#the shadow in the water is supposed to resemble the tower

[rozugold]

A cool setting for an animatic maybe..

[outofrealms]

The "Priest"

The room was dimly lit, with candles flickering in the corners casting shadows that danced along the walls. I didn’t know how I had gotten here, and yet, here I was, standing in line with a crowd of people who knelt in awe before a man draped in a dark, flowing robe. He stood at the center of the gathering, towering over us like a king addressing his subjects. His presence commanded reverence—there was something unsettling about him, something otherworldly.

The air was heavy with silence, save for the whispers of prayers and the murmured chants of the others. They called him "The Priest." But he was more than that; he was their leader, their god. I watched as each person, one by one, approached him with bowed heads, receiving his blessing, his command, his…..mission.

I didn’t know why I was here. Everyone else seemed to have a purpose, an understanding of what was expected. But me? I felt like an outsider, a stranger to this eerie ritual. The man in front of me, an older guy with hunched shoulders, moved forward to kneel before the Priest. I could feel the presence of a girl behind me, her breath uneven, as if she was nervous too. I wanted to turn around, to ask her if she knew what was going on, but something stopped me. The atmosphere, the oppressive stillness—everything about this place told me to keep quiet and follow.

The line moved forward slowly, and soon it was my turn. I found myself standing before the Priest, his piercing eyes boring into mine as if he could see right through me. I felt my knees weaken, almost buckling under the weight of his gaze.

He raised his hand, and for a moment, I wondered if I was supposed to kneel like the others. But before I could move, he spoke, his voice low and serpentine, "Your mission."

I blinked, not understanding. Mission? What mission?

"Wait," I blurted out, the words escaping before I could stop myself. "What... what am I supposed to do? Is the mission easy?"

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, their heads snapping in my direction as if I had just committed the gravest sin. No one dared to speak in the presence of the Priest, and now I had broken that unspoken rule.

For a long, tense moment, the Priest said nothing. The silence was deafening, and I could feel the weight of a hundred eyes on me, waiting for the inevitable punishment. But then, to my surprise, the Priest smiled—or rather, something that resembled a smile. His lips twisted into a smirk, and his voice, like a hiss of amusement, filled the space.

"Easy," he said, his eyes gleaming with an unnatural light. "Like reading a book, organizing things, and sleeping."

The words made no sense. I glanced around at the others, hoping for some kind of explanation, but no one met my gaze. They were all too focused on the Priest, as if hanging on his every word. What kind of mission was this?

Before I could ask again, the Priest extended his hand toward the lake that stretched out behind him. Its surface was dark and still, reflecting the flickering lights around us. Without another word, he gestured for me to move toward it. The man who had been in front of me was already wading into the water, disappearing into the inky depths as though being swallowed by the lake itself. The girl behind me took a sharp breath, and I could feel her trembling.

It wasn’t just a lake. I could sense it now, something lurking beneath the surface, something ancient and hungry. And that’s when it hit me—the Priest, this place, all these people—they weren’t human. The air around him crackled with a demonic energy, a malevolent force that seemed to pull at my very soul. This was no Priest. He was a demon, and these people, they weren’t worshippers—they were his followers, bound to him by some dark, unseen power.

And now I was one of them.

The others began their descent into the water, one by one, vanishing beneath its surface. My heart pounded as I stepped closer to the edge, the water cold and foreboding. I still didn’t know what my mission was or how I had ended up in this nightmare. But the Priest’s voice echoed in my mind, taunting me.

"Easy, like reading a book... organizing things... and sleeping."

As I took my first step into the lake, the chill wrapped around me, and I knew that whatever was waiting beneath the water would be far more terrifying than anything I had ever imagined.

[ver-rai-ety]

Pirate AU pt.2

The many well off individuals were being corralled into the center of the ship like farm animals into their pens along with the few guards who hadn't been escorted to the bottom of the sea in the midst of their raid.

One younger guard had been festering in the back, a rifle within near reach, he decided to bide his time and wait for a moment to strike these monsters that plagued “their seas.”

As the clouds had cleared from the sky, the moonlight reflected off the water and illuminated the sea much more clearly.

The ship that held many affluent people was definitely built for cruising and pleasure over long sailing, and its size was much smaller compared to the ship that had commandeered their hospitality.

The many different crewmen had begun inspecting and acquiring various items and treasures.

The handful of captive passengers were being encouraged to put their items in the bag.

One particularly proud man attempted to stand up to the pirates, refusing to hand over a golden pocket watch that had been in his family for generations.

A rougher crewman had begun to threaten the old man, preparing his pistol as he approached closer.

“That’s enough!” a voice called out from high up.

From the night sky a rope had dropped near this commotion followed by the sound of cloth heavily rubbing against the binding tool.

The shadows of the night above had birthed a figure in a flowing coat that came cascading towards them.

A large *Thoomb* could be heard throughout the entire ship as the cloaked figures' boots collided with the deck, the collision demanded silence as the figure steadied itself looking down at the wood that kept them afloat, the hat upon their head obscuring their face.

All eyes were on this new figure with the pirates smirking at their arrival.

The new figure stood up straight, revealing their towering size and most importantly the haunting mask that obscured their face.

Adorned on their face was a white and red mask that resembled some kind of reptilian beast, a sight most unnerving to most “civilized people” like the ones aboard such a ship as this.

This new figure took long strides towards the old man who had been fighting back their forces. As their strides got closer the differences in their sizes were far more clear.

The masked figure loomed over the older man, his shocked expression looking even more pathetic from their point of view.

A hand reached out, grabbing the pocket watch with no resistance, the towering figure inspecting it.

“In your family for generations you say?” The figure pondered before pressing the mechanism to open the time keeper.

“I suppose this is your family then?” They asked, positioning the now opened watch at the captive crew, revealing an old photograph, not of any people that resembled the pale white man in front of them, but a small and happy black family.

The man refused to speak another word but the expression on his face and the amount of bullets he was sweating spoke enough.

Upon closer inspection of the photograph, some splatter could be seen. While the night sky could easily confuse this splatter for Ink, any pirate worth their sea legs knew what blood looked like when it was spilled.

In the intense silence, the young soldier knew a chance when he saw one and lept into action.

He dove towards the pistol, pulling back the hammer and was aimed at the masked figure only to have his hand crushed under a very powerful grip that raised him up into the air immediately after.

When the pain had subsided he could see a rather attractive looking woman with eyes that resembled a squinting cat, and her build could put most of his fellow navy men to shame, however it was her dress that directed attention away from her muscular physique as she so elegantly blended in with the royal and elite.

She gave him a very devious smile before delivering a devastating punch to his stomach, knocking all of the wind out of him and releasing his grip on the gun, dropping him in the process.

“I apologize for the commotion captain.” The muscular woman stated as she addressed the masked figure.

“Excellent work as always Ms. Talon.” The masked figure responded.

“As you can see, my crew is well equipped to deal with undesirable hindrances.” The figure stated as they turned away from the small crowd of captives.

“And for the incredibly stubborn obstacles….” The figure pointed towards their ship,and with an immediate reaction, a singular canon was fired, startling the bureaucratic captives.

“Ms. Fang loves to remove them.” The masked figure finished their thought as everyone's attention was now focused on the large chunk of ship missing from the front end.

If not for the burnt wood and small fires remaining, it looked as though a bite the size of a great white was taken out of the front.

“Wait!” Another older man spoke up.

“Could you be…Captain Drake?!” He questioned with a twinge of fear in his voice.

There was a slight pause between the old man’s question and the masked figure's response.

“It seems my reputation speaks for itself. Now if you don't mind, I have an appointment with your hosts.” 

[science-lings]

Thundera Plateau and the Sages

First of all, the number of Sages has always been... inconsistent. Sometimes there are three, sometimes there are six, sometimes there are seven, or nine, so the fact that there are only four platforms that correspond to four sages shouldn’t be too crazy of an idea. 

Also, the elements that the sages represent are just as inconsistent. In OoT, the sages have dominion over Forest, Fire, Water, Shadow, Light, Spirit, and Time(?), but in Wind Waker they add the Sage of Earth and the Sage of Wind. Sometimes they’re just old ghosty guys like in TP where they have no concernable differences.

There’s only one confirmed sage (or I guess the reincarnation of a sage) in botw but we’ll talk about that later. 

Let’s just start with the platform on the Zonai-made Plateau. (maybe the sages were a Zonai only thing? or at least very connected to them) 

First we have one that is likely meant to represent the Sage of Shadow. Purple is generally the shadow-y color and is the color associated with Impa in OoT, who is the Sage of Shadow. Also the symbol is a big S. 

This one seems most likely to be the symbol of the sage of Light. Not only does it look like a light, but it is also yellow. wow, crazy. Interestingly enough, an extremely similar symbol is placed on some big metal blocks found around hyrule, the unbreakable kind used for shrine and sheikah tower quests... how interesting. I don’t know what this means. Maybe the Sage of Light was a sheikah who helped with preparing for the future hero? 

It’s not exactly the same but it’s extremely similar. Also the little birds seem to be a connection to the royal family? they like birds a lot. 

The green symbol that looks like a leaf symbolizes the Sage of the Forest? fuckin bonkers. Also this is one of the theories I have for which Sage the Lord of the Mountain aka Satori was. I mean, similar to how the great deku tree has his leaf babies, Satori has a bunch of Blupee babies that gather around him. They only appear away from civilization in forests and are modeled after rabbits. 

This one is the one that I got stumped on. It doesn’t resemble any previous symbols of sages especially with it’s color. Red is normally associated with fire, but the symbol doesn’t exactly look like fire. So one of my ideas is that it’s supposed to be for the Sage of Spirit, in WW the stained glass thing with Naboru is covered in red, while Darunia who is the Sage of Fire has mostly oranges and browns, Also the symbol for Spirit has a kind of swirly thing going on like this one. It would also complete the opposites also represented in the plateau. There’s Light and Shadow, and Forest (or a symbol of life) and Spirit (associated with death).  

I personally think that there were other Sages, their power passed on through blood (or Lava? do Gorons have blood?) Which is where the Champions abilities originate. Revali could have the power of the Sage of Wind, Daruk with the Sage of Fire (or Earth?), Mipha with Water, and Urbosa... There isn’t really a sage associated with lightning. At least that we know of. There are several sages in games like FSA or ST where there are spirit maidens (practically sages) who are just represented with colors and it wouldn’t be crazy to think that one could be the sage of storms or thunder or something. 

[clonewarsarchives]

Reputation (#136, OCT 2012)

written by Ari Marmell

art by Tom Hodges

It wasn’t even genuine rain pattering down around him, muting the hum of the speeders and skiffs high above. Real rain could never have wormed its way among the various obstacles to reach the city’s lower levels. No, this was condensation, dripping from the undersides of bridges, roadways, and TaggeCo gray-cranes overhead. Oily, polluted, stinking and stinging, it was enough to drive almost anyone to seek the nearest shelter.

Almost anyone. Not the hunter.

Broad-brimmed hat and sturdy coat of nashtah hide shed the putrid water as efficiently as any forcefield, but even if they hadn’t, the figure crouched beneath them would likely never have noticed the precipitation. From a flat and leathery face beneath that brim, the sinister crimson eyes of a Duros peered not at the multitude of towers above and ledges below, or the glimmering of a thousand lights, but into the years ahead.

War’s coming.

Most people didn’t like to think about it, didn’t want to admit it. They pretended the Trade Federation’s recent embargoes were flukes; ignored the growing whispers of separation and secession from the Outer Rim systems; placed an almost religious faith in the new chancellor’s abilities to reunite a fractious Senate.

He knew better, the hunter did. He could smell it in the air, across the length and breadth of the Republic. Might be a few years, yet, but war it would be.

And there was money to be made in war. A lot of money; more wealth than even the greediest Corellian could imagine. But he needed the name, the reputation, to claim it, which was why he’d taken this fool’s errand of a job in the first—

His eyes snapped back into focus with a single blink at the sudden vibration in the metallic band on his left wrist. Something had tripped the portable sensor fled—independent from the building’s internal security, and not nearly as easily bypassed—the Duros had placed on the roof below. Indeed, even as he rose for a better view, a glimmer of green luminescence shone, briefly but brightly, from a darkened hatch.

“Suppose it’s about that time, then...” the hunter muttered, his voice a rasping, rolling growl. Spindly fingers ran across the custom blasters at his waist in a final check, and then he was off and running. Coat flowing behind him like wings, boots spraying a wake of filthy water, the bounty hunter hit the edge of the platform and leapt.

“Blast doors down! Blast doors down!”

Akris Ur’etu, lord of the youthful but rich and brutal Skar’kla Consortium, cringed at the sound of his own voice, shrill enough to drown out the slamming of the heavy slabs. He knew it made him sound panicked, even cowardly, and couldn’t do a bleeding thing about it. When the Bothan crime boss grew agitated, his shadow-gray fur stood on end and his voice screeched like the felines he so greatly resembled.

Still, whatever his people thought of his bravery—or lack thereof—they obeyed. Half a dozen guards, human and otherwise, crouched throughout the room or flattened themselves against the walls, blasters and slug-throwers trained on the nigh-impregnable door. Ur’etu himself clutched a holdout blaster in one paw, hidden behind his magnificent desk of blood-red greel wood.

“Is it him?” he demanded, his tone now slightly more under control He ran his empty paw over his head, as though he could force his fur to relax. “Are we certain it’s him?”

A bronze-scaled Trandoshan thug opened his maw to speak, but the answer quickly became moot. A pinprick of glowing heat blossomed through the blast door; molten durasteel trickled from the breach, disturbingly like seepage from a ruptured cyst.

Swiftly, smoothly, that point became a line, tracing its way down the surface of the door. Ur’etu could practically envision the brown robed figure on the other side, lightsaber pressed tight to the portal.

“As he likes it, then,” the Bothan sneered, his worry drowning in a growing tide of anger. “I don’t know why this Jedi’s been interfering with my operations—or what happened to the bounty hunter who’s supposed to get him out of my fur!—but it ends here! The instant that door opens, I want that hallway filled with enough blaster fire to charbroil a Hutt!”

Guards grunted, fingers flexed on triggers and firing studs—and slowly, methodically, the sizzling outline in the blast door grew...

When the cut was finally complete, a chunk of durasteel simply slid away and toppled into the chamber. Clearly, the Jedi had canted the cut downward so gravity alone would do the job of moving the heavy slab; had any of Uretu’s men been fool enough to stand too close. they’d have been pulped.

Blasters screamed and bolts flew even as the room shuddered at the impact, so many and so rapidly that the ambient air grew charged, but no target stood revealed for them to hit. After a few volleys that served no purpose other than to score the walls beyond, it finally dawned on the lot of them that they were firing into an empty corridor.

Empty... until, just as the Trandoshan began to edge forward, a tiny metallic sphere bounced into the room from all to the left of the gaping hole in the door.

“Detonator!”

Ur’etu dropped beneath his heavy desk with a horrified yowl; guards dove for cover or turned to run, as though there were any real way to escape.

The blast, when it came, was almost pure heat and flame without concussion. The Trandoshan and two other thugs were incinerated outright, the others singed to various degrees of pain. Smoke, far more than any traditional thermal detonator should have emitted, billowed upward to cloud not only the doorway but that entire half of the room.

“Eyes on the door!” the Bothan shrieked from beneath the desk. “He’ll be—!”

He already was. From the very top of the smoke, carried through the fumes in a leap that no normal human could have duplicated, the dark-clad intruder rolled. A sizzling snap-hiss! and an emerald reflection in the cloud heralded his arrival. The lightsaber flashed, and the first of the surviving guards went down.

From well behind the Jedi—who, it turned out, was a black-haired and bearded human at average height, clad in a dark-hued variant of the Order’s traditional garb—the bounty hunter watched through narrowed crimson slits. One finger idly tapped at his chin, while the other kept the same rhythm on the butt of a holstered blaster.

These were no Jedi tactics he’d ever heard of! Slicing through the blast door, that was one thing, but the Duros had never seen a lightsaber like this one. The shaft alone was over a meter long, as though the weapon had been stuck on the end of a small pike, turning it into more of a spear than a sword. And he’d watched as the Jedi ducked aside, hunkering behind the segment of the door still standing until the inevitable barrage had passed, and then...

“Since when,” he asked himself softy. “does the Jedi satchel of tricks include thermal detonators?”

Most curious of all, though, was the leap that carried the intruder into the chamber beyond the wall of smoke. For just a spilt second, as the Jedi crouched, the bounty hunter swore he spotted tiny flashes of light from the soles of the man’s boots.

“Well, now. What exactly are we looking at here?”

Tugging the collar of his coat high and tight to filter the worst of the fumes (Breathing tubes! Best add breathing tubes to my own sack of tricks...), the bounty hunter crept toward the smoke.

*      *      *

When the boss of the Skar’kla Consortium had ducked beneath his desk, it wasn’t only because he’d hoped the heavy greet wood might shield him from the blast. A hidden switch, a quick turn, and the floor beside the desk hissed open. By the time the last of the guards fell to the lightsaber, Ur’etu was already dashing along a metal-paneled corridor, swearing up a storm in Bothese between ragged gasps. He’d expected he might have to retreat, that the guards upstairs might not be enough—but he thought they’d at least have slowed the blasted Jedi down a little! With every step, he had to quash the urge to look over his shoulder, convinced he heard pounding footsteps or the sinister hum of the blade close behind him. A dozen times he started at sudden movement, and a dozen times it proved nothing more than his own reflection in the polished walls.

Finally, after what felt like a sprint of roughly a light year or so, he came to the end of the corridor, and cheery door not substantially thinner than the blast doors above. Somewhat frantically—for now he really did hear the rapid steps of the oncoming Jedi—he waved a paw over a sensor recessed into the durasteel. Instantly the portal slid up into the frame, revealing Ur’etu’s security center.

From amidst a ring of standing monitors, the Bothan’s Weequay security chief peered at him.

“Problem, boss?”

The clunk of the closing door masked another stream of Bothese obscenities. “What the mradhe muck kind of stupid question is that?!”

The Weequay shrugged, and if he felt at all contrite, it didn’t show in the crags and wrinkles of his coarse face. “Thought you said you’d call me when you needed—”

“Wasn’t time! That Jedi tore your men apart!”

“He’s coming through that door any second,” Ur’etu continued between wheezes.

“Good!” The security chief stepped away from his post, a stubby force pike clutched in his left fist. It began to crackle and spit, as though just as anxious as its wielder for the coming chaos. “Been wantin’ to try my hand against a Jedi.”

“You don’t have to beat the son of a mynock! Just lock him up long enough for....” The Bothan hefted his blaster.

“Just don’ hit me, boss.”

“Oh, thank you so much for the—”

No lightsaber cuts this time; the door simply slid upward once more to reveal the cloaked and cowled figure beyond.

Instantly Ur’etu stepped back and to one side, raising the small but deadly weapon in hopes of a clean shot. The Weequay strode forward, force pike spinning idly at his side.

The Jedi’s left hand rose, fingers pointing at the Bothan.

Ur’etu gasped as the blaster abruptly tore itself from his grip and sailed across the chamber to slap into a dark-gloved palm.

The Weequay had crossed roughly half the distance between them in a sudden lunge before the Jedi flipped the blaster around and shot him in the face.

“Now... now wait a minute...” the Bothan protested, backing away with both paws raised. “Look, I don’t know what grudge you have against my organization, but I’m sure there’s some arrangement that we can glrk...”

The Jedi stepped to one side, left hand pointing once more, and Ur’etu began to choke.

*      *      *

“Right. Think I’ve seen about enough, then.”

Two faces, one hooded and one furred, twitched around as the bounty hunter stepped calmly into the security chamber. Ur’etu made a peculiar gurgling in his throat, gesturing madly toward the Jedi with one paw while the other continued to grab futilely at his own neck.

The Duros watched the Jedi’s arm shift beneath his robes, saw the indecision on the man’s face, and offered a broad, sharp-toothed grin. “Don’t mind me. I got no intention of interfering. By all means, finish up.”

One wouldn’t have thought the suffocating Bothan’s eyes could bulge any wider. One would have been wrong. Ur’etu, boss of the Skar’kla Consortium, died staring in horrified rage at the blue-skinned bounty hunter.

“Now,” the bounty hunter began as the body slumped to the floor, “let’s you and me talk a minute.”

“What about?” Even had the Jedi’s words not swum in a soup of suspicion, the hand he rested on the hilt of his lightsaber would have been indicator enough.

“Mostly about how you faked all...” Long blue fingers waved idly at the room in general .“All this.”

The hand on the lightsaber shaft tightened.

“I don’t recommend it, son. Not even a Jedi’d be fast enough—and we both know you’re no Jedi.”

The man’s answering hiss of astonished anger led into the louder hiss of plasma, the lightsaber blade once more snapping on to bathe him in a faint green glow...

And just as swiftly shut down as a blaster bolt tare through the shaft, sending metal shrapnel, burnt wiring, and crystalline shards tearing through cloth and, in a few painful instances, skin.

“Stolen lightsaber, right?” the bounty hunter continued, as casually as if discussing the latest slingball match. “Extra haft makes it easier to wield without leaving a few of your own limbs behind, that one’s obvious. What else you got?”

The “Jedi” leapt, clearing the control panels and half the chamber in a bound, heading toward the fallen Weequay and—presumably—his weapons.

“The boots, right. Impressive.” A second blaster bolt flew, piercing miniature engine, leather, and flesh alike. Smoke, so thick it was almost a fluid, gushed from the human’s right heel. Propelled only by the other, now, his leap veered off course. slamming him into the wall with a bone-bruising crunch. He slid to the floor, groaning. “Smallest personal jet I’ve seen was 30-kilo pack,” the Duros told him, gesturing idly with the pistol . “You’re lucky I made that shot, by the way. I don’t typically practice shooting to wound.”

Fingers shaking, the supposed Jedi raised a hand once more. The blaster quivered in the hunter’s hand, then began to pull away.

“Mono-filament cable with a magnetic grapple?” The bounty hunter yanked, and the wounded man slid across the floor, dragged by his own wrist. “Probably looked just like the Force to that scared Bothan idiot when you snagged his blaster.” The human fetched up against the hunter’s feet with a pained gasp.

“And the suffocation. Let me see...” He bent low, studying the other’s wrist gauntlets. “Gas emitter. Wouldn’t recommend trying that, not with you and me so close. Might choke the both of us, hmm?”

Real clever scheme, I’ll give you that.” The Duros holstered his weapon, then again started to idly tap a finger against his chin. “Leave behind a few bodies killed with a lightsaber or choked without any bruising, make sure witnesses see you performing a few tricks, and everyone’s thinking your target riled up the Jedi something fierce. So nobody—not the authorities, not Ur’etu’s allies—are looking at any of his business rivals. Smart.

“So which Hutt are you working for?”

“What did—? I never said... How—?”

“Not hard to figure. Not like anyone but the Hutts have been trying to move on Skar’kla territory.”

The “Jedi” nodded once, his teeth clenched.

“All right. Then here’s the deal, son. I took Ur’etu’s job—that’s killing you, in case you still weren’t sure—because I figured taking down a Jedi would garner some attention. But everyone would’ve figured it out, once I brought you in. So here’s what I figure: The Hutt’s bounty on the Bothan must be pretty sizable, so I’m going to collect it.

“And you... You’re gonna convince me I made the right call letting you live by teaching me how to construct this kind of miniaturized equipment.” Already the hunter’s mind was reeling with the possibilities; energy fields, ship controls, hidden weapons, code breakers...

The false Jedi was clearly wise enough not to bother asking what would happen should he refuse. Instead, he nodded a second time, even more stiffly. “I didn’t catch your name, bounty hunter.”

“Bane. The name’s Cad Bane.”

“Never heard of you.”

“No.” Bane couldn’t keep a broad and vicious smile from spreading across his face. War was Looming—and the hunter with access to this kind of gear, and the right attitude to use it, would have more than enough of a reputation to cash in when the time came. “No, you wouldn’t have.

“Not yet.”

[insomniamamma]

Clean Dirt: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/n: For writer Wednesday, @autumnleaves1991-blog​. Same reader as Prickle, but this stands alone. Read Prickle if you care about how Artichoke got her nickname. Cee swears like a Puggart Bench dock worker and Ez blames you. Reader is established crew with Ezra and Cee. 

Warnings: language. Flirting. Mention of giant bugs.

          "We have got to air out this pod." Ezra and Cee sit under a heavy tarp stretched from the side of the pod, tethered to surrounding trees. They are engrossed in a game of Ships and Kings. Cee chews on her thumbnail and eyes the board.          "Kevva waits, birdie, make your move."          "Shut up, Ez, I'm thinking."

         They aren't paying you a bit of attention. Syrinx-7 is a gentle world, if hot and humid. The gravity is a fraction of standard, the oxygen levels a bit higher, so you get insect-analogues that would have been at home on prehistoric Terra. Shadows pass over the trees and some primal part of you shrinks from an approaching predator, but when you look up you see translucent flying creatures the size of small air-craft. Filter-feeders, Ezra told you, they just ride the currents with their mouths open and swallow whatever happens to fly in. Translucent flesh laced with wire-thin bones, but that's not why you're here. This is a proper bug hunt. You're after scythe-wings, a night hunting predator. Their ichor has valuable medicinal properties. The trick is to tap 'em and let them go, said Ez, and showed you the tools, a sharp spile that you stab between the third and fourth thoracic plates. Showed you the specialized containers to dump that black blood into, temp controlled with a faint electric current flickering through the inner lining, to mimic the inside of a scythe-wing's body. You got to fool the ichor, said Ezra, trick it to think it's still safe and inside, otherwise it breaks down and all you got is a bunch of worthless black gunk.          Scythe-wings are nocturnal. The three of you set up the light-towers, and assembled the stun sticks, and now there's nothing to to but wait until it gets dark. You'd wandered back into the pod to grab some Bits Bars and the smell had damn near knocked you down. The air of Syrinx-7 is clean and sweet, no scrubbers or suits necessary, and after getting a few good lungfuls of it, the inside of the pod smelled terrible, body odor and mildew and stale food.          "I'm dead serious," You say, "Y'all are just blind to it. Go back in right now and tell me I'm wrong."

         Ezra stands and stretches theatrically. He's long-since ditched his shirt in the heat and you can't help but admire the slide of his back muscles under his skin. He turns his head and smirks at you and you find something really interesting in the dappled undergrowth to look at, heat creeping up you neck. Kevva, this is so unprofessional.          "I suppose we can take a break," says Ezra.          "You only want to take a break because you're losing," says Cee.          "Don't you touch that board, Artichoke," says Ezra.          "Cee doesn't need my help to kick your ass at Ships and Kings."

