#so he's gathering a mass army

[rats-and-robots]

Hi, two certain mutuals of mine have injected a small dose of Abaddon brain rot directly into my soul and in return I have vomited it onto paper in the form of my Rogue Trader-turned-Daemon Prince meeting Abaddon for the first time.

---

“Ezekyle.”

It won’t get out of his head. How dare this usurper come into this meeting that he had so kindly agreed to attend. And he leads… with that.

A wall shudders and bends under the force of his fist, a roar escaping him.

The daemon had only said his name.

“Ezekyle.”

But he’d said it… in his Father’s voice. In Horus Luprical’s voice.

The audacity of it. The sheer foolishness of the daemon’s choice to mimic his genefather’s voice had rippled through every former wolf at the meeting. His throat had long since healed from the strain of yelling, yet he remembered the burn of it. His fist relaxes and his arm falls back to his side.

The worst of it all… The worst of it all, as hot tears fall down his cheeks and disappear against the heat of his power armor… is that he’d nearly not recognized it. He’d almost forgotten what his genefather sounded like. No, he had forgotten. He’d only been furious at the lack of formality in the first second, the lack of respect, to refer to him with the familiarity none had the right to, not these days. He hadn’t realized until one of his legionnaires had been the one to point it out. And he saw the shift in the daemon’s eyes as it stared at him, watched and tasted his reaction as it changed. From yelling into a silence of naught but rage, mouth gaping in such a deep fury that no words would come. 

… the ice that had speared his heart and had refused to stop spreading until the heat of rage had been sucked dry from him, now.

He wishes he had seen mirth or mockery in the daemon’s eyes. But instead he saw softness. The look of an apothecary about to administer a painful procedure followed by the acceptance of Abaddon’s reaction.

No, perhaps that wasn’t the worst of all.

—

The daemon, Rhu’zrak, is coiled on a balcony, watching the movements of his and Abaddon’s forces in their different and yet so similar ways. Both made up of multiple legions, once full of current purpose and confidence, and the other uncertain and wary of the other. To be honest, Rhu’zrak was also a bit surprised that the Black Legion had not left as angrily as their leader had left the initial meeting. He must have misjudged the Warmaster a touch.

Something curls at the edge of his psychic awareness. His feathers raise up off his neck in curiosity and his head tilts to the side to view his new visitor. Very few would be allowed in his presence…

Ah.

His teeth click, “Warmaster.” His voice is his own. Or, at least, it is the voice his mortal form used. His eyes turn back to the forces below.

“...Beacon.” Abaddon’s voice is low. Quiet.

A few brief beats of silence pass between them. The soft wind of the air sings with the acrid bite of the acidic ocean of the strange planet. It rustles the daemon’s feathers in the same way it rustle’s Abaddon’s hair.

“I will not apologize.”

“I did not come to ask for one. But you knew that.”

“...” The daemon’s head turns to look at him, “I did.”

A slow, measured breath, pale eyes searching the ground below as he approaches the railing of the tiny balcony. Eyes have lifted up. Seeing the two speaking, and calmly, is no doubt a curious sight.

“You want something, Warmaster.”

“If you know that, you know what it is. You read my mind, don’t you?”

“...I am trying not to. But doing so is like trying not to see pale fog on a field.”

Abaddon’s jaw rolls, gnawing on his lip in contemplation. Feathers and silks shift behind him as the Daemon moves, its tall form coming to stand next to him.

“I will not make you ask, but perhaps this is not the place.”

Abaddon’s eyes close… and he nods.

[lovifie]

Villager!Reader and Villager!Ghost They're in love but their families are enemies...

Masterlist - Smut | Fluff | 3489 words

💚A Village Apart💚

The Riley family, and yours, have a history of feuds and quarrels going back years, decades, and if there were writings to back it up, centuries.

It is a small village, where houses are inherited and everyone knows each other. Therefore, all the inhabitants of the small village are aware of the enmity between the families.

And being such a quiet village, the amusement of many arises from taking one side of the families and criticising the other.

It is natural at this point in the story, and each generation that is born the rest of the village waits for the children of each to marry so that they can see how the story continues.

The Riley family earned their name and respect for their construction work in the village. Rare is the house that his family did not build.

Simon began working in his father's shadow almost as soon as he could walk, and as soon as he could carry weight, he became a bishop in his father's small army of builders.

It was not because he was the boss's son that he had it easier, some even say he was the one who had it harder.

It is a hard job, with admirable physical effort, but unfortunately, it left most of the workers without energy to enjoy the little free time they had after a long day's work.

Simon found a reason to keep a little extra energy reserve for when his day was over.

And that reason is you.

Your family is not as well known as his, well, everyone knows each other in the village; but yours is accorded less respect than his.

Unlike his, your family is humble, with enough cattle to feed the family and sell the leftovers when there are any.

It is a humble job, with difficult working hours, considerable physical effort and often little profit or reward.

But there is always food on the table and animals to look after; the people may not appreciate your family's work as much as they should, but the innocent animal eyes you look into every day make it worth it.

Another reason driving you on was Simon.

It was difficult at first, as you both knew it was a forbidden relationship. Your families had told you again and again to stay away from each other's families.

"They are women, Simon. We haven't worked as hard as we have to stoop to that level."

"They think they're better than everyone else for moving stones, sweetheart. You don't deserve that treatment."

"If they see you hanging out with her, the rest of the people in the village will think they have the right to talk to us like we're equals too."

"They're machines, honey. They're not capable of producing emotions those Riley's, you deserve better than someone obsessed with money like that."

But still, despite everything; it was impossible to avoid the sidelong glances as you passed each other walking through town.

When you went to mass, when you went to the village fairs, when friends in common met.

Normally, for a girl like you to meet boys would be frowned upon; but with the village being so small, they were the boys you played with years ago and it was an idiotic feeling to deny such good friendships.

Besides, they were the perfect excuse for you to see him when he joined the meetings; which, curiously enIt had nothing to do with the fact that he would ask before attending if you were going to be there.

Many times in the evening Simon would be exhausted from working all day, but if he was told that you were going to be there, there was no physical exhaustion that would prevent him from seeing you.

Many times he would be on the verge of falling asleep when they were gathered together, waiting for the chance to be able to walk you home.

"A young lady like you shouldn't have to go home alone."

"It's a couple of steps, Simon."

"Not if we follow my route."

"Your route?"

"Yes... Do you want me to show it to you?"

It turned out, knowing the structure of all the houses in the village, Simon knew perfectly well what route to follow that kept you hidden from the eyes of all the villagers.

The first night, it was pretty much just awkward silence. Both of you still internally debating whether it was worth the possible quarrel with your families just to meet the other person.

But the second night you got back together, the decision was made and the conversation flowed as if you were lifelong friends.

Innocent questions about each other's lives evolved into questions about each other's future plans,

You both decided to ignore the voice in your mind that told you not to continue, if anyone in the village, and God willing, anyone in your families, found out; a war would break out.

Your family was much more permissive than his, which meant that if you dared to associate with Simon, they would send you to a convent or marry you off to someone else.

You knew that those were the good options, you preferred not to think about what might happen to him.

It was easier to forget the possible consequences, especially when your hands brushed as you walked. When you felt the heat emanating from Simon's body, warming the side of your body that walked beside him. He walked slower, both so you could keep up effortlessly and to slow down the walk so he could spend more time with you.

In spite of everything, and knowing full well everything you stood to lose if it was discovered. It was during the harvest festival that Simon kissed you for the first time. Hidden in the barn of your family's farm, lying on the hay.

You were both lying down, with you on your back and your head resting on Simon's arm and him lying next to you on his side.

His other hand, the one not under you, rested delicately on your waist, pulling you close to him as if afraid you were going to run away.

His lips were full and warm on yours; a kiss almost innocent and overflowing with inexperience on both sides. Your hand slowly moved up to his jawline, stroking the nascent hair of his beard.

You were both pushing against each other, needing each other's touch and proximity. A mess of tongues to the point that you no longer knew whose was which, as your hands travelled up and down each other's body.

It is because of that proximity that you found it impossible to ignore as Simon's shaft grew in size and hardened against your thigh, the discreet hip movements seeking more friction and rubbing.

"Simon" You called out to him, panic invading your senses.

"Easy... I don't mean to do anything but kiss your lips, sweetheart. But I can't help it when I finally have you in my arms after so long dreaming about it."

And he kept true to his word, his hands never went beyond your hips nor were his lips more daring than kisses at the corner of your lips.

If you noticed moisture on your thigh on the side where he was, you said nothing. Nor did you mention the growing wetness between your legs.

But once you tasted the honey, you couldn't help but visit the hive.

Until then, it had been easy to avoid temptation; you didn't know the sweet sensation, the warmth of each other, the security of being together, the desire, the passion, the possibilities....

But you had to continue to be careful, you didn't know when someone could surprise you.

But when the innocent kisses in the barn turned into something more than kisses on the lips, you could easily expect the punishment you were facing.

"Simon, we can't" You moaned as you noticed Simon's hand move up from your ankle up towards your thigh underneath your dress.

"Why, why delay the inevitable when I know you're the one for me?" he murmured with his lips pressed against the skin of your neck, kissing you wetly and raising every hair on your body.

"But we can't..." You tried to insist, but no longer with any strength against his hand. "I must come pure to the marriage, Simon. Our parents would never forgive."

"Then let us marry, my love. Here and now. The moon and the stars as witnesses that I am yours far more than you will ever be mine, that I was born decades ago but not until I joined you did my heart begin to beat. Witnesses of my love, that there will not be a day that you wake up that is not in my arms, that there will not be a day that you wake up that you do not feel loved. That my work in this life will be to love you each and every day of it. That I don't care if I go thirsty and hungry every day if at nightfall it is your arms that pick me up, that there is no wound or blow that hurts me like when you reject me, when you take me away from you. Don't you realise, love? Don't you realise that I need you more than air? I promise you, my love. That if you accept me you will never ever regret it."

One kiss from your lips was all the answer I needed, the seal of the contract of your unorthodox union.

He kissed you back with the same fervour, a moan escaping his throat as he finally savoured you without thoughts in his mind that would take him away from you and the now.

He moved his hand under your dress, lifting your petticoats in the same way so he could reach your wet folds.

You whimper against his mouth, the touch of the man igniting something inside of you that was waiting asleep in the depth of your body. It is easy for his finger to slip inside between the folds, arching your back at the feeling of the intrusion.

You feel his lips on your jaw, travelling calmly to your ear where he stays professing his love for you, making you mewl when it mixes with the feeling between your legs.

“Simon!” You moan when he adds a second finger, the palm of his hand rubbing against your clit sending a shockwave up your column

You are still surrounded by the feeling of prohibition, the tension of possible discovery with its corresponding punishment. But the sensation of Simon's fingers so deep inside you leaves your mind blurred and you can only moan in moans and whispers of his name, urging him to continue, to give you more, to love you as intensely as you love him.

Your self of mere weeks ago would drag you away from the farmer, scolding you for this lack of decorum, this promiscuity.

But then you look into Simon's eyes, and you doubt which shines brighter; the love that overflows from his eyes or the moon that shines from the window.

"You are the most beautiful woman my eyes have ever had the grace to glimpse, my darling." He says suddenly, forcing you to tug at his shirt to crash your lips to his so he doesn't see your blush.

The man who is normally so stoic, perfectly cordial but not saying a word beyond the obligatory. Suddenly turned into a poet in your presence.

If it weren't for his broad fingers caressing that spot inside you that you didn't know existed and that has you swaying your hips to receive his every wrist movement, you would think beyond the now. Of how you will continue this without anyone knowing, how you will continue together when you know perfectly well that none of your families will allow it.

But not now, now all you can think about is how good Simon makes you feel and how you need him to give you more.

You find it impossible to ignore as Simon continues to move his hips against your side, the hardness of his crotch obvious and pressed against your thigh.

You lower your hand, feeling it's only fair to return the favour; but before you even reach the waistband of his pants, Simon takes your hand, raising it to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

"Don't worry about it, love. I just want to make you feel good, don't worry about me." His lips travel up to your neck once more, leaving wet kisses and licking the spot that makes you cry harder.

There's a knot in the centre of your stomach, which becomes tighter and tighter as Simon continues to touch you. Your hand gripping his shirt squeezes tighter and tighter as the knot tightens.

Never before have you felt this sensation that has you with your face tight, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed and your lip between your teeth to prevent a scream from escaping.

This is futile when you feel the knot suddenly loosen, feeling as if your body is drained of energy. Biting your lip proves useless in preventing the moan that escapes your lips before Simon presses his hand over your mouth to prevent the entire village from hearing you.

His hand continues to move, slowing and slowly slipping out of you; the wet sound it emits as it leaves once again causing your cheeks to flush.

"Simon... Let's do it... You said it, why delay the inevitable." You say, repeating his words.

He again touches his lips to yours, letting your bodies speak when you are at a loss for words.

You notice him moving, sitting up to kneel between your legs. He lifts your dress, leaving you completely exposed to him with your legs wrapped around his wide hips.

Your glistering folds shine on the moonlight calling him in, but the pain on his groin makes him selfish enough to limit himself to free his hard shaft from his pants, slightly slapping your sweet cunt with it.

It makes your legs shake and a whimper to leave your lips, desperation flooding from you as your hand goes down between your legs. Simon can't help but stare as your inexpert hand finds his tip making his shudder when you press it against your wetness.

His hips move involuntarily pushing himself between your hand and your folds, making his moan your name. His hands lands on your hips, physically stopping himself from moving more against you knowing perfectly fine he wouldn't last long.

There are already beads of his milky seed threatening to spill from his tip, but it is your hand the one that slowly pushes him lower until it catches on your entrance making the both of you shudder.

He looks at you, catching you looking back at him; last chance to pull back. But your hand moves to his hip, silently urging him forward and he gladly complies.

He slowly pushes in, his length getting engulfed inch by inch into your warm cunt making him whine in unison with you. The stretch makes you hiss just for a second before the juices make it easy for him to move.

He moves back and forth torturously slow, entering inch by inch, moaning when he finally bottoms out. The two of you need a moment to adjust; you to the feeling of getting filled to the brim and him to the feeling on your tight muscles choking him in.

Simon is no stranger to the feeling of his callous hand around his length, already used to the constricting feeling; but never in a thousand years would it compare fairly to the feeling of you around him.

You clench around him, desperate for his movement; but it sends him to bend forwards, his hands resting beside your head. But then he comes face to face with the image of you sprawled under him.

Your legs spread to adjust to his wide hips between them, your folds just as spread to let his girth into your core, your soft hands resting on his ribs to feel him close, your hair messy resting on the hay, eyes half closed blinded by the lust, lips glistering with the mix of saliva from both and cheeks blushed as if by the cold of the morning.

He realises then and there that you are the only thing he needs to survive. That he will fight and kill God himself if he dares to try and pull you away from him, let alone a mere mortal. That he will love you for as long as you love him, and that when you stop doing it he will make you fall in love with him again. That he will travel to the deepest level of hell and back if Death feared to steal you from him.

His hips begin to move, making you arch your back when he finally does and it urges him to compose himself only to manage to feel you come undone around his length.

He has a clumsy rhythm to it, voluntary and involuntary thrust mixing together in a weird dance but still consistent enough to make you feel the knot on your stomach tighten again.

He feels it too, when you start to clench around his length. Softly crying his name as your hands move down to his thighs, urging him to move closer, deeper.

He sees how you close your eyes, head falling back with your mouth open in a silent cry with your wet cunt choking harder and harder his shaft, until you finally breathe out, a moan loud enough to awaken the dead from the tomb and wetness making his way around his length when you finally fall over the edge.

Simon barely has enough control to pull out, the first dribble of his milky sticky spent falling on your pubes before he spurt thick and heavy over your stomach; the change from you welcoming cunt to his dry hand almost keeping him from coming.

He looks down, his seed painting your body, marking you his, soft abdomen moving up and down with your difficulted breathing from the orgasm pulled from you.

“Do you really love me, Simon?” You suddenly ask, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The fear of the consequences finally setting in on your minds now that lust is no longer driving it.

“I do, love. I love you more than anything on this land.” He says, still breathless as he bends down to kiss you again.

Tomorrow, when you meet across the church; the two of you will act as if you didn't know each other. You will ignore the dull pain between your legs and he will ignore the pull of his pants when he remembers how pretty you looked under him.

Every other night the two of you will meet, back in the barn. Professing love and exploring each other's bodies.

And in a couple of months, when you come crying to him, holding onto his shirt; about how your father has told you that he is marrying you to another man. He will hug you, consoling you, and tell you to meet again two days later.

When he will arrive, in his father's cart being pulled by his two better horses; and the two of you will disappear from the village at the crack of dawn, never to be seen again.

In the village there were no more arguments between the families, both ashamed that they lost their kid to their stubbornness. That if instead of fighting they would have supported the two of you, they would have met their grandkids years later and the eternal fight between the families would have ended in a love story.

Instead, Simon and you settled down far away from the village. Where nobody knew where any of you were, and where everyone was told to address you as Mrs. Riley. Where you build your home and your family, and you both lived happily ever after

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (10)

- Summary: - It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 9

- Next part: 11

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The Crown’s forces gathered on the ridge overlooking the barren landscape of the Dornish border. Rows of soldiers stood at the ready, shields raised, spears glinting under the harsh sun, their faces set with grim resolve. The wind carried the distant sound of drums and war horns, a steady beat from the Dornish army assembling in the valley below. The smell of dust and sweat clung to the men, the anticipation of battle hanging heavy over the field.

Captain Mallor, the commander of your ground forces, surveyed the scene with narrowed eyes. “They’re massing for a charge,” he muttered to his lieutenant, his voice low but tense. “We’re outnumbered, but if we hold the ridge, we might stand a chance.”

The lieutenant nodded, though his face was pale with the realization of what lay ahead. “Where is the prince?” he asked quietly. “We’ll need him… and his dragon.”

The captain’s eyes flicked to the sky, scanning the clear horizon. “He’ll come,” he said, though even he couldn’t hide the uncertainty in his voice.

Below them, the Dornish army moved like a tide, their brightly colored banners snapping in the wind, the glint of their spears and swords creating a sea of metal and bloodlust. They were ready, and they were coming. Soon.

But then, just as the tension seemed about to break, there was a distant, thunderous roar that echoed across the valley, causing every head to snap upward.

From the clouds above, Silverwing appeared, her massive wings beating the air with a power that made the ground tremble. You sat atop her, your body braced against the saddle as she descended swiftly, the sun catching the glint of her silvery scales. Below, the soldiers on both sides stared in awe and fear as the great dragon loomed above them, casting a shadow over the battlefield.

“There he is!” someone shouted from the lines of your men, their spirits lifting at the sight of you and Silverwing.

“Ready the archers!” Captain Mallor barked, his voice carrying over the clamor as Silverwing swooped down, her powerful wings stirring up clouds of dust.

You could feel the tension of the moment in your bones, your heart pounding with both anticipation and dread. This was it. The Dornish army was larger than expected, and you knew they had prepared for you. Reports of scorpion ballistas had been filtering in for weeks, but now, as you flew over the mass of their forces, you could see the large siege weapons being wheeled into position.

Silverwing let out another deafening roar, one that shook the ground and sent a shudder through the enemy ranks. But the Dornish were not cowed so easily. They were battle-hardened and knew that dragons, while powerful, were not invincible.

You leaned forward, giving Silverwing the command to dive.

With a terrifying grace, Silverwing folded her wings and plunged downward, a stream of dragonfire spilling from her open jaws. The fire hit the front ranks of the Dornish army like a hammer, the flames scorching the earth, leaving nothing but charred bodies and burning wreckage in their wake. Screams filled the air as the heat of the flames spread, and men scrambled to avoid the dragon’s wrath.

But as you circled for another pass, you caught sight of the scorpions—massive ballistas mounted on wooden platforms, their operators frantically turning the cranks to aim the deadly harpoons at you.

“They’re aiming for us!” you shouted to yourself, tightening your grip on the reins as you urged Silverwing to veer left. Her wings flared, and you felt the rush of wind as she twisted away, avoiding the first volley of harpoons that whizzed through the air, missing by mere feet.

“Hold steady!” you commanded, but your heart raced as you saw more scorpions being loaded, their deadly spears now pointed directly at you.

Silverwing banked hard, her wings cutting through the air as she avoided another harpoon. But in the chaos of the battlefield, you didn’t see the third scorpion until it was too late.

A sharp whistle split the air, and you had only a second to react. You yanked on the reins, pulling Silverwing into a sudden roll, but the harpoon grazed your side, tearing through your armor and ripping a searing line of pain across your ribs. You gritted your teeth, gasping as the wound burned, blood soaking through your tunic.

Silverwing let out a shriek of alarm, her body jerking to the side as she felt your pain through your bond. “I’m fine!” you shouted, though the throbbing agony in your side made it difficult to speak. “Just keep flying!”

You gripped the reins tighter, ignoring the hot, sticky sensation of blood running down your skin. Another scorpion fired, and this time, Silverwing was ready. She spun in the air, dodging the harpoon with ease before unleashing another blast of fire, scorching the siege weapon and the men operating it. The ballista exploded into a burst of wood and flame, sending debris flying in all directions.

But the battle was far from over. The Dornish soldiers, seeing their weapons destroyed, began to surge forward, their commanders barking orders as they launched a full-scale charge toward your forces.

“Now!” Captain Mallor shouted from below, raising his sword. The archers let loose their arrows in a deadly volley, and the front lines of the Dornish army fell in droves. But still, they pressed on, determined to reach the ridge and break your lines.

You urged Silverwing lower, her great wings beating the air as she descended once more. The battle below was chaos—soldiers clashing, shields splintering, the sounds of swords clanging and men screaming filling the air. You could see your forces struggling to hold the line, the weight of the Dornish numbers pushing them back.

“We need to break their charge,” you muttered, scanning the battlefield for the best point of attack.

Silverwing growled in response, her body coiled with fury, ready to strike. You guided her toward the thickest part of the enemy lines, where the Dornish were pressing hardest. With a flick of the reins, you gave her the signal, and she opened her jaws wide, releasing another torrent of dragonfire.

The flames tore through the enemy ranks, leaving devastation in their wake. Men screamed as they were consumed by fire, their armor melting to their skin. Horses bucked and fled in terror, and the ground itself seemed to burn as Silverwing’s fire swept across the battlefield.

But even as you rained fire upon the enemy, you knew this would not be enough. The Dornish were relentless, their resolve unshaken by the dragon’s fury. They pushed forward, their commanders shouting for them to press the advantage.

Your side burned with pain, but you ignored it, focusing only on the battle, on the roar of Silverwing’s breath, and on the enemy that had to be stopped.

As the battle raged on, the Dornish forces began to falter, their morale breaking under the relentless assault of dragon and steel. But you knew there would be no easy victory here. The fight had only just begun, and the price of protecting the realm would be paid in blood.

But for now, the Crown’s forces held. And Silverwing, her scales glistening with blood and soot, let out one final, victorious roar that echoed across the battlefield, sending a shudder of fear through the remnants of the Dornish army.

The mood in the Tower of the Hand was suffocating, the air heavy with unspoken words as Otto Hightower sat in his study, his fingers drumming impatiently against the edge of his desk. His brow was deeply furrowed, his mind clearly preoccupied as he stared at the open window, his thoughts far beyond the confines of the Red Keep. The months had dragged on since you had flown off to the Dornish border, and with each passing day, Otto’s frustrations grew. Plans were stalling, opportunities slipping through their grasp, all while the realm waited for the prince’s return—if he ever returned.

A soft rustling of fabric caught his attention, and he turned to see Alicent standing quietly by the door, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. She had come at his summons, but the look on her face revealed she knew this conversation would not be a pleasant one. She could sense her father’s agitation in the set of his jaw, the tightness around his eyes.

