#should you surrender to this failure and follow him to a bloody end or do you become his bloody end

[badolmen]

oh force Dogma-Krell parallels Anakin-Palpatine how have I not noticed this before

[tears-and-lilies]

Turns out writing random drabbles was a very good idea :) I’m only going to post this one, but just. oof.

We go back to the civil war to follow Mirifen.

I’ve been debating on whether or not to add the taglist, but I figured it wouldn’t do any harm.

Tag: @whumpfigure @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @green-eyed-whumpster @liliability @untilthepainstarts @unicornscotty

CW: death of POV character, aftermath of battle, war, blood, gore, cut, stabbing, flashbacks, PTSD, almost losing consciousness, parental favoritism, mention of bad childhood, neck impalement

***

It was over. They lost. Mirifen took off his helmet and tossed it aside. He had led his horse back to the woods, but somewhere on the way, it had been wounded. Now he was out of breath, out of horse, and out of hope. But at least he had reached the woods.

A messenger, he thought. He needed to let his father know about the loss. He needed to let him know he failed, and he left his men to defend themselves. A detailed report containing the proceedings of the battle. “Dear father, as planned, I took on the battle against Loui’s troops…”

Why was he crying? Frustrated, he wiped away the tears from his face, covering it with dirt and blood. He stared at his fingers, shaking. There was no time for this. ‘Just stop’, he said aloud.

He entered the forest, walking between the trees. It was the safest way to reach the fort they had taken over. A ring in his ears began, and grew louder and louder. He moved faster. Stop. He recognised it, the screams of the men who died. He’d seen them lose their limbs, he’d seen them slip in the dirt and blood, he’d seen guts spread around as if it was nothing.

‘Stop!’, he yelled, and covered his ears. It’s not real. ‘It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault-’

His foot got caught on a root, and he fell. He grunted. I can’t even walk properly. With a jerk he sat up, clenching his hands into fits and slamming them on the earth of the forest.

‘No, no, no, no, NO!’ He’s been so stupid. How in the world could he tell his father this?! The man already hated him. He had only let him down more.

He hadn’t realised he had started crying, until he noticed droplets falling on his fists. Stupid. He sniffed and got up. I should continue, I need to make the report, and then prepare our next move…

The sound of a branch snapping made him tense. He turned around.

‘Hello, Mirifen’, Loui said.

‘H-how…?’

‘I wanted to face you, but saw you flee the battle field. I cautiously followed, and let you have your little meltdown. But now that you’re done, maybe it’s about time we ended this.’ He raised his sword.

Mirifen took a few steps back, looking around to estimate his chances in running away. He may be exhausted, but he was a lot younger then Loui, so theoretically he could run faster. But the chances of tripping or accidentally getting stuck in tree branches were too high. On the other hand, he could fight. I shouldn’t have thrown away my helmet, that gives me a disadvantage. Plus, Loui was way more experienced with a sword than he was. All too often his father had made it clear that he was the lesser swordfighter between him and his brothers. Even Glorien outshined him, and he was only seventeen.

That didn’t leave many options. Most important now was to sound fearless, so Loui didn’t expect to kill him easily. He clutched his hand around the handle of his sword and said: ‘I-I-I…’ He gulped. ‘I don’t want to fi-ight.’ He wanted to kick himself.

Loui grinned. ‘Fine. If you’re going to surrender, I can kill you here and now.’

He reconsidered for a moment, then bolted. He ran as fast as he could, trying not to look over his shoulders. He jumped over fallen trees, duck for low-hanging branches, all to get to the fort.

He never liked running. The sting in his sides rose too fast, too quickly. The wheezing burned his lungs.

The swish of a sword passed his ear. He clutched his arm from a sudden pain, but realised his hand was drenched in blood. Next, the inevitable happened and he fell to the ground, and everything went black.

…

…

I’ll get dirt in my wound. It’ll get infected. I have to close the wound.

…

…

I have to get up. Run.

…

…

A new pain made his side throb. More blood, just below his breast plate. Slowly, his vision returned. He scrambled onto his knees, but it hurt. He groaned. He wasn’t dead.

‘Listen, Mirifen’, the voice from behind him said. A foot on his back, the cold tip of a sword pressed against the back of his neck.

‘You were always the smarter kid of your Darren’s, so tell me. You can’t possibly support his ideas, right?’

Mirifen let a sob escape his lips. He gasped: ‘I don’t… I don’t know. What you’re talking about.’ He had to find a way out of this. But he couldn’t think. His head resembled the battlefield he had left behind. And he wanted it to stop.

Loui sighed. ‘The bond between you and your father isn’t great, so I assume you aren’t brainwashed by him like the rest. You can still see what he’s actually doing. I know you can.’

Think. Think. No, get rid of the mess. What do I know? He always knew so much. Why was there nothing? He sobbed again. ‘No… He’s trying…’, his voice faltered.

Think. Owls can turn their heads 270 degrees. Irrelevant. The femur is the strongest bone in the body. Won’t help me now. Who am I? Mirifen, son of Darren. I’m 24 years old. Most of our fears are learned. Babies barely know any fear. Fears are shaped by our experiences.

I’m afraid- I’m afraid I’ll disappoint father. So is Felicen, so is Glorien. We walk on eggshells. Every day, he notices small things to preach us about. It’s an almost constant nagging, more so since mother died. He only loves us if we’re perfect. He pushes us to extremes, because we wouldn’t want to disappoint him. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m scared.

‘He’s trying to take the throne, just to quench his thirst for power. For glory. For fuck’s sake, that man is deluded, and yet he still has supporters’, Loui said.

If I return to the fort, and sent a messenger to tell about my failure, I’d disappoint him. He won’t ever forgive me. He won’t ever love me.

‘But you have so much potential. You’re better than this. Come on, Mirifen. Help us defeat him. You know his plans, you know how he thinks. You can save Koia.’

‘No.’ He didn’t even hesitate. If I turn against him, he’d be disappointed. I won’t ever be forgiven. I won’t ever be loved. He couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t even clear the mess in his head.

‘Too bad’, Loui sighed. ‘Such a wasted opportunity.’

Mirifen stared in surprise at the bloody blade that stuck out from his neck. He couldn’t breathe.

[seokjxnnie]

celestial (pt. 2) | kth (m)

↠ genre: (future) smut, angst, demon au, incubus!taehyung x f reader ↠ warnings: blood and violence ↠ length: 5.6k

↳ her flesh and blood imparts immortality to any demon, but the incubus protecting her from the hunt requires something else of her body.

↞ part 1 | masterlist | part 3 ↠

a/n: thanks for your patience! it’s always such a struggle to write the first couple parts bc it’s boring trying to introduce characters, concepts, etc. through exposition :(( but thank you for your feedback it’s been my favourite meal ❤️

She trembled at the sensation of his hot breath grazing her neck as he cascaded kisses and licks down the curve of her neck. His lips were soft, plump, and its departure from her skin nearly elicited a whine of discontent from her throat. But he closed right back in with the sensual tickle of wandering digits that drifted to the hem of her pants, curling around the waistband. She sighed in anticipation, feeling him drag the material down her hips.

Her eyes jolted open. A panic that electrified her body brought her to urgently sit up. Her tautness calmed when she realized she was in her own clothes and in her own bed with sheets that were fluffy. She pushed out a tired exhale as her head wilted on her shoulders, fingertips kneading her temples. It was really just a dream this time.

Her legs swung off the edge of the bed and her feet flattened against her floor when she paused.

The air was oddly quieter today.

She had awoken well into the afternoon, having only slept once the sun had risen. Neighbouring residents must’ve already been out enjoying their weekend then, leaving the dormitory vacant and quiet. But still, it was calmer. Too calm.

A tilt of her head out her agape bedroom window confirmed her suspicions. Accustomed to the years of waking up to unwelcomed monsters in her bedroom, outside her window, bordering her vicinity, silence and solitude stuck out like a sore thumb. For the first time, she registered what it was like to be completely alone. The stillness would’ve been solacing if it wasn’t more arrestingly unfamiliar and eerie.

She stared down at her bracelet and thumbed the mahogany beads, only now tangibly confronting their purpose in keeping her surroundings clear of demons. It only further hammered in the awareness of how real this all was, regardless if she wanted it to be or not.

Following was a tangle that tightened in her stomach, recalling her curt departure from the group of men that had essentially stood between her and the brink of death. They had stopped her from becoming a meal, aided her recovery, and evaporated away the big fat question mark that had branded her for as long as she could remember. They had even been anticipating and preparing for the dramatic change that would come with her 20th birthday for years. And her grand indebted response was to flee their estate.

However, a night to recover from pulsing temples and dwindling vision allowed her to better wrap her head around her new reality, once the overwhelming first impressions had subsided. Now, the guilt associated with a gratitude improperly expressed was the symptom that currently plagued her. Despite wanting to be far from the uncanny concepts revolving around her “celestial blood”, the girl had to admit she was unrested by how she left things after what they did for her, as accommodatingly as they could’ve been given the unforgiving circumstances.

That exact unrest somehow brought her to the front of the shrine. She hardly even remembered exactly how she ended up here. All she knew was an urge that drew her out of bed and arrived her just outside the gate of the sanctified establishment. She wasn’t equipped with a plan in the least, even her own intentions were unclear. Maybe there was something comforting about this place that magnetized her. Regardless, a thumping heart came with the uncertainty of what to do next as she stared on at the rustic and humble exterior.

A swift tension claimed her figure when the front door unexpectedly slid open. To relieve her of the pressure of initiating, Namjoon greeted her with a warm smile at the entrance. “Princess, happy to see you looking healthy.” Relief freshened his face upon sight of her coloured and glowing skin, opposite to the paleness that sullied her last night. He stepped down the porch stairs towards her.

Seokjin appeared and followed behind him. “How are you feeling?” his voice casted a gladness.

She could only return the welcome with widened eyes. “Good, better, I—how did you know I was here?”

“We could sense you,” Namjoon replied.

“We could actually smell you from the next street over,” Jungkook blurted from the front doors behind the pair of broad shoulders that arrived in front of her. The curious excitement to see her poured the rest of the residents out onto the porch. Even the incubus quietly leaned against the frame, face hardened by a stoic quality.

She avoided fixing on his gaze for too long. A hard gulp travelled down her throat. “S-Smell me?”

She had only now realized Seokjin and Namjoon had already began guiding her in past the gates and towards the rest of them.

Seokjin cocked his head in disapproval at the poor word choice from the youngest member. “He just means we as demons have heightened senses is all.”

“Did you come to stay for dinner with us?” Jimin’s fluffy locks bounced in rhythm to the beam playing in his voice.

With the generous vibrancy aimed directly at her, her jaw stuttered, uncertain if she could be accompanied by these handsome faces for the rest of the evening. “Oh, no, I… uh, I really just came to thank you guys for last night.” It was the lack of preparation for how the situation was going to unfold, the unfamiliarity in the demonstration of demons showing amiability, that flustered her so that the only speech she could form was splintered.

“Princess, I can hear your stomach growling,” he snickered in retort to her protest.

Her lips pursed in embarrassment as arms folded over her abdomen that apparently made noises she didn’t hear. “Please don’t call me that,” she muttered.

“Besides, we have a birthday cake for you!” Hoseok’s expression lit up with a broad grin.

“We’ve actually had the cake since last night. But then Taehyung brought you home bloody and unconscious, so we thought ‘Ah shit, you know what? Maybe now is not the best time’,” Yoongi deadpanned, earning himself an assembly of uncertain and disbelieved looks from his housemates, all of which failed to faze him. Only, except the sombre Taehyung, who instead wordlessly left and returned inside.

She took a second to silently acknowledge to herself his withdrawal before Yoongi’s refreshingly brutal honesty elicited a snort from her. Her taut lips smoothed into a soft smile. “You guys got me a cake? That’s…” a warmth blossomed across the plump of her cheeks as she peered back at the bright eyes looking at her, “so sweet.”

With everything that had occupied her, it had once again slipped from her mind this special day for her. While she had forgotten about it, they had already intended a celebration for it. It seemed as though everyone had remembered about her birthday except her, but that might’ve been because the mass majority of the demon kind had been anticipating this day much more than she ever could.

Nevertheless, barely more than strangers or not, how could she refuse them when they’ve bought her cake?

“Oh, no, maybe you should…” she gasped and reached towards Namjoon. Knife in hand, he was struggling to steady the halved onion as it wobbled on its rounded side atop the cutting board. “Lay it down on its flat side so you don’t cut yourself.” Flipping it to lie level to the plank, she lightly tittered as he shame-facedly nodded in illumination to her insight.

Surrendering to their insistent invitation to dinner, the household was bustling in meal preparation now, with Jimin and Hoseok setting the table, Jungkook and Yoongi in the kitchen assisting Seokjin in cooking, and Namjoon apathetically casted aside to occupy himself with some novice onion chopping for his own safety and of those around him. Adamant in barring the birthday girl from doing any sort of labour at her own celebration, her persistence earned her the minute responsibility of seeing through that Namjoon doesn’t miraculously burn the sacred shrine down. Taehyung was nowhere in sight.

“Jungkook, did you pick up green onions from the store like I asked?” Seokjin’s eyes narrowed under furrowed brows as he searched the open fridge.

“Yup.” The youngest sauntered over and dragged out two separate bags of green stem bunches from the crisper drawers. “I couldn’t figure out which of the two were green onions, so I bought both.”

Seokjin’s tongue prodded his teeth in aggravation as he glanced into the plastic sacks. “Amazing, because you still managed to fuck up,” he huffed, following an exacting tone. “You didn’t buy green onions. These are chives and leeks.”

Jimin’s face of mischief peeked into the kitchen, a howl of mocking laughter readying at the tip of her tongue. “Dude, you don’t know what green onions are?”

“Why the shit do they all look the same?” the youngest cried in disbelief.

“Jungkook, you know there are signs there for you to read, right? They’re there to help you, right?” Yoongi paused in his soup brewing to squint with genuine perplexity.

“Shut up, I’ll go buy the right ones,” the latter grumbled vexingly.

A sigh rasped in Seokjin’s throat as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “God, no. Your fuckass is probably going to come back with eggplants or something if I let you go again. It’s fine, leeks will do.” With a glare, he antagonistically grabbed the bags of failure from Jungkook, whose eyes were stained with a venomous glower.

The girl was slightly taken back at the hostility that was a possibility amidst everyone’s kind spirit, all the while having to stifle amused chuckles at their childish quarrel. She turned back to Namjoon, who remained quiet and uninvolved towards the spat in reflection of the deflating spiritual exhaustion he was unfortunately accustomed to. He promptly moved on.

“We’re sorry about last night. I know it must’ve all been very overwhelming, and god did we wish it could’ve happened differently,” he sighed with an apologetic shake of his head.

The edge of the kitchen counter nuzzled her hip as she leaned against it, peering up at him as his wrist gingerly rocked the chopping knife against the vegetables. “Not at all. I should really thank you guys for taking me in after… that.” Her fingers curled into fists, her arms enveloped her chest, a cold sweat casted over her skin. Images of the unparalleled, gruesome face of the monster child was perpetually singed into the back of her mind. She took a slow breath. “I was a mess last night and couldn’t properly tell you how grateful I was… am.”

His volume sympathetically softened, “And Taehyung is… the way he is,” his head cocked and his lips shrugged, “but he means well, believe it or not. When he brought you home yesterday, he was pretty hard on himself for allowing you to get hurt. I think he’s still beating himself up over it, thinking ‘if he had been on time’…” There was a brief darkness that draped over his eyes that kept her tension steadfast.

The same bead bracelet that he wears wasn’t just to bound him as her familiar, it was also to contain his strength, Namjoon continued to explicate. Taehyung might’ve been chosen because of his inborn incredible strength, but if it weren’t for the limitations of the bracelet, he’d probably surpass the combined strength of the remaining six of them.

A gloom tautened Namjoon’s face, seemingly reminiscing something unpleasant.

Before Taehyung had met them, he was a recklessly freewheeling teenager, getting irrepressibly stronger and stronger as he matured. More and more, controlling his powers and impulses as an incubus slipped from his grip, and he began killing demons and mortals left and right, sucking their life energy until they were dry. Behind his untamed violence, though, the monk saw a scared kid who was a slave to his own unhinged force, and decided to take him in. Curbing Taehyung’s strength and training him for years to instead channel it into being a familiar and protector, he’d learn the values of self-control and his priority of the celestial mortal’s safety. Now, he wears the beads without a thought of removing it, in fear of unleashing what’s been bottled and hurting those around him with it.

Her apprehensive fingers tweezed the side seams of her shirt. There was a tightening at the edge of her throat as she recalled the vague visual of his bare fists cutting through a skull and leaving a cavernous pit where a face used to be. And that might’ve only been a pedestrian demonstration of the whole of his power.

She sucked on her cheeks, now reading the incubus’s earlier withdrawal and absence as a by-product of blame. There might’ve been a twinge of remorse for snippily kicking him out last night after all he had done to save her. “Where might he be now?” she tentatively inquired.

A pace down a suggested hallway brought her to the shrine’s back doors that opened out to a picturesque stretch of courtyard, inviting in breezes of grass-scented air and staging the colours and bounty blossoming in the early summer weather. Taehyung sat on the bordering steps leading down into the backyard, his back turned to her. She didn’t need to warn of her presence with the tread of her foot or the clearing of her throat when he interrupted the still silence with the slight turn of his head to meet her eyes.

A fleeting yet palpable shudder coursed her spine when his arresting face recapped the unsolicited, sensual dream that she awoke from this morning, which she hastily worked to suppress. Even more aggressive was the subdual of the reminder that he had previously stripped her naked and tasted her skin with the run of his lips. It was to stop the bleeding, she tried to remind herself in good faith.

His illegible gaze lingered as his lips remained unmoving, and it grew a crippling fluster within her. She tore her eyes away to fix on the ground instead. “Dinner’s almost ready. They wanted me to come get you,” her rigid words scarcely left the edge of her tight mouth.

The familiar’s voice and expressions continued in its absence. He turned back around.

She sighed with a step forward. “Listen, I know I’ve been—”

“I’m sorry, you know.”

He remained still, his murmurs quiet, nearly getting lost in the soars of the wind. The girl paused in her tracks, taken aback by the unanticipated tone of sincerity, playing the unanticipated words of apology.

“If I had just gotten there in time, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. I’m sorry I let that happen.”

Taehyung wasn’t one with a way with words, clear in the way his speech was muffled and tentative as they were forced out past lips that were only sparingly ajar, constrained by a tautened jaw. Nonetheless, the regret that his voice conveyed was vivid. It delivered a heaviness upon her for having misinterpreting his character completely.

The beats in her chest accelerated and moisture took over her palms, but she swallowed as she continued in her plod forward. His stare lifted to her as she sat down next to him. It was only then did she realized she had never looked at him long before a rattled retreat stole her gaze away. It had kept her from catching the gentle quality hiding in the vast of his irises that, though were still piercing, adorned a deep brown colour instead of a sharp crimson.

“Whatever happened, happened,” she started before hesitation caught up with her and prescribed a belated translation of her thoughts. “But, I’m still sitting here, with all of me still intact, because of you. So… thank you.”

Their eyes kept their affixation on one another. The surrounding hush seemingly began to escalate to a deafening roar. The mesmerizing web of bronzed pleats in his irises were easy to get lost in, threatening of an unyielding capture. She almost didn’t register it when he inched forward ever so slowly, until she felt his temperature closing in on her, with the palpable daubs of his breaths that tantalized the surface of her skin. Nearer were the pillows of his lips, framed by sharp edges that she could never decipher, especially when they moved to intrude the calm air with a rasping whisper.

“Are you going to thank me properly, then?”

Her respires idled at the cap of her throat as she lagged in grasping his query, to which he exploited with the stretch of his palm fastening down on her hip. Her chest relentlessly drummed as immobility claimed her limbs.

Taehyung leaned in more, so her ear could capture him in his full husk. “It’s been years since I’ve had my energy refilled,” Taehyung almost growled. “Just a kiss will do... for now.”

Hair’s breadth away from her neck, she could almost feel the plump of his lips shape against her skin. A foreign feeling she’s never known before clung to her bones, like a simmering of an unignorable, unparalleled, unescapable need that appropriated the control of her own body. She quivered as the apparent otherworldly force within her hungered to melt into his instigation.

