense jon killing helen is representative of him choosing to stick by his convictions and keep fighting. i don’t have any good way to end this but thanks for sticking around during my self indulgent rambling!

[moonlit-imagines]

Grand Novice

Loki Laufeyson x Grandmaster’s child!reader

warnings: death, weapons,

a/n: obviously y/n is a grown person in this?? i just didn’t know how to label them correctly ???? you feel???

prompt:

“I like him.” You told your father when the newest arrival of Sakaar had been dismissed.

“Well, good for him! He’s safe!” Grandmaster cheered to you, who didn’t take to many as quick as you had to Loki. “For now.”

“Oh, stop it, dad!” You giggled while Topaz stood behind you with the melting wand, offering it to you as if you were hiding your true feelings. “What about what I just said made you think we should melt him? Put that thing away!” You shook your head and gazed upon the crowd to see your new guest acclimating nicely to the subjects of Sakaar.

“Why don’t you go sit with him for a while, my dear?” Your father nudged you in his direction, but you didn’t need much more than that. With your robe dragging on the floor behind you, you parted the crowd and seated yourself right next to the Asgardian.

“Hello there, your highness.” Loki smirked when you leaned on his shoulder, but he genuinely didn’t mind it a bit. “How has your day been?”

“Oh, just wonderful.” You reached out for his hand shamelessly while other Sakaarians watched with hidden gazes. Now, Loki wasn’t one to get uncomfortable so easily, but he also wasn’t one to rush into something like this.

It’d be foolish to reject someone in a position of power, wouldn’t it? Loki was just given a spectacular opportunity, there was no passing this up.

“And why’s that?” He questioned, lifting your hand to his lips for a respectful kiss that only wooed you more.

“Well, I met a man who might just be perfect for me.” You weren’t one to hide your feelings, Loki appreciated that much. Although a liar could read another like the back of his hand, a truth-teller was impossible to figure out. At least, for him.

Maybe the challenge was another reason he grew attracted to you, because by the second week that he had been stuck on this miserable planet, he’d actually started to care for you. His romantic gestures were not forced, he had begun to open up, and he couldn’t spend a moment away from you.

The day that Thor arrived was a different story, though. Loki had mentioned his brother died recently, but now he was an eligible contender! Funny how the universe works.

“Are you worried for him, my darling.” You inquired as you played with his hair, he was noticeably zoned out, you’d like to help him any way you could.

“No, not at all.” Your boyfriend had brushed your concern off. “Thank you for asking, though. You’re too kind.” He placed a kiss on your forehead after cradling your face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you practically melted around him, and you’ve seen people get melted before, “would you like to watch him contend, then? We’ll have the best view in the stadium!” You hugged him tightly and awaited his obvious agreement, he couldn’t help but giggle at your excitement. Had he truly gone soft?

Loki’s life had truly flipped once his brother had broken loose and rampaged above the streets of your beloved home. You were outraged until Loki offered to take his brother down, declaring it was for you.

Someone like yourself didn’t work very hard, you had better things to do. You were of a higher class, but you weren’t completely useless. You had much more energy than the Grandmaster, which is why you spent it on following the tracks of Thor, leading you to Loki suffering a constant shock on the floor.

“Oh, no!” You rushed over to assist him, grabbing the remote nearby and releasing him from the painful device. “Are you okay, my love? Please tell me you’re alright.” You hopped on top of him and pressed your ear against his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat continue on. His arms engulfed you in a real act of selfless love, he couldn’t believe his life had come to this. It was more unfortunate that you had no idea that this was the first he had ever felt this way.

“I’m alright, thanks to you.” The crown of your head collected a kiss and you rolled off of him.

“That scoundrel will pay for this!” You clenched your fists and ran to a ship equipped with weaponry, but Loki had done a bit of contemplating while he was confined to electrocution. Maybe he had gone mad, or maybe this was a turning point?

“Y/N, wait.” He sighed, catching your attention fairly quickly. You spun around and ran right back to him, holding his arms as he placed his hands on your hips. “Before me, when was the last time you were happy an Sakaar? And I mean truly happy?”

“I...” You blinked through thoughts as you tried to pinpoint an answer in your mind. “Why?”

“The Grandmaster, he thinks you’re happy, but you’re not. I can see it in your eyes, my dear.” He traced his tired fingers down your cheekbones. “Your father, he doesn’t give you all the freedom you desire, does he?”

“No, but—” You were cut off before you couldtry to defend him.

“We’re more alike than we appear, mine was the same way.” Loki explained to you. “I ask you this because...I need to go back to Asgard. I have a sister who is about to doom our people, but I don’t want to go without you.” You were caught off-guard by Loki’s change of plans, however, they were enticing. “You’ve never been off of this planet, I can show you the rest of the galaxy, give me a chance!” Now he held your hands so enthusiastically, yet so gentle. He knew he was getting through to you.

“Loki, my love,” you looked away and to the collection of your father’s ships, then took a pause as Loki’s expression grew concerned while studying yours, “We’ll take the biggest one, but we may need to take some of the prisoners for backup if we want to save your people.” You finally agreed and witnessed Loki breathe a sigh of relief and pull you into such an emotionally deep and serious kiss, you couldhave cried.

“I’ve never once in my life felt this way about anyone before you, y/n. You have succeeded in stealing my heart away from me and I couldn’t even see it coming.” His own way of making a declaration of love was all you could dream about, but you were running out of time here.

The plan was going better than you could have thought once the contenders burst through the doors, that was one thing off of your list.

“Great for you to join us, all! Would you like to come with us to help Thor?” You asked the group, who had their suspicions about you.

“Aren’t you the Grandmaster’s child? Is this a trick?” The one made out of rock had asked, earning agreement from the group.

“Y/N’s had a change of heart.” Loki kept one of your hands in his while he squeezed it tightly. You couldn’t tell if he was comforting you or himself, but at least it was guaranteed that you’d be sticking together.

“Oh. Alright then.” The Kronan understood without anymore questions, easy enough.

“Great! Everyone in that big ship now! We’re already late!” You led the army away, Loki supposed that leadership was in your blood. It came so easily to you, and it was a smidge attractive, too. What can he say? Power will always be his first love.

You’d never seen combat through your own two eyes, but you had begged Topaz to teach you how to use “big guns,” so you made do with what you had.

“Scrapper 142, would you be willing to trade places?” You called to her as she rode in the sky with your father’s ship.

“We aren’t on Sakaar anymore, your highness! I’m not a scrapper here.” She retorted, making your face heat even more than the exhaustion had done.

“My apologies! Please forgive me, I’ve better start getting used to life off of Sakaar.” You told her as she made room for you to use the exhilarating weapon. “Will you be flying?”

“Hopefully,” she said as she got control of the craft, “I’d like to keep this thing in the air for as long as I can.” It was a rocky start, but you trusted her for it. And she was beginning to trust you, as well. You weren’t a complete basket case like the Grandmaster, you’d be capable of changing. You could become a dear friend.

The ship crashed.

“Y/N!” Loki came rushing your way as the ship exploded in a multicolored blaze behind you. “Are you alright? Let’s get you up.” He helped you to your feet, but you were in no mood to slow down. Honestly, this was the most fun you’d had in ages.

“I’m more alive than ever!” You looked over his shoulder to take in the commotion. “Do you have any other weapons I could use?”

“Would...a dagger work?” It was a simple gesture, but you’d appreciate it to the end of your days after you plucked the blade from his hand. You’d never fought with a dagger, but there was no harm in trying. Yes, there was. But fortunately, fortune was on your side. The fun never lasts though, that was a fact. “Might I suggest you help evacuate instead, darling?”

“I suppose that’s an option!” You figured he’d realized just how dangerous hand-to-hand combat would be for someone without experience, but you were still living in some sort of fantasy land, you needed to be grounded.

So you rooted for them from the sidelines, helping people onto your ship. It was extremely hard to concentrate at times, especially when you couldn’t find Loki out there. A little warning that he was running off, that would’ve been nice.

And then there was an explosion that really rattled your bones, you’d never been in so much danger before. That’s when Loki darted straight towards you and each of you hopped into the ship.

“Are you hurt?” He moved his hands up and down your body to check for any injuries, but you insisted on doing the same.

“No, no, I’m fine. Are you?” While both of you were clutching onto each other, you shared another passionate kiss, glad that you both were still in good health together. Now the two of you merely spectated to destruction of the planet he had called home. “I’m sorry about Asgard.”

“No, I am.” He lowered his head. “I imagined a life with you here, but those plans will have to change.”

“That’s alright,” your tired voice softened once you laid your head on his shoulder, “we’ll make it work.”

—————

Loki didn’t live long enough to build a life with you, Thanos made sure of that. The entire reason you left your homeworld was to be with him, now you were stranded in space without a plan for your future. Who knew what this galaxy held? You’d been so naïve to run into the unknown, but there was only one thing left to do now, and that was get revenge.

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedficrecs // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck // @randomawesomeperson102 // @spideyandtheboys //

[kpopfanfictrash]

Zephyr

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Word Count: 2,696

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An accompanying drabble to Exes and Supher-o’s. This drabble takes place before the events of Exes and Superher-o’s and follows Jungkook as he’s rescued by a superhero love interest.