“Alicent,” Otto said without preamble, gesturing for her to enter. “Come in. We need to speak.”

She stepped into the room, her movements graceful but hesitant. The weight of the past months had settled heavily on her shoulders, her inner turmoil visible in the slight slump of her posture. She stood before her father, her hands still clasped tightly, as if bracing herself for what was to come.

“Yes, Father?” Alicent asked softly, her voice betraying the nerves she felt. She had been waiting for this conversation, knowing it was only a matter of time before Otto’s frustrations turned toward her.

Otto’s frown deepened as he stood from his chair, pacing slowly around the room, his hands behind his back. He didn’t look at her directly as he spoke, his voice low but filled with irritation. “It’s been months, Alicent. Months since the prince left for the Dornish border, and in that time, we’ve made no progress. None.”

Alicent’s heart sank at his words. She had known this was coming, but hearing the disappointment in her father’s voice still stung deeply. She shifted uncomfortably, not quite meeting his gaze as he continued.

“We had a plan,” Otto went on, his tone growing sharper. “A plan that hinged on your ability to gain the prince’s favor. And yet, here we are. Months later, and you have nothing to show for it.”

Alicent flinched at the harshness of his words, but she forced herself to remain composed, though her voice wavered slightly as she responded. “I know, Father. But… the prince—he’s been away for so long. There was little I could do once he left.”

Otto stopped pacing, turning to face her with a sharp look in his eyes. “And whose fault is that? You had your chance, Alicent. You had the opportunity to win his trust, his affection, but you let it slip away. Now, we’re stuck waiting for him to return, if he even does.”

Alicent’s throat tightened, and she felt the sting of tears threatening to well in her eyes. She blinked them back, her fingers twisting nervously in front of her. She knew her father was right, at least in part. She had tried to win your favor, but her efforts had always felt hollow, overshadowed by your bond with Rhaenyra. And now, with you gone, she felt as though she had failed entirely.

“I’ll be better prepared when he returns,” she said quietly, her voice filled with quiet determination despite the sadness that weighed on her heart. “I’ll be patient, and I’ll make sure I’m ready.”

Otto raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a scornful smile. “Patient? Prepared?” He shook his head. “Alicent, by the time he returns, it may already be too late. The realm moves on, and so do alliances. If you don’t act now, we’ll lose everything we’ve worked for.”

Alicent’s chest tightened, her heart pounding in her ears as she struggled to find the right words. She had always been obedient to her father’s wishes, always tried to meet his expectations. But with you, it had been different. The feelings she harbored for you were not just strategy or duty—they were something deeper, something that made it difficult to see you as just another piece in the game her father played. She had grown fond of you, despite her attempts to push those feelings aside.

“But I can do this,” Alicent insisted, her voice firmer this time. “I won’t fail again.”

Otto sighed heavily, walking toward the window and looking out over the Red Keep. His shoulders were tense, his frustration evident in the way his hands gripped the windowsill. “You need to set aside your foolish feelings for the prince,” he said, his tone cold. “This isn’t about love, Alicent. It never was. It’s about securing our position, securing the future of our house.”

The words hit her like a physical blow, and she recoiled slightly, her eyes widening in shock. Her father’s bluntness wasn’t new, but hearing him dismiss her emotions so callously hurt more than she had expected. She had tried to hide her feelings, even from herself, but now they were laid bare, exposed and dismissed in the same breath.

“I…” Alicent started to speak, but her voice faltered, her hands trembling at her sides. She couldn’t deny that part of her had hoped for something more than mere duty in her interactions with you, and now, her father had torn that hope away.

Otto turned back to face her, his expression hard. “You had your chance, and you wasted it,” he said coldly. “Now we have to rethink our approach.”

Alicent lowered her head, trying to swallow the lump in her throat as she fought back the sting of tears. She didn’t want to appear weak in front of her father, not now. But the weight of his words crushed her, leaving her feeling as though she had failed not just him, but herself as well.

“What… what do you want me to do, Father?” she asked quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Otto’s eyes gleamed with a new idea, his lips curling into a calculating smile as he stepped closer to her. “The king,” he began slowly, his voice taking on a more measured tone. “Your efforts may not have worked with the prince, but King Viserys… he’s been suffering since he sent his son away. He’s lonely, grieving the absence of his heir.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed, her confusion evident as she looked at her father. “Father, what are you saying?”

Otto’s gaze sharpened, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. “You will go to him, Alicent. You will offer him comfort.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Father, I… I don’t understand. You want me to—”

“You’ll offer him comfort,” Otto repeated, his voice firm. “The king is vulnerable right now. He needs someone by his side, someone he can rely on. And that someone should be you.”

Alicent shook her head, stepping back from her father, her heart racing. “But I… Father, I can’t…”

Otto’s expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. “You will do what’s necessary, Alicent. This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. If you can win the king’s trust, his affection, we can secure our position in the realm. You’ll ensure our future.”

Alicent’s chest tightened, her mind reeling from the implications of what her father was asking of her. “But… but I care for the prince,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I thought… I thought I could—”

Otto cut her off with a sharp look. “The prince is gone, Alicent. And when he returns, it may be too late to secure anything with him. You must focus on the here and now. The king is the key to our future.”

Alicent stared at her father, her heart breaking as the weight of his expectations crashed down on her. She had always done as he asked, always played the part he had molded her into. But this… this was different. This felt like a betrayal, not just to herself, but to you as well.

“I’ll do what you ask,” she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “But…” She hesitated, tears welling in her eyes. “I… I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

Otto’s expression softened for a moment, but only briefly. “We all must make sacrifices, Alicent,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Now go. The king needs comfort. Give it to him.”

Alicent nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat as she turned to leave the room, her heart heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead.

The air in King Viserys’s private chambers was charged with strife, the kind that clung to the walls and weighed down every breath. Rhaenyra stood, her fists clenched tightly at her sides, her chest rising and falling with the force of her anger. Across the room, Viserys sat in his high-backed chair, his face red from the shouting match that had already unfolded between them. His eyes were sharp with frustration, though beneath it all was the unmistakable sorrow of a father who felt cornered by his own decisions.

“I will not marry him!” Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, fierce and defiant, her usually calm demeanor shattered. She paced the floor, unable to stand still, her mind racing as the weight of her father’s words sank in. “Lord Jason Lannister? He is arrogant, conceited, and—"

“You will marry him,” Viserys interrupted sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are a princess, and this is your duty. Lord Jason is the perfect match to solidify the alliance between the Crown and House Lannister. This is not up for debate.”

Rhaenyra spun on her heel, her face a mixture of fury and disbelief. “I don’t care about alliances, Father!” she shouted, her voice trembling with emotion. “I will not be bargained off like a prize to someone like Jason Lannister. You know nothing of him—he’s vain, pompous, and entirely insufferable! I refuse to marry him, and I will not be forced into this.”

Viserys’s jaw tightened, and he slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair, the sound echoing through the chamber. “You will marry him, Rhaenyra!” he bellowed, rising from his seat, his face flushed with anger. “You think you can run from your duty forever? This is not a choice! You are the heir to the Iron Throne, and you will marry as I see fit. That is the end of it.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes burned with tears she refused to shed, her heart pounding with rage. She stared at her father, her lip trembling as the weight of his words pressed down on her. He had always been the one person she thought would understand her, the one person she could count on. But now, here he was, forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want with a man she despised.

“This is about more than just duty,” she said, her voice lower now, but no less intense. “It’s about control. You married Alicent, and now you think you can dictate the rest of my life. But I won’t let you. I won’t.”

Viserys’s face softened, if only for a moment, at the mention of his new wife. The two years since his marriage to Alicent had not been easy on his relationship with Rhaenyra, and he knew this decision would only drive a deeper wedge between them. But he couldn’t back down. Not now.

“This is the way things are done, Rhaenyra,” he said, his voice calmer but still resolute. “You must understand that everything I do is for the good of the realm. You will be queen one day, and this marriage is essential to securing the stability of your future rule.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, her jaw clenched in defiance. “I will never marry Jason Lannister,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the force of her determination. “Never.”

Before Viserys could respond, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the chamber, her footsteps heavy with anger. The guards at the door flinched as she passed, their eyes wide with alarm at the sight of the princess so visibly enraged.

“Princess!” Ser Criston Cole called out from down the corridor, his voice filled with concern as he hurried to catch up with her. He had been waiting just outside the king’s chambers, listening to the raised voices within. Now, seeing Rhaenyra’s furious expression, he knew something terrible had happened.

She didn’t stop, didn’t slow her pace as she marched toward her chambers, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to control the storm of emotions inside her. Ser Criston followed her closely, his armor clinking with every hurried step.

“Princess, please,” he said gently, though there was an edge of urgency in his voice. “What happened? What has the king said?”

Rhaenyra didn’t answer. She couldn’t. If she spoke, she feared the anger boiling inside her would explode in a way she couldn’t control. Instead, she pushed open the door to her chambers with more force than necessary, the wood creaking under her hands.

Once inside, she finally stopped, her back to Ser Criston as she stood in the middle of the room, her chest heaving. She was shaking, her body tense with the intensity of her emotions. Ser Criston, ever respectful, lingered just inside the door, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Leave me,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice thick with barely suppressed emotion. “I need to be alone.”

Ser Criston hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning her form for any sign of what might have transpired. But he knew better than to press her. He bowed his head slightly. “As you wish, Princess,” he said softly, before stepping back into the hallway and closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Rhaenyra let out a shuddering breath, her entire body trembling with fury and despair. She paced the room for a moment, her mind racing with thoughts of rebellion, of defiance. How could her father do this to her? How could he expect her to marry a man like Jason Lannister, a man she had no love for, no respect for?

The thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage, bound to a man who cared only for power and prestige, made her stomach churn. She could feel the tears pricking at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Without another thought, she rushed to her writing desk, her fingers trembling as she grabbed a piece of parchment and quill. She had to reach out to you. You were the only one who would understand, the only one who might be able to help her.

Her quill scratched furiously across the parchment as she poured her heart into the letter. She told you everything—her father’s plan, the marriage she was being forced into, her anger, her fear. She wrote of how much she missed you, how much she needed you by her side now more than ever.

As she finished, she wiped away a stray tear that had fallen onto the parchment, smudging the ink slightly. She folded the letter carefully, sealing it with wax before hurrying to the window.

She could see the rookery from her chambers, the tower where the ravens were kept. She had used this method before, sending secret messages to you during your time away, but this one felt more urgent, more desperate. She knew that by the time the letter reached you, it might be too late. But she had to try. You were her only hope.

Rhaenyra called for her handmaiden, who arrived quickly at her command. “Take this to the rookery,” Rhaenyra said, her voice steady but filled with urgency. “It must go to my brother at once.”

The handmaiden nodded, taking the letter from her hands and hurrying out of the room. Rhaenyra watched her go, her heart racing with both fear and hope. She turned back to the window, staring out at the sky, her thoughts with you, wondering when you would return—if you would return before it was too late.

The gardens of the Red Keep were a tranquil oasis amidst the bustling halls and chambers, but today, there was no peace to be found in them for Rhaenyra. She sat on a stone bench, staring out at the delicate flowers and perfectly pruned hedges, her mind far from the beauty surrounding her. The announcement of her marriage to Jason Lannister had been like a thunderclap in her life, shaking her to the core, and her heart was still simmering with anger and frustration. She had promised herself she wouldn’t let this happen, yet here she was, being forced into a match she despised.

The sound of footsteps approaching stirred her from her thoughts, and she didn’t need to look to know who it was. Daemon. His presence was as unmistakable as the swagger in his step, the kind of casual arrogance that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He appeared beside her, leaning against a tree with a faint smirk on his lips.

“You look like you’ve been banished to the ends of the earth,” Daemon teased, his voice laced with amusement. “What’s wrong, niece? Did someone steal your favorite lemon cake?”

Rhaenyra shot him a glare, her temper flaring. “It must be so easy for you to jest,” she snapped, her voice biting, “when I’m the one being bargained off like some trinket to marry Jason Lannister and be whisked away to Casterly Rock.”

Daemon’s smirk only widened at her outburst, clearly enjoying her ire. “A Lannister, eh? I’ve heard worse fates,” he replied with a lazy shrug. “Though I can see why the idea of being stuffed away in a gilded cage at Casterly Rock might not sit well with you.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, her anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t understand. It’s not just the marriage—it’s everything. It’s—” She clenched her fists in her lap, her voice trembling with frustration. “He promised me.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his amusement fading slightly as he leaned in, curious. “Who promised you what?”

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, and she looked away, her voice low and filled with anger. “My brother. He promised me that he wouldn’t let this happen. He swore he would protect me from being forced into a marriage I didn’t want. And yet here I am, on the verge of being shipped off to marry a man I can’t stand.”

Daemon was silent for a moment, studying her carefully. His amusement returned, though it was tempered now with something more thoughtful. “Ah, so it’s not just the Lannister match that has you fuming,” he mused, his tone sly. “It’s that your dear brother isn’t here to sweep in and save you.”

Rhaenyra whipped her head toward him, eyes blazing. “He lied to me!” she nearly shouted, her voice filled with betrayal. “He promised. And now he’s been away for years, fighting at the borders while I’m left here, alone, to deal with this madness.”

Daemon didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes glinted with something akin to understanding. He knew what it felt like to be betrayed by family, to be pushed aside for the sake of duty. But he wasn’t about to offer her comfort—not in the way others might. Instead, he leaned back, his tone casual.

“Well, perhaps your brother had other matters on his mind. War does tend to make men forget promises,” he said, though the amusement had returned to his voice. “Or maybe… he didn’t forget at all, but simply couldn’t stop this from happening.”

Rhaenyra pressed her lips together, trying to compose herself, though her hands were still shaking with rage. The thought that you might have been powerless to stop this was one she hadn’t wanted to entertain. She had put her faith in you, had believed in your promises, and now it felt as though that trust had been shattered.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down, and after a moment of silence, she spoke again, her tone cooler, more controlled. “I heard about Lady Rhea,” she said, shifting the conversation. “A hunting accident, wasn’t it? Her horse fell, and… well, it seems you’re now free to marry again.”

Daemon’s smirk returned, though there was a darkness behind his eyes. “Yes, my dear wife,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It seems she brought her death upon herself. She always had an uncanny ability to make unfortunate decisions.”

Rhaenyra snorted, crossing her arms. “I’m sure her death has made your bride-to-be, Laena Velaryon, quite ecstatic.”

Daemon chuckled, the amusement dancing in his eyes once more. “Laena is a smart girl,” he replied, lifting his gaze toward the sky. “She knows what’s good for her. Besides, I doubt she’ll mourn Lady Rhea’s passing too much.”

Before Rhaenyra could respond, Daemon’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced toward the entrance to the gardens. “Speaking of wives, your new stepmother seems rather keen on finding you,” he said with a smirk, nodding in the direction of the approaching figure. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Rhaenyra turned to see Alicent Hightower making her way across the gardens, her steps tentative but determined. Rhaenyra’s frown deepened as she watched Daemon give her a mock salute before he walked off, leaving her to face Alicent alone.

Alicent approached slowly, her green gown trailing softly behind her, her hands clasped in front of her as if she were holding back from reaching out to Rhaenyra. “Rhaenyra,” she said gently, her voice soft but tinged with hesitation. “I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to… talk.”

Rhaenyra didn’t bother hiding the annoyance in her voice. “Have you now? Come to offer more congratulations on my impending marriage, or perhaps to check if I’m still in one piece?”

Alicent winced at the sharpness of her tone but pressed on, her gaze filled with an earnestness that Rhaenyra found both irritating and exhausting. “I wanted to know how you were feeling,” she said quietly, her words careful. “I know this marriage was unexpected, and I… I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Rhaenyra let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “How I’m feeling? You really want to know how I’m feeling, Alicent?” She turned to face her fully, her eyes narrowing. “I feel like I’ve been betrayed. Like everyone around me is conspiring to push me into a life I don’t want. And you? You stand there, pretending to care, when you’re part of the very system that’s caging me in.”

Alicent’s face flushed with hurt, but she stood her ground, her voice soft but steady. “Rhaenyra, I do care. I didn’t want this to happen either. I know you don’t want to marry Jason Lannister, and if I could—”

“If you could?” Rhaenyra interrupted, her voice rising with anger. “But you can’t, can you? You’re as much a pawn in this as I am. Except you’ve made peace with it. You’ve accepted your place, married my father, and now you think you can offer me comfort?”

Alicent’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she didn’t back down. “I just wanted to help,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

Rhaenyra shook her head, her heart hardening as she turned away from her former friend. “There’s nothing you can do to help me, Alicent,” she said coldly. “So don’t bother.”

With that, she left the gardens, leaving Alicent standing there, tears spilling silently down her cheeks.

The sun hung low on the horizon, lazy rays sprayed across the barren landscape of the Dornish border. The air was filled with dust and the stench of blood, remnants of the brutal fighting that had raged for many moons. Your men, tired but unbroken, stood along the ridgeline, watching as the enemy forces began to pull back. The Dornish army, once so bold and numerous, now appeared ragged, their numbers thinned by the relentless engagements, their morale shattered.

You stood at the crest of the hill, overlooking the retreating forces, Silverwing perched nearby, her gleaming silver scales catching the last light of day. Her low, rumbling breaths were the only sound breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the battlefield. Your hand rested on the hilt of Blackfyre, your eyes narrowed as you watched the disarray below, the remnants of the Dornish army attempting to regroup, though their retreat was obvious.

Ser Kevven Moriggen, a grizzled and experienced knight who had fought by your side throughout this campaign, rode up beside you. His armor was dented and smeared with dirt and blood, but his eyes still gleamed with the fierce determination of a man not yet willing to let the battle end.

“They’re pulling back, Your Grace,” Kevven said, his voice hoarse from days of shouting orders. He glanced at you, waiting for your command. “Should we press them? They’re vulnerable, and a final push might scatter them for good.”

You frowned, your gaze locked on the retreating enemy. The temptation to drive them back to their lands, to ensure they wouldn’t return for decades, was strong. But there was something hollow about the thought of chasing them now, after years of bloodshed. They were broken, their supplies exhausted, and to pursue them deeper into their own land would be a waste of men and resources.

“No,” you said firmly, turning to Kevven. “We don’t need to spill more blood on their land. If they cross back into ours, then we’ll engage. But for now, let them retreat. The battle is over.”

Kevven looked surprised, his hand tightening around the reins of his horse. “Your Grace, if we push now—”

“I said no, Ser Kevven,” you interrupted, your tone leaving no room for debate. “There’s no honor in cutting down a retreating army. We’ve held our ground, and they’re falling back. That’s victory enough.”

The knight hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded, though the disappointment was clear on his face. “As you command, Your Grace.”

You watched as he turned his horse around, riding down the line to relay the order to the other commanders. The soldiers, weary and worn, seemed relieved when the command to hold was given. They had fought long and hard, and the sight of the enemy retreating was a victory in itself.

The silence of the battlefield settled in once more, the distant figures of the retreating Dornish shrinking against the horizon. Your mind was heavy, not with the satisfaction of victory, but with the weight of the toll this war had taken—on your men, on the realm, and on yourself. You had been away from the capital for too long, and the thought of what awaited you back home stirred uneasily in your chest.

Just then, a soldier approached, his face dirtied with the grime of battle, his breath coming in short gasps as he saluted you. “Your Grace, a raven arrived. A message… from the Red Keep. It bears the Targaryen seal.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The Targaryen seal. That meant only one thing. Rhaenyra.

Without hesitation, you took the small scroll from the soldier, your fingers trembling slightly as you broke the seal. The wax crumbled beneath your touch, and you quickly unfurled the parchment, your eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. Rhaenyra’s handwriting, urgent and pleading.

Brother, the letter began. You promised me you would protect me. You promised me you wouldn’t let them force me into a marriage I did not want. But Father has broken that promise. He’s ordered me to marry Jason Lannister, and I cannot, I will not do it. They are trying to take away my freedom, trying to take away everything we spoke of. You told me you would stand by me, and now I need you more than ever. Come home. Please, I beg of you, come home and help me.

Your grip on the letter tightened as you read the words again, the desperation in her plea cutting through you like a blade. You could see her in your mind’s eye—Rhaenyra, fierce and determined, but also vulnerable, trapped by the weight of duty and expectation. She had always relied on you to protect her from the worst of court politics, and now, you were hundreds of miles away, unable to stop what was happening.

You folded the letter slowly, your chest tightening with frustration and anger. You had promised her that you wouldn’t let this happen. You had promised to protect her, to ensure she wasn’t forced into a marriage that she didn’t want. And yet, while you had been here, fighting a war at the edge of the realm, they had moved against her, using her as a tool in the political games of King’s Landing.

Silverwing shifted behind you, sensing the change in your emotions, her low rumble filling the air as if to offer comfort. You closed your eyes, your thoughts racing. You knew you couldn’t remain here. You had to return. Rhaenyra needed you, and you would not fail her again..

As the sun started to set, you made your decision. 

It was time to go home.

[tadpolesonalgae]

On The Wrong Side of History: The Queen of Hybern

Azriel x Hybernian!Reader

synopsis: Reader is one of Hybern’s generals, fighting for her freedom after Prythian turned her back. Born with no magic, she was forced to cultivate a different kind of power, one that could prove deadly to the inhabitants of magic-blooded fae of Prythian. But when she’s captured and thrown into the scarred hands of the Spy-master, which side of history will prevail? Will Hybern’s story be told, or will it be covered up and concealed before the suffering of her people ever makes it to the light.

warnings: miscarriage at the end, war, general suffering and grimness, slight torture(?)

a/n: I had this idea yesterday and wanted to write something so fair warning it’s a little rushed! It also lightly brushes over miscarriage which might be a delicate subject for some so please take care of yourselves 🧡💛

word count: 3,810

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The war is coming, and not a single inhabitant of Hybern will stand by and let the chance for freedom pass. It’s been five-hundred years since you were confined to that island, cut-off from the mainland and left to rot and starve. Now is the time to reclaim the ground you were deprived of. War is coming, and she is starving for revenge. Starving like your people have for centuries, and nothing will stand between you and fighting for your right to life. Not even the baby you know is growing inside of you.

The air is fresh and damp, and you take the time to inhale its freshness before hot blood is spilled, turning the ground to a mushy, fleshy soup. The day is overcast, heavy grey clouds that look like the mould on bread swelling in the sky, ready to start leaking, dripping down into the open fields. Grass stomped into a muddy mush as feet frantically fight for ground, desperate to keep steady before they’re trodden down into the dirt, trampled and crushed beneath the weight of an army.

If you fall, you cannot rise. Not with a writhing mass of violence crowding the land, oozing bloodlust so thick it won’t matter which army you fight for. A body shouldn’t rise from the mud, any attempts to would be met with steel slicing down in a frantic jolt.

You turn from the entrance of your tent, making for the bed, moving slowly, peacefully, to the protective coatings you’ll be wearing in a couple of hours. The leather that will stick and slide over your skin, wet with blood and sweat, hopefully some rain, too. Heat gathers quickly in the midst of battle, and between the stink of gore and the sweltering sweat that greases any soldier’s grip, rain and wind are much appreciated for their gentle touches.

Your nose twitches as a breeze passes through the camp, quiet in the early hours of misty, grey dawn. Even beneath the cover of your tent, the smell of the battlefield can reach you—damp and bloody, contaminating the fresh air you’d been treating yourself to.

Something shifts inside of you, and you glance down at yourself, hesitantly raising your palm to your lower stomach. You only found out about your condition mere weeks ago, but even had you only found out this morning, you would still be here, preparing for your freedom.

The baby won’t survive, anyway. Not with what your body has turned into.

————

“You’re ready for today?”