But…

Right.

 He is an incubus after all.

Nearly gasping as if she was finally surfacing for air from a smother, her hands splayed across his chest to thrust him away. “Fucking Christ, you’re full of shit,” she hissed, exasperated, leaping to her feet.

“What if we doubled down on security?” Namjoon’s words made garbled by a mouthful of cake toppled from lips that pursed to catch crumbs before they fell. The vague proposal made the girl stiffen in her chair with cheeks that were already rosy from the birthday song that had just unsolicitedly sprung on her. “Is Taehyung alone enough to keep an eye on her 24/7?”

“What, like, should we enrol as students at her college?”

“I’m too old and withered to try to fit in with a bunch of doe-eyed, spring chickens.”

“Exactly. And then what? Apply to be her roommates?”

“I mean, that’s not a bad idea. Taehyung as her roommate could keep him close without seeming suspicious.”

“I don’t think her dorms are co-ed.”

“Yeah, and Taehyung is nearly six feet with hips like a plank board and ass that wouldn’t bounce the quarter but miss it entirely. He could never pass as a girl.”

“Jimin probably could.”

“Me? But Yoongi’s got the legs for it.”

The aforementioned cocked his brow in doubt, mouth opening in protest when he stopped and looked down at his legs. The rebuttal dissolved from his face and relaxed with a shrug of agreement instead. He did have nice legs.

Everyone contributed except for her familiar, but she couldn’t bring herself to his eyes the entire dinner. “Guys, guys, please, I don’t think that’s necessary,” her hands waved with rejection front of her insistently.

Hoseok nodded regretfully, sighed, and apologized on for them trying to make decisions revolving her life without a request for her discretion. Even then, it didn’t stop Taehyung from joining her side heading to lecture come Monday morning. Her classmate was nowhere in sight.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Unforgiving murmurs filtered past gritted teeth when he followed all the way to the seat beside her in class.

“I’m here to learn about the range of our responsibilities and civil rights as we confront moral—the fuck do you think I’m here for? I’m here to make sure no one else takes a chomp out of you again,” he hissed in retort, shrill with sarcasm, slumped back in his chair.

“I don’t need—“

The incubus straightened in his seat when the professor and his couple of teaching assistants entered to commence lecture. There was something cold in the way his gaze narrowed as he eyed the teaching team. The timeline of class discourse didn’t leave a lot of room and volume for her to further discuss—rather, argue with him. Even more so when, at the dismissal of class, he got right up and treaded down the steps towards the front of the class without a warning of his intensions to her

She watched as he caught the gaze of one of the TA’s, Sunmi, the pretty one with sharp eyes and cascading locks of lush, as he took assertive strides towards her. With his back to her and the distance between rendering their conversation inaudible, she intently squinted to investigate a purpose. What she found was a shift in the woman’s body language when her lips curled into something coy and her fingers laced around the waves of her hair.

Grimacing, she shrank back in presumption of the provocative nature in their exchange. Quickly, she was introduced to doubt that he could be capable of anything beyond his impulses as an incubus. If she wasn’t going to provide what he needed, then he must be exploiting the new hunting grounds, where he’s found his next prey.

“Please just don’t hurt her.” Something between a sigh and a grumble escaped her lips before he could complain about her disappearing when he caught up to her in her next class. He had found her all too easily, sniffing her out in the vastness of the campus and its attendants strangely quick.

“What?”

“My TA,” her voice fell to an intimate volume when the professor started lecture. “I know you’ve got needs. Whatever you want from her, just don’t hurt her.”

A disbelieved huff rocked his head in exasperation. “She’s a demon.”

Shock swelled her eyes open.

“I came to give her a warning. She insisted she doesn’t plan on hurting you. Steer clear of her anyway.”

Even at a hush, his words laden with vex straightened her forward and sank her in her seat, tautening her with a shame for misreading the situation so grossly. The pen in her digits hovering above her notebook fluttered fitfully.

“Besides,” the familiar demanded her attention right back when he seized her wrist, his other hand jutting an antagonistic finger at the air above her bracelet. “This means I don’t gain anything from anyone else but you. You know I belong to only you, right?”

Fuck.

He had to go and say gratuitously arresting words like that and now she was impeaching her own heart for beating so quick and her face for being vulnerable to a rosy flush while her betraying thoughts echoed reminders of demons having augmented senses. She didn’t even want to breathe in case the stammers in her respires was a ten-fold blare to the opposition.

Choi Minho (choimh@snu.com) [4:53pm]: The argumentation assignments have been marked and will be ready for pick up in office hours. I’ll be extending mine for another hour if you’re still on campus and would like them immediately. Otherwise, they’ll be available in Sunmi’s office hours starting tomorrow. Good work, everyone!

The conclusion of her day was kept from dismissal in receipt of an email that underlyingly warned of a brief window in which she could avoid receiving her grade from the other TA – the demon. It’s not like she truly did fear that Sunmi’s intentions superimposed with her mortal demise, but she thought she should cautiously heed her familiar’s warning as her ignorant kindness had already betrayed her previously.

Taehyung had left her alone for the rest of the day, but having spotted him lounging in the thick of a tree branch that towered over the window of one of her classrooms, she knew he was close by. So, she desperately adhered to that reassurance when she knocked on Minho’s office door and Sunmi answered instead.

“Hey! Here for your argumentation assignment?” she welcomed with a grin, unflinching in contrast to her opposite.

With the unexpectant keeping her breath captive at the edge of her throat, the girl didn’t respond. Just as detained by anxiety were her limbs that were uncertain in how to follow when Sunmi walked back around to the office desk splayed by wads of paperwork. She was chilled by the exemplification of how well supernatural beings melded in with plain sight. Throughout the semester, along with the email exchanges and the trading of friendly passing-by smiles, not once had she suspected that the teaching assistant she shared mornings with three times a week was a demon. She thought the only unhuman thing about her was her ethereal beauty.

The tutor's bewitching gaze searched for hers when she remained by the door. “Well, come in. I don’t bite,” she chuckled. “Minho just took a quick bathroom break and asked if I could tag in for a few minutes.”

Is she really not going to address the elephant in the room?

She watched as the TA plucked a grape from her Tupperware to drop into her mouth. She ate human food, and the student hoped it coincided with her abstinence from human meat, just like Taehyung and them.

“I remember marking yours. It was impressive.” Sunmi had her eyes down at the stack of assignments that she flipped through, which prompted the latter to consider the lack of a hungry glare fixed on her. “Ah, here,” she pulled out one decorated by an attractive grade.

A startled gladness brightened the girl’s eyes, shocked that her work laced with time-crunched panic had still earned her a grade as lavish as that. She took a step closer to verify the mark

“It was well structured, you made some strong points, and your conclusion was thoughtful. The only criticism I have is in your second point.” Sunmi flipped to the appropriate page and her polished nail gestured to the exert in question. The other girl moved closer to follow. “Your opening here is a statement rather than an argument opposing the claim, which steered you towards a doubtful warrant. Apart from this, you have an excellent paper.”

She replied to the TA’s praise with a bashful smile. A couple more strides closed their distances so she could receive the assignment extended out to her. “Thank you, I’m—”

Her proximity brought into her line of view the opened laptop on the desk. Displaying was an email browser. Logged in was Choi Minho’s account.

It wasn’t Minho who sent out the email.

Everything spun and a pang struck the back of her head. A couple blinks weren’t enough to straighten her oscillating vision, but her affixed wrists above her head and the silhouette hovering over her were enough to interpret that she had been thrown down and pinned to the surface of the desk.

“S-Sunmi?” The bewilderment crippling her volume rendered a whimper hardly penetrative to the air between them. Her eyes settled only to instill dread within her when she watched youthful brown eyes mutate to an eerie yellow, the blacks narrowing to menacing slits. Her black hair blanched to a silver and proliferated in length until it draped along her sides and blanketed her victim in a sleek smother. The girl struggled, but paled in competence against the unfaltering force. Apprehensive quakes swathed her when a scaly hand gripped her jaw to lock her head in place.

“God, you smell so fucking good.” Ravenous hisses were punctuated by the slithers of a thin, forked tongue in and out of a fang-bearing mouth. The graze of her nose dragged against her jaw, then the outline of her neck.

“No, please,” she feebly begged. However, the greed, the appetite, the animalistic keen in the aura that pinned her down bordered near a promise of trepidation, and it made her eyes stung with hot tears. The laden terror weakened her with nausea when Sunmi boasted her sharp smirk that outlined threatening fangs before they dipped down towards her clavicle. She gasped with a scream preparing to leap from the edge of her lips, “Taehy—!"

Her breath hitched when the daggers broke skin. A deafening pain swallowed her entirety in quavers. But just as quick, the fangs were wrenched away.

A stillness, a soundlessness settled down in the air around her. She was alone. There was a slight draft that wasn’t there before, or maybe the fright made her body tremor with a chill.

Taehyung.

Weakly, the pads of her fingers travelled to gingerly dab at the ache on her neck. The demon hadn’t completely buried herself into her skin, and so left hardly anything more than a couple of nicks. So, why was the ache thundering through her veins as agonizing as it was? Her digits drew away and hovered over her face, telling a story of the light trickles of viscous crimson that dyed her skin.

She fought the limpness that threatened to colonize control over her movements as she struggled to pull herself up, only to tumble off the edge of the wood and slump to the cold, unwelcoming floor instead. Panting as the pain was ensnaring the stability of her vision now, she pushed herself off the floor and pulled towards the frame of the window that was now open.

The sound of Taehyung throwing open the office window behind the desk and dragging the assailant out must’ve gotten lost in her shrill sheath of fear, because when managing to gather her torso onto the sill, she found the incubus and snake-like woman moving in blurs produced by inhuman speed in the vacant lot of gravel five storeys below. Although in a dizzy haze that couldn’t keep up, she couldn’t neglect the hostility plastered on the familiar’s face. An acquainted red glowed in his irises.

Sunmi proved to be a capable opponent as the two donned tatters in their clothing and scrapes on their surface, yet neither had incapacitated the other. That is, until Taehyung with peaked fury hurled her across the field and she destructively collided with a tree. Seemingly in a fraction of a second, he closed their distances and she doubled over with a choked grunt.

When his hand retreated and dripped with streams of blood, blood that wasn’t his own, it was resolved that he had burrowed his fist into her abdomen. Sunmi hissed, hands folding over the gape left over. She must’ve understood the odds were no longer in her favour, because when a gust blew, she disappeared with it.

His glare darted back in forth in searching before ultimately cursing for letting her get away. Though, the damage done was near irreparable, so she shouldn’t make it too far before expiration catches up to her.

Sighing with relief, the girl fell to her knees and wilted against the wall. The roaring ache was subsiding now, and control of her own limbs was returning to her. Her familiar somehow scaled over the window and joined her side in a blink. He panted, and she almost didn’t recognize the concern and guilt that plagued his face.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung carefully reached his fingers out to embrace her jaw and tilt her head so he could observe her wound. His eyes softened back to the normal brown.

Her feeble and unsteady fingers gripped onto the cuffs of his sleeves, suddenly shivering in the relieving sensations of security allying with his presence. For the first time, she yearned for the warmth he offered, and she learned into it. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” Surprisingly, she found a voice, although frail.

“I came here as fast as I could, as soon as I sensed she was close to you. And I was still late.”

She swallowed dryness at his tone darkened by a self-chastisement. “You’re here now and I’m safe. You came before she did a lot of damage – just a couple scratches. I’m not even bleeding anymore.”

His gaze found hers, and it seized her respires to see a glimpse of tender eyes. Her grip found his shoulders and tightened when he took her into his arms and stood up, carrying her effortlessly. He set her down on the desk, his hips against her knees when he closed in and his digits moved to undo the top buttons of her shirt. She gasped, limbs saturated with tension. “What are you—?”

He paused and glanced with firm eyes that sent a voltage down her spine.

Right.

She gulped and retired her resistances for him to dip his head and nuzzle her neck with his nose. His sturdy hands gripped her waist and fixed her in place. Then, he once again introduced ache when his tongue dabbed at the bite marks. He moved in deeper against her skin with the drag of his mouth and the swirls of the wet muscle in between, and she threw her head back in a squirm. Her lips pursed in attempt to muffle the whines that tried to escape. Nails digging along the slopes of his back, his lapping, gentle suckling slowly began to soothe. With pleasantness taking over, replacing the hurt with relief, her head felt light again and a pant made her chest rise and fall.

Taehyung broke away from her healed skin with a hot sigh that grazed her sensitivity, prompting her to press her thighs together.

In the gradual descent into bliss, the phantom sensations of his soft, plump lips kissing her skin lingered, and it felt so compatible, belonged. But she’ll never admit it aloud.

tag list: @ehu-agavebaby @http-jinnie @ggsmashgg @la-vie-en-tae @tangledsparkles @lilacdreams-00

a/n: please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

[lavenderhyrdrangea]

Angel or Serpent

For the first time in his life, Zevran was ridiculously lucky. He had been spared a bloody fate and met a beguiling woman who offered him a hiatus from The Crows—She’d given him a second chance. Where was this sense of foreboding coming from then?

Ao3 link here or go continue to read below

Zevran had crows laying in wait for  a taste of his flesh, and a siren in hot pursuit of his beating heart. Of the two, the latter kept him up at night the most.  Her eyes playful yet her bearing strong-willed and hard-boiled, she was a force that never ceased. Every action she took was done so with purpose. For every question he asked she always had an answer. For every answer he gave she followed up with wave after wave of even more pressing questions. He tried to keep a steady footing around her but he failed each time.

Eventually he surrendered; he’d offered Ione the earring.

It was another evening  beneath the stars for their party, huddled around a flame for warmth, food and conversation. Sten and the witch tucked themselves in early. Shale didn’t sleep but sought out the solitude of a tent nonetheless. Wynne wanted to sleep,  however, her motherly nature had put her in charge of making sure Oghren didn’t finally impair his liver. Leliana and Alistair  were deep in a game of Wicked Grace and Ione watched for the bard’s tricky hand.

“Stealing from a babe should  surely give you some type of guilt,” she teased.

“Ah, now this is fascinating.  You feel sorry for the young fellow?  Toughen up. You’ll have to do a lot worse than pickpocket from a child’s coin purse if you intend to survive in house Arainai.”

Zevran always had to shove the distinct voice of Leonel, one of his mentors, back into a little box only for him to spring out, twisted grin upon his lips, like a child’s  crude toy. Made sense. He was a joking man until the end. He’d been extra loud since Kinloch Hold.

“A babe? Well, you’ve got to have a little more confidence in me than that. Only a moron would strike out in Wicked Grace.” Alistair said as  he gave his set of cards a thorough look over.

Leliana giggled. “See? No need to worry. Straight from the babe’s mouth himself. If it  makes you feel any better I don’t intend on keeping any coin I earn here. I’m petty not cruel.”

“Right, this babe—wait! Stop it you two. I’m a perfectly grown man.”

Ignoring her fussy fellow warden, she addressed Leliana once more. “ It would be better for you play our resident assassin. He offers more of a challenge.”

Their eyes were on him then.  He was  laid out on the  right side of his body,  head propped up on his  palm and  the aforementioned piece of jewelry hot in  the pouch on his left hip. His forefinger drummed along his thigh. While he had been waiting for her attention, this was not how he expected it to be given to him. The games could wait for another time.

“Ah, yes, but if I swoop in to serve as a distraction how will our dear babe ever learn how to play properly?

“You didn’t follow through. Should’ve known you wouldn’t. You are but a child yourself. A weak one at that.”

“Not. A. Babe.”

“I’m sure you are to someone,” Leliana commented much to Alistair’s discomfiture.

“He’ll manage. Why don’t you play a few rounds, Zev?” She stared at him as if she could will whatever  she thought he was hiding out from his head. “You look awful bored.”

“Not bored, no. Restless. Perhaps I can walk you back to your tent, my dear warden.”

“Walk me to my...“ She turned around to make sure her tent was in the same place she’d set it minutes ago. “ I don’t intend on getting Oghren levels of intoxicated this eve. Why would I need to be escorted to my tent? More importantly how would that help you with your restlessness? Is there something in my tent that you desire?”

Sudden failure to call upon his sliver tongue rendered him a hedging mess. “ You never know. You can waltz in, ready to lay your head upon your bed roll only to find a treacherous snake resting there instead. I only wish to see that your are protected.  Uh, that is only if you allow it.”

“Come come, where’s your nerve?  I hear you’re suppose to be good at this type of thing.”

Leliana’s lips spread into a slow grin. “What is this? The mighty Zevran fumbling for words? You perform miracles not even the Maker is capable of my friend.”

Ione took this as sign of trouble and though she’d misread the situation he overflowed with thanks and an undying need to cling to her. She lead them away with the excuse  of needing to give him a dagger that  Leliana didn’t want.  On the way in he noticed that the healer had taken a break from watching over a blabbering Oghren to throw them an admonishing glare. She would get over it eventually.

“Are you well?” Ione asked once she sat him down on a bedroll. “You’re free to speak about whatever here.”

“Are you in trouble? That’s entirely up to you. Come, I would like to play a game of Wicked grace but with a little more fun. Let’s ask the young barmaid to join us.”

The close quarters intensified the delightful aroma of  the rosewater she used to sweeten her skin. Under normal circumstances, the scent would’ve drawn him to his knees, had him singing her praises and making promise after promise. Here, it only made him hyper aware of the weight of his words. One error would’ve caused him to sink. Or was that his nerves?

“Instead of betting something boring like gold, you’ll be betting your welfare. Five rounds. You’re options are to bet a game of Pinfinger, where you’ll lay your hand along the table and stab between your fingers in a rhythm like so. Or take the less unpredictable choice. Choose which part your least afraid of scaring and have at it. Obviously the losing hand is the one that follows through. If they get cold feet the winning hand does it for them.”

He opened the pouch and spoke of sentimentality and the dues he owed her. There had been no eager reaching for the earring on her part. Rather, with a tilt of her head she asked what it meant.

“You mean to ask what use it will provide? I’m sure it’s worth a small fortune. You may sell it if you like. Or  if you find it looks  beautiful on you—and I’m certain it will, my darling— wear it.”

“ You pay your debt with your blade and your time. Why give me your treasure? And why so out of the blue?” She tapped her temple. “There’s more going on in here.”

“There is one exception. If you’re able to achieve an Angel Suit Flush then all bets are off. No one has to be harmed. It doesn’t matter how many rounds deep your in. The winning hand is simply victorious.”

“To you, perhaps. There’s a need to repay you. Not just for sparing me and giving me brief respite from the Crows but for the boots and the gloves as well.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned in close enough for her lips to brush against his, for her to ensnare  him yet again. Those carnelian eyes could convince him of anything.

“You let her win that round didn’t you? For what? What has she done for you that you would risk pain?”

“Give me more than your pretenses, Zevran.”

More, more, more. She was just being greedy, impossible even. Every other thing they came across in their travels was taken, no question asked, yet  his gift was met with suspicion. Perhaps in the back of her mind, she still believed he was out for her blood.

He  attempted a genuine laugh despite the angry twinge in his chest. “ Everything is a puzzle to be solved with you.”

Try as he might, Ione heard the bitter undertone. She whipped her head to the side  as if she’d been slapped but recovered and refixed her attention upon him. This time she cupped his face.

“This is our last real breather before we battle the Archdemon. If there’s something you mean to say you must say it now. There’s no guarantee that we’ll make it out alive.”

“Demonstrative gestures at the very last second are pointless; they will mean nothing.”

“You don’t believe that!” Realization settled over her features for a split second. Too loud. "You wouldn’t be trying to give me that earring if you did.” she hissed.

“ Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’re three and 0, boy. The game is about lies and deceit. What assassin do you know is incapable of lying?”

A sigh left his lips. She was a current pushing him further away from land.

“You say we are pressed for time, yes? Turn in for the night. Clear your mind. There are other things for you to focus on besides me, I am  certain...Do those.”

He moved to get up and then—

“—Zevran, I’m not long for this world.”

Her usually powerful voice nothing but caricature of itself, she told him everything that only been recently dumped upon her. Slaying the Archdemon required a warden sacrifice to prevent it’s essence from possessing another tainted creature. There was no way Ione would place Alistair on to the chopping block thus she stepped up instead. It was a small wonder this Duncan fellow hadn’t told her  all of this before she drank the Darkspawn blood.