A/N: The reader in this drabble is not the reader in Exes and Superher-o’s.  

[ PART OF MY JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY DRABBLE GAME ]

While standing in line at the check-out counter, Jungkook examined the oranges he’d picked out in his basket. Idly, he recalled Minutia saying the color orange came after the fruit, not before. She loved to spout factoids like that; Jungkook did a pretty good job of tuning her out, but her random facts always seemed to stick in his head.

Minutia was the superhero Jungkook was assigned to as handler. She was fairly loud, fairly opinionated and fairly dedicated to kicking people’s ass on the regular.

She’d mentioned the orange fact when ISA – International Superhero Agency – had recommended Minutia change her superhero suit color to orange. She’d felt very strongly about this and in the end, Minutia had won. 

Usually, she did.

Realizing the line before him had moved, Jungkook took a step forward. No longer distracted by thoughts of the color orange, he took the opportunity to scan the grocery store around him.

It was a habit of his – an unfortunate side effect of both his job and the knowledge which came from it. After high school, Jungkook attended an elite military academy on the east coast, but it only took six months before ISA found him.

He’d been out for a morning run when two men in suits cornered him for what they called an opportunity. They’d explained about a different path than the military; an alternative from merely serving his country. Both agent and handlers at ISA held no national loyalty – they merely protected civilians from absolute evil.

Barely had the offer left their mouths before Jungkook accepted.

Of course, Jungkook learned soon after superhero handlers were little more than baby-sitters, but that was beside the point. He genuinely cared about Minutia and knew the work they did together was important – even if his position kind of sucked, since Jungkook was more than capable of defending himself.

Handlers were required to be proficient in various martial arts; they often trained the newbie superheroes who arrived at the Agency. Jungkook was a ninth-degree black belt in Taekwondo, a red belt in Jiu Jitsu and a tenth-degree black belt in Judo. He also had a blue belt in Krav Maga, but this had more to do with lack of time than capability. Jungkook could assemble and disassemble most weapons in the time it took most people to fire them, but all that meant nothing in the face of superpowers.

Minutia could simply freeze Jungkook and kill him if she wanted to; he’d never see it coming.

Not that Minutia would kill him, of course. Stifling the image, Jungkook moved up in line. His super was relentlessly moral, even if she had some rough edges and enjoyed pushing boundaries.

It was the rest who worried Jungkook, like the supervillains they fought. Aided by supernatural powers, supervillains were capable of great destruction. It was the main reason Jungkook stayed at his job – if anyone stood a chance against supervillains, it was superheroes.

“Bag?”

Surprised, Jungkook looked up. “Huh?”

“Bag,” the cashier girl repeated, rolling her eyes. “Do you want a bag?”

“Oh – no.” Jungkook shook his head. “I have my own. I –”

An explosion rocked the street outside, shattering the windows in a hailstorm of glass.

On instinct, Jungkook dove to protect the rude cashier with his body. There was bulletproof lining beneath his clothes, for which he was grateful. He’d just come from shooting practice at Headquarters and hadn’t had a chance to change out of his gear.

Glass harmlessly bounced off his torso, although a few shards sliced his face, leaving blood as he winced. Reaching up to grip counter, Jungkook surveyed the damage.

All the windows of the supermarket had been blown in. The blast seemed to have originated from the street – at least, Jungkook assumed this based on the direction of people running.

“Stay down!” he yelled, and launched himself over the counter.

People obeyed, crawling towards the store’s interior aisles. Jungkook hoped there was a door in the back, otherwise they’d trap themselves like fish in a barrel. He wasn’t surprised when people followed his command. People tended to respond positively to authority in times of chaos.

Yanking a Glock from his jacket, Jungkook dashed from the store. Cocking his head to one side, he surveyed the street for danger.

There – at the end of the block, he saw a cloud of dust settling.

Keeping his gun steady, Jungkook rushed towards the scene. Halfway there, he realized he’d left his groceries behind and nearly groaned. Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped. Such was the life of superheroes and handlers.

As though in response to his thought, someone emerged from the chaos.

Only one person; tall, with hulking muscles and what looked to be three arms. Nope, wait – that was machine gun. Fuck.

Jungkook lunged to the side as the man opened fire. Luckily, much of the street was deserted from the blast and few people were hurt. Propping himself up on one knee, Jungkook squinted from behind an overturned car and fired.

Five shots, each in quick succession aimed at the man’s torso. Three of them hit, sending the man to his knees, only for him to snarl, his gaze snapping upwards.

Jungkook watched in horror as the bullet wounds began to heal, pushing metal from flesh with alarming speed.

Of fucking course, he was a supervillain.

Flipping around, Jungkook pressed his back to the car and considered his options. He should call for Minutia, or another super – teeth gritted, Jungkook pushed this option aside. He could do this on his own; this was a fight he could win.

Winning against rejuvenation wasn’t unheard of for someone like him. It meant his opponent healed abnormally fast from their injuries, but they could be overwhelmed if Jungkook kept up momentum.

Before he could finish this thought, the car Jungkook sat against flipped overhead.

Eyes wide, Jungkook watched it crash and roll down the street. A small crowd darted away as they screamed and Jungkook stifled an eye roll. Civilians were so predictable. They never got out of the way like they should; instead, they pressed closer and tried to video it all on their cell phones.

Twisting around, Jungkook found the supervillain grinning at him while he flexed a muscle.

The machine gun lay discarded in a pile of rubble. Jungkook’s heart sank, since it meant the villain was out of ammo, which likely meant he’d been using it in other locations.

When the villain wrenched a storm grate from the ground, Jungkook came to his senses. Survival was priority number one. Fighting someone with only rejuvenation would’ve been hard enough; it would be near impossible to fight someone with rejuvenation and strength.

Rolling away, Jungkook managed to escape said trajectory of the grate.

Metal smashed into the space he’d just occupied, leaving a human-sized dent in the pavement. Flipping himself upwards, Jungkook shot as he moved. This was a move best left to the movies, unless you happened to be an obsessed-with-video-games-superhero-handler trained in four different kinds of martial arts.

Jungkook was just that. 

“Catch me if you can!” he yelled, taking off down the street.

He zig-zagged as he moved, craning his neck to peer overhead. The new plan was: keep the villain’s attention on Jungkook until help arrived, which wouldn’t be long. Given the immediacy of the destruction, ISA would likely dispatch someone with the ability to fly.

All he had to do was stay alive until then. Smirking a little, Jungkook dug in his heel and spun around.

Luckily, he had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Pushing up the sleeve of his jacket, Jungkook waited until the villain was within fifteen feet, then pressed a button. 70 mA of electrical current shot out from his wrist, arcing with blue-white light to hit the villain in the chest. A product created by Namjoon, otherwise known as the superhero, Brainblast.

The volt was enough to stun or kill any other man, but the villain simply gasped and sunk to his knees.

He writhed for a moment, clawing at skin which simultaneously burned and healed. The distraction was all Jungkook needed to run, aiming his gun and – someone swooped down to blast the villain back with air.

A smirk on your face, you lowered both hands to your sides.

Jungkook skidded to a stop. Your superhero alias, Zephyr, was one of the most popular superheroes on the face of the planet. Intelligent, formidable, and rated a seven on the ISA power scale, despite only having one superpower: control over the air and winds.

You were also ridiculously hot; Jungkook had harbored a crush on you for years.

He still remembered the day you arrived at the Agency. Higher-ups said Zephyr (the Greek god of the west wind) was traditionally a male name and wouldn’t make sense to serve as your moniker. You’d said to fuck off and written it down anyways.

This memory made Jungkook smile, even as you sent another wave of wind down the street. Shaking his head, he pulled himself back to reality.

Hovering a few feet off the ground, wind whipped at your hair. You’d explained to him once you didn’t really fly – it was more the wind currents obeyed your commands and took you where you needed to go. Jungkook didn’t really get the difference, but he couldn’t deny you looked badass doing it.

While the villain struggled to stand, you glanced down at Jungkook.

“You alright?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

Jungkook tried not to frown. “I’m fine,” he said, despite the disheveled state of his hair and clothes. “I had him, you know.”

“Right.” Your expression turned dubious. “It’s just that –”

You were cut off by said villain throwing a car at your head, which you managed to stop with a thrust of your hand. The winds obeyed your command, wrapping around the car to set off to one side. 

Gaze narrowed, you rose even higher. “It’s not that you’re not capable!” You yelled to be heard over the wind. “But –”

A sewer grate flew through the air and, without turning, Jungkook shot it down from the sky. Pieces rained around them like confetti.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “Right.” Sheepish, you smiled. “Just keep doing that. Distract him and I’ll try to knock him out. Keep him alive, though!”

Jungkook nodded, giving a grim smile before moving forward.

He broke into a run, alarmed by how fast the villain seemed to heal. Even if two supers had the same power, they tended to vary in intensity. This villain must be rated high even without his super strength.

The device on Jungkook’s arm wouldn’t recharge for another five minutes, so he relied on his gun to keep the villain occupied. A shot to the kneecap; another to his shoulder. Keeping your words in mind, Jungkook tried not to hit anything vital. Even rejuvenation might not be enough to heal the man if he shot him in the heart.

High above, you flew gracefully upwards. Jungkook nearly stopped to stare; you arced through the sky like a dancer, claiming the winds as though you owned them. Caressing the breeze with one hand, you turned around and – fuck.