         You stand in the shade of the tarp and wait as the two of them open the pod and poke their heads in.          "Kevva's sakes, she's right--"          "This pod smells like an old man's balls--"          "Cee!" You splutter laughter.          "Feeling personally attacked there, Ez?" You call. Ezra and Cee practically climb over each other to get out of the pod.          "Oi!" says Ezra, "You are a terrible influence on this young lady. You have taught Cee a myriad of rude expressions, some that even I find objectionable." He's chiding you, but he does it with a teasing smile. Cee rolls her eyes.          "It really does stink in there," she says, "We can crank the panels open, I guess."          "We got anything onboard that passes for laundry detergent?"          "Got some degreaser I think," says Cee.          "That'll work."

         Ezra usually sets down near a body of water. It's a lot easier to fill the pod's tanks than to rely on the ‘cyclers. Also there is the comforting knowledge that, at least for a few cycles, you're not drinking your own recycled piss. Clean water in the fringe is a luxury, and this world has clean water aplenty, cut through with rivers and rushing streams like the one you've landed next to. If not for the low grav this would be prime real estate. Turns out human reproduction only works at a certain gravity. Syrinx-7 is just below that threshold. Eventually, this will be some vacationer's paradise. Trees knocked down to make way for gleaming hotel blocks, but there will never be a permanent human settlement here. A pretty place for people who can afford passage on the jump-yachts.

         You've disconnected the intake hose from the pod and use it to fill a cargo tub. The water mixed with the industrial cleaner foams. Not ideal, but it should do the job.  The pod resembles a flower in bloom, the feather-panels all hand-cranked open. If the 'chutes fail, the panels pop, a last ditch effort to slow a falling pod.          "Grab me another tub, would you?" You ask, and Ezra ducks back under the shadow of the tarp. Cee shoves a tub full of dirty laundry towards you.          "This is everything I could find," says Cee, "What about the suits?" You shake your head. Cleaning an exo-suit is a bit more than you can manage dirtside.          "Take apart what you can and hang 'em on the line," you say, "We can air them out at least."          "How long are you idiots going to dance around each other?" Cee stands with her hands planted on her hips.          "I don't kn-"          "Between the pod and the tent we share a living space the size of a cargo can," says Cee. You hunker beside he tub, scrubbing fabric against itself, hoping the degreaser will at least take some of the smell out. Fuel-to-weight limits dictate how much you can bring down with you. Extra changes of clothes are usually one of the first things to be sacrificed.          "And?"          "Come on," says Cee, "I've seen how you look at each other. It's pitiful. You get all bashful and he makes those Big Dumb Eyes at you. Just give me some warning when you two dumbasses finally decide to hook up. I'll make sure to turn my music up extra loud."          "Kevva wept." you mutter, but Cee is already headed back beneath the tarp. Ezra comes out of the shade, dragging an empty cargo tub. He plops down beside you on the stream bank.          "Can I help?" That question is loaded. When you first joined Ezra and Cee as crew he was still getting used to doing everything left-handed. The few times you'd offered help, he'd lashed out at you and then shame-facedly apologized to you later. It's not you, he'd said, I let my frustrations spill over. I should have been more clear with you initially. I have to relearn these things on my own. Please do not offer help. If I need something from you, I will ask. We clear? Clear. You'd said.          "Sure," you say, "I'll start handing you stuff. You rinse it out in the stream and dump it in the tub you just brought. Clear?"          "Clear," says Ezra, and the two of you work in companionable silence for a beat, the sound of the stream babbling away, and an absent snatch of music you hum, words unremembered, something Cee was listening to. You pass clothes off to Ezra, socks and t-shirts and PUZU gear that Cee favors, boxers with frayed elastic and sagging seats.          "We make enough Ez," you say, "You can get yourself some undies without holes in em."          "Same goes for you, Artichoke, I could read a newspaper through some of the sleep-shirts you wear. Not that I'm complaining, mind." You feel your neck and ears getting hot. Kevva. He's been looking at you the same way you've been looking at him.          "At least we'll have something clean to change into once we wash off the bug-guts," you say.            "Things go right and there won't be any splatter," he says.          "Yeah, and since when do things go right?" Ezra laughs, eyes crinkled shut, his dimple showing. He laughs more now than when you first joined up.          "You got me there," he says, "This all of it?"          "Yeah." He stands and offers his hand, helps you to your feet, but then he doesn't let go, just holds your hand in his, the calloused pad of his thumb brushing over the tender skin on the back of your hand.          "You're good to us," he says, "Me and Cee would be living like a couple of channel rats caught in a conduit if not for you." You're not sure what to say, you don't have words for what you're feeling. How do you tell Ezra that after leaving Falnost with the dust still clinging to your heels, after kicking around the ass-end of the Great Arm, you found a home with this tiny crew? You don't know what to say so you squeeze his fingers in yours.          "Come on," you say, "You get one end and I get the other. Cee's got the line hung."

         The two of you wrestle the tub of wet clothing over to a stretch of rope that Cee's  tied between a pair of trees. Your exo-suits hang draped over the rope, for all the good it will do. Those will stink until you can get them professionally cleaned on station. There's nothing in the pod that can serve as clothes-pins so you and Ezra drape your wet clothes over the line.          "What if it falls off?" Asks Cee, arms crossed over her chest.          "What if it does?" You ask, "At least it'll be clean dirt."

Tags: @honestly-shite​

[theguidetocryptids]

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Surprising.”

“Oh, shut it. I’ve been thinking. Why, exactly, are we heading towards the light?”

“Uh? Angels? Heaven? Refuge? Maybe just hot water and no goddamn monsters?”

“But how do we know that?” Implored the first voice, decidedly male.

“I don’t know jack shit,” Responded the second, sounding like the type of girl who, in another life, could’ve been a bouncer at a bar. “But it’s the only place in this hell that has power.”

“And that’s weird! I mean, the entire world collapses in on itself, and, fuck, there’s some weird lighthouse sayin’ ‘come on in, y’all, we got power for the tower and everything?’ Ain’t that a little strange, given the circumstances?”

“Strange is the new norm. We already saw a giant worm devour a car.”

“Strange is the new norm when you’re [read: yer] desperate and heading towards a light like a moth to a flame.” The first voice’s country accent seemed to be getting more pronounced the more time he spent in the ruins of humanity. After all, it did resemble the rural parts of America a lot more now. Not as many running cars. Less people. All that was really missing was the local crackhead and a herd of cows that mooed at ungodly hours of the night.

“A smart moth. Look, if you don’t like it, then that’s that. Just don’t come with me. Simple.” There was a pause after this, in which she immediately regretted the ultimatum. It wasn’t as if she needed him, nor as if their relationship was the best - in fact, these two particular people would have hated each other under normal circumstances, but as has been stated, end of the world, power outage, monsters, the whole apocalyptic shebang - but they were all that they had left: his family somewhere out in rural Mississippi, presumably dead; hers somewhere in the deeper part of the city that had burned when the riots hit, with the rest of the residents of said city currently residing in the bellies of a few less-than-satisfied creatures.

In fact, one of the unsavory diners roared their displeasure somewhere to the pair’s right.

“Get moving.” He said, apparently decided.

“Damn right.”

As their pace quickened, he pulled out a leather-backed journal from his pocket. It wasn’t fancy, and unnotable in every way except one; that it was the only thing keeping them from an untimely demise. A few weeks after the end of everything, with the cities burnt out with the corpses were cooling, the survivors awoke to something that had no business being around during the apocalypse.

It was, of course, the Guide to Cryptids, Monsters, and Unfriendly Others*. (The asterisk was pressed into the cover on. There wasn’t an explanation for the term within the pages.) But from locales, to favorite targets, to whether they liked their coffee black or with milk and sugar (or, gods forbid, even tea) it helped the reader move along with their lives in the end times (a version of this sentiment was a trademarked phrase, as the Guide felt the need to cover its ass from any lawyers who were still kicking about. The guide had no advice for lawyers.)

As if this wasn’t peculiar enough, reading the book was more convoluted than a normal glossary. Instead of flipping to the first page, with a table of contents, it was always the page pertinent to what was currently stalking you. Many (now rather dead) survivors have opened the cover to find details of monsters they’ve never even heard of, much less seen. Being that most of the monsters didn’t exist until last month, they tend to go out with something of a “Well, this is insane,” followed by a scream, and maybe a gurgle if it’s one of the more grisly things.

It was thanks to this book that Sarah and Joel were currently alive, and not being gnawed on by the friendly neighborhood rats. And they intended to keep it that way.

But what it was offering now was . . . less than consoling. It wasn’t that it was information about a particularly deadly monster, or that the text was too cramped to read, no. It was more that the first page said “TRUST ME,” and the second said “RUN. HIDE.”

It certainly hadn’t done that before.

Leaping over the skeletal arm of a less fortunate traveler, Joel unceremoniously yanked his companion into the shadow of a skyscraper, holding a finger to his lips as ways of explanation whenever she looked to him, raving mad.

Trying to keep calm, his eyes ran over the pages of the Guide, which had shifted to a much more helpful entry. It was written as follows.

Name: Screeching Thing (as determined by our brave field researchers).

Habitat: Abandoned cities, burnt out suburbs, and museums (recreationally).

Hunts: Any living thing. Also observed to attack sculptures which resemble other animals, or even humans. Heard from miles across its city, the Thing’s call can immobilize you if you’re caught by the brunt of it. That is, being screamed at with no dampeners between the Thing and you. Lesser effects include, but are not limited to, lasting ornithophobia, feelings of terror, migraines, punctured ear drums, and loss of balance. Disorientation is to be expected.

Hates: Tunnels, dark areas. Although bird-like, with talons and a ravaging beak gruesome enough to give anyone nightmares, the Thing possesses its own fear, something akin to claustrophobia. It is recommended that you seek out buildings with basements, or, more ideally, subway tunnels.

Tea preference: Straight, with two sugar cubes, but only at noon.

“I don’t suppose you have any teabags on you.” Sarah remarked, having been reading over Joel’s shoulder.

“Well, I do, but I ditched all the sugar over in Eddiesburg. Really wore my arms out.”

“You’d think they’d make smaller bags of it.” She said sympathetically.

“We should really get moving, huh?” He asked, as if the notion of being devoured by a hulking, screaming pile of feathers and muscles and sinew suddenly seemed unappealing.

The creature screeched, closer.

[deja-you]

foreign affairs | part one | paris

m. de lafayette x reader

summary: In 2020, Representative Y/n L/n is up for reelection. Lafayette, Y/n’s former best friend and current French socialite and playboy, decides this is the time to walk back into her life.

word count: 6.8k

trailer | next

2012 was the year he broke his arm and broke her heart.

During her sophomore year of college, Y/n decided she wanted to study abroad in France. She had taken a few years of French in high school and college, not enough to be fluent, but enough to hold a short conversation. Lots of college students studied abroad, and seeing as Y/n was majoring in Political Science and International Affairs, it made sense.

Paying for a year abroad was another story. Since her senior year in high school, Y/n had been saving up the money she earned from waitressing, and with the help from her parents, she was just able to afford the trip to France. 

During the first week in Paris, faculty members took students around the city to see different attractions. Most students went to see the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe. Y/n preferred to see France’s president’s residence, the Élysée Palace. It was built back in 1718, and the beige colored stone -- we don’t really care what this building looked like, do we? It’s a building in Paris, of course it had beautiful architecture. We’re all wondering why this is significant, right? 

Okay, so Y/n loved politics and history and foundations of democracy and republicanism. She was standing outside the French White House (it’s not really white, we’ve covered this, it’s more of a beige color, but I think “White House” is a term we all understand). Y/n was probably admiring the architecture that your author is refusing to describe. Now this is where it gets more interesting. 

“Pretty building, isn’t it?” 

A man leaning against one wall was watching Y/n while he lit his cigarette. He had spoken plainly in English; was it that obvious that Y/n was American.

“It’s beautiful,” Y/n replied politely.

“Very. Soon it’s going to be my home.”

This piqued Y/n’s interest. “Are you running for president? I can’t remember anyone that looked like you in the polls.”

If she was being honest, she had never met anyone that looked like him in general. Charming brown eyes, curly hair, neat stubble, and a smile she would’ve remembered. He gave her an amused look and raised his cigarette to his lips. 

“You wouldn’t,” he replied, then offered his hand for her to shake. “You can call me Lafayette.”

Y/n shook his hand, but she was still confused. “And you’re running for president, Lafayette? I have to say, you might need to work on your name recognition.”

“I am not running for president, chérie. Perhaps you’re more familiar with my mother, Jolie de la Rivière?” 

He watched as the realization hit her. 

“Jolie de la Rivière? As in the frontrunner in the presidential election?”

“The very one. I am surprised an American keeps up with French politics.”

It made sense now. Y/n could see the resemblance between this stranger she had just met and the future French president. De la Rivière had been leading in the polls since she announced her campaign, and it was almost certain that she would win the election in April. Y/n just happened to run into de la Rivière’s son?

“You want to get something to eat?” Lafayette asked, seemingly out of the blue.

Y/n was still in shock, but she nodded, wanting to know more about the man she had just met. “Okay.”

They crossed the street to a café (there was a café at nearly every corner in Paris) and took seats outside. Y/n let Lafayette order for both of them even though she knew enough French to order herself, she didn’t want to give him any reason to make fun of her poor French accent. 

“So,” Lafayette said, watching Y/n curiously, “you’re an American in Paris, huh?”

“I suppose so. But less “starving artist” vibes and less musical numbers,” Y/n quipped. Was she really talking to the son of the future French president, and he was asking about her?

“So if you’re not a starving artist, what are you doing in Paris?”

“I’m a student at Georgetown and I’m spending the semester studying abroad,” Y/n informed him.

“What are you majoring in?”

“Political Science and International Affairs.”

“Political Science at Georgetown? You must be smart. Will I see you running for president some day?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

She laughed. “I don’t know about that. Maybe I’ll find a job working on a campaign or for a Senator. I don’t have it all worked out yet.”

“Neither do I,” Lafayette said. This made Y/n pause. She could tell he was a few years older than her. He was also Jolie de la Rivière’s son. How could he not have his whole life worked out?

“What’d you mean?” Y/n asked.

He shrugged. “Everyone expects me to follow in my mother’s footsteps. It’s not that I’m not interested in politics and government, I just... I just don’t want to live in her shadow forever.”

“I see,” Y/n said. “At least you’ll have connections no matter what you decide to do.”

“That is very true.”

They continued talking for an hour or so. Lafayette would ask her what it was like living in the United States. Y/n would ask him what it was like having a powerhouse mom. The conversation came easily to both of them, something Y/n had never expected from a stranger. 

When the bill came, Y/n ultimately let Lafayette pay for their lunch after much protesting (Y/n only allowed for him to pay because she was a broke college student). Then Lafayette asked for Y/n’s phone number, which she gladly gave to him. He promised he’d call or text sometime and they went their separate ways.

He said he’d call, but Y/n was expecting within the next few days or weeks. She was not expecting him to call her only a few hours later.

“Y/n, hey!” Came his voice from the other line.

“Lafayette? Hi?”

“I know this is sudden, but there’s this concert at a small venue tonight. I have a few tickets, and I was wondering if you and some of your friends wanted to join me tonight?”

“Um, okay, yeah?”

“Great! I’ll send you the information.”

And then he hung up. True to his word, he sent her a text with the time and address a few minutes later. Y/n invited two of her suite mates, Rebecca and Joe, to come with her. Then a few hours later, they showed up at a small but lively concert venue. Lafayette met them there, wearing a more casual outfit, and they all went in together.

Y/n honestly couldn’t remember who was performing that night. She didn’t remember much, but she knew she had more drinks than she should’ve, that the music was loud, and that the room was incredibly hot. What she couldn’t forget was the headache she woke up with the next morning. At the very least, she had made it into her own bed even though she hadn’t made it out of the clothes she had worn out the night before. 

She grabbed her water bottle from beside the bed and took a long drink. When that didn’t help, she went to find Rebecca or Joe to ask what had happened the night before. Rebecca’s room was closer, so she knocked on the door before opening it.

“Hey, Rebec-- Oh my god!”

She quickly shut her eyes but she wouldn’t be able to unsee partially naked Lafayette struggling to quickly put his clothes back on. Y/n cringed and closed the door quickly behind her. What had she just seen? Why was Lafayette in Rebecca’s room? And why was he naked?

“Y/n, mon dieu, you weren’t supposed to see that!” Lafayette had finished dressing and followed Y/n out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“What exactly was that?” Y/n asked.

He held a finger to his lips and motioned at the door. “Rebecca’s still asleep.”

“So you and... that happened?”

Lafayette rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, I guess so. It was all a blur... but, yeah.”

“We all got pretty drunk last night,” Y/n justified. 

“Er, not exactly. You and Joe had a lot of drinks, but Rebecca and I decided to stay sober enough to get everyone back. So once we got you and Joe home, well, we kind of...” He trailed off and his eyes dropped to the floor.

“Oh. I see.” Y/n didn’t know what to say. “Are you and Rebecca like... a thing now?”

He shrugged. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

Lafayette really didn’t know. Neither did Rebecca. 

In the next two weeks, they hooked up a few more times before deciding they were best off as friends. After that, it was a Parisian girl named Celeste. Y/n quickly got used to Lafayette’s flirtatious nature and him constantly bringing around a new girl. Sometimes it was annoying, sometimes it was a point of humor. It didn’t matter too much to Y/n, she was content being friends with him. 

They grew close quickly, and soon enough Y/n couldn’t remember what her life had been like before him. There was no one Y/n preferred to discuss foreign policy with than Lafayette, and there was no one Lafayette would rather annoy than Y/n. At one point, Lafayette took Y/n to one of his mother’s rallies, and Y/n spent more time than necessary explaining to Lafayette’s mom how big a fan she was. Lafayette nearly had to drag her away so that actual constituents could talk to his mom. 

But most days it was more casual stuff. Sometimes Lafayette would sit on Y/n’s phone and take a ridiculous amount of selfies on her phone while she worked on homework. Other times they would take spontaneous trips to the grocery store at night to pick up ingredients for fried rice. Every Tuesday, Lafayette and Y/n’s roommate, Molly, would listen to Y/n rant about wage gaps between different demographics in America after her Economics class. And sometimes they would make fun of cheesy romcoms together.

“I don’t understand your obsession with Nora Ephron, Y/n,” Lafayette complained, although he was dutifully pouring extra butter onto their popcorn for the movie.

“She only directed the best romantic comedies ever!” Y/n defended. 

“But why is Meg Ryan in all of her movies?”

“Because Meg Ryan is the best!”

“I still don’t understand the appeal of this movie. So a kid calls a radio show and Meg Ryan falls in love with him?” Lafayette asked.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “No, Meg Ryan falls in love with the dad! Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But she’s never actually met the dad?”

“...well, no.”

“I don’t understand Americans.”

“You just need to watch it!”

Seeing that he wasn’t making any headway with Y/n, Lafayette sighed and resigned to his position on the couch. Grabbing a blanket, Y/n happily settled down on the couch beside Lafayette and started the movie. Every now and then Lafayette would scoff at some cheesy line or make some comment and Y/n would be quick to shush him. Eventually all the popcorn had been eaten and the end credits began to roll.

“So what did you think?” Y/n asked eagerly.

Lafayette shrugged. “I don’t know. I just can’t get over the fact that she just left her fiancé like that.”

She rolled her eyes.

Months ago, Y/n never would have imagined she’d be invited to an election watch party for Jolie de la Rivière, but now she wasn’t so surprised. De la Rivière’s campaign had rented out an upscale restaurant that was packed to its max occupancy. Lafayette’s mother spent most of the evening schmoozing her voters and speaking with interviewers, allowing for Y/n and Lafayette to sit by the bar and mess around.

“Okay, okay, be serious this time. Don’t smile.”

“I won’t! I promise I won’t,” Y/n said.

“We’ll see. On the count of three... one... two...”

“Wait! I’m not ready!” Y/n couldn’t help but burst out into laughter, a smile spreading across her face. 

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “I do not know what to do with you.”

“I can be serious.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can! Just watch.” She looked away and focused on making her expression resolute and steely.  Y/n slowly looked up to meet Lafayette’s eyes and they stared at each other for a few seconds with straight faces. Then Lafayette had the gall to arch one of his eyebrows and Y/n broke once again. 

“That’s not fair. I was doing perfectly fine before you cheated!” Y/n complained.

“It’s not my fault that you can’t keep a straight face, Y/n.” He sighed and took a sip of his drink. “I can’t blame you. I’m so devilishly good looking, most women can’t keep it together around me.”

Now it was Y/n’s turn to roll her eyes. “I can assure you that’s not the problem here. Maybe I keep laughing because you’re so funny looking.”

“Haha. You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

When she didn’t respond, Lafayette tried again. “Y/n?”

“Lafayette, look.” She pointed to a TV hung over the bar.

A reporter on the screen was announcing that De la Rivière had won a landslide election. Then the screen cut to another reporter who was at the restaurant interviewing De la Rivière in person. Y/n and Lafayette’s eyes traveled across the room to see his mother talking to the reporter. The same scene playing on the TV overhead. 

“Did that really just happen?”

Lafayette’s mom had been ahead in the polls for months now, and everyone expected her to win the election. But now she really had won. Lafayette was the President-elect’s son. Both Y/n and Lafayette knew this was probably going to happen, but now that it had, neither of them really knew what to do. 

Everything after that was a blur. They celebrated that night, having a few more drinks. Enough alcohol to have a good time, but not enough to get totally drunk in an effort not to embarrass Lafayette’s mom on her big night. After that, Y/n didn’t see Lafayette for a while. He was busy getting prepped by his mom’s staff to be the perfect son and getting assigned a new security detail. 

Y/n didn’t mind all that much. Sure, she missed him, but now that he was gone, she could spend more time actually working on her school work and getting more sleep. How had she gotten anything done when he was around? It was during the month when Lafayette and Y/n didn’t see each other at all that Molly slapped a magazine down on the table where Y/n was eating breakfast.

“What’s this?” Y/n asked, picking up the glossy magazine.

“Apparently Lafayette is France’s most eligible bachelor,” Molly informed her.  

Y/n scoffed and looked over the cover of the magazine. Lafayette was casually leaning against a wall in the photo wearing a fitted suit and a colorful bowtie. He had a casual grin on his face, and his facial hair was trimmed neatly. 

“Has Lafayette always been this hot?” Y/n muttered.

Molly gave her a look. “Yes. Yes, he has.”

“He might be a bachelor, but I don’t know if I would call him eligible.”

“What’s wrong with Lafayette?” Molly took the magazine from Y/n and flipped to the fluff piece written about him. “He’s handsome, and charismatic, and intelligent. I would date him.”

Y/n watched her roommate admire the photos of Lafayette and realized this wasn’t the first time Molly had considered the thought. How many times had Y/n watched Molly laugh at something Lafayette said that wasn’t even funny? 

A buzz came from Y/n’s phone and she welcomed the distraction from her thoughts. Of course the text just had to be from Lafayette. She hadn’t seen him in forever, and he just happened to next her now? Yes, because it’s going to move the plot along. 

Paint the town red w/ me tonight? The text read. Bring some friends and we’ll make it a party.

She shot back a text asking him if he was even allowed to hangout with commoners now that his mom was the president. He sent back a sarcastic haha and assured her he had it all worked out.

Molly was a little too excited when Y/n asked her to come hangout with Lafayette, but what did Y/n care? If Molly liked Lafayette, Y/n didn’t care. Why should she care if her roommate wanted to date her best friend? She did her best to stop thinking about it. Molly let her borrow a dress that was shorter than Y/n was comfortable with and they headed out with a few of their friends to meet at a bar Lafayette had texted them about. 

He was thirty minutes late, and Y/n would’ve been annoyed she hadn’t expected it from him. He fed everyone some charming story about having to ditch his security detail. Y/n wanted to point out to him how irresponsible he was being, but honestly, she was just glad to see him again. When he was done enchanting their friends with his stories of his grandiose lifestyle, everyone returned to their drinks and Lafayette finally had the chance to sidle up to Y/n and sling an Armani-clad arm around her shoulders. 

“Been a while, stranger?” He gave her an impish grin.

“And who’s fault is that?”

Lafayette’s eyebrows shot up and he pouted. “Aw, chérie, you know I couldn’t help it. I’ve been busy, it hasn’t been easy, this last month.”

“Right. ‘Cause living in a literal palace must be so difficult.”

“I forgot how sarcastic you can be.”

She shrugged and gave him a self-satisfied smile. 

“Maybe you’ll be nicer after a few drinks,” he suggested.

“...it wouldn’t hurt.”

His smile was wide and she had forgotten how much she had missed it. Lafayette leaned forward and ordered a round of drinks, and just like that, it was like they hadn’t been apart at all. Their friendship was easy like that. 

After two drinks, Y/n was laughing louder than anyone in the bar. Lafayette urged her to quiet down, but by the way wrinkles formed by his eyes and he laughed along quietly, they both knew he wasn’t serious about it at all. It was after they had started taking shots that they decided they were too hot to stay indoors. The night was young, and Lafayette had already hatched a plan in his mind.

“Let’s go to a park,” he announced to their small group.

There was a chorus of enthusiastic agreement. Y/n, more than a few drinks in, was still hesitant. 

“Everything is probably closed at this time. Don’t you think you should be getting home?” She asked. 

“C’mon, Y/n,” Molly chimed in, “it’ll be fun. There’s no harm to it.”

Y/n wanted to argue that there very well could be harm to it, but Lafayette was too fast.

“Molly’s right. Besides, I don’t know when I’ll get a night of freedom again. Better make the most of it, oui?”  

Lafayette must’ve earned his magnetism from his constant exposure to politicians. He would make a great politician if he ever decided to apply himself, Y/n thought. It wasn’t the first time she had thought this. 

Everyone listened to him almost like they were hypnotized, and before she knew it, they were standing outside a small park. A small closed park. Y/n knew she shouldn’t be committing a crime with the French president’s son, but the group had a mob mentality now. Anyway, Lafayette had his mind set on breaking into the park now. There was nothing anyone could’ve one to change his mind at this point. 

Y/n still felt she had to try. “It’s closed. Everyone should just go home.”

“Nonsense,” Lafayette said. 

“What’s your plan? Hop the fence?”

“Why not?” Molly asked. “It’s not that high.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Y/n responded. 

But seeing the look on Lafayette’s face, she could tell he didn’t share her opinion on fence hopping. She watched him give a curious look to Molly. A look she recognized. There was always a twinkle in his eye when he was about to do something stupid to impress a girl. Y/n sighed, threw her hands up in defeat, and let him make his idiotic decisions.

And idiotic they were. Enough alcohol will give you the mindless bravery needed to attempt to jump a fence to impress a girl. That’s how Lafayette broke his arm. 

Dealing with drunk, twenty-something-year-old French boys seemed like a walk in the park compared to dealing with the morons that, by some miracle, had been elected to the United States Congress. Y/n didn’t consider herself to be one of those moronic representatives, but she was sure some members of the Republican party had some choice words they used to describe her. 