Silence smothered all sound.  Every muscle in his body tensed.  This wasn’t true. It was just a card plucked from her sleeve to push him to confess to whatever inane thing she wanted.  It had to be. The special tenderness in her eyes told him otherwise. It chilled him to the bone.  

“I am sorry.” He rasped.

“For what?”

“Take your pick.”

Feeling as if the ground beneath him had begun to crumble, he escaped the tent before she could get a word in edgewise.  

In his own tent,  he laid, arms behind his head, and wondered whether her presence in his life was  some form of divine retribution. He lured in so many, played with their emotions and cut them down. Now, he was at the mercy of a woman who could make a gaping hole appear in his chest and not need to plunge her halberd in to do so.   It would be the perfect execution of poetic justice. But he had done what he did for the sake of a target. Duty. What was she doing it for? Cruelty? Even he wasn’t so cold.

“What good has your soft heart brought you? Nothing! You’re a mess. Cut deep. Bleeding everywhere.”

And yet that need to hold her came rising again.  The key to freedom from the inescapable pit within his mind was to have her in his arms and he in hers, it seemed. The ‘why’ was just something he  couldn’t place his finger on.

“You’re addicted to it aren’t you? Such a masochist.”

When he first met her, he expected  the tip of her halberd to pierce through his jaw. Instead, she spared his life and gave it purpose and even had done so for those around her and those they encountered.  This alarmed him. While he hadn’t wished it, he expected  her  to buckle under the pressure of  royal intrigue and Archdemon slaying heaped upon her shoulders. Rather than that, she persisted through tears and frustration and even had the nerve to burden herself with more. She didn’t need to seek out those Dalish gloves  for him but she did and that was frightening. She wasn’t purposely going out the way to harm—in fact she acted in the manner of someone who wished to avoid such a thing—yet that  made her all the more dangerous somehow.  Even now with death around the corner she chose  not to spend her night encapsulated by fear but by mingling with her companions and cajoling him to admit…  

“Having another being in charge of your fate is nauseating isn’t it? You could want one thing and they could want another. Life could push you in one direction and the other person in the opposite. You’ll never know until it’s too late. That hesitation you feel is your sense of self-preservation. Don’t mar yourself for such a simple woman. For someone who sees you as nothing more than some sorry assassin.”

Everything crashed over him like a wave.  The true fear wasn’t in that she wanted his heart. It was in that he would give it. He was a fool in love and in spite of her imminent demise he just wanted to be with her for as long a she’d have him.

“ Angel of Charity, Angel of Death, Angel of Fortitude, Angel of Temerity and Angel of Truth. You lucky dog.”

*                                                     *                                                              *

Like seeing someone’s heart broken into a thousand pieces? Don’t worry, I don’t judge. But you might be interested in my DC Comics story, Kandor, starring, Superman and an intruder in his Fortress of Solitude.

[leejeeno]

Sun Kissed | Taeyong Soulmate Au! {Preview}.

Description: You met Taeyong when you were barely seven and now, thirteen years later, you know that he is your soulmate, but you also know that you aren’t his. Taeyong is in love with your best friend, Joan. 

Genre: angst | fluff | smut Pairing: Lee Taeyong x Reader Warnings: this is a preview, the way it was edited was to promote a better view of key parts of the fanfiction, the actual fanfiction wont be edited on this same way.

i. when you met him.

The sun was out when you met Taeyong. Summer day, too hot to be enjoyable, your skin was shining with a fine coat of sweat as you ran down the street, running from your parents, from the kids that made fun of you, running in search for a goal that seemed to just escape through your fingers every time you got actually closer to it.  

You were seven and summer vacations felt like they lasted forever, three months without the pressure to make friends at school, without the bragging of your parents about how good your sister is for them, not actually saying that you were a failure, but the words hanged in the air anyway. You could feel in your bones. 

You ran and ran streets downs until you reached the blackberry tree in the end of your neighborhood, you climbed it, your fingers and shirt turning purple as you squished the berries between your body. You sat on top of the tree, looking at the sky and the houses and the kids playing far away. 

You had a scratch on your knees and elbow, your eyes were streaming hot tears down your face. You had fell from the tree when you tried to go down, stepping in the wrong branch and falling on your now bloody hands.   Taeyong extended a hand at you and offered a toothless bubbly smile. “Do you need a hand?” he asked in a giggle.  

You thought that the black-haired kid, with two teeth missing in the middle of his mouth, smiling wide and happily at you was the most precious thing. He smelled like a kid, sweat, dirty and candy. He talked way too loudly and his hands felt warm against yours. 

Taeyong became your best friend on that day and he never leaved your side. You shared secrets in softly whispers, jokes in screams and laughs, experience in scars and giggles. He answered your most weird questions and shared his dreams with you, even the scary ones about monsters under his bed that made you shiver and shake your head.  

“Will you be my friend forever?” you asked the day before middle school started, your hands were sweating more than normal, nervous that your precious boy would find someone better and smarter.  

“I will always be your friend,” Taeyong assured you with a gentle smile on his pink lips. “promise, pink promise, ok?”  

He extends his pinkie finger and you giggle and takes his fingers into yours, looking at his dark brown eyes that looked like rare gold in front of the sun light. You blushed bright red and looked away. 

ii. when you found out about soulmates.

Later that night, when your parents were soundly asleep, you made your way towards your sister room, knocking lightly on her door. She opened it for you after a moment, a sweetly smile on her lips as her hands messed with your hair and her low voice told you to come in. You smiled big and ran into her bed, throwing your small frame into her sheets.  

You sister laughed fondly at you and scooped you over, making space for her to sit next to you on her bed. As soon as she did, you scanned her arms for something new and there it was, in the bottom of her forearms, almost hidden from most eyes. It was black and delicate, a beautiful hand writing.  

“What is that?” you dared to ask, curiosity dripping from your voice.  

Your sister followed your gaze and extended her arm so you could see it better. “It is a soulmate mark!”  

You tilted your head in confusion. You already had learned about soulmates, the one soul that was supposed to be a perfect match to yours, love stories written about that for centuries, describing how unique the bond between two soulmates can be and how it feels like they are your home. You didn’t understand it all, your young mind trying really hard to think about how you felt about having a soulmate, but your heart would beat desperate every time, afraid that your soulmate could be anyone that isn’t Taeyong. That would mean that you would need to be closer to someone strange than you are closer to him and that thought made a bitter taste settle in the bottom of your tongue.  

“Is it always like that?” you quirked, putting your little hands over the ink in your sister arm, reading the name of a person that you didn’t know.  

“No, it is different for each person.” she chuckled under her breath, eyes scanning your reaction with fondness. “For me it’s the name of my soulmate, but for other it can be a drawing, the first word your soulmate said to you. Some people even have the mark of their soulmates hands imprinted in their body.”  

“What will I get?” you jumped in excitement, already looking around your body for something that would give you a clue about your soulmate. 

“No, silly!” your sister put her hands around you, making you stop your frantic search. “You will only get it when you are eighteen, and I can’t tell you what it will be. You will have to wait, ok?”  

You listened to her words carefully and pondered if you could wait until your late years. You wanted to know your soulmate now, something deep inside you telling you that you simply wanted to know if your soulmate would be your best friend or not. Instead of giving those thoughts much effort, you nodded in understand at your sister words.  

“Now go back to sleep ok?” your sister whispered delicate in your ears and you had no choice but agree with that. 

You slept the rest of the night dreaming with blackberries and suns, burning your skin and a hand reaching for you with golden pale skin. Dark brown eyes and secret smiles. You woke up with a big smile settled on your lips and the dream hidden in the bottom of your heart. 

iii. when you found out that you werent his to keep.

Joan was freaking out, she wasn’t just having a moment of panic. She was fully freaking out by now. It was past eleven third in the night and when the clock hit midnight she would finally know who was her soulmate or at least have a clue if it happened to be someone that he didn’t already know. 

You bit your bottom lips and glanced at Taeyong as that thought passed in your mind. He was sitting with Joan on her bed, both of his arms holding her close and whispering sweet things in her ears to try and calm her down. You approached them slowly, as if you needed permission to enter the world that the two of them were in, and you gave Joan a cup with water for her to drink. She took it with shaken hands. 

You sat on the floor in front of the bed and put your hands in your best friend knees, drawing circles with your thump in her skin in a soothing way. Truly, all you could do was look almost bitterly as Taeyong whispered words in her ears and you couldn’t hear what he was talking about, however it seemed to work as Joan began to calm down as every second passed by. 

“My sister said it hurt.” you said trying to help, but the way that Joan and Taeyong looked at you made you gulp and be sure that it certainly didn’t help. You raised your hands in surrender. “Sorry, it probably won’t hurt for you. Probably.”  

Taeyong sighed a little tired and put a little bit of space between him and your other best friend. “Do you want to be alone?” he spoke slowly and softly, almost as he was talking to a child. 

You wanted to step up and say no, she doesn’t want to be alone, that you three should be together and that you have the right to know if her soulmate was Taeyong or not. However, you knew you were being petty and egoist, so you swallowed all those feelings and nodded your head in agreement with Taeyong words. 

Joan looked at him grateful. “Yeah, I would.” she whispered between a sob and Taeyong kissed her forehead before getting up from the bed and extending you a hand to help you get up. 

You took his hands into yours, feeling the coldness of his fingers against yours as he guided you two out of the room. You gave Joan one last look over the shoulder, she tried to smile over the tears and then, you closed the door and left her alone.  

You looked at the clock on the end of the hall, there was still a good ten minute before midnight and then god knows how long it would take for her soulmate mark to finish inking her skin. You took a deep breath and followed Taeyong, sitting in the floor with your back against the wall on the other part of the hall, staring into the white door of Joans bedroom.  

You glanced at your best friend to see if he was as nervous and anxious as you were, but his eyes didn’t meet yours. He looked straight into her door, staring at it calmly and firm, like he already knew who would be her soulmate and that everything would be alright. You had to bite your tongue hard, feeling the iron taste of blood on your mouth, to make yourself tear your eyes away from his shinning brown ones, from his rested expression and almost turned into a smile lip. You looked away at least and bumped your head against the wall, making a soft sound echoes through the hall. Still, he didn’t looked at you. 

In that moment you realized, when Joan enters in the room it feels like suddenly the universe began and end with her. Taeyong doesn’t even look at your direction, he’s always looking at something beyond you, something away from you, something that isn’t you. He would never see you.  

Read the whole Fanfiction in HERE.

[marril96]

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 7: The Test

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: You get some good news.

Editor: @cherrypierowena

Time had gone by in a flash of boredom and numbers, and before you knew it, it was Thursday and Ms. Hanscum's face, smiley as ever, was mere inches from yours as she set the test down in front of you and wished you all the best.

Rowena had prepared you well last night. So well, in fact, that you'd ended up dreaming of numbers. Equations and formulas that now made slightly more sense twirled and roiled in your head like a hurricane. Made you nauseous, lightheaded, but you shoved the sensations back, put on a face a soldier would envy.

You had to remain calm — as calm as your racing heart allowed. Your palms were slick with sweat, forehead beaded with it. Your throat felt dry as if stuffed with cotton.

It's a fucking test, you told yourself. A make up one, but still a test. You'd had dozens, if not hundreds of them so far in your life.

You'd never, on the other hand, had a tutor before. Aside from Sam, who helped you out from time to time, you'd never had anyone study with you, show you how things are done, correct your wrongs and teach you right.

Rowena was your first, so to speak.

Lucky you.

What if you failed again?

What if all that hard work was for nothing?

What if—

Stop it, you told yourself. You could do it. Rowena had made sure to cover all the basics. Made sure you knew them by heart before ending the session last night. You knew enough for a D.

You would get a D.

You just had to concentrate on what you'd studied, what you'd worked on all those days. It wasn't that hard. Rowena had made it not hard. You owed it to her, at the very least, to pass.

You'd meant what you'd said. She was a great tutor. An excellent one. Better than even — god, it pained you to say it — Sam. Mean girl or not, she'd gone above and beyond for you.

"Don't fuck up," she'd told you just before you'd entered the classroom. Her way of saying good luck, you supposed.

You'd do your best not to.

You looked over to her, expecting the usual smugness, the superiority that seemed to be permanently etched onto her face. There was none. Instead, she gave you a smile, small but encouraging, and a nod, followed by a wink.

Genuine. All of them.

Well.

That was unexpected.

But then, she was getting something out of this arrangement, as well. She might not have needed the extra credit, but that record of hers was in need of a good cleaning up.

Her wanting you to pass was for her benefit.

Even still, you appreciated it, giving a nod back.

Her reasons didn't matter. She had a job to do, just as you did. It was business.

It wasn't like you were friends.

She owed you nothing.

Your real friends were on your side. Cheered you on and wished you luck and promised to treat you at Biggerson's after school.

One good thing to look forward to, at least.

*****

It had taken Ms. Hanscum two weeks to grade your test.

Two whole weeks of agony, of wondering, of nervousness. Of dreams of failure and summer school.

Every time you'd asked the teacher, she'd claimed to be busy and had offered you a donut in apology. You were starting to hate the damn things. You wanted your grade, however it was, not over-sugared fried dough!

You'd had one tutoring session with Rowena, just to go over the lessons that had been covered in class in the meantime. She didn't seem too worried.

"You know what Ms. Hanscum's like," she'd said. "She's a bloody ditz!"

She let you vent, though, and had made similar comments in response to your words. It was almost… comforting. Like she wanted you to feel better.

More strange genuineness from her.

You weren't sure what to think of it, so you pushed it to the back of your mind and focused all your energy on your test.

Grade now, Rowena's weirdness later.

"I'm sorry it took so long," Ms. Hanscum said that Friday, two weeks and a day after you'd had your test. She'd found you in the hallway just as the last bell of the day rang and had asked to talk to you for a bit, claiming it was important.

You didn't like the sound of that.

'Important' was teachers' code for 'you're in trouble.'

"I've been really busy."

"It's fine," you said, forcing on a smile you hoped passed for the real thing.

It was not fine.

"I have to say," she said, sun-bright smile never leaving her face, "this is not what I expected at all."

You froze. Heart stopping. Skipping beats.

Uh oh.

"It's surely a surprise."

Through trembling lips, you uttered, "How-how bad is it?"

Ms. Hanscum looked at you as if you'd just confessed to killing a puppy. "Bad? Oh, no!" She gave a small laugh. "It's not bad. Quite the contrary."

You swallowed, hard.

What?

Opening up her bag, she pulled out a piece of paper and held it up for you.

A big, red C+ adorned the right corner.

Holy shit!

You mouthed to say it out loud, but closed your mouth just in time.

A C+? A C+?!

You'd gotten a freaking C+?

No way!

This had to have been a joke. Ms. Hanscum was just messing with you.

There was no way in hell you'd gotten a C+!

"Congratulations, Y/N!" Ms. Hanscum said cheerfully.

You took the test from her. Looked over the numbers you'd written down. The formulas you'd studied hard to remember. The problems you'd solved — correctly.

Your first test was filled with fat, red Xs, lines, and notes pointing out your mistakes.

Compared to that, this one was almost bare.

"This-this is my test," you uttered, in complete and utter shock.

"You betcha!" Ms. Hanscum beamed.

"I got a C+."

"You sure did!"

"This is… wow."

Heat rushed through you. Your heart raced as if you'd run a marathon. It was getting hard to breathe, hard to think. Hard to stand still, for everything in you screamed at you to dance and jump and shout like a hyperactive child.

A grin broke out on your mouth. A wide, genuine one. Straight from the heart. From the bottom of your soul.

You did it! You passed.

And not only that — you got a much higher grade than you anticipated.

Having Rowena as your tutor didn't feel like such a nightmare anymore.

*****

You knocked on the door of the MacLeod residence at exactly three in the afternoon.

Habit, you supposed.

Instead of Rowena, though, you were met with Crowley's confused face.

"Hello, girl," he said, smile ready on his mouth, eyes shining devilishly.

"Hey," you responded.

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Did I forget our date?"

Classic Crowley.

"You wish," you said. "I'm actually here for your sister. She home?"

He looked at you as if you'd just offed his entire family. Eyes narrowed into slits. Features coated in suspicion. Mouth inches away from opening wide, letting the jaw hit the floor with a bang.

The drama mode was on.

You raised up a forefinger in warning. "Not a word."

You weren't in the mood for his theatrics. God knew you'd had enough of those ever since you'd started studying with Rowena.

Today was a good day. Special. You weren't going to let him ruin it.

Crowley put his hands up in surrender.

"Good boy."

He scowled, but said nothing. Instead, he stepped aside to let you in, turned his head, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "ROWENA! YOUR STOLEN FRIEND IS HERE! GET YOUR BLOODY ARSE DOWN!"

Stolen friend?

Seriously?

God.

You chose him, you reminded yourself. Exactly for this kind of behavior. He was too fascinating not to befriend.

Past you was an idiot.

Rowena descended the stairs in a patter of feet, bare, pink-painted toenails glittering under the fluorescent light. Her hair was up in a bun, a neat one, not a single hair out of place. Her makeup was perfect, and her outfit, casual as it was, was flawless.

The girl lived for show.

And there you were, thinking she was dressing up for you all those times you were here to study.

"That was rude," she said, glaring daggers at her brother.

He simply shrugged.

She rolled her eyes. "Arsehole."

"Bitch," he retorted.

"Mother should have aborted you!"

"Mother should have smothered you and blamed it on SIDS!"

Wow.

Sibling rivalry you got, but this?

Damn.

"Um, can we talk?" you said before anything else awful could be uttered.

Rowena turned to you, smile painted on her mouth; pleasant, so sweet it made you sick. As fake as Dean's boobs that one Halloween when he dressed up as a slutty cheerleader. And had managed to bang one such cheerleader later on that night. Somehow.

"We weren't supposed to meet today," Rowena said.

"Nope," you confirmed. "There's just something I need to tell you." She raised an eyebrow, and you quickly added, "It's important."

It didn't seem as though she believed you, but she motioned for you to follow her up to her room anyway. Better to get it over with as soon as possible. For all you knew, she might have had arrangements with her asshole friends. You didn't want to intrude on their gossip sessions or whatever it was they did when they were alone.

"I talked to Ms. Hanscum today," you said as she closed the door behind you and seated herself on the bed. You elected to remain on your feet, standing in front of her. The news was too big, too exciting, to sit while relaying it.

Rowena looked up at you. "Oh?"

You gave a small nod. "She graded my test."

This piqued her interest. She tried to mask it, but her ever expressive face betrayed the curiosity, the interest, behind the veil of nonchalance.

She cared about your grade. You didn't understand it — weren't sure you ever would be able to understand it, understand her — but, for reasons known to her only, she seemed intent on getting you to succeed. She took her tutoring seriously. Taught you everything you needed, repeated it over and over until the numbers were carved into your mind, impossible to forget. She'd studied with you five days in a row for that test. Gave up hanging out with her friends just so you would be prepared.

You told yourself it was because her extra credit and record depended on it, but a shadow of doubt itched at you. Annoyed you to the point where you had to consider that Rowena MacLeod had ulterior motives for wanting you to pass the test. Motives that, for once in her life, weren't selfish.

It was a silly thought. Maybe she was just a perfectionist. Maybe she wouldn't be able to live with herself if someone she taught failed.

Or maybe she genuinely wanted you to pass.

These weeks of studying with her taught you one thing — there was more to this mean girl than met the eye. Layers she hid well, that existed nonetheless, hidden beneath the surface of coldness and indifference.

"And?" Rowena asked.

You grinned. Big, wide, happy beyond belief. "I passed!"

Her eyes widened, shock written over her face. "You did?"

"Yup! C+!"

You still couldn't believe it. A D you expected, anticipated even, but a C+? It was unreal. Felt more like a daydream, a fantasy, than reality. A part of you still wondered when you would wake up to a big, fat F on your paper and Ms. Hanscum's disappointed face looming over you.

"Bloody hell!" A smile spilled over Rowena's mouth. A genuine one. Overjoyed. Proud.

Of herself? Of you?

"I thought it'd be a D or something," you admitted.

She scoffed. "Please! I'm your tutor. No protege of mine gets a D."