Jungkook had let himself get distracted. Swearing aloud, he dove behind the nearest car and heard something shatter.

Rolling to the other side, he propped himself up on one knee and shot. The villain yelped, stumbling forward as the bullet hit his elbow.

This time, it took greater concentration for metal to be squeezed from his skin. The villain panted as he stood, clearly winded and Jungkook’s heart leapt, realizing they’d tired him out.

This turned out to be the opening you needed.

Swooping down, you reached out a hand, and – wind whipping about like a force field – slowly closed your palm.

The villain gasped, his eyes going wide as he clutched his throat.

Shakily, Jungkook pushed himself upwards to stand.

One of the most dangerous powers associated with air manipulation was creating a vacuum. You achieved this by removing the air entirely; a feat which required great skill and concentration.

It only took a few minutes for the man to be so deprived of oxygen, his eyes rolled backwards. His legs wavered a second, then he slumped to the ground.

“Saoirse!” you yelled, floating down. “Cuffs!”

A woman with red hair – your handler, Jungkook presumed – ran from the nearest subway station to quickly cuff the man’s hands behind his back. Jungkook could see the moment the villain’s power drained from his limbs.

Standing before them, you watched, although it seemed to pain you.

Picking his way through the wreckage, Jungkook came to a stop by your side. Glancing your way, he noticed the breeze continue to play with your hair, as though it couldn’t bear to be parted for long.

“Do you ever wonder what this does to us?” 

Confused by your question, Jungkook blinked. “What do you mean?”

“This,” you said, waving a hand at the wreckage. In the distance, Jungkook could hear sirens screaming. “All the death, the destruction… even the people on the other side. Does it ever hurt you sometimes?”

Jungkook stared at you for a moment, unsure how to respond.

Truthfully, it did bother him when he saw himself in the villains they faced. Sometimes he was fighting genuine evil, but occasionally the villains had reasonable grievances – worse, sometimes they’d merely been raised to see the ISA as evil.

Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to hate those kinds of villains and yes, it did hurt when he took them out.

Sensing his hesitance, your shoulders slumped. Jungkook’s stomach twisted, wanting to fix whatever it was you were feeling. He hesitated, wanting to say you weren’t alone.

“Never mind,” you said, managing to smile. “Another bad guy defeated, right?”

“Right.” Jungkook’s gaze remained upon yours. “I guess.”

Before you could say anything more, Saoirse called your name.

“Guess I should go,” you said, rising into the air. When you glanced his way, Jungkook found himself wondering what you were thinking. “I… thanks for helping today, Jungkook.”

“Anytime.”

This time when he smiled at you, it was genuine.

You rose another few feet, then hesitated. “It’s been awhile since I came by the training arena, huh?” 

Jungkook shrugged, as though he hadn’t noticed, but he had. Of course, he had.

“You’re still the one they’ve got training the new recruits?”

“Yep,”

“Hm.” A small smile crossed your lips. “Maybe I should stop by. Show the newbies how it’s done. We could work up a sweat.”

Jungkook’s heart nearly stopped when you dropped him a wink. Before he could speak, you rose further into the air.

“Bye, Jungkook!” you called, and zipped off down the street.

The sound of your voice faded into the sounds of the city and Jungkook stood there another moment before coming to his senses. His phone began to ring in his pocket.

Fumbling for the device, he sighed when he saw the name on the ID.

“Hello?” he said, lifting the phone to his ear.

“YOU’RE ALIVE.”

Wincing, he held the phone further away. “Minutia?”

“Who else would it be? Of course, it’s me, you idiot! I had just gotten my morning coffee and was passing that pizza place when I happen to catch a glimpse of the TV – and what do I see? You, fighting a fucking supervillain alone!”

“I wasn’t alone,” Jungkook shot back.

“Yeah, those cowering civilians looked real intimidating.”

“Zephyr showed up at the end, it was fine.”

“Oh,” she said, somewhat mollified. “Alright, then. She’s cool. But seriously, JK – be more careful, would you? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Pulling his hand away, Jungkook squinted at the receiver. “Huh?” he said, returning the device to his ear.

“Yeah, who’d pick up my dry cleaning?”

“Bye,” Jungkook grunted, and hung up the phone.

Still, he smiled as he turned to walk down the street. People stared as he passed, pointing and whispering about the state of his clothes. Jungkook heard the word super being muttered, although he didn’t bother to correct them.

He was too busy turning your words over again in his mind. Does it ever hurt you sometimes?

The truth was it did. All the time.

He just didn’t know if there existed a better path than the one he was on.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[phoenixyfriend]

"this isn't quite what I expected" Hinata and [whomever you think would be funniest.]

Arranged Marriage Starters

Hmmmmm okay fuck it we’re doing time-travel.

Warning for... very odd attitudes about ‘breeding’ from clan POV. Like... you know what I mean. (The weird fanon eugenics vibes of the Hyuuga do not gel with me, so I’m just going to treat them like purebred cats.)

Also this did NOT end up ‘whatever is funniest,’ holy smokes.

She is seventeen, unsealed, and... perfect.

She is not a perfect warrior, no. She is not even a perfect lady, or a perfect spy. No, the woman from the future is the perfection of a Main Line child unmarred by the inbreeding they are so careful to avoid but so liable to run into.

The examination of her eyes leaves the medic breathless. Her skin is clearer than they think possible--apparently the formation of a village will lead to better nutrition, better hygiene, better hospitals. Her hair is like silk.

She is as perfect as a doll.

“I am not a broodmare,” she says, when the whispers first start. “And I refuse to allow the barbarism of the Caged Bird Seal to continue.”

“Hold your tongue, girl!”

She lifts her head. She watches.

She is far too calm.

“I promised my cousin, as he died on the battlefield, that I would abolish the seal. I keep my promises, Honorable Elder. It is my nindo.”

A porcelain doll with a backbone of steel.

-----

She was born the heir, and for all that she is an intruder to this era, Hinata is still an heir. The current clan head is young, and has no children. With Hinata unsealed and powerful, young and lithe and useful, she is easily slotted into the role of heir. Her blood befits it, supposedly.

Oh they titter, for sure. Hinata is capable of wearing the clothing of the time, but she prefers things in a cut closer to what she arrived in. She spent years building up her confidence to the point where she could bare her arms. She had months with Ino coaching her into taking pride in her muscles, teaching her to be unashamed of her chest. Hinata refuses to let them take that away from her.

They sneer, some of them, but Hinata is not the child she once was. She fought in the Fourth War. She attacked Pein alone. She has fought a Rinnegan and survived, if only because of the man she loved, and she is no longer the kind of girl that is cowed by an elderly fool with a cutting remark.

But she is still an heir, and not a clan head in her own right. There is no affection to hold back Hyuuga Hideki, not as there was with Hiashi or as there would have been with Hanabi. Hideki does not know her, for all that her genealogy lists him as her great-grandfather, and he thinks little of setting her up for a marriage.

“Am I to know the name of my groom?” Hinata asks.

(She does not worry for leaving the clan. They would not waste a Byakugan as clear as hers. They will bring in new, strong blood, for the so-called purity of Hinata’s line is a scant generation from breaking to something ugly, but they will keep her and her groom within the clan. Her children, her eyes, belong to the clan. They dare not let her leave, and to sell her off is anathema.)

“No,” Hideki tells her. “We haven’t decided.”

“I see.”

-----

There’s a pang in her heart, when she looks at the wedding kimono. She’d hoped for love, before. She’d hoped for Naruto’s hand in hers, or if he did not want her, to find and grow a relationship with another. She’d have been able to have her pick of the pack, so to speak.

Perfect, unmarred heiress.

(What a disgusting role, truly.)

Several branch members help her into the layers and layers of formal dress. They comb her hair into too-complex twists and paint her face in ways that feel old and unpleasant.

(Tradition is as tradition does, but to be nearly a century in the past is stifling.)

Hinata is not a broodmare, and she has been clear on such a point, but she is still a valuable piece on the board that the clan has received without expectation. They use her as they use anyone. She is here to battle on the field, if necessary, but she is far more vital in securing an alliance. Principled, they call her. Headstrong for ideals that barely exist yet, ideals that won’t be commonplace for decades yet.

“Silk hiding steel,” one elderly branch woman says, approval in her eyes and on her tongue. “I hope they keep you.”

Hinata never wanted to be clan head, but there is no Hanabi here to take up Neji’s cause and drive it to completion. There are no others willing to dedicate themselves to abolishing this wretched seal, and so it falls to Hinata. She will not fail.

Her groom makes such a thing more than feasible.

-----

The wedding is traditional, rigid, and ultimately successful. Hinata is ‘hitched,’ as Kiba might have said, and she keeps her face pleasantly disinterested for the whole of it. The party afterwards is livelier, but only because of the clan she has tied herself to.

They retire soon enough. The marriage is not complete, after all.

“I don’t suppose the Hyuuga are one of the clans willing to take a person’s word for consummation,” her new husband says.

“There are ways of checking after the fact,” she says. She passes a hand over the wall, and the designs painted into the wood glow faintly. “But for the act itself, we have privacy.”

She is eighteen, almost nineteen. She is newly wedded to a man who is a stranger in all but name, and she plans to change history every bit as much as he does.