“We have a system that is fundamentally broken,” Y/n spoke into the microphone in front of her. Today she was asking questions at a hearing concerning campaign finance laws. Tomorrow it would be working on passing a bipartisan bill or going to some fundraiser for her reelection campaign. 

“So would you say that Congress is held to the same rate of accountability as the president, the executive branch? Are there more regulations for Senators and Congressman, in regards to campaign financing than the president? Or less, Mr. Conway?” She asked. 

The man in question, Mr. Conway, shifted uncomfortably in his seat before responding to the question, “there are almost no laws at all that apply to the president.”

Y/n was satisfied with his answer, but still she pressed on. “Are you saying that I, and every member of congress, are being held to a higher standard than the president of the United States?”

“...yes.”

“Thank you.”

The hearing wrapped up with all the formalities, and Y/n gathered up all her notes. She made her way from the committee hearing room to her office, knowing that her campaign manager and second-in-command, Nathan Hale, would be ready to tell her what else she had on the schedule for today. She found him sitting on the visitor’s side of her desk, his feet propped up on a chair.

“You did great in there,” he said casually.

She raised an eyebrow as she dropped all her notes from the hearing on her desk and sunk down into the seat. “You stayed and listened?”

“For most of it. I had to leave early,” he admitted. “There were some... issues I had to look at.”

“Issues?”

“Secretary Jefferson tweeted about you. You’re going to want to see it.”

Y/n groaned outwardly. “No, Nathan, I don’t think I will.”

“You’re probably right, but you should be informed nonetheless.” He handed her her phone, already opened to Jefferson’s tweet. It was nothing she hadn’t seen or heard before. Just another politician attacking her character and claiming she was a talentless kid who didn’t belong in politics.

She furrowed her brows as she quickly typed out a response to his tweet. That’s interesting, coming from a man whose entire career was built off his daddy’s money. 

“What do you think?” She handed the phone to Nathan to read over her tweet. “Too harsh? Not harsh enough?”

He laughed. “It’s perfect. Anddddd... send tweet. Did we just enter into a twitter war with the former Secretary of State and the Republican presidential nominee? This feels like middle school drama, not running a country.”

Y/n only shrugged. “All I have to say,” Y/n muttered as she attempted to organize the clutter on her desk, “is that politics is nothing like The West Wing.”

“No?”

“No. Nathan, what do we have scheduled today?” She asked.

“An interview with The Times later, but I’ve lined up some meetings with a few of your largest donors.”

“That’s my least favorite part of the job. Who am I meeting with?” Y/n set aside her organizing and leaned forward on her elbows.

Nathan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and read off a few names from his clipboard. “We’ve got Mercy Otis Warren at two. Mr. and Mrs. Randolph for lunch—”

“Oh, I can’t stand them.”

“—and a Mr. de Lafayette in an hour.”

Y/n’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline and she was convinced she had heard him wrong. “Who was that last one?”

“Mr. de Lafayette, the French president’s son,” Nathan explained.

“Since when has he been a donor to my campaign?” Y/n frowned.

“He reached out a few months ago. I thought it was strange that a foreign leader’s kid wanted to donate to a U.S. representative’s campaign, but I wasn’t about to stop him.”

“I don’t want his donations,” Y/n said.

This caught Nathan’s attention. “Y/n, he made a very sizable donation to your reelection campaign.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want his money.”

“It’s too late. We’ve already spent the money on buttons and whatnot.”

“Nathan, no!” Y/n groaned. “And you said I’m supposed to meet with him today?”

“Yes, in an hour. I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Y/n pursed her lips and finally admitted, “We used to be best friends.”

“And you don’t want to see him because...?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well regardless of the length of the story,” Nathan said, “we can’t cancel on him. We need every donation we can get since you refuse to accept money from any PACs.”

“That’s because it’s the right thing to do,” Y/n pointed out. 

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t make my job any easier. You’re not getting out of this meeting, Y/n. You should start mentally preparing yourself now.” 

It had been eight years since she had last seen Lafayette. Eight years. And yet, she wasn’t exactly in a rush to see him again. They hadn’t exactly left things on great terms. Now he was making sizable donations to her campaign? None of this made any sense to Y/n. 

An hour passed too quickly for Y/n’s liking. Nathan had arranged for a photo op between Y/n and Lafayette in the lobby of the hotel Lafayette was staying at. After all, the endorsement of a foreign dignitary would be good for her campaign, it would probably make the front page of local newspapers. On the ride over to the hotel, Y/n rehearsed how the meeting would go in her head.

She’d walk into the lobby and greet Lafayette politely. The photographers would capture a few pictures of them smiling amicably and shaking hands. Y/n would thank him for his support and his donations, inquire on the wellbeing of his mother, and then Nathan would pull her out and tell everyone she had another meeting she had to be at. Y/n would apologize, thank Lafayette again, and then they would part ways. And if she never saw him again after this, that would be fine. 

Maybe she should have let Nathan in on her plans, because he had different ideas of how this meeting would go down. 

“The Randolphs had to cancel on us, but I’ve pencilled them in for next weekend. That means we can take more time talking with Mr. de Lafayette,” he told her. 

“What? But I don’t want to spend more time talking with him. I just--”

“We can discuss it later,” Nathan cut her off and pushed her into the hotel lobby where half a dozen photographers and journalists were already waiting. The cameras began to flash.

“We have a lot to discuss later,” Y/n smiled for the cameras, but Nathan was the only one able to hear the poison underneath her words. She meant them. But chewing Nathan out was for later, right now she had an ex-best friend and current campaign donator to deal with. 

Standing to the side of the lobby was Lafayette. He was wearing gray slacks and formal shoes, but he had opted to ditch the suit jacket and wore his white button down with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his rather muscular fore arms. He grinned when he saw Y/n headed his way, and all of a sudden it was like she was a college student again. Memories of her year in Paris came back to her. Drinks at a local bar, watching romcoms together, attending rallies for his mom.

But bad memories returned to her as well, and they seemed to out weigh all the good ones she could remember. She had to focus not to let her smile falter in case a photographer took a photo of her looking anything less than happy to be seeing Lafayette. Journalists always had a way of spinning things. 

“Congresswoman L/n, I am so glad you could make it,” Lafayette said. There may have been some things Y/n had forgotten from her year abroad, but the sound of his voice wasn’t one of those things. 

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Y/n lied through her smile. “How was your flight?” She stepped forward and offered her hand for him to shake. Cameras flashed. 

“Pleasant enough, I suppose.” He gripped her hand and gave it a firm shake. More cameras clicked. “It’s good to see you again. What has it been, eight years?”

They turned to face the cameras, letting the photographers take pictures of the smiling side-by-side. 

“Must be. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” She was doing her best to be professional. 

He placed a hand on her back that could easily pass as just a friendly gesture between two professionals, but Y/n knew him better than that. Lafayette kept smiling, but he lowered his voice so only she could hear him. 

“I’ve tried getting in contact with you so many times, Y/n. We used to be best friends, remember? Although now you seem to be doing fine for yourself.”

Y/n continued smiling, but she spared Lafayette an uneasy glance. “I am doing fine, aren’t I?”

“I just don’t understand why the only way I can get you to talk to me is to make large donations to your campaign and schedule meetings with your campaign manager,” he said quietly. “What happened to us?”

“Lafayette, this isn’t the time or place to address that issue,” she said with perfectly masked annoyance. Y/n smiled for a couple more photos, then the journalists seemed to have gotten enough content of the two of them. “Besides, I think we both know perfectly well what happened.” 

The end of Y/n’s year abroad came quicker than she had anticipated. Paris had been fun, but if she was being honest, she was ready to return home. Molly and Lafayette had begun dating shortly after that night when he jumped the fence and broke his arm to impress her. After that, Y/n couldn’t help but feel like a third-wheel around the two of them. 

It wasn’t easy. Lafayette was still her best friend and she couldn’t avoid him as much as she wanted to without him asking questions. Since Lafayette decided to date Molly, and since Molly was Y/n’s roommate, seeing them around together was nearly unavoidable. 

Y/n had reached the end of her year abroad now, so... that was good? Molly had already left for the states a week and a half ago due to a family emergency or something. Y/n wasn’t completely sure, she had gotten good at tuning Molly out when she was talking about how great a boyfriend Lafayette was, that she must’ve started tuning out everything Molly said. 

With Molly gone, Y/n was left alone in an apartment and with her thoughts. She didn’t see Lafayette as much, as he really only came over to the apartment to visit Molly these days. Now that she was left with nothing to do except pack and think, she was finally hit with the unsettling reality that the real reason she didn’t like being around Molly and Lafayette when they were together wasn’t because they made her feel like a third wheel. 

She shoved those thoughts deep down her throat, worried what might become of her if she let herself dwell on them too much. When ignoring the thoughts didn’t work as well as she had hoped it would, she turned to an alternative medicine. The bar was an antidote for anything and everything. 

That’s where Lafayette found Y/n. Drinking by herself on a weeknight.

“What are you doing here? I’m supposed to be the drunk one that you find and drag home.”

She looked at him lazily over her third glass of wine. “One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters. But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.”

“We’re quoting poetry, now?” He sighed. “You are more drunk than I thought.”

“I thought you would like it. Charles Baudelaire. He’s French. He said to get drunk, and wine tastes better than virtue.”

Lafayette took her glass of wine and drained it. Partially to prevent Y/n from drinking anymore, partially because he needed it. He looked at his best friend who was watching him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“What?” He asked.

“What,” she repeated, in a daze.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay. You’re the one getting drunk alone.”

She grinned sloppily. “I’m not alone. You’re here. And you’re getting drunk with me.”

Lafayette appraised Y/n for a moment. She was watching him so earnestly, her eyes bright and lively from the alcohol. He had to look away. Eventually he gave in and ordered another glass of wine for himself. Then, halfway through that glass, his lips loosened.

“Molly broke up with me.”

For a second, Lafayette could have sworn he saw a smile on Y/n’s face. But he must have imagined it, because when he looked again, she was giving him a pitiful look.

“She did? I’m so, so sorry. Did she say why?”

“No, but I think I know.”

“Care to share?”

He shook his head and took a long sip from his glass. “Not particularly. You care to share why you’re getting drunk alone in the middle of the week?”

“Not particularly.” She repeated his words and attempted a wink.

Then the two of them fell into a contemplative silence. There was no doubt that they were extremely close friends. But that didn’t mean they told each other everything, it just meant that they always knew how the other was feeling, even if they didn’t know why.

“We’ve got so much wasted potential, don’t we?” Lafayette finally said.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wasted? I may be wasted tonight, but I’ll pull it together tomorrow.”

He groaned and hid his smile, not wanting her to know that he actually found her amusing. “Shut up, Y/n. You know what I mean.”

“Maybe you’re wasted potential. You could be a president or a CEO, but instead you’re drinking with your best friend at 10:48 p.m.,” she pointed out. “But I’ve got it all figured out. Tomorrow, I’ll pull myself together from this feeling-sorry-for-myself night. And when I go back to America, I’ll pull my life together again.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Tonight is a microcosm of my time here in Paris. Paris was just a drunk mistake. A really fun, really delicious mistake. When I return to the U.S., it’ll be my Paris hang over. I’ll deal with the consequences, be miserable for a little while, but then I’ll be great. Maybe be president or meet a penguin, whichever is easier.”

“I hope Paris wasn’t all mistakes.”

“It was.”

It should have hurt more to hear her say that. They were both a few glasses in at this point and felt invincible. Everything would hurt a lot more in the morning, but they felt so good then. Lafayette spared another glance at Y/n. This was his best friend, the only girl he really cared about. The girl he had promised himself he wouldn’t ruin things with. But one look at her lips made him lose any inhibition he had left.

He stared a second too long. Y/n noticed his eyes on her lips, and as if she knew what he was thinking, her lips were pulled up into a troublesome smile. A voice in the back of Y/n’s head warned her that she could ruin their friendship if she didn’t stop, but then again, she had never wanted to be his friend. Never.

“Come home with me?” She knew what his answer would be before she had even asked the question.

His response should’ve been “I don’t think that’s a good idea” or “we’re both drunk, we should both go to our own homes.” Or anything else. Anything else would’ve been better than his easy grin, his warm hand in hers as they exited the bar, and his sharp whistle as he hailed a taxi.

She could count this, right?

Lafayette had never told her he loved her. As a friend, at the very least, Y/n was convinced that he loved her. She had watched Lafayette express his affections and love for so many women before her. Y/n would be lying if she said that she didn’t die a little bit every time she saw him with someone else. She had watched him say “I love you” to almost everyone but herself.

In the back of the cab, flooded with orange light from the street, Lafayette’s hands felt warm on her body. He tasted like cheap wine even though Y/n knew he could afford something more expensive. He tasted like smoke as well, even though Y/n told him often how bad cigarettes were. The way he looked at her, the way he kissed her, it said “I love you.” Didn’t it? 

 I can count this, she decided with his lips pressed against her neck.

He only took his lips off her to quickly pay the cab driver, and even then he kept one hand on her thigh. Walking up a narrow flight of stairs is harder when you’re drunk and don’t want to let go of another person, but Lafayette and Y/n managed to do it. They stumbled into her apartment, not bothering to turn on any lights. 

The next morning Y/n’s apartment would look like a crime scene; furniture out of place, clothes littering the floor, but she didn’t care at the moment. Any consequences for tonight’s actions would be her problem tomorrow. Tonight, all she could think about was the way he pushed her up against the wall and left bruises on her shoulders with his mouth. 

By the time they made it to her bedroom, she had managed to remove all his clothes and he was taking off her panties with two fingers. Lafayette whispered something sweet in her ear, but Y/n really wasn’t listening at this point. He wrapped an arm around her waist and laid her back on the bed, placing a desperate kiss on her lips. Something in her knew that he wasn’t kissing her because he felt something, but because he wanted to feel something. Did it work?

Y/n would not know all the details of what happened the next day. All she would remember was the feel of his skin against hers, the taste of him on her tongue, and feeling more alive than she had ever felt before.

Drunken mistakes were something Lafayette was used to. Y/n had her fair share of drunken mistakes as well. Nothing compared to the moment Lafayette woke up next to Y/n in her bed with a terrible headache from the night before. He could feel nothing but dread and it was beginning to eat him alive.

“Mon dieu, what have I done?” The fact that he had really fucked up this time hit him like a train. 

“I know,” Y/n replied. She didn’t share his same level of concern. “How much did we drink last night?”

“I need to go.” 

Before she knew it, Lafayette was out of bed and pulling on articles of his clothing that were strewn across the room. Y/n was perplexed by his urgency and propped herself up on her elbows. 

“Lafayette, relax. We were drunk, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand.”

“This shouldn’t have happened. I never wanted this to happen.”

Y/n didn’t even mask her pain, but Lafayette wouldn’t even look at her. Still, she tried to reassure him. “You hook-up with girls all the time. This isn’t that much different.”

“No, it is,” he said firmly. “You’re not just another girl, Y/n. We’re friends. I never wanted this to happen between us.”

Just like that, Y/n felt her heart plummet in her chest. Did he really regret sleeping with her that much? He couldn’t even fathom the idea of them together without panicking? Y/n’s mouth hung open but no words came out. What would you even say in a situation like this?

“I need to leave now.” He still couldn’t look her in the eye. Lafayette left her apartment without so much as another word to her.

That’s how Lafayette broke her heart.

Tag list: @fanfic-addict-98 @wordvomit-foryourmind @farihafangirls @actuallyanita @cubedtriangle @katierpblogg @ballerinafairyprincess @dannighost @ateliefloresdaprimavera

[butterflies-dragons]

Hi. You said in your Jon and women meta that Lyanna is a combination of both Sansa and Arya. Can you give her parallels with both girls?

Hello Anon,

Yes this past week I’ve said that Lyanna Stark was a mixture of the Stark Sisters. 

I also said that I always thought that the Sansa from the original outline was very similar to Lyanna Stark:  

Now ¿How marrying the heir of the Iron Throne/King of the 7K is supposed to be an act of dubious loyalty?  Because GRRM has stated that in high nobility there is no marriage without the Lord Father of the bride’s blessing.  Furthermore, from the wedding the bride belongs to her husband’s house, that’s all the fuzz with the cloaking ceremony, going from the maiden’s cloak to your husband’s cloak.  You left your paternal house to belong with your husbands house.  Sansa’s loyalty was with her husband, and more important, Sansa’s love and loyalty was with her baby boy.  So, how choosing his baby over her paternal house could be seem as an act of dubious loyalty then?  And even if she wanted to come back to her paternal family, does she really get a chance without the risk of being captured, separated from her baby, accused of treason and executed, leaving her baby boy motherless?      

Oh I get it, there was an enmity between Starks and Lannisters.  So, Or Joffrey abducted Sansa? Or Sansa eloped to marry Joffrey?  How very Shakespearean of you George!  This is Romeo and Juliet all over again.    Or even better, this is Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark oll over again.  

Original Outline Sansa was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and mother of the heir to the Iron Throne.

It is implied by the fandom that this Sansa dies because the outline says that Jaime dethrones and kills Joffrey and “everyone ahead of him in the line of succession” (Sansa’s baby).  Well, Sansa was not in the line of succession, but it’s probable that Jaime had to kill her to get to her baby boy, which reminds me of Elia Martell & her babies’ tragic and devastating deaths.

And landing more on the subject, I said that: Arya and Sansa play different roles in Jon’s life: Sansa is the distant half sister, the archetype of  the princess in the tower, that he thinks he would never get.  While Arya is the closest sister, the comfortable presence of a girl with less feminine inclinations.  And both of them resemblance different aspects of Lyanna Stark.  While Arya got Lyanna’s spirit and physical features, Sansa Stark got the less known romantic nature of Lyanna, after all, Lyanna cried while listening Rhaegar playing the harp, eloped with him, bore him a son, found herself trapped in a tower, and unwillingly caused the death of her father and older brother.  Like a Lady in a sad and beautiful song.     

We can draw parallels between Lyanna and her two nieces, but there are also parallels shared by the three of these She-wolves of Winterfell.  Let’s see: 

LYANNA & ARYA

Appearance: 

“You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her." "Lyanna was beautiful," Arya said, startled. Everybody said so. It was not a thing that was ever said of Arya. "She was," Eddard Stark agreed, "beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time." —AGOT - Arya II

Carrying a sword:

"Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. —AGOT - Arya II

The wolf-blood:

“Arya, you have a wildness in you, child. The wolf blood, my father would call it. Lyanna had a touch of it."—AGOT - Arya II

"She was," Eddard Stark agreed, "beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time." —AGOT - Arya II

This willfulness of yours, the running off, the angry words, the disobedience … at home, these were only the summer games of a child. Here and now, with winter soon upon us, that is a different matter. It is time to begin growing up." —AGOT - Arya II

Punching annoying brothers & friends: 

Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn't be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout. "You be quiet, stupid," the girl said, tossing her own branch aside. "It's just water. Do you want Old Nan to hear and run tell Father?" She knelt and pulled her brother from the pool, but before she got him out again, the two of them were gone. — ADWD - Bran III

When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb's leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. "You stupid," she told him, "you scared the baby," but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too. —AGOT - Arya IV

The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle, but when her pup brother teased her for crying she poured wine over his head. —ASOS - Bran II

"My lady?" Ned looked embarrassed. "I'm Edric Dayne, the . . . the Lord of Starfall." Behind them, Gendry groaned. "Lords and ladies," he proclaimed in a disgusted tone. Arya plucked a withered crabapple off a passing branch and whipped it at him, bouncing it off his thick bull head. "Ow," he said. "That hurt." He felt the skin above his eye. "What kind of lady throws crabapples at people?" "The bad kind," said Arya, suddenly contrite. She turned back to Ned. "I'm sorry I didn't know who you were. My lord." —ASOS - Arya VIII

Half-horses:

"You ride like a northman, milady," Harwin said when he'd drawn them to a halt. "Your aunt was the same. Lady Lyanna. But my father was master of horse, remember." —ASOS - Arya III

Horses … the boy was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself. —ADWD - Reek III

"Brandon was fostered at Barrowton with old Lord Dustin, the father of the one I'd later wed, but he spent most of his time riding the Rills. He loved to ride. His little sister took after him in that. A pair of centaurs, those two. —ADWD - The Turncloak

This is a contrast with Sansa: "I hate riding," Sansa said fervently. "All it does is get you soiled and dusty and sore." —AGOT - Sansa I

LYANNA & SANSA

Beauty:

Both Lyanna and Sansa are considered beautiful:

Lyanna:

"She [Lyanna] was," Eddard Stark agreed, "beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time." —AGOT - Arya II

Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride. —AGOT - Eddard I

"The maid's a fair one," Osha said. —AGOT - Bran VII

The northern girl had a wild beauty, as he recalled. —ADWD - Epilogue

Sansa:

Sansa’s needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. “Sansa’s work is as pretty as she is.”

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily.

Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.

“I saw Sansa at the court, the day Tyrion told me his terms. She looked most beautiful, my lady. Perhaps a, a bit wan. Drawn, as it were.”

Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was.

“You are very beautiful, my lady,” the seamstress said when she was dressed.

Ser Kevan told her she was beautiful, Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue, and Lord Redwyne wished her many fat children and long years of joy.

"Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Had we known such beauty awaited us at the Gates, we would have flown,” Ser Roland said. Though his words were addressed to Myranda Royce, he smiled at Alayne as he said them.

Inner Strength:  

"You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert," Ned told him. "You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath”. —AGOT - Eddard VII 

My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel. —ASOS - Sansa V

Pleading Ned to protect part of themselves:

He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once. —AGOT - Eddard IV

Lyanna was pleading to her brother Ned to protect her son, while Sansa was pleading to her father Ned to protect her direwolf, Lady, part of Sansa’s soul.  Later, Ned regretted failing Sansa...  

Knights & Queens of Love and Beauty:

Lyanna was a Mystery Knight AND was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney of Harrenhal.

Lyanna as the Knight of the Laughing Tree: 

But late on the afternoon of that second day, as the shadows grew long, a mystery knight appeared in the lists. Bran nodded sagely. [...] “It was the little crannogman, I bet.” “No one knew,” said Meera, “but the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.” [...] “Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.” —ASOS - Bran II

Lyanna as the Queen of love and beauty. Rhaegar wearing rubies (red) gave her a crown of winter roses (blue):

The Targaryen prince armored all in black. On his breastplate was the three-headed dragon of his House, wrought all in rubies that flashed like fire in the sunlight. —AGOT - Eddard I

Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty's laurel in Lyanna's lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost. —AGOT - Eddard XV

Sansa attended the Tourney of the Hand at Kings Landing, met Petyr Baelish who told her that Catelyn was his Queen of Love and Beauty, and received a (red) rose from Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, who was wearing an armor adorned with sapphires (blue).  During the second day of the tourney, Sansa wore the red rose in her hair:

"Your mother was my queen of beauty once," the man said quietly. His breath smelled of mint. "You have her hair." His fingers brushed against her cheek as he stroked one auburn lock. Quite abruptly he turned and walked away. —AGOT - Sansa II

When the Knight of Flowers made his entrance, a murmur ran through the crowd, and he heard Sansa's fervent whisper, "Oh, he's so beautiful." Ser Loras Tyrell was slender as a reed, dressed in a suit of fabulous silver armor polished to a blinding sheen and filigreed with twining black vines and tiny blue forget-me-nots. The commons realized in the same instant as Ned that the blue of the flowers came from sapphires; a gasp went up from a thousand throats. Across the boy's shoulders his cloak hung heavy. It was woven of forget-me-nots, real ones, hundreds of fresh blooms sewn to a heavy woolen cape. —AGOT - Eddard VII

Her eyes were only for Ser Loras. When the white horse stopped in front of her, she thought her heart would burst. To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. "Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry. His hair was a mass of lazy brown curls, his eyes like liquid gold. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the rose and sat clutching it long after Ser Loras had ridden off. —AGOT - Sansa II

The boy from Highgarden did something with his legs, and his horse pranced sideways, nimble as a dancer. Sansa clutched at his arm. "Father, don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," she said. Ned saw she was wearing the rose that Ser Loras had given her yesterday. Jory had told him about that as well. —AGOT - Eddard VII

At this point in the Books, Sansa, as Alayne Stone, is organizing a Tourney to elect the members of Robert Arryn personal guard, named the Brotherhood of the Winged Knights.  As the daughter of Petyr Baelish, Lord Protector of the Vale, Alayne Stone could be crowned as the Queen of Love and Beauty.    

This is a contrast with Arya who thinks tourneys are stupid: "I don't care about their stupid tourney." —AGOT - Arya II

Failed betrothal to a Baratheon: 

Both Lyanna and Sansa were betrothed with a Baratheon, Lyanna with Robert and Sansa with Joffrey:

If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done. —AGOT - Eddard I

There is also this parallel between Jenny of Oldstones, Lyanna & Sansa [I wrote about it here]:

Note the parallels between Duncan Targaryen, his betrothed Baratheon and Jenny of Oldstones & Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark and her betrothed Robert Baratheon: A Targaryen prince breaking an engagement with a member of House Baratheon that then originates a rebellion.

And this: Sansa was betrothed with Joffrey “Baratheon” and the engagement was broken in the middle of a war with Robb Stark leading an army against King Joffrey, and Jon almost breaking his vows to join Robb’s army to avenge Ned’s death and rescue their sisters. All of which makes me think about these parallels: Sansa being a hostage in King’s Landing & Lyanna’s “abduction”, Ned’s death & Rickard’s death, Robb’s death & Brandon’s death. And that leaves Jon to possibly play the role of Ned Stark in the future.  

Basically if Jon and Sansa happens, they will parallel two stories: Rhaegar and Lyanna, a Targaryen/Stark couple; and Ned and Cat, a Stark/Tully couple.

And right now in the Books, Sansa Stark, under the disguise of Alayne Stone, is betrothed with a Robert-like young man: Harry Hardyn. 

The Rose of Winterfell:

This is the tale:

According to free folk legend, Lord Brandon Stark, the liege of the north, once called Bael a coward. To take revenge for this affront and prove his courage, Bael climbed the Wall, took the kingsroad, and entered Winterfell under the guise of a singer named Sygerrik of Skagos. ("Sygerrik" means "deceiver" in the Old Tongue.) There, he sang until midnight for the lord.

Impressed by his skills as a singer, Lord Stark asked Bael what he wanted as a reward, but he requested only the most beautiful flower blooming in Winterfell's gardens. As the blue winter roses were just blooming, Brandon Stark presented him with one. The following morning, the maiden daughter of Lord Stark had disappeared, his only child, and in her bed was the blue winter rose.

Lord Brandon sent the members of the Night's Watch looking for them beyond the Wall, but they never found Bael or the girl. The Stark line was on the verge of extinction, when one day the girl was back in her room, holding in her arms an infant: they had actually never left Winterfell, staying hidden in the crypts. Bael's bastard with Brandon's daughter became the new Lord Stark.