A wry smile curves your lips, settling deeper into the chair that’s been set to one side of his room, the large bed in the centre already made despite him having risen as recently as yourself. Neither of you have ever particularly been ones for sleeping in, having so much to do at all times of day. “I’ve been ready for the past five hundred years,” you answer, leaning your chin on the heel of your palm.

The King of Hybern reflects your smile—the slightest twist of his lips. “Perhaps I made a mistake sending Amarantha to seize control of Prythian,” he muses, slipping the shirt over his head, pulling his dark, shoulder-length hair free of the collar once it’s on, making to tighten the laces that can be used to close the V of the hem. A note of dissatisfaction slides beneath your skin as his amulet is obscured—a hollow iron circle, his crest welded from the dark metal inset to its centre.

“Perhaps,” you agree lightly, watching as his fingers tighten the ties of his trousers, noting the distinct lack of armour—he’ll be watching over the Cauldron today. “Though in that case she might still be alive,” you murmur quietly, a little smile dancing in your eyes.

“You disgrace her,” he chuckles lowly, pulling the thick coat from his bed, leather on its exterior to keep out the bite of wind or the lick of rain, while lined with a warm fleece. “You trained beside her for a good portion of your life, at least honour her memory.” The King of Hybern shucks on the coat, the hem of leather coming down past his knees, and he adjusts the cuffs before making for the large, wooden chest at the foot of his bed.

“There was little to honour,” you counter, straightening in the chair as you watch him decide on which daggers to hide beneath the coat. “She was brash and brazen at the best of times, too quick to grow comfortable on her throne. And I never liked her bedside manner. She was always too grabby and rough for my liking.”

“She was ambitious,” he counters, strapping a small blade to the interior of the coat, hidden away in a pocket on his left side. He pauses, briefly considering something, then glancing over you, how you’re lazily sprawled across his chair, “though her nails could have been a bit shorter. They were an unpleasant surprise, at times.”

Your lips curve at one corner, sharing a look with him, before he returns to selecting his daggers, settling on one with a jagged, serrated edge, a wicked hook to its tip.

It’s then he turns, blades concealed beneath his coat and he silently walks to you, charcoal eyes glittering as you sit straighter. “How long have you been serving me now?” He asks, pausing at your side, so you have to incline your chin to look at him, baring your throat. “Five centuries? Six?”

“Six and a half,” you reply, “if you’re counting foot soldier duties as serving.”

He smiles a strange smile, glittering teeth showing briefly beneath familiar lips. “Loyalties are rewarded,” he says cryptically, his palm settling beneath your jaw, inclining your chin—it would be easy for him to snap your neck with the slightest snap of his hands. “Have you thought about what you want?”

“It seems greedy to ask for something before I’ve even succeeded at winning this war,” you reply.

“Consider it a show of assurance,” he remarks, “I have no doubt you’ll prove instrumental to Prythian’s ruin. Now, what would you like, upon your victory?”

Your eyes gleam with hunger, and you wonder if it’s at all possible he might not already know what you desire, more than anything. And looking at the way those charcoal eyes of his are gleaming, as if goading you on, urging the words to spill like honey from your velvety tongue—you feel it’s impossible. He knows what your request will be. And he’s practically dragging the desire from your throat, with the grip he has on it.

“Make me your queen.”

———

Darkness pounds at your mind, eyes aching as if the blood vessels are bursting, hot pressure building, ready to splash out through your pupils. The air is cool…cold, skin hypersensitive to the slightest shift in temperature, telling you there’s a layer of sweat over your exterior, alerting you to each swish of air.

Your thigh stings, the laceration taking its time to heal, longer than others of your kind would. The small cuts you’d been given the day before—a few inches long—have scabbed over, no longer in danger of leaking blood, but there’s going to be a definite pucker around each cut. A shiver traces up your spine, an involuntary shudder passing through your lungs as coldness sweeps across your skin, like a winter’s breeze.

Slowly, keeping your breathing as even as possible, you crack an eye open, only to be met with darkness. Hesitantly, the other slides open, and you peek at your surroundings but the dark seems impenetrable, thick and absolutely solid. Your nostrils flare, and the faint smell of ammonia and iron waft up along with the sharp tang you associate with stomach acid, the air itself thick and damp, slightly humid. Fertile and rife, perfect for things to start growing.

Casting your gaze downward, you can spot the stitching that’s covering the split in your right thigh, jaggedly stitched up, and from the looks of it you’re quite glad you weren’t conscious for it. You also notice the grime that’s already begun settling on you, dirt and mud and gore still layering your skin, save for the small perimeter that’s been cleaned around your thigh. The thought of how you must smell is a grim one.

“You’re awake,” a voice observes from the darkness, making your ears twitch.

You keep your mouth tightly sealed, waiting to hear what the observer has to say. Let them speak their part first, before you start making your own moves. Already you can tell this one is different from the previous ones—yesterday’s one had a lighter voice, squeaky and dragging. This one sounds like the first roll of thunder before a storm breaks.

“You’ll forgive me for the haphazard stitching. Healers are needed elsewhere.”

So this one’s to blame for the child’s-quilt on your thigh. It’s more than likely it was done intentionally carelessly, rather than simply poorly—poor stitching could lead to further infection, while careless stitching just might leave a trace of a scar. On a regularly healing body, at least.

Straightening in your chair, you try to pick out where the voice is coming from, but the darkness is so thick, and your eyes have barely had a chance to adjust, and with the faelight bobbing above your head there’s little chance they will anytime soon. Keeping them shut would be the quickest way, but it would be leaving yourself open. More open than you already are, that is, with your arms bound at your back. They haven’t bothered to shackle you to the chair itself today, the ties from yesterday are gone, and you can feel the weight of the stone around your wrists: Gorsian shackles—utterly useless on you.

“What do you want today?” You ask into the darkness, stretching your fingers to keep them awake and ready. It’s already been at least three days, and you suspect whoever has come to visit today isn’t just any old torturer. You can tell from the silence they keep, how undetectable they are despite your honed senses, sharper than most’s. They had to be, for you to survive.

“The same thing anyone might want from a prisoner of war,” the voice replies, ghosting through the room, bouncing about in the darkness so it’s impossible to tell its root. “And what is that?” You ask, following the script, familiar with the direction of the conversation—unaccustomed, however, to be on this side of it. “Information,” the voice replies, and there’s less than a second of detectable presence before your hair is wrapped around a fist and dragged back, your throat exposed as you’re positioned over the back of the chair, making it impossible to swallow. The faelight glares down at you, beaming into your adjusted eyes, and you’re forced to squint as your vision blurs from the sting of the light and the grip on your scalp. Cool steel settles just below your jaw, the tip of a blade spiking into the soft flesh just beneath the hollow of your mouth.

Your teeth grit together, hissing sharply at the roughness of the touch, thigh aching from the tension that shot through your body. A laugh forces its way from your chest, ragged and strained as you peer up into the faelight, pupils tightening to slits in the face of the brightness, “give me something in return. I can’t very well go back empty handed, can I?”

Your captor roughly tugs on your hair, your lip twitching a little from the pain but otherwise unruffled. “You might go back with no hands at all, unless you’re careful.”

“Threats already? You haven’t even told me what you’re after,” you bite out, voice heavy and grim.

A beat passes between you, then the steel is flipped away between deft fingers, removed from your throat in favour of pressing to your sternum—a warning before the cuts begin, gradually skinning you alive until they get what they want. Fury simmers quietly inside of you, but you keep it tucked away. That’ll only come in useful once the pain starts setting in. A fuel to fall back on when food would become a problem. But it’s high time you return to your king. You’ve spent long enough here, all because of a stupid, foolish…

“Would you like to hear something interesting, then? In the name of compromise?” The voice asks, low and rasping, and you sit silently, waiting for what they have to say.

“The one who visited you yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that…each one refused to come back the next day. Insisted there was something wrong with you.” The hand tightens on your hair then releases, the presence vanishing like a flame snuffed out, leaving your skin tingling with awareness. “Once is by chance, twice is a coincidence, but three…three’s a pattern.”

Something hisses past your ear, and you jerk in your seat, not foolish enough to stand. You glare into the darkness, peering deep from beneath your lowered brows, lips turned down in the corners as you try to pick out even the faintest shadow, but they all blend together so seamlessly, like one giant, blank wall. Not a single shape to be found.

Something whispers to your left, then cracks to your right, your pulse beginning to pick up involuntarily form the confusing stimulus, attention split between both directions.

A figure steps into the grey shift in light, silent and menacing as it prowls forward, one military-grade boot in front of the other, and you take in the towering silhouette, the great wings looming in deeper shadow. Your eyes follow the light as it glides up his frame, revealing long legs clad in Illyrian leathers, scarred hands within easy reach of visible weapons, a lean waist and broad chest, the Night Court insignia clear over his heart. Cold, cutting hazel eyes, with a glint you recognise. After having spent so many centuries gazing into eyes like that, it would be strange to not be able to place the intense glint of honed reproach, the look that desires utter eradication of the thing that’s causing suffering.

Calm and deadly, he is your exterminator.

“We’ll start with an easy question,” he says, gaze unfaltering as he meets your own.

“What is it that makes all kinds of magic recoil from you, General?”

A slow smile breaks across your lips, delicately curving in a mocking grin. You should have known this would be his question, that they would have figured something was wrong with you by now—the slowed healing, the way their magic leans back from you, as if trying to scuttle away.

“And you?” You ask, a gleam in your eye. “What’s your title?”

His mask doesn’t shift, not even the slightest hint of emotion in his dark eyes. Just silence. Patient, grating, silence.

“Not even the name of my captor?” You push, smile slipping away, settling back into a wall of ice to match his own—you can play that game, too. “Or are you nobody? You don’t seem like you’re nobody, though.” You angle your chin, shifting in the chair slightly, re-flexing your fingers, testing the gorsian shackles. “You’re clearly important, if you were sent in to investigate after three turned away, and considering the insignia you’re wearing, with those wings…master torturer of the Night Court?”

He inclines his head, “Spymaster. Shadowsinger.”

“And how do your shadows like me, Spymaster?” You murmur, able to guess the answer.

His dark eyes narrow on you almost imperceptibly, then his right hand is wrapping around the hilt of one of his blades, inset with strange markings, as dark as obsidian. The hairs on the nape of your neck rise as he thumbs the blade free, a sharp glint in his eye being the last thing you see of him before he steps away into shadow, falling seamlessly back into the darkness.

“How long had you planned to let this war go on for?” He rasps from the darkness, the question bounding in and out, coming from different sides that make it impossible to track his position. All while he’s free to observe from the shadow. “You ask that like we have control over the nature of war,” you reply neutrally, keeping your gaze sharp, but all it looks the same. If you could find a way to put the faelight out, or to lure him to stand before you… Getting some information first would be preferable, though.

“But maybe we had an idea.”

The sound of steel slicing through air comes from your right, and you instinctively follow the familiar hiss of a blade, body tensing, as if expecting it to come flying out from the darkness.

“You’d have to be confident in a victory to have a timeframe in mind.” His rasp echoes throughout the room you’re kept in, whispering in varying volumes as it’s bounced off shadow. “We’ve had a long time to prepare,” you reply vaguely, features remaining blank, despite being unable to so much as feel the weight of his attention. If it wasn’t for the fact you’d seen him, and were having a conversation, you wound’t believe he was in here with you. You hate to admit it, but it’s impressive.

“And I suppose you believed you’d win?” He questions.

“I know we’ll win. Whether I’m in here or not.”

The steel tip of a blade grazes the top of your back, slowly tracing the length of your shoulders, occasionally pressing deep enough to disrupt the skin, but mostly remaining as a taunting reminder—he could choose to cut you at any moment, as deeply or as slowly as he pleases. “What made you believe that? Numbers? Experience? Speeches?”

“We have the cauldron,” you reply, keeping apprehension clear from your voice, the tip of the blade pressing a little too deeply into the back of your left shoulder. “What was it like, by the way? Seeing your soldiers wiped from existence in the blink of an eye?” The blade bites into your skin, probably pushed in to about an inch of flesh, and you grit your teeth as he twists the steel, opening the wound up. “I’m fairly certain we targeted your aerial armies on the first day,” you grit out, remembering the wings at his back. “I’m guessing you knew some of that scum?”

The blade retracts calmly, but he makes no further incisions, walking back around to stand in front of you. He’s strangely under control, considering how badly the war will be going for his side.

“Why are you so repulsive to fae magic?” He repeats. Unruffled by the comment. Good. “Why don’t you come closer and figure it out yourself?” You reply, noting the living shadows that are gliding down from his shoulders. “See if your shadows can answer that question.”

He regards you silently, then slides the blade back into its home at his hip, walking forward until he crowds your space, scarred fingers biting brutally into your cheeks, squeezing as he leans down. “I don’t think I need an answer. Not anymore.” You keep your mouth shut, confused by what he’s saying. “You see, despite your certainty, you were proved wrong. Two days ago. I would like to know what it is about you that makes magic react the way it does, but at the end of the day, it’s ultimately of no importance.”

You glare up at him, muscles tense from the grip he has on your cheeks, squeezing your jaw.

“You lost the war,” he says, quietly. “Your king was decapitated by one of the humans he used as a test subject. Felled by his own creation.”

There’s no falsity in his gaze, just ugly, unforgiving, truth.

And he’s in reach.

You twist your wrists in a snappy movement, harsh enough the already weakened gorsian stone crumbles away, allowing you to launch from the chair, hand seamlessly wrapping around the hilt of his blade, sliding it free with the familiar sing of steel.

He’s caught off guard—it’s impossible to break out of those shackles—his moments of surprise allowing you to use his weight against him, pushing into the frame of muscle in the places you’re familiar with, tripping him up. His wings thrash as they’re caught beneath him, shadows vanishing at your proximity, shoved away to some godsforsaken pocket as you aim the blade for his throat, his own scarred hands wrapping around your wrists to loosen your hold. But fae are made of magic, their very strength dependant on it. Encountering a creature that nullifies any and all types…his muscles tremble beneath you, shaking with the force of keeping you from plunging the blade into his throat.

“I’ll kill you, and your High Lord,” you hiss, leveraging your own weight, so the blade sinks down toward the bare, unprotected part of flesh. “I’ll end every single one of you, and I’ll save that abomination for last,” you snarl, in regard to the human who he’d told you decapitated your king.

His strength is draining swiftly, and he knows you can sense it, can feel the tremble in his muscles, and the steel inches closer, spurred on by his weakness.

The Spymaster grits his teeth as he shifts suddenly beneath you, allowing you to gain precious inches so the steel scratches the swell in his male throat, but in turn allowing him to raise his leg from the ground, stomping his boot into your stomach, sending you flying back, crashing into the chair you’d been sat on, the faelight flickering above.

Your lips part, eyes going wide as nausea rises up swiftly, having only seconds before you’re vomiting onto the floor, heaving up chewed food and saliva, a dizzying feeling sweeping through your entire body.

You’re flipped over not even a second after you get the first clear breath down, the Spymaster over you, dark eyes cold as ice as the steel of that blade glints in the unnaturally pale faelight. The blade hisses down, aimed to slice up beneath your ribs, cutting into your heart, but his eyes have dropped to the hand you have over your abdomen. Nostrils flaring at the slight tang of blood.

His features slack. “You’re—”

You take the chance, knocking the blade from his hand, reaching to wrap your hands around his throat, but something impacts with your temple, a second figure coming from the darkness that you hadn’t noticed, and you feel as the hit registers.

A fresh wave of dizziness slams into you, the world tilting dramatically before you’re slumping, heading for the floor before hands catch you. Making sure you don’t land on your front.

The world goes silent.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

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[tmwcs]

WARNINGS: This is written in Heethan’s y/n perspective, mentions of ritualistic killings, alternative universes, religious references (some accurate and some fictional), all heeleads, all y/n’s, references to SE7EN, MERMAIDS TALE, MGR/MRE/HHP, THE OTHERSIDE and DOUBLE TROUBLE (I would high suggest reading all these series before reading this), unprotected smut, angels and demons, angels are bad guys, devils are good guys, kidnapping, time and space travel, alternate characters, some cursing, grotesque language, sexual tension, some fluff, and some intermingling moments, (enough to give you some ideas 😏) images and smaus attached, cliche rescue mission, and I think that’s it.

A/N: this was just an idea that came to mind as I was listening to music. A fun read.

Turmoil stirs the middle of the sky, a collection of debris, dust, and smoke circulate within it. The strong current of gravitational force absorbs bits and pieces of man-made features, further expanding its reign of terror.

It was a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of evil spirits, angels, and demons combined, formulating an abomination that was neither Heaven, nor Hell. Two worlds of entities unite, all embracing the common ground that humans were a non-sensible creation by God. In their eyes, humans were nothing but livestock for the immortals.

The senior head of this ritualistic army had an idea—a new image for the aged world, where unearthly entities would herd and breed the human race…In preparation for the grand feast. With this process in place, the world would be controlled by themselves, gaining power to extend their influence through alternate space and time. All the parallel universes that were constantly being created, would become restricted, ceasing the expansion of human life.

“My followers…the time has come where we need to take back what is owed to us. WE have lurked in darkness far too long, feeding on the scraps of these scavengers…these HUMANS!” His head contained three faces, one centered and nestled in between the two disfigured profiles. Their mouths remained wide open, agasp with horror while the center focal features did all the talking, carrying all the range of emotions. “WE have been betrayed by both, God and the Devil…the two fathers who should have been nurturing us, ignored our caution instead. They turned their backs on us; made us starve as we craved for sustenance and glory…but no more! Today, we strike and take the blood of the most beloved, the one who carries the light of God, and the blood of Lucifer! This I pray…my demons of carnage, and angels of darkness…do not stop at just the one…take them all! Search through every vortex of this abysmal continent. Go above the universal horizon, far and wide through space and time, and gather your efforts— leave no part of the cosmic galaxy unturned. Raid the entire universes, all worlds, and bring me her adaptations. Bring forth every variation of her current soul, so that we may tear, grind, and feast on that delicate flesh…let us hit them where it hurts most…let us seek to make God cry, and break the heart of the Devil.”

The spawn of angels and demons scatter in mass multitudes, covering the entire sky while they surpass greater heights, surrounding their numbers across every comet and planet.

Finding you in this world was simple. Entirely too easy…

Like any other given day, you sat in class next to h/n, drafting the primary notes as your professor read the lecture aloud. The yelling of a fellow classmate startled the entire classroom, catching everyone off guard.

“What the fuck is that?!”

Everyone turned to view the scenery outside the window. The light blue sky grows dark, as the horizon blackened with a darkened hue. The foliage draping the tree branches suddenly shriveled and died off. The air around the building turned black; everyone became frantic and ignored the professor's false sense of composure. He tried his best but it was easy to see that he too was frightened and didn’t know how to handle the stirring frenzy that took place inside the room.

“What the Hell is going on?! Why did the sky get so dark all of a sudden?” H/n spoke out with tears glossing over her eyes as the girl sitting next to her called home. She hectically informs her mother of the unknowns that were happening outside the campus, all the while you barely spoke, or reacted as you overheard the girl's decree. The shock of it all stunned you; it wasn’t until your phone began buzzing that you came back to your senses.

The moment his own classmates sporadically spiraled out of control, Heeseung wasted no time in getting out. He had to get to you.

You were the first priority on his list. Ignoring his own safety, he bursts through the door— the only one brave enough to kick it wide open before sprinting towards the parking lot. Everyone whispered and spoke harshly as they watched the young man making his way over to you. God help anyone if something happens to you.

In an instant, everything turned upside down. You’re not sure what or how it happened, but it felt as if a group of hands were pulling you from side to side, pushing and tugging at the same time. Looking around, it seemed as if time was at a standstill. The entire class paused in mid motion, gravity lost its effect as students jumping out the window were stationed in mid air, unmoved. What was going on? Were you the only one that could move? The only one that wasn’t affected by this loss of motion? If so….did that mean that Heeseung…

……..

It occurred in a blink of an eye.

What the hell just happened? For a moment, Heeseung felt as if his heart had stopped beating. It happened during mid drive, when suddenly the roaring engine slurred, and the small bit of ash and debris in the air slowed until they froze in place. It wasn’t long before his own movements came to a pause, and before he knew it, he could no longer breathe. It was odd, despite not being able to take in air, the pressure from his chest was fine, almost as if he was holding his own breath.

It held on for two seconds before the distant sound of the engine grew louder and the tires resumed rotation, causing a sudden screeching noise to puncture his ears. What the fuck…!

The only thing that lingered on his mind was you. Shit…y/n! Hold on baby…

By the time he reached the building, merely two minutes after receiving your last text, you had already been taken.

Everyone stood wondering just the same as to what had occurred. They looked around and noticed nothing out of the ordinary, except when h/n pointed out your sudden absence. “Huh?…Anyone seen where y/n went? She was just right…here….”

Her voice subtly pauses as Heeseung silently walks through the double doors, with you nowhere in sight…his heart dropped to his stomach and a total sense of despair hit him. He wanted to die…he wanted to shake the earth to its core and kill off every bit of life that coated the surface. A state of hopelessness and emptiness fills him.

‘Y/n…’

…….

One by one, the entities visited alternate universes and found four more women, conjoining them as prisoners and leaving you all chained in a row. Brought forth, you all were all scanned with a morbid look of satisfaction as an alienated, metallic figure screeched through hundreds of jagged teeth, directing its elongated fingers to a specific direction. It was communicating with its more fleshy counterparts.

They marched you and the remaining maidens into a large bunker, nearly shoving you all down the uneasy steps. Once inside, a single light source allows you to take in the view of the abrupt companionship you were forced to confront.

‘Is…is this for real?’

The strangest phenomenon you ever witnessed. It was as if you were staring into a mirror, or a twin…several twin versions in fact.

These girls…they were…you. Some of them displayed subtle alterations of your appearance such as hair and eye color, even a small difference in age. But make no mistake, you pinched the skin on your arm as you confirmed that indeed, you were seeing yourself in various substitutions.

“I…don’t believe this…are you all….who are you?” One of the girls reflected aloud. Just as lost as you were, each one took a moment to observe the variations of…you.

A terrifying screech sounds off outside the bunker, similar to that of the metallic humanoid creature from earlier.

“What are those things?” The one who spoke, she looked and sounded exactly like you. It was such a surreal experience to see this happening in real time.

She looked more mature. With her sense of style and elegance, she encompassed the very essence of classy feminine virtue, a version that you always saw in yourself in the near future, when you were married and already graduated from college. Her hair and eye color were lighter than yours, but the structure of her face and body, the finer details of her expression and features were an exact match to your own.

“Does anyone know why we are here? What do those things want from us?” another variation of yourself spoke delicately.

Unlike the latter, who had hair that was fair and eyes that sparkled in chromes of light blue, this one had dark forest green hair, and feline eyes, which were both fierce and strikingly beautiful. She had the appeal of one with great wisdom and maturity, a variation of yourself that you never could imagine would exist. She continued to speak, pondering on the forceful monsters that wreaked havoc above and outside the bunker. “The one we saw earlier, whose body looked like metal, was that a...”

A calm voice speaks gracefully, politely inserting into the conversation. Her voice was slightly deeper, and tranquil, but not as twinkling as the one who carried the forest green locks. With those lips, stained blood red and coated with a subtle shine, she answers…“They’re angels.”

Everyone else turned to face in her direction. You all stared and admired the royal grace she portrays in her stance, it gave off an aura that reflected her higher age. It didn’t appear in her face, but it was through her persona and posture. Just like the one with the emerald strands, she displayed elegance in all aspects; her features, tone, and strut. Of all the variations that stood before you, she was the one you became most curious about.

“Angels? As in…from heaven?” Another variation, except this one seemed much more calm—perhaps too much.