He still grimaces. “You are... a bit young.”

“You flatter me,” she says. “But I am of an age to be wed, and so of an age to engage in... more carnal matters.”

This does not soothe him. “If you are to beget a child this young... it’s old enough that you’d avoid the worst of the consequences, but the risk is still there. Your body is still changing, as likely as not.”

She cannot help it. She laughs. “I’ve no need to secure a pregnancy as of yet, Honored Husband. While the contract may have stated we consummate immediately, my own clan’s elders have chosen to look the other way if we take a few years to solidify the alliance with a child.”

He’s less than five years older than her, and walks as though he expects and even asks to carry the weight of the world on his own two shoulders. The relief that breaks across his face is almost childlike in its openness.

“I was not informed,” he says. “I am glad to hear it.”

Hinata ducks her head and smiles. “Your concern for me is appreciated. I have some small medical training of my own, and can prevent a pregnancy with relatively little ease until the village your brother spoke of is formed. They would not want to waste a kunoichi with battlefield experience, after all.”

He nods. He hesitates. He asks, nonetheless, “Are you truly so firm in your belief of such? They said you supported the concept of the village, but to see you speak of it so confidently is a surprise.”

Hinata watches him for a moment, and then stands and moves to the armoire. She has very few things left from the future she cannot return to, but there are two she has kept for this situation.

She returns to her husband with her forehead protector in one hand, a ragged bingo book in the other, and a scroll tucked into her obi.

He looks them over. He turns the pages with a crease in his brow, feels at the woven mesh and linen the metal is riveted to. He looks up and asks, “How many decades?”

“Hideki-sama would have been my grandfather. However, as things stand, that is no longer assured,” she says. “You were some fifty years dead when I was sent back in time.”

“I see,” he says, and looks back down. “There are not many Senju or Uchiha in this booklet. Did they not defect at high rates, or...”

“Both clans were down to a single surviving member by the time I was seventeen,” Hinata tells him. “The Uzumaki down to two.”

“So the village system--”

“Was not at fault,” Hinata says. He looks up sharply, and she smiles. “I can tell you how it all happened, and what can be done to prevent it, but it will not be easy.”

“Such things never are,” he says. He looks back down at the bingo book, frowning. “You choose to help save my clan, after I have married into yours. I expect you hope for some aid in return?”

“Oh, to prevent the destruction the Senju and Uchiha is to prevent the end of the world,” she says. “I would do this even if it wasn’t, but as it stands, there is indeed something I will ask you to help with.”

“Something equal to preventing the end of the world?” he asks, and she thinks he may be trying to add a dash of humor to the heavy conversation. She appreciates the attempt, for all that it fails.

“It is to me,” she says instead, and pulls the scroll from her obi. “You are a fuuinjutsu master, are you not?”

“My sister-in-law is better,” he says. “But yes, I’m nearing such a level.”

Hinata nods. “The history books said as much.”

He eyes her for a moment, brows narrowed, and then unfurls the scroll.

She waits.

It doesn’t take long for him to inhale sharply. “This is barbaric.”

“Yes, I agree,” she says, calm and pleasant. “I’m not supposed to be showing you this. I hope you understand.”

He looks at her. “You want me to change it?”

“Removal first,” she says. “We need a substitute ready when we do so, to prevent at least one angle of argument. A seal that still destroys the eyes at death, but without the... more unpleasant aspects.”

“You want me to help you stage a coup in your own clan.”

“Not a coup. If Hideki is willing to allow for the changes to the seal, then I am uninterested in replacing him. I have no great dreams of leadership, Honored Husband. I simply wish to free my family of their bonds.”

“And to help me save my clan.”

“By saving the world, yes.” She smiles at him. “I’ll save your clan if you save mine?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I can’t... well. This isn’t quite what I expected.”

“Of that, I’m sure.”

"I agree to your terms,” he says. “Also... while I am like to officially outrank you on the battlefield and in the village that will be, I was under the impression that, within the confines of the Hyuuga compound, you outrank me, and outside of it, we are equals.”

“That is correct.”

“In that regard, please stop addressing me as ‘Honored Husband,’” he says. “It is surprisingly uncomfortable to hear.”

Hinata can’t help but laugh at him again. “Of course. Shall I call you Tobirama-kun instead, then?”

“Am I to address you as ‘Hinata-chan?’” He asks, a tad too dry. “Or simply dear?”

“Darling.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Beloved.”

“I’m not one for pet names.”

“What a shame. I am.”

Yes. She rather thinks this will turn out splendidly. She may not have the true love of her dreams, but this... this will work.

She’ll make sure of it.

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #142: Ishtar

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making Best Goddess and, according to @hasishtardoneanythingwrong, a servant who has done absolutely nothing very little wrong, Ishtar! 

In this build, Ishtar is a Divine Soul Sorcerer to balance her blasting abilities with her divine nature and a Zeal Cleric to push her explosive capabilities and godhood to the max.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: The second part of the oldest bromance in human history.

Race and Background

Unfortunately WotC hasn’t figured out how to balance literal god PCs yet, but since Ishtar is a demiservant we can still technically call her a Protector Aasimar, giving her +1 Wisdom, +2 Charisma, Darkvision, Celestial Resistance to radiant and necrotic damage, Healing Hands to heal some hands, and the Light cantrip.

Since she protects Uruk in her own special way, we’ll call her a Goddess Alliance Anarch. This gives you Animal Handling and Religion proficiencies, as well as some bonus spells as you level up!

Ability Scores

As the goddess of love and also blowing up mountains, your Charisma needs to be as high as possible. Follow that up with Dexterity, you can literally fly, that’s pretty fast. After that will be Constitution, you can take a lot of abuse, especially if it’s coming from the writers. Your Wisdom has to be next so we can multiclass, keep that in mind if you’re rolling. Your Strength isn’t amazing, but it’s not like you’re using it anyway. Finally, dump Intelligence. Not gonna dwell on that one, let’s just move on.

Class Levels

1. Sorcerer 1: Honestly I think “Divine Soul” is kinda selling yourself short, but we’ll work in the framework we’re given. You can cast Spells now, including your Divine Magic from the cleric spell list, using your Charisma. You’re also Favored by the Gods, giving you the option of adding 2d4 to a failed save or attack roll once per short rest.

For cantrips you get Thunderclap and True Strike for offensive options (I mean you do aim. Even if your target’s a mountain, aiming is important.) You also get Minor Illusion and Friends to manipulate people into doing what you want.  Finally, your stand against the Three Goddess Alliance grants you the cantrips Fire Bolt and Produce Flame to make the battlefield a little bit spicier.

For first level spells, you get Bless from being a divine soul, as well as Compelled Duel, Speak with Animals, and Thunderwave from being an Anarch. For your actually chosen spells, Mage Armor makes your outfit feasible, and Feather Fall will be very helpful once you start flying.

2. Sorcerer 2: Second level sorcerers become a Font of Magic, giving you sorcerer points equal to your sorcerer level. Right now you can turn points into spell slots or vice versa, but it’ll get more interesting later. 

You can also cast Disguise Self, in case you have to, I don’t know, organize a servant-based wacky races kind of event? Idk, whatever.

3. Sorcerer 3: Third level sorcerers get Metamagic, letting you alter your spells to suit your mood by using sorcery points. A Transmuted spell lets you swap out its acid, cold, fire, lightning, poison, or thunder damage for another option on that list. Meanwhile, you can use a Distant spell to double a spell’s range, making your archery much more effective.

You also become a Radiant Soul, spending an action to transform yourself and gaining a flying speed for up to a minute. You can also deal extra radiant damage to a creature you hit with an attack or spell once per turn. You can do this once per long rest. It’s not a long trip, but it’s free.

On top of that, you get second level spells this turn. Distort Value lets you halve or double an object’s apparent value for the duration, perfect for haggling with a certain someone. You also get Beast Sense and Shatter from your Anarch spell list. The former isn’t that in-character, but the latter is a good start to taking down that mountain.

4. Sorcerer 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to round up your Constitution and Charisma, giving you more health, better concentration, and stronger spells. What a glow up!

You can also cast the cantrip Resistance to add 1d4 to a creature’s next save, or use Find Traps to make sneaking into Gilgamesh’s many treasure vaults slightly easier. If it works.

5. Sorcerer 5: You’re a god, so you probably shouldn’t be messing up that often. To help with that, Magical Guidance lets you spend a sorcery point to re-roll a failed skill check. Maybe it’ll help.

You can also cast Fly this level, giving you more frequent flying miles at the cost of your concentration. You can also Conjure Animals if you want to show up that gazelle-loving sister of yours. More on-target, however, is your other Anarch spell, Conjure Barrage. Gosh, it’s almost like you’re an archer or something.

6. Cleric 1: This whole flying around exploding things is great, but I think we can put more pizazz on it. Or, as they say down in Amonkhet, let’s add some Zeal. That’s right, we’re stealing from two MTG planes this build! As a Priest of Zeal, you can attack as a bonus action if you attack as an action a number of times per long rest equal to your wisdom modifier. That sounds kind of useless, but as a Zeal Cleric you also get proficiency with martial weapons, meaning that yes, you can use a bow and arrow. The archer class really is made up of archers!