You raised an eyebrow. "Protege?"

"Aye," she said smugly. "What else?"

Fair point. "Minion seems more like your thing."

She scoffed.

You chuckled. "Or slave."

"You're hilarious."

"I am."

"You learn that from Fergus?"

"A lady doesn't tell."

She snorted. "A lady."

You rolled your eyes in response.

Was this… banter? Were you bantering with Rowena MacLeod; queen bitch by her own volition, smug and proud snob?

Well.

Seemed the high grade had gotten to your head.

You looked at Rowena. Looked at her smile, at the light in her eyes. All true. Straight from the heart.

A miracle, really.

Did she mean it? Was she a good actress, or was everything real? Was her joy real? Did she—

Wait.

"What's that?" you asked.

"What?" Rowena said, confused.

"That on your neck." You pointed to a darkened spot peeking out from under the neckline of her shirt.

No — a few spots. Thin and elongated. Rich purple in color.

"Are those bruises?"

She quickly pulled the shirt up, hiding the marks. "It's nothing."

"Rowena—"

"I fell, okay?" She smiled again, this time hurriedly. Fakely. "In the shower." Her cheeks flushed red, and she turned away. Glued her eyes to her curled up toes. "It's really embarrassing."

"Okay…"

It wasn't okay. At all.

Had someone hurt her? Had she gotten into a fight?

Or was it really just a freak accident?

"Don't tell Fergus," she said after a few moments of silence. "I don't want him spreading this around."

"Sure."

It wasn't really something Crowley would spread around (he did rumors, not accidents), but there was no harm in keeping it from him.

It wasn't like she was asking you to lie for her. Or withhold the truth.

It was harmless.

Just like her accident was harmless.

And it was an accident. It had to be. You were seeing things that weren't there. You'd seen too many movies.

"So," Rowena said, "you still up for tomorrow?"

The tutoring session you'd agreed to.

You nodded.

"Three?" she said with a chuckle.

You returned it, giving another nod. "Three."

She grinned.

More genuineness.

No trace of deception.

It was ludicrous, but, from the way things were going, you were starting to think she liked studying with you.

And, as much as it pained you to admit it, you were starting to like it, as well.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @tasyahilker @a-queen-and-her-throne

[chouetteffraie]

9 + dazatsu or fyozai please! your writing is so good!

9. “War’s End” kiss

ajsjslkdds thank you so much, dear nonnie!! That really means a lot >///

btw this is my first time writing them together and I’ve been submerged in the dazatsu fluff so sorry if it’s not entirely in character! I’ll do my best, but I’m just starting to dip my toes in the fyozai water!

special thanks to my belflower for helping me iron out the wrinkles in this one @mirei191

quick trigger warning! mentions of suicide follow towards the end! it isn’t very explicit, but still, stay safe!

Kiss Prompts!! (Still Open!)

There was something to be said about this situation. Irony, poetry, neither mattered much anymore as both paths merged into misery. A steady drip fell onto the ground between the two bodies, red and heavy. Violet eyes widened as the knife dug deeper and lips pressed harder. What a pleasant way to go.

Was this his prize for a war long fought? A simple kiss and a stab wound to the gut? Long, slender fingers brushed against Fyodor’s cheek, and he allowed himself to lean into the touch. If this was how it was to play out, he may as well enjoy his last moments.

After all, affection was still so foreign to him. He and Dazai had no qualms using it as a tool in this war. This separation from his “partner”- this betrayal, as it could be stated- was so much more familiar, and the small kiss attempting to cover up the treachery made it all the more brutal. 

(Good. Let him suffer. Let him suffer as you are.)

Dazai stepped back, watching Fyodor crumple to his knees with a bittersweet smile on his face. For a moment, Dazai felt his heart clench as he remembered the other beloved bodies that had fallen that day. Fyodor’s movements mimicked those he had killed, and Dazai wished for a moment his face would show the brutal agony his friends had suffered through in their last moments. He didn’t, of course, and instead bore a wicked grin that but Dazai deeper than his own knife cut Fyodor. What reason did he have to wallow in anguish, anyway?

Fyodor had won. All other ability users had been eliminated, and all that was left for him to do was perish.

“You understand, don’t you, Dazai?” Fyodor mocked, voice wavering slightly. As if this were some minor transgression that Dazai could forgive, Fyodor had the audacity to mock him. Of course, the Russian couldn’t care less if Dazai forgave him. He was simply basking in the joy of having the upper hand. 

Allowing himself to slip back into his past self, a version of himself that had learned to ward off the pain of death, Dazai felt his lips quirk into a smile. “Of course I do,” he replied. There was nothing for him to add; both knew that without an agency to return to, he had lost the war, no matter the technical outcome.

“You always did,” Fyodor commented, though his voice was absent of sentimentality. That’s what their carefully calculated dance amounted to. An understanding. Fyodor didn’t mind being killed by the one who understood him most, and Dazai didn’t mind doing the job. Not only did it give him a fulfilled sense of revenge, but he figured this was as close to a lover’s suicide as he was going to get.

(You didn’t deserve one, anyway. You wretched, pathetic failure. They trusted you, and they died alone as a result. Why shouldn’t you suffer the same fate?)

Dazai didn’t bother to wait and watch as Fyodor died. They both knew this was the end of the road. Instead, Dazai took his knife out of Fyodor’s torso, feeling a small spark of glee at the wince of pain Fyodor gave him. Then he let his feet carry him away, to a place he found himself uselessly wishing that he could return, or that he had never been to at all.

(What could he have changed to save them? If he had listened to Kunikida, could he have come up with a winning strategy? If he had never met Atsushi, would he have at least lived past this war, keeping his ability a secret?)

The water of the river ran quickly as he stood atop the bridge, fond memories of being dragged out of the river flashing through his mind. This time, there was nobody who would save him. Anyone who cared, and who he cared for, was gone, strewn across the streets in a bloody battle he failed to protect them from. He thought for a moment that he shouldn’t let Fyodor win- that, should he stay alive, Fyodor would have failed to eradicate all ability users. Dazai was tired of living for somebody else’s purpose (or, just to spite one). He had finally found a purpose of his own, and he lost them, as he should have guessed he would have. There were a million things he had to regret, a million things he could’ve done to save them instead of playing into Fyodor’s game of faux romance, but it was too late to reflect. He was already stepping off the railing and plunging into the water beneath.

(I hereby surrender my burden as the last ability user, the last armed detective. Let the current wash away the stain on this earth that has lived as an excuse of a human under my name.)

(I surrender the burden that has been my existence.)

[commanders-sole-braincell]

Dawn

Playing with an idea I had of "Commander picks a successor"

No beta read, no spell check, we write on mobile and die like pocket raptors.

Slight warning for violence/gore/owies in a bit of detail, big spoilers for Path of Fire, and my allergy to full stops and short sentences

The sky in Elona was different. Sure, all skies were the same in truth, speckled with ways to navigate the land through the cosmos despite the distance between the two, but Elona's sky was different. The day was blinding and and unrelenting, pale blue seemingly as drained of colour as Kasmeer felt under the harsh desert sun, but the blanket of night highlighted the way the blues that hid from the sky played across the vision before her, far more mischievous than back in Kryta. The night air brought a cool breeze that ruffled her sleaves and trickles of laughter from the cityscape below her balcony. The rooms, penthouse in nature and sprawling, had been a small gift from the Council, a respite from dealing with the rouge warmonger once called a deity. The barrier on her balcony felt cold against her tightening grip.

"Kas, got a min?" She jerked and spun around, off balance and bouncing her hip slightly off the balcony as she went, causing the sylvari leaning in from practically on the other side of the room to wince "... Or is now a bad time?" Taihneford questioned, nose scrunching up on one side in worry.

"Commander! No, no it's fine! Just surprised me is all!" Kasmeer rushed out, showing her hands in mock surrender, before gesturing to an empty space on the balcony and resuming watching the city breath life into itself. The tell-tale plod of the sylvari, sporting a small limp no matter how hard he tried to hide it, coming up beside her and resting against the balcony with a heavy sigh. She closed the distance between them by resting her head against his shoulder, smiling a little as she felt him shift to rest his cheek on the top of her head slightly.

Silence enveloped them for a few minutes, lost in the soft noises of life and the lulling waves of being.

"Where's Jory?" The black and white sylvari lifted his head slightly, gazing lazily across the room, if she closed her eyes she could imagine the familiar sight of his pointed ears twitching as if to catch the sound of their little family moving about.

"With Canach, something about spending his winnings for him"

"Oh Pale Mother, I'm not dealing with that tomorrow"

"Me, neither"

She'd once asked Canach what the sylvari bond was like, and he'd described it as 'when you simply feel another's mood, like any race can, but far stronger, almost like you get a glimpse into their very being'. Another sylvari shed heard describe it as feeling a splash of colour from someone that was distinct to them. Another yet, like fireworks. She imagined it felt like what she felt as Taihneford slipped back, sighing as the Commander stepped forth in his place. The warmth seeming to slip out of his body as his spine straightened and the walls came down. Soft, fuzzy blues that splattered and fizzled erratically giving way to a wave of deep blue. He gently placed his hand over hers in the crook of his elbow and she followed his request.

The rented room's luxurious decor clashed with the interrogation Kasmeer felt like she was about to receive. The wide desk between them felt like the authority the years she had on him should arugably give her, but framed by the swirled sky, moonlight and room light casting harsh shadows across his features, her friend looked more like an eldritch warning than the goofball she'd had to guide around his first noble party

He shifted to settle on his elbows, hands pressed together infront of his face, leaning over the desk with twin glow pulsing and dual eyes staring straight through her.

"Kasmeer, you're a very dear friend to me" Oh by the Six, she's getting kicked out of the guild

"and I'd liked to of discussed this with Marjory too before confronting you" No, no this can't be happening, what's happening, is she really getting kicked out, oh the hiccups are coming!

"So I'd like you to take up the name of Commander after I pass" What.

"What?"

Taihneford shifted in his chair, no longer looking like a vicious Commander, more like an awkward teenager attempting conversation with their crush, dropping his eyes to the desk and blush flaring wildly "I mean, just if you want it, I think you'd be great for the role, and I know you don't have alot of confidence in yourself but we all think you're amazing and you're so kind and nice and-"

"No, I mean... What?" Eloquent Kas, real eloquent.

He seemed to understand her question though, "Well, the title of 'Commander' is more a symbol or figurehead to be perfectly honest, and dealing with Balthazar highlighted how... Unprepared I am for someone to be the Commander. I mean you've seen what happened after Trahearne died" His words caught in his throat a little, and Kasmeer lifted her hand to place on top of his on instinct, pausing when he pushed through it "If something happens to me, I want to have a say in who takes on this role next. And I think you'd be the best candidate."

Kasmeer opened her mouth to voice her objections, swirling insecurities surging to the surface, but Taihneford wasn't finished.

"You're the most kind hearted, loyal, and sympathetic person I think I've ever met Kasmeer, you stand up for others, but you also aren't afraid to explore every option, see every angle, before making a decision. You're a phenomenal mesmer and we'd all be lost without you, but above all you're a phenomenal person. The world doesn't need another idiot with a hammer who throws themselves at every problem screaming bloody murder. They need someone who'll think things through, who'll fight for what's right; most of all they need someone who's kind at the root of it all. I know it's scary, but you're strong enough to do this, I know you are"

Slightly numb from the speech, Kasmeer only barely registered Taihneford taking her hands in his larger one's, squeezing slightly, before loosely holding; a physical nod to the fact she could outright reject this offer, strange as it was to propose, she could pull away and say no, and he'd accept her offer. Dully, in the back of her head a voice whispered if he was offering the consent he was never given. Her mouth kept flailing open, mind racing between fantasies of grandeur and heroism she'd say she'd grown out of, parties, audiences with people who could make a difference, children looking at herbe her; and images of the work it would be, the never ending cycle of problems, of the blood, sweat and tears. Of barely being able to get a minute in to see Jory, to check on Taimi, Braham, Rox, even Canach. Of being the one everyone threw their problems at and demanded answers. Of the failures and the injuries, all the times she'd seen Taihneford conceal an injury until he'd nearly collapsed on a medics tent, of how many times she'd seen him up and about, barely held together by the layers of bandages and sheer stubbornness as the medics tutted and fussed.

Of the aftermath of Balthazar's ambush.

Of encountering her friends body amid the ash, bubbling sap everywhere, scotch marks from dueling fires carved into the stone, patches of sand crystalized from the heat. What wasn't charred to a crisp, what was recognisable, laying on his back, staring blankly upwards, near cleaved in two. The ringing in her ears, the smell, the sound of Taimi screaming for them to get there as they stood on the ship, unaware of what was happening.

A soft, squeeze brought her back. Taihneford cocking his head at her slightly, running his thumb over her hand gently. The stiffness to his midsection now a blaring siren, the exhaustion in his eyes framed by dark bags and merging with warm affection, the dulled leaves, the small scars, and slightly dried texture of his hands reminding her of the houseplants she'd seen dying in widows in Divinity's Reach.

"Can I have some time to think about it?" Her mind hummed, but she felt her back straighten. Her shoulders mimicking the way she'd seen him slip into the Commander role. It felt like an answer.

"Of course, I just thought you should know is all" He squeezes her hands once more and bites his lip before rising and pulling out her chair for her.

As she exits his room, she has a moment to hear him slide down the closed door, air escaping trembling lungs

She's still awake when Jory gets back, sitting on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, in the dark, staring at the sky. Jory comments on how pink the sky looks now.

tldr: I keep thinking about Kas during that Scarlet fight and I think Kas deserves more tributes to how powerful she is. Also, I'm gay so Anet give Kas all the power???

[a-classic-story-so-far]

Of Course, Ms. Lovecraft

The sun was already high above the horizon when Sydney arrived at the posh Stormwind apartment. As Olivia’s personal assistant, the young woman already had a key to the front door, so she let herself in just as the bells of the Cathedral sounded the hour.

“Good morning, Ms. Lovecraft,” she called as she entered the kitchen.

Her employer had a strict routine in the mornings, and Sydney played a primary role in the mid-morning ritual. She put on a kettle for tea and washed any dishes in the sink. Olivia was, thankfully, a tidy person, so Sydney moved right on to plating the morning’s pastries and delivering them, along with the day’s paper, to the breakfast table.

“It is good to see you, darling,” Olivia offered as she entered the kitchen.

Although their relationship was strictly professional, Sydney always felt a little giddy with the sincerity of her employer’s greetings. It was a blessing she had counted each day for the last two years. It was also a stark reminder of the place in which Sydney had been when Olivia found her.

“They didn’t have chocolate croissants at your typical bakery, so I went to the one in Mage District to get these,” she remarked as she set down the small rectangular treats.

“I appreciate that, dear. However, you really don’t have to go to that trouble, you know. I like the muffins at Sunkissed Sweets, and they always have those in stock,” Olivia explained as she sat down and started to page through the paper.

“It is true, but I know last night was looking like a stressful one, so it was worth it to me,” Sydney called back as went to tend to the teapot.

“Well, thank you. You really do a great job of looking after me. That does remind me though. I need you to visit a couple rug makers and get estimates for an area rug to replace the one in the ‘guest’ room. I have the addresses for the shops tucked in with the week’s shopping list. I also took down the colors and dimensions I am looking for. Remember to tip them for their time, even if we won’t be commissioning them.”

“Oh no. Do you want me to also try to clean the rug?” Sydney asked as she returned with the tea for each of them. Olivia always asked her to have mid-morning tea with her while they discussed the day’s errands and gossip.

“There is no longer a rug to clean,” Olivia chuckled darkly. “It went out with the rubbish very early this morning.”

A pleasant chill danced up Sydney’s spine as she registered the veiled meaning of her employer’s words.

‘There is no rug because the ‘guest’ who soiled it went out was the rubbish.’

“Very well. I will see to the rugs promptly after tea. I will have the figures for you tonight.”

“Oh, no, darling. Not tonight. You can have the night off. I plan to see a show and maybe pay a visit to a reluctant associate. And before you even ask, I am hiring some arm candy for the occasion. I am going to be fine.”

Olivia’s preemptive assurance did little to dispel Sydney’s anxiety. However, in the two years she worked for the mage, she learned that it was futile to argue with the daring woman. In fact, it was downright dangerous if she believed you were underestimating her. Sydney was new to Olivia’s worlds, even after those two years, so she was afforded some patience.

But that was bound to run out one day, and it wasn’t worth risking a good thing over a bout of butterflies.

“Of course, Ms. Lovecraft.”

“Your private box, sir. Madame.”

Olivia reward the attendant’s attention to details by slipping her a few extra gold coins as she followed her companion the loge. The smile on her features conveyed her genuine approval as she picked up the complementary bottle of wine. Following his surveillance of the space, her companion returned to her side, silently offering to take the bottle from her.

“Are you alright with me calling you Neil?” Olivia asked as she surrendered the wine and went to survey the view.

“Of course, Ms. Lovecraft,” he replied.

The rumbling baritone of his murmuring sent a pleasant chill through her, but it was not so carnal as others may assume. His voice was like the false purring of a large cat retreating with its kill, a steady growl that was more promise than threat.

“Do you feel you have been properly briefed on my expectations?”

“Yes, Ms. Lovecraft. No physical contact unless you initiate or request it. I am not to speak on your behalf, and you’d prefer it if I didn’t speak at all during the show. When the show is complete, I am to escort you to the Slaughtered Lamb and then wait for you at the Blue Recluse.”

Olivia nodded along as he recited back her demands, her expression of esteem growing more affectionate.

“Good. And as for the potential use of your specialized training, I ask you only act if someone attempts to assail me here at the theater. Anywhere else, I will handle it.”

Neil paused before pouring the wine to look at the small woman curiously. She knew the look and it immediately dashed some of the emergent fondness. He questioned her and there was very little she hated more than doubt. Neil sensed her irritation and raised his free hand in silent apology before resuming the pour.

“I am not assuming you can’t handle things. I was just wondering if there was a reason, I should be on alert here at the theater.”

“Ah. Madam Reed didn’t tell you? Well, I forgive you, then,” she smirked as she took up her glass and retired to a plush seat overlooking the stage. “Someone decided that a dark theater would be the perfect place to teach me a lesson about crossing them. They got a rope around my neck and shoved me over the balcony. Fortunately for me, I was fast enough to translocate myself before the rope went taut or we wouldn’t be having this conversation, I imagine.”

She could see the questions swimming behind his beautiful brown eyes but appreciated that he had sense enough to leave them unspoken. Instead, he raised his glass to her.

“Well, here’s to your good fortune and disciplined training,” he offered in toast.

“Here’s to a quiet night,” Olivia added.

“Of course, Ms. Lovecraft.”

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

Noah Knottley sat nervously at one of the corner tables at the Slaughtered Lamb. His lips moved with the minutes as he counted them down while he prayed Olivia would be late. His bloody, gnawed nailbeds tapped over the box’s exterior and his eyes surveyed every passerby who even so much as breathed in his direction. He drew a relieved breath as the late hour sounded in the distance. He scooped up the box and started for the door, but before he could exit, before the last toll sounded, Olivia stepped into his path. A manicured nail caught the dingy light as she pressed it painfully into the center of Noah’s chest.

“Are you going somewhere, Mr. Knottley?” She asked softly.

He took a retreating step and she advanced, seemingly pushing him back towards his seat in the corner.

“You’re late,” he grunted weakly.

“No. I’m not. The hour just sounded, and I told you I would be here right on time.”

“Fine. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbled as he turned to the table.

He set down the box and looked around anxiously, checking for anyone who was obviously watching them. At the Slaughtered Lamb, spies were never so obvious, so Olivia let out an impatient sigh to passively encourage a bit more haste. Noah took a chance to shoot her a dirty look, but it withered under her cold, calm green stare. With a nod to himself, he opened the box and displayed the chalice set within.

“Do you have the appraisal paperwork as well?” Olivia asked as she extended a hand.

Words of power slipped easily from her lips as she compelled an unseen force to trace the magical signatures of the chalice. She read the invisible sigils easily and turned to Noah as he offered a crumpled mass of paperwork.

“And the relic hunter who retrieved it? Has there been any further word from them? I entertained their former employer last night and he proved terribly uncooperative and now today he has simply disappeared. I doubt he will be much trouble, but I’d still like to assure the buyer that this piece isn’t dragging loose ends.”