Thirty years later, Bael was King-Beyond-the-Wall and led the wildlings' army south, and he had to fight his own son at the Frozen Ford. There, incapable of killing his own blood, he let himself be killed by Lord Stark. His son brought back Bael's head to Winterfell, and his mother who had loved the bard, seeing the trophy, killed herself by leaping from the top of a tower. The son was eventually slain by the Boltons.

[Source]

Ygritte told this story to Jon in ACOK - Jon VI, and it resembles Jon’s own story: Bael/Rhaegar (both harp players/bards) abducting/eloping Brandon's daughter/Lyanna, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o' Winterfell’.  Immediately after this chapter, comes ACOK - Sansa IV, where she flowered for the first time, next chapter is Jon again. (Jon-Sansa-Jon).

Also take note that Sansa was “abducted” by Petyr Baelish, a known deceiver, whose surname has a resemblance with the name Bael.

Ladies of Winterfell

Lyanna’s and Lady’s bones are buried at Winterfell, what makes them literally Ladies of Winterfell:  

"She was more beautiful than that," the king said after a silence. His eyes lingered on Lyanna's face, as if he could will her back to life. Finally he rose, made awkward by his weight. "Ah, damn it, Ned, did you have to bury her in a place like this?" His voice was hoarse with remembered grief. "She deserved more than darkness …" "She was a Stark of Winterfell," Ned said quietly. "This is her place." —AGOT - Eddard I

Shortly, Jory brought him Ice. When it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.” “All that way?” Jory said, astonished. “All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.” —AGOT - Eddard III

Bran felt all cold inside. "She lost her wolf," he said, weakly, remembering the day when four of his father's guardsmen had returned from the south with Lady's bones. Summer and Grey Wind and Shaggydog had begun to howl before they crossed the drawbridge, in voices drawn and desolate. Beneath the shadow of the First Keep was an ancient lichyard, its headstones spotted with pale lichen, where the old Kings of Winter had laid their faithful servants. It was there they buried Lady, while her brothers stalked between the graves like restless shadows. She had gone south, and only her bones had returned. —AGOT - Bran VI

I wrote about this before:

Now, back to Lady’s death. We know that this event is a turning point in Sansa’s arc, but other than that, the paragraphs leading to the direwolf’s execution are laden with symbolism and foreshadowing, not only for Sansa, but for Ned as well.

During the “trial”, Ned decides that he will take Lady’s life himself, in order to avoid having a butcher like Ilyn Payne do the execution. Then, before he struck, he pronounced her name in the same fashion Robb and Jon called the name of their direwolves before they both died. This for me foreshadows Ned’s own death. Also, before Lady’s death, Ned pleads King Robert to change his decision on putting down the direwolf, appealing to the memory of Lyanna, the woman Robert loved. Similarly, before Ned’s execution at the steps of the Sept of Baelor, Sansa pleads King Joffrey to spare her father’s life, appealing to the love he has for her. As we know, both pleas fell on deaf ears and both Lady and Ned lost their lives; bringing the story full circle, as Ilyn Payne himself cut off Ned’s head.

Another interesting thing is that before Lady’s death we have direct and indirect references to Lyanna Stark. We have the direct reference when Ned appealed to the love Robert Baratheon bore Lyanna, in order to save Lady’s life, and the indirect one when he ordered Jory to choose four men to return Lady’s body to the north, to bury her in Winterfell. This order Ned gave to his men alludes to his own decision to take Lyanna’s body to Winterfell to be buried in the crypts, after her demise, brought on by her doomed love affair with Rhaegar Targaryen. 

Dubious Loyalty?

Both Lyanna and Sansa got infatuated by Golden Princes: Rhaegar Targaryen and Joffrey Baratheon, and because of that they both unintentionally played a part in the deaths of their fathers and older brothers, Rickard and Brandon & Ned and Robb.  They both also ended trapped in towers regretting their doomed romances.

As I mentioned before, I always thought that the Sansa from the original outline was very similar to Lyanna Stark.  That Sansa was described as member of dubious loyalty for her family; but while Lyanna is glorified by the fandom, both  Outline Sansa and Asoiaf Sansa are unfairly vilified for committing the same actions that Lyanna did.     

Also, as it was pointed out before, Rickard Stark and Catelyn Stark both saw their firstborn sons murdered in front of them, while convinced that their daughters were far away being raped and abused by cruel princes, and then were brutally murdered themselves.

Dead before their time:

"She [Lyanna] was," Eddard Stark agreed, "beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time." —AGOT - Arya II

And so many others were missing. Where had the rest of them gone? Sansa wondered. Vainly, she searched for friendly faces. Not one of them would meet her eyes. It was as if she had become a ghost, dead before her time. —A Game Of Thrones, Sansa V

Lyanna and Lady (part of Sansa’s soul) both died in the south, before their time.  

Lyanna’s ghost has haunted Cersei:  Cersei wanted to marry Rhaegar but ended married with Robert.  Both Rhaegar and Robert loved Lyanna.

Lady is mentioned in the Books as a “shade”, a synonym for ghost.  And after Ned’s death, Sansa became a ghost at the Red Keep’s court.

And to finish this section, here some gifsets that illustrate some of the Lyanna & Sansa parallels that were mentioned:

Sansa Stark and Lyanna Stark + parallels

Pleading

She-wolves of Winterfell

Beautiful, Captivating Child-Women 

Hidden Metal ft. hair parallels

Broken ‘Baratheon’ Engagements ft. more hair parallels

Fair Maidens 

LYANNA & ARYA & SANSA

The wolf-blood:

I have already mentioned this aspect of Lyanna and Arya above, but Sansa has the wolf-blood too.  It’s subtle, but it’s there:

"I've never seen an aurochs," Sansa said, feeding a piece of bacon to Lady under the table. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen. Septa Mordane sniffed in disapproval. "A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table," she said, breaking off another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread. "She's not a dog, she's a direwolf," Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue. "Anyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want." The septa was not appeased. "You're a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you're as willful as your sister Arya." She scowled. "And where is Arya this morning?" —AGOT - Sansa I

"It won't be so bad, Sansa," Arya said. "We're going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we'll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the rest." She touched her on the arm. "Hodor!" Sansa yelled. "You ought to marry Hodor, you're just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!" She wrenched away from her sister's hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her. —AGOT - Sansa III

Jeyne yawned. "Are there any lemon cakes?" Sansa did not like being interrupted, but she had to admit, lemon cakes sounded more interesting than most of what had gone on in the throne room. "Let's see," she said. The kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and that was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets, and Sansa went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Arya. —AGOT - Sansa III

After my name day feast, I'm going to raise a host and kill your brother myself. That's what I'll give you, Lady Sansa. Your brother's head." A kind of madness took over her then, and she heard herself say, "Maybe my brother will give me your head." —AGOT - Sansa VI

Knights protect the innocent:

Lyanna, as herself and as the Knight of the Laughing Tree, defended Howland Reed, a bannerman of House Stark:

"None offered a name, but he marked their faces well so he could revenge himself upon them later. They shoved him down every time he tried to rise, and kicked him when he curled up on the ground. But then they heard a roar. 'That's my father's man you're kicking,' howled the she-wolf." "A wolf on four legs, or two?" "Two," said Meera. "The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen. There he met her pack brothers: the wild wolf who led them, the quiet wolf beside him, and the pup who was youngest of the four. 

(...)

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.” —ASOS - Bran II

Arya defended Mycah, the butcher’s boy:

Mycah shook his head. "It's only a stick, m'lord. It's not no sword, it's only a stick." "And you're only a butcher's boy, and no knight." Joffrey lifted Lion's Tooth and laid its point on Mycah's cheek below the eye, as the butcher's boy stood trembling. "That was my lady's sister you were hitting, do you know that?" A bright bud of blood blossomed where his sword pressed into Mycah's flesh, and a slow red line trickled down the boy's cheek. "Stop it!" Arya screamed. She grabbed up her fallen stick. Sansa was afraid. "Arya, you stay out of this." "I won't hurt him … much," Prince Joffrey told Arya, never taking his eyes off the butcher's boy. Arya went for him. Sansa slid off her mare, but she was too slow. Arya swung with both hands. There was a loud crack as the wood split against the back of the prince's head, and then everything happened at once before Sansa's horrified eyes. — AGOT - Sansa I

Sansa, as a lady armored with her courtesy and wits, defended a defenestrated knight turned fool:  

The king stood. "A cask from the cellars! I'll see him drowned in it." Sansa heard herself gasp. "No, you can't." Joffrey turned his head. "What did you say?" Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn't meant to say anything, only . . . Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm. "Did you say I can't? Did you?" "Please," Sansa said, "I only meant . . . it would be ill luck, Your Grace . . . to, to kill a man on your name day." "You're lying," Joffrey said. "I ought to drown you with him, if you care for him so much." "I don't care for him, Your Grace." The words tumbled out desperately. "Drown him or have his head off, only . . . kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please . . . not today, not on your name day. I couldn't bear for you to have ill luck . . . terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so . . ." Joffrey scowled. He knew she was lying, she could see it. He would make her bleed for this. "The girl speaks truly," the Hound rasped. "What a man sows on his name day, he reaps throughout the year." His voice was flat, as if he did not care a whit whether the king believed him or no. Could it be true? Sansa had not known. It was just something she'd said, desperate to avoid punishment. Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. "Take him away. I'll have him killed on the morrow, the fool." "He is," Sansa said. "A fool. You're so clever, to see it. He's better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn't he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death." The king studied her a moment. "Perhaps you're not so stupid as Mother says." He raised his voice. "Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you're my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley." —ACOK - Sansa I

She-Wolves of Winterfell:

Lyanna and Arya are often referred as She-Wolves in the Books, but in a very subtle and poetical way, Sansa is referred as a She-Wolf too: 

He smiled at her. "Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand's daughter." —AGOT - Sansa I

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head." —ASOS - Arya XIII

"May the Father judge him justly," murmured a septon. "The dwarf's wife did the murder with him," swore an archer in Lord Rowan's livery. "Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws." —ASOS - Jaime VII

"Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa," said Pycelle. The queen bristled. "I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf." She refused to say the girl's name. "I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son.  —AFFC - Cersei IV

What a kick-ass reputation: Sansa, the wolf that killed King Joffrey! 

Fond of Flowers:

Lyanna, Arya and Sansa are linked with flowers:

Ned could recall none of it. "I bring her flowers when I can," he said. "Lyanna was … fond of flowers." —A Game Of Thrones - Eddard I

None of which stopped Arya, of course. One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse. Then it turned out the purple flowers were called poison kisses, and Arya got a rash on her arms. —AGOT - Sansa I

It was enough that she could walk in the yard, pick flowers in Myrcella's garden, and visit the sept to pray for her father. Sometimes she prayed in the godswood as well, since the Starks kept the old gods. —AGOT - Sansa V

"Do you require guarding?" Marillion said lightly. "I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her." — ASOS - Sansa VII

Her eyes were only for Ser Loras. When the white horse stopped in front of her, she thought her heart would burst. To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. "Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry. His hair was a mass of lazy brown curls, his eyes like liquid gold. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the rose and sat clutching it long after Ser Loras had ridden off. —AGOT - Sansa II

Songs:

While Arya likes songs about heroes and adventures:

Arya named hers after some old witch queen in the songs. —Bran II - AGOT

She could stay with Hot Pie, or maybe Lord Beric would find her there. Anguy would teach her to use a bow, and she could ride with Gendry and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs. —ASOS - Arya XII

Lyanna and Sansa are linked with singers and romantic songs and stories that move them to cry.  

As I said before, the story about Bael the Bard and the Rose of Winterfell resembles Jon’s own story: Bael/Rhaegar (both harp players/bards) abducting/eloping Brandon's daughter/Lyanna, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o' Winterfell’.  Sansa is also linked with this story, as was explained above.  

The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle. —ASOS - Bran II

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the “Dance of the Dragons,” [sung in High Valyrian] Ned inspected the bruise himself. “I hope Forel is not being too hard on you,” he said. —AGOT - Eddard VII

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen. —AGOT - Sansa IV

After the meal had been cleared away, many of the guests asked leave to go to the sept. Cersei graciously granted their request. Lady Tanda and her daughters were among those who fled. For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother's queen, of Nymeria's ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist. —ACOK - Sansa VI

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly. All I could ever do was shout the words.—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

Once, when she was just a little girl, a wandering singer had stayed with them at Winterfell for half a year. An old man he was, with white hair and windburnt cheeks, but he sang of knights and quests and ladies fair, and Sansa had cried bitter tears when he left them, and begged her father not to let him go. “The man has played us every song he knows thrice over,” Lord Eddard told her gently. “I cannot keep him here against his will. You need not weep, though. I promise you, other singers will come.”  They hadn’t, though, not for a year or more. Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree, asking them to bring the old man back, or better still to send another singer, young and handsome. But the gods never answered, and the halls of Winterfell stayed silent.  But that was when she was a little girl, and foolish. She was a maiden now, three-and-ten and flowered. All her nights were full of song, and by day she prayed for silence. —A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

This is a contrast with Arya who thinks love songs are stupid: Another stupid love song. Lanna was always begging the singer to play her stupid love songs. —AFFC - Cat Of The Canals

So there you have it.  There is more to say, but I think I covered the basics.

Thanks for your message.

[tealin]

Castle Rock

As always, if the images aren't showing up on Tumblr, I invite you to visit the post at its original location on http://twirlynoodle.com/blog

There are a number of hiking and skiing trails around McMurdo Station.  Some, like the Arrival Heights track, one can do alone and without giving notice; others, like the Castle Rock Loop, go far enough from the station and through questionable enough terrain that one has to check out, travel with a partner, and take radios in case of emergency.

I have become a great fan of the country walk in the UK.  You dive into a beautiful morning on a promising footpath, refuel at a pub, keep walking all afternoon, maybe a quick half at another pub, then fall into bed all topped up on nature and exercise endorphins.  Having been shuttled nearly everywhere in Antarctica via a motor vehicle of some sort, I was desperate to stretch my legs and cover some of Antarctica myself.  I wanted to visit Castle Rock anyway, and the trip there and back was about the length of a leisurely country walk back home, so it was a natural thing to do once all my planned trips were over.  My coordinator's opposite number is an avid hiker so he and I set out one sunny morning to put some miles on our sturdy boots.

The track is scenic and adventurous without being too arduous, so the Castle Rock Loop is a popular hike for the locals, as you can tell by the well-trammelled path in the photo above.  Its full extent loops down to Scott Base and around back to McMurdo, but the shoreline down there didn't hold much interest and I'd done the route between Scott Base and McMurdo loads of times, so we just walked to Castle Rock and back.

It was a beautiful day.  Much like the day I went up to Arrival Heights, it was calm, sunny, and hovering around freezing, the sort of conditions I insisted on calling 'picnic weather' long after the joke wore off.  We also had an amazing low layer of thin cloud, which I unromantically call 'pond scum clouds' in my head, rather an unfair name as not only are they sometimes iridescent but they create wonderful light effects on the ground beneath them.  On this day they were penned against Ross Island and cast their dappled shadows over Windless Bight, thereby showing up the perspective and giving everything the suggestion of being underwater.

Away from Ross Island the sky was clear, and from up here on the spine of the peninsula you could see pretty much everything, including Williams Field, where I'd spent so much time recently:

There's nothing like a pure white background to show you how much pollution our internal combustion engines spew out – that smoke plume is, I believe, from a C-130 which was warming up to take off that day.  It's a lot better than coal, but we've got a long way to go yet.

Humans' rudimentary flying machines are not the only thing to have emitted noxious gases into the Antarctic atmosphere.  Mt Erebus still puffs away with the occasional mild eruption, but the Hut Point Peninsula is an artefact of a more active volcanic past.  Much of the rock is obviously igneous, black or grey and spongy with bubbles, and most of the hills that stand up from the body of the peninsula are old volcanic craters, which spewed that aerated rock in ages past.  Castle Rock is similar in origin, but gets its distinctive shape from having been an sub-glacial volcano, rather than a surface cinder cone.  It's not exactly a volcanic plug, like the Devil's Tower in Wyoming, where the central chamber of a volcano solidified into a tower of basalt and the softer layers on the outside eroded away.  Rather it is the volcano, having melted its way up through thick ice, which held its sides almost vertical while new layers of lava were deposited on top.  This stratification, as well as the way the igneous rock has weathered orange-brown, makes it look more like sandstone than basalt to the casual observer, especially one who's spent so much time in the parks of southern Utah.

It feels enormous when you're standing under it – the name 'Castle Rock' is well-deserved – but when compared to other sub-glacial volcanoes (for instance Tuya Butte) it is but a teeny tiny fairy volcano.

This southeast face is the most precipitous; the north side slopes more and there is a climbing trail up it, should one wish to scramble a bit.  It was just on the verge of opening for use when we visited, so we didn't climb.  We did take as many pictures as we could, staying on marked paths, but before long it was time to turn around and head back again.

We stopped at a small shelter we'd passed on the way up, which you can just see as a little red blob in the photo above.  It is officially known as an Apple , but some refer to it as a Tomato, which it more closely resembles if you ask me.  It's an emergency shelter, in case you happen to be doing the Castle Rock Loop when a blizzard blows up, and it is actually rather cosy inside.

Further along the trail, the familiar landmarks of McMurdo rose into view.

That's Observation Hill on the left, and Arrival Heights on the right, with the "Golf Ball" under Mt Discovery in the middle.

As you may be able to guess from the above photo, the slope dips more steeply as we approach the base, and because of this it catches the afternoon and evening sun, and gets very icy.  We both had good hiking boots but not crampons, so on the way up had tried to climb by the snowier sections. I was looking forward to sliding down on my coat on the return journey but alas it wasn't quite steep or slippery enough for that – the best I could manage was a slow bum-scoot, which was fun but not exactly efficient.  However, it got me close to some funny features I'd noticed on the way up.

My guide explained that they form when a rock gets blown onto the slope. Being dark, it absorbs a lot more heat from the sun than the surrounding ice does, and so melts its way down through the ice, and keeps going as long as it the sunlight can reach it.  When the ice refreezes to fill the hole, it reorganises its crystalline structure from the chaotic granules left over from when it was snow, to something that reflects the container in which it was formed.  You can sometimes see this radial pattern in your ice cube tray – this is exactly the same thing.

We had been walking on ice and snow all day, which made for a surprise when I stepped back onto the familiar gravel of McMurdo. I have walked on a lot of snow in my life but I suppose I always went from frozen water to frozen ground or pavement.  I have not, apparently, stepped from ice to fine gravel so dry that the pebbles haven't frozen together, and my first impression on doing so was that I had stepped onto cake.  It was a very strange sensation that took some minutes to shake, but I can remember it even now.

It had been a very good thing to stretch my legs, and getting out in the fresh(er) air with a walking partner who could make good conversation but also didn't mind silence did me some good, to process the whirlwind of trips I'd made in such a short time.  In that sense, my own walk to Castle Rock was much in keeping with those who made the hike when waiting for the sea ice to freeze over in 1911 – it was somewhere to go that was well away from the madding crowd in the Discovery Hut, where one could have a private conversation or just catch a bit of peace and quiet.  On its busier days, the route is well-enough travelled that one stands the risk of encountering as many people out there as anywhere else, but we got a quiet weekday when everyone else was working.  Being a bright day in midsummer,  my imagination will have to add the richer hues of the dying light of autumn, but I'm glad I got to stand there in person at least.

If you want more detailed, expert analysis of the geology of Castle Rock, this is the PDF for you.

[datninjalyfe]

Not Without You, Chapter 3

Chapter 3: One-For-All

“Deku?  Is that what she called you?” the young woman asked as Izuku landed his feet in front of her. He felt his cheeks flush and smiled shyly.  

He was in the center of the city where he did his work study. His mentor had finally allowed him to do his patrols on his own, and while that was really nice of him, Izuku thought it was a bit out of character since Highlight, the world’s fastest hero, liked to work in groups.  In the middle of his patrol, though, a store was robbed and there were a few hostages, the woman being one of them.  Izuku was able to apprehend the robber quickly and get the hostages to safety with the help of the police.

“Yeah, that’s me.  Are you okay—are you hurt?” he asked her.  Thankfully, she shook her head.  

“I’m okay, thanks to you.” the girl bowed her head, but flirtatiously kept her eyes locked with his, making him blush further.  

“Oh—um, no, it’s nothing really—,” he told her, before catching his reflection in one of the building windows.  A green, distorted image of his costume stared back at him. This…is a dream?  He held out his palm, trying to touch it, but his index finger went straight through his hand.  He smiled, realizing that his weeks of training had finally paid off.  But how do I wake up?  

“I can wake you up.” a voice growled, and when Izuku looked up at the girl, he was immediately jolted awake by the bright maroon eyes that looked back at him.  He was back in his dorm room, floating a few feet above his bed.  

“Oh, shit!” he said, crashing down against it, hearing a soft thud of the mattress underneath of him.  He held out his hand and when he felt his index finger touch tickle his palm, he let out a sigh of relief.  Okay, this is reality.  He reached for a journal that lay on the nightstand, furiously writing down everything he could remember about the dream.  

Izuku’s training on lucid dreaming had really only begun, which was really frustrating for him.  Since doing more research on the subject, his dreams had become intensely more vivid, though couldn’t quite control them the way he had that first night.  He still made really great progress through some of the techniques, but he knew he still had a long way to go until he could control them entirely.  After finishing writing down his dreams, he opened a drawer and placed the dream journal inside his desk.  

His phone buzzed, but he didn’t want to answer it—the book he was reading had instructions about no using electronics before bed in order to get the bed results.  But when the phone buzzed again, curiosity got the best of him and got up, walking completely naked across his room, across the large window of his balcony.  He picked up a towel off his floor that read “I Am Here!” and wrapping it around his waist, he unlocked his phone.  

The notification turned out to be nothing. Just an article about things he already knew from his work study with Highlight’s agency.  Highlight was an incredible teacher and for the most part, an idol for Izuku.  He was the fastest hero in the world, but like Shoto, he was also blessed with two quirks and could fly as well.  When he flew across the sky, it looked like a streak of a highlighter on a piece of paper and in school, he was nicknamed Highlight. From America, Highlight moved to Japan for work, but fell madly in love with someone and decided to stay.  

Sighing, he sat down at his desk that faced the window and for a few minutes, he started to doze off, but was instantly awakened when he saw a figure moving outside.  Strange, Izuku thought.  It’s like 3 in the morning…but quickly recognized the figure.  The contours of Katsuki’s body were painfully familiar—Izuku had memorized his bulky frame Izuku since they were young.  Izuku watched as Katsuki moved down the sidewalk that led to the building, his excitement like a dog whose owner had just come home.  

Katsuki had meant everything to Izuku when they were young, which annoyed Katsuki and caused him to lash out when he was angry at Izuku.  To an extent, Izuku understood—they were immature and unafraid of consequences. But as they had grown from boys to men, Izuku watched Katsuki’s bullying turn from being physical to psychological—

“You wanna be a hero so bad?” Katsuki had told him in junior high.  “I’ve got a time saving idea for you.”  He was no longer resembled a boy, but a shadow that completely towered over Izuku.  Katsuki looked down at a pathetic little quirkless Izuku, who held his arms up to protect his face from the blast that he had come to expect so many times.  “If you think you’ll have a quirk in your next life—,” Katsuki held up his hand, his palm making popping sounds from tiny explosions.  “—go take a swan dive off the roof.”  Katsuki laughed, a menacing sound that pierced through Izuku.

“That was years ago.” Izuku tried to tell himself, but even now, Izuku couldn’t let it go.  Those words had hurt him so much.  Maybe that’s why they didn’t work out—because Izuku had never forgiven him.  I would have loved you if you had been nicer to me, Kacchan.  They were doomed from the start.  “Take a swan dive off the roof.” Izuku scoffed aloud.  Those words had played constantly through Izuku’s mind during their short-lived relationship.  

Still, he watched Katsuki walk down the sidewalk, staring at his phone, Izuku couldn’t help but wonder why Katsuki was out so late to begin with.  Rumors had reached Izuku through their class that Katsuki was a workaholic, but when Izuku saw the way that Katsuki looked at his phone: Is—is he smiling?  Izuku squinted and to his demise, Katsuki was.  A smirk, teeth showing as he entered the building, out of sight from Izuku. A thought lingered in his mind—what if Katsuki was seeing someone?  Fury suddenly intertwined with jealousy, racing through Izuku.  Izuku kicked his desk, cursing loudly.  The wood split, making a loud crack before crumbling like paper.  

Why?  his mind pestered him.  You didn’t come to U.A. to have a relationship with Kacchan.  You came here to become a great hero!  And you already have an amazing boyfriend.  Who you love very much…

But Izuku wasn’t a good liar, even to himself.  He still remembered that day—that horrible day when Katsuki told him, “I can’t do this, Deku.” Katsuki hiccupped through the sobs pouring out of him.  The rest of what he said was muffled in Izuku’s ears.  All Izuku could hear were those words, over and over again.  

“K-Kacchan, please.” but Izuku’s cries were met with Katsuki’s head shaking back and forth.

“It’s okay.” Katsuki said, tears pouring from his eyes.  He didn’t try to hide them, letting the water stream down his cheeks. “We tried, Deku.”

Katsuki didn’t show up to class the following Monday either.  Izuku nervously tapped his pen against his desk watching the door for any sort of movement.  Mineta sat next to him and shrugged when Izuku asked where he was. “Not sure.  But Uraraka told me to sit here so if Bakugou does show up you don’t die—,”

Uraraka smacked him on the head, shooting him a look before asking Izuku,  “How are you feeling, Deku?”

Izuku bit his lip, fighting against his eyes that threatened to tear up.  “I-I’m doing better.”  But Uraraka still looked concerned.  She reached a hand out, lightly touching his shoulder.  

“It’ll all work out, Deku.” she told him in her lighthearted voice.  “You’ll see!”

But Katsuki didn’t show up the next day either.  Or the day after.  Finally, Izuku had the courage to pull Kirishima aside and ask him, “Is Kacchan okay?”

Kirishima blinked and looked away.  “I-I’m not really supposed to say anything about it because it’s not really set-in-stone, but he got a work study interview with a local hero.”

Izuku let out a sigh of relief, placing his hand on his chest.  “Okay…yeah, okay.  Good.”

Kirishima smiled awkwardly and the two made small chit chat before parting ways.  

The next day, Izuku walked into class, placing his stuff down on the floor next to him.  Shoto sat behind him, giving him a cute wink before sitting down that made Izuku blush slightly.  As Izuku reached into his backpack, he felt it—the smoldering heat rained down on him, coiling around his limbs and joints, swelling like liquid fire.  The scent of sweet candies filled Izuku’s nose, disorienting him briefly, blurring images in waves off the walls.  He touched his temple in a failed attempt to balance himself, trying to focus his vision.  Despite knowing better, his gaze travelled upwards, squinting through the blinding furnace.

And immediately wished he hadn’t.  Katsuki entered the room, Aizawa’s hair immediately went up, fixated on Katsuki, who shot their teacher a glaring look, but the room slowly cooled.  “Control your quirk or I’ll do it for you.”