You can also cast and prepare Spells using your Wisdom, but we got the really good ones in your sorcerer list, so don’t worry too much here. You do get some more cantrips, though! Thaumaturgy lets you throw your godly weight around, Light lets you cast light again using a worse casting modifier, and Guidance gives a creature some helpful advice from their favorite goddess, adding 1d4 to their next check.

You also get some domain spells, but they’re both smites and you’re an archer, so...

7. Cleric 2: The real reason we’re dipping is for your Channel Divinity option, which you can use once per short rest. You could  use it for Turn Undead, forcing a wisdom save against all undead near you (with a dc of 8 + proficiency + wisdom modifier), but the much more fun option is Consuming Fervor. This turns one fire or thunder damage roll into its maximum instead of rolling. That will be very scary later.

8. Sorcerer 6: Sixth level divine souls get Empowered Healing. You might not have any healing spells, but just being around people makes them feel a bit better. This lets you spend a sorcery point to re-roll any dice being used in a healing roll near you once per turn.

Speaking of healing, we’re still not doing that! You can now Bestow Curses onto people. Serves them right, calling you a “useless goddess”. This is one of those creative spells, so have fun with it!

9. Sorcerer 7: Seventh level sorcerers get fourth level spells! Anarchs get Dominate Beast and Stoneskin, and while neither are technically in character the latter could be very useful given your less than stellar AC. Also, literally turning yourself into gemstones is a real power move.

Your spell of choice this level is Ice Storm, letting you pummel a 20′ radius area with plenty of hail (or fiery debris, or just pure force), enough to turn the area into difficult terrain for a round.

10. Sorcerer 8: Use this ASI to grab the Spell Sniper feat, letting your spells ignore most cover, and spells you cast that require an attack roll have two times their normal range. You also learn Eldritch Blast to further flex on those dumb warlocks. They have to sell their soul and waste an invocation to get 300′ range blasts, and here you are with 480′ range and your soul’s intact! Hah!

You can also exude an Aura of Purity now, preventing disease, weakening poison damage, and granting advantage on a ton of status effect saves. 

11. Sorcerer 9: Ninth level sorcerers get fifth level spells, including your final Anarch spell, Destructive Wave. It’s only got a range of thirty feet, but it never hurts to prepare for an ambush. For longer range attacks, Flame Strike will do nicely. We’re still not quite at “blasting a mountain to smithereens” level power, but we’re getting there.

12. Sorcerer 10: Tenth level sorcerers can get the most out of their spells by making them Empowered, letting them re-roll a number of dice on their damage roll, up to their charisma modifier.

You can also cast Dancing Lights for a bit of a dramatic flair, or Creation to make gemstones out of thin air. Heck, you could even make a proper Boat of Heaven with this!

13. Sorcerer 11: Another two levels have passed, that means you get another spell level. Sunbeam gives you a reusable sunlight blast, dealing radiant damage and blinding creatures that fail their constitution save. You can use this attack again as your action each turn for up to a minute. Sadly this isn’t affected by either of your range enhancements, but you’ve still got plenty of airspace to work with.

14. Sorcerer 12: If we’re going to blast a mountain apart we’ve got to get serious. Use this ASI to get the Elemental Adept feat, focusing on Thunder damage. Once you take this feat, all dice on thunder damage rolls coming from spells always count as at least a 2, and they ignore thunder resistances.

15. Sorcerer 13: The first step to launching the literal planet Venus at somebody is actually getting the damn thing, and that means we need to leave the atmosphere at a moment’s notice. The closest we can come to that here is Plane Shift. You can also use this on enemy creatures as a melee attack

16. Sorcerer 14: Fourteenth level Divine Souls get an Angelic Form you can transform into as a bonus action. This gives you a flying speed of 30′ that is basically permanent until you’re incapacitated or you just get rid of them on your own. Have fun with those orbital bombardments!

17. Sorcerer 15: Sunburst sounds like a good pick for your eighth level spell. This one actually does get a range boost, which is good because it deals damage in a 60′ radius. Creatures within that radius get a constitution save, and failing that means a lot of radiant damage and being blind until it makes the save on the end of its turn. Sadly, it’s stuck on radiant damage, but it’s still an effective blasting spell.

18. Sorcerer 16: Use your last ASI to max out your Charisma so that whole “making the save” thing from last level never happens.

19. Sorcerer 17: To make those saves even less likely, our final metamagic option is Heightened Spell, causing one creature’s first save of the spell in question to be made at disadvantage. Basically you’re saying “like you had a choice in the matter”.

Speaking of spells though, we can finally pull Venus through for a charged shot, thanks to the ninth level spell Meteor Swarm. With a max range of 1-2 miles this truly is nuking the planet from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.

Here’s a step by step guide for removing a mountain. 1. Hang out in the Troposphere. 2. Cast Meteor Swarm, swapping out Fire for Thunder damage. 3. Channel Divinity, maxing out the thunder damage for extra fun. 4. Deal 120 Thunder damage that ignores resistances, on top of 20d6 bludgeoning damage. 5. Enjoy your new crater.

20. Sorcerer 18: Your capstone level of sorcerer gives you an Unearthly Recovery. When you’re bloodied, you can spend a bonus action to heal yourself for half your HP, once per long rest. You had enough trouble in the underworld as it is, no point in going back again.

Pros:

As I just mentioned in level 19, you can deal a lot of damage. Like, Sanson level damage, without all the nonsense attached to it. You’ve got big booms, and multiple ways to make those booms hurt even more than they should.

Flying on a spellcaster is just. Really, really good. Especially on one built for range. There’s almost literally nothing they can do to you up here. Like, arrows, maybe, but you can just retaliate with the literal wrath of god. Plus, you’re probably out of counterspell range, so there’s nothing the DM can do to you!

A lot of your spells are focused on damage, but you do still have plenty of variety in your spell list, just in case. And on the off chance you’re fighting someone in a silence bubble, you can just change your thunder spells to acid or something.

Cons:

For most of this build we’re relying on the Flight spell to get off the ground, which eats up your Concentration and has a chance of failure when you take damage. It’s not ideal.

Those Cleric Levels are very useful, but they still push back your spell progression by 2 levels, which means you’ll have even less time with your An Gal Ta Ki Gal Se than you would normally.

You can’t fly everywhere. Caves exist. Buildings exist. I mean you totally can blast holes to get where you need to, just don’t expect to be that popular with whoever owns the building. Also, fighting in cramped areas plays to your biggest weakness: squishiness. Your AC is only 15, and you’ve got barely over 120 HP, which as we just discussed, someone built like you can take out very easily.

[and-there-were-words]

A Spider Life: Webbed Thoughts (Chapter 02)

Setting up some HCs for the future, as well as giving some insight to our favorite scientist spider.

---

Taking place during “Revenge of the Spider Queen”, pretty much at the end of it.

With the Arachnoid Base gone and the town mostly in shambles due to the massive explosion, the Spider Demons were scattered all around town. Syntax takes it upon himself to find the other two, while wandering foreign, yet familiar streets. (Wordcount: around 1800)

---

Having almost all of his Spiderbots deactivated, was a huge setback for certain. It’ll take days to reconfigure them, and who even knew if they had enough of the special venom to get back to the count they had previously. It was near impossible to draw any numbers if the extent of the destruction was still unknown to him.

At least, there were a few things that survived. For one, the Spiderbot on his back. The cool metal resting comfortable against his spine, while the robot was feeding him a constant flow of information from the remaining units. It was a soft background buzz, a reminder that he was indeed part of this clan. The other ‘survivor’ being the head of their Arachnoid Base, certainly the most complex part of the mech. Given some time and work, he was certain he could rebuild it.

Syntax’s mouth drew into a hard line, reminiscing the events of the last few hours. It looked like the Queen… no, his Queen, had everything under control. The so-called-heroes caught, powerless against her might. The scientist had redrawn himself to continue working. Just because the battle was already won, didn’t meant there were no projects to finish up and to maintain. There were victory celebrations to be had afterall, and nobody else took it up to plan those. Syntax only had noticed the earth rumble above him when everything went down, and a moment later he had to witness his Queen on the ground, defeated. He wisely decided not to become a potential target of her fury, and excused himself to immediately go back to work.

As much as he hated to admit it, he really had to find the other two. For the sole reason to move the Arachnoid Base head back underground into the lair, of course. The remaining Spiderbots were not enough to stem this feat and he did not even have a fraction of the required strength to do it by himself. He would not allow his Queen to do any of this work, even if she was more than capable of moving the apparatus. No, if he could do something against it, he will not let the lady steep any lower, she was supposed to rest.

Goliath and Huntsman.

The scientist inhaled in trough the nose and let out a mildly annoyed sigh. The very moment these two had awaken, he was able to feel their gazes constantly lingering on him. Moreso from the hunter than the strong spider. Actually, it was a little surprising that the big one was… rather gentle in a way. Goliath barely ever spoke, and seemed content to just be part of whatever was going on. Doing what he was told to do, he certainly was the more reasonable compared to the gnarly spider that was Huntsman.