Noah shuddered and looked around again. Now, though, he was looking for someone to notice his distress. This web he was stuck in shivered with the spider’s approach.

“He’s not in the city anymore. I’ve heard my employer saying he’s going to send his best men after him, but…well…it’s just…”

“Not promising,” Olivia concluded with a nod. “It’s fine, Mr. Knottley. Tell your employer I extracted insurance from his share. He can come talk to me if that is a problem.”

To punctuate her sincerity, she snapped the box closed and subtly summoned a sack of gold to hand. She had anticipated the man’s failure, so she had no need to make a show of the assurance. She slipped it to Noah, keeping eye contact with him. It was as though Olivia was daring him to protest. If he feared his employer more, he may have. However, of the two, Olivia proved the greater threat.

“I’m sure you’ll hear from him,” Noah grumbled as he turned and started towards the door.

“Mr. Knottley?”

The sickening sweetness of her tone turned his stomach, but he turned to regard her all the same.

“Have a goodnight.”

“Of course, Ms. Lovecraft.”

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

Astoria: In Chaos - Part 2

PART ONE < Read here.

DAY 8

Another day, another bloody great hole in the ground – this time slap-bang in the middle of an elementary school playground. Miho knew this, because she’d managed to snap a few photographs of the scene, and then of the suit- wearing sweepers who blew in like the wind and cordoned everything off.

Triumphant, she returned to her office, set on stirring the pot with enough vigour to force the ‘cover-up squad’ to reveal something.

But, it wasn’t an especially clever tactic.

“Fujiwara,” came a shape bark across the top of the cubicles in the news room, and Miho paused the furious tapping of her fingers against the keyboard.

A ripple of whispers rushed to meet her when she stood to find several uniformed police officers, followed by the woman she knew only as Agent Mann and a somewhat nervous looking man in similar attire, stalking in her direction.

“This is an order for the seizure of all your work materials,” Agent Mann told Miho in a business-like manner, “along with your cell phone, laptop and any storage devices.”

“What?” Miho blinked in utter shock. “You can’t do that!”

Agent Mann’s eyebrow raised, but rather than argue, she simply handed the piece of paper to Miho who frantically began to study it.

“This,” Agent Mann continued, producing another piece of paper, “is an intervention order preventing you from approaching any clearly signposted crime scenes. Failure to adhere fully to both will be considered contempt of court, and will attract the full weight of penalties that apply.”

“You’re banning me from doing my job?” Miho snarled, snatching the second piece of paper but not even looking at it – the first was legitimate. “Where’s Hades?” she snapped, even as the police began to empty Miho’s cubicle into boxes. “Did he not have the courage to carry out this gag order himself? What is he so afraid of hm?”

Her teeth gnashed at Agent Mann before her eyes flashed at the man standing beside her.

“Not you,” Agent Mann responded dryly. “You’re also required to delete any data you have stored in the cloud, and surrender any notes and materials in storage at your place of residence.”

No matter what Miho said, Agent Mann would not relent, and in the end she was told to wait in the editor’s office while the police did their thing.

Working her jaw painfully, her knuckles popping in tight fists, she glowered out the window. Outrage grated against her skin, itching and burning.

“Think this will stop me getting to the truth?” she hissed, and it just so happened her editor walked in as she said it.

“Yes it will,” her editor declared curtly. “What use do you think I have for a reporter who will land herself in jail if she so much as looks at a crime scene?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Miho exclaimed. “Editor, I’m the best you’ve got.”

“Not anymore. Go home, Fujiwara.”

“What?” Miho blurted.

The editor sighed.

“I’ll get legal onto this intervention thing, but when the feds are involved…”

“Did you see a badge? FBI? NSA? Homeland Security?” Miho balked, face getting more and more red. “Of course not, because they’re none of those things!”

“Whatever they are, those orders against you are legitimate, so until this is resolved, you’re suspended.”

Slack jawed with disbelief, Miho stared at him until he shooed her from his office. On her desk she found her mobile phone, and when she checked she discovered not just those pertaining to her investigation of the mysterious damage had been deleted, but all images and videos. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat, that Miho realised the suited man was still standing by her cubicle.

“I’m here to oversee the removal of data from your cloud accounts,” he explained, and Miho narrowed wrathful eyes at him.

This caused him to squirm a little uncomfortably.

“Um, really, you have to, so, don’t say you don’t have any or…”

Miho interjected.

“Or what?”

Her teeth chewed through both words, and she looked like she was about to chew through him.

“Or, or Agent Mann said Hades will handle it,” he replied, seeming like he wanted to take a very big step away from her.

“That arrogant toss,” she snorted bitterly.

The man’s eyes widened – a little bit shocked, a little more fearful.

“I wouldn’t speak about him like that,” he warned, the word tumbling from his mouth.

“Or… what?” Miho repeated, leaning toward him. “He’ll drag him into the Underworld and torment me for all eternity?”

It was difficult for Miho to imagine the man’s eyes getting any wider without his eyeballs dropping from their sockets, and she couldn’t tell if it was just because he felt affronted on his boss’ behalf, or was thrown off by her gall.

Either way, Miho didn’t back down.

“In fact, why don’t you scurry on back to whatever rock you lot crawled out from under, and tell him exactly that,” she hissed, snatching her phone and her handbag before stalking from the office.

The agent didn’t stop her.

It was as Miho stomped across the foyer that it occurred to her.

That rock they crawled out from under… if she wanted to know who they were, she should just follow Agent Uncertain back to it.

 Twenty minutes later she stood before the building Agent Unsure had disappeared into: the Grand Olympian. Miho debated the merits of making a frontal assault, of walking right in like she belonged there on the chance she could bluff her way to the information she sought, but that was fraught with pitfalls.

“Seriously,” she muttered to herself. “Who do these people think they are? Hades and the Grand Olympian? Hmph.”

Several people walked in and out, allowing her a glimpse of the foyer, and the several black-clad, stoic suits standing guard.

“After what they pulled,” Miho growled to herself, losing the battle with her anger and storming across the street.

Into the foyer she stalked, eyes filled with determined balefire, posture set with get the fuck out of my way, and in the middle she stopped to glare from blank face to blank face.

“I want to speak to Hades,” she declared flatly, locking eyes with the nearest man.

The only movement he made was the slight twitch of his eyebrow and his lips as he spoke in the expected monotone.

“Ma’am,” he began, and that only enraged Miho more. “This…”

“This is about to be a really unpleasant scene,” she snapped, her hands flailing about in an animated fashion. “Because I don’t care what excuse you give me, this front doesn’t fool me. So get yourself on the phone, intercom, radio, whatever, and get that underworld princess down here to face me.”

That got more of a reaction. She may not have known what she said, her comments based purely upon his name, but just as Agent Stutterpants, the suits in the foyer looked startled.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but you’re going to have to leave,” a second suit told her when he emerged from his bewilderment, and he reached for her arm.

“I will drop you,” she warned ferociously. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

“If you won’t leave willingly, Ma’am, we have no choice.”

A moment later Miho was manhandled from the building and propelled toward the pavement, but what might have actually caused her to fall most inelegantly actually resulted in a most serendipitous collision.

“Sir!” Suit #1 exclaimed, when Miho was practically thrown into his arms.

Equally as surprised, Hades looked down at the woman he’d reflexively caught in his arms as she was flung in his direction.

A little panicked perhaps, Suit #2 and Suit #3 moved up to them, #2 grasping Miho’s shoulder. Though Hades’ grip was light enough that she was drawn away from his chest, a moment later the offending suit hit the pavement with a heavy thud, his arm pulled behind him by the wrist, before Miho leaned her knee in between his shoulder blades.

“I warned you what would happened if you laid a hand on me again,” she hissed. “I was an assassin in a past life!”

“Miss Fujiwara,” Hades’ stern voice rumbled, and her blazing eyes snapped to him. “Please unhand Agent Trevaughn.”

“When I have his word he won’t touch me,” she grated.

“Agent?” Hades prompted, deciding it was best to quickly resolve the situation there on the footpath – even if it meant giving Miho some of what she wanted.

“You have my word,” Agent Trevaughn croaked, cheek pressed against the rough concrete.

Instantly Miho rocked back and released her hold, putting a few paces between she and the man before looking to Hades again.

“Fancy running into you here,” she exhaled, her smile the vicious injury he’d perpetrated against her. “Just the god I’m after.”

Like the suits before him, Hades raised an eyebrow.

“You want me to roast you out here, or inside?” she asked.

“Hm, I have a better idea,” Hades responded. “Why don’t you calm down and join me for a cup of coffee?”

“Are you really sure you want me in possession of hot liquids?” Miho challenged stubbornly.

“I seldom get what I want,” Hades told her calmly. “But, if you are in any part the reporter you are reputed to be, you would not turn down the opportunity to converse with the subject of your…”

“Ire,” Miho filled in frostily, and Hades merely accepted it and inclined his head.

The suits looked at each other.

“So, is it coffee?” Hades prompted.

“Tea,” Miho sniffed defiantly, but she turned her body to indicate she was ready to move out.

“As you were,” Hades nodded to the suits, and with curt recognition they headed back into the building.

 A short time later, Hades placed a cup of Lady Grey tea before Miho, before sitting down opposite with his freshly squeezed juice.

She considered his choice of beverage, still clinging to her scowl, determined not to be pacified and yet the grass-shot juice Hades lifted to his lips seemed somehow incongruous with his presence.

“Something wrong?” he enquired, putting the glass down.

“I’d write you a list, but you’d only have your lackies swoop in here and confiscate it,” she charged, but Hades remained unaffected.

“You were warned,” he pointed out, aware the remark would win no favour with her.

“Oh well then, a warning makes it all just peachy,” she snapped, leaning forward. “What are you hiding you’d ruin my career like it was nothing?”

“Actually, Miss Fujiwara, only you are responsible for your actions and their consequences,” he told her, an Miho’s grip tightened around her tea cup.

He watched as she struggled to hold in another unseemly public outburst, that could flip the table and spatter the green rage of vitamised fruit all over the café. But trembling she slowly rose from her seat.

“Thanks for the tea,” she dropped icily and turned to move, but the command – or perhaps something else in Hades’ voice – caused her to freeze.

“Sit down, Miss Fujiwara.”

Before she could comply or tell him to fuck off, Miho made eye contact with a familiar person.

“Oh, hey Miho,” Mieke grinned at her best friend, then slid her gaze to the man behind her. “And… Hades… uh, I mean, Sir.”

“Hades… Sir?” Miho repeated, processing Mieke’s greeting carefully. “You work in an office?”

“Uh… yeah, I do,” Mieke cringed.

“His, office?” Miho pressed on, and she didn’t miss Mieke’s pleading glance at Hades.

“Miss Fujiwara,” he prompted, but this time her resistance was decisive.

“Rabbit holes,” she chuckled mirthlessly as she stepped in beside Mieke. “You really never know what you’ll find.”

She then stalked on out of the café.

“You and Miss Fujiwara are acquainted,” Hades stated, and with shoulders slumped, Mieke sighed out her answer.

“Best friends, Sir,” she breathed, “though probably not anymore.”

“Perhaps you could soften the blow of her recent employment crisis,” he suggested, but Mieke was already shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but if there is one thing Miho really can’t tolerate, it’s lies, and I’ve been playing dumb as she poured out her frustration over not being able to get anything on HERA – ugh – if she ever speaks to me again it’ll be a miracle.”

 Avoiding the confines of her apartment, Miho strapped on her sneakers and began a steady lap around Astoria park. If she couldn’t work, she’d lose her apartment, but that was the furthest thing from her mind – there was no one she could trust now: not her boss, not city law enforcement, not even her best friend.

She was on her own.

And where there were lies, there was something to hide.

“I – will – find – out,” she vowed, words panted out to the rhythm of her footfalls, but her cheeks were wet with distress.

Mieke’s betrayal hurt so deeply, Miho lost sight of what she’d been pursuing and just ran, so much so it was dark by the time she finally stopped.

“Now what?” she exhaled, looking down at her hands where she sat on a park bench.

Feeble fists clenched.

“Ugh!” she shouted, jumping to her feet. “This is bullshit.”

Scratching at her aggravation rather than allowing herself to sink into misery, she picked up her feet again and headed to her local gym to take a shower and change her clothing. But she didn’t go home after that she didn’t go home.

Swathed in brash indignation, she caught a cab a little way before getting out a block from the first crime scene she’d investigated where Hades and his band of merry suits had shown up – she would check them all again, slip through the black fencing and look for clues, anything that could give her a story worth her boss putting his ass on the line.

Sticking to the shadows she slunk with practiced silence and dexterity, but suddenly she stopped her advance.

It must have been her day for familiar people showing up at inopportune times.  

“What the fuck is Agent Moron up to?” she murmured to herself, watching him acting very suspicious as he approached his own barrier.

With tailing skills even Kaga would be proud of, Miho drew closer, slipping with almost ridiculous ease past the couple of guards posted, and into the obstructed area. Hiding, she crept closer to see what Agent Hopeless was up to.

She found him examining the deep hole in the sidewalk, much like the others she’d seen, waving over it with a little device with flashing lights.

“What are you doing, Agent Dipshit?” she whispered under her breath.

The answer that came wasn’t really an answer at all… two bodies suddenly flew overhead, limbs flailing and faces pinched in painful grimaces. Their impact with a nearby building was so solid some of the render cracked and flaked away, and when the pair of suits hit the ground – they didn’t move.

“What the?” Agent Stupid blinked, turning sharply from his fallen compatriots to look in the direction from which they’d come.

Scrambling to stay hidden, Miho narrowed missed being hit by… a car… that soared several metres into the air before barreling in Agent Idiot’s direction. He dove to one side, drawing a handgun as he did and taking aim at…

“You HERA guys,” a low, slow voice rumbled, as a real lump of a man came into view on one side of the crater, “so squishy.”

“Minotaur?” Agent Dumbass grunted. “You’re back in the States?”

It was a stupid question, because clearly the guy was right there.

“You gonna shoot me?” Minotaur sneered, and Miho inhaled a sharp breath while fumbling to get out her phone and start recording.

“That depends if you’re willing to cooperate or not,” Agent Sideways replied, but his gun hand was trembling and he seemed to be in considerable pain.

“Unlikely,” Minotaur chuckled, slamming his balled fist into his palm, and for a second there was an orange flash.

Miho swore there was an orange flash in the shape of an angry bull.

“If… if you’re responsible for this,” Agent Retreat stammered, scuttling back, digging for his phone with his free hand.

“And imagine what I’m about ta do ta ya head,” Minotaur leered.

Raging to life, the orange bull, surrounded by irritated sparks, rushed from behind Minotaur and snatched Agent Hapless off the ground. Much to Miho’s amazement and in no small part horror, Agent Ragdoll was shaken violently in the luminescent bull’s grasp, so hard his keys and loose change were flung from his pockets and his phone was thrown across the crater and landed close to where Miho was hiding.

“Agent Schmit?” a voice called from the asphalt, more urgently the second time when Agent Schmit, let out a cry coinciding with his own solid path to the ground.

“Fuck,” Miho gasped, twitching in indecision before finally darting out and snatching up the phone. “Agent Schmit is down!” she hissed. “27th Avenue near St. Margaret Mary – there’s a… mino…”

Despite the questions flung at her Miho stalled as the rampant, glowing bull stomped up to Agent Schmit and look set to crush him underfoot, all while the man himself grinned sadistically.

“Fuck,” Miho exclaimed once more, dropping the agent’s phone and turning her own around. “Hey asshole!” she shouted, setting her phone’s flash on strobe.

In the darkness she might have been little more than a silhouette, a faint shape flashing brightly that divided the creature’s attention long enough for Agent Schmit to crawl to where his colleagues were beginning to rouse.

“Who the hell are you?” Minotaur huffed, and as he turned his body to fully face her, the towering bulls did the same, pulsing with furious energy.

“I… am…” she stammered, eyes stretching even wider as the apparitious bull’s approaching footfalls somehow made the ground shake. “I’m not with them,” she exhaled. “I’ve been tracking your trail of… of awesome destruction looking for an interview! This lot keep cock blocking.”

The bull stopped, and Minotaur narrowed his eyes on Miho as she lowered her phone to her side. He appeared to be processing what she’d said… slowly.

“You ain’t HERA?”

“These suits? Are you kidding me? They ruined my career!” she told him, and well it was the truth.

So she kept talking, talking while Agent Schmit and the other two struggled out of injurious grogginess.

“These… three-piece twits stormed my office and confiscated everything I’ve worked so hard on,” she rushed on, hoping to keep his attention for as long as possible. “But here you are, the very one I’ve been… I’ve been searching for, ha ha, right in front of me.”

“Miss Fujiwara get back!” Agent Schmit shouted, and as if he’d waved a red rag, Minotaur’s attention snapped back to him as bullets were fired.

The next few seconds seemed to move in slow motion.

Thunder seemed to explode from the ground that heaved so hard with the impact of the luminous bull’s hoof, that Miho pitched backward at speed. She soared, glimpsing the night sky above just briefly before even the brightest stars were consumed by an all-encompassing black.

To Part 3

@destinywanted @kiniloves < Since I know you love some Hades ;)

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Give No Quarter V

The great vessel loomed closer and the sight of its mangled statue sent chills through you as you recalled the last time you had set eyes upon it. The rest of the crew braced themselves for the battle to come as you looked up from your work. You had requested gunpowder from the gunners and were fast at work making traps for your foe.

There was a shortage of bombs to be found on this ship but you had assured the doubtful pirates that your way was just as good. There were two different kinds before you; those which would work as a smokescreen and those meant to destroy. You had learned this not long ago from an old man who had spent most of his days as a mercenary. He had fought mostly on land but his teachings proved just as useful on the waters.

Your hands were black from the powder as you finished your work and you stood, gripping at the sword slung through your belt. It was the only piece of clothing aside from your boots which you had salvaged from your lot. It did not matter much what you wore as it would surely soon be stained with blood; though you hoped it would not be your own.

The captain’s shout went up in the damp still air as the enemy ship neared and you could hear the cannons as they shifted below. You glanced over at the letters etched across the vessel bearing down on you and could make out the faded letters across it; The Bloody Barnacle. Above, dark sails waved forebodingly; their dyed black faded to a grim grey and a rusted statue of a beheaded woman holding her own head wailed into the sky.

You could be sure that it was the same ship which had seen you stranded in the depths and your hunger for revenge was mingled with a streak of fear. You tucked your bombs away into a wool sack and set the fuses into your baggy pocket with the flint. You ran towards the bow where the Captain watched darkly as the enemy neared and you could sense his own anger brimming.

“I’ve got a plan,” You said as you stopped beside him, “It may just work.”

“Is this the same plan which had your last ship in shambles upon the waves?” He asked without looking at you.

“No, they would not listen to me,” You tilted your head wryly, “And that is why they now languish below us.”

“And can you truly say it would be any different had they listened to your foolish ideas?” He mused and you wondered if it was worth it to even help this man; perhaps it would be better to surrender and hope for a quick death.

“Maybe…” You could not assure him that yours was the best but his own crew was not prepared to face this foe directly, “But I can say that it will save your crew.”

“What is it then?” He turned and looked down at you, his bold eyes were bluer than the water below, “Are you going to talk them out of attacking us?”

“Smoke,” You explained as you held up your bag, “If we create a screen, we can turn the ship and they won’t be able to board us.”

“You want us to run?” He narrowed his eyes darkly.

“No, we will fight,” You replied with grit, “But if they get close enough to board us, you know as well as I that we would be as good as dead.”

“Let them board us,” He growled as he glared back at the approaching ship, “I have waited a long time to see this ship again and I would finish what I started.”

“Even if it meant your own death? And that of your crew?” You argued, though you could not say why you were so determined; perhaps it was your sense of self-preservation, the very same which had brought you aboard this very ship, “We cannot defeat them but we can serve them a hefty blow.”

“Hmmm,” He looked to you once more, “You can try your little plan but I will not have you getting in my way should I have the chance to kill my foe.”

“Very well,” You accepted, knowing that you would get no further with the man, “How much do you value your smallboats?”