Her lids were heavy and she spoke with a monotone voice. Her hair was stained a deep and vibrant color. It looked somewhat fresh, and contained a specific shade of purple, but not just any code of the color. It was not lavender, violet, or even muave, but more like a royal purple…it was as if the color was mixed specifically to match a certain shade. Maybe a particular flower? Perhaps it was made to match a blouse, or a type of fabric, like silk.

Noticing her demeanor, you couldn’t help but feel sorry as you took pity on this image of yourself; one that carried a dark sadness around, yet somehow flared a sense of contentment. It was contradicting, yet there eas something else that you couldn’t pin down about her. Almost as if she was carrying a nightmarish secret, but did it out of protection. Only question was, who is she protecting? Was it herself? Or could it be…?

You catch yourself drifting in thought when one of the girls asks your age. She inquired by stating that you looked the youngest, which was confirmed correct after you answered. Between you and your alternate state of beings, your ages ranged from eighteen to twenty eight, the latter title of the eldest belonging to the one with the dark burgundy lips.

She gazes up to the cathedral ceiling and crosses her arms, speaking out each word so confidently. Her hair was dark, nearly black with a deep, red hue…like red wine, and nails to match. She radiated a contrasting theme of goth and sensual femininity, like light and darkness combined. Everyone thought the same as they pondered on the mysteriously alluring sense of their alternate identity.

“Angels? How do you know? Have you seen them before?” The eldest one nods in response. Her eyes were heavy, as if she experienced a loss in energy recently. Still, she remained ever so composed and fashionable in Vogue like nature. You couldn’t help but think it, as somewhat narcissistic the thought may have seemed, but you found yourself idolizing what very much was the future outlook of yourself.

“This is so strange…it’s so weird to see…you…or me…I mean….what are we, exactly?” You sputtered as you make eye contact with the seldom one with the royal purple thatch of hair. She smiled softly and was the first one to respond.

“I am almost sure what our names will be, but I’ll be the first to say it…my name is y/n…”

Everyone snapped their heads up and chuckled in delight. Finally, a sense of relaxed humor amongst this terrifying ordeal. “We all have the same name?” The fairer version of you spoke, admitting for all of you to find comfort within each other.

The former y/n continued. “I guess we do.” You smile sweetly as you inquire about her background, to which she gently responds. “I worked as a consultant after graduating college and… “ she pauses, catching her breath. It was evident that the girl had been through a traumatizing experience, or maybe was still going through it all. Yet she displayed some fortitude as she completed her sentence. “I live with my husband…somehow I was brought here and I don’t have any memory of it. It happened so fast.”

“Me too….” The fairer one spoke. Her shiny hair gracefully rested beneath her collarbones as she spoke through her matte rosy stained lips. A beautiful combination. You couldn’t get over this experience, It was miraculous to see yourself with those featured traits. You wondered if variations of those closest to you exist, like Heeseung, Jake, and H/n. The thought of the three suppressed your slight bit of happiness as you wondered if you’d be able to escape with the others.

“I live with my husband too…well…husbands, if we’re being completely open.”

You all perked a brow upon her words. Did those rosy lips just tell you correctly…“Husbands?”

She nods seldomly while interlocking her fingers above the waist, avoiding eye contact and instead, focusing on a spot on the floorboards. “Yes….my husbands are brothers…and through them I have two boys of my own.” She pauses as her eyes welt up. “I…was putting my boys to sleep when something pulled me away from them…it was strange…it almost seemed like time was standing still.”

“Me too!” You spoke out. “I saw the same thing when I was pulled away.”

The fairer one smiled at you. “You are still so young…a younger version of myself.” Her change of topic was so sudden but she could see it in your face, hear it in your voice, and see it in your movements; seeing you in fluid motion made her visit down memory lane. “Yes.” You answered as you returned the smile. “I'm almost finished with my first year at college…I live with my fiance in his dorm.”

You all chuckled.

“His dorm?” The fairer one teases. “Yes well…believe it or not I don’t really have a choice.” You jest, yet the statement held more truth than anything you ever admitted.

It didn’t take time to consider their reaction. Upon hinting at Heeseung’s dark and toxic nature, it soon became evident you weren’t the only one. Unknowingly, you would open up another path that you all shared in common.

“He keeps you there?” You nod as the one with the dark forest green hair spoke. “Ah…” she sighs. “Just like mine…at least he used to. Now…well, I gave up. There wasn’t any point in fighting it.”

She chuckles once more as she rubs her temples, finding the entire scenario ironic. “I too live with my husband…it started just as forcefully as your situation but it’s been over two years now…” she pauses. The rest of the girl’s all related, all but you.

“Well…it is forceful but…he has good intentions, doesn’t he?” You inquired as the one with the dark green hair looks back up. A faint smile dons her lips as her delicate nails caressed her chin. With beauty and truth to her tone, she responded, almost in caution of warning. “Just like your fiance, he has the best…and the worst intentions.”

“What about you? Are you also married to a psycho? Or two?” The one married to dual husbands jokes, stabbing at her own life as she includes the last variant into the conversation. The eldest; she was the most elusive one out of all of you.

Turning her face over, she delivers a soft gaze and looks at each one of you with such nurture in her expression. Through those dark burgundy lips, she spoke gently. “I do.” She lightly chuckles. “I live with my husband, and much like all of you…I didn’t really have a choice.”

Closing her eyes, she reopens with a fresh countenance. Licking her loose she chuckles and tilts her head, taking small steps over to you. She cups your face and displays a saddened look, yet it was paired with a sweet smile. Her gaze hinted that she knew something…or maybe she could see something within your future that made her pity you.

With her intuitional sense, and foresighting ability, she reveals your deepest secret.

“You have another side of you…one that is equal to his darker half.”

Was she referring to Eden and Ethan? But…how does she know?

You slightly gasp as you remained stunned by her words. She looks over to the one with the dark green hair. “You and your husband carry the blood of the ancient gods within you.”

In response, the sea maiden looked somewhat confused. “How could you possibly know that?”

The former admits partial truth to her own secret. “I know all…I can see all….I can see your most inner kept secrets just by looking into your eyes. It was a gift from my husband after we were…” she pauses after catching herself diving down to details to at may be too indiscreet. The image of Heeseung’s devilish form atop of her, probing and thrusting away was not something she wanted the girls to visualize…she rather not think about it herself, despite the progression of her relationship to the aforementioned male. “Married.”

She turns to the fairer one, and continues to prove her capabilities. “Your husbands sired their own twin sons within you, and through those babies, you found true love.” The latter looks down, almost shamefully. Yet the eldest tilts her chin up and whispers, “nothing wrong with that.” She winks and smiles, and watched as those rosy colored lips smirked delightfully. This was, after all, a safe space for sisters who share more than just identical traits. You were all connected, through fate and soul.

She looked to the one with the royal purple hair. “Your husband's deeds have haunted you. With nowhere to turn, you chose to return his love but you are ridden with sadness knowing that you are his cure.”

The purple haired y/n didn’t say a word, she only nodded in admittance while drifting her sight off to the wall.

“As for me…” she pauses as she faces the ceiling once more. “I made a deal with the Devil many years ago. Through it, I lost my mortality, and gained immortality…I am known as the mortal daughter of God, but rebirthed as the bride of Helel...my husband, and father to my son.”

“Helel?” Through her purple strands, the girl spoke out of confusion. Never has she heard such a distinctive name in her life.

Just as the conversation reached pause, the door to the bunker opens. A combination of the hostile angels and demons standby. A disfigured tone emits from their tongue as they point and begin separating you away from one another.

You felt scared upon seeing the fleshy demon grip your wrist, pulling you away as the others were being dragged into sporadic direction. The girls all tried their best to fight off the large swarm, and recollect. Through a shared sense, there was a need to get back to you, the younger version of themselves. The need to protect each other and stay together remained strong, however, the monsters proved too strong as their numbers increased. They found it easier to carry you away into singular, isolated chambers. The echoes of their screams, sounding so much like your own voice, become distant and unheard.

You backed yourself against the cold stone wall and slid down until the tile flooring meets your rear. All seemed hopeless at this point. The terrifying sounds of demonic growls and piercing angelic screeches merge from outside the door, all frenzying as they carry out their next deed, whatever that could be. It was too frightening to think about. What is going to happen? How is Heeseung going to save you this time? Your Heeseung…the one who is always there to bring you back home…how is he going to possibly find you? You don’t even know where you are.

‘Heeseung…I’m scared.’

You wonder if the others felt just as scared and hopeless.

The fear of being lonesome started to eat you alive, it was far worse than when Heeseung carried out one of his punishments, and locked you away for breaking his rules. You hated it more than ever, being secured away in darkness and suffering from desolation. Looking back at it, his method seemed tamed compared to how you were currently being treated.

You also knew, despite succumbing to the harsh effects of being tied to a bed frame, or locked inside a closet, at least the comfort of knowing he was going to be around…that he was always going to come back to get you, whether it was hours or a day later, was something you had lost appreciation for in the past, but yearned for it more than ever. He was always there to make sure you were safe, despite carrying out an act that clearly violated your human rights…it was his way of loving you…his manner of understanding it.

‘I wouldn’t have to do this shit if you’d listen and just do what I tell you. It’s all for a good reason…”

His words from past recollections continue to play in your head.

‘To keep you safe…and to keep you as MINE. Get it through that dumb, pretty little head of yours already. No matter how many times you fight me on this, you’re going to lose.’

You used to scoff at his justification, growing irritated at his own resolve. You always figured he was overreacting.

All those times when you were caught speaking to someone from class outside at the parking lot, didn’t matter if they were boy or girl, he’d always became so possessively evil, and jealous. His handsome smirk goes from dashing to sinister as he lets out the wolf from its cage: Ethan.

But no matter how emotionally tormenting…or mentally abusive he could be…one thing would always remain true, and that was his unyielding love for you…just you.

The door knob twists violently as the door panel rambles, snapping you out of mid thought. You stood up and cornered yourself, completely frightened by what was on the other side. Finally breaking open, it swings wide inward. You swore your eyes were going to fall through the sockets. It couldn’t be… “H-Heeseung?”

Tears balled up and your heart pauses in mid-pulse. He steps closer in towards the light and there you saw, it was Heeseung…but he seemed different. His attire was similar, but his hair…it carried a particularly familiar shade of purple, just like—

“Hmph…” he smirks, daring a bold look as he scans you up and down. “So this is what you looked like when you were eighteen.”

The way his words growled upon stating your tender age sent a shiver up your spine, a familiar sense that you were accustomed to. “Damn, so this is what you were like at eighteen… you were just born perfect, weren’t you?” A snarling wink flashes you.

He reaches and grabs your wrist. “Gotta hurry princess.”

Leading the way and keeping you close behind, he rubs his fingers and gently massages your skin in his hold. His cologne was so different from the Heeseung you knew. It was a musky scent of blue agave and sandalwood.

Luring you around every corner, running past a hall filled with portraits, you finally configured where the entities had been keeping you, it was an old church.

“W-what about the others…the other—“

He calmly interjects as you stuttered, trying to find a way to describe the collection of your alternate self, including the one who you suspected belonged to him.

“We should be seeing them soon.” He spoke as he remained attentive to the surroundings. You were so taken aback by his resemblance that you were ignorant of the weapon he held…a machete?

“H-how did you find us?” You questioned. He tightens his grasp as he leads you down a spiraling staircase, completely made of stone. “Met the others—something about getting all of the you’s and I’s out, and back to our respective universes. There was also something about a demon who wanted to piss off God, and the Devil, blah, blah, blah.”

He spoke carelessly and left out all of the vague details as he remained focused in getting you to safety. Just as you both reached the main cathedral, you witness from across the wide room, all the other variants of yourself were being guided by Heeseung, a few of them. The one right across had ash-blonde hair and….a dark haired one trailing behind…

The y/n with the dark forest green hair stood out as they centered her, providing three-sixty coverage of security. Once they saw you and the Purpled haired Heeseung leading you, they led the other you to rejoin and come to center, surrounding you both in a combative formation.

Also rejoining the group was the one who had the dark purple locks that matched the Heeseung who rescued you; behind her was the alternate version of yourself that carried the red-wine lips. The girls were guided by a version of Heeseung, whose eyes glowed blue and his hair was dark as the ocean.

In the opposite direction, from the corner of your eye you catch on to the fair alternate you, and in front, was him…there he was…Heeseung…your Heeseung, and Ethan.

You could see both entities behind those dangerous eyes. Seeing you safe, along with all the other girls restored life to his gaze as he smiled and felt the weight lifted off his shoulders. ‘There you are…there’s my pretty baby.’

Without stopping, they continued to urge you all to run as they herd each of you to stay centered in their squad position, forming an arrow shape around you and the girls.

Aside from the machete, the other Heeseung’s all bore their own weapons, and from the looks of it, they were most likely found on display in the upper dungeons, which you concluded is where you and the others were being kept prior to being saved.

Your Heeseung gripped on two long swords, while the twins had an ax and a long, steel club, similar to a bat. The other Heeseung with the azure hair skillfully handled a rifle, and had a pistol holstered to his thigh.

The moment of uniting didn’t last pleasantly as the stone tile beneath your feet shook, and the light fixtures rattled above. Something was coming, and it carried enough anger to swell up his size.

Each booming placement of its foot stomping the ground quaked the earth. Just seconds after stabilizing your ground, the grand entrance starts to crack. The arch lining and pillars split apart as an overly muscular frame, with humanoid expressions, enters. He ducked his head in by tucking the chin while the ceiling began to crumble above. When he revealed himself fully, you and the other girls gasped at the horrid sight of the monster before you.

His face was split into three, with six pairs of horns that adorned each head, eluding terrible and frightening expressions. His body was similar to that of a man, with exaggerated muscles that looked to produce enough strength that of an entire army. A long offensive tongue spills out of his evil grin as jagged and serrated teeth flash from the joker wide grin. His eyes resembled that of a goat or sheep, but larger. With both hands containing claws that reached measurement by the foot, you winced at the thought of being grabbed by them. The palms contained numerous spurred teeth that formed hooks, similar to the mouth of a parasite, such as a leech. In fact, his entire body was covered with them, slowly fading as they reached the three facial expressions. There were lacerations that appeared on his chest, opening and closing sporadically. They blinked repeatedly with horrendous teeth and eyes peeking out from beneath the tissue and skin. What on earth was this creature?

Standing in his full glory, he speaks with a diabolical tone. “Leave the women behind, and I shall spare your lives, and bless you with power and immortality. You will become the generals of my league.”

The boys all stood in line, keeping you and the others behind, guarding with their own lives at stake, willing and ready to take on anything. Rather than seeing any bit of you harmed, they all remained solid as they would rather die or be tortured than to see a single scratch on anyone of your bodies. The creature takes their gesture with jests, chuckling before he adds on to his demand.

“You are not the one that I care to gut and split open, yet if you insist, it will be my utmost pleasure to rip all of you apart in front of your precious darlings, and then feast on your corpse afterwards.”

You held on to the girl with the purple locks. Her matured instincts kick in, knocking away the original demeanor she carried before. The troubled and quiet woman feels the need to cradle you, a younger version of herself, and presses you against her chest while she covers your eyes. Peeking out from the corner of her embrace, you saw the purple haired Heeseung peer a faint side eye, noting the comfort she was providing, and the fear that stayed by it. His eyes met with hers, eluding a look of reassurance, as if he were telling her that he wasn’t going to let anything happen. Not him, or his alternate figures.

Heethan also takes in the image of your sheltering. His stern and yet relieved facial expression showed the two sides of his being, Heeseung, and Ethan. He emits a quick nod the moment you make eye contact. ‘Not today…not ever. Nothing is touching a single inch of you, pretty baby.’

The remaining alternate versions of yourself come and join in, grouping you in the center as you all remain behind the boys. The eldest stood right in between, establishing an embrace to shield you and the others as her back was facing the row of Heeseung’s. All five of them stood, readily armed as the creature's patience ran thin. Taking a step forward, the ground cracks, stones protrude inward and wouldn’t hold much longer, nearly collapsing.

The boys step back, urging all of you to back away with caution. You all suddenly halt your movements to safety at the sight of numerous demons and angels suddenly entering from all directions in the cathedral, trapping the entire group to the center beneath the large chandelier.

“It’s useless.” The creature spoke out as his tongue splits into two. “God asked for this…the Devil wanted this.”

The eldest produces a harsh side eye at the creature's mentioning of the latter. Her dark red-wined lips quiver open faintly as she hisses toward the mentioning of his name. The audacity of this creature.

“If only they had heeded our words, and met our demands. We would not be as blood starved. You mortals…you children of the Earth, deserve torture that exceeds the worst kind of death in existence. I should have been granted eternal life in his holy kingdom. It is I, who should have been throned as one of the seven Princes of Hell. Yet both God and Lucifer denied me of what is owed to me. They should have recognized me! The demon Molech! Now…God shall bear witness to the human existence coming to its end, beginning with his only daughter, and the sisters that share her form and soul. Let the heart of the Devil fall into despair upon realizing that his only love would be violated with her innards split, and torn from bone.”

Molech crouches into position, nearly ready to pounce through the boys, and straight to you and the girls. You all could see it in his eyes, the glaring reflection of you and the girls as his primary target. “May all of you scream as I devour you alive, and shit out your guts onto the stones of this very church. I will splatter your organs for all to witness what is coming.”

He lunges forward. It was the last known image that replayed in your head spontaneously as you cringed onto the girls.

The movement happened so fast, and the entire group of you screamed as the boys grit their teeth, yet silence…fills the air. Not a single sound of bone cracking skin tearing, and blood curdling screams sounded off after Molech made his offensive move.

You’re not sure what happened. You were bracing for impact and for the unthinkable to occur, yet moments passed and you realized that everyone stood, remaining whole and without injury. Still warmed by the embrace of the girls, you slowly open your eyes.

From what you could deduce, the figure had pummeled down from above, piercing through the ceiling of the church strategically so as to not fully crumble its structure. With a hand buried deep into Molech’s back, it pierces through the monstrous flesh as the thousands of small teeth that covered his hideous body attempts to cut through the sleeve of his black coat. You admired his beautiful form as large black-feathered wings extend magnificently from his back. He resembled paintings that depicted Heaven’s arch-angels.

Appearing as a Victorian prince, he slowly rises from his crouching stance. Dressed in dark, vintage-goth attire, he stands gloriously, releasing his stabbing hold of the demon beneath the soles of his boots. The thatch of black hair matched that of his feathers, so dark that it contained a blood red hue under the dim glare. As his face comes to light, your breath escapes so suddenly—you swore your heart skipped a beat…it was Heeseung. Another alternate variation of your beloved.

“Helel…” the elder y/n breathes out through her dark stained lips while gazing at her husband. A look of relief accompanies her whispering softness as he shifts a quick look over, feeling much relieved himself after seeing her unharmed.

With a wild smirk, he speaks. His voice was deep and dark, yet soft as he adoringly addressed her. “My queen.”

His eyes matches his tone as they soften; the murderous glare hushes down to a look of tranquility. “Love of my eternal life…I’ve come to bring you back home with me…where you belong.”

The beauty of love and passion between the two is cut short as Molech suddenly strikes, yet misses as Heeseung, or Helel, springs off to the side, levitating from a distance. He was so fast. His speed was inhuman as you and the others watched the demon making many failed attempts to catch him. “You WILL take her back, as you will join her at death by my hand! YOU—are nothing but a failed angel, and a false prince!”

Mech spoke out his poisonous words, yet seeing the calmed expression on the Prince's face irked him as Helel remained unbothered, so long as his darling was safe.

The very last bit of his words barely spit out as Helel dives in, like a flash of light. With his much smaller frame, he is enumerated strength that surpasses Molechs as he grips the demon by another piercing hold, this time, it was through the center of his chest. The creature’s internal organs flare up, lighting as if they were being filled with lava. His skin became transparent as you all viewed the spewing of fluids secreting from the burns. He screams in pain as the sores on his body leak liquified tissue, melting the outer layer of skin. “I think your visit here is over-welcomed, Molech.”

Helel’s voice turns dark, with a clenched jaw, he continues to burn the demon from the inside out. “Don’t worry, I’ll be seeing you very shortly, and I’ll deal with you then. Be ready…” he narrows his eyes and brings the center face of the demon closer, his lips nearly touching the demon's chin. Smirking, Helel slides the tip of his nose upwards, forcing the demon to look him directly in the eye, all the while he whispers…

“I am going to split you open with my claws—piss on your organs, feed you to those miserable shits at the River Styx, watch as they shit you out, and scatter your remains across the depths of MY Hell. You’ll be nothing but fertilizer for my wife’s pretty little poppy garden, and she will smile every waking moment upon watching them grow from your own demise.”

With the last of Molech’s breath, he extends his middle claw, flicking off his own former master as he shamelessly words out “fuck you.”

Helel only grins in amusement, further aggravating the demon. Whispering, Heeeseung��or Helel, responds back one final time before finishing off the demon. “Nah…nobody fucks with the Devil—except her.” He glances over to his one and only, his own y/n. “She fucks me all the time, sometimes with tears staining her face and her bottom lip clenched between her teeth. She loves fucking with the Devil…” shifting another look over, he directs his tone in bold, over to his wife. “Ain’t that right baby?”

His wife settles a submissive display of affection and obedience as she quietly nods. “Yeah…you fucking love me. And I fucking love the Hell outta you.” His eyes widen entirely too ecstatically as his pupils shrink. Of all the moments you witnessed Heeseung’s most terrifying expressions, nothing surpassed the one his devilish alternate. It was the most terrifying thing you’ve seen, even more so than the dying demon at his hand.

He releases an antagonizing chuckle as you felt a slight shake within your chest, all due to the way he spoke of his love. He was so twisted, possessive, and dementing, but the love and admiration he showered her was above all sorts of love. It was unreal.

“And you know what else Molech? She will be the one to rule over the demons that will fuck your soul for all eternity. THAT…is what it means to obey your fucking queen.” At that, you all bear witness as Helel finishes Molech off.

But things were far from over, the remaining demons and angels who retaliated against their respective masters remained loyal to their desires, despite Molech being gone, and said former master currently present. Despite witnessing Helel kill off their only leadership, they were stubborn enough to follow through, until death stopped them.

“What’s next?” One of the Heeseung twins spoke, gripping his weapon.

“Take the girls and run. Keep going until you reach the end of the bridge.” Helel calmly instructs, eyeballing the swarm that was closing in. “And you?” One of the other Heeseung’s spoke, inquiring Helel’s role during the escape.

“Heh.” With a smirk and the narrowing of his dark eyes, he extends his wings out as he flares off a hand, claws extending and growing in an offensive length before your very own eyes. “It’s time for me to tuck the kids in, and say goodnight.” Leaving no room for response, his super speed causes a mirage of his movements as he levitates up, and like a sparrow, dives down as he takes out numerous demons and angels at once. In doing so, he creates an open path for everyone to escape.

“Let’s go!” Your Heeseung yells out as he grabs on to the dark forest haired y/n, and quickly leads the way. With all the other Heeseung’s following suit, they latch on to each and every single one of you. The purple haired y/n holds onto your hand as she is being led by the blue haired Heeseung.

“Watch out!” The fair one screams, watching as a group of demons head directly towards your direction.

In an instant, they abruptly pause as they reach within one arm's distance. A soothing tune echoes in the air; a semi high pitch voice that reminded you of bells, it sings and creates a euphoric atmosphere. The demons struggle as they try to resist, staggering a myriad of movements before succumbing to the soft sound of mystical and angelic voice.

“Wha-what is that?” The fairer y/n speaks out, when suddenly the blue haired Heeseung tells the boys, “cover your ears and eyes, now!”