The older spider had made it apparently his goal to infuriate Syntax in any way possible. Always trying to shove himself in the spotlight when the scientist wanted to inform his Queen, always throwing little nitpicks and snarky remarks here and there – and by far the most annoying thing; always wrinkling his nose when he came too close to Syntax. ‘Close’ of course being several feet away, there was no way he’d allow that pelt wearing asshole anywhere near himself. More an unconcious act while having this trail of thought, Syntax lifted his wrist to his own nose, trying to catch any scent. He couldn’t detect anything odd, just metal, cold earth and the faintly sweet fragrance of his lady’s venom. Huntsman certainly was only doing this to irritate him. And frustratingly enough, it was slowly getting to him.

The scientist scoffed, looking up to check his surroundings. He was in the middle of a street, in some part of the city that didn’t get completely leveled during the fight. Some signs and advertisement screens still flickered with life, hanging in there with all might. The occasional spark and the scuttling of a critter were all the noises he could hear otherwise. Remarkable how fast the local population was able to evacuate from their homes once the Spider Demons had attacked. Something in the back of his brain clawed to the surface, images of a giant bull stomping and blasting entire blocks away. Having to leave ‘someplace important’ to be safe. A taste of bitterness of potentially losing all ‘progress’.

Progress of what? Syntax halted in his steps for a moment, trying to make sense of this rabid influx of images and emotions that… were his? Weren’t his? He could, for the life of his, not consciously remember any of what his mind was spouting out. It didn’t take long for the buzzing of the Spiderbot and the soothing warmth of the venom to calm his nerves again. What was he thinking about again? The scientist unchlenched his teeth, uncurling his fists. There was no apparent reason to be tense. With a shake of his head, Syntax continued down the streets.

He didn’t even question it that he could navigate throughout the city without a second guess. Somewhere in the far back of his mind, there was a subtle note that any corner he passed, and any road sign he read was completely new information. Yet he could feel it in his fingertips that he had seen these places before.

...most certainly the marvel of the Spiderbots, always here to bring him up to date! At a crossroad, his gaze subconsciously wandered down to his right, the word ‘Work’ coming to his mind. But before he could delve anymore on this random fact, a red flash signaled the scientist that he was close to his target. Completely ignoring the jumbled webbing of his mind, that tried to lure him somewhere, he turned to his left and followed the call of the machines.

It didn’t take long to find the hulking figure of Goliath. The strong spider was not within the crater that was left when crashing into the concrete, but instead was sitting a little to the side. Remarkable, that the guy barely had a scratch, Syntax wasn’t sure if he could shake off such an impact as easily. Goliath was looking somewhat exhausted, and for the first time since he knew him, mildly annoyed. It was clear that the henchman was already aware what must have had happen after he got blasted into the sky, the destroyed mech could not be overlooked easily. Though when he noticed the scientist approaching, his features softened, brows slightly raised in a silent question. For someone who could easily be one of the most intimidating creatures Syntax knew about (he didn’t knew many, DBK was certainly on this list though), he surely often made an expression like a lost puppy. In a way, it was endearing, giving this giant an aura he could relax in, at least somewhat.

Syntax looked around, searching for a second crater. Without needing to raise the question, Goliath shook his head. “He ain’t here, think he fell somewhere further to the east.”, a silent groan escaped the big guy as he got up, stretching his arms a little and dusting off some dirt. “Shall we?”

The scientist just nodded, stuffing hands in pockets and following the other’s lead. Finding himself mulling over threads of thoughts again as he watched the large back of the spider demon. In a way, it was… fascinating, how different they all were. Goliath, clearly strong and powerful, didn’t seem to make much use out of venom and webs. He was capable of both, no question, but either his mastery in these skills weren’t the greatest, or he simply didn’t want to use either for whatever reason. Syntax put a pin into that, maybe a question for another day.

Now Huntsman was almost the opposite. Even if he didn’t like to admit it, Syntax had to give tribute where it was due. The older spider’s ability of web manipulation was astounding, and maybe there was more to the hunter than one would give him credit for. He obviously was a traditional kind of guy, annoyingly so, but he still had picked up on Syntax’s gadgets and tools surprisingly quick. It did not take him more than a hour to figure out the spider trackers and the communication earbuds, he even had taken an animated liking over the tech-heavy binoculars that fed him instant information about anything he looked at. Of course, he immediately claimed that he would not need any of these, that his natural skills were enough. To no one’s surprise, Syntax noticed that said gadgets had mysteriously disappeared an hour later. He was smart enough to not bring this topic up.

Now the Queen… Syntax hummed contently as the Spiderbot buzzed in approvement. She was the Queen of Spiders for obvious reasons. While Goliath and Huntsman seemed to have specialized in one thing, the lady was quite powerful in all aspects. Her webs were strong and could be enchanted with all kinds of abilities. They were able to trap the Demon Bull King, and even the supposedly all-mighty Monkey King! That alone was a feat in itself. Syntax had noted with great pleasure that his lady was quite well versed in technology too, and up-to-date with society, in opposite to the other two. The giant spider bot that was basically just an extension of her true might? Her own creation! And don’t even get him started on her powerful venom! It had endless potential as both a power source and as an ingredient for mixtures and magics yet to be discovered.

And he, Syntax himself? For a moment, the scientist stopped in his track. He had his smarts and knowledge for sure. Basically a library of all things technology within his noggin. And his Queen already made it clear that he was an important part in all of her plans. Venom, webbing, physical strength on the other hand… The claws on his back twitched slightly agitated, a sudden spike of an incoming migrain stopping all tracks of thoughts. When Syntax looked forwards again, he could see that Goliath was glancing at him with mild worry, patiently waiting to continue their way to find the gnarly spider. The scientist shook his head, reminding himself that he was part of this clan, there was no place in doubting his Queen.

In comfortable silence, the two walked down the empty streets, neither feeling any need of smalltalk. As ironic and bitter as it was, Syntax found himself in a moment of peace, just a moment he could relax his shoulders and sort the rest of his thoughts calmly. Things certainly were going to get tense again once they picked up Huntsman, that fact was clear. The Spider Demons had a lot of tasks ahead of them as well, going off by the words of the little Miss Mystery. Not something he was particularly looking forward for, but serving his Queen was his sole purpose. And nothing will distract him from that.

[heart-of-tempered-steel]

𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 // {fred weasley x ofc} preview

As soon as his gaze slid down from her slender shoulders to her neatly folded hands, he saw it.

Her hands, he mused, were small and delicate looking and usually when they were at rest when she sits, are folded neatly one atop of the other. Like bird wings.

Now, her hands were anything but resting. They were slightly fluttering.

As if something ruffled their feathers.

Summary: Fred starts to see through the cracks on the mask she wears and realizes that it wasn’t just a mask... but a full suit of armor as well.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Seri Waldren (OFC)

**Additional Note**: Face claim for Seri is Lee Ji Eun as Jang Man Wol

Warnings: Almost none except for a bit of slightly one-sided angst with a hint of enemies to friends to lovers as well as an ofc (but PLEASE give this a chance before scrolling past!!! I really worked so hard to get everything in place here! 🥺)

His eyes are a deep hazel like his twin.

However, Seri thinks to herself, staring at his side profile as he faced the fireplace, the flames casting a warm glow over his features, that in this light at least, they held a hint of mahogany in them. With the way that the light was catching in his eyes, she can see that it brought out the dark red undertone in them. She gives him a once over—steady gaze tracing his features from his hair to his eyes.

Orange.

Red.

Brown.

Like the fallen leaves that drift with the autumn breeze.

And before she thinks better of it, she is pulled into a memory.

Like the forest floor at that time when the sun was setting and its dying rays peeked through the canopy to shade everything a warm copper and bronze—the earthy smell of dirt with a hint of petrichor from last week’s rainfall; laughter echoing through flying swirls of leaves, recently scattered from a pile.

Mug of hot cider, freshly made, warming you up inside and out. Its warmth spreading from your fingertips to your head as its heady aroma of apple and cinnamon wafts up to your nose and fills you.

Pairs of strong yet gentle arms holding you—comforting you. A melody, sweet and tender as the arms you’re held by, drifts into your ears and lulls you with its lullaby.

Soft wool tickling your cheek as you nestle yourself further into the warm embrace, letting the song carry you over into a peaceful slumber. Here, you are content.

You are safe.

You are not alone.

You are loved.

And just like that, she is consumed. The sudden onslaught of the memory hurtling towards her like a tornado of broken glass, pieces of what was once a precious and tender reminiscence, now in shatters. Jagged, sharp edges were simultaneously slashing, ripping, and embedding themselves into her heart; threatening to shred through every soft layer of tissue to raw and bloody scraps.

She nearly recoils from the emotions that was all at once churning and burning her from within, fighting to keep the tempest within her contained. If she does not get a hold of herself…  

She. Will. Fall. Apart.

Seri instantly turns away from Fred and lets her hair fall to the side of her face like a black curtain between them as she attempts to silently reign in her tumultuous emotions.

Her companion hears a barely suppressed, sharp intake of breath and turns his attention to her. He finds her face turned away, seemingly focusing on a spot just off to the side of the fireplace. Or at least he assumes she was staring at a spot. Her long black hair effectively blocking off his view of her face.

Her figure was stock still except for the slow and methodical breaths he can see her quietly forcing herself to take. She still held the same posture on the carpet as when he came by the fireplace to sit next to her. Back straight, legs tidily folded underneath to accommodate for the sleeping gown she was wearing underneath her silk robe, and hands resting on top of her lap.