You loaded the smoke bombs into the smallboat as Fili and the man he told you was his brother, Kili, helped you secure them to the bottom. Slowly you lowered it over the side of the ship, hoping to catch the current in the proper direction so that it would guide it round the bow. Once you dropped the flint, the left side oars would be pulled up and with any luck you could veer away from the nearing foe.

As you looked back over your shoulder, you could see the enemy preparing their ropes and ladders in anticipation of their boarding and you hoped your plan worked. Finally, the bottom of the wood dipped into the water with a near-silent splash and you held your breath. The Bloody Barnacle was almost upon you and if you missed with the flint, it would all be over.

The rest of the crew members lined the ship with guns and swords at the ready and you said one final prayer as the boat began to crest the front of The Fury. You sparked the flint and dropped it swiftly, the air seeming to freeze around you as you watched it float precariously down. You held in a curse as the flint was caught by the wind and appeared to be destined for the water.

It land softly upon the wood of the boat but you weren’t certain that the flame had lasted long enough. The boat continued to sway around the front of the ship and you cringed with failure as you shuffled for another flint in your pocket. You may just be able to get another off before the first shots erupted.

As if your thoughts could be heard, a volley of gunshot erupted through the air and white smoke shrouded The Barnacle as bullets pelted against the deck of The Fury. You ducked down as you cursed yourself and you grabbed at the rifle you had been allowed for the battle. You began to load the gun as you peeked over the edge of the rail and the other crew members were already lining up their own shots, ready to fire.

Yet, before the captain could call for his responding volley, the white smoke thinned in the air only to be replaced by the thick black smoke of gunpowder. You nearly gasped as the gray fog formed a curtain between the ship and the call for oars went up before The Fury’s crewmates fired their first shots. It was a deafening sound and your own gun sent up a flurry of smoke adding to your disorientation.

You could sense the ship as it turned slowly and you realised, even without a clear sight of the sea, that you had turned too late. The Fury would no doubt be able to veer away but it would come much too close to avoid The Barnacle and near enough for an attempt at boarding. You tossed your rifle aside, knowing that you were no good with that compared to the rest. Instead, you would have to use what was left of your little tricks.

You grabbed your wool sack and rushed around to the front of the bow, ducking the next volley as you heard the bullets embedding themselves in the exterior of the rail. You ran along the side of the ship which would soon be adjacent to the bow of the Barnacle and kept low as you waited for the motion to steady.

You pulled out one of your improvised bombs and a fuse, tucking the end into the cloth as you fumbled for a flint. You looked at the line of men along the rail and they fired once more as the black smoke began to clear and the sudden whine of wood on wood roared through the air. You had come so close to the Barnacle that you were grinding against it.

Your heart nearly burst at the sound and you rose up, lighting the bomb before you tossed it towards the enemy pirate preparing to climb across onto the Fury. The blast of gunpowder sent up a rain of splinters and screams as men were shredded by shrapnel and the force of the explosion. You ducked down once more as the rest of the crew began to draw their swords in anticipation of a boarding.

The ships continued to grind against each other but you knew you could still avoid a boarding if you could create enough chaos on The Barnacle. You lobbed another bomb and it exploded atop the cabin of the foe’s ship, knocking down a hidden sniper and razing a group of men with shrapnel. You peeked over once more as you lit another and heaved it as you scurried on your knees towards the crew.

The ships finally separated as the oars completed the turn and you felt something sear across the skin of your arm as you stood and ran down the line of pirates. The volley which sounded next nearly had you off your feet and you felt the whistle of bullets as they narrowly missed you. You tossed another bomb as you glanced over to the other ship and the subtle movement of dark metal caught your eye.

You looked across to the gunner hidden at the bow of the ship near the statue and you recognized him from days before when he had ordered for the boarding of your former ship. It was the captain of The Barnacle, a man with scars across his face and a single arm and a half to his person. His missing forearm was replaced by a curved blade and he balanced his rifle delicately upon the blackened metal.

You followed the nose of his gun to its target; another captain who was engaged with an enemy, his own blade flashing through the fog of smoke and gunpowder. You removed your hand from your bag and raced towards the melee, not thinking about why you would risk your own skin. Perhaps it was the thought that if the captain died, the rest of the crew would be as good as useless.

You pulled your sword from your belt and ran it across the enemy pirate’s back as a single shot sounded and the body fell into the captain. He collapsed under the force of its weight as his foe grew limp atop him and you were pulled down by your blade as it caught in the flesh. You wrenched free the metal as you pushed the dead man away from the captain, who did his best to wriggle free of the limp corpse. As he got free of the body, he looked to you with a confused grimace before he gasped and gripped his shoulder with a pained wince.

You could see the blood gathering under his dark jacket but the clang of metal and rifles still sounded around you. You glanced back and saw that you were nearly clear of The Barnacle, only a few enemies remained aboard The Fury. You reached into your leather bag and pulled free your last bomb, striking a flint before lobbing it blindly towards the other ship.

The blast was like any other and the shouts which followed told you that you had not missed as you turned back to the captain. You could sense a shadow nearing and you lifted your sword without hesitation as you turned to stab your enemy through the chest, blood spattering across your front as you pulled your blade free and sent it once more through his neck. You let the body fall beside the other you had left upon the deck and fought against the sickness brewing in your stomach.

You turned back and knelt beside the captain who was growling as he gripped his shoulder and you once more set down your sword. The movement around you was slowly fading and you could be assured that your plan had saved you from certain death and the rest of the crew could deal with the last of the fray.

“Let me see,” You tried to push away his hand with your own, “It needs to be stemmed.”

“Why?” He asked suspiciously as he resisted, “Why are you helping me?”

“Because I said I would,” You answered plainly as you fought against his strength, “And you’ve been shot.”

He furrowed his brow and his blue eyes examined you warily before he reluctantly lowered his hand from his shoulder. You pulled open the hole left by the bullet and examined the wound, thankful that it was not so deep as expected. You tore at the ratty end of your borrowed tunic and ripped free a strip of fabric, the garment more than long enough for the expenditure. You pressed it to the captain’s shoulder and he grunted in pain as you gave a guilty apology

“Thank you,” He gritted out as he replaced your hand with his, “If you hadn’t---” He paused as he looked away, as if fighting with himself, “If you hadn’t pushed me it would’ve struck true.”

“It’s nothing,” You assured as you took your hand away and wipe your bloodied and sweaty forehead, looking around as the wind and oars carried the ship along its new path, “I---I did what I had to,”

You glanced around at the dead bodies and the crew members who were at last able to lower their blades, going over the corpses for any sign of fortune. You wiped your hands on your knees and stood, offering your hand to the dark captain as you sensed his eyes still fixed upon you.

“Come on,” You said as you pulled him up with effort, “You should get that tended to...you have a medic?”

“I believe so,” He looked around at his crew, “Though he may be a little busy as it were.”

“Good...--” You began but stopped, thinking perhaps you were overstepping yourself, “Are you going to lock me up again, then?”

“Lock you up?” He repeated as he glanced to the sky in thought, “I suppose I shouldn’t after all you’ve done.”

“Well, in that case,” You shrugged, causing a pain to shoot through your arm as the adrenaline began to drain from you, “I could have a look? I know how to get bullets out and I can stitch....or you could just wait for your own medic.”

“Hmm,” He eyed his crew once more as they went about their work, “I would rather it done sooner than later. If you think you can do it, then I cannot say no.”

[quentatan]

And Hell Followed

We are not body. We are not mind. We are not soul. We are many. We are one. For peace. For prosperity. We are the Ten.

“Dirt, two mikes.” The warning cut through the silence. Some people were praying, some were running sight diagnostics. Most of them were stretching; winning wars is limber work.

The Gargoyle gunners were working hard. Even through the ship’s filters, there was a hint of ozone, and the heavy coilguns were rocking every few seconds. The troop bay was filled with a vibration that was one part gyrodrives, one part repeaters laying down the hate.

“Dirt in thirty.”

Captain Remus was at the ramp, rifle in hand. Everyone pinged green.

“Para Mars,” he commed. In his ears a hundred voices replied.

“Para Sol.”

“Victory or death.”

The ramps dropped, revealing a relatively calm suburban street. Omega poured out, clearing the nearest houses. Maradon hardly seemed like a warzone.

Orcus, this is Santa Claus. Ten seconds. Ho ho ho. Over.

“Christmas is coming. Ten seconds.”

It was a beautiful house. Maybe it qualified as a mansion? Either way there were shells thumping out of it every few seconds. So they were clearing out artillery in the suburbs the old-fashioned way with ground pounders. Well... It didn’t seem fair to call a pulsebeam “old-fashioned”, but scopes were picking up way too many MGs to be fun. So Albert Remus did what any sane man would do. He called in gunships to destroy the pretty mansion.

The seconds counted down and... now it was rubble. Missiles. It was like getting coal under the tree.

“Three bravo, get the brass a BDA, would you?”

“We’re on it, sir.”

Orcus, this is Rampart. Relay Whitewolf. Over.

Rampart, this is Orcus actual. Send relay. over.

Nice house for a FOB. Grid romeo victory alpha tango five six six three zero four seven three two zero. How copy? Over.

Solid copy. Relay violet. Over.

Relay violet. Out.

“Three bravo how’s that piece of paper?”

“Five letters, sir.”

“Alright gents, we’re dusting off, five mikes. PLs on me.”

This house was not particularly beautiful. It did have lots of concrete and was technically not a house. It wasn’t clear what it had been, but it had a large walled yard and some gantries. Whitewolf was hanging out with a few locals when they arrived. It was admittedly odd, but they had stacked bags of concrete for the gantries.

The civilians, it turned out, were a bunch of cops and firefighters. Apparently the Dominion wasn’t too popular in the area of New Vladisgrad.

“Coalition troops, mostly Dominion regulars, hold the city west of MSR Zebra. North of ASR Gazelle are some Earth boys, but main lines are primarily further north at Rittersburg. Rampart has seven divisions pushing west up there. Down here, not much going on. There are some militia south and west of the city, mostly supporting the coalies. Most of the militia from the eastern and northern suburbs are working with these fine ladies and gentlemen of the Asprenova County Sheriff and Fire Departments. We’re here to slowly drive the ‘equatorial scum’ out of their fine city. They will in turn either convince their crosstown cousins to join us or kill them.”

“So... hit and run, some counterinsurgency, until Dominion lines around the capital collapse?”

“Bingo, Al.”

“What are we calling our fancy new abandoned factory?”

“Figured I’d leave it to you. I already got to name the highways.”

“I like Gondolin.”

“You fucking nerd.”

“Shit yeah.”

Three months and nothing had moved. Far to their north, three Commonwealth divisions were stalled in Marsgorod City. To their north, a hundred thousand Ardans were slowly advancing through the Trotsky archipelago. On the far side of the planet, the Carolans were slugging it out in the industrial cities of Novyarkhankhgelsk. The last Dominion orbital stations had fallen last month, but they’d withdrawn their last ships to atmosphere. They still had corvettes running supplies, and loyalists had turned their cities into fortresses. Short of burning civilians out, there wasn’t a way of effectively grounding the Maradonians or silencing their SAMs.

So here we are. At the far end of a thousand miles of Solar troops and some local militia. Sniping across a highway until somebody else moves.

Seven months, we’re still here but things are finally moving. Ardans cleared the Troskies, so three of their divisions are crossing the pole and the other two are coming south.

“Rampart wants to turn their flanks. The Carolans are going to make a concentrated push and try to simply shatter resistance in Novy. The capital metro is too thick though, so the other two Ardan divisions are hitting the north coast. Fourth and Seventh IXIDs are joining the fray as well, coming down over the Transverse Sea, respectively Novy and Koberezh. At the same time, our brothers in the First are shifting to our immediate northern flank.

“Our Apsrenovan friends will be on the southern flank. Our task is to punch a hole through enemy lines west of MSR Zebra. First Expeditioners, reinforced by additional Asprenovan militia, will advance through the northern suburbs to sweep everything to our north. We expect Dominion units to begin withdrawing west and north after that. Hope is, we chase them all the way to Rittersburg where we link up with Fourteenth Ten and cut off militia and guerilla units on the peninsula. From there, we detach to rejoin the Asprenovans and clear out those cut off units while the regulars do the dirty up north. You should have maps on HUD. Any questions?”

“Whitewolf?”

“The ORCA will be infiltrating ahead of time, make sure we don’t run into any surprises and provide a little distraction. Checking your maps, gridzone RVAT 564 475, there’s an apartment building and a small metro station. Belief is enemy have been stockpiling missiles in the station and have an access tunnel to the apartments. Whitewolf are going to blow the station somehow just as we’re crossing the MSR. Santa Claus takes care of the bad guys.”

So we’re a few hours into Operation Reacharound and shit’s further south than we are. Whitewolf blew the metro station and a shitload of ordnance in it, and we’re all safely on the west side of New Vladisgrad. The Fourth Imperial Division made landfall in Novy easy enough and met up with the Carolans, so even though the equatorial skies are still contested, major industrial capacity is cut off.

The probems are to our north. We connected with 1/1 and pushed Coalition regulars out of the city, but lasers out of Rittersburg hit our gunships pretty hard. So their southern flank is anchored at Rittersburg. The problem with that is the failure of Seventh IXID, who are strung out in West Koberezh but held there. Ardan Third Corps is similarly situated along the North Coast.

What it looks like is that instead of shifting weapons to Novy, the Coalies were shifting personnel back here. The only upsides are that the Fourth Imperials are joining Seventh, and the Asprenova Peninsula is cut off. Rittersburg is strongly defended, but we have it surrounded on three sides.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the news out of Eastern Marsgorod.”

Clement sneered. “Fucking barbaric.”

“Well, it brings our casualties into the hundreds of thousands, but it gives us one advantage.”

“Alan, how the hell is there an upside to those cunts dropping a city on our men?” Hadrian pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Two words: better scopes.”

Some of the gathered officers whispered to each other. Most of them were still staring at the live images out of the city. Clouds of dust where there had been skyscrapers and several Allied divisions. Coszic looked up at the young general. “I like it.”

“They started this. We need to finish it.”

The whispers quieted. Alan Young was right in more ways than one. This ward had dragged on for longer even than some of them had served. Thousands of cities had burned and millions were dead. Back home, images of the Midworlds alight with pulsebeams and lasers were causing horror. Replacements were told stories of “fire like a flood”, and planets turned to ash. It wasn’t all that hyperbolic. Still, nothing they’d seen compared to Maradon. It had been rather sedate when it began, but Dominion forces had rapidly solidified their lines and bogged down several dozen Allied divisions on the continent of Komelsk.

Viktr broke the silence. He was the only one who had served through the whole bloody affair. His cousin Michael had fallen in the first wave of attacks and scarcely a week later he and Olympia had been over this very planet, probing its defensive and crippling half a dozen cruisers in the process. He’d been over New Folsom when they got Solars out. When Regus Secundus fell, it was his fleet in orbit. It was by his command that the attacks on Maradon had been methodical, cautious. He’d seen more bloodshed than his entire staff combined.

“My cousin is young and he is rash. Burn them until the survivors surrender.”

“My lord,” Clement and Wyzowscky bowed. Coszic just smiled. The man had a disturbing amount of enthusiasm for overwhelming force.

The officers began to shuffle out. Clement and Coszic were discussing details with Alan while Viktr stood quiet.

“Tell them first. Tell them that hell is coming.”

Casanova, Cane and Abel were sitting in the troop bay of a Gargoyle as it flew into Marsgorod. The city was covered in ash, block-sized chunks seemingly plucked from it. Transports and gunships buzzed around them. There were still weapons discharging here and there, but most of the Dominion troops in the city were gathered at sports stadiums and airports to formally surrender.

“Fuck man...”

“Talk about laying down the hate.”

Marlin sidled up but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. They were all thinking the same thing.

And I beheld a pale horse, its rider was named Death, and Hell followed behind him. Revelation 6:8a

[inkognito97]

Story about Obiwan becoming the Emperor of the Republic... Thankyou! 😃

I am not quite sure if you meant Emperor (of the Empire) or Chancellor (of the Republic) specifically, which is why I decided to simply mix it up… if this was NOT how you meant it, feel free to write me again and I will IMMEDIATELY rewrite it. :)

Thanks for the prompt.^^

Obi-Wan lazily stretched his left arm. The damn Zabrak had landed a good blow on him, but it had not been enough. A mistake that had caused Darth Maul his life, not that the galaxy would mourn it. The ginger haired male grinned to himself, happy that the time had finally come to reveal his true nature and to stop hiding.

“Obi-Wan,” a deep baritone voice called out scandalized.

The Sith in Padawan disguise turned and looked over at the man who had functioned as his Jedi Master for the last few years.

“Sorry Qui-Gon, but this is for your own good.” 

Before the older male could reply or do anything else, Obi-Wan used their shared bond to sent the long haired male into a trance like state. Qui-Gon would still be able to see and hear everything, but he would not be able to move or reply and the Force was out of his reach as well. He had no way to escape this. The advantaged of having psychic abilities and the best was, not even Sidious knew that he could easily control other beings by his will alone.

Obi-Wan casually walked forward until he was kneeling by his ‘Master’s’ head. The only thing the male could move, were his eyes and they were fixed on the ginger haired male.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the Sith spoke up, “you will understand soon enough and until then, this is the only way to keep you save.”

Midnight blue eyes looked hurt and doubting. A singly tear was escaping them and vanished into the man’s beard. Obi-Wan reached out to gently wipe away the wet traces on his prisoner’s cheek.

“All will be well, I promise. You have nothing to fear but fear itself. I am not Xanatos, remember?” something in the other man’s eyes changed and Obi-Wan could see the exact moment when his Jedi Master decided that he had failed yet another student.

He sighed, he did not have the time to argue with the immobile man now, which is why he bent down and carried the taller and heavier man on his shoulders. Sidious would want a proof that the Jedi had indeed died and the ginger haired Sith could use this to his advantage. When he timed it right and when he made it believable enough, he could do it and Qui-Gon would live.

“Where is Maul?” Sidious spat out as soon as he spotted him.

Obi-Wan had to stop himself from grimacing and he also had to mask the Jedi’s surprise when he spotted the new Chancellor. If Sidious caught wind of the deception, they both were done for.

“Maul is dead,” he said, “the Jedi killed him.”

The dark Lord huffed in anger. “Good for nothing,” he spat and finally, he seemed to take notice of who Obi-Wan was carrying. “I see that you succeeded.”

“Indeed my Master,” he grinned.

“Is he dead?”

“What else would he be?” he was only allowed his insolence, because he seemingly did not fail the mission.

“Good, good,” the Sith Lord chuckled darkly, “his death will leave the Jedi Order weakened and more vulnerable. More might join us.”

He slowly lowered the long haired man to the floor, making sure that the Jedi’s eyes were closed. “And then?”

“Then my young apprentice, we will destroy the Jedi and the Republic,” his yellow eyes were blazing madly, “and I will be the galaxy’s rightful leader.”

“What about me?” he asked, but more for Qui-Gon then for himself.

“You will be my loyal right hand,” he had that strange look on his face that indicated something bad. Obi-Wan knew what it meant. As soon as he was of no use anymore or as soon as he was posing a threat to the dark Lord, he would be killed. Certainly not a merry future.

“And what if this ‘loyal right hand’ decides that it wants to be more?” he began and carefully stepped around the older man, all the while lifting his grip from Qui-Gon. “What if this ‘right hand’ want to be the heart and the brain instead?”

Sidious snarled, he had read between the lines, but Obi-Wan had been ready. Blue met red and together, the two Sith moved in a deadly dance. Meanwhile, Qui-Gon was able to move his limbs again. He settled to watch the young male he had thought to be his Padawan. And even though the ginger haired man was using the dark side, he was not as tainted as this Sidious. The Master’s presence was suffocating, Obi-Wan’s was rather inviting actually.

Qui-Gon shook his head. The smaller ginger haired male had betrayed him, played with him, deceived him and used him for his plan to kill his Master, hadn’t he? Yet something at the back of bearded Jedi’s mind screamed at him NOT to come to premature conclusions. It also told him that not everything was as it seemed.