You watched as the males covered followed his instruction, patiently waiting for the signal to free their hearing and sight. The one that gave warning stood and provided cover. He didn’t seem so concerned with himself, or so it would appear as he placed no effort in obstructing his vision or hearing. The demons couldn’t resist the soft tone of the woman’s voice, and started to conduct the demands as she spelled out their death sentence.

“Look into my eyes…and hear my voice. Tell me that you love me…” the demons roar in agony as the look of pained lust takes over. “Take out your heart. Rip it from your chests, and present it as a token of your love for me…do it…for meeee.”

Her voice drifts. It was so alluring and other-worldly.

You turned around and bore witness as to who was responsible for the spell-binding act. It was the variant of yourself, the one with the forest green hair. You gasped in magnificence as you saw the transformation of her features darken, becoming seductively bold and eye-catching. Her eyes grew dark, yet glowed. The winged tip lining of her beautiful peepers became more fierce, and her lips grew darker in shade, resembling the color of a Plum. The changed produced a smoldering expression that reeked of every man’s lust and desire. She spoke out terrible things, and yet, each demon did as she bids, meeting a demise by their own hand.

Her counterpart smirks, gazing over to his darling as her expression slowly goes back to its original state. “Siren.” He winked over as he breathed out the name of her lineage.

With a faint smile of her own, she returns the look by flaring a cool attitude out of jest. “Adam.”

Everyone continues on the path as you all make way onto the high bridge, beginning the cross. Up ahead, a swarm of angels swing down, resting near the end of the bridge and form a metallic barricade. They mutate their limbs into active mechanical saws with rotating blades, and unbeknownst to the lot of you, this was a familiar sight for one particular y/n.

“Get behind me.” She tells everyone, and you watch as the Devil’s wife shows you her immortality, and extends her own beautiful wings. “Y-y/n! You have wings!” You and the girls exclaimed, pleasantly surprised by the remarkable sight of the pearlescent white feathers, a stark contrast from her husbands. Barely hidden in the undercarriage of one wing, a small spot resting closest to her body, were black feathers. A part of him.

Extending her angelic feathers, she takes flight just like her husband, and gains unbelievable height before swooping down, taking out the entire offensive line of the angels. Split cleanly in half, they lay restlessly as their limbs twitch and mouths screeched out their dying pains.

The group continues to run, with every alternate variation of you and Heeseung joining hands and intermingling.

A sudden jolt yanks you back, causing you to yelp out in pain. It pulls you back, tearing you from the others.

“Shit!” Heethan breathes out in ultimate fear as a lonesome demon begins to crawl over you. Its tongue glides over your skin, preparing to digest your face when in a blink of an eye, the demon is suspended in the air, and thrown off the bridge. Helel swoops to your side, extending a hand; you take it, joining palms. Feeling your grip, he lifts away and carries you off in flight to rejoin the others.

“Let’s go.” The eldest y/n urges once they witness you safe, much to Heeseung's delight. He swore he felt his heart explode for a second, but redemption came at its finest upon seeing you safe, once again. Guess he has the Devil to thank for that.

Your body reaches unbelievable height as Helel holds you by the waist, and your arms wrapped around his neck. You made the mistake of looking down and felt the hopeless sensation of dangling high above, seeing the group as microscopic figures as they make their way to the end of the bridge. Your grip tightens and by doing so, you pull yourself closer to the former archangel.

“Hmph…” he smirks against your cheek, inhaling your sweet scent as you slowly turn to face him. Staring at him with a wide and an innocent gaze, he reaches up and moves a piece of hair, tucking it behind your ear. “Pretty little thing, you have nothing to fear…”

He leans in closer, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he pulls you even closer. His nose meets with yours, and his lips brush against your skin. He looks so much like Heeseung—your Heeseung. Like him, there was a mixture of kindness and malice, producing love and contentment. Whispering against your lips he finishes…

“Whether it be you, or the others like her, I’ll never let any part of my y/n to fall.”

His wings cave in, cradling you to his chest. He places a soft and gentle kiss on your lips, progressing into one that reaches certain depths from inside your mouth. His tongue feeds through and unlike his cold skin, it was warm. You openly invited him to explore further as you couldn’t resist this version of your beloved. He was so powerful, and out of this world, you just had to gain a taste, and prayed that your own Heeseung would never find out what was happening in the sky above.

His hand reaches the back of your neck, pulling you in as he deepens the kiss. He pulls slightly back, much to your dismay, and takes in the sight of your expression. It was full of lust and desire; you stared back with heavy lids and a soft pant escaping. He smirks before licking your bottom lip, and places a smaller peck on your nose. “Good girl.” He whispers, before tightening his embrace, and taking flight— merging you with the others.

Reaching ground, he gently places you down and watches as you run over to your fiance, who embraced you with every ounce of his own life. “Fuck, I was scared I lost you for a second. Are you okay baby?” His voice was hoarse as he ran out of breath from merely speaking. The choke of his emotions got the better of him as he sensationally savored the feeling of your bodies uniting.

He looks at you with relieved eyes. You tearfully nod and embraced him. The others did the same as they rejoined with their respective partners.

Slowly walking over to Helel, the eldest y/n comes within reach. She raises a hand and delicately moves pieces of his hair away from brow and eye. He smirks down at her, and takes her long strands in palm, rubbing them between his claws. Taking in every bit of her presence, he nearly loses himself at the face that took his breath away. Fuck, she was so breathtaking to him.

“Thank you…for saving me and the others.” She whispers out, widening her stare as she rests her hands on his chest. He wraps his arms around her waist.

“I don’t know what I would ever do if I didn’t have you.” He admits, and for the first time ever, she witnesses a side of the devil she never thought she’d see. His look was that of slight guilt, relief, and sadness. He looked down at the ground for a moment, realizing that had he been late, he would have lost the only thing that mattered to him. Meeting her gaze, he leans in with a calmed look in his eye.

In this very moment, y/n felt herself falling for her husband like never before. After bearing Helan, living in Hell, and sustaining his harsh treatments, she finally understood him as a man and husband. Oh, how the tables have turned in his favor.

“My son needs his mother…and I need my queen.” He whispers, before granting a small and tender kiss. Taking her hand, he raises it to chin level, tilting his face as his eyes remain glued to her face. Lavishing her hand, he rolls tongue and cheek across the smoothness of her skin, delicately placing a trail of kisses down to her wrist. Tears begin to form in her eyes. It’s true what they say in Heaven and Hell, the Devil truly loved his wife. His y/n.

A rumbling sound emerges from afar and you all witness as many more demons and angels emerge from inside the cathedral. They run over, crossing the bridge as they head in the groups direction. With the exception of Helel and his y/n, who had the gift of flight, everyone was at a disadvantage of being forced to run on foot, but with speed that was nothing compared to the inhuman entities making their way over.

“We gotta hide or something. They’ll catch us.” The purple haired y/n exclaims while her own Heeseung holds onto her, cooing her as he kisses her forehead.

“No need.” Helel calmly projects. Everyone looked in his direction with a relieved sigh, does he have a plan? “What will you do?” His own bride inquires flirtatiously as she gets a sense of a trick up her husband's sleeve. He smirks as he tells her. “What we do best.” He snaps his finger and instantly, six other figures appear from the sky, shattering the atmosphere as their sudden appearance creates a series of Sonic Booms. One right after another, they dive bombed the bridge, wiping out the army of demons and angels in seconds. With dark feathered wings, and inhuman strength, their lack in numbers could not fool anyone. The angels were no match even when conducting aerial movements. Each dark prince maneuvered the sky and shattered any who tried to escape. It was as if you were watching jets chasing after one another.

They swoon closer, joining the group at the end of the bridge. “The kids are misbehaving I see.” One of them spoke, a young man who had dark hair with wispy silver highlights. His foot reaches the ground as he collapses his wings, leaving them to remain perched in an arch at rest. He was adorned with gold and jewels that had to be worth more than what the world could offer. Joining him was one of the others, who had blonde hair slicked back, and bright blue eyes. A lip ring decorated his bottom lip, and he shared the same aura as the other.

“These little brats…what’s their problem this time? Are they pissed off at us or what?” Seemingly fed up with the offensive entities, he sighs out as the one adorned with jewels responds.

“Eh…Same shit, different day. Don’t know about the angels, but our guys are in need of a spanking…probably need to be grounded.”

The blonde haired angel-figure shoots a glance over to the forest haired y/n. “Huh…first time I’ve ever seen a Siren.”

The Heeseung who held on to her waist tucks her into his chest; he glares over to the blonde male. “Fuck off.” Was all he calmly stated before widening his eyes psychotically.

The blonde male smirks, appearing to do no harm. “Relax. I’m not going to take away your little mermaid.” He switched his gaze back to her. “You and I come from the same waters, Daughter of the Seven Seas. It would appear that your generation is much more tamed than that of your early mothers.” He smirks as he looks back at the one holding her. “An Adam…great distant son of an ancient God. Despite the identical face you display to that of my elder brother, you and I are more alike than anything else.”

Heedam softens his gaze to that of an annoyed glare. “I don’t really care, blondie.”

Jake smirks out a small laugh. “No, I guess you don’t. But it’s all good…” flickering his snake like tongue, he gently coos. “Just tell your sisters, should you ever see them, to be wary of the snake. I tend to look for them from time to time.”

The dark green haired y/n projects a perturbed brow. “You mean…the other sirens? What would you do if you ever found them?”

He winks. “I’d eat them—metaphorically speaking, of course.” He gives off a last smirk before turning his back to the couple. “Snakes need to eat too, you know?”

The two males take flight to rejoin their brothers in air, while Helel remains with you all. After some moments went by, you and the girls inquired on how the boys managed to find you.

“This guy.” One of the twins smirked as he thumb pointed over to Helel. “Got us together after he found out what was happening, and helped us get here before taking off to get his brothers.”

“How did you find out?” The eldest raised a brow as she peeked up to view her husband's face. He smirks as his chin touches her nose. “After the raid and your kidnapping, that little fuck-Molech left no leads. So I had to reach out to an old friend…”

“Who?” One of the y/n’s spoke curiously. The eldest y/n already knew…

“Him?” She spoke in a whisper. He slightly nods in return. You all pieced together whom they were referring to as the subtle hint gave off the showering expression of respect and peace on the Devil’s face.

God.

Not much was divided afterwards. In fact, after Helel explained how he forcefully opened the space and time continuums in each galactic dimension to retrieve the alternate versions of his own soul, and unite them with the plan to bring you all back, things went silent right after.

Reopening those entrances once more, Helel guided each pairing back to their own worlds, and everything was back to normal, other than the major publicity that stirred from the event. Mentions of angels and demons raising the sky, and an apocalyptic end, was all the media could speak of.

………

A few weeks have passed. Schools were shut down for a while due to the incident, and everyone was left to continue their education via online, which Heeseung absolutely loved. Having you in his dorm twenty-four-seven was something that he could get used to…maybe already has.

You lay in bed partially dressed. It was nice to not have to worry about figuring what to wear. Since assignments were assigned and completed on your own schedule, you opted to be lazy as Heeseung went down the store to grab your favorite snacks. All for being such a good girl, and staying by his side.

With only a crop top and a pair of panties on, you embraced the warmth of summer air hitting your skin. Besides, your man loved seeing you nearly nude more than anything else.

The door opens, and you see him walk in. In his traditional and fashionable manner, his hat covers his eyes and the upper bridge of his nose, which complimented the street style he wore. A long shirt with the sleeves partially rolled and straight jeans. So casual yet so appealing, or perhaps it was just him and how he could pull it off so well.

“That was quick.” You quirked as you sit up over the edge of the bedding and sipped on your water bottle.

“I don’t like being away from you for too long.” He spoke out with a deep tone. His bedroom voice.

He didn’t waste any time. He held onto your waist and pulls you up. Catching you by surprise, he dipped down to loop his hands around your thighs, before fully extending you up in the air. Your thighs straddle him as you stabilize yourself, he was so strong. Lifting you like a feather, he buries his face into your neck as your head rests on top of his hat. “Heeseung…”

“Mmhmm…” he mumbles with his mouth filled with your tender skin. He didn’t say much more after, instead, he hooks your panties and pushes them to the side. Up and over your derrière, his forearm rested against the surface of your rear cheeks while he lined himself to your center. It’s to be expected, you both didn’t have sex this morning due to the zoom conference for one of your classes. So of course, now that all of that was done, he could finally have his moment with you.

He slides right in, and it was a familiar feeling that seemed all too new. He stuffs you. Fills you. Pumps into you. It was an incredible feeling that reminded you just how much you loved to get fucked by this man.

His lips remained latched on to your neck. “Fuck.” He whispers. “Mmmph! Heeseung!” You gasped as he picks up the pace and bounces you atop his throbbing cock, holding your under-thighs as leverage whenever he lifted and stabilized your momentum.

He kept going on and on. Your mind was blown away as always; you didn’t even feel present in his room. Everything just took you away as you felt your gut being filled by that hard muscle. Separating your walls and pushing in, he thrusts in a motion that was passionately rough and sensually brutal. It was almost like dancing—it had rhythm and harmony as you both shared juices of love and lust.

You screamed out as you come undone. Splattering your fluids everywhere, he keeps his thrusts going as he goes in harder, faster, and deeper. Right as you reach your second orgasm, he joins in and you both cum in unison.

He gently places you back down on the bed, lovingly. Kissing your entire body, he coolly shushes you after noting your gasping pants for air, and the beads of sweat that coated your skin. “Shhh-sh-sh-sh. Breathe baby, that’s it…thaaaaaats it.”

Once you finally got your breathing stabilized, he kisses your forehead and whispers “good girl.”

Something smacks your senses as you immediately took note of the off-putting manner in the way he whispered his tone. Of course he’s said it many times before but this…this was all too familiar in an unfamiliar way. It was…it was…

He stands upright, you hear the unfolding flaps of the black feathered wings extending past the street attire he donned.

“Oh my God…”

He smirks. “Close…but not quite sweetheart.” With a devilish grin, he leans down and places a sudden peck on your lips, causing you to enhance your already shocked expression. “The Devil is here.”

He kisses you once more before turning away. A slit in the gravitational force of the air appears, and walking in was Heeseung dressed in formal black, Victorian wear. The one who donned his wings, Helel, spoke first.

“Had fun?”

Heeseung—your Heeseung, spoke back in jest. A certain level of verbal jousting that took place between the two as they remained swapped in their attire. “Hope you enjoy my work.” Your Heeseung spoke, flashing his Ethan persona as he smirks towards his devil counterpart.

“I’ll leave you my review. If I’m not satisfied, I will be returning.” He dashed a wink over to you, as your Heeseung responds back. “No returns.”

Helel crosses his arms, and grins. “I won’t be asking for a return, more like a freebie.”

Heeseung smirks back as he too, crosses his arms. Both men square off, chest to chest at a one arms distance. “Against my policy. It’s buy one, and get one free. And gimme back my hat.” He snags the cap off from Helel’s head, the latter merely remained undeterred and blinked as he leans his head slightly back, watching as his own counterpart places the hat on his own head.

“Hmph…what atrocity.” Noting his Victorian cloth tainted by the modern piece that your Heeseung displayed, Helel lightly snarled in disgust. “If anyone is going to square off with the Devil…I guess it would be my own damn self, even if you are worlds apart. Too bad I always win.”

He remarks amusingly before exiting, but not without waving back to you as he peeked over the edge of his wing. “See you later, y/n. Try not to spill.” He denotes as he points at the seeping fluid spilling out in between your legs. Heeseung’s brow irked at the symbolic jab.

“Helel…” he calls out right as the devil began to step into the opening.

Raising a brow, Helel looks over to his alternate face. “Say hi to the wife and kids for me.”

Helel’s eyes widen just slightly, expressing a hint of confusion. “Kids?”

Heeseung smirks. “Yeah…kids. A lot of them. Figured your boy could use some siblings.”

Both men stand wide-eyed, smiling sinisterly. They looked as if they were going to kill each other. “Huh…it would be you to show up the devil. I’ll be sure to return the favor.” He steps forward, and with that, the devil takes his leave.

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[sassenach77yle]

“I have lived through a fucking world war,” I said, my voice low and venomous. “I have lost a child. I have lost two husbands. I have starved with an army, been beaten and wounded, been patronized, betrayed, imprisoned, and attacked.

And I have fucking survived!”

My voice was rising, but I was helpless to stop it. “And now should I be shattered because some wretched, pathetic excuses for men stuck their nasty little appendages between my legs and wiggled them?!” I stood up, seized the edge of the washstand and heaved it over, sending everything flying with a crash—basin, ewer, and lighted candlestick, which promptly went out. “Well, I won’t,” I said quite calmly. “Nasty little appendages?” he said, looking rather stunned. “Not yours,” I said. “I didn’t mean yours. I’m rather fond of yours.” Then I sat down and burst into tears. His arms came round me, slowly and gently. I didn’t startle or jerk away, and he pressed my head against him, smoothing my damp, tangled hair, his fingers catching in the mass of it.

“Christ, ye are a brave wee thing,” he murmured.

“Not,” I said, eyes closed. “I’m not.”

I grabbed his hand and brought it to my lips, closing my eyes as I did so. I brushed my battered mouth across his knuckles, blind. They were swollen, as bruised as mine; I touched my tongue to his flesh, tasted soap and dust and the silver taste of scrapes and gashes—marks left by bones and broken teeth. Pressed my fingers to the veins beneath the skin of wrist and arm, softly resilient, and the solid lines of the bones beneath. I felt the tributaries of his veins, wished to enter into his bloodstream, travel there, dissolved and bodiless, to take refuge in the thick-walled chambers of his heart. But I couldn’t. I ran my hand up his sleeve, exploring, clinging, relearning his body. I touched the hair in his oxter and stroked it, surprised at the soft, silky feel of it. “Do you know,” I said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever touched you there before?” “I dinna believe ye have,” he said, with a hint of nervous laughter in his voice. “I would ha’ remembered. Oh!” A stipple of gooseflesh burst out over the soft skin there, and I pressed my forehead to his chest. “The worst of it is,” I said, into his shirt, “that I knew them. Each one of them. And I’ll remember them. And feel guilty that they’re dead, because of me.” “No,” he said softly, but very firmly.

“They are dead because of me, Sassenach. And because of their own wickedness. If there is guilt, let it rest upon them. Or on me.” “Not on you alone,” I said, my eyes still closed. It was dark in there, and soothing. I could hear my voice, distant but clear, and wondered dimly where the words were coming from.

“You’re blood of my blood, bone of my bone. You said so. What you do rests on me, as well.” “Then may your vow redeem me,” he whispered.

He lifted me to my feet and gathered me to him, like a tailor gathering up a length of fragile, heavy silk—slowly, long-fingered, fold upon fold. He carried me then across the room, and laid me gently on the bed, in the light from the flickering fire.

~A Breath of Snow and Ashes

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 A man screams for his mother and other family members after the Zionist occupation army bombed their home in Gaza, destroying several levels of the building and burying his family under the rubble. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

279 DAYS OF GENOCIDE IN THE GAZA STRIP: UNRWA BUILDINGS HIT BY ISRAELI OCCUPATION FORCES IN 453 ATTACKS, U.S. TO SHIP 500LB BOMBS TO ZIONIST ARMY EVEN AS NEW MASSACRES TAKE DOZENS OF LIVES EVERY DAY, NASSER MEDICAL COMPLEX CLOSES AMID ISRAELI BOMBARDMENT, ANOTHER DAY OF MASS MURDER AS CIVILIANS TARGETED

On 279th day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 2 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 50 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 54 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands, of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or who's bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

This leaves the official death toll vastly undercounted as Gaza's healthcare officials are unable to accurately tally those killed and maimed in this genocide, which must be kept in mind when considering the scale of the mass murder.

The United States, under the direction of the Biden administration and American Democrats, will resume shipments of 500-pound bombs to the Zionist entity, even as new massacres continue to take dozens of civilian lives on a daily basis.

Previously, the Biden administration suspended a delivery of two types of American armaments, including 500lb (227kg) and 2'000lb (907kg) bombs as student protests exploded across college campuses in the United States.

The shipment was suspended in the context of the protests and a rapidly rising civilian death count amid the occupation's ongoing genocidal operations in the Gaza Strip.

In a piece published in the Jeff Bezos-owned American newspaper, the Washington Post, the news outlet says the decision to reverse the pause of these deadly bombs came as the Zionist Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, along with occupation Defense Minister, Yoav Gallant, and the Israeli lobby, including AIPAC, demanded the resumption of deliveries of American munitions regardless of their lethality.

According to the Post:

Despite the pressure campaign and initial hold, the U.S. officials said the 500-pound bombs were never a serious concern for the Biden administration.

Speaking with the Post, an anonymous US official said that "because of how these shipments are put together, other munitions may sometimes be co-mingled. That’s what happened here with the 500-lb bombs, since our main concern had been and remains the potential use of 2,000-lb bombs in Rafah and elsewhere in Gaza."

The Post admits that, while the tempo of the Zionist entity's attacks on the Gaza Strip has slowed in recent days, occupation strikes that result in mass casualty events continue to occur on a weekly basis, sometimes accelerating to a near daily basis, including a recent assault on a UN-run school housing displaced Palestinian families in Abasan Al-Kabira, east of the city of Khan Yunis, killing 29 and wounding another 53 others.

The Washington Post goes on to say that the suspended arms shipment was a "shot across the bow" by the Biden administration in a warning to the Netanyahu regime as he planned at the time to invade the city of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, where more than 1 million Palestinians had gathered in tent cities to find shelter from occupation's bombing and shelling, with President Biden going so far as to describe such an operation as a "red line".

Despite this, the Israeli occupation army invaded Rafah anyway, systematically destroying civilian housing in nearly the entire city, then taking control over, and burning to the ground, the border crossings south of Rafah City, all while committing several massacres. Including an attack on a grouping of Palestinian tents that resulted in a conflagration responsible for killing nearly 50 civilians and wounding dozens of others.

The Zionist army recently allowed Western journalists to visit Rafah to witness the destruction themselves, during which reporters described the city as "decimated" and largely empty.

The Post also interviewed Janet Abou-Elias, a research fellow at the Center for International Policy, a Washington-based think-tank, who described the destructive power of 500lb bombs as something that should not be taken lightly.

“In Gaza’s densely populated areas, the difference in the destructive impact between a 500-pound and a 2,000-pound bomb is negligible, both causing immense destruction and civilian casualties,” Abou-Elias is quoted as saying to the Post.

In more news on Thursday, July 11th, the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian refugees, also known as UNRWA, stated in a post to the social media platform X that the Israeli occupation forces have attacked their premises in Gaza on 453 occasions since the start of the war.

"453 attacks impacting UNRWA premises and the people inside them have been reported since the war began," the post stated, adding that, "two thirds of our schools in Gaza have been hit, with 524 people sheltering in our facilities killed."

UNRWA concluded the post by declaring that "UN structures, schools and shelters are not a target," adding a call for a "CeasefireNow."

In other news, the international humanitarian healthcare organization, Doctors Without Borders (MSF), issued a warning on Wednesday that the healthcare center at Nasser medical complex, in the city of Khan Yunis, south of Gaza, has ceased functioning due to a severe shortage of medical supplies and fuel.

In a statement, MSF lamented that "after the closure of the Gaza European Hospital in the Gaza Strip due to Israeli evacuation orders (early July ), we warned that Nasser Hospital is at risk of being overcrowded with mass casualties and wounded."

The humanitarian organization went on to explain that "MSF teams are witnessing a severe shortage of medical supplies, which threatens to stop basic health care [services] available to patients," going on to warn that the Nasser complex was "the last advanced hospital still operating in southern Gaza."

"Nasser Hospital receives an increase in the number of patients every day, which places a burden on all departments beyond their capacity, and our teams have no choice but to resort to the medical stock allocated for emergency cases," the MSF statement reads.