That was where Fred found the slight difference in the way she was holding herself. As soon as his gaze slid down from her slender shoulders to her neatly folded hands, he saw it. 

Her hands, he mused, were small and delicate looking and usually when they were at rest when she sits, are folded neatly one atop of the other. Like bird wings.

Now, her hands were anything but resting. 

They were slightly fluttering.

As if something ruffled their feathers. 

One hand still lay on top of the other but the other hand beneath was tightly curled into a fist. Its tightened grip causing her hands to faintly tremble. He had an inkling that if the other hand on top was removed, he would see the white knuckles she was making as she dug her manicured nails into the palm of her hand.

It lasted for only a moment and it was gone as soon as he saw it. As if she could feel his gaze on her, she took in a last deep breath and slowly unfurled her hand back to how it was. But it only took that one passing moment for Fred to know... that something was wrong.

“You alright, princess?”, he let out in a soft voice, his tone laced with concern.

She felt it.

Yes, she could tell he was worried over her. And not just because she was a born empath. No. She didn’t need to rely on that part of her to know that. His voice was—so gentle and soothing. Yet, it held such an intriguing blend of both boldness and apprehension to it that it didn’t want to make her pin the person who was asking under a glare of disdain. Usually, with the kind of rumors and reputation that garnered around her, there were mostly only two types of people in her life who would ask about her well-being with feigned compassion: reporters and suitors from highborn pure-blood families like hers.

One wanted to use her to stamp their name on the cover page of every magazine and newspaper.

The other wanted her hand in marriage for her wealth and, out of their archaic and medieval beliefs, to secure the continuation of their family’s pure-blood lineage.             

But both were attracted to her by their uninhibited ambition.

Both wanted a piece of her to claim for themselves.

The empath part of her can sense an oily power-hungry leech like that from a mile away, eyes closed.

Although now, the empath in her was sensing something entirely different from the red head beside her.

There was concern, yes. But there was also sincerity… genuine sincerity for her and—

Oh.

There it was. Buried beneath a bundle of his nervousness and the abrupt need to reach out to her...

Kindness.

It was kindness…

 And no. It wasn’t the pitiful kind of kindness that would be offered to her with condolences every time her parents’ deaths were brought up in every one of her mandatory but rare social outings. This kindness that she was sensing from him was pure and so unrestrained that it took her aback. Maybe even perturbed her a bit.

She was sensing this from the young man. The very same young man, who, along with his twin, would set off pranks to soak up the chaos they ensued. Resulting disruptive inconvenience and bodily harm to others be damned. Unapologetic and destructive, the two laid waste with their antics on and off the school grounds. Fred Weasley, one of the loud, cocky, and rambunctious devil duo pranksters of Hogwarts…

Was sitting next to her worrying about her well-being.

And Morrigan knows, with the kind of tempestuous and vitriolic relationship that they started off with—almost a week after she transferred from Ilvermorny, she’d never thought that he’d show her, let alone be capable to have this side of him. Perhaps, it was a good thing that she was already sitting down because reconciling these two sides of him was leaving her a tad disoriented.

Despite that… she lets herself welcome the feeling. She lowers her defenses a bit, letting its tendrils wrap around her senses in a warm cocoon. His earnest need to ease her out of whatever unsettled her—so honest and guileless, centers her while it melts away and soothes any residual pain that the painful memory left in her heart.

So different.

A/N: *tenatively pokes her head into the fandom* hey there! 👋 I hoped you enjoyed this “little” preview of my upcoming fred weasley drabble! I’m a newly minted fan so I wasn’t sure how my fic would fare among you older and OG fans so I decided to just post a snippet of it and see how many of you would be interested in my little project. tbh I wasn’t that into the harry potter fandom for most of my life. I did ofc watched the films when I was younger and ended up with a Daniel Radcliffe crush tht lasted up until I became a Hiddlestoner.

But other than tht I didn’t really consider myself as a potterhead.... until one rerun marathon film series drew me back into its clutches and not only got me to start reading the books but also gave me a newfound appreciation and love for the Weasley twins (especially Fred 😉). the twins deserved a better ending than tht btw. heck. almost half of the characters were done dirty by the end of the series 👀

Anyway, I didn’t expect to fall so hard for the twins considering the massive crush my 9 year old self had w/ harry potter lol. those sneaky twins really have a way of worming themselves into your heart without you ever noticing it! Now, it’s been almost two months since watching the movies and I’m still overwhelmed with all the feels about those two 😩. so this fic/drabble was sort of a cathartic release of all my pent up emotions for them. tbh this just started off with me just wanting to describe the aesthetics Fred was giving me but well... all my feelings spilled out. oops 😬

the title is based on a great song that I stumbled on YouTube called “It Takes A Lot to Know a Man” by Damien Rice and I think it fits the dilemma of Fred and Seri finding out that there’s more than what the eye can see with each other. but that’s enough of my rambling for now 😅. If u made it all the way here, congratulations! And thank you for checking out my fic! I really do appreciate the time you spend reading this as well as any feedback you can give 🙏 (the more detailed the better!) Please reblog/like if you enjoyed this as well! I really appreciate it if you could share this with some of ur friends/mutuals it really makes all the sleepless nights working on this worth it!

Also let me know if there are any grammar errors too (bc I’m def sure there are some floating up there) I’m more of a fanfic reader than a writer so this was a BEAST to get out for me!

P.S. I’m also planning to have a self-insert/reader imagine version of this and any future drabbles of this series in the future since I know how some people feel about ocs 👀

Taglist: @firewhisky-kisses @yourssuccubus (who expressed great support in helping me write this! Thanks, u two ❤️ I hope it was worth the wait!

[johnnyclash87]

I wrote this real quick.. well not really I procrastinated a lot and kept ignoring it because I wasn’t sure it was even good. Anyway I should start sharing more and be more confident in myself so here’s a little Maul fic I wrote. I might add more or another chapter

Maul could feel the ship jump to hyperspace even as he was securely strapped into the vault. It wasn’t that he couldn’t move or use his powers that most gnawed at him. It wasn’t even the impending end that was now just three words away. No. It was.. what was his name?

Jesse.

The Clone.

He wasn’t even meant to have a name. Names are for people not tools. But wasn’t he also nothing more than a tool? First a tool for the Nightsisters then Sideous? Yet he had a name. He probed the Clones..Jesses mind with only the intent to find information about Ashoka, the rogue Jedi. But there was something strikingly familiar in his mind too.. fear. He felt the fear of failure, of not living up to his masters expectation. Maul felt this fear every day of his life as a child. Failure in Sideous eyes was met with cruelty. What would the Kaminoans do with a Clone that failed?

There was something else too.. pain..but not physical pain.. no something far worse. There was.. a battle. A dark planet.. yes, Umbara, unmistakably. Skywalker is not there. It’s a different Jedi. This one lacks compassion. Loyalties are tested. A skirmish.

Brother kills brother. Mauls own brother Savage was forced to kill their brother Feral, and in turn was killed before his own eyes. The Nightbrothers were known for their ferocity and prowess but they still felt love for one another. Savage offered himself to save Feral and his compassion was twisted. In a life of pain, the only comfort comes from those who suffer alongside you. This Clone also felt this love for his own brothers.

No. They were nothing a like. He has a destiny and greater purpose.

But doesn’t Jesse believe the same about himself? Doesn’t every Clone believe they are fighting for a greater cause?

Yet all of them, Maul included are in truth no more than the tools, to be cast aside when their use is fulfilled.

Just like he was. No. Empathy was for the weak. Mauls master taught him that. The master that cast him aside..

Wait, something is happening. Pain. Anguish. It’s happening.

“Go cause some chaos. It’s what you’re good at”

She wasn’t wrong. He was good at causing chaos, and mayhem, and death. Was that all he was good for though? Yes he was capable of great destruction but he was also capable of compassion. Sideous made him a tool of death and here again was someone else using him as an ends to a violent means. But did he have to obey? Could he be something better?

His thoughts were interrupted by booted feet on metal deck.

“Stay alert! She’s here somewhere!”

Maul heard that same voice countless times and silenced it countless more. Silenced it the way Feral was, and Savage...

The steps got louder, and the threat came closer. They would shoot without hesitation as they were trained. And he would strike as he was trained.. Trained by a sadistic man who taught him only lies and cruelty.

The troopers were now rounding the corner, the muzzles of their blasters just visible. Maul had no weapon, the Togruta saw to that.. But he was still far from defenseless.... He raised his hand and focused his mind..

In an instant the first three troopers blasters were wreaked from their grasp and just as quickly crumpled into a useless mass of metal. Two more behind them opened fire, each bolt swatted away by Maul with a wave of his hand. With another wave all there were pushed back and knocked unconscious, but alive.

Maybe mercy wasn’t so bad.

As he walked among the troopers he examined their faces, or rather their helmets. Most of them were identical, white with blue accents. Except one which caught his attention.

Rex was quickly recovering as he explained the breadth of what was happening. Outside the medical bay a squad of Troopers was ready to gun him and Ashoka down. His men, his comrades, his brothers.. His blasters were set to stun but that wouldn’t change the facts. Everyone of his brothers was ready to betray everything they thought they were fighting for and so many had died.