A pained cry which was followed by cruel laughter brought the Jedi Master back to the moment at hand. He saw Obi-Wan clutching his midsection with his free hand and he could see the torn clothes and the burnt skin under the young Sith’s fingers. Sidious had managed to take a hit then. Midnight blue eyes spotted the silver cylinder on his (former?) Padawan’s belt and without wasting another second, did he reach out to it and called it to his hand. Obi-Wan eyes briefly flickered towards him, but Sidious did not appear to notice. Either he was too focused on the fight at hand, or Obi-Wan was using a similar ability on the Sith Lord, like he had done with Qui-Gon. It sounded plausible.

Deciding that he could think and ask about that, when they both had survived, he jumped into action and blocked one of Sidious’ two blades, Obi-Wan blocked the other one. Master and Padawan exchanged a brief glance, a whole conversation was held through it and then they moved like one. 

Sidious was strong, way stronger than Maul, but he had also a great weakness, arrogance. The man’s pride was easy to hurt, which is exactly what the ginger haired Sith did. The anger in the Sith Lord rose to new levels and the amount of dark energy became almost unbearable for Qui-Gon, but with Obi-Wan’s help, did he pull through.

In the end, they did not know how they had done it. They only knew that the former Chancellor’s head lay to their feet, severed from its body and that it had been Obi-Wan’s blade, which had done it.

With a shaky breath, deactivated the tall Jedi Master his blade and he sunk to his knees, shaking from exhaustion and the darkness that was still around him, suffocating and closing in. A warm hand settled on his shoulder.

“Breathe,” ordered an accented voice and warm and welcoming energy was sent through the hand into his battered body, “Relax, breathe and calm down. All is well, the Sith are dead.”

“Except you,” he stated, making sure that no emotions were on his face or in his voice.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan whispered, his eyes were resting on the bloody floor. He moved swiftly and before the older male could comprehend what had happened, was the young Sith already kneeling in front of him. He was holding his lightsaber out, while bowing his head in surrender and submission. “My life is yours to take Master Jinn. I will submit to your words and order, for you were, are and will always be, my one true Master.”

The Jedi had to swallow the lump in his throat, before he could speak up. “Obi-Wan,” he reached out and his large hand came to rest on Obi-Wan’s, which were holding the lightsaber. “You are my Padawan, I could not kill you, even if I wanted to.”

Sad blue-green eyes briefly glanced up. “You should, because after all we’ve been through, I ended up no better than Xanatos. I lied to you, I betrayed you… I haven’t exactly fallen, since I was always a child of the dark, but… it’s unforgivable.”

“It is not for you to decide, what I can forgive and what I cannot.” He would lie, would he say that the revelation did not hurt. “Just answer me, why.”

“As far as I can remember, I was raised as a Sith, supposed to hate the Jedi and the ‘corrupt’ Republic. Plagueuis, he was the Master before Sidious, found me on Stewjon and took me, shortly before the Jedi arrived. Together, they manipulated me and made me believe that they were fighting for the good cause. When they deemed me ready, they left me on the steps of the Jedi temple, quite literally.”

“What changed you?” he was curious and he also wanted to understand his student better.

“I don’t know… Spending time among the Jedi made me realize that you are not as bad as Plagueuis and Sidious always preached. And then… then I met you. You still had Xanatos then and I knew immediately that YOU were the one to be my Master, to guide me back onto the right path.” He ran a hand through his hair in a nervous and slightly embarrassed gesture. 

Qui-Gon felt oddly moved. He had always thought of himself as barely average and in his worst times, he had thought himself a failure, who could not even properly train a Padawan. But he had done so, hadn’t he? He had taken a Sith under his wing and unknowingly brought him onto the light side, which is probably the only reason, why Obi-Wan had never reacted on his darker side during their apprenticeship.

“Why,” he cleared his throat, “why did you spare me? As reinforcement?”

Yellow eyes were slowly turning blue-green again. “No, I spared you, because I care for you,” he hesitated.

“An attachment,” he had not meant to say that out loud.

Again Obi-Wan shook his head, “If you were to die, I could let you go. I would not try to keep you alive at all costs, I know you would not want that and in all honesty, I couldn’t bring my conscience to do it either.” His words rang true, if the Force could be trusted. “Also… I needed a witness, but… I consider this a bonus.”

“A witness who can back up your story about the corrupt Chancellor.” 

“And for this,” he took a piece of paper out of his pocket and held it out for the Jedi master to see. “It will transfer Sheev Palpatine’s power and status to me, but here come’s the tricky part. YOU would have to lie… you would have to say that the Chancellor had been attacked and shortly before he died, he signed this paper so that - in his eyes - a worthy person could take over. It happened before in the past, usually when the Chancellors life was threatened.”

Qui-Gon Jinn looked appalled at the younger male’s request. “You cannot be serious.”

“Please,” he hated to beg, “this is not about gaining power and control, you have to believe me. This is for protection, protection for the Jedi Order. I… I have seen the future. The Sith might be extinguished for now, but they will return someday again. Also, I have seen the downfall of the Jedi Order at the hand of the Senate. If we do not act now - and you know the Council will not do it - the Order  as it exists right now, will perish.”

In the past, Qui-Gon had often come to rely on his Padawan’s gift of the Unifying Force, more often than not, had it saved their lives and the lives of others. But with these new revelations, could he still trust Obi-Wan? Who could guarantee him, that Obi-Wan was doing this for the Order and NOT for his own?

“If you still have doubts about the plan…” he sighed, “I understand.” His smile looked forced and he stood back up, letting his lightsaber drop to the floor before Qui-Gon. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Leaving,” his voice was rid of all emotions and his mask a carefully crafted mask. He reminded Qui-Gon so much of himself in this moment. “I can understand the trouble you must have to trust me, I would have the same doubts after such a revelation. But you are not willing or able to kill me - don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it - and I am not willing to be imprisoned by the Jedi for the rest of my life. I chose freedom over imprisonment, I hope you are at least able to grand me this much. Though I’ll admit that I don’t deserve it.”

“Obi-Wan, I will not… cannot let you go.” The ginger haired man stopped in his movement, he had a look of defeat on his young features and he sunk back to the ground, sitting against a wall for support. 

He held out his wrists, palms facing up and clearly expecting Qui-Gon to cuff him. “I will cooperate.”

“You misunderstand,” now it was the long haired Jedi’s turn to get up. He took a few steps forward, until he was standing right in front of the sitting man. “I cannot let you go, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan’s blue-green eyes lit up and the Force sang its approval. “Master,” breathed the young male.

“Or should I call you Chancellor now?” he raised an eyebrow. “You are absolutely sure that this is the only way to save the Order?”

The younger male nodded, “I wish it weren’t so. I am not eager to be the Chancellor OR the Emperor.”

“Emperor?” he had not heard THAT one before.

“Yeah, Sidious was considered as something of an Emperor, at least by his followers, like the Trade Federation.”

“I see.” What a mess, but for now he decided not to dwell deeper into the Sith. He held out his hand and his Padawan eagerly took it and allowed the taller male, to pull him up and envelop him into a tight hug.

“Will you stand by my side?” whispered the ginger haired male, clearly afraid of rejection. 

But Qui-Gon would not reject his Padawan, not again. “Always,” he vowed. And truly, Obi-Wan would need all the help he could get, both as a Chancellor – or Emperor or whatever he wanted to call it - and as some kind of ambassador between Jedi Order and the politicians. 

He silently said, “May the Force be with us.”

[greetthedawn]

AN:

Welcome back to another chapter! With Kataang Week behind us now, I'm dedicating myself to finishing this story before I return to school in September.

That said, now that we've followed the game's playable missions to completion, I'm going to take small turns away from the Ubisoft-sanctioned ending. You see, there was more about the canon that bothered me than just Mary's death. I didn't find it very compelling, and I hope that you all like the changes I'm going to make. That said, I set out three years ago to write this story for myself, and I intend to stay true to the vision I had when I finished Black Flag for the first time. So please, no negativity if you happen like things the way they are.

I'm going to be posting a chapter tomorrow as well. Originally, they were written as one unit but I decided, for pacing's sake, that they were best broken up into their own parts. I know they're shorter than other chapters on their own, but really you're getting a normal length chapter in total, so it all balances out!

Now let's begin.

We live in the rain, a sea of change

You can't keep anything you take

The lovely face of lives we chase

Is but dust for wind to take

When all is gone, the only loss

To not have loved at every cost

When you can say, and I can say, we loved with every step we take

I'll be okay

The sun cast beautiful gray and pink lights across Great Inagua's port. The early autumn air was pleasantly cool, and the water lapped gently at the shores below Edward's mansion. Sailors and dancers milled about the town, their voices rising up the cliffs in hushed tones. It was a calm, peaceful evening. The young captain felt out of place in it.

He sat on the patio, tracing the lip of his tankard with his pinky finger. His eyes scanned the piece of parchment sitting on table in front of him for the sixth time, and the words made his vision cloud. He blinked hard against the stinging sensation, and the mist solidified into a tear that rolled down his cheek. With a grunt, irritated at his own weakness, he tossed back the last of the rum in his glass and reached for another bottle, emptying half its contents into his tankard.

Caroline was dead. Rose, a member of the Scott family staff whom he'd always been fond of, had penned the letter. He'd fallen too far out of favor with his wife's parents for either of them to bother themselves with responding to him with the news. She had caught smallpox and passed away two years earlier. All this time he'd been worrying about transforming his life, being the man she deserved, but he'd been too late from the very start.

It had all been for nothing. The past year had been for nothing if he hadn't been doing it for her. His efforts were worthless.

He felt worthless. The drink hand numbed every sensation, bar that one. That one, it let riddle him.

To his left he heard footsteps on the stairs. Mary's boots clicked against the stone steps, and he turned to find a concerned look on her face. He ground his teeth and turned away, quickly folding the letter and shoving it in his pocket.

"Can I join you?" she asked. There was a tentative tone to her voice, which was a rare emotion for such an assertive woman.

With a heavy sigh, he nodded and waved a hand toward the seat across from him. She ignored his gesture and settled at his side. "So have you read it yet?"

"Aye." His voice was ragged with emotion, and the tears threatened to spring forth once again. He hadn't wanted to read it on the ship with her and their crew watching. He'd waited until they had arrived in his cove that morning, when he could finally be alone. She'd left him to it all day, though he knew she must have been worried when he never came to find her to discuss its contents.

She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but her touch only made the torrent in his chest swell with guilt. "And? What news of home?" And after a after a long pause, "What news of your wife?"

The lump in his throat became nearly unbearable. He gruffly shook off her hand and turned his head away. At his side, he could feel her bristle defensively. "Talking about it will help nothing. Fix nothing."

"Edward, I'm your best mate, am I not?" Her tone was concerned, but slightly aggressive. He'd offended her, he knew that, but he didn't have room in his head to worry about what strain he could be putting on their already-taxed relationship. "You shouldn't sit on this alone. If you can't tell me then who can you tell?"

He whipped his head around to face her, and his voice came out as a low growl. "I can't. I can't tell anyone, Mary, that's the bloody fucking problem. All my friends are dead. My fucking wife is dead, and it's my fault." His voice grew closer to a shout with every word. He shoved his chair back from the table, the wood grating uncomfortably loud against the stone tiles, and he stood sharply.

She was taken aback by the news. Mary's expression softened and she opened her mouth to speak, words of condolence, he assumed, but he cut her off.

"And you," he shouted. "You're not my best mate. You never were just that, Mary, and you know why. Do you know how it eats me up inside that I've wasted my life here with you when I should have been at home, in Bristol, protecting Caroline? Taking care of Caroline?"

That made her angry. He'd crossed a line. She leaped to her feet and was in his face in a second, spitting right back. "Wasted on me? I'm not your fucking gold, Kenway! I'm no prize to be fought for or to be won. I have never needed you. You're not protecting me. I do that myself, and I always have. I don't need your 'care'. If you need a woman to make you feel needed then aye, you should have never left home. You shouldn't have been out here, building yourself up, and for what? For her? It was never about your wife, never about me. You need to get your story straight with yourself before you start blaming those who have wasted years of their energy trying to get you on the right path before you destroy everyone else around you."

The fire, the anger, the hurt in her eyes quelled the rage he felt, but her words reignited it and flipped it right back around onto him. "A great lot of good your efforts have wrought then. Destroy, I have done indeed. You'd best run back to Tulum before I tear you off the face of this earth too. My final failure." He snatched his tankard off the table, knocking over the pile empty bottles, and stalked toward the house.

"Don't you get it, Kenway?" Mary shouted after him. "I'm here for you. When I got sick, I could have easily given in, but I didn't." She got up from the table and chased after him, grabbing his arm so he had to turn and look at her. "I stayed because I wasn't ready to give up on you. I stayed because I had faith that you could be someone great. Someone who helps instead of harms."

"Yeah?" Edward countered. "How can you believe that, Mary? You can see the corpses as well as I, littered at my feet wherever I walk. Time and time again I've proved you wrong, at every damned turn. When are you going to get it? You are wrong about me."

Her grip on his arm loosened. "Belief is not about seeing, Edward. Your actions in the past year have saved a dozen lives for every one you have cost in all the years before. You couldn't save her. You can't save them all. But I have too many reasons not to give up on you. So don't give up on yourself."

In that moment, Edward surrendered himself to his emotions. He sank to the ground, leaning on a beam, and began to quietly weep. "All of this," he mumbled. "All of this was supposed to be for her. This house, my gold, my new life… I wanted to be the husband she deserved. So what am I fighting for now?" He searched her eyes, silently begging for her to give him answers. Meaning.

She shook her head in response, crouching at his side.. "Don't do it for her. Don't do it for the Creed. Don't even do it for me. You have to want it for yourself."

Somehow, that was the answer he'd been looking for all his life. He'd done what he'd wanted for most of his life, to the detriment of those who'd loved him most. But he'd wanted the wrong things, destructive things, evil, selfish things. When he'd made the decision to better himself, he was lost, searching for purpose in all the wrong places because, surely, the only way to change was to live for someone else for once.

But that had been the wrong approach. If he was going to do this the right way, if he was going to be everything he knew he could be, he had to follow his own path, be his own man. Just… a better man than before.

He needed to be complete in himself before he could be any good for anyone else.

He reached up and touched her face. She'd been steering him in the right direction as long as he'd known her, but she never did anything for him. She always stepped back and expected him to stand on his own two feet, and he did the same for her. And that's why he loved being with her. She wasn't the other half to his whole. They were two complete people. And, together, they were unstoppable. "I'm sorry I shouted at you," he muttered. "I'm grieving, and I'm angry. But not at you."

She gave him a soft smile. "I know, Edward. And you'll have to forgive yourself for those things eventually, but no one would expect it all to happen at once." She offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet.

He pulled her into a hug, needing her comfort. "Be patient with me?"

She let out a dark chuckle. "I think I am, don't you?"

He laughed too. "Not always as I'd like you to be, but that's my fault, not yours." He pulled back to look in her fawn brown eyes, and there was a warmth there that he yearned for. With nerves and emotions running wild through his veins and trembling hands, he finally allowed himself to lean in and softly, tenderly press his lips to hers. She leaned into his embrace and kissed back with all the affection and care that had been absent from their frustrated tryst that night on the Jackdaw. When they pulled apart, he held her gaze and whispered, "Do you know, I am hopelessly in love with you?"

She smirked. "Of course I do. Just as I know you've no clue I've been in love with you, too."

That took him aback. One of his greatest sources of dissonance for months, the question of her love, and she treated it as obvious. "You have? For how long?"

"Since that speech you gave to your men before invading this cove," she answered. "You remember?"

He chuckled, fighting back a face-splitting grin. "I had no idea it was such a good speech."

She shook her head in mild amusement at his self-flattery. "It was the first real glimpse I saw of the man you could become. The man who wanted more than simple gold and drink, but a life of peace and prosperity for those who placed their safety in his hands. Your men believed in you, and because of them, so did I. I grew to admire you, and then, to love you."

Her words warmed his heart in a way it hadn't been since Ah Tabai had placed the letter in his hands four days earlier. His throat tightened again, with joy instead of grief this time. "I hope I can honor the faith you place in me." His voice shook.

She leaned in and kissed him again. "You already have, ever since I wrote to you last year. The man you were would never have come without an explanation or incentive. But you took a chance on a nothing."

He looked down at the brave, fearsome, dedicated woman in front of him and he felt small. She knew him so completely that he felt naked under her gaze, vulnerable and unable to hide any part of himself from her. For all his mistakes, for all his shortcomings and failures, she saw him for what he was, and somehow still deemed him worthy to stand at her side. It was for that reason that he knew he had to trust her above even himself. He knew no one with clearer sight than her.

How do you love when your heart is broken?

How do you speak when you feel outspoken?

I can forgive, and be forgiven

By learning to heal with a heart wide open

Edward awoke early the next morning. Soft, gray light streamed through the gap in the curtains, signaling the first hints of sunrise. As he came to, he realized gladly that his headache was only minor, in spite of all the drinking and crying he'd done the day before.

He looked to his right and blinked until his eyes could focus on Mary's sleeping form. Her hair was down, cast across her shoulders and back which were turned to him. He reached out to trace the line of her boyish figure under the covers. He didn't want to wake her, but he needed reassurance that he wasn't still dreaming.

They hadn't made love that night. He'd always imagined that when he could finally have her the way he'd dreamed he wouldn't waste any time making her his in every earthly way. But it hadn't been like that. They'd stayed up late into the night, talking about Caroline, and of Bristol. He told her about his parents, whom he missed dearly. His father had passed some years ago, but he hoped one day his mother, Lisette, would be able to meet her. He wondered what his mother would think of his choice in partner, if they lasted that long together. Caroline had been exactly the kind of woman they'd predicted he'd marry: intelligent, sharp-tongued, elegant. Mary was the first two things, undoubtedly, but she challenged the third with her habit for piracy and murder. Edward considered it important for love to be born of common ground, but he doubted his mother would understand or approve of their bonding over such things.

He swung he legs over the side of the bed and made for his study. On his way through he snatched a biscuit off the dining table that was left uneaten from the previous night's supper and munched on it lazily, leaning against his desk and watching the sun creep over the horizon. Color spilled into the cove.

When the sun sat about a finger's-width above the sea, footsteps from behind him announced Mary's entrance. She perched on the desk beside him and took the biscuit from his hands, breaking off half for herself before handing it back. "Morning," she whispered peacefully, rubbing the small of his back with her free hand.

"You're up early," he commented, leaning his head against her shoulder.

"You roused me getting out of bed. Couldn't get back to sleep."

"I suppose we're going to have to adjust to sharing a bed," he remarked hopefully.

She sighed. "In due time. I'm quite fond of my little cabin on the cliff."

"Oh?" he questioned, glancing up at her. "More fond than you are of me?"

She smirked. "Depends."

"On?"

"How much you irk me on a given day." She placed a small kiss on his forehead.

"Ah, so your love for me is changeable then."

"I don't have to like you to love you, mate."

He chuckled softly. "Suppose I'll have to up my game, then." He placed a hand on her neck and pulled her in for a kiss.

"I suppose you will," she agreed with a light smile before their lips connected.

They sat there watching the sunrise and eating their breakfast until it was too light outside to be considered dawn anymore.

Mary turned to him after a long few minutes of silence. "Are you ready?"

He nodded, the sadness beginning to swell back up in him. "Aye,"

"And you've picked a place?"

"Aye." He straightened himself and she slipped off the desk. He lifted a small wooden box from a shelf as they exited into the main house and then out into the gardens. The dirt crunched softly under their bare feet as they trudged up the slope on the western side to the highest point of the yard. Together, they lifted the table there and moved it to a lower tier of earth. Edward relocated the chairs while Mary ran down to the shed to retrieve shovels

The view from the spot he'd picked was beautiful. To the left sat the waterwheel atop a lightly bubbling creek. Facing front were the gardens and house spanned out before him. At to the right, just a glimpse of the sea.

Mary returned, handing him a spade, and they set about digging a hole roughly half a meter deep.

From his pockets, he procured every letter that Caroline had written him since he'd left for the West Indies. Twenty-seven letters over the course of ten years, including the last from Rose. They'd only been married for a few months the last time he'd seen her. By all rights, he'd hardly known her.

"I'll leave you to it," Mary brushed his shoulder with her hand as she passed, taking the shovels back to the garden shed.