The statement concludes by stating that "while Nasser Hospital is dealing with the influx of new patients, it is also suffering from a fuel shortage, and if the power goes out due to a fuel shortage, care provided in many of the nearby field hospitals will [also] stop."

Meanwhile, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) slowed but continued its attacks on civilian homes and residential buildings in various axis of the Gaza Strip, slaughtering dozens of Palestinians and leaving others severely wounded in the bombing and shelling of the occupation army, with a particular focus of attacks targeting the city of Gaza.

According to Gaza's Civil Defense, more than 30 decomposing bodies of murdered Palestinians are lying in the streets of the Al-Rimal neighborhood, as well as the Al-Sina'a and Al-Katiba areas, of Gaza City, where Zionist armored vehicles have launched a violent incursion over the last several days.

Local medical sources are reporting that on Thursday, more than 34 Palestinians were killed as a result of the Israeli occupation's raids on Gaza City and Rafah, resulting in dozens of bodies laying scattered in the streets, particularly in the Al-Rimal neighborhood, as well as in the Industrial Al-Sina'a area, and the Al-Katiba areas of Gaza City.

Another occupation raid on the Tal al-Sultan neighborhood, west of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, resulted in the deaths of four Palestinian civilians, including a child.

The occupation's atrocities continued when Zionist warplanes bombed a residential house in the Zafran area of the Al-Maghazi Camp, in the central Gaza Strip.

At the same time, an occupation drone fired a missile at a civilian residence in the Nuseirat Camp, also in central Gaza, while IOF artillery detatchments shelled the Al-Mughraqa area of the camp.

In the meantime, occupation fighter jets conducted airstrikes on neighborhoods east of Khan Yunis, while additionally, Zionist soldiers detonated with explosives several residential buildings in the center of Rafah City, amid occupation artillery shelling that hammered the Al-Shaboura neighborhood in central Rafah.

Israeli quadcopter drones also fired on civilian homes in the Al-Sabra neighborhood, south of Gaza City.

The suffering of the Palestinian population of Gaza continued when the water desalinization stations that provide potable water to northern Gaza and Gaza City have ceased to function due to the continued closure of Gaza's border crossings, resulting in a severe shortage of fuel to operate electricity generators.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing war of extermination in the Gaza Strip, the endlessly rising death toll now exceeds 38'345 Palestinians killed, including at least 10'000 women and well over 15'000 children, while another 88'295 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

July 11th, 2024.

#source1

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@WorkerSolidarityNews

[yoitsjay]

Pairings: Eleventh Doctor x Male Reader

Summary: The Doctor witnesses the Indomitable Human Spirit for the first time in his life. Boy did that give him a scare

Warnings: gore, reader barely hanging on, mentions of shown broken bone, blood. Indomitable Human Spirit

Word count: 1760

The Doctor promised you that he would take you anywhere in the world, and that no matter where you went you would always be safe with him. Well despite his promises adventuring with The Doctor always seemed to be quite dangerous, but exhilarating all the same. This time you assumed would be no different.

You and the doctor were on an alien planet, a place you had never been to before and boy was it ever beautiful, the scenery was just spectacular, with crystal clear waterfalls and glowing lakes that hundreds of lifeforms could swim in, There were shopping malls galore. The Doctor took you shopping, and you had the time of your life, better this than having to go back home to join the army like your parents tried to send you off too.

“Doctor” You called out, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards you so he would either slow down or stop entirely to hear what you had to say. “Listen this is great and all but what are we actually doing here? you said you had something to do? or someone to see?” You asked him, however before he could even get a word in to answer you a mass of people started to swarm the shopping district and one of them bumped into you and the doctor quite roughly which ended up parting the both of you. The Doctor called out for you within the crowd, however you also had no moment to respond to him as someone, or multiple someones had come up right behind you, placing some form of cloth over your mouth, and that is when everything went dark.

It had been hours, The Doctor was now extremely worried at the fact that there were aliens on this planet that did not belong, and sure they could be visiting aliens but these aliens were not regular happy go lucky traveling aliens no, these were Daleks and they had given a very clear message to the Doctor.

“Exterminate!” The transmission repeated before cutting out, only for The Doctor to play it again and again, trying to pick up any other voices, any clues other than the Dalek’s signature phrase. Damnit! where are you Y/n” he cursed under his breath, looking around the now closed shopping mall, yes that is how long it's been, you have been gone since the afternoon and now it was midnight on whatever planet you were both stuck on… Oh but you weren't on that planet anymore, No the Daleks and their new human puppets had taken you on board one of their ships…

You finally open your eyes, squinting upon the painful realization that there are very bright lights flashing into your eyes. A grunt escapes your lips as you blink once or twice, turning your head side to side to gather in your surroundings. You were in a white room and from what you could feel and tell you were strapped to a table that was elevated at an angle.

Your wrists. biceps, ankles and calves and chest were all strapped uncomfortably to the table, above you was a strange looking device that had different things attached to each side, there were four sides to this device, one was a black hollowed half sphere that looked like the end of a toilet plunger, similar to the small attachments that the Daleks had on their armor plates. The second device looked like a giant needle with a blueish green sludge inside of the needle canister, you clenched your jaw, imagining just what cruel things that strange liquid could do to you.

there were two more devices on this thing above you, but you had no time to examine them as the door to your room which was behind you had opened, you closed your eyes for a moment, clenching your hands into fists before opening your eyes again, looking directly at a Dalek, but not just one, there were multiple in front of you. “You are the doctor's companion.” The one closest to you spoke, its.. eye? staring directly at your face. You grit down your teeth, there was no way youd answer to the likes of them even if it cost your life.

However the less you talked, the angrier they grew, and the device above your head activated, turning around to reveal a drill bit, that turned on and slowly lowered down to your left eye. You had no time to plea before it shot right through your eye and tire it to shreds as it drilled through before pulling back. regardless your screams echoed through the halls of this ship and reverberated off the walls of the room.

“i ask again, you are the Doctors companion?” The Dalek asked once more, and with a choked sob you nodded. “Yes!- yes i am his companion.” You cried, your remaining eye blurry with tears. You felt blood trailing down the other half of your face, soaking your clothes.

“You will answer all our questions… failure to do so will not result in your extermination, rather your very slow and painful death.” The Dalek explained, the other Daleks in the room dispercing across the room, just as the door opened again, and you felt a very cold hand wipe the blood from the left side of your face.

A woman then stood in front of you with a wicked smile on her face as she licked the blood from her fingers, placing her hand on a console in front of her, most likely the one that controlled the device above you.

“Where is The Doctor?” the Dalek asked, it took you a moment, but for the alien that moment was too long, and this time the arm rest that your arm was on bent the opposite of your elbow, and the bone shot right through the skin, fractured and bent in the way it was never meant to be. Again you screamed, but you couldn't give up your beloved Doctor, there were so many things you had to tell him, and yet… couldn't.

“Where is the Doctor!” The Dalek shouted, however you only shook your head.

This torture went on for hours, you only gave the Daleks bits and pieces when it got to much, but nothing that they could work with. You were on your last legs, you were battered, bruised and broken. so many holes were drilled into your body, bones crushed. Your breathing was shallow, and your heart rate was going a million miles per minute. The machine connected to your stats was going haywire… until you flatlined, and your head lolled to the side.

“He is dead. cut him loose and leave him to rot. If the Doctor finds him, then the bait will have worked.” The Dalek said, and left the room along with everyone else… minutes passed, ten minutes…

your eyes shot open, your heart having rebooted itself it seemed. Your spirit was not done yet, YOU were not done yet. Adrenaline fueled your body and with slow and with pained grunts you got up to your feet, tumbling into the wall, falling to the floor again. But you didn't stop, not for a minute. You crawled on the floor, dragging your body with your good arm since your broken one was just dead weight to you now.

You needed to leave.

In the meantime, The Doctor had finally managed to find your location, in the middle of an entire fleet of Dalek spaceships. But of course that didn’t stop the Doctor, not with the drive that fueled him, the same drive that allowed him to avoid his fixed death. He would not give up looking for you, and if that meant blowing up ship after ship to get to you he would do it every time, in every universe he would kill thousands of Daleks just to see your face, that is how dedicated he was to you. Everything he did was for you…

With the fireworks and explosions of Dakel ships viewed from the windows, he finally got to the last one, screwdriver in hand as he screwed over every Dalek that got in his way. he had already programmed the ship to self destruct… he just needed to find you.

Though maybe he didnt have too… he stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around, eyes widening as he saw you, silluetted by the explosions of light behind you. however when the lights flashed on front of you, it revealed to the doctor every broken bone, bruise and drilled hole, the blood caked on your face and the torn up eye. You were a walking zombie. yet despite it you stumbled towards him, and eventually into his arms.

“I cant die.” You muttered with choked words, blood spitting from your mouth. You stared into his eyes, fury and anger fueling your spirit… Your indomitable human spirit. “I was born to claim the stars! they are mine! These daleks will not kill me to get to you… no. I hope that your rules and wisdom choke you Doctor, because i am one in everlasting peace… The Daleks will choke on my fury, they will choke on my stars.” You sneered, more blood pouring from your lips.

The Doctor held you close, tears streaming down your face… However, out of the corner of his eye he noticed a shimmer, a few stars in the distance, ones not blinded by the explosion of spaceships just seemed to get closer, and closer but not as suns themselves… as a hot white mist, shining and glittering… The Doctor stepped away from you, and you extended your arms outwards.

“I am the stars. the universe, i am your soul, your hatred and your love. I am the one they couldn't kill” You hissed as you absorbed the power of the two stars, and all those injuries you gained seemed to repair themself like nothing had harmed you in the first place… and when you opened your eyes, they weren't your normal eye color, no they were a shimmering and beautiful gold, like the color of suns so far away.

The Doctor stared at you in utter awe. Jaw dropped to the floor before he finally stood up. “You humans… are the most unpredictable species I have ever seen.” He muttered, quickly rushing towards you as you fell to the ground, unconscious but very much alive.

That was the day that The Doctor learned that no matter what, you can never break a human's spirit.

[girlactionfigure]

The Holocaust Whistle-Blower: Jan Karski

He tried to save the Jews of Europe.

Jan Karski was a Polish resistance fighter and diplomat who warned world leaders about the Nazi extermination of European Jews. Tragically, none of the leaders of Allied countries did anything to stop the atrocity – including U.S. President Franklin Roosevelt.

Jan was born in 1914 in Lodz, Poland to a devout Catholic family. His father died when he was a small child, and his mother struggled to provide for her eight children. They lived in a neighborhood of overcrowded tenements where most of the residents were Jewish. Jan attended military school where he trained to be a mounted artillery officer and graduated first in his class.

He then trained to be a diplomat, and between 1935 and 1938 he worked at Polish consulates in Romania, Germany, Switzerland and the UK.  At the beginning of 1939 Jan returned to Poland to work at the Polish Ministry of Foreign Affairs. In the fall of that year, World War II started when Germany invaded Poland. Jan – Officer Karski – was called up to lead a unit of the Krakow Cavalry Brigade. On September 10 the Krakow Army was defeated by the Germans in the Battle of Tomaszow Lubelski and Jan was captured as a prisoner of war. He managed to escape and went to Warsaw, where he joined the SZP, the first resistance movement in occupied Europe.

At that time, the Polish Government in Exile, overthrown by the Germans, was based in Paris. Jan organized secret courier missions to transport important information to the exiled Polish leaders. He traveled frequently between France, Great Britain and Poland, at great risk to himself. In July 1940 his luck ran out and he was arrested by the Gestapo while traveling through Czechoslovakia on his way to France. He was imprisoned and tortured so badly that he was transferred to a hospital. Fortunately Polish resistance leaders found out where he was and managed to smuggle him out of the hospital.

Returning to Warsaw, Jan served in the information bureau of the Polish Home Army, the main resistance movement in Poland. He and other Polish resistance leaders were horrified by the Nazi persecution of Polish Jews, and increasingly aware that the Germans planned to exterminate millions of them. Desperate to alert the rest of the world about the destruction of Polish Jewry, they chose Jan to gather evidence and then travel to Paris to report to prime minister Wladyslaw Sikorski, leader of the Polish government in exile.

Jan worked with Jewish resistance leader Leon Feiner, who smuggled him into the Warsaw Ghetto to observe conditions there. Jan later described the experience: “My job was just to walk. And observe. And remember. The odour. The children. Dirty. I saw a man standing with blank eyes. I asked the guide, what is he doing? The guide whispered, ‘He’s just dying.’ I remember degradation, starvation and dead bodies lying on the street. We were walking the streets and my guide kept repeating, ‘Look at it, remember, remember.’ And I did remember. The dirty streets. The stench. Everywhere. Suffocating. Nervousness.”

Jan also visited a transit camp for Jews on their way to death camps. He took photographs of what he saw there and in the ghetto, and carried them out of the country on microfilm. His testimony and pictures formed the first accurate account of the genocide of European Jews. Polish Foreign Minister Edward Raczynski published Jan’s reports in a pamphlet which was widely distributed. Jan traveled to several countries and met with high-level government officials including British Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden, but they either didn’t believe him, or they feared the political consequences of helping Jewish refugees.

In July 1943 Jan traveled to the United States, where he personally met with President Franklin D. Roosevelt in the Oval Office. Jan vividly described the Warsaw Ghetto and the concentration camps where Jews were being murdered en masse. After telling his grim tale, Jan expected Roosevelt to be emotionally affected and want to learn more. Instead, Roosevelt displayed no reaction and didn’t ask a single question. The president heard first-hand about the murder of millions of Jews – and saw the evidence – but he refused to help in any way and showed Jan the door. Ironically, the majority of American Jews voted for Roosevelt, and many Jews still revere him.

While in the States, Jan met with other important personages including Jewish Supreme Court Justice Felix Frankfurter. Jan told his story, answered a few questions, and then the great jurist said, “I am unable to believe what you have told me.” Like Roosevelt, he chose to ignore the inconvenient truth of what was happening to the Jews of Europe. A Polish diplomat later confronted Justice Frankfurter and asked if he thought Karski was lying. “I did not say that this young man was lying. I said that I was unable to believe what he told me. There is a difference.” The difference was likely not clear to the millions of European Jews being tortured and murdered while a Jewish Supreme Court justice chose ignorance over a difficult reality.

Jan Karski’s identity was discovered by the Nazi occupiers in Poland, and he was unable to return home. He stayed in Washington DC, and earned his PhD at Georgetown University. After graduating, he began teaching at the Georgetown School of Foreign Service. Jan remained at Georgetown for forty years, teaching generations of American political leaders about East European and international affairs and comparative government. Jan’s students included Bill Clinton and Madeleine Albright. Jan wrote several books about the Holocaust, and gave lectures around the world about the horrors he witnessed, and the tragic inaction of world leaders. He was determined to make sure the Jews of Poland were not forgotten.

Jan said that he had two missions in life. The first was to bear witness to the genocide of the Jews of Europe. The second was to reveal the tragic indifference of Allied leaders.

In 1965, Jan married Pola Nirenska, a Polish Jew who was an acclaimed dancer and choreographer. He adored her, but Pola was scarred by losing 75 (!) members of her extended family in the Holocaust, and suffered from mental health issues. Pola tragically killed herself in 1992.

Jan Karski was honored as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem. He was made an honorary citizen of Israel and received many other awards and honors in Poland, the United States, and Israel. He was nominated for a Nobel Prize. In 2000, Jan Karski was formally recognized as a human rights hero by the UN General Assembly. Soon after, Jan died in Georgetown at age 86. Jan continued to be honored posthumously, and in 2012 President Obama awarded him the country’s highest civilian honor, the Presidential Medal of Freedom. He has been the subject of multiple books, plays and movies. There is a statue of Jan sitting on a bench on Madison Avenue in New York City.

For bearing witness to genocide and speaking truth to power, we honor Jan Karski as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[bigkingxl0]

Tomorrow

A built god splitting logs in the backcountry of Vermont, glistening with sweat. Muscles rippled from his swift swing. He drove the axe head down and added the wood to the pile. He was nearly done collecting what he needed to fire up the wood stove through the rest of the year. A dream life built from the blood, sweat and tears of one ambitious man, on acres of land nobody else could say they owned. Far from civilization. Andy was surprised his phone even had reception at this part of his sprawling property. He was even more surprised to see Mom's contact photo staring back at him -- when did she ever call? -- but rested the tool against the chopping block and answered.

"Hey, what's up?"

"We need to talk."

Exactly what you want to hear from your mother. He offered to talk later but she rejected him, insisting they talk right there and then. He gathered up the flannel he'd discarded, phone pressed to his ear, and made his way back to his cranberry colonial.

She spoke sternly but vaguely. At first he didn't understand what happened and why he had to be recruited, at first. Sure, Andy lived through his shut-in gamer phase too, years ago, so he kind of understood it. He had his time with a carpet full of crumbs and 2 liters filled with piss. And other disgusting things. Lazy summers where WOW came first and everything else second. His parents had reacted the same way then. He grew out of it. Maybe it took a couple threats of military school and disownment, but he went to college and got his life together. Now look at him. A successful property manager and agricultural scientist who lived his truth and sold it to the masses. He wanted to laugh. Fly across the country and tell his brother to put up the controller and invest in deodorant? It was comical.

Arlo would grow out of it. He wanted to crack a joke about sending him off to the army, but Mrs. Menconi was not one to call and ask for anything. The subtle desperation got the best of himIf he didn't recover his brother from the dark side, he would lose access to the most powerful network in his life. Her image was on the line. It was also the least he could do was repay his dear mother. It had been a long time since he'd seen Arlo, too, so it was only fair. Half a decade of globetrotting for work, and his busy life had gotten in the way of things more than once before. He hadn't actually spoken to his sibling or anything in all that time. He'd be lying if he said he'd noticed, and that shook his reality. Too many years passed and not enough time spent together. No wonder his brother rebelled. Poor bastard probably hated his life. Now he had nothing in his upcoming schedule and his mother was practically begging him to intervene. He had to go.

Andy caught the soonest red eye with nothing but his laptop and farm clothes, unprepared for what faced him on the West Coast.

He hesitated at the bare condo door. He didn't actually know what to say to the kid. It wasn't like they had much in common. He shook his head and knocked, the charisma of a salesman taking over. If he could do it for work he could do it for family.

After several minutes, the door creaked open, and the stench hit before he could say hello. Andy tried not to screw his face up too much, and forced a smile at his younger sibling. "Hey, lil dude.”

"Oh... hey bro," Arlo groaned, caressing his stretchmarked gut. "Long time, no, URP, see. I hoped you were Domino's."

There was no life to his voice. He started his waddle back into the dark, dank house. Andy watched the sweat roll down his curves and drip from the ends of his greasy hair. Arlo plopped into his groaning gaming chair and pulled his headset on.

"Not even a how are ya?"

"I'm literally in a game, bro!"

He started to remember why they hadn't talked much in the past six years.

Stepping out with a phone call, he questioned what he was even doing there. What could he even do? Clean up after him until he decided to become a man? He dialed his mother but she didn't answer. At the end of the voicemail he left a text that said "Please." dropped in and knew he couldn't leave her hanging. He sighed and hung up the phone.

Andy slipped back into his brother's rotten, rent-free apartment and gently stepped around the landmine field that was the den. Heavy footsteps went into the kitchen, bags crinkled, then Arlo came in with an arm full of family sizes.

"We can hang out now, I guess.”

He dropped onto the disgusting couch with a groan. The greasy pile of take out boxes on the coffee table matched the swollen lard around his middle. He reached for the clicker and put on some annoyingly loud cartoon. The TV fueled his dead eyed stare.

"Arlo," he started, eyeing the blotchy, bloated sphere that was his brother. The words fell away from his lips without a sound.

"Yeah, dude?" His brother said it like the words were foreign, head too full of pretty TV shows too even listen.

"It's great to see you."

"UURRRRRAAP. Yeah..." His voice trailed off, thick with disinterest. His eyes were locked on the screen, only this time he brought chips to his mouth. "Same to you."

With his mind racing, Andy tried to figure out how deep he was and where the hell the shovel was. He rested on the arm of the couch, the most visibly clean surface in sight, and tried to seem as comfortable as possible. Part of him wanted to see the rest of his apartment. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stomach it. He watched along with the dumb cartoon his brother occasionally chuckled at between dabs and blasting videos on YouTube and Tiktok at max volume. Not a word said for an hour until the eldest brother broke the vocal silence.

"So much for hanging out huh?"

Arlo rolled his eyes. "Bro literally... toxic vibes for real."

Andy sucked his teeth. "Nothing you say actually makes sense, you know that?"

"Honestly bruh, we aren't, like, hanging out." Arlo lifted his leg and let out a bassy fart. Andy was afraid to breathe in the toxicity. With a satisfied look he continued. "You only came 'cause, like, I blocked mom."

"I came because you're my bro and I love you. And care about you."

"Uhuh, 'bro'", he said, air quotes and all. "You lie for a living and you're trash at it? You're such a beta."

"First of all my business is very successful-" he was interrupted by another reeking fart and a giggle.

"Yeah, that was a good one, mother fucker!"

Andy could feel himself losing brain cells. He fiddled in his bag for his airpods but they were dead. Typical. He sank angrily into the armrest and then stiffened just as quickly. God only knew what his hand hit in the cracks of the seat. He steeled himself, trying to muster as little judgment as possible, just like he'd been asked.

Not everyone cleans as rigorously. Not every tidies. He eyed his brother, trying to mask his disgust - not that he'd notice. Not everyone showers regularly. Or at all. His face crinkled at the scent wafting off Arlo. Pungent BO, old food, and stuffed farts. He wasn't sure what smelled worse, him or his festering apartment.

He added more to the list and actually felt his prejudices wavering. Not everyone eats healthy. Not everyone watches educational programs. Not everyone makes something of themselves -- and can be content with it. By the end of his list of "not everyone" he didn't have a single thing left to judge.

Andy knew then that the next few months would be very, very long. His brother had fallen asleep sitting there, one hand in an empty dominos box, the other on his dab torch. There was no clock in the house, his Apple Watch had died in the airport, his phone done then, too, and he felt tired in the darkness. He didn't even realize his eyes were fluttering. Tomorrow he would make a game plan, just like he would for his business. Break down exactly what went wrong, where, and what the comeback would be. It might take some time, but nothing was impossible with enough hard work. Satisfied, he dozed off.

---

That didn't go as planned. Arlo slept at bizarre times, which gave him time to look through the rest of the house. He thought it might be a good time to clean, but the trash was so dense that it seemed nearly impossible. Arlo didn't even seem to own any trash bags, and even after buying a box, Andy couldn't throw a tenth of the mess in the overfilled dumpster in the parking lot.

His clothes were covered in mysterious trash juices and food. Dirty and exhausted, he tried to shower, but there was no soap, shampoo, conditioner, not even a washcloth. He damned TSA for their liquid rules. This was already the trip from hell and it only compounded with every minute.

Andy found acceptable clothes in the depths of the grungy apartment. They weren't anything he'd choose to wear--a graphic tee with some game he'd never heard of and a pair of sweats obviously too small for Arlo--but they sufficed. He wasn't going to buy real clothes to ruin in this cesspool. He figured he could just go into goodwill later and get some throwaways to tide him over if necessary.

It didn't work like he planned, not unlike everything else he'd planned so far. He'd taken an uber from the airport to Arlo's, with the idea of borrowing his brother's car for the week or even renting one. He came to find there was no car rental place for miles with a vehicle available, and his brothers beaten 90's Civic was long overdue for services and remained unstartable.

It felt like now, or never. Originally he'd planned to work during this whole debacle but he saw that was nigh impossible. He left a quick memo to his remote workers that he was taking an emergency leave and to continue any major projects and manage themselves for a little bit. He knew they were up to the task.