He could hear them outside the door, hacking the computers locking system. He didn’t have to hear them or see them though to know what they were doing next. Cell packs checked, line of fire clear, everyone in precise position. When the door would open he expected to see the first line of troops, blasters in firing position.

But he definitely didn’t expect to see, him. Maul. Sith Lord, Crime, whatever kind of lord he was supposed to be. Murderer was the only title that really mattered. Putting a blaster whole in him would be much easier. As quick as he pulled both triggers and the streaks of blue flashed toward their target Maul deflected them. Fueled by rage and adrenaline he charged at him, not entirely sure what his plan was.

“Wait!” Rex stopped cold, not because of anything Maul did but something he saw Maul carrying.

“I’m not here to fight. You have to help him”

“Rex what’s going on” Ashokas lightsabers illuminated the room.

“Ashoka... it’s Jesse”

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 11: Preaching To The Choir

Esredes was always somewhat tense on these nights. It was recruitment night, and one he was at the head of. Ysayle did the bulk of these, seeing who showed up to the invisible ink on the innocuous flyers and seeing who would step forward and join their ranks. She was incredibly good at it, even from the start. But the woman could not be everywhere at once, and Esredes was one of the many others who volunteered to do the task. Security was always tight at the meetings. A lot of his own stood by as guard to both the invited guests and the speaker, and incidents were rare. The meeting was always held somewhere they did not return to again, and with plenty of room to get away by flight, and plenty of distance between the speaker and the audience, surrounded by his people as guard as they were. Yet it never helped that tension of the fact any one could be the incident, and there was still always so much put on the line. Not to even mention, being the speaker himself was always worse than simply guarding it. When he was standing by and managing these events, he was in his usual combat uniform inspecting people one by one to check for weapons, and then standing near Ysayle as guard afterwards. But when he was the speaker, the uniform didn't cut it. The speaker had to have presence, they had to try and captivate the vulnerable and questioning audience. So the weavers at the camp had settled on constructing him a long, black cloak that draped down to his feet, with equally long and draping sleeves. The sleeves add a lot of character, they said. The whole of the cloak was adorned with silver stitched accents, in a way they claimed evaded feeling too fancy, yet evoked a sense of mysticism necessary to captivate the audience. Every other speaker had a similar cloak attire made to them. It seemed they were the uniform look to go with. Esredes somewhat understood the power of the cloak. When he wore it before the ceremony began, it felt a bit awkward, like he was pretending to be a mage when he was an imitator of it at most, and he found himself fumbling idly with the sleeves often. It was only once he took his place and got into the thick of it that he truly felt the concept of presence it evoked. For now, though, Esredes had to stand awkwardly among the rest of the guard on a cliff above the gathering, as below his people continued their process of vetting everyone who came, and watch quietly, reciting his speech in his head repeatedly. It didn't matter how many times he had given this exact speech before, or the fact he often went scriptless for motivational speeches to his people, he still felt the need to be sure he did not mess it up. Behind the cloak's hood, his orange eyes peered out at every new person who arrived carefully, contemplating to himself if they would join or leave, if he would get to know them or they would be just another lost speck on the wind, and what brought them here. There was always an element of fascination to each individual story, no matter how many similar ones came. Finally, a hush fell over the gathered crowd. The guard moved into position, a circle upon the cliff, and he took his place in the middle. How odd it did feel, to be the guarded item in the middle, as if he wasn't just as often on the outer circle, as if there was really anything to guard and he wouldn't just immediately attack anyone who thought they could shoot the messenger. But spectacle was spectacle. Esredes slowly made his way into the center and peered down at the crowd once more from beneath his hood. The air hung silent for a moment as all eyes peered on him, and then he raised his hands up and let his gloved hands point out at the crowd as the long sleeves trailed down gracefully. "Good evening, people of Coerthas and beyond," he began. "Whether you have truly come from within the city's walls or lands beyond, I give you the warmest welcome to our humble little gathering. Though I am sure all of you come from vastly different backgrounds, one thing has brought you here tonight- doubt." He made his first strategic pause, watching the crowd a moment as his words fell down below to them. "We live in a world where there is much and more to doubt- how can the people of Coerthas be truly certain of sleep's next embrace with all that rages above and below?" He paused for a small moment, and began to pace to the left, one arm across his abdomen. "Nor will the walls of Ishgard itself protect anyone, for within them the Church listens to your every thought and ravages its people for heresy. Thus, you are brought here." He turned the other way and dropped both arms, returning slowly to the center. "In all of the doubt that swirls within you, you have come to listen to a truth that hides out here on the northern wind. A tale of the lies of the Church and the origins of our very nation." He faced the crowd full on once more, and held his arms out directly out from their place on the side of his body, forearm and palms raised a little and facing the sky. "The Dragonsong War that has plagued the lands of Coerthas for a thousand years did not begin how we are asked to believe it is. It began even earlier." Murmurs and whispers came from the crowd, and Esredes allowed them to ripple through before he continued. "Long ago, when these lands were fresh and new to the Elezen, they came to settle and encroached directly on the existing territory of the dragons. When war broke out, only one thing could bring it to a ceasefire- that of a maiden named Shiva. You might know her as a witch who lied down with dragons, the original heretic- but she is anything but. She is the one who had the courage to seek out the voice of the other side and found the great wyrm by the name of Hraesvelgr. The two fell in love, and it was the witnessing of their bond by all that lead to a ceasefire. For two hundred years, man and dragon worked together, they built structures that still stand today in Dravania. But it was not Nidhogg who ruined this fleeting peace, but the very founders of Ishgard." Esredes paused. "Do you ever stop to wonder why the wyrm is as lost to vengeance as he is? Why his rage upon the city is so unending? It's because he was betrayed. The founders lured him to the city and stole his eye, devouring it for the taste of a dragon's power without the need to rely on one. And so the wyrm rages on, forever unable to regain that which is lost." Esredes paused once more and trailed slowly across his makeshift stage. "Nidhogg rages on, trying to destroy Ishgard. And Ishgard crumbles piece by piece to his attacks, accelerating its own destruction by tearing each other apart from the inside with accusations of heresy and the lines between high and lowborn. Tonight, all of you have come to the middle." To emphasize his point, he stood in the middle again and raised both hands up. "We are the people who fight not for the self destructive Ishgard, nor the raging horde, but for the one thing neither of them are capable of, peace. For just as Shiva brought man and dragon together once in the midst of conflict, so must something rise again to be the missing link, or else the lands of Coerthas and possibly all of Eorzea, will be eventually be consumed in dragonfire." Another strategic pause came and went. The crowd had much louder murmuring this time. "Until the people of Ishgard can see the light of the truth, there will be nothing but continuous warfare, and the continued destruction of its own people. Ishgard is eating itself alive day by day in its desperation to survive. It fights and resists us at every turn, but it is up to us alone to bring it to parley by any means possible. We will bring salvation to Ishgard and punishment to the wicked, through the collaboration of people of all kinds and dragons who will rise to the task. The very future of this land rests on everything we try to accomplish." Esredes stepped forward and scanned the faces of the crowd. "I expect for many of you beyond the simply curious, you have come here because something in your heart cries out for justice unseen. And for all of you, I say now- justice is possible, and justice will come. Your wounds are not without their sources of healing. For Ishgard is never to flourish again without the weeds exterminated from the garden. Imagine it, for a moment. A land where once again man and dragon work together, benefitting from their mutual talents, the populations of each flourishing and allowing the land to thrive. Children never again wake up afraid of being burned by dragon's fire. That is our greatest future. And that is a future worth fighting for." Esredes moved his hands up to his hood and threw it off, exposing his face and hair to the crowd. With it, he rose his hands all the way up past his head and into the air. "People of Eorzea! I ask you now, to search through the depths of your hearts, and find it in you to take a stand for something greater than yourself. To channel the grievances of your heart into making a world in which others will not suffer the pain you go through each day, and this land will shine with beauty it hasn't glimpsed in a very long time. It is a path of hardship and sacrifice, but it is nothing compared to what will befall everyone if the war is allowed to continue to stain the soil with blood. Through our collective will, we shall bridge the gap, we shall sweep upon the hearts of man and dragon to make them one again- and nothing Ishgard may do will stop us until the Archbishop has atoned for his crimes and every dragon in the land is beyond blind rage." He paused there, to let his words fall over the crowd for a moment, and slowly lowered his arms back to his side. "If you would like to stand with Shiva's people, please step forward and gather by the group of people in front of you. If not, you are free to leave, and never speak of this night again. But make your choice with all due consideration, as there will be no reversing it." The crowd looked to one another. Slowly, one person stepped forward, then another, until every single one had stepped over. The guards began to instruct and lead them up the cliff to rejoin his group up here. And with that, Esredes stepped aside and rejoined the group himself. "Well done," one of them said to him with a soft elbow nudge. "Have you ever considered becoming an actor after you're done saving Coerthas?" "Not in the slightest." Esredes said. "This is just practical acting for a purpose. I don't think I could do artistic acting. People train a long time for that." "Maybe we'll put on our first ever Disciples play and cast you in it someday," he said with a wink. "I would kick you out of this movement." He chuckled. "That's the spirit, Esredes. Never change." Esredes smiled faintly back, and then began walking. "Now," he said. "Let's hope the room counts are accurate tonight..."