“Tch.” was the only response Katsuki gave, sitting down next to Kirishima, across the room.  Aizawa’s hair waterfalled past his shoulders and the heat still lingered, covering their heads in warm sweat throughout the class period.  Occasionally, when it became swelteringly unbearable, Aizawa’s hair would go back up, pinning his eyes on Katsuki, who just took notes and said nothing.

After class, Katsuki was the first one up, sweeping his belongings into his backpack. Izuku tried to pack his things away quickly, but Katsuki was out the door by the time Izuku had thrown his backpack over his shoulders.  He just wanted to talk to him, let him know how sorry he was that things didn’t work out, but he hoped—

What?  That things could be how they were before?  When he was an asshole to you?  As Izuku wiped the sweat from his brow, he couldn’t help but convince himself to say nothing.

“Midoriya, you ready to go?” Shoto asked, hold out his hand.

Izuku nodded and exhaled slowly.  “Yeah.  I think I’m ready.”  

A piece of wood splintered in between Izuku’s toes and he cursed again, fully bringing him back to the present.  Things can never go back, Izuku realized.  Not ever.

---

“God, that felt great.”

The woman climbed off of Katsuki and crashing down against the pillows.  Katsuki closed his eyes—it had felt great.  Despite being extremely small framed, Katsuki liked the way she took charge.  The less work Katsuki had to do, the better.  Occasionally, their eyes would lock and she had delivered on her promise: the forest green contacts peered into him.  He got up off the bed to leave, grabbing his pants and started to put them on when he felt a soft touch on his wrist.  She had wrapped her tiny, boney fingers around him.  “Leaving so soon?”  

“I have somewhere I have to be.” the lie left his mouth before he could stop it.

She must’ve picked up on it because she laughed, telling him, “Yeah, okay.” sarcastically, but she still rolled towards him, saying nothing else as he checked to make sure he had everything.  Phone…wallet…keys?  he thought as he double checked all the pockets.  “So what’s with the green contacts?”  

He stopped, looking over to glare at her.  

“Oh, did I hit a nerve?” she playfully asked him, giggling.

“Don’t.” he told her and she sighed loudly, her voice groaning.

“Come on, one more round and then you can leave.” She let go of him, but the green eyes stared up at him, begging him to stay.  

And he couldn’t say no.  Not to those eyes.  His lips crashed into hers, opening her mouth with his tongue.  She moaned loudly as he caressed her.

“Could you be any louder—?!” a voice said harshly.  

Turning around, Katsuki saw none other than Nebina Kogo.  Truthfully, it was the last person that Katsuki ever thought he would see again.  She was older now and her slim frame was outlined in the doorway.  Not much had changed, but she was taller and her hips wider.  Anger seared through Katsuki as he suddenly remembered: Nebina was the person that Izuku had lost his virginity to.

Nebina gasped suddenly, her hand flying to her heart as if she was trying to grasp it between her fingers.  She collapsed onto her knees and Katsuki got up to help her, but she was really okay within a few moments, taking a couple deep breaths.  “You always were an angry one, Kacchan.”

Did she collapse because of me? Katsuki asked himself.  Nebina was a true empath and could feel the emotions of others around her.  Katsuki took a couple deep breaths as well, to calm himself upon remembering that.

“Oh, do—do you guys know each other?” the woman on the bed asked, reaching for her pants to cover herself, but Katsuki made no such attempt.  

“Yeah.” Katsuki told her, not taking his eyes off Nebina.  “And I have a few questions.”

---

Izuku couldn’t sleep that night.  As his mind raced between Shoto and Katsuki, Izuku knew what he had to do.  He just didn’t know if he could do it.  Occasionally, the thought of him just being single for the rest of his life.  I’m here to be a hero—I’m here to develop my quirk—

“My….quirk?” he looked at his hands as an idea popped into his head.  He rushed over to his bed carelessly tossing the covers over him.  He knew it was probably a bad idea.  5% only, he told himself…just to see how it works.

If it even works.  

His eyes closed, allowing his body to slowly fall asleep.  He felt the power of One-For-All rush through his body, pushing itself through him further. 5%, he thought.  Only use 5%.  And he drifted into a deep slumber.  Deep maroon eyes stared back at him underneath his eyelids.  Let me stay here, forever, with you…arms took him in a loving embrace before lips fell onto his.  The kiss was deep and passionate—something Izuku hadn’t felt in so long.  “Love me, Kacchan.” Izuku told him through the hazy kiss.

“Midoriya?” a voice said far away.  

“Ka—kacchan!” he yelled out, pulling him in as close as he possibly could.  

“Midoriya!”

Izuku awoke in his room, sweat dripping down his face. The gray and blue eyes of Shoto looked back at him.  “Are you okay?” Shoto asked him, hints of concern written across his face.  “You were screaming.”

Izuku clutched his chest, trying to control his breathing. “Sorry.”  His eyes averted Shoto’s gaze.  But instead, he took a deep breath.  “Todoroki, I really have to tell you something—something I should have told you about weeks ago.”

“Can it wait?” Shoto asked.  “We are being summoned.”

“Summoned?  By who?”

“You mean by whom.” Shoto corrected him.

“Very well.” Izuku didn’t try to hide his eye roll and vexed, he asked, “Who is summoning us?”

“My father.” Shoto said.  “Said he found All Might.  And it isn’t looking good.”

(previous)(all)

[therealvagabird]

The Days of Clay - Pt. 1: Lands and Oceans

Another setting concept! This one for a paleo/neolithic world. I’ve had the urge to make this kind of thing for a while now, but I finally got done with the editing.

You can read the full setting rundown all at once on my WordPress. But I will also be posting it in separate parts here on Tumblr depending on your viewing preferences.

Feel free to a leave a comment, and share!

The world is vast, yet humanity is small. Wilds stretch all about, dwarfing even the largest stone houses of Man. It is a primordial era, when the thinking folk knew not the strength of metal, nor the heights of civilization. Most are born and die knowing but a fraction of all the world about them, or if not, braving seas and lands filled with ravenous monsters of a forgotten age. These are the first days, the longest days, the eternal waking dream of those who first knew what it was to tell stories.

In the Days of Clay, humanity exists scattered across many continents and isles in a world of vast seas and dangerous wilds. Great beasts of ages past hunt humans like vermin, and the elements are often the most dangerous foe of all. Fine resources which would allow for technological advancement are rare. Copper and tin are like gold and jewels, though in turn tribals may make extensive use of saurian bones, the carapaces of giant insects, and other exotic materials. Most tribes live confined to tiny fractions of their homeland or hop from island to island in endless seas with nothing but the stars as their guide. Yet others may roam far and wide, or travel from land to land should they be so brave. Though advanced metallurgy and the heights of empire are yet unknown, humanity is not always so “primitive”. In many places there can be found great cities of stone, or gathering places of many tribes, leveraging the power of cooperation. Likewise some crafters may do things with rock and wood and leather that would put even iron-based technologies to shame. Magic is absent, but spirituality is everywhere. The Days of Clay are a time of diversity, danger, and possibilities.

The Thirteen Lands and the Seven Seas

Continents:

Ancient Land of Sakha

Within the waters of Asra, the Great Blood Sea, the old continent of Sakha stands as it has since time immemorial. Not the largest landmass, it nonetheless has many arable river-lands hidden deep within its interior clefts, and numerous peninsulas and nearby islets which have made the coasts a boon for seafaring tribes. The Sakhan peoples are among the most diverse of any continent, having mastered mountain-climbing, boat craft, basic riverside agriculture, and even the domestication of certain beasts of burden. It is the claim of the Sakhan shamans that their land is the oldest in the world, and the birthplace of Manu and Manya – the first humans created by the gods.

Sakha’s climate is very hot, with mountain ranges erupting from broad highland deserts. Within the gaps of these mountains, however, can be found riverways which give rise to flourishing green sanctuaries. Out to the ocean, the bounty of the Blood Sea is abundant, and many tribes stake their claims upon nearby islands, pursuing dangerous seacraft to trade goods between the Sakhan mainland and the outer isles – sometimes even to the far neighbors of the Blood Sea.

Native flora of Sakha includes varieties of desert palms, coniferous trees, and hearty broad-leaf shrubs. Low-lying vegetation is common, and hundreds of varieties of grains, fruits, and aromatic herbs either have their origin in Sakha or were brought there through gradual trade across Asra. Fauna includes many mammalian varieties, including large goats, camels, some pygmy horses, and cattle. Big cats and jackals constitute predator species, and although there are not many saurians to be found upon Sakha, there are a great many enormous snakes and arthropods both in the deserts and along the coasts. Ape-Men are also prominent in the south and east, though not all of their tribes are hostile.

The peoples of Sakha tend to be darker-skinned due to the harsh sun of their home, though are sharp of feature and their hair is less kinky than tribes to the south. Sakhan peoples are as a whole regarded to be more “civilized” than most of their neighbors, having pioneered trends of building, copper-craft, boat building, and other technologies throughout their history. There are hundreds of gods in Sakha, though many of the shamans and priests seem to give reverence to the same higher concepts of “light” and “shadow”. Battles between entire tribes over supposed disputes between their gods are not uncommon. The Sakhans are also noted traders and travelers, sometimes being found on entire other continents after long and adventurous sea-voyages most in their right mind would never consider.

Batyr, Land of Wolves

To the northeast of the Blood Sea there juts a prominent chain of mountainous isles, stretching further and further east all the way into the deeps of the frozen north. The coastlines of Batyr are treacherous to sailors who do not know their secrets, but they hide a hidden boon. Just about the tip of the Land of Wolves there can be found its broad steppelands, which though culminating in snowy barrens at their furthest reaches are some of the most bountiful wilds in all the world. Vast forests and open plains filled with game, if one can just brave the harshness of the winters. To the south, the mountain ranges are less prominent, meaning that those who wish to reach Batyr from outside must know their way about the island-jumps, and the coastal tribes of Batyr are themselves more disposed toward heading south into the Ocean of Tiham than the western Blood Sea.

Though temperate for most of the year, the winters of Batyr are biting cold and can freeze unguarded humans where they stand. Most of the flora that isn’t woody steppe-shrubs are tall and mighty growths of oak and pine which have endured countless years beyond the memories of the oldest shamans. Saurians are unheard of, along with most great reptiles, and any cold-blooded beasts must seek refuge deep underground. Batyr’s greatest wealth and greatest danger, therefor, is held within its name. Massive mammals can be found all throughout the far country’s wilds, from towering mammoths, to great god-birds, and the fearsome dire wolves. There is nary a beast of fur and fang anywhere across the thirteen continents that cannot be found in a larger and more terrible form within Batyr.

Batyrian folk tend to be pale of skin and hairy of body, though darker tribes may also be found, either from ancient mixings with wayward natives of other lands across the Blood Sea, or from tribes out in the distant east. Hair colors come in many ranges, and beards are as popular as anywhere to keep back the chilling winds. Furs are worn in absence of less durable fabrics. Though many are happy to trade, Batyrians have a fearsome reputation, as they are also known to be raiders, and many of the wilder tribes maintain gruesome practices stemming from a single-minded desire for survival. The hunting of large game has bred a people who are not to be trifled with, channeling the unstoppable spirit of the mighty wolf.

Darkest Ar-Nung

Far to the south, beyond the furthest expanse of the Ocean of Tiham, there lies a hidden land where few have journeyed. Though in ancient times humanity did in fact reach those far shores, not but a paltry handful have ever come in or out ever again. South of the very tip of the Hinterlands of Siral’ik, Darkest Ar-Nung dwells across the stormy seas. It is a desert land of great peril, where all must struggle to survive. Though known for its searing and mind-baking heat, to the very south the mountains of Ar-Nung connect to the great ice which blocks off the shadowed reaches of the frozen lands. Travel to Ar-Nung in near impossible save for the savviest of seafarers from Siral’ik who know the way to hop across the island chains of Tiham to eventually reach Ar-Nung’s stormy northern shores. Though there are said to be lands in the frozen wastes beyond Ar-Nung’s most southern mountain ranges, those reaches go unnamed save for being considered to be part of Ar-Nung, as no human has ever journeyed so far into that icy hell and lived.

Within Darkest Ar-Nung there are many perils. It is not just the unforgiving climate and ferocious predatory monsters one must be wary of in the broad deserts, but also the numerous subtle ways one might be killed. Tiny arthropods and reptiles hold enough venom to kill even their titanic cousins in a single bite, while flora of the most beautiful hues – some even resembling their useful or edible counterparts – may likewise inflict a horrid and agonizing death on any who even touch them. Places where water might be found are no less dangerous, as great crocodiles and sharks lurk within the rivers and along the coasts, fit to swallow a grown warrior whole. Meanwhile, to the south, the frozen mountains which lead into the uncharted ice-lands hold untold horrors none have ever braved, from fabled frost-wights and storm-dragons to unnamed, hungering things deep within the mountain caves.

Despite this, the peoples of Ar-Nung are regarded to be rather intelligent and unaggressive, having mastered the delicate art of survival in such a country over many generations, and averse to undue risk and conflict when there is already such peril in their home wilds. They are a dark-skinned folk, even so dark as natives to lands like distant Noba Rugna, though their features do not in any way resemble those of their neighbors, possessing weather-worn faces and bristling hair. The Ar-Nung tribes may be found all about their continent, even within the mountains of the south, and those few who have ever managed to journey to Ar-Nung and back have told stories of those strange and silent folk who engage in all manner of bizarre rituals to ward off misfortune and evil. It is the necessity of the Ar-Nung tribes to know the spirit of every plant and animal upon their country, as to harbor uncertainty is to be subject to a sudden death.

Etlen Rugna

The land known as Etlen Rugna is in fact a jagged and mountainous continent divided up into many smaller regions by prominent inland seas along with numerous lakes and rivers. It dominates the western reaches of the Blood Sea, with its north coming close to the outer isles of Fjallgarth, while its south is likewise not too far by island-hopping from Sakha. Numerous tribes have made the diverse climes of Etlen Rugna their home for long ages, warring and trading in equal measure, enjoying the bounty of what some would call the most plentiful of all mankind’s lands. To the west of Etlen Rugna is the Etlen Udra – the Etlen Sea, which few have ever dared to cross. A quite skilled shipmaster might be able to make it to Frozen Nunaat by way of Fjallgarth, though many upon Etlen Rugna’s shores know nothing of the cousin-continent with which their share a name – Guarana Rugna.

The northern reaches of Etlen are vibrant, seasonal, and rich with many landscapes from soaring mountains to gentle prairies. Rivers, lakes, and inland seas are all commonplace, as well as deep and temperate forests. To the south, weather becomes hotter, culminating in biting deserts to the far south, dotted with oases of palms and other tropical flora. Animals upon Etlen are as diverse as the landscapes or the people, though most are not so large or intimidating as those that might be found upon other continents more suited to their climes – smaller breeds of mammoth are relegated to the furthest northern tundra, for instance, whereas saurian are found upon the outer isles and peninsulas of the far south. Within certain reaches, ape-men might even be encountered in not inconsiderable gatherings. Etlen Rugna is a vast land, though crossing its many wilds is no easy task, dwarfing neighbors like Sakha. Even trade within Etlen’s borders is not always so commonplace.

Just as with their homeland, the peoples of Etlen are varied in appearance and practice. To the north, they become more fair of complexion, whereas to the south their skin and hair becomes darker and rougher, as with each river-gap and mountain pass their roaming territories become more like the harsh deserts and jungle isles across the sea. It’s in the south and east that tribes tend more towards basic practices of agriculture and weaving, while in the north their industries are more inclined towards fishing, hunting, and raiding. There are hundreds of gods and spirits worshipped across Etlen Rugna, and in times of scarcity some of the greatest and most unforgiving bloodlettings have occurred, as tribes turn upon any outside of their immediate kin. The diversity of Etlen fosters as much xenophobia and hatred as it does cooperation and understanding, and even travelers from lands as schismatic as Sakha have remarked on the pains every Etleni takes to distinguish their tribal identity from all others, as confusing one Etleni folk with another is often a grave offense.

Far Anpe and the Islands of Fire

Across many of the far seas to the west, across the Etlen Udra, and the K’aino Udra, and the Devil Sea of Xulub, there is a distant country at the furthest reaches of the world’s shores. This is Far Anpe, a hidden range of mountain isles crowned with fire and watered with mystery. Formed of a grand chain of volcanoes, Far Anpe is most treacherous about its northern and southern tips, where the peaks are still young, and new mounts are prime to be born from the boiling waters of Xulub and the polar ice. Separated from the jungles of its sister-continent Guarana Rugna by the K’aino Udra – the K’aino Sea – Far Anpe is composed of tall mountains in its near entirety. Those places not defined by colossal peaks are fertile beyond compare thanks to the rich black soil, and on the sloping foothills leading out to the sea house numerous tribes who have built civilizations to rival the stonework citadels of distant Sakha. Save for trade with Guarana or the south tip of Dziil, the Anpean peoples go unknown to the rest of the world.

It is said in the ancient stories that the first Anpean tribals were among the most adventurous and daring of all folk in the world, until they came to the Islands of Fire from beyond the northern sea. Their heroic chieftains claimed that these peaks were in fact the gates of hell, and that just beyond – should they be so bold – the promised land of paradise awaited them. Finding the mountains and green slopes of Anpe, the tribes settled there at last, content that they had found their promised land. Most of the Anpean tribes control fortified encampments placed within the mountain clefts, which they use as communal shelters when not engaging in nomadic herding and foraging. Dangerous beasts like snow-jaguars and giant snakes might be found in the clefts, but for the most part the deadlier saurian are relegated to neighboring Guarana Rugna. Long-necked camels provide wealth to the herder tribes, whose wool they trade with the fisher-folk and mountain-dwellers. In certain hidden valleys, large mammals such as the lumbering shellbacks and giant sloths may provide adequate challenge for hunters, and to the south, the very earth heaves with fiery hunger. Apeans tend to have dark skin and hair, do not often grow beards, and have sharp features. Though small in stature, the Anpean people are fair of face and enduring of body and soul, descended from great warriors and grown even stronger off the bounty of their sacred homeland.

Fjallgarth

Northernmost of those continents that border Asra, the Great Blood Sea, the very name Fjallgarth inspires fear in the hearts of those folk who set their tents upon Etlen Rugna’s coldest shores. To the more distant Sakhan, should they be versed enough in stories brought from traveling tongues, it is a name that belongs to a strange land, where the people are white as the snow they wade through. The homeland of the fabled giants. Some stories are more fantastical than others, but save for Frozen Nunaat or other climes within the cold wastes of the icy Skathon Sea, no continents are as frigid and brutal as Fjallgarth.

Mountains, icebergs, fjords, and sharp valleys mark most of Fjallgarth’s landscape. Its coasts are near all intractable to outside sailors, no matter how fine-built their canoes or rafts are built. Sea-serpents dwell in the waves, along with kraken, sharks, and whales of colossal size. Yet this does not deter the brave natives from fishing within the rich yet chilling waters. Inland, there are reaches which can be found which are not so rocky and hard, and indeed many wild stretches where the sun is warm in summer and no sight of snow is to be had in the hot months save for crowning the distant peaks. Yet in the distant north, where both Fjallgarth and Batyr meet the icesheets of the Skathon Sea, even the great mammoth and dire bear struggle to stave off the cold. It is told in the fables that hairy men who feast on human flesh, along with giants who can command the powers of blizzards and wildfires can be found in those treacherous wastes beyond where even the most fearless raider chief might travel.

The folk of Fjallgarth are similar to those of northern Etlen, being fair of skin and hair, though yet moreso than their more temperate southern cousins. They grow to prodigious sizes and are fond of wearing enough furs to match their own hirsute appearances, and engaging in a warrior lifestyle which puts most other folk of Asra to shame. Fjallgarthan tribes are also known to be skilled seafarers, having constructed boats capable of reliable island-hopping. While the Fjallgarthan raiders might build no great temples or broad gathering-grounds – at least not as the southeasterners do – the northmen have been spotted in as far-away lands as Sakha and Noba Rugna.

Frozen Nunaat

Few have traveled to Frozen Nunaat since the ancient days of its settling by humankind. Even the ape-tribes have little to do with the vast wasteland, but for those who dare the gnashing ice, it can be a country of great plenty. From the more temperate volcanic isles in the south rich with fir trees and good fishing, to the prime whaling shores of the icy north, there is more to Frozen Nunaat than its name suggests. Laying beyond the reaches of Asra, in the depths of the cold Skathon Sea, Nunaat is said by some to be the home of frost giants or other mythical beasts.

Most of the continent consists of broad tundra, hence its name, though this is not the totality of its landscape. Along the south shores there is some resemblance to Fjallgarth in terms of the wilds consisting of a blend of pine forests, fjords, and warmer volcanic wastelands and outlying isles. It is here that settlers from Fjallgarth wage intermittent battles with the native folk, though trade of furs and other goods is also common. Fish and game birds are in plenty, and in many ways the southern parts of Nunaat are not so lesser in wealth nor hospitality than places like Etlen Rugna. The winters are harsh, indeed, but any who settle there are well accustomed to them save for the worst of years. Northward, where the distinctions between land and sea become blurred by virtue of the all-encompassing ice, things are less endurable. Most of the interior is considered a hellish desert to all but the most determined of overland travelers, devoid of oases and cold the whole year round. Even in the warmer months, when one might not have to contend with blizzards and endless night, that is the time when the wolves and bears begin their migrations, hungry after the dark months. Yet in the north there is still bounty to be found. Great whales, seals, and penguins migrate along the north shores, and the native Nunaatun peoples display a skill for harpooning that outstrips even the barbaric Fjallgarthans.

Nunaatun tribals, separate from the Fjallgarthan outcasts who have since made semi-permanent encampments upon the south shores, tend to be short of stature and thick of bone. They grow abundant hair, though beards are less common, and their skin tends to be dark from the constant sun-glare off the snow. In many ways they resemble the folk of distant Anpe or Siral’ik, though to see any of those human strains in one place would be a rare sight indeed. Though overall a peaceful people more focused on survival than grander designs of migration or war, they are among the few folk who the Fjallgarthans will speak with reverence of, as it is said by them that when the nights grow dark and the winds cold, nothing will stop a Nunaatun from doing what they must to survive.

Guarana Rugna

East of Anpe, surrounded on three sides by the seas of Xulub, K’aino, and Etlen Udra, the jungles of Guarana Rugna are as deep and green as any abyssal waters. From the highest peak to the lowest river-valley – of which there are hundreds upon hundreds – the verdant plant life of Guarana coats the entire breadth of the continent. Hot, humid, and lush with a diverse menagerie of flora and fauna, the many tribes of Guarana have all they need to survive and more – and even more ways to meet an unfortunate end. Survival-craft is a necessity, even by typical human standards, and river-canoeing is a popular method of navigating the otherwise intractable jungles.

Not all of Guarana is composed of forest – there are also wetlands, grassy plains, and a few small deserts, but for the most part, jungled sprawl coats the majority of the land. Were the trees to be stripped away, it would be seen that Guarana Rugna has a landscape as varied in altitude and natural wonder as any, though this can be hard to tell when trekking through boundless jungle reaches, shrouded by trees which look mountainous in their own right. Saurians are plentiful, and larger mammalians are scarce. Humans, apes, and other warm-bloods must be quick and observant to avoid being snatched up by a stalking pterosaur or raptor, and even great carnosaurs may camouflage themselves within the sheer density of the foliage. Great serpent-leeches and rope-spinners can snatch a whole human up from above or below, yet that is not all. Beautiful flowers and insects as small as a fingernail can deliver agonizing death before an unlucky creature has had time to realize what their lack of awareness has brought upon them. Guarana Rugna is a land of a thousand beauties, and a thousand dooms.

Yet the tribes of Guarana love their home and the bounty it brings, having had their senses honed to obsidian sharpness over long generations, learning from their surroundings so that even the mighty devilsaurs may not tear down their tree-houses, and the quetzal-boa would prove no greater threat than a songbird – when met with a dart coated in harvested manchineel poison. Guaranan folk tend to be short of stature and dark of hair, though their skin tones are very diverse, as some may spend most of their lives shrouded by the heavy foliage, and others baked to a deep brown beneath the coastal sun. Dense body and facial hair is uncommon due to the humidity and heat, though the Guaranans are fond of body paint for many purposes – clan identification, imitation of poisonous creatures, religious use, or camouflage. Though quite skilled at the building and utilizing of river-canoes, as well as high-altitude construction, the Guaranans have never been inclined towards trade beyond the waters, save for a few ambitious peoples who ply the island chains between their northern shores and the south coasts of the Leghen Alps, and a few others who dare cross the K’aino sea to trade with the affluent Anpean peoples.

Himaleh Vistra

East of the Ancient Lands of Sankha, north of the Ocean of Tiham, there is a strange and jagged land considered quite intractable despite its location at a crossroads of several continents. Himaleh Vistra is named for its great mountains, larger than any in all the myriad ranges which dot the shattered lands across the seven seas. To the north of the Vistran range lays little but desert and tundra steppe, yet to the south the river-broken coasts are lush with jungles. It is an overall misshapen land, carved up by peaks and ravines, rivers and gulfs, which have made it notorious as a confusing hinterland for any who dare make the journey to its shores. Yet many have made that journey, for not unlike those peoples who huddle around the Blood Sea, Himaleh Vistra’s central location in the world means that its beaches may oft be landed upon by visitors from far Siral’ik, from Sakha, and even Noba Rugna. If one dares make the trip to Himaleh Vistra in search of rarities not to be found on their home continent, they will be rewarded by seeing more diversity and exotic beauties than most humans would ever bear witness to in their simple lives.

The Vistra range is Himaleh Vistra’s namesake and most prominent feature, composed of a meandering chain of colossal mountains which stretch from east to west, between the closest gaps of Siral’ik and Sakha. A diverse country, most of those hills north of the Vistra range are composed of steppe and tundra, much like the nearby reaches of Batyr and Siral’ik. These other northern steppe-lands are separated from Himaleh Vistra by little more than the straits of the Skathon Sea, and during the coldest winters vast stretches of that ocean may freeze over, allowing mammoths and their hunters to cross should they be so ambitious. To the south, Himaleh Vistra is much more hospitable, lush with deep jungles and fertile riverlands where many tribes make their homes. Saurians might be found, along with ape-tribes as can be encountered across the entire breadth of that continent. Giant snakes are also a common threat and are worshipped by some tribal sects as living gods. Himaleh Vistra is noted as having some of the greatest diversity of flora and fauna of any continent the world over.