The next few days went that same, Andy bagging up as much trash as humanly possible until he was too weary to continue, and Arlo piling it up just as fast. It was fruitless, much like the kitchen fridge, and Andy felt as though he might genuinely lose his sanity holed up in the trash den.

They went back and forth with each other a hundred times over the weeks over this. Sometimes as friends and sometimes mortal enemies. Sometimes it seemed like his brother was coming around. He could get him to clean up after himself. Then he was cooking meals instead of ordering them, shaving, showering. Normal people stuff. Andy even got him to cut down on dope smoking and gaming. But he could never get anything truly clean or put together or even decent. It was always kind of cluttered, bad, stinky, or some other awful thing that drove Andy nuts.

"I'm going to take you out."

"Like, kill me?"

"Out to a bar or something! Around people your age."

"I'm good with that, chief," Arlo said, shaking his head.

"It's celebratory, and mandatory," Andy waved his hand. "No get out of jail free card."

"And walk there?" "I connected with some of my people and arrange a private transport to a-"

"Fine. But you're picking up the tab."

"I planned on it, turd," he said, the eldest brother snark returning as if they were kids again.

The way Andy saw it, a chick would steer Arlo on the right course, fast. That had worked for a million guys more than once, him included. What he hadn't expected was that most of the single ladies wanted to talk to him instead. He tried to distance himself from his brother and blend in with the crowd, but the bar was small and Arlo could spot the cowboy talking from a mile away. In the end, two drunk Menconi boys with a single plus one. She tangled herself around the chiseled body of the eldest brother, with half an outfit less than what she started with.

Andy woke up still drunk with a dead phone and no other belongings. He could tell it was afternoon from the sun through the blinds, but this was not Arlo's place. A mangled charger in the kitchen brought his phone to life and he escaped with an Uber, careful not to wake his new friend, who was sprawled out on the floor in front of the door.

Arlo had left the front door unlocked. Disgusting slapping and plapping and moaned nonsense echoing through the house when he walked in. Arlo, naked except for VR headset and headphones, tugging on himself and surrounded by take out boxes. He slammed the door shut and covered his mouth, turning away from that grotesque sight and running into the hall.

He couldn't get the picture out of his mind. Rolls wobbling and the squelchy fart noises and whorish groaning... he rubbed his eyes but it didn't help. All he wanted to do was lay on the couch. As far as he knew that was now all contaminated, not like he wanted to be in the house right now anyway. He slithered back into the elevator and made way to his rental car, kicked back the seat and slept his regrets off.

When he awoke again he felt sober enough to tackle that ordeal. Bounding up the steps and opening the door to a quiet house. He looked from side to side. It had never been quiet in here, between TV looping, gamer shouting and fat dude snoring. He listened and at the edge of his hearing he heard crinkling. He looked for the culprit under his feet or among the garbage and found nothing. Then he heard the heavy footsteps of Arlo and a belch that confirmed it.

"Got something for you broski," he said, coming from the back room. "But I gotta test it first."

"What? And look, about earlier-" Andy started but trailed off when he saw Arlo loading a familiar looking bong. He took a hit as if in example and ripped a fart as he stepped closer.

"This might be more your speed dude. Remember this shit?"

"You're joking-" he was interrupted by another reeking fart and bong rip.

"pffprprPRFRBFFTBT--nyeahehehe, smoke it!"

"Okay, you're not joking," he said, mouth watering with nausea but too shocked to move. "How the fuck did you get this?"

"I was nine, I wasn't dumb. I hid this first and then told mom about your stash." "You told them!?"

"Old news bro, just smoke."

"It's not time to smoke! I need to-"

"It's ALWAYS the time to smoke," his pothead brother blew a lungful of pen smoke in his face. "C'mon, like, relax!"

He hadn't done anything like that since college, and he wasn't sure he wanted to start again. He eyed the glass piece like it might blow up in his face.

"Arlo, you know I'm here to set you straight right? To get you off of this... stuff? Make you an adjusted member of society like the rest of the family?"

"Bruh... don't be a loser."

"You have to understand how worried everyone is-"

"C'mon, bro, like," he exhaled more smoke. "You're not even gonna, like, take a big rip? With your bro?" His tone was both inviting and mocking.

"Arlo, you're kidding, you can't just expect me to smoke weed of all things, at this point in my life-"

"Bruh, if you ain't hanging, you're not welcome. I don't G-A-F about an intervention," He let out a drawn out fart that smelled acrid, and took another hit. "Smoke, or go."

"Fine, yeah, okay... bro," Andy said, mom's voice spinning around his mind.

The faster he gained his brother's trust, the faster he could get on the redeye flight back home. Not to mention, Arlo hadn't exactly been welcoming - was this his way of bonding? Was this him letting down his guard? Andy rubbed his eyes and took the bong. "One, and that's it."

Arlo put a cap over the chamber and intense hot smoke entered Andy's lungs, making him cough and gag. He stopped immediately, hacking and spitting and snotting. He choked out some obscenities.

"Let's goo!! Hit that shit man!"

"What the fuck," he said between gasping coughs, spittle flying. "Was that even weed? Fuck is that!?"

"Moonrock, broski....weed and wax rolled in kief."

His head swam in circles. He must have sat there for an hour, infinitely sinking into the disgusting cushion of the disgusting couch. His mind was everywhere else but paying attention to how disgusting it all really was, and he almost understood how his slovenly brother had gotten to this point.

"Jesus H..."

"One more! One more!" His brother handed him the piece again, hot and ready to go. Somehow he felt that Arlo was influencing him, and not the other way around. He figured if he smoked enough he could just go to sleep and try again tomorrow.

So he smoked, coughed, smoked some more, floating through spacetime and drooling on himself while his brother played videos that soothed him. In his brain he was out on an undiscovered frontier and afraid of what he might face. In reality he was potbrained and glued to the couch while Arlo fed him chips and baby talked him.

"Poor dude. You're probably thirsty too, here bro," and let him drink coke, "sorry, bro, forgot you probably got the munchies, sorry I got you couchlocked," and gave him scraps of food. "Damn bro, you look totally boofed right now."

Andy couldn't figure out what that meant. He could see his brother's lips moving and he could hear this noise that really sounded like Arlo, but nothing made sense to him.

"What the fuck, dude?" Is what he wanted to say, but it came out as a groaning moan that his brother just laughed at.

"Aww don't worry dude, this won't last forever. I love being blasted... it doesn't last long enough! BRRAAAAAP. It'll all be over tomorrow."

Through the distortion he could understand that his brother was comforting and caring for him. It was the most emotion he had really shown towards him the whole time he'd be there. Plus, like Arlo said, his head would be attached to his body again by tomorrow.

Andy couldn't stop smiling. That might have been the weed making his head spin around the room. It felt nice either way.

---

The more Andy warmed up to his brother, the more often days ended like that. In one way or another. They were closer than ever. They no longer fought, but Andy didn't push him as hard either. He felt bad pushing him too much... it always ended up with a fight and more stress, and how could that possibly be helping?

It was also easy to lose track of time. Easier to give in to cravings with junk always available. He forgot about his disciplines slowly but surely, until he was only a more put together facsimile of Arlo. Though that whittled away too, as his slobbish tendencies grew and he picked more things up from his brother.

It was bound to happen.

It was impossible to escape.

Arlo was getting worse, and so was Andy. Daily. Weekly. Monthly. Forever. He'd slipped enough to make a habit of smoking again, but that wasn't the worst vice he indulged in alongside his brother. The mind-numbing channel surfing, the screen-casted tiktok thirst traps, the mountain of artery-clogging fast food they consumed daily... the worst part was the fact that Andy was enjoying it. A lot. He couldn't stop getting high and he couldn't stop stuffing himself. He had never gained weight this fast in his life: every meal stretched his stomach, grew his capacity, and made him greedier for more. He reasoned that as long as he wasn't as big as Arlo, it was okay.

In reality he'd basically polymorphed into his younger brother. His beard grew much faster than Andy's and he hadn't cut it, same with his greasy hair. His midsection was bloated with salt and even when it wasn't it was bigger than it had ever been in his life. His fingernails were dirty with resin. He'd blown up so many sizes he'd graduated into Arlo's old clothes.

"Wanna smoke again, bro?"

They shared the same glassy eyed look at the TV. What was one tolerance shredding dab going to do? He was already in too deep. He took the piece and ripped it like a pro, never taking his eyes off the tiktok thot his brother was obsessed with.

"I've followed her onlyfans, PRRFFTTT, like, since she made it," he said like it was an accomplishment. "She even shouted me out for like, bRRRAP, donating. Talking all sexy and flashing her titties."

"SHE shouted YOU out?"

"Yah, bro, I'm like her highest dono," he giggled at that, smoke oozing from his mouth. "And her highest sperm dono..."

Andy mindlessly rubbed the ice cold can of coke across his sensitive nipple. It was hard to think... and every time he noticed how hard it was to think his mind would drift to how hard he was. His thoughts thickened quicker than he had.

"She... she shouted you out...? For donating money?" He said his words like they were too thick.

"That's her job, dude, to like, get us off."

"Why am I so horny?" He thought, but wondered if he said it aloud.

"Yeah bruh, it's lit," Arlo said, winking.

Andy had never been into the whole scene. Okay, yeah, old playboys and stuff when he was younger, maybe some old school DVDs. When he really became successful he just didn't have time for it. He had real sexual encounters with real women that had real interest in him.

This still felt kind of real. He looked on at the TV, the only thing that made a lot of sense in his clouded head, and felt his shorts tent more.

"Dayummm she thick!" A glint of self recognition; he sounded just like Arlo. Then Ms. Tiktokverse bent over and he was thinking with the other head again.

"Facts bro... Don't worry, I'll leave you two alone. I got her snapchat so I've seen every sfw angle like a million times."

His brother scooted a lotion closer to him and waddled back to his room, farts and moans leaking out of him every other step. Andy could see his grimy tented shorts too, and knew his brother would be busy for an hour or two.

Andy watched the livestream, ignoring the thousands of comments pouring in. Months ago he wouldn't have believed he'd ever sink this low, yet here he was, ogling some girl that didn't even know his name, doing the most sex-adjacent things she could on a PG site.

"Heyyy Arlo, thanks for the donation, sweetheart.This one is for Arlo's brother...Hey, Andy!"

Correction, she did know his name. He eyed the comments that joked about his inceldom, needing his brother to get this girl's attention for him, but quickly went back to ogling. He reached down into his shorts he'd outgrown, but his arm was too fat to fit comfortably. He settled for sliding them down slightly and exposing his growing fatpad.

"Mmm, Andy, I hope you're enjoying every minute of this~"

She winked and smiled, before saying she needed to end the show because there weren't enough donations. With the screen blank, the reality of what he was doing hit him, even with his weed addled brain.

"What the hell am I doing?" He asked aloud, as if God himself might answer. There was no answer though. The only sound he could hear was his pounding heartbeat and the videos his brother blasted at all hours of the night. "Tomorrow... I'll fix this tomorrow."

Tomorrow he could start again, buy a handful of garbage bags, and cleaning supplies, and recruit Arlo into his own rehabilitation. Get his shit together and stop having fun. Since when do businessmen have juvenile fun like this? Never. He needed to get back to Vermont. He would finally be able to get back to work.

Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. His business!

Fuck, how many weeks had passed in this fever dream? He hadn't looked at his work email in ages. After a few failed password attempts, he opened the minimalist mail app, which overflowed with hundreds of emails from clients and coworkers alike. Probing about his return, wondering if he and his family were okay, curious if he'd quietly quit his prolific position. His fat fingers danced on the keys, brain working overtime to try and make an intelligent reply. Nothing came out except a run-on sentence filled with "bro" and "dude". Shit.

He closed the app without sending a single reply.

Tomorrow, he would try again.

---

Oh no. His heart pounded as he shifted on the couch as fast as he could, which wasn't fast at all.

"FRRRAAAP, nnyah."

He wiggled, wobbled, and rocked side to side, resembling nothing more than a bowl of pudding.

"Shiiit, BRRAAAAAP, URRP, nngh nnnnghhh,"

He couldn't fucking reach. He tried so hard but couldn't fight the weight of his fat long enough to do anything.

He looked at his phone with unfocused eyes and forgot what he was doing, but still trying to satisfy the twitching between his thighs. He let out another nasty burp that made him twitch harder.

He looked over at his brother who was groaning in hedonistic joy. Although he was censoring himself with his excess flab, Andy could still hear the buzzing of the toy underneath. His moobs jiggled in sync with the rocking motion he made and Andy wished that was him instead.

"Alexa, can you, like, BRRAPunghhh, order a vibrator?"

"I have found multiple orders in your previous history-"

"Order it!" He barked, trying to reach once more and finding himself red faced and spent.

Blinking blankly at his phone screen again, he suddenly remembered what he needed. He opened Twitter and scrolled more and more. He felt so brainfried, jaw hanging low and staring at flashing gifs. His eyes were too unfocused to read captions anymore, but he needed more.

"BroooAAAPPPP, we should order Doordash... Like a lottafuckingfoooooodnnnngh!"

It was half request and half orgasm. Andy's neck burned hot with desire and jealousy, then anger as the vibe kept purring.

"Dude, take that thing out, burrp, it's distracting as fuck."

"Dude, I can't fucking BRRAP reach it anymore, nyeheheh."

Andy twitched some more, feeling so close to the edge mentally. He wanted that so bad. Constant pleasure. He was so addicted to chasing dopamine. No more natural happiness like sunlight and exercise. Only artificial substitutes like smoking, gorging, and watching pretty girls do disgusting things on Twitter. What happened to him, and so quickly? He felt a pang of fear in the back of his mind but quieted it down with a big fat cloud.

This was the life he was meant to live.

Maybe Arlo had been right all along.

...

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[fllagellant]

Okay . She mass on my gate until the Baldur is effected . Is this Anything .

Like I said b4 … Wyll is a human Spectre with artificial biotics that Mizora funds and controls . Hidden face of the Alliance he probably doesn’ t have any identifying symbols but he’ s . He is the Omniblade of the Frontiers . You feel me ? He would be a Sentinel honestly … the class just fits him the best … Rarely gets actual assignments but always has access to a ship , aid , evac , etc due to being a spectre and also … Mizora … she is not letting him go he is her magnum opus .. like I also stated b4 the artificial biotics definitely have very Adverse and Dangerous side effects , so he has to keep up with a lot of medication and routine hospital checks and medical testing , but he also cannot have it removed unless Mizora willingly removes it , because she is the only one that really can ..

Karlach . Okay . So . She has to be like a Cerberus Super Solider Test right . Like she was under Project Zariel and the whole point was to make an extremely powerful and unbeatable soilder , leading to still having her heart replaced with a mechanical replacement . That is still killing her because it’ s not like it was anything more that a prototype , and she escaped before it was fully fixed and updated so she could live without needed it monitored and constantly tweaked 24/7 .. now I know that this would make her human but the vision of Krogan or YAGH KARLACH is also fucking dope .. sorry Yagh Karlach is like cocomelon to me right now . Honestly I think that’ s gonna be the only way . Yaghlach …. Full solider class , something like a Dragoon without biotic whips

Astarion is Ardak-Yakshi . Look me in my eyes and tell me I am wrong . I am not . Um I think huntresses are like . The asari term for infiltrators … he kinda has to be that . When he was being transported to the Monastery , the ship got attacked and Cazador was the one to “ save him “ . Now , here’ s where I am pondering . Cazador can be another Ardak-Yakshi , targeting others when they are being transported to the monasteries , and is trying to like . Set up his own personal army of them . You know how Morinth says that Ardak-Yakshi are the perfect future of the Asari race ? Yeah . He’ s taking that to heart . OR . Or . He can be a scientist . Human , maybe , or whatever . But he is a non-asari Fully fixated on Ardak-Yakshi and trying to understand how it develops and how he can utilize it . Can he somehow develop something to mimic this power , can he work backwards to recreate it … etc etc

… Lae’zel should be a Prothean survivor . I was kinda going back and forth between Quarian or Batarian , but she would be a fucking Prothean !!!!! Avatar of go fuck yourself . She would be similar to Javik and be an avatar of something very similar . Revenge , I think . I think she would choose Revenge to be what she represents. I mean , Protheans and Collectors echo Gith and Mindflayers to Be Clear and Frank .. Prothean born near the end of her original cycle and was forced into a cryopod .. ohh wouldn’ t it be fucked up if Voss gave up his pod for her ? Like he knew they would need her and her youth and her ability to adapt for the next cycle and made sure she would survive .. ORPHEUS . Ohh okay . She thinks that he was a betrayer and ratted out Prothean resistance groups but she learns through having access to the archive and with new research that he was the last standing against indoctrinated groups trying to betray a save zone … yeah … Vlaakith is like . Sovereign . And keeps trying to speak to her through the collectors and trying to convince her to join them . She also probably preys upon her fear of being forgotten or failing her duty .. Ohhh fuck yeah

Gale is . Okay I have Two Ideas . The most ‘ correct ‘ one is that he is a Drell biotic who would be like . A wandering scholar ? Like his purpose is to gather knowledge and experience and bring it back to Kahje . Mystra could be the one he serves in a Compact , alongside other drell like Elminster .. he’ s been sent off world after getting too cocky and overstepping in the eyes of Mystra , and he needs to go learn humility before he can return back . He’ s an adept .. trying to translate the orb … either it is Kepral’s Syndrome and he’ s gone without care for it for a concerning stretch of time , or it could be related to biotics in some way … how ? Good question . But honestly it would make the most sense if he did have Kepral’s Syndrome in place of the orb . Okay second idea that I won’ t go with but i like . Geth Gale ( chose the name Gale based on the definitions of both a strong wind and an outburst ) who is now an outlier Geth .. MYSTRA was like . A group name for his collective mind until he was cast out from the group . YOU GOTTA ADMIT YOU GET THIS VISION TOO

Shadowheart . I really like her as a Quarian .. Quarian who was taken away from the fleet and raised outside of it .. being told all her life her family gave her up and traded her so they couldn’ t be exiled from the fleet .. So she lives in full resentment of them and the fleet and other Quarians she sees on pilgrimage because of how cruel it was for her to not have that , that her family gave her up and never tried to contact her , that the fleet would be so cruel to her and allow such a trade off ... but that isn’ t actually true . She was forcefully taken and raised by non-quarians , mostly because they saw her as a chance to try and understand the Quarian immune systems and responses and use that research for riches … if they can reverse engineer a way to artificially boost immune systems and make Quarians pay a random for it , then.. project SHAR . That is what I’ ll call it . That is also why her hand is constantly injured they’ re running tests and using that wound like a controlled variable . Aylin and Isobel are Quarians too , and Aylin has been on a hunt to find Shadowheart since she learned of her kidnapping .. she’ s the team medic but also the engineer … spirit guardians are still a thing they are drones that shoot rockets at you

[peachshadows]

On the look alike crack au- imagine our macaque hiding his ears but showing his scar, he doesn't take care of his fur bc it's not like he has army of monkeys to groom him, looks scrawny bc death took a hit on him and his muscles mass (skeletal almost), sounds different due to traveling to many places after he died, and looks younger bc he spend many centuries dead (plus he hasnt had the stress of ruling a kingdom alone). Just enough differences to make one disbelieve it's an alternate version.

Oooo interesting! I feel like if ever c!Macaque gets to the sundown world first before the others I feel like he would chill with sd!freenoodles for a while just so he can recover a bit (so he wouldn't look so skeletal). Like he's gathering as much information he can about this world before he and MK can find a way back home. Like he'll do it sneakily and in the shadows type deal of rescue so there's a chance that mk could just disappear from the sundown world without anyone noticing and everyone just panics

[theweeklydiscourse]

Nerfing the Villain: An analysis of the Darkling’s attack on Novokribirsk

I reject the attack on Novokribirsk as a culmination of the Darkling’s supposed master plan and his evil aspirations. So I wanted to talk about why I don’t feel compelled by this moment, despite the fact that it is brought up several times as a point of contention in discussions about the Darkling’s evil deeds.

When you read this chapter of Shadow and Bone or watch it happen in the show, it is communicated to the viewer/reader that the attack on Novokribirsk served as a demonstration of strength. In the show, we see a soldier directing Zoya to steer the ship to a position of visibility, explaining that they will need an audience. This, coupled with the attendance of foreign diplomats, reinforces the idea that the attack is meant to be seen and functions less as a military maneuver and more like a political strategy. Similarly, the book implies this purpose through Alina’s observations of the ship’s passengers

But this plan is flawed on two fronts. Firstly, the fact that the Darkling has been established as an adept strategist and general who has led the Second army for generations and thus, has a great deal of experience and expertise. Secondly, this maneuver is an act of senseless violence that has no pretext and is counterproductive to the Darkling’s goals.

And just like that…the Darkling got lobotomized by the narrative

Aleksander Morozova has been characterized as an intelligent and cunning individual from the moment he first appeared in the text. Alina's narrations frequently ponder over his inner workings and demonstrates a perception that he is both highly strategic and calculated when it comes to his planning. This perception is strengthened by the added fact that Aleksander is roughly four centuries old, having spent his long life involved in the military and politics as a Grisha general. With this in mind, the reader can gather that he is a skilled and competent leader with countless years of experience and so we assume that what he does will follow a logical path (even if it proves to be ruthless).

So how do we make sense of the attack on Novokribirsk? To examine this moment in full, we must start with how the text explains the purpose of it.

"This must be why the Darkling had delayed our trip into the Fold. He’d needed time to assemble the proper audience, witnesses who would attest to his newfound power. But just how far did he intend to go?" (Shadow & Bone, pg. 207)

Here, we see Alina's assessment of his plan. In summary, Aleksander has invited Fjerdan ambassadors, a delegation from Shu Han, Kerch tradesmen, as well as a representatives of the Crown to demonstrate the might of the Fold. He intends to use Novokribirsk as a site for his demonstration and unleash the fold upon the city to make his point to his audience. The ultimate goal of this act is explained as a threat to the nations bordering Ravka, as well as the current leadership of Ravka itself. The Fold becomes a weapon of mass destruction and lends Aleksander leverage over the nation on his terms.

“I think you understand me now. There are no Ravkans, no Fjerdans, no Kerch, no Shu Han. There are no more borders, and there will be no more wars. From now on, there is only the land inside the Fold and outside of it, and there will be peace.” (Shadow & Bone, pg. 213)

However, when you take a closer look, it becomes apparent that Aleksander should be smarter than this. He should be the kind of leader that would have the foresight to see that this plan would massively backfire if he ever did something so senseless. It would be like if the USA dropped a nuclear bomb on Los Angeles or New York to intimidate other countries into submitting to them, completely counterintuitive and lacking awareness of how the public would react. Decimating a city in your own country as a demonstration of might, especially without any pretext or warning, is not an intelligent strategy under any circumstances. Yet, Aleksander makes his speech confidently, as if what he did was a sound strategy.

For one, Novokribirsk is a densely populated trading port and has a population that is mainly composed of Ravkan civilians who are not at war with Ravka. If his goal was to showcase the Fold's overwhelming strength, why not unleash it on a Fjerdan or Shu town/city? You know, the countries that Ravka is actively at war with?

“They’re your own people!” I cried desperately. (Shadow & Bone, pg. 210)

Aleksander committing horrible acts of violence is fine, but only if it aligns with his previous strategies and end goal. Senselessly slaughtering civilians en masse is not a strategy that fits in with that idea, and it is obviously counterintuitive to what he wants to achieve. Also, Aleksander is already feared or despised by a large portion of the population and does not have the majority of Ravka on his side, so how could this possibly help him? Getting onto the throne is one thing, but staying on it is a completely different game. Brute strength can only hold out for so long, and it doesn't help him to commit a random act of violence in this context.