Edward knelt and opened the box he'd brought outside with them. He removed the key from inside and gently replaced it with the pile of letters. He'd read through them all one last time the previous night with Mary. The ink was fading badly in the oldest few, the parchment deteriorating with the years just as his marriage had. The gaps between the dates on each grew larger and larger with each letter as their correspondence became strained and unfamiliar.

He locked the box and lowered it into the earth.

For a long time, he sat and stared at the hole. He wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure what he could say to Caroline in death that would absolve his sins against her in life.

Finally he sighed, and spoke what he was thinking in spite of the reaction he imagined she might have. "Two years. I promised you two years, and it turned into ten. I often wonder if I should have let you marry that hotheaded son of a merchant that your father had picked out for you. I know you disparaged the thought of attaching yourself to him, and I loved you for having the bravery to follow your heart. I wanted more for you than that, though. My love was enough for you, and I didn't listen. I never listened." The tears were flowing freely by that point. "I hope you lived in love. I hope you found the happiness that I was never content enough to give you. I'm sorry I didn't come home to you all those times you pleaded with me to leave this life behind." He grabbed a fistful of dirt and tossed it on top of the box. "I wasn't there to bury you, but now I bury the record of my failures on your behalf. I'm becoming the man you wanted me to be, a satisfied, respectable man. I hope you've found a lasting peace, down among the dead."

He set about pushing the rest of the dirt back into the hole. To his right, Mary returned, carrying a large circle of wood in her hands.

"Do you mind?" she asked softly.

He shook his head and wiped away a tear, smearing his face with dirt. "Please, come." He waved her closer. "What do you have there?'

She passed the object to him. "We can make a more permanent marker, but I figured she needed something to start with."

She'd handed him the top of a barstool. Puzzled, he flipped it over and, realizing what it was, began to laugh.

Caroline Scott-Kenway

Beloved Wife

1691-1720

"You broke a chair to make my wife a headstone?" he asked her between sad giggles.

She gave him a lopsided smile. "Just until we can have a proper one fixed."

He did his best to wedge the wooden circle into the small mound of dirt and then stood. He wrapped an arm around her waist and she draped hers over his shoulder. "You're a wonder, Mary Read."

"And you're a good man, Edward Kenway." She nodded at the stool top. "I know she saw that as well as I."

He took her hand. "Come on. Let's get this dirt cleaned off us."

With open hearts, despite the stakes

We take a chance on our mistakes

A brand new day, we will embrace

An open wound that heals with grace

All the fears that we will face

In this time and in this place

When you can say, and I can say

We loved with every step we take

I'll be okay

Song: I’ll Be OK - Nothing More 

[matthew-trs]

History of Lazberia, Part 2: The Berwick Civil War (1)

This post covers from the background leading to the war up until its turning point. Keep in mind that the game’s events take place around 618 VAC. [Again, this history lesson has been adapted from materials on Syozo Kaga’s blog.]

The Ancient Kingdom of Leia

While Leia and the other smaller nations of the Berwick League are duty-bound to obey the Kingdom of Veria when the alliance is invoked, they are in fact (slightly) older than Veria itself.

After Aramgraz’s exodus, the majority of citizens still remained in the Commonwealth of Veria (the region north of the Raze Empire, not to be confused with the Kingdom of Veria). However, as the distant Verian Kingdom was able to prosper outside of Raze’s influence, these eastern folk became less and less significant on an international scale. However, the three states that came out of the Commonwealth--The Eastern Three (Leia, Pesil, and Ishs)--shared a mutual trust far stronger than they had with Veria.

Since ancient times, this region has served as a key military point and buffer zone between the two major superpowers of Raze and Veria.  As such, they have experienced the whole spectrum of prosperity: massive booms of trade in times of peace, and ravaging destruction in times of war.

Carloman’s Schemes

Around the year 582 VAC, the king of Leia, Carloman (カルマン), was an ambitious man. His eldest daughter, Artemia (アルテミア), was engaged to Prince Arless (アーレス), heir apparent of the Verian throne (not to be confused with the first king Arless I, who lived centuries earlier).

Arless was of a scholarly character, but weak in political matters, and it could be said that this weak-heartedness made Carloman all the more ambitious. He schemed to take control of the Berwick League through controlling his son-in-law-to-be, Arless. However, the seven dukes who served Veria anticipated this, and they asked the Verian king, Harmel VII (ハーメル七世), to name his second son Mordias (モルディアス) as his heir rather than Arless.

As far as the dukes were concerned, Veria was first among the entire world, and they feared that politics would be monopolized by Carloman with Arless as his puppet. Since Leia is geographically close to the Raze Empire, it was even suspected that the cunning Carloman would sell out Veria to them in the future.

Despite these fears and schemes, the honorable and wise king of Veria held his ground, and his authority was unshakeable. The marriage did take place, and Arless remained the heir apparent. Princess Artemia of Leia, who was barely 11, was wed to Arless, who was 15.  As a tool for political gain, she was essentially a hostage, but Arless loved his little wife dearly, and he gave his heart to no other woman.

At 17, Artemia bore her eldest son, Bernard (ベルナード, b. 588), her only daughter Anastasia (アナスタシア, b. 590) at 19, and her second son Friedrich (フレディ, b. 593) at 22. Together, they enjoyed happy days in the Verian capital of Valemtine. But this family who had found so much happiness was to be brought to despair.

Death of the King

In the year 600 VAC, Harmell VII, 32nd king of Veria, suddenly died. As he had lived to the old age of 64, so it was first assumed to be a result of infirmity in his old age, but soon after, one of the late king’s chief servants committed suicide, leaving behind a note. The palace was in uproar, for the note read, “Prince Arless forced me to poison the king.”

Upon orders from Prince Mordias, the royal Interior Secretary Padolf immediately arrested Arless, and a proclamation was sent out to all lords of Veria to present themselves for the prince’s trial.  Arless’s wife and children were to be kept at his manse under house arrest, but these measures were opposed by the Narvian duke and others, so until the truth of the matter was discovered, they were sent off to stay with Artemia’s family in Leia. At the time, Arless was 33, Artemia was 29, Bernard was 12, Anastasia was 10, and Friedrich was 7.

King Carloman of Leia, who also attended the trial, shook with fury, spitting in anger at those present: “This is a conspiracy by all the black-hearted nobles who haunt your kingdom! I tried to warn His Majesty of this time and time again in the past, but I see now my warnings fell on deaf ears! His Majesty has been killed, and now you have dared pin the blame on his heir, who hasn’t even so much as a motive!”

Prince Mordias, on the other hand (who was Arless’s half-brother by a different mother), was not so eager to defend his brother. He was only two years younger than Arless, but they were total opposites in personality. Mordias was renowned as a brave and proud warrior, though he was also criticized as a cruel schemer. In this troubled time, it was natural for the people to support Mordias, a decorated warrior, rather than the gentle Arless; not to mention, Mordias’s wife was of the house of Diana, one of the seven duchies, rather than a foreign kingdom.

The Breaking Point

After many days of deliberation, news was finally announced to the anxiously awaiting citizens: Prince Arless had committed suicide.  In the note he left behind, he confessed to the crime, saying, “I killed my father for my own personal reasons. As such, my brother Mordias should be named the next king. For the sake of the future, please do not let my sins discourage you from supporting and assisting my brother. Mordias, please take care of my wife and children. I was always a failure of a brother, but despite our differences, I know they will be safe in your care. Glory be to our kingdom forever.” The note was affixed to his body by the instrument of his suicide, a decorative blade that had hung in the room.

The lords and princes who had supported Arless--who had been first in line for the Leian and Verian throne--formed a ten-country alliance (The Eastern Three + the Northern Lands) against Mordias. They released a furious statement saying, “This note is a forgery! The Crown Prince was executed by Mordias’s men!” They insisted it was only natural that the next king be Arless’s own eldest son, Prince Bernard. Mordias’s supporters, on the other hand, argued, “The son of a murderer has no right to inherit.” Naturally, the two sides could not come to an accord, and negotiations swiftly broke down.

As an aside, the Apostle of the time was Silpha Veri Bronte, the 26th to hold the title. Ordinarily, the truths behind these matters would likely have been clarified through an oracle by the Apostle, but Silpha’s powers had been dwindling for years, and she received no divine inklings of any kind. As such, the Church remained neutral in this clash and the subsequent civil war.

The ten kingdoms who opposed Mordias established a government-in-exile in Leia set up around Bernard as its true king, who trusted in the leadership of his grandfather Carloman. They called themselves the Kingdom of Veria, though history knows them as the Eastern Powers. Their troops numbered around a hundred thousand strong.

Against them was Mordias’s faction, which mobilized the seven duchies’ fifty thousand soldiers as well as Veria’s own fifty thousand, putting them on the same footing as the Eastern Powers. This group, the Western Powers (also calling itself the Kingdom of Veria), invaded the Eastern Powers to quash the rebellion.

Bernard’s Surrender

Three years passed. On the banks of the great Sevall River, the armies of Prince Bernard and Prince Mordias waged a battle that ended in over ten thousand dead. In this fateful battle, the Leian King Carloman--who was the effective leader of the Eastern Powers--fell to the sword of General Bernstol (バーンストル, Reese’s father, who would later go on to become the Margrave of Sinon). The battle had been pyrrhic victory for the Western Powers, as neither side could continue fighting further after its conclusion.

Mordias, who had correctly gauged the unity of the Eastern Powers as shaken by Carloman’s death, sent an offer of ceasefire to Bernard. In it, Mordias lamented the misery caused by the bloody war and asked for a diplomatic resolution. Bernard, who had agreed to join forces with his grandfather whom he loved and trusted, had seen how the war had devastated their lands in three short years, and his heart was perturbed. After seeing how even the innocent were made to suffer, he had since begun to doubt his grandfather’s motives. Mordias’s words touched Bernard’s sense of justice, and he rode out to arrange for peace without delay.

However, the ceasefire offer was simply a machination of Prince Mordias. Bernard and his men were captured on the spot, and after spending two and a half years years captive in Valemtine, he was exiled to the penal colony in Mineva (ミネバ公国), a royal march in the frontiers of Barmoar (バルモア地方). There, Bernard would spend the next twelve years as a prisoner.

The Exiled Prince

[This takes place years after the conclusion of the civil war, but it serves as a bookend to Bernard’s story, so I have included it here.]

Mordias (now King Mordias IV) and his wife (the duchess of Diana) had two children, a son, Volcens (ウォルケンス), and a daughter, Sienna (シェンナ)--both born before Harmel VII’s demise. Volcens would later inherit the kingship, and Sienna the duchy of Diana. Before the civil war, Bernard had been engaged to Sienna; this arrangement had been decided years before at the time of Sienna’s birth (597 VAC) by King Harmel VII, hoping that the union of their houses would help reunite his incongruous sons. Mordias, though, did not share his late father’s sympathies, and at the time of his death, he had not seen his nephew Bernard in over a decade.

However, Mordias’s wife was sympathetic to Bernard’s plight, as they were both family and devout followers of the Church of Veria. Under her husband’s nose, she informed Sienna of the years-old arrangement. After Mordias’s death in 616 VAC, she sent Sienna (now 19 years old) to Bernard’s side to marry him. Thanks to this, Bernard became Duke Consort of Diana, and under Duchess Sienna’s command [and presumably with the new King Volcens’s permission], Bernard was released in 617 VAC. From there, he began to assist in the new war effort against the invading Raze Empire.

Translator’s note: Kaga erroneously states in one source that at the time of Bernard’s release, Mordias had not seen him in almost 15 years. This is a plot hole (which I’ve fixed in the above), since with some simple math, it’s clear that Mordias was definitely dead by the time Bernard was released.

Next Time: The Berwick Civil War (2)

[arielblue]

Making Disciples Until He Comes!

Making Disciples to All Nations Until He Comes – Matthew 28

In this chapter we can see that Jesus disappeared from the tomb. He did not fail his disciples saying that He will be resurrected after 3 days and He’s going to meet them at Galilee.

Matthew 26:31-32 “Then Jesus said to them, “All of you will be made to stumble because of Me this night, for it is written: ‘I will strike the Shepherd, And the sheep of the flock will be scattered. But after I have been raised, I will go before you to Galilee.”

Unya si Jesus miingon kanila, "Karong gabhiona kamong tanan managpanibog tungod kanako, kay nahisulat kini nga nagaingon, `Pagasamaran ko ang magbalantay, ug magakatibulaag ang mga karnero sa panon.` Apan tapus ako mabanhaw, mouna ako kaninyo sa pag-adto sa Galilea."

That previous conversation of Jesus towards His disciples was mentioned again through an angel.

Matthew 28:5-8 “But the angel answered and said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. 6 He is not here; for He is risen, as He said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay. 7 And go quickly and tell His disciples that He is risen from the dead, and indeed He is going before you into Galilee; there you will see Him. Behold, I have told you.”So they went out quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to bring His disciples word.

Apan ang manolunda miingon sa mga babaye, "Ayaw kamo kalisang; kay nasayud ako nga nangita kamo kang Jesus nga gilansang sa krus. Wala na siya dinhi; kay siya nabanhaw, sumala sa iyang giingon. Umari kamo, tan-awa ninyo ang dapit nga iyang nahimutangan. Ug dumali kamo pagpanglakaw ug suginli ninyo ang iyang mga tinun-an nga nabanhaw siya gikan sa mga patay, ug tan-awa, moadto siya nga magauna kaninyo sa Galilea; didto igakita ninyo siya. Tan-awa, gibalitaan ko na kamo." Ug sila midali pagpahawa sa lubnganan uban sa kahadlok ug dakung kalipay, ug nanalagan sila aron sa pagsugilon ngadto sa iyang mga tinun-an.

This is the very central point of Christianity that our person who died on the cross did not remain on the tomb, but He is risen and truly alive in fulfilling the will of His Father in heaven.

During at this time the disciples were very astonished of what they saw, Jesus who was with them for more than 3 years, appeared in their very naked eyes, not in bloody and wrapped with cloth like a walking zombies, but appeared to them in completeness, pure and its fullness of His glory;  and then they worship Him.

It is very interesting to understand for us, we are called believers and followers of Jesus Christ and we worship Him because He is alive. We worship Jesus because he is not still sleeping on the tomb, but was able to appear to the disciples. The God that we worship is not an “idea” or “imagination”, but He is real and exists. He is a very personal God that wants to have a relationship to us. That’s why Jesus appeared to them after he resurrected and before He ascended back to heaven because Jesus having this relationship to his followers.

Now, when the moment He will go back to His Father in heaven, he gave this very important commandment to his disciples.

Matthew 28:18-20 “And Jesus came and spoke to them, saying, “All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. 19 Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Amen.

The point here is that even though Jesus is not with them anymore, it doesn’t mean that they will not do anything, but He gave them a command to do and that is to testify the whole nations about Him. That they will move according to what Jesus has said to them – “make disciples of all nations”

Discipleship is what Jesus did on his last 3 years on earth aside from fulfilling the will of His Father; and why he chose certain people to be with him wherever and whenever they would go and stay. His last command is our first concern.

What is really discipleship?

           1. Understanding the very heart of God.

If you were able to read the entire Bible, the designed itself, the very thematic that prevail is about REDEMPTION of MAN from ETERNAL DEATH. God used different kinds of people, raised from different positions and tribes from the Old Testament until it reaches to the New Testament and chooses 12 people, But God’s plan of redemption to man did not end to those few people only yet it reaches to the Gentile nations.

John 3:16 “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.”

Even to this very common verse, let’s understand that the very heart of God, he loved all the people. He loves us so much. He loves you with an everlasting love. No human form of love that could replace the love of God that he has for you. The word discipleship is not just having followers, not just having a scheduled of lesson to teach, not just having all the theological knowledge imputing to the listeners, BUT discipleship is to discipline the surrendered heart according to the word of God; having the same heartbeat of Jesus. Why?    

Jeremiah 17:9-10 “The heart is deceitful above all things, And desperately wicked; Who can know it?  I, the Lord, search the heart, I test the mind, even to give every man according to his ways, According to the fruit of his doings.”

Ang kasingkasing malimbongon labaw sa tanang mga butang, ug hilabihan gayud pagkadautan: kinsay makasusi niini? Ako, si Jehova, magasusi sa hunahuna, ako magasulay sa kasingkasing, bisan pa ngani sa paghatag sa tagsatagsa ka tawo sumala sa iyang mga kagawian, sumala sa bunga sa iyang mga buhat.

Jesus would always test the heart of the disciples in every possible situation, if they would really understand why they are following Him. It is easy to identify what’s on the heart of a person when you are in pressured and stressed situation; therefore, Jesus allowed them to encounter trials so that they may learned of what Jesus intended for them to learn.

In making disciples is to understand the very heart of God. We cannot MAKE disciples if our heart is not yet made up. You cannot make another if you did not finish of what you are doing. You cannot proceed to the next level if you are not done from the fist level. Let us seek God continually to nurture our heart with the word of God, our heart must willing to accept discipline and correction, our heart must keep on humble and having a submissive spirit.

Because making discipleship is modelling yourself to others as you imitate Christ. Making discipleship is an issue of aligning one’s heart to God. There is a process going on, changing from old to a new one.

           Ephesians 5:1 Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children;

Tungod kay kamo mga hinigugma nga anak sa Dios, sundoga ninyo siya.

When we fully understand the very heart of God through His word, then it is not an issue anymore in obeying his commandment.

           2. Doing the will of God – Obedience

Now, in doing the will of God – our obedience to it will be exposed. Because the truly followers of Jesus Christ will be identified when you obey Him. Let’s read verse 20 –

“teaching them to observe all that I commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

When in making discipleship it’s not only focus on what the doctrine about the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, BUT teach them to OBSERVE ALL THAT I COMMANDED YOU. There must be an involvement going on. Jesus did not stay only in one place and talk a lot about spiritual things for His entire ministry, BUT Jesus brought his disciples to what is reality in doing the will of God. Reality means tangible – you can touch it, you can see it, you can feel it, you can relate to it.

Jesus taught the disciples how to observe by showing compassion and love to the people by performing miracles – blind man could see, dead man resurrected, feeding thousands of people and care for the little children and widows.

Jesus taught the disciples how to observe by giving honor to God by having personal prayer with His Father in heaven, Jesus would separate himself from the group and would talk to His Father, correcting the Pharisees in the emphasis of the Law and even rebuking the disciples of their unbelief.

The same thing for us today, in making disciples is allowing the people to be involved in the ministry going on inside the church. Contributing what’s the best for the church not to destroy the church just because of personal/selfishness concern.

When Jesus said this commandment to the disciples, the work is not only intended for them, it’s not only the disciples could make it, but OF ALL NATIONS. Meaning, everyone has commanded to make disciples and it does not require any certification that you are a graduate of a specific course, but the main requirement is our heart that willing to obey God’s instruction for us.

We have a lot of excuses why cannot obey this commandment. I am old already I don’t have enough strength to make it, I am very busy in my work, I do not know how to share it, I am a shy person, I do not want to be in the front of many people, and I do not care! Really!?

Then let us review a little bit for those people whom God used and make the world upside-down. Noah was a drunkard, Abraham was too old, Moses had stuttering problem, David was adulterer and murderer, Jonah ran from God, and most of the disciples were uneducated and even Peter denied Christ. Look at this people we are just the same with them, we are all failures, nobody is perfect, we are weak, limited and sinners yet it’s not accident why you are here listening to this message because God wants you to hear that we are called to do for His glory alone. We are all forgiven of our sins, hold us back to hell because Jesus died for you and loves you so much. But then it does not end only to that case, not only knowing Christ in our head, yet it should be in action.

Jesus said, “Love your neighbor as yourself” it doesn’t mean that you read it alone but show it in action. The best way to start in a discipleship when you involved in children’s ministry because for you are teaching about Jesus in low level and allowing them to observed what had Jesus teach.

“BUT teach them to OBSERVE ALL THAT I COMMANDED YOU” - We should have a teachable spirit so that we may able to observed / see what God wants us to do.

 My brothers and sisters in Christ, we are celebrating this church anniversary because God remained faithful and true to His promises. Let us be thankful to God that He continues to sustain this ministry for this is His ministry. We are all just his servants and stewards!

We are doing God’s work because certainly we know that we are called to do it for we understand the very heart of God and willing to obey His call.

Making disciples to all nations until He comes is a mandate for all of us here if you are truly a follower of Jesus Christ.

Let’s pray!