Those people who call Himaleh Vistra their home appear quite like the denizens of Sakha in many ways, though they tend to be darker of skin overall. Among the peaks and to the northern steppes, these Vistrans can be seen to have lighter skin, and some with features more like their neighbors in Siral’ik. The divide between the different regions of Vistra is quite pronounced, with the dwellers of the coasts and foothills considering the jungle-tribes to be more primitive than them, while both the southern cultures regard those who live north of the Vistran range as being little more than barbarians. Despite this, the Vistrans are noted to be quite accepting of outsiders, as they have gathered much wealth by aiding enterprising seafarers in finding safe harbor on their jagged shores. The Vistrans have the privilege of being some of the few people to realize that the scope of the world far exceeds the borders of their homeland, and in turn their trade of rare goods has let other tribes realize this truth as well. To find an artifact crafted in far Siral’ik while one is bartering in an Etleni encampment can be attributed to a Vistran trader somewhere down the line.

Hinterlands of Siral’ik

To the furthest north and east, across numerous islands and twisted stretches of land between the Ocean of Tiham and the Skathon Sea, there are the Hinterlands of Siral’ik. Though few journey there, the cultures of that distant country rival even great Sakha in what they have accomplished since their first settling. While goods from Himaleh Vistra are valued in their own right, for a western trader to find an item from Siral’ik is the best of luck, so lauded is the craftsmanship of the mysterious peoples of that mysterious land. Jungle, highlands, forest, desert – all climes may be found in Siral’ik, across the Hinterland’s many offshoot peninsulas and winding reaches. The very borders of the country can be hard to define, for in the north the continent merges with the bitter Skathon ice, and to the south a hundred-thousand islands disperse across the Oceans of Tiham and mysterious Kaiwa.

Giant apes, ape-men, saurians, huge snakes, devil-crabs – these are just a small selection of the species that can be found throughout the many disparate climates of Siral’ik. Much like Etlen Rugna, Siral’ik is a jagged continent which contains within itself climates suitable to near any species that might be found upon the world. Travel within Siral’ik comprises an epic journey in and of itself, to say nothing of travel beyond its shores. Though most of the land is within the frozen north, its winding peninsulas and island-chains venture quite far south, meaning that the distinct appearance of Siralese folk can be found throughout a significant range.

Siralese tribals – sometimes referred to as Siral’iki – tend towards shorter statures, paler skin, dark hair, and almond eyes. Beards are less common than in lands like Batyr, though not rare, and within the south stretches or in the high tundra where the snow-glare is bright, dark skin is also quite normal. Though many of the Siralese peoples live simple lives as nomadic hunters or clan-based fishers and farmers, the adventurousness of the Siralese is well known. Not content with spreading out across the entire breadth of their own homeland, the Siralese are some of the best seafarers in the world, having mastered island-hopping to reach lands as far as Batyr and Himaleh Vistra. Though none ever returned, it was also the case that in the distant past Siralese seafarers managed to reach even Darkest Ar-Nung, as well as cross about the curve of the world upon the waves of the Kaiwa Ocean. While none of the numerous islanders who dwell within the mysterious reaches of Kaiwa would consider themselves “Siralese” – if they have even heard such a word – their appearance attests to a shared blood with both those intrepid tribes and their cousins all the way across Kaiwa in reaches like Dziil.

Leghen Alps

Surrounded by the Sea of Gami to its west and the seas of Xulub and Etlen Udra to the east, the Leghen Alps are an isolated land little-explored from the western reaches. Instead, the tribes of Leghen hold more in common with their neighbors in Dziil or even Guarana and Anpe. Defined by its prime mountain range, the Leghen Alps are great peaks which rise above vast forests, swamps, and other green reaches all along the eastern coast. Across their heights, brief prairies give way to the expanse of the Sea of Gami, whose treacherous waters are all that separate the nomadic Legheni peoples of that region from their counterparts in Dziil. Save for a few fearsome creatures like great bears or the rare ape-tribe, the Leghen Alps are noted as a peaceful place, assuming one does not allow themselves to get lost in the deepest of its forested clefts.

Saurians are quite rare in Leghen save for the southernmost swamps bordering Xulub, with most of the wildlife being composed of smaller mammalians, and the flora being quite typical and not often dangerous. Still, while there are many pleasant climes for settlement, the Legheni know not to dally too long when crossing the passes of the Alps. Strange creatures dwell in those shadowy clefts, and in the wrong season it can be the case that entire tribes would meet a terrible end trapped by vicious snows. Still, so long as one stays in the more explored forests, or along the coasts, there is much plenty. Even the dangerous oceans of Gami and Etlen Udra – prolific homes to some of the most horrifying sea-beasts – are not so treacherous so long as one sticks to the ancestral routes.

Legheni are quite similar in stature and appearance to their neighbors in Dziil, being strong of body and face, if not the tallest in all the lands, with sun-toned skin and dark hair, which they are fond of decorating. Form the forests to the prairies, Legheni tribes are quite adept at surviving the perils of their homeland and then some, having made trips to Dziil and Guarana Rugna in the past in the name of trade – something their neighbors would not otherwise be inclined to do. Hunting, fishing, farming, herding – all are known to the Legheni, and where lumber is good and the call of the open sky is not so pressing, they will even build quite impressive villages among the trees. Yet the Legheni are creatures of habit. They will not venture into waters they don’t know, and they will not tarry in the mountains. The ancestors of the Legheni are, after all, just those individuals who were not so foolish as to get lost in those horrible reaches.

Noba Rugna

Below Etlen Rugna, and forming a great chain between the rifts of the Etlen Udra and the Caraka Sea, Noba Rugna is the southernmost of those continents within the “Asra Bounds” – the area by which seafaring tribes from the various lands about the Blood Sea prefer to travel and trade. At its north, Noba Rugna is a hot but fertile land marked by its bountiful coasts, yet to the south it contains as many mysteries as distant countries like Ar-Nung. Across vast mountains, badlands, deserts, the arid reaches at last give way to jungles of primordial age and depth, at last culminating in the far south shores where sweeping grasslands roll out to the temperate Caraka Sea.

At its northernmost extent, Noba Rugna is not too dissimilar from nearby Sakha, being arid but not the most brutal of climes, with its rocky deserts crossed by numerous rivers about which humans and beasts alike are able to seek succor. Seacraft is common there, and the waters are not so treacherous as those to the south. Some saurians prowl the wastes, but for the most part the land is manageable to those acclimated to the heat. South of the very harshest stretches of the desert expanse, however, there can be found some of the deepest and most lush jungles in all the world – and certainly nearest to Asra. Creatures of every type may be found there, from the smallest pygmy ape-man to the largest and most terrifying saurian. South of those forests, temperate grasslands and savannah proceed out to the south ocean, home to most of the larger mammalian species upon Noba Rugna, as the lizards and great arthropods prefer the damp of the northern jungles.

Noba Rugna’s people are hearty and strong, suited to survival in heats even more unforgiving than summer in Sakha. Along the north shores, they tend to resemble the Sakhan folk a great deal, though perhaps with darker tones to their skin. Within the jungles and grasslands where few northerners have dared tread, the tribals can reach hues as black as night, with rough hair and many diverse features and body types adapted to different climes. Those within the jungles tend towards shorter, lither builds, while within the grasslands endurance and strength is favored for long hunting journeys. Though the northern Noba Rugnans sometimes think of their southern counterparts of primitive, any who have made it past the dangers of the southlands and laid eyes upon the great works and daring feats of those folk would know better.

Wide Lands of Dziil

Far, far to the west, past the reaches of the Leghen Alps, and the great Sea of Gami, there is a land of cruel extremes which extends from the furthest north to its southern twin of Anpe. This is Dziil, the highlands. A series of mountains which cleave their way out from between Gami and the great Ocean of Kaiwa, to the west those grand peaks descend into temperate rainforests up to the far ice, while to the east the foothills roll into broad badlands which meet their end in the waters of Gami. Wild and seldom visited by any save for intrepid seafarers from Leghen, there can nonetheless be found some appealing stretches within Dziil’s borders – though those that claim them as their home must be prepared to defend them from the various tribes of the outer wastes.

Dziil is a mountainous country whose namesake range split the length of the continent down the center. To the furthest north the peaks extend all the way into the great ice-sheets, while to the south they taper off into many of the volcanic islands which define the roiling Sea of Xulub. West of the Dziil range the climate is more temperate, so long as one remains in the middle regions, lush with warm tropics and cool rainforests. East of the peaks, things are not quite so lush, defined by broad prairies at best and searing flatland deserts at the worst, though these mercifully abate at the shores of the Sea of Gami, among the reedy wetlands where the fisher-tribes dwell. Ape-men and saurian are both in abundance out in the west, while enormous bison, aurochs, and other large mammals reserve the eastern plains to themselves, being hunted by the nomadic tribes there. Despite its relative shallow depth, the Sea of Gami is also full of life, including opportunistic super-predators who sailors must be wary of if they wish to journey across the full breadth of the ocean.

Tribal folk of Dziil tend towards dark or tanned skin, though with considerable variation, having strong and beautiful features much like their neighbors, though standing the tallest of all the folk in those lands surrounding the seas of Xulub and K’aino. They are survivalists and hunters, managing to stake out prominent territories throughout their rugged homeland, facing any foes with bravery in their hearts. Though fierce, they are not often ones to war with each other, though when they do it is most common among the eastern tribes. Out in the deserts and plains, many of the nomadic folk see an easy opportunity in raiding their neighbors rather than risking their own starvation. Those who have made it so far as Dziil from other lands – a feat in and of itself – have remarked upon the brutality with which the Dzillai greet intruders.

Seas:

Asra, the Great Blood Sea

One of the most important and well-traveled of the Seven Seas, and perhaps the most storied. It is Asra whose waters border the lands of Etlen Rugna, Fjallgarth, and the Ancient Lands of Sakha. These three lands conduct the most frequent wanderings over the Great Blood Sea, but the mingling waters of Asra also reach as far as the western shores of Batyr, and other lands besides. The Sakhan peoples named the great expanse “Asra” after the rich hue of the setting sun over its waves – it was only later that it became known for the numerous battles which took place across its waters. Though dotted with many islands and host to much travel between its three neighboring lands, the human tribes have also shed much blood upon the waves and lost even more to the jaws of hungering leviathans.

Caraka Sea

The Caraka is a jagged ocean which cuts the land of Noba Rugna from its northern sister of Etlen Rugna. Filtering into the southernmost waters of the Etlen Sea, as well as the western stretches of the Ocean of Tiham, it is a little-explored waterway save for a few of the daring coastal tribes of Noba Rugna. Its waters are warm, but its coasts are treacherous, and one may find themselves stranded on any number of islands if they cannot navigate the inlets of Noba Rugna, or worse – be swept out into the daunting expanse of Tiham.

Etlen Udra / Etlen Sea

To the west of Etlen Rugna lies is sister sea, Etlen Udra. Descending from the southern tip of Nunaat, across the fjords of Fjallgarth and down to the nameless ice at the bottom of the world, Etlen Udra is a stormy ocean of mystery and danger. Unknown to all but a few of the most legendary sailors to have ever journeyed out from the west, Etlen Udra is the path to the Leghen Alps, and even perhaps Dziil, Guarana Rugna, and Far Anpe besides. The Etlen Sea forms the great barrier between these lands and the continents about Asra. Yet within the very oldest stories of humankind does some inkling remain of this truth. Within Etlen Rugna, Guarana Rugna, and Noba Rugna are told stories of the Breaking, when once the fields and mountains stretched unbounded before the elder gods cleaved the Etlen Udra into the wilds, shattering the earth in twain. To the shaman-storytellers of Noba Rugna and Etlen Rugna, it is assumed the western lands sunk into the sea, while the peoples of Guarana Rugna likewise consider the east to be a distant myth.

Great Ocean of Kaiwa

The largest ocean in all the world, so massive that no human has ever comprehended its scale. None have ever crossed its breadth through sheer skill alone. The seafaring clans of the great ocean may journey about its many islands, but even they cannot say where all Kaiwa’s bounds lay. Likewise, unknown to even the wisest shamans, in elder times some hunter tribes of Siral’ik even managed to make the trek across the shattered ice to the north peaks of Dziil, but that way has long since been forgotten. Between Ar-Nung, Siral’ik, Dziil, and Anpe, and speckled with as many islands as there are stars in the sky, the mysteries of Kaiwa are as endless as its blue horizons and abyssal depths.

K’aino Udra / K’aino Sea

Descending down from the Sea of Xulub, the K’aino Udra separates Guarana Rugna from Anpe, and Anpe from Dziil. It is a warm ocean, though quite harsh, and brimming with dangerous creatures. Thick with life, it provides an endless bounty to those who fish along its shores, though crossing its expanse is no easy feat. Even if one avoids death by one of thousands of ravenous beasts large and small which prowl its waters, the many islands within the green waves are said to house hostile tribes of humans, lizardmen, and ape-men. Though all types of predators may be encountered amidst the waves of K’aino, the sea-serpents are the most renowned of all.

Ocean of Tiham

The largest of the eastern oceans, rolling over a great expanse between the south shores of Himaleh Vistra and Batyr, and the far and darkened beaches of Ar-Nung, as well as flanking the eastern edge of Noba Rugna. Tiham is host to many islands, most near to the coasts of its bordering continents. It is rather warm, though prone to storms, yet that has not stopped many seafaring tribes from taking advantage of its riches. Great leviathans may be found in its waters, as with many of the seas, though they are more prevalent about its interior where the abyss descends with sudden rapidity away from the shallow waters near to the broken, isle-flecked coasts. The very name of Tiham comes from the mythical ur-dragon said to dwell within its very deepest waters.

Sea of Gami

Splitting the great plains of western Leghen and eastern Dziil clean down the middle, there is the mighty interior seaway known as Gami, stretching from the ice-flats of the north down to drain at last into the Sea of Xulub. Shallow for the most part, it is not free of perils. Within its teeming waters are as many dangers as there are resources. Still, that has not stopped the native tribes upon both sides of the sea of making the most of it, and some peoples spend near their entire lives upon the waters. So long as one is well-versed in the craft of the waves and keeps a sharp eye out for anything bigger than a saltwater alligator or giant gar, it can be an outright pleasant life exploring Gami’s waters and all its tributaries.

Sea of Xulub / Devil Sea

One of the most terrifying yet enticing of all the world’s great waters, the Sea of Xulub, also known as the Devil Sea, lies where the Sea of Gami filters out between the Leghen Alps and Guarana Rugna, forming a hub between the waters of Gami, K’aino, and the Etlen Udra. It is a warm and tempestuous sea, with many reefs about its edges and many islands that dot its waves. Yet the center of Xulub is unfathomably deep, perhaps as deep as such abysses that can be found in Tiham and Kaiwa. Horrifying beasts lurk below the black waves, and none but the most skilled of seafaring tribes may brave its central waters. Still, the reefs and island chains which wreath the Devil Sea are among the most bountiful to be found, more colorful than Gami and fresher than K’aino, rich with valuable coral and mollusks and tropical fish. It is not uncommon for the tribesfolk of that region to make war over the valuable islands, and battles are far more frequent than among the other island-hopping tribes of reaches like Kaiwa.

Skathon Sea

The northern sea, the name given to all those waters beyond the reaches of Nunaat, Batyr, Siral’ik and the like where the great ice-flows crash together and icebergs roam like mammoth god-beasts. It is not the coldest ocean – the waters beneath Ar-Nung and off the southern tip of Anpe have that honor, but unlike those darkened waves, many people have actually explored the reaches of Skathon. Most of all the shipbuilders of Fjallgarth and Nunaat, who whale and raid among the icy flows just as much as traverse them on foot. Cold-blooded leviathans are predictably rare within Skathon, yet the whales and pinnipeds are more than titanic enough in size to still provide dangerous sport. Yet it is always the gnashing ice and frigid waters that make for the greatest danger of any who seek to traverse the Skathon reaches.

[shutupandshipit]

Blood and Diamonds - Part 1

Summary: "Welcome to the stage... Lilith.”

Or where Neil is a stripper at the Days' strip club when Ichirou doesn't need him for family business, and Andrew is Kevin's bodyguard. It's only Andrew's second month as Kevin's bodyguard and it had been pretty boring up until then, but it only takes one night in the Days' club for things to get just a little more interesting. For both him and Neil.

Pairing: Andreil

Rating: M

Part 2: Gold -> Next

Part 3 -> coming soon

Author’s Note:  This is going to be a three part work, but most of the chapters are going to be pretty long compared to my usual. Anyway, this is literally a major fuck it fic for me, to be honest. I am writing this solely for the pleasure of doing so.

Part 1: Lilith

Andrew wasn't one for strip clubs. He didn't like them. He didn't like the people that frequented them. He didn't like the look of them. Most of them were dirty and degrading, dark and damp with lust. Plus, most of the strippers were usually women unless you went to a very specific club. If he really needed to get off that badly, he had other means of finding a source.

Still, he found himself wandering into an all genders club at Kevin's side, eyes skipping from one table to another.

Being Kevin Day's bodyguard had been as tame and boring as he'd imagined it would be. They did get into trouble from time to time, running about on whatever adventure the heir to Kayleigh Day's drug empire wanted. He'd only had the job for a short month, and was ready for something new to spice it up.

He just hadn't imagined that thing would be the strip club that his father and the Days ran as a cover for their drug laundering.

“It'll be fine, Minyard. Try to have some fun. Find someone you like. Drink a little. It is an all genders club. There's someone out there for everyone,” Kevin said when they paused just passed the front doors to look over the dim room and black stage with its two shiny poles leading up to the towering ceiling. The room was almost too dark to see, lit with sultry crimson light and candles in red vases on every table. Barely noticeable waiters and waitresses in conservative black uniforms moved silently around the room, taking and delivering orders.

It was a much cleaner and classier set up than Andrew had imagined. “If I found this fun, I wouldn't have to be dragged along under the guise of work.”

A waitress looking like she was on the verge of crying stopped at Kevin's elbow. “Sir, good evening. We haven't seen you in awhile.”

Kevin's mouth went from scowling to his people-winning smile in an instant. The smile he wore for the public, for his sick mouth. “Raven, evening. How have things been around here?”

“Fine. Josten got into a fight with Leverett again, but Boyd and Wildes broke it up pretty quickly,” she told him, jumping on the question like a puppy hoping to be praised.

Kevin sighed. “Again? Over what? How were they even in the same room with the schedule the way it is?”

“Something about stealing Leverett's customer. She came in on her off time to argue with him.”

“Typical.” His eyes drifted towards Andrew, musing. “He is the best though, and Leverett is... inattentive. When is Neil supposed to perform tonight?”

Raven glanced down at a watch on her wrist, small and discreet. “Ten minutes, and then at closing with the rest of the Foxes.” Kevin nodded at her, and she filled the silence before there could be any. “Jeremy and Thea are upstairs entertaining in the VIP room tonight. Mr. Moriyama is visiting, and they came in on their day off to minimize potential collateral damage.”

Kevin nodded, glancing towards the stairs leading to the upper floors as his smile struggled to remain in place. “Right, he told me he'd be here. I'll have to give them a bonus.” Turning to Andrew, he said, “Well, I'm going to go speak with Riko. Make yourself at home. Watch some of the acts. We're staying here tonight, and Nicky should take over soon, so get drunk. Take from Cracker Dust. Take someone to bed at the end of the night. I don't care, but if I come down here and you're not three sheets to the wind, I'm going to strangle you.” He said everything with a smile before turning, Raven following at his elbow.

“You don't have the balls,” Andrew spat back.

Kevin didn't stop, but flipped Andrew the bird over his shoulder.

Nicky showed up thirty minutes later, high fived him, and headed up to the VIP room to read a book outside the door. If Nicky was downstairs, he'd drink. And if he drank, he wouldn't stop. Kevin didn't mind them having a drink or two on shift, but they all agreed that being drunk was unacceptable.

After Nicky took his leave, Andrew found a spot at the bar, accepting a drink from a familiar bartender. “You work here too, Roland?” he asked, watching his old hook-up walk back and forth along the bar as he prepared drinks and set out trays.

Roland grinned, coming to a stop to lean across the bar at Andrew, smiling. “The Days pay better than Eden's. Plus, I get more hours. Speaking of which, haven't seen you around lately, and then you just happen to turn up here? What's the deal with that?”

Andrew tipped his head towards the ceiling. “Mr. Day dragged me here?”

“Ah, so Kevin's the culprit. Rat bastard. Well, I'm going to get you drunk on his dime then.” He set out a shot that Andrew knocked back happily, sliding the glass back towards Roland. “The show is about to start. Neil's our best. He really get the blood flowing. Then it's Allison. Maybe after my shift is done, we can find a place to... chat?” Roland's smile was flirtatious.

Andrew didn't answer, only raising an eyebrow.

Roland shrugged, unperturbed. “The offer is there if you want it.” He bustled off towards his other customers, and Andrew turned to watch the stage.

The stage was lit with a soft lilac light, and as he watched, the patrons began to snuff out the candles on their tables until it was the only light in the room. Overhead, a soft deep voice made introductions. “For those of you who have been here before, you know what time it is.” A short cheer rose before going quiet as sensual music filtered into the room. “For those of you who may be first timers, your life is about to be changed. Next up, we have the Prince of the Stage, the man who can cut out you heart without spilling a single drop of blood, the diamond of dance... Welcome to the stage... Lilith.”

Wild applause disturbed the air, quieting only when the music grew loud, replacing the conditioned air with the thrumming of cello strings. A man stepped barefoot onto the stage, tight black diamond studded shorts stopping just below the curve of his ass. They strained around toned thighs, a black sleeveless shirt draped loosely over his chest and stomach, plunging in the back to reveal rippling muscle. His arms were as tones as his legs, and scared from fingertips to elbows. Everything that was usually on display by a stripper was covered, but what was on display was a nice display.

Muscular, but not overly so. Neck long and elegant. Skin tanned and dusted silver. A steady mix of masculine and feminine as he moved across the stage.

Wild curls looked black beneath the lilac light, but lacked the same depth as black hair. Probably a brunette or red head. The curls flopped over the top edge of a glimmering half-mask that resembled a fox's snout, the shadow covering the rest of his face, but not the cut of his jaw.

Andrew thought every stripper danced the same, that there could be no variation except between genders. He wasn't sure whether this was particular to the club or particular to this dance, but Andrew's mouth watered as he swung around and around his pole, sliding to the floor and arching his back before wrapping his legs back around the poll to hoist himself up.

Bills landed on the stage, but Lilith never stopped moving, climbing and careening around the stage.

He looked like he was trying to run from something, and Andrew wondered what the something could possibly be.

It had been awhile since Andrew had had such a visceral reaction to another person, his pants growing tighter with each passing moment and movement. He never moved, exactly like the others around him. Even the bartenders had come to a stop to watch the man at work.

What Andrew found curious and intriguing was the lack of actual stripping. Lilith never removed a scrap of clothing, only pulled and tugged at the fabric in suggestion. There was a flash of dimples and strap of a thong above his ass, a peak of tight curls beneath the waist of his shorts, a smear of lipstick across his jaw. His performance drove the crowd wild, but when Andrew caught a glimpse of raised scarring beneath the shirt, he knew it was to hide and not to tease. He'd wager even frequent customers had never seen more of Lilith's skin than what was already being shown.

And that was interesting.

He was intrigued in a way he knew he shouldn't be. No one with a good, stable life was stripping for a living, and Andrew's life was already messy enough without adding someone else's issues.

Nobody stripping for the Days had a stable life.

When Lilith spun to a stop at the end of the song, chest heaving, he stared across the room.

Andrew could have sworn he caught the flash of icy blue eyes staring at him.

…..

Neil sighed, pulling his mask off and staring at the smeared lipstick across his jaw where he'd fended off one of the regular female customers before going on stage. Sweat beaded on his brow, tracing down his temples. His shirt was completely soaked through, and his shorts were stuffed with bills from grubbed hands at the stage edge. No matter how classy Kevin claimed the club to be, the dancers were still strippers and the majority of customers were still gross and horny. He'd slowly started to pull the bills out when Dan clapped him on the shoulder.

“Great job out there, Neil! You really got them riled up, and you're still as popular as ever!” Dan exclaimed, ruffling his curls with a grin. Her smile fell into a neutral line as she wiped at the smudged lipstick. “You know, you don't have to do this, right? Just because you got us the positions. You've got your own work to handle.”

Neil smiled at her. “I know, but whatever I make here, I get to keep. I'm still paying off my parents' debts, and I can't do that and live at the same time if I'm just using what I get paid normally.”

She sat down beside him, turning him to face her so she could fix his makeup. “I know that, but Kevin had offered to help which is a miracle in and of itself. He's offered more than once, so you know he means it. Wouldn't he be better than Ichirou?”

Neil wanted to shake his head, but also didn't want his throat ripped out. Dan was applying small crystals to his freckled and would murder him if he ruined her work. “Ichirou is not the problem. We practically grew up together despite our fathers' best efforts. It's Lord Moriyama and his useless second son that are the problem. Lord Moriyama still doesn't trust me after my father didn't pull through on his side of the deal, and then let my mother run back to the Hatfords. No, I can't trade one thumb for another.” Neil was giving too much truth, and he felt his throat trying to constrict around his words with his need to clam up, but every one of the Foxes deserved his truth. After what his father had put them all through... They'd been through too much together to get a lie.

Dan sighed again, and sat back. “There. All fixed. Now change your shirt and shorts. You're disgusting.” Turning to glance over her shoulder as Neil followed her order, she shouted, “Allison, they're waiting for Aphrodite on stage!”

Neil gently pulled Allison to a stop before she passed him, pulling her down to whisper in her ear. “Can you check out someone for me? Blond. Short. Seated at the bar in a black suit. He's new, but doesn't look like a customer.”

Allison pressed a kiss to his temple, murmuring, “Sure thing, hon. I'll let you know what I collect after I make my rounds tonight.”

“Thanks.” Neil waited until Allison was gone and Dan had focused on him again to wave at his face. “What's all this for? I thought I didn't go on again till closing.”

“Right, but someone requested you.”

Narrowing his eyes and wrinkling his nose, he said, “I didn't put anything out saying I was taking requests tonight. You know that.” Neil only took requests when he was desperate for more cash, and Dan knew that as well too.

Dan nodded. “I know, but I wasn't able to turn them down this time. The request came from Kevin for someone else. He put down five figures. I figured you wouldn't mind if you were getting paid that much.”

Neil's mouth went dry. “How much if five figures? How does Kevin even have that much to throw around?”

“Fifteen thousand.”

“Jesus. Does he want me to fuck this guy on stage or something?” Neil asked jokingly, but Kevin with Riko could be unpredictable. He had to have faith that Kevin wouldn't ask something like that of him, and he didn't want to have to pull rank as a Wesninski and the Butcher's Son in the club. Even then, he'd only be able to pull rank on Kevin, not Riko. If it came down to a battle with Riko, the night would end with someone's blood on the walls. There was a lot of abuse and humiliation he was willing to take from Riko, but not that.

“Oh, come on!” Seth shouted from across the room where he was painting his chest bright orange, “You don't even get naked! Why are you getting paid the big bucks? How good are you at giving head, exactly?”