"They ran, and I saw their fear, heard their screams as the black fabric of the Fold crashed over the drydocks and the village like a breaking wave. Darkness enveloped them, and the volcra set upon their new prey. A woman carrying a little boy stumbled, trying to outrun the grasping dark, but it swallowed her, too." (Shadow & Bone, pg. 212)

It’s difficult to believe that a person with as much experience as the Darkling would not be be able to foresee that this act of violence would elicit a visceral negative response from the majority of Ravkans. We could imagine that the nature of this plan was to instill fear into the hearts of the masses, but no ruler can govern on fear alone and it’s pretty important to have people on your side if you want to stay in power. As such, killing civilians with no clear justifications, motives, or pretence becomes an effective strategy at getting everyone to hate your guts.

The incoherence of this moment is the reason why I reject it as a legitimate culmination of his character motivations and arc throughout the book. It feels distinctly disconnected from the goals he was purported to have, so when other characters like Nikolai and Zoya lay into them for it, I don’t feel remotely compelled by their words because it didn’t fit in at all with his character.

[asherbakugou]

Sample

Still not sure if I'm going to make this a series but this kind of a sample of what it would be about.

The old Blackwood Monastery loomed ahead of them, a shell of its former glory with crumbling stone walls, rotting wood, and vines climbing along the sides.

"Why the heck have we never seen this place?!" Jay demanded, as Sensei Garmadon pushed through the rotting, rusty black wood and iron doors that led into the main courtyard. The man sighed at the moss that had overtaken the stones and the miature lake forming off to the side where the dirt had sunk over the 50 years since it had been abandoned.

"We abandoned it after the Emporers Army attacked us to get our main forces away from the Monastery so they could . . . So they could steal the children. Unfortantely they managed to succeed and took one of my closest friends son. Her and her husband died trying to rescue him," Garmadon admitted, closing his eyes as the image of Eteri and Aryan flashed in his vision.

"The Emporers Army?" Kai asked, wrinkling his nose. Sensei Garmadpn tool the distraction, turning to them.

"Wu has not–" He interrupted himself at the deadpan look he recieved. "25 Years or so before the Serpentine Wars the Emporer made a decree that all Elemental Masters were enemies of Ninjago and were to be imprisoned or killed."

"What?!"

"How was that allowed?!"

"They were killed!!"

Lloyd raised his voice above them all to be heard, "What happened?"

Garmadon sighed, leading them into the Monasteries halls as he spoke, "We believe a rogue Elemental Master attacked the capitol, killing the Emporer's wife though it was told to the masses that it was an accident. Seeking vengeance, he wanted every Elemental Master dead so there would no longer be those with the power we hold."

"But an Elemental Power passes on after death. Does it not?"

"It does, Zane. But he refused our talks of peace, even when Wu stubbornly clung to it and continued to try to find peace when war was inevitable." Sensei Garmadon could not help the old anger that seeped into his voice.

"Why did Sensei want peace so badly?" Cole asked.

"Our father taught us to keep the balance, and Wu took that to mean we had to keep the peace. Using our fathers old Monastery, he sheltered Elemental Masters who refused to fight or were simply to old or young too. Blackwood Monastery became a symbol of war. I took those who were angry, who had lost family to the massacre and began forming a group of my own."

Garmadon gestured to the wall of the library he'd led them too. Taking up an entire wall, surprisingly undamaged, was a painted picture of 9 people all holding weapons and posed with their weapons.

"Whoa," was the agreed upon sentiment. The picture itself was surprisingly detailed and they all gathered closely to get a better look.

"Who-whose that?" Nya asked, reaching out to lightly touch the figure of a woman holding a spear and very obviously controlling water.

"Jiang Daiyu, the Master of Water and known as the Tide-Bringer," Garmadon stated, a fond smile ticking up the corner of his lips.

"Jiang?" Kai asked. "Like Jiang Mei Lien?"

"Mei Lien was her daughter, and her children would be Daiyu's grandchildren."

Nya turned back to the picture in awe, "That . . . That's my-our grandmother?"

"Yes."

"You've known this entire time who our grandmother is! How could you not tell us?! You're just as bad as Wu!" Kai snarled, the air warming in his anger.

"I did not tell you because I had wrongfully assumed you would be aware. And by the time I realized I was wrong, you did not need to know about the previous holders," Garmadon stated, shaking his head.

"We want to know," Zane said. "So tell us everything."

They all nodded, so Garmadon did.

The picture of a man in armor holding a knocked bow with flames curling around his feet, "Keahi Kalama, the Master of Fire. Known as the Wildfire Archer, and was Ray Kalama's father."

The picture of a man in little armor with a war-hammer balanced on his shoulder with what looked like cracks beneath his feet, "Gerald D'Angelo, the Master of Earth. Known as the Unbreakable Shield, and was Lily D'Angelo's father."

The picture of a man in little armor and a kimono holding two long blades with spikes of ice by his feet, "Aspen, the Master of Ice. Known as the Bringer of Ice, and was the last known Master of Ice until Wu found you, Zane."

The picture of a young man in a kimono top, holding no weapons as lightning curled along his exposed hands, "Petir, the Master of Lightning. Known as the Blue Serpent, and was Libby's father, likely your grandfather Jay."

The next picture was a man in samurai armor with a rice hat covering most of his face, as smoke curled around the twin katana's in his hands, "Aryan, the Master of Smoke. Known as the Ghost of the Samurai, ironic considering his son."

All of the ninja frowned, trying to figure out what that meant as Garmadon tapped the last picture.

It was a woman, levitating in the air with a ninja GI on, long sleeves exposing the Tessens in her hands as her hair flew around her face, a vivid green streak the center piece, "Eteri, the Master of Wind. Known as Tempest, and was Aryan's wife. She and Aryan had a son that was taken from them. They named him Morro, after the way the wind curls around a mountain."

Morro had gone completely still, staring at the two pictures. The only movement any of them could see was the tremble in his fingers. "You- You knew my parents?"

"I did. I considered Eteri a sister, and had she lived it is likely she would have been Lloyd's Godmother as she was also close to Misako. Unfortunately I was not close to Aryan, but I believe the only one of us close to him was Eteri," Garmadon explained, smiling slightly at the pictures. "Aryan was a Samurai, one of the last, and he preffered to be alone but Eteri . . . She was stubborn. Eventually she managed to convince him to come to the Monastery and he became a part of our group, of . . . of the family we'd created."

The smile fell away as Garmadon remembered the tragedy that had befallen them. "Morro, your parents did not abandon you. You were kidnapped from the Monastery and they did everything they could to find you but it wasn't enough. They died, Morro, fighting to get to you and they were not the only ones. Keahi and Petir died trying to find you, leaving behind their own children because of their loyalty to Eteri." Reaching out, Garmadon set a hand on Morro's shoulder as the teen stared at him with trembling green eyes. "Your mother, and your father loved you with everything they had. Never doubt that."

Morro pulled away, stomping deeper into the Monastery as they all watched.

"So, my grandfather seriously died trying to save him?" Kai asked, jerking a thumb in Morro's direction.

"Keahi considered Eteri to be his younger sister, and was named Morro's Godfather. All things considered, had things gone differently, Morro likely would have been your uncle, and even your godfather because of their close relationship," Garmadon stated, amused by the way both Kai and Nya recoiled in shock.

"What?!"

"No way!!"

Jay cackled, loudly, so Garmadon turned his gaze on him, "Your mother likely would have named him as your Godfather as well, especially if Morro had been raised by Aryan and Eteri." That shut the ninja up real quick.

"Is the same true for Cole?" Zane asked, tilting his head.

"It is likely yes."

"Wait, my mother seriously would have . . ."

"Lily's parents were close to Eteri as well. We all were. As I said earlier, we became a family becaise of the war, a bond we forged in blood, death, and sacrifice."

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟: 𝕔𝕙.𝟛 - 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕕 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Ascended Astarion x f!reader

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - T, (this chapter) pissed off Astarion, threatening, light choking, grinding

➺ 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: you're skilled, driven and most importantly - ambitious. but even as someone in your position, a trained assassin and a leader of your own Guild, you still lend yourself to jobs that are of importance. even if those jobs sometimes mean attending parties. tonight - it's a masquerade and you're bored out of your mind, until the man who hired you to protect him leaves you alone, at the mercy of a stranger who suddenly took a keen interest in you.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 3,131

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: enjoy ♡~

➺ 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥: [link]

Weeks pass but your mind is not much clearer about what happened with Astarion in the graveyard. As you shuffle through the papers on your desk your mind is elsewhere, at that moment when he sank his teeth into you, when he drank your blood with such greed it could’ve killed you, and you wonder - what is it that he wanted that night, your body or your blood?

You can’t focus on reports that you are trying to sort, reports of people tracked, killed or robbed. Not long ago you started a mass operation to tip power scale of Baldur’s Gate in your favor, but all you can think of is that vampire that chased after you just because you wounded his pride. Yes, men kill for their pride, is he that type of man?

You sigh and let the papers drop from your fingers onto the desk and rub your eyelids with a sigh. Yes, you heard the whispers. Hells, your own informants and assassins reported the rumors – Lord Astarion is looking for you. He sent his spawn, a small army of them, to look for any trace of you. Thankfully you’re careful enough and your men are tough enough to not let any leads slip, but you wonder why he’s so desperate to find you. You aren’t sure if it’s because he wants you or to feed on you and somehow you are beginning to think it’s the latter, considering how he tried to gorge himself on your vitae.

You suppose you will learn soon enough.

A day ago you made your best sneakthief bring a letter, an invitation, to Astarion’s mansion, asking him to come here, to your very own Guildhall. If he’s seeking for you so much then you want to know why. With any other person you would not expect them to show up the next day but with his spawn feverishly combing the city, it leaves you with impression that he won’t delay if he can afford it.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on your door and one of your men peak his head inside, his eyes meeting yours.

“He’s here.” the man cryptically says but you know exactly who he means and so you gather your wits, giving him a curt nod.

“Let him in.” you command and receive a nod in return.

The door closes and you quickly put the papers away, cleaning your desk from any sensitive or well, incriminating, information. You don’t need Astarion seeing any reports or contracts. He’s a vampire after all, he might use that knowledge against you and you don’t want him to have this kind of leverage.

Couple minutes later you see the door swing open without a knock and Astarion struts in with a wicked grin. He shoves the door close and pauses to inspect your office. His eyes take in the wooden panels of the walls, the paintings that would hang shamelessly in Duke’s home itself, the carpet leading from the door to your desk and another one underneath it. Astarion’s gaze scans over the cabinets and couple closets, the bookshelf, the rack with wine and then turns back to you and your heavy oak desk, the luxurious armchair you’re sitting on. Seems nothing slips past him while he inspects the room almost like a caged animal that knows he can break free any moment. There’s caution but also self-assurance.

With that same arrogance in his strut and smirk, Astarion begins walking to your desk. His long coat open and showing a silken shirt underneath that matches his pants perfectly. An expensive ensemble in white and blue, embroidered with real gems and you make a note that he seems to prefer this style although you don’t know why exactly you want to remember this, but sometimes small details like that become the downfall of your enemies, maybe it will be useful here too if Lord Ancunín is keen on making you an enemy of his own.

“So! This is where you have been hiding.” Astarion says and there’s venom in his voice that he doesn’t even try to hide. You lean back in your chair and clasp your fingers together, resting your hands on the desk while you observe him and his body language.

“I heard you wanted to talk to me.” you nod to the one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk and Astarion pauses, giving one of them a disgusted look, most likely imagining how many low-lifes sat there before him, but he sighs with almost dramatic flair and sits down, lounging as if the place belongs to him.

“Indeed I have. Tell me, little assassin, why have you waited so long to reach out if you heard I was searching?” Astarion’s slender fingers tap the armrests his arms are draped over and you raise an eyebrow at him, not amused by his subtle display of power.

He’s in your domain and he better be careful or he might not leave alive, because you are sure that even a Vampire Lord can’t survive an entire Guildhall of trained killers. Or, well, so you hope. Still, you’re confident and secure in your own small kingdom so you smile to him, making sure that he sees the mocking nature of such expression.

“You didn’t appear on my priority list, I’m afraid. Tell me then, what is it that you want?” you ask, letting your grimace drop and Astarion’s vanishes too as his brows knit.

“You left without a word again.” he says in a tone that tells you clearly – this is something that upsets him greatly and he’s even more annoyed you don’t seem to realize it’s important enough to exactly why he’s here without asking first.

“Indeed I have. Did that bother you?” you try not to grin at him again and almost lose the battle, except a sudden outburst of Astarion’s anger makes you immediately become cautious as he jumps to his feet and slams a clenched fist on your desk, making inkwells and quills jump while his fiery crimson eyes burn into yours.

“Who do you think you are to walk away from me?!” he nearly yells but manages to control his voice last second while pure rage storms within him and you take a moment to look at him, utterly bemused by this outburst.

“Since when fucking you gives you any authority over what I do?” you ask and obviously Astarion didn’t expect that, because his expression freezes for just a moment, then switches to barely hidden shock. He straightens his back and lifts his chin, arrogant and proud, trying to assert himself.

“Everybody in this city is just waiting to be controlled.” he lifts his hand, beginning to gesture a plucking motion. “One by one, everyone will become my thrall either by bite or out of fear. I’m just giving you a choice when so many others won’t have such luxury.” he smirks and you catch a glimpse of his fangs, for a moment feeling ghostly sensation of them embedded in your neck again.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a choice, Astarion.” you comment and his eyes snap at you, vicious glee in them.

“Are you trying to be clever now, little assassin?” he mocks and leans over your desk, pressing his palms flat on the top of it as his eyes lock on yours. “You do have a choice. You can be mine or you can die.”

You pause at his words. This is not the first time you have heard such threats and from men scarier than him, so you laugh. Loudly. Your reaction makes Astarion’s face twist in a hateful scowl but he says nothing, waiting for you to stop laughing and speak. So when your amusement starts settling into a chuckle you smile at him, entertained by his words and what he wants them to mean.

“You must think you’re being merciful, don’t you? Presenting me with an impossible choice.” you comment but you can’t deny to yourself that his boldness is in a way endearing. He’s dangerous, you knew that already, but his confidence is quite charming in a twisted sort of allure. “Tell me, Lord Astarion Ancunín, how is it that I’m given a choice, hm?” you say with sarcasm dripping off each word and the vampire pauses then smirks to you, pushing himself from the desk and beginning to walk around it, towards you.

“I find you… unique. In your own pathetic, mortal way.” Astarion says in a pompous way and you watch him get closer until he’s by your side, leaning against the edge of the desk and looking down on you with a malicious grin. “You see, you intrigue me, little assassin. I want to play with you a little longer and it’s more enjoyable if you come along willingly.” his fingers tap the oak of your desk and you raise your eyebrows.

“Is that so? So which numbered slave of yours I would be? A hundredth? More?” you offer him a bitter grimace and Astarion chuckles, his eyes slipping from your face to your neck that’s not hidden by the light leather armor you’re wearing today.

When you’re not pretending to be a bodyguard to paranoid nobles, your dresses are forgotten in the closet and replaced with functional set of boots, pants and shirt. It looks like seeing you dressed in such attire amuses Astarion and he briefly pauses before responding.

“I’ll let you know that there’s nothing in this world I cannot have. I can take anything I want, be it treasures or people.” he smirks and his eyes meet yours again. “I should’ve made you a spawn just to teach you that.”

“And yet you didn’t. Why?” you turn your body in the chair just so that you can see his face better and Astarion sighs, his expression finally losing that malevolent edge although the smirk remains. He leans close to you, studying your eyes and rest of your features before he speaks.

“I prefer when they come willingly. Delicious as you were, I didn’t want to force you to be my spawn.” he whispers and there’s barely hidden desire in his tone, making you again wonder if it’s just the blood that he wants or your body too.

“Rest assured, I am not interested in becoming your spawn. So what now, will you kill me?” your eyes drift down his face, to Astarion’s lips, and you remember how scorching his kisses were, how his tongue tasted, it stirs desire in you once more, but you try to push these feelings away from both your mind and body.

“I could.” Astarion says with unwavering conviction. He leans away from you and sighs. “What, do you really think your darling playthings would be able to stop me in time if I decided to snap your neck here and now?” he sounds almost bored as he says it and you frown, insulted that he thinks he has even a chance to harm you, let alone kill you, especially while he’s in your dominion. With a frown you push back with the chair, making legs of it slide over the carpet silently and you stand up moving to the side, making sure that the corner of a desk is between you and him.

“Bold of you, to think you can take a Guild Leader like me without consequences or issues.” you say and tap the dagger at your side. You have more blades hidden on your person, but he doesn’t need to know about those, unless he forces you to show them.

Astarion laughs at your words and moves from the desk, walking towards you as if you’re a prey to a predator, and you give him a prideful look, making it clear that you won’t stand back. Suddenly his arm shoots up and by gripping your throat he forces you backwards to the wall. You react just as fast, drawing your blade and aiming it at the underside of his jaw with narrowed eyes and clenched teeth but Astarion only chuckles.

“Cut me, I dare you.” he leans to your lips, brushing his against them, his hooded eyes sweeping over your face, and your exhale slowly, letting him, moving your dagger with his body, not cutting him just yet but poising to do so if you sense actual danger from him. Yet you don’t, not now at least.

“I’m not going to be just another spawn among thousands to one exalted vampiric master.” you whisper and Astarion pauses, his eyes locking on yours but suddenly he chuckles.

“No, you won’t be. Of course you won’t. You will be my favorite spawn.” he falls silent for a moment then grins widely. “At least for a while.” and then the vampire kisses you, deeply and hungrily, not letting you turn away.

The kiss takes your breath away and for a moment you forget his words, the fire inside you roaring with the heat of nine hells and you let your dagger clatter to the floor before you grasp onto his shirt and pull his body against yours. Astarion smirks against your lips and swiftly pushes his tongue into your mouth, greedily tasting you once again. Oh how he missed the taste of you. His own desire that now borders on obsession takes a hold of him and vampire releases your throat, grabbing at your wrists and pinning them over your head just a second before he begins grinding his hips against you. You feel his hard cock even through the fabric of his pants and yours, and you gasp into the kiss, feeling your body respond with familiar wetness between your legs. You don’t resist, don’t even try to, as blood rushes to your face and the tip of your tongue traces his teeth, the fangs, the outline of his tongue.

Suddenly he pulls back from your lips and buries his face into your neck, greedily inhaling your scent, nudging the spot where your blood pulses the hardest with his nose.

“Tell me you will become mine.” Astarion demands with a raspy voice right before his teeth give your neck a bite, but this time without his fangs piercing you. “Tell me you want to be mine.”

Your eyes open at his words and you exhale with a choked gasp at his nibble but then smirk. If he thinks this is enough to make you foolish, then he sorely misunderstands who you are.

“No.” you whisper and Vampire Lord freezes, then lifts his face from your neck to look into your eyes. He looks confused, shocked even, like he cannot believe he really heard this upsetting little word come from your lips.

“No?!” Astarion asks in a strained whisper as if he really can’t comprehend that you’re refusing him. Again.

“No. Kill me, I dare you.” you smirk and his beautiful features immediately become twisted with hate but then a second later he collects himself, at least to a degree, and grins at you.

“Do you want to die so badly, little assassin?” he asks, the grip on your wrists becomes tighter and tighter, nearly cutting off circulation but you don’t even flinch while he continues. “Think of all the things I can offer you, darling. You’re not going to say no to that, surely? Immortality, power, eternal beauty, what there is not to want? I offer you a gift like no other.”

You nearly laugh but know better than to push his limits right now, so you just smile to him, politely and almost genuinely.

“You really think that a promise of immortality will make me want you more? To sign off my free will for eternity to a man I fucked twice?” you ask and watch Astarion consider your words for a moment, strangely not snapping at you right away, but then his smirk becomes vicious and animalistic, his fangs reminding you of a threat he really is.

“Very well, then I will take what I want by force.” Astarion’s voice is menacing as he says this and your heart skips a beat in a moment of fear when you watch him begin leaning his face back to your neck, but then you snap out of your frozen state and remind yourself who you are and more importantly - where.

“Herin! Varnel!” you call loudly and immediately two men enter the room. When your eyes move to them you see they look unphased. Good, you taught them well.

Astarion, on the other hand, freezes not at your shout as if he was expecting you to scream, but only when he hears people entering your office. He slowly turns his face to them and you can feel his grip on your wrists shake with barely contained rage, yet he laughs and releases you, stepping backwards before his eyes return to you.

“I see.” he comments and straightens his shirt with his palms while you rub your wrists with a smug expression on your face. You know you won this round, just like the previous two. And you know that you won’t be forgiven for it.

“Gentlemen, please make sure that Lord Ancunín finds his way out without issues.” you command your men while your eyes remain on Astarion’s and he doesn’t move until your assassins step closer. Only then he smiles a dangerous type of smile and bows his head to you.

“I see, my little assassin. I understand.” he says and then looks at the men meant to show him out. You can near sense his thoughts, that he could kill them both and you if he wished so, but can he slaughter the entire Guildhall? Probably not without issues.

Astarion’s shoulders straighten and he nods to the men.

“Show me the way.” he says with undisguised arrogance and begins walking, followed by your guards while you watch him leave the room, your wrists heavily throbbing with pain, a foretelling sign of bruises.

You sigh with relief when the door closes leaving you alone in your office and roll your eyes. You’ve met difficult men before, so Astarion’s behavior doesn’t surprise you. What does surprise you is your own yearning to have been able to spend more time with him, to feel his touch on your bare skin.

You exhale as if disappointed in yourself and frown, trying to chase these thoughts away while you walk back to your seat, trying to focus on things that still need to be done today.

You know that Astarion is a dangerous man. A very dangerous one.

And yet you can’t help but wonder what ruling Baldur’s Gate with him would be like, if only for a second.

A second that you should not have allowed yourself.

[jadeseadragon]

Repost @chaseironeyes via @lakotalaw

Dec. 15, 1890

"After the Battle of the Little Bighorn, Sitting Bull & his people fled to “Canada” for four years. Faced with mass starvation among his people, Sitting Bull finally returned to the “United States” & surrendered in 1883. Sitting Bull was assigned to the “Standing Rock reservation” in present-day Dakotas”,where he maintained considerable power despite best efforts of the Indian agents & jealous Lakota to undermine his influence. When the apocalyptic spiritual revival movement known as the Ghost Dance began to grow in popularity among the Sioux in 1890, Indian agents feared it might lead to a Native American uprising. Wrongly believing that Sitting Bull was the driving force behind the Ghost Dance, agent James McLaughlin sent Indian police to arrest the chief. The police rousted Sitting Bull from his bed at 6:00 in the morning, hoping to spirit him away before his guards and neighbors knew what had happened. When the fifty-nine-year-old chief refused to go quietly, a crowd gathered and a few young men threatened the Indian police. Someone fired a shot that hit one of the Indian police; they retaliated by shooting Sitting Bull in the chest and head, killing him instantly. Before the ensuing gunfight ended, twelve other Native Americans were dead and three were wounded. Sitting Bull & Crazy Horse we’re not in the majority. The majority were forced to succumb to the status of “federal Indian” & confine themselves to “federal Indian reservations.” The minority was at Greasy Grass, a very small minority would not surrender in the torturous aftermath fleeing to so called “Canada” ; Starving so bad they ate mice; gnawed on their own moccasins to mimic the sensation of nourishment, watching their children slowly perish. Similarly & again a fraction of those minorities engaged the GhostDance. Two weeks later, the army suppressed the Ghost Dance movement with the Wounded Knee Massacre 1890. The spirit of tribal sovereignty that guided Sitting Bull still smolders under foreign occupation. The same corporate oppression faces all “Americans” today. “I was never the aggressor; I only fought to defend the women & children.” - Sitting Bull