Neil didn't point out that he only ever 'gave head' to one person as he didn't have a choice in the matter. That wasn't information Seth should be privy to. He'd never hear the end of the gay slurs. He already got enough shit for being demisexual as it was.

“If you put half as much effort into your performance as Neil does, maybe you'd get paid more too. Unfortunately, you only attract one gender, and that's not enough,” Dan shot back at him as she smiled. Again, she returned her gaze to Neil while Matt intervened before Seth got himself killed. “So, the client is in a private room, last door on the left. Maybe he'll tip.”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “You think it's a guy?”

She shrugged. “Kevin doesn't have any women in his group, but who knows. Maybe he picked one up and is showing her a good time.”

“I doubt that. He just picked up three new bodyguards a month ago, and I don't think Coach would let women on his team with Riko around.” Neil pursed his lips, staring at the rust red of them in the mirror. After a moment, he fitted his mask back into place and stepped into a pair of lethal black heels. “I guess I'll see you in an hour or so.”

Dan waived, smiling cheekily. “Try to have some fun, Neil. Who knows? Maybe he has a sense of humor.”

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, he ducked out of the dressing room.

…..

The private rooms were for entertainment. Most of the time, that meant lap dances and some conversation. That's what they were meant for. For the customers to get a better look at their coveted performers. What a performer did in a private room with a customer was their business though. Most of the performers were willing to do a lot for a little bit more if Kevin turned a blind eye. His only stipulation was that they stay clean, free of any drugs that he wasn't pushing and STIs.

Some customers pushed for more than the performers were willing to give, even when they said now.

Neil wasn't innocent. When he needed money and there was an easy way to get it, he didn't waste time tiptoeing around options, but he had his boundaries.

The Foxes had made a name for themselves in both the pole dancing circles and sex worker circles. When it came to the private rooms, their word was law. After several bloodied noses and broken wrists, most everyone knew that when a Fox said no, it meant no. There was no pushing. There was no coaxing. There was no wheedling. They weren't afraid to kick a customer out, and they sure as hell weren't afraid to get violent if hands were put on them. The Foxes were known for their dances and their convictions.

Customers who requested them knew not to push.

That didn't mean the Foxes weren't willing to push the fold themselves.

Neil didn't push anything. After his mother had beat the desire out of him and Lola had taken what she'd wanted, he refused to touch anyone unless he was desperate. Even desperate, the furthest he would take it was a handjob and a few unenthusiastic kisses. He made enough money on stage most nights to cover living expenses, but feeding two people got expensive after awhile. Not including the clothes and doctor visits and shoes. When he didn't need money, he kept as much distance between himself and the customers as he could.

He rarely found a need to put himself in a private room, and he always had the same reaction at first. Nausea. Shoulders pulling tight. A sense of vertigo washed over him as he slipped into the dimply lit room and closed the door behind him.

The room was dark like the main room, all black and crimson curtains with accents of gold and dusty pink interspersed throughout. Candle light flickered along the walls, and soft rolling music played through hidden speakers. Allison's song choice thrummed through the ceiling, pulsing in his feet.

Neil knew there were microphones hidden for the performers' protection. He'd been the one to suggest their installation. If the performer ever uttered their safe word or 'No' three times in a row, guards would pull the performer out immediately.

Across the room, the man Neil had seen sitting at the bar turned to look at him. He was short, shorter than Neil at about five feet even, but his presence was overwhelming as he stared at Neil blankly. He wore all black from his shiny shoes to his belt to his tie. His hair and eyes were the only splashes of color.

Hazel eyes slid up and down Neil's body, but the man didn't move to come any closer.

Neil didn't know what he was supposed to do with this lack of reaction.

…..

Andrew was collected from the bar by Nicky just as the next dancer, a woman with long blonde hair and legs for miles, stepped out. Nicky led him upstairs, a sly smile on his lips.

Andrew narrowed his eyes in response. “What's going on? I thought Kevin wanted me to get too drunk to stand. He's ruining my streak,” he groused even though he hadn't really been drinking with purpose. He'd been sipping on his whiskey as he chatted with Roland about the dancers and skirmishes they got into. What problems could be found around the club. Which were related to Kevin and which weren't.

Really, he'd just been doing reckon, but Nicky didn't need to know that.

“A present from Kevin,” Nicky said vaguely as he opened a door and closed it behind Andrew.

Andrew knew where he was without having to be told. He'd been in a backroom like this at Eden's Twilight with Roland enough times. Granted, this was nicer, but it was also actually meant for entertainments where Eden's looked like it was simply where people went to hook-up. They were all the same in the end.

A place to have a tryst. A place to get a lap dance. A place to do business that wasn't of the body variety.

He wasn't happy Kevin had sent him there, but he was also mildly curious to see who Kevin had sent for. Who Kevin thought would be interesting enough to keep him busy.

After ten minutes, Andrew considered sitting down, but didn't want to give the dancer anything to assume. He wasn't there for a lap dance. He wasn't there for a blowjob. He was there without consent, and he knew most of the dancers had to have been pushed into situations they didn't want either.

The dancer from the first performance -Lilith- slipped into the room. He'd changed, but the outfit wasn't much different than the one before. Black shorts that were seemingly painted on, tassels of diamonds hanging from the waistband to tinkle quietly around his hips. Black top of nearly see through material with gauzy sleeves that draped around his arms. New red lipstick painted his mouth, almost the same color as his curls.

He was towering in black heels, his mask still in place as he leaned back against the door.

Andrew couldn't stop his eyes from dragging up and down the man, taking in his posture, how he seemed a little off kilter. He wondered if it was Andrew himself, the room, or just the situation that was causing him such visible discomfort.

A long, tense silence passed between them before either spoke.

“You're Kevin's new bodyguard. I didn't realize earlier. You, your twin and your cousin just joined his security detail. Renee said she knew you guys from before,” Lilith said, shoulders still pressed to the door with his back arched away from the fabric covered wood.

“And who are you to Kevin?” Andrew asked, suspicious and curious at once.

“A performer. An asset. Someone to take care of the dirty work.” The words rang with truth despite the mirth there, and Andrew had to wonder if the song and dance were familiar. “But for you? I can be anyone.”

Again, suspicion reared its head. With Riko in the same building, he couldn't be too careful, even if Kevin was the one who sent Lilith. That didn't mean people couldn't be paid off. “Why's that? Is that part of your gag?”

The man shrugged, a sly smile playing across his lips. Half lidded blue eyes looked out at him from the shadows of the mask. “Kevin paid fifteen thousand for me to be here, so I assume he wants me to make you happy. By whatever means that may be.”

Lilith sounded a little sick at the prospect, and Andrew didn't miss that hint in his voice. He was a good actor otherwise, his posture never changing.

The words made Andrew sick, and he wanted to strangle Kevin. Instead, he could just waste his money. “Stop standing like that.”

Those blue eyes blinked wide, and Lilith asked, “Like what?”

“Like you're trying to showcase something. It looks painful.”

A startled laugh fell from Lilith's mouth, and he relaxed against the door. “It kind of does,” he admitted.

“Take the shoes off.”

After a pause, Lilith sighed and stepped out of the shoes, dropping down much closer to Andrew's height. “Thank god. Those are torture. Have you ever tried?”

“No.” Andrew sat down on the couch that was across from the door, leaning back with his arms across his chest. He pointed to the cushion next to him. “Sit.”

Irritation flashed across Lilith's mouth as he hesitated. It disappeared as he padded over to the couch. His body was lithe and strong like he was aware of every aspect of himself. Sitting down, he left a substantial twelve inch gap between them, but turned to face him. “This is... unconventional. Most people want me to be naked by this point. Not that they get what they want, but...”

“I'm not people.”

Lilith laughed. “Clearly. So, is there anything I can do for you?” He crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his hands in his lap. “You've got fifteen thousand dollars worth for activities.”

Andrew let his eyes wonder over the man, considering. He knew what his body wanted. He knew that he wanted to spite Kevin for this. He knew that no matter how convincing the man was or what he was indirectly offering, Andrew could spot a liar a mile away. This man was a good one, practiced and adept, but not good enough. “Let me take off your mask, yes or no?”

Lilith tensed, but nodded. “Yes.”

Andrew spanned the space between them, reaching into Lilith's hair to rifle around for the string. Puling the bow open, he set the mask aside and sat back into his seat, opening the space between them again. He stared at the man's face, at the long lashes and gems glues to his face, the curls brushing his forehead, the highlighter on his cheekbones. “What's your name?” Beneath the makeup, he could still see the bumps and rises of burns beneath an eye.

“Neil Josten.”

Andrew sat the lie in the flutter of his eyelashes, just a minor drop. “That's not your real name.”

“No.”

“You prefer to go by Neil.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Neil's eyes darted up to Andrew's face, surprised. “I-” He swallowed, dropping his eyes again. Taking a deep breath, he raised his eyes to meet Andrew's again, conviction in their blue depths. “What now?”

Andrew considered, chewing carefully on the inside of his cheek. “Take your shirt off, yes or no?”

“No,” Neil said immediately, flinching away from his eyes. He sputtered out a correction. “U-un-unless you really want me to.”

Interesting. “No. It's fine,” Andrew said, sliding further along the couch to give him more space, “Okay, but why? You're a stripper who doesn't take off his clothes. What are you hiding? We're playing a game here, Neil. Truth for truth. You give me a truth and I'll give you a truth.”

Neil stared at him silently for a long time before sighing. “Scars.”

“How many?”

“A lot.”

“As bad as the ones on your face?”

Neil's hand jumped up to press against the scars beneath his eyes, lips pressing into a thin line. “No. Worse.”

Andrew nodded, accepting that answer and motioning him to go.

Blinking in surprise, Neil dropped his hand. “What's your name?”

“I thought you already knew my name.”

Neil smiled. “I do, but you have a twin. I want to hear you confirm my suspicions.”

“Andrew Minyard.”

“And your twin is Aaron. Nicky is your cousin. He's nice. Always gives me a good tip when I take one of his requests. Never gets handsy unless I let him. I like their significant others too, even if I only know them from a distance.” He must have seen the unease flash across Andrew's face because he quickly said, “Sorry. Kevin's an important person to me and my family. I go overboard researching the people he's involved with so he doesn't get himself killed.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes, but he couldn't really fault him. It wasn't hard to research Aaron and Nicky anyway as their lives were documented on one or more social media pages. “Who gave you all the scars?”

Neil's jaw tightened, but he answered anyway. “My father and his associates.” His voice was tight, bitter. He sounded almost like he wanted to puke as he said, “Lola.”

“Lola,” Andrew mused, and again, Neil flinched, “What a stupid fucking name.”

Neil chuckled, the noise sounding forced to Andrew's ears. “Yes. Why did you decide to work for Kevin? How did that happen?”

“Riko tried to recruit me for his operation, but I don't work for homophobic piss babies. I needed a job, and Kevin -well, more Wymack- needed someone who could field Riko when he tries to overstep his line. Kevin and Wymack also agreed to hire my family. Riko didn't.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Which way do you swing?”

Neil smirked, and Andrew wondered how often he'd gotten the question. “I don't. I'm demisexual.”

“Interesting.”

Neil opened his mouth to ask his next question when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Instead, with wide eyes, he asked, “Can I touch you, yes or no?” mimicking Andrew's way of asking for permission. “Whoever that is, I need to convince them I'm doing my job.”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed and was surprised when Neil straddled his lap, sliding his fingers deep into Andrew's hair. The way Neil kissed was gentle and exploratory despite the situation. When Andrew gripped his thighs, he unconsciously arched into him.

The door opened without a knock, and Neil broke away a second later to stare over his shoulder accusingly. “What, Jean? I'm busy.”

“Clearly.” His eyes trailed up and down Neil, disgust etched into the curve of his lips. “Little Boss just called bother Riko and Kevin. You are to call him at your earliest convenience.”

“Thanks for the message. Now get out.”

“Putain,” the man muttered as he slammed the door closed.

Neil didn't move as his footsteps disappeared down the hall. With a sigh, he looked down into Andrew's impassive expression. “Well, guess this is ending a little early.”

“I suppose.”

Still, Neil didn't move, a sly smile pulled at his lips. “I'd like to kiss you again. It was pleasant. Also... do you want me to take care of that for you?” He pointed between their bodies where Andrew pressed hard against his ass, but politely kept his eyes on Andrew's.

Andrew was achingly hard in his pants, but he wouldn't ask for anything Neil didn't want. He didn't even know if Neil actually liked men or not. He needed to look up 'demisexual' when he had a moment. “Are you asking as part of your job or because you want to?”

Neil smiled at him, carding his fingers idly through Andrew's hair. “Because I want to. Because you listened when I said no, and didn't expect anything from me. Because you went out of your way to make me feel comfortable. Those shoes really are the worst after awhile.”

“Save it for another time,” Andrew decided.

This time, Neil beamed. “Sure thing. Bit I will ask for another kiss.”

“Demanding,” Andrew commented, but obliged as he tangled a hand in the curls at the back of Neil's head and pulled him down. When they pulled apart, he asked, “When will I see you again?” Because he was weak. He was weak for a pretty face and shady back story and the ability to listen.

'And to keep an eye on him to make sure he's not a threat to Kevin,' he told himself, even though it was a blatant lie.

“So eager,” Neil flirted, lifting himself from Andrew's lap to straighten out his clothing, “Probably sooner than you might imagine.” He plucked up his mask from beside Andrew.

“That's not an answer.”

“My schedule is never for sure, but I'm here most night. Come by any time. Ask for my by name instead of my stage name, and they'll send someone back for me. If you keep treating me like a gentleman instead of a whore, you won't even have to have Kevin pay for me.”

Andrew sat up straight. “I didn't-”

“I know. Just teasing. I'll see you soon, Andrew, and...” Neil trailed off, head ducking as he stood in the doorway and tugged his heels back on. When he finally lifted his head again, there was a sad smile gracing his lips. “Thank you. I mean it.”

And then he was gone.

Andrew dealt with himself quickly, using the supplies he found in a back corner to clean up before stepping out. He sat down heavily beside Nicky outside the VIP room. “I'm done for tonight if you want to drink.”

Nicky shook his head, but put away his phone and turned eagerly to face Andrew. “So, how was it?”

…..

Neil slipped from the room and immediately downstairs to call Ichirou. “Lord Moriyama, what can I do for you?” he asked politely because he knew Ichirou thought it was arbitrary. It made him uncomfortable, and being brothers, it was fun to needle him sometimes. “Oh, sorry. Slip of the tongue. Little Boss, what can I do for you?”

“I've told you not to call me that, Nathaniel,” Ichirou quipped back, “Either of those things.”

“Not as long as you keep calling me that.”

Ichirou chuckled quietly before his voice turned stoic. “I need you tonight. I've told the other to two stay clear for the night. I understand they're at the club currently?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Your man is already here. I'm having Moreau come in to begin set up.”

“Understood.” Neil shifted his weight from one foot to the other in the dressing room, not looking at himself in the mirror as he pulled a wig with long rust red curls into place. The hair cascaded down his back, ending at his waist. “I have to take care of one small thing before I change and head in. Is that possible?” He shimmied into a silver shimmery dress with a plunging back, the only one he ever wore into the VIP room.

“Do as you need to take care of Jane,” Ichirou told him, “I hope to see her again soon.”

“This weekend. Dinner,” Neil said, tying his mask back into place. Dressed as he was, he could almost believe he was a woman.

“Good. See you soon.”

The line clicked dead, and Neil dropped his phone back into his drawer. Renee and Matt stared at him with worry as he stepped into high silver stilettos.

He turned to them, holding out his arms. “How do I look?”

“Stunning. As always,” Renee sighed, and stepped close to fix his smeared lipstick. “We need to invest in that kind that stays forever. You go through so much lipstick. Will you need me tonight?”

“Later. I'll have Jean call,” he sighed. Before he hurried out, Matt grabbed hold of his arm.

“Don't let him push you around, Neil. You're not an object,” Matt whispered so Seth couldn't hear him.

Everyone, but Seth knew what happened to Neil in the VIP room, knew that he was one of the only ones it ever happened to. Knew it happened to degrade him and nothing more. They'd all had to pull him back together one night or another.

They worried, but worry never saved anyone.

Neil sighed again and pulled free. “Not my choice, Matt.”

“Not yet, but it will be.”

Neil smiled his wide, fake, plastic smile. “I can only hope.”

Nothing would get better for him until Kengo Moriyama finally found himself in the grave.

…..

He knocked on the door to the VIP room, not glancing at Andrew or Nicky as they eyed him. He could only hope that Andrew didn't recognize him with the long sleeve and hair and dress, which was for the best. If they made eye contact, that might not have been the case.

“Enter!” came Riko's imperious voice, and Neil repressed a growl.

He pushed open the door to purple satin and blue light, and Riko with Thea sitting on his knee like a very pretty dark doll. A scowl graced her painted mouth as Riko's hand played idly with the strings of her corset. When his hand drifted between her thighs, she slapped his hand away. “No means no.”

Neil was glad to see she hadn't lost her fire. She'd always been the strongest of them, but he wished Kevin would just get the guts to ask her out instead of shooting angry glares towards them while Jeremy sat against his leg and laughed generously. The best thing about the situation was that Jean wasn't there also mooning over Jeremy.

God, the VIP room was just a roiling pool of sexual tension. He wished Kevin and the others would get themselves into a happy polyamorous relationship.

“Ooooh, the Silver Fox is here!” Jeremy crowed, jumping to his feet and folding Neil in his arms. In his ear, Jeremy whispered, “I didn't know or I would have found a way to stop it.” When he pulled back, he trailed his lips along Neil's cheek.

Neil caught the front of his corset, whispering back. “It's fine. He didn't call for me today. Something else.”

Jeremy was beaming as he pulled back, leading Neil over to Kevin. He dropped onto the left arm of Kevin's chair, pulling Kevin's arm around his hips and tucking his fingers between his legs, unashamed.

Neil smiled seductively, leaning into Kevin's right ear as he gripped his wrist. “Can you grab Jane from the babysitter tonight? Ichirou...”

Kevin turned into Neil's neck and whispered, “Yes,” against his skin.

When Neil pulled away, he pressed a long kiss to Kevin's mouth. He beamed as he pulled back. “Well, that is all the time I have tonight,” he announced, turning back towards the door and hoping he'd get away, but Riko's voice filled the room again.

“Wesninski,” Riko called.

Kevin stared at him with a warning in his eyes as Neil winked and turned.

Stepping up to Riko's side, he snarked, “How may I help you on this fine evening, sir?” He smiled, and tried to keep the venom out of his words.

Motioning him down with two fingers, Riko wrapped a hand around the back of Neil's neck. “Next week, you will be here. We have an appointment to keep.” His hand slipped down from Neil's neck, following the curve of his back and slipping beneath the edge of his dress then the strap of his thong. “Think about the baby.” Riko hand pulled away, but gripped the back of his thigh hard enough to bruise. “Don't miss our appointment again. Understand?”

Anger and revulsion welled in Neil's chest, but he only barely managed to keep it contained. “Yes.” He stood straight, and gave the room another blinding smile. “Have a good night.”

Stepping out into the hall, Neil only managed to contain himself long enough to not slam the door. Instead, he threw a fist at the wall. He hissed at the pain that spiraled up his forearm, cursing at the split skin across his knuckles. “Fuck! God fucking dammit! Jesus fuck! Fucking Riko, piece of fuck! Nasty ass hands!” He dug the folded bills out of the strap of his thong, throwing them at the floor. He punched the wall again.

He'd forgotten Andrew and Nicky were outside the door until he heard their chairs move.

“Stop.” Andrew's strong, steady voice said behind him, grabbing his wrist as he made to punch the wall again. “You're going to break your hand. You're already bleeding.”

“Neil,” Nicky said gently, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Neil growled harshly, but couldn't stop from looking at Andrew.

Andrew glanced at him, recognition there, but nothing more. He dropped his eyes to Neil's hand, flexing each finger and then his wrist. “Nothing serious. Maybe a jammed finger or two. You should get that cleaned, bandaged and iced as soon as possible.” He didn't comment about the tears on Neil's cheeks.

Taking a step back, Andrew bent down to pick up the bills and pressed them into Neil's uninjured hand, meeting his eyes. “Whatever this is, it's not worth hurting yourself over.”

“'Kay,” Neil whispered, flabbergasted as he stared through the guise of his mask, but he felt like Andrew could see right through him. It made him uncomfortable.

His mouth was dry.

Swallowing, he turned. “Nicky, I'm sorry for yelling,” he said.

Tears filled Nicky's brown eyes, a smile splitting his face from ear to ear. “Oh, Neil, honey!” he cried, enveloping Neil in an all encompassing hug that made Neil want to cry while simultaneously drying out his well of emotions.

“Thanks, but I have to go now, Nicky. It was... it was nice to meet you, Andrew. See you guys soon.” Trying to contain his shakiness, Neil strode away. He needed to change, fix his hand, and get to Ichirou before he started asking questions.

Because Ichirou didn't know.

And Neil never wanted him to find out.

…..

“He was trying to sabotage a shipment.” Ichirou, dark and lithe and several inches taller than Neil, stood over the whimpering man as Neil pulled on the gloves Jean had set out for him. “He was caught with a detonator in his hand. Cheep. Clearly homemade. It might not have even worked.”

The man had a head of mousy blond hair that was streaked red with darkly tanned skin. His fingers were laced behind his back, wrists tied to the simple wooden chair like his ankles. A gag had been shoved in his mouth, ear plugs wedged in his ears, and a blindfold covered his eyes.

“Who do you think he works for?” Neil asked, stepping towards the chair and unceremoniously throwing his aching fist. The impact against the man's jaw made his knuckles bleed all over again, but he held back the flinch of pain. He should have just hit him with his left hand. “Do you think this is going to be a problem?”

Ichirou looked around to where Jean stood against the wall, eyes sharp and narrowed and as dark as his brother's. “Moreau. Out. Watch the door. No one is allowed in.”

Jean bowed out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Turning back, Ichirou said in a low voice. “I think he works for my brother.”

Neil paused where he was considering his tray of tools, eyes wide. “What? Why would he sabotage his own shipment?”

“Profit; if he exports than he can sell at whatever price he likes and keep everything for himself. Blackmail; he may be trying to ruin Kayleigh and Kevin. Favor; if he knocks them out of standing with my father, there will be an opening to step into. There are too many possibilities to consider. He doesn't realize he'll never be apart of the family the way he wants to no matter what he does.”

“Why Riko specifically though? Are there any clue to his immediate involvement?” Neil stared at the man in the chair, eyes narrowing. There was a cold, hollow spot in the middle of his chest that he was all too familiar with. It's where he retreated when Riko degraded him, when he killed, when he remembered his parents. “You don't think it's just my father's loyalists?”

“No. There have been shipments going missing more and more often. Riko's spending had increased. When the shipments are stolen, there is little to no casualties. Also, the raven tattoo behind his ear. It might be a coincidence, but...”

Neil allowed his father's ugly smile to pull up his lips. “Well, let's ask then.” He ripped the plugs from the man's ears and the gag out of his mouth. He yanked the man's head back by the hair at the back of his skull. “Who do you work for?”

“I-I-I-I don't know.”

“Wrong answer, handsome.” Neil held the man's head still before driving his fist straight into his nose. Cartilage shattered beneath his knuckles and blood gushed down the man's mouth. “Try again.”

“I don't know!” he shouted.

“Still the wrong answer.” Neil spent several long minutes like that, asking the same question and systematically hurting the man more when he got the same answer. Blood splattered his face, dripping down his cheek. His fist ached in its glove.

The man only spoke after Neil had broken his index finger. “Okay! Okay! I'll tell you what I know!”

Neil paused where he'd been bending the man's second finger back towards his wrist, relaxing the tension.

The man dragged in a shuddering breath. “I don't know what his name is. I really don't. I just know he's part of some big important family or something. They call him the Raven King or some stupid shit like that. I never met with him face to face. There were middle men. Idiots dressed in all black who move completely in sync. It's terrifying. I was paid thirty thousand to blow up half the shipment and take the other half. I got caught before I could do anything. I don't know anything else! Please don't kill me!”

Neil and Ichirou made eye contact over the man's head. “Were you working alone?” Neil asked, “Where were you supposed to drop the shipment?”

“N-no, but she ran off when she saw me get snatched. I've never met her before tonight. I don't know her name. I don't know anything about her.” He was breathing harder. “I was supposed to drop it off at some sports stadium. It's not used anymore. The sport never got off the ground or something.”

“Hm. What about the tattoo behind your ear?”

“Drunk night when I was sixteen.”

Neil stood, walking around behind the man. He waited for Ichirou's nod to continue. He gripped the man's head. “Thank you for your cooperation.” The snap of his neck dissipated from the room quickly enough, absorbed by black sound proofing and heavy curtains. “What do you want me to do about this?”

They both knew he wasn't walking about the body. He never disposed of the bodies, just like his father never had. That was someone else's job, but he usually paid Renee a pretty penny for her services. He trusted her more than he trusted any of the lackeys walking around the estate.

“I'm giving you permission to gather evidence against my brother for this. You may use whoever and whatever means you see fit. Once you have what we need, given my father's approval, you will kill my brother.”

Neil's blood began to boil with anticipation. When he finally got his hands on Riko, he'd rip him to shreds. They wouldn't be able to tell Neil's work from his father's.

[bleachanimefan1]

Oblitus Part Nine

Addict 

Anna sat Angel's phone back on the dresser and looked down at Fat Nuggets lying on the bed. She patted him on his head.

 "I'll get him back." She said. She stood up and walked out of the bedroom and continued down the hallway. As she made it to the stair case in the main lobby, she descended down them, heading towards the front door. As she reached out and grabbed the door knob a voice stopped her.

"Hey darling, where are you going?" Alastor said. Anna jumped, startled, and quickly turned around to see the radio demon standing right in front of her. She stared with wide eyes back into Alastor's red ones who were staring back at hers.

"Where did you come from?!" Anna demanded angrily, as she tried to calm her heart from beating out of her chest. Alastor made a wide grin and laughed.

"I have eyes everywhere, sweetheart!" He told her. Anna jumped back in shock as she saw multiple dark shadows come out from the dark corners of the room and surrounded themselves near the radio demon and the human. She noticed a certain shadow, that resembled Alastor, as it leaned on the demon's shoulder whispering into his ear. Anna frowned watching the two, suspiciously. Alastor's eyes widen as his shadow told him something then he turned his head back to Anna.  

"You're going to try and get disgusting wretch cause back?" Alastor questioned as he turned his head sideways, curious.

"I don't have to answer you." Anna said with her arms crossed. "Besides, it's not like you care, anyway." Anna heard a sharp static emitted from Alastor. She looked up and saw that the demon had a strange look on his face as if he was lost in his thoughts. Anna sighed and turned around opening the door.

"Don't tell Charlie or Vaggie where I went. I'll be back soon."

No, you won't, you stupid girl! You really don't know who you are going up against! Alastor wanted to shout out to stop her but something within him made him stop. That feeling again. He hated it. It made him feel weak.

Alastor gritted his teeth as he stared at the human woman with a strained smile on his face. Alastor's shadow looked at him then to the human then back at him with an suspicious look on it's face. Then it's eyes widen and grinned evilly, cackling slightly. Without looking at it, Alastor punched his shadow in the face, making it disappear.

"Okay, I'll distract the princess until you return!" Alastor grinned. As Anna was about to leave and shut the door and heard Alastor say something else.

"However, if you are in danger and in need of help, just call out my name." Alastor couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth. Did he really just say that?

Anna's brows furrowed in confusion as she glanced back at the demon before shutting the door, closing it.

It seemed like hours as minute after minute ticked by, as Anna waited, waited, and waited...

 "Are you ready to raise some hell?" Anna heard someone ask. She looked up and saw a woman with a red cyclops eye with pink wild bushy untamed hair in a ponytail, and light pale skin with freckles.

"You're Cheri?" Anna asked.

 "Fuck ya, I am! I guess you're the bitch that I spoke to on the phone?" Cheri questioned as she looked up and down at Anna, eyeing her. Anna nodded. Cheri rolled her eyes and huffed.

"I don't get why Angel wasted his time helping a useless sack of meat like you." She said.

 "Should we get going? I'd like to get this done quickly." Anna replied, ignoring the demon's remark. Cheri grinned darkly and grabbed Anna's hand, dragging her like a rag doll as the two headed towards the studio. 

As the two arrived at Valentino's studio, Cheri and Anna hid near an alley watching some demon clients walking inside. There was a bouncer guarding the door as he let them in.

"How are we going to get inside?" Anna asked, worried, eyeing the bouncer.

"I can get in just fine, but you on the other hand..." Cheri murmured as she trailed off looking at Anna, with a finger on her chin, thinking. 

"What about me?" Anna asked.

"You're too clean. You need to dress a little more trashier." Cheri tells her. Anna's eyes widen in surprise. "The sluttier the better!"

"What?!" She gasped like a fish out of water. "No way!"

"This is for Angel! Do it for him!" Cheri hissed. Anna cringed. She really did not want to do this. However, Anna looked back towards the Studio. Who knows what torture he was going through in there. Anna sighed. She is going to regret this! But, for Angel...even if it was her dignity, she'll put it aside for now.

As the bouncer checked some of demons in, his eyes nearly bulged out in shock, jaw dropping slightly, seeing Cheri walked up.

"Y-You!" He sputtered. Cheri grinned and walked up to him patting the bouncer on his face.

"Won't ya be a doll and let us in?" She asked, giving a the demon a wink. He frowned.

"On no, Val's order. I'm not supposed to let YOU in." He growled and jerked his thumb. "Beat it!"

However, as the bouncer looked behind Cheri, his jaw dropped slightly seeing Anna as she walked up to them. The woman's hair was frazzled in a mess like she had gotten out of bed. She had some mascara applied to her eyes and dark eye shadow. Her shirt was ripped across her chest revealing her cleavage as the tops of her breasts perked up slightly. Lastly, her blue jeans wear ripped above her knees into a short skirt.

The bouncer eyed her up and down practically ogling her like she was candy and drooling. Anna twitched, feeling completely degraded. She walked up to the bouncer demon and laid her hand on his chest, leaning closer.

 "Hey, we're kind of in a bit of a hurry. Would ya be a pal and let us in? I'll make it worth your while!" Anna said, fluttering her eyes. 

"Right this way, ladies!" The demon gestured them inside.  

Anna yelped as she felt a hard slap on her butt as she walked past. Anna turned her head back towards the bouncer seeing him throw her a flirtatious wink.

"Call me!"

She smiled nervously and quickly followed after Cheri as they walked into the Studio. 

"Way to go, girl! He couldn't keep his eyes off you!" Cheri cheered. However, her grin slightly dropped seeing Anna barfing in a nearby trash can. She cringed with disgust as she looked away.

"Man, you're pathetic."

"I know I'm sorry." Anna moaned. Cheri sighed and walked over to her holding her hair hair up.

"I'm worried about Angel." 

"Don't worry, I'm pretty sure he's fine. He's tough. But, I'd be worried more worried about yourself right now." Cheri said. "What's with your hair?"

"What do you mean-" Anna reached up touching her head only to feel something protruding at the top, an ear. A deer's ear.

"Oh my god!" Anna cried in shock. 

As they entered deeper into the Studio, Anna heard loud sexy music blasting. There was a large crowd gathering near a catwalk. A couple of demons cheered and cat-called, throwing money, as they watched someone dancing on a pole. Anna advanced a little closer, pushing past some demons, to get a better look. Her eyes widen in shock, seeing that it was Angel. She turned to Cheri, only to find that the cyclops wasn't there. She had lost her in the huge crowd. 

"Psst! Angel!" Anna shouted, over the loud music blasting in the background, calling out to the spider demon. "Angel!" She waved her hands in the air to get his attention.

Angel hooked his legs as he spun around the pole, only for his eyes to be met with Anna's. He nearly slipped, losing his balance. 

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" Angel exclaimed in disbelief. Anna climbed onto the stage, walking over to Angel grabbing his hand. A couple of demons in the crowd watched, in confusion, wondering if this was part of the show.

"We're here to get you out of here." 

"We?" Angel questioned.

"Cheri's here, too! Now, come on let's go!" Anna explained, pulling on the spider demon's hand. She saw Angel looking around the room nervously as his eyes shifted away from her. 

"You need to leave now!" Angel hissed, urgently. Anna shook her head.

"Not without you." 

Boom! Anna and Angel jumped as an loud explosion went off as Cheri threw out some bombs, quickly dispersing the crowd, scaring them. 

"Move your asses, you two!" Cheri hollered out, tossing some more bombs at some of the body guards that were firing at them.

Suddenly, Anna was ripped from Angel and tossed, landing hard on her back. Anna groaned. A large shadow towered over her. She heard a low rumble as someone laughed, followed by another, a woman's voice, laughing, maniacally.  

A pair of hands grabbed Anna by her wrist, pinning them above her head, as they held her down to the floor. She tried to break free, but to no avail. 

Anna looked up to see a large demon with pale blue skin, that resembled a moth, as his red eyes stared back at hers. He was wearing heart shaped glasses and also a red and white fur-lined coat with hearts all over it, followed by a matching top hat with a zebra striped design. 

"Well, well, well...what do we have here?" Valentino grinned, darkly, staring down at Anna. She swallowed nervously staring up at the tall demon.

"Aren't you a cutie!" Anna heard a woman's voice laugh above her.

She tilted her head up to see a woman, who was holding her down. She had grey brownish skin, with red, burgundy, and white hair tied into to pigtails in lace ties. She was dressed in a long black and white tea length dress with heart designs on it, black tights, and flat red shoes with white balls on them. Anna felt her heart pounding in her chest as she saw the woman make a sickening grin showing her sharp teeth.

"I wonder what sounds you would make when I pluck those beautiful blue eyes out?" The harlequin minion, pondered.   

"Val, Velvet, leave her alone!" Angel cried out for them to stop. He looked over at Cheri Bomb, seeing her preoccupied with the guards, holding them back. She was far out of the two's reach and couldn't help them. The spider demon gritted teeth in frustration, feeling helpless. He had no way to help, as Valentino had taken away his gun when he arrived at the Studio.

"Damn it!" Angel growled to himself. 

Anna shivered as Velvet leaned over her with a strange look in her eyes. She bent closer down towards Anna's chest. Anna turned her head away from her when she heard Velvet gasp, gleefully.

"Hey! We've got a breather over here, Tino!" Velvet chuckled, evilly, as she looked up to the moth demon. Valentino made a twisted grin as he kneeled down to the human, lying on the floor. 

"How interesting, I wonder how such a pretty thing like you ended up down here with a bunch of sinners like us?" He asked. 

She closed her eyes as she squirmed trying to get Valentino off of her. 

"Get off me!" Anna cried out, as she struggled to get him of her.

"Assuming from your reaction, I'm going to imply that you are a virgin, am I correct?" Valentino chuckled.

Anna's eyes widen as she felt her blood run cold as the pimp's hands began to pry her legs apart.

 Anna took in a sharp breath as panic began to settle. She screamed. 

"ALASTOR!!!" Anna screamed.

[thegoldenavenger]

Stony librarian au(I love adorable librarian tony)

So! This turned into semi-horror instead of the domestic library shenanigans you probably wanted! Sorry! Warnings: horror/surreal themes. Unbeta’d. 

The library is mostly dark, just the lamp as Tony sorts through things at the check in desk.  It’s after hours and while Tony loves his job, he can admit that he enjoys these dark, quiet moments quite a bit.  

This library used to be one of the old townside houses his father used to own, but Tony gutted it, renovated it, filled it with books and movies and loanable equipment, and opened it to the public and though he’s wise enough to let Pepper run the thing it is still his. It’d been the one cathartic thing he’d allowed himself, after his father’s death. 

So during the day he’s running around making calls and writing emails and chasing down people who don’t want to listen to reason as he tries to wrestle his father’s company into something resembling an ethically sound forefront of innovation and during the night he runs his hand over the spines of well loved, well treated books. 

When he was small his father would chase him out of the study library nook, as if Tony were too stupid to know how to treat things with respect or like Tony was better suited somewhere else then in his father’s line of sight.  When Tony did manage to sneak his way in, he was always terrified of lifting the heavy books off their shelves as if he’d disturb some great relic. 

Walls of classic literature were for show, Tony had learned growing up. You spent money or rare editions and then stored them so the embossed spine could be seen but you didn’t touch them. It was so, so different when he went to his friend’s house and Tony was treated to homely shelves of pulp fiction, and sci-fi, and kid books all stacked together.  Rhodey’s mother dog-eared a harlequin as she stood from her arm chair to greet Tony. 

Rhodey had given Tony his copy of the Lord of the Rings, and after that The Twin Tower and it’s Rhodey’s precise hand that has underlined and highlighted the passage that makes Tony always, always remember that even darkness must pass. That when the sun shines, it will shine clearer. 

So yes, Tony builds a library out of the bones of his past and yes it means something. It means something to walk the aisles after dark and smile at the full book carts.  It fills Tony with a sense that he’s done this thing right, at least. 

After hours doesn’t mean the library is empty, there’s a cleaning staff Tony keeps well-paid and happy, so he’s not terrible surprised when he hears footsteps echoing in the foyer of the library. It’s a bit late, maybe, but nothing unusual. The library still feels like safety, and it continues to do so for all the time it takes for Tony to turn a corner to see a shadow bent over the books at the front desk. 

It’s not any of his employees, he makes a note to memorize them and their names, not any of his friends, or anyone else he recognizes. 

The person at the desk is rifling through the books, flipping to the spines and then placing them back on the pile. They are broad shouldered and tall, and Tony’s hands flit to his pockets like he might summon a weapon to confront this... Tony doesn’t know. Robber? 

“I’m not finding it!” The man says and Tony jumps. 

“Can’t see anything here either--maybe it’s in the drop box?” Another voice joins in, and Tony blinks a couple times as another person pops up from behind the counter.  This one is illuminated by Tony’s small desk lamp instead of silhouetted.  He’s thin, sharp jawed, with a flop of dark blonde hair and blue, blue eyes that widen as they meet Tony’s. 

“Who are you?” The man asks, standing straight up. 

The other man whips around, just as startled. 

Tony raises his hands, placating, then scoffs at himself because he’s the one who is supposed to be here. 

“I can ask the same thing! What are you doing in my library? We’re closed, lights off, no visitors.” He flicks his hands as he talks, claps them as a statement and watches as the two intruders jump. 

“We’re looking for a book.” Says the dark haired man. “This is a library.” 

The blond puts his face in his hands. 

“We haven’t had anyone return anything like that.” Tony says, affronted. “We don’t even have anything like that in our system.” He looks, affronted, at Steve who had found a moment to introduce himself and his friend. 

“Someone could have slipped it into your library without you knowing, it’s slippery like that.”

“It’s a book,” Tony says, “Books aren’t sentient creatures with willpower.

Bucky, Steve’s tall, dark, and intimidating friend, scoffs.  

“Well, maybe someone turned it in as a trick then, but it definitely should be somewhere on this property.” Steve says, giving Bucky a look. 

“I’ve already checked through all the returns today, unless someone dropped it through the drop-box the last couple of hours.” 

Steve looks at Tony, with his wide, wide eyes, and Tony huffs. 

“Look, let’s go check I’ve got the keys for it, and if it’s not there you can get me some coffee and tell me more about why you’re looking for a haunted book like some Youtube Ghost Hunters.” Tony says and heads for the door.  Steve and Bucky follow.

“We’re Seekers, not Ghost Hunters.”

“Bucky!”

“Well, he should get it right, not--” There’s a muffled thump and Steve hissing “Shut up!”

Tony lets a smile spread over his face, comfortable in the fact that they can’t see him.  Maybe they’re misguided idiots looking for views for their blog or whatever the kids are into these days, Tony doesn’t know, but it was a fun anomaly while it lasted. 

The drop boxes are located outside the building, conveniently located so people can drive up and drop their books if they don’t want to stop in.  Tony puts his key into the closest one and unlocks it, pulling the flap open. 

Tony pulls three books out, all children’s books. He raises an eyebrow at Steve and Bucky as he hands them the books to look over.  Locking that box he turns to the next and opens it to find it empty.  

“Right, so where is this haunted book?” He asks, gesturing dramatically at the empty darkness inside the drop box.  Bucky actually sticks his head into the thing before accepting Tony’s verdict. 

Tony shuts the drop box, locks it and then puts his hands on his hips. “Alright, you owe me some coffee and an explanation.” 

The explanation is better than the coffee but only because the coffee is tepid and stale. Tony isn’t sure he believes Steve and Bucky’s account of a book that, what, eats people? Disappears them? But it’s an amusing tale and seeing Steve’s face get all worked up when Tony teases him is definitely reason enough to be here. 

In fact, Steve is much more entertaining than the tale he’s trying to weave.  The shiny dullness to his hair, the freckles Tony can see now that they’re being illuminated by ugly florescent lighting, his big blue eyes and the thick eyebrows scowling at him. 

“Are you even paying attention?” Steve hisses. 

“What, yes, yes.  Hundred years of murder history.  Secret shadowy nightmares. Very believable.” Tony nods just to watch Steve’s cheeks heat up with red. 

Steve’s hands are lithe and his knuckles strong as he sets his coffee mug down on the table with a clack! He pushes himself up, bending over the table to get in Tony’s face and yell.  He’s pretty short, Tony notices.  If Tony wasn’t resting his chin in his hands Steve might still be looking up at him instead of down. 

Bucky sets his fork down long enough to yank Steve back into his seat and say, “He’s goading you.” Before he goes back to shoveling greasy diner eggs into his mouth. 

Steve crosses his arms and huffs, sitting back into the booth. 

“If you weren’t gonna listen, why’d ya wanna come out for coffee?” Steve mutters, and it takes Tony’s brain a whole second to reboot because that was an accent oh yes it was. 

Blinking to clear his head, Tony replies with the same steadiness he’s been showing in the face of Steve’s tall tales. “I’m a librarian, I’m pretty much obligated to check you out.”

“If you weren’t so--” Steve starts but Tony doesn’t hear him because Bucky just snorts coffee all over his empty plate. 

It takes that interruption for Steve to actually process Tony’s (lame) line and his cheeks erupt from pissed off pink to really embarrassed red. 

Bucky coughs into his napkin, the coughs resolving into loud, husky laughter, enough for waitress to come by all concerned and glass of water in hand.  Bucky waves her off and looks at Tony with the most amused expression on his face, a total deviation from the stone wall Tony has seen most of the night. 

“Good luck with this one, pal,” he says, patting Steve heavily on the shoulder. 

Tony ends up paying for the coffee and Bucky’s eggs, because Tony doesn’t think internet sleuths actually have much income, and because the story was worth the bill. 

“Make sure you return those books, or you’ll miss our due date,” he calls after Steve and Bucky’s receding backs.  He can hear Bucky start laughing again, under the noise of exasperation Steve makes. 

Tony actually hopes they do come back, and not just because he wants the kids books he left with Steve returned. 

This was a fun night, he thinks as he returns to his home. It was definitely going to be The story at lunch time gossip with Pepper and Rhodey.  Tony locks the door behind him, flipping on the lights and slipping out of his shoes.  He shrugs off his coat and hangs it, then loosens the tied around his neck. 

He thinks they might have words about him not calling the cops on a couple of B&Eers, which reminds him, he should have asked how they got in the library in the first place.  The doors were still locked when they’d left to see the drop boxes and he hadn’t heard any windows breaking. 

Tony resolves to ask when--if he sees them again.  

He continues with his nightly routine, showering, brushing his teeth, dressing for bed, cleaning his nails. He grabs his briefcase and drags it to the couch, where he turns on the flat screen for some background noise.  He pours the rest of the green smoothie he’d made that morning into a glass and takes it with him to the couch where he opens his briefcase. 

He always spends a couple of hours catching up on emails before bed, and he reaches into the case to grab his laptop but his hand rests on something else. 

He pulls his hand out, and he’s holding a heavy, perfect bound book. 

That had definitely not been there this morning, he thinks before he puts it on the coffee table. 

The books stays in his briefcase.  Tony does not read it, he’s not stupid. 

Okay, Rhodey isn’t stupid, and Tony’s smart enough to call him the moment he stopped internally freaking out about the book.

“Don’t read it man, don’t be that guy.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course not.”

“You’re reading it right now aren’t you?”

“Of course not, I’m not stupid.”

“Really?”

“Really. But, like, I might in the next fifteen minutes. It’s just right there! You know I have poor impulse control, honey bear!” 

“Control yourself man!”

Tony controls himself long enough that Rhodey can slap the book out of his hands when he bursts into Tony’s apartment like the cool-aid man.  Rhodey’s mom didn’t raise a fool, so the books gets wrapped in Rhodey’s sweater, wrapped in a bag, put into another bag, then locked back in Tony’s briefcase.  He’d have thrown it into a fire too, if Tony hadn’t insisted they save it for Steve and Bucky.  Mostly Steve. 

“Who are they?” Rhodey asks, and though Tony wanted to save this story for Gossip time he relents and fills Rhodey in on the hours of Tony’s life he missed. 

“You are. The worst.” Rhodey says. “This shit never used to happen to me before I met you.” 

“Yeah, but you love me anyways.”

Rhodey makes a frustrated noise but doesn’t deny it. 

Tony and Rhodey wait at the library all day for Steve and Bucky to show up.  Tony keeps making Rhodey guess which vaguely suspicious duos are the Monster Hunters in question, just to laugh behind his hand when Rhodey inevitably guesses wrong.

The briefcase is heavy in Tony’s hand, and he thinks if he stops talking he’ll want to rip the book out and read it. 

“Oh wait, no I know exactly who you were talking about,” Rhodey says, his flat voice resigned. Tony looks up and sees Steve and Bucky beelining towards the library’s entry way. 

Tony stand from the bench and waves invitingly towards the two men. 

“Hey! No late fees for you!” Tony calls out as they get closer.  Bucky doesn’t laugh this time, but Steve’s face still gets red so Tony chalks it up to a win. 

“Tony, what’s that?” Steve asks, pointing at Tony’s hand. 

Tony and Rhodey both look down to see Tony’s hand gripping the bag Rhodey had stuffed the book into. 

“Jesus, Tony!” 

“What, I didn’t? I don’t remember opening the case! It was locked! You’d have noticed me unlocking it!”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Steve interrupts. 

“I’m the best librarian, I found your book!” Tony says brightly, lifting up the bag. He’s already trying to unwrap it, but Bucky’s hand shoots out, closing over his with a surprising amount of strength. 

“Not here.” He says, gruffly.

“Holy shit,” Rhodey says under his breath. 

“I know, right?” Tony says, grinning widely at his friend. 

Steve ends up dropping the children’s books back into the drop box and they all hop into an old car and drive to a motel a few minutes away.  Tony complains about the vehicle the whole time, from the rust patches in the paint job, to the air pressure in the tires that he can feel is just too low, to the sound the car makes as Steve shifts gears.  

“Get a hold of your guy,” Bucky orders, eyes on Tony’s drifting hand through the sun visor’s mirror.

“He ain’t my guy,” Rhodey insists fervently, as he grabs Tony’s hands and yanks them away from the book. “I don’t got a guy, why does everyone think you’re my guy, Tony?” 

“Maybe ‘cause you’re always holding my hand?” Tony turns his grip so he’s clutching Rhodey’s fingers instead of shaking. 

He hates being out of control. It’s why he stopped drinking. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all your fault.” Rhodey says, but he keeps Tony’s hands steady for him, like he always does. 

The motel is cheap, and Tony thinks he might actually break out in hives just walking into the rented room, but he keeps quiet because he’s finally allowed to bring out the book. 

He blinks and Steve has snatched it out of his hands. 

“This is definitely it,” Steve says and Bucky nods as they both look over the black cover.  There are no words embossed on it, front or back or spine.  It’s just black leather, and cream pages. 

“So what is it?” Rhodey asks. 

So Steve and Bucky tell Rhodey what they told Tony last night, and this time Tony actually listens. 

“The last time someone had this one, they disappeared.” Bucky says.

Rhodey’s hands fist, and Tony gives in and sits on the bed, even if the comforter is tacky. 

“Finding these things are so hard,” Steve complains, “If we can locate one, usually it’s already in the hands of someone who is dumb enough to try and keep it.”  He looks approvingly at Tony. 

“Trust me,” Tony says, raising his hands, “I’m done with the disappearing acts.” 

“These things have a way of getting their hooks in you,” Bucky says, his arm reaching up to rub at the empty sleeve at his side. “You shouldn’t be alone for a bit.” 

“Thanks for coming to us,” Steve says, and he reaches out to touch Tony’s wrist. 

Tony thinks that might be a better reward than not disappearing. 

“Here’s my number.” Bucky says, handing Rhodey a sticky note. “Call if anything weird happens. 

Rhodey nods, all cool like, but Tony knows if he were to put a hand to Rhodey’s cheek it’d be heated. 

Tony, despite thinking Steve is kind of cute, is ready to put the incident behind him, but he doesn’t complain when Rhodey decides to stick around. To observe him. 

Tony is glad of it, when strange shit keeps happening around him. 

He’s swipes toothpaste onto his toothbrush and runs the head of it under the faucet then starts to brush his teeth. 

And then Rhodey asks him what’s taking him so long and he blinks and his mouth his foamy, and his gums hurt, and so does his hand where he was gripping the brush. Did he lose time? He’s probably tired.

But then, he gets up from watching TV with Rhodey and goes to the kitchen. He asks if Rhodey wants anything, grabs a second beer even before Rhodey asks for one and head back to the living room, but Rhodey already has a beer and the channel has changed. “I got thirsty waiting for you to finish.” Rhodey says offhand, as if Tony had gone anywhere but straight to and from the kitchen.

It’s at his day job that it gets really weird, though.  Tony finishes an email then stands to head to the employee break room.  He doesn’t need to, but he likes getting coffee there.  It’s a nice way to say hi, to stay connected to those who work under him. 

The halls are empty as he makes his way to the break room.  He can’t even hear people working behind the office doors.  There’s no one in the meeting rooms he walks by, no one by the water coolers.  He pushes the door to the break room but there’s no one there, either. He tries to focus on getting his coffee, but his hands are already shaking so he skips it and goes for water instead. 

On the way back he peaks his head opens a door leading into marketing but there’s no one there.  All the desks are empty. He takes a turn into accounting, but it’s just florescent lights. He pushes open another door, then another, and it’s all just empty desks and harsh lights.  It’s several twists before he even realises that this isn’t how he had the offices decorated.  He always stressed the importance of natural lighting and comfortable spaces but the decor has turned into colorless carpet, narrow plastered walls and yellow flickering lights.  Endless doors opening to vacant cubicles and abandoned office equipment. 

Tony has never been one to call out when in trouble, so it’s just his thudding heart and rasping breaths to accompany his footfalls as he runs through the building trying to find his way out of the labyrinthine office and damn, that thought really makes him want to laugh out loud, even though he knows it’d be strangled. 

He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, types in the number he’d already memorised by the time Rhodey had slipped it into his pocket, and hopes that somehow it connects. 

There’s a dial tone, and then-- “Rhodey?” 

“Hah, yes! I mean, no, I’m not Rhodey, but I’ll set you up on, like, a coffee date with him if you can get me out of here!” 

“Tony?” 

“Yes, ding ding ding! It only took you two guesses! Amazing--” His breath hitches in the middle and he stops running in order to stop himself from making any more weird, vulnerable noises. 

“Tony, is that you, what’s going on?” And that’s Steve’s voice, oh good!

“Yeah, I’m--does this thing have face time or? No, listen I lost in an office building. My office building? But it’s not, I did not authorise this floorplan! I’m a madman but I’m not malevolent I would never pair--” He makes a strangled noise, “Emotionally void and tasteless paintings with god! damn! fluorescent! lighting!” 

The yellow lights flicker obstinately at him. “Yeah fuck you, too!” He yells. 

“Tony, calm down, take a breath what did you say? A void?” 

“A labyrinth. No one’s here. Haven’t even seen a Minotaur.” He laughs again and he knows it’s shading hysterical. 

“Oh, shit,” The phone pulls away from Steve’s mouth and his voice goes fuzzy as he talks to presumably Bucky, and Tony heart flies to his throat.

“Hey, hey, what do you mean ‘oh shit’ come on. Steve? Steve?!” 

“I’m here, keep walking.” Steve demands.  Tony listens.  He walks.  He listens as Steve talks to him about what he’s doing, he walks past empty water coolers and dead plants.  When the connection hisses Steve tells him to turn and Tony does.  

“Bucky is pissed you called his car a heartbreaker, that’s his baby.” Steve says and Tony forces a laugh. “I only said it because it’s true. The paint job was breaking my heart!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony hears Bucky in the background. 

“I’ll show you a real ride once--” He breaks off as he opens another door to another empty room. Steve makes a choking noise that has Tony smiling despite everything. “I’ve got cars,” He says instead. “Like a hobby.”

“Sounds like a rich man’s hobby.” Steve offers.

“Sure,” Tony agrees. “But I’ll take it if it means I don’t have to worry about your friend’s death trap breaking down.” 

“I like bikes better,” Steve admits. 

“You ride?” Tony asks. 

“Here and there,” 

Tony gives silent thanks for the image of Steve in motorcycle leathers.

“I like bikes, too. You know Fujikawa?”

“Know ‘em? Those are the best damn bikes--”

“Well, I’ve got a couple--”

“Of course you do!” 

Tony laughs, delighted. “I can do better than that, too.”

“What, you’ve got a flying car hiding somewhere?”

“Not yet,” Tony says, “But I can introduce you to Rumiko.”

“Ru--Rumiko? That’s-- She’s, but!” She’s the lead designer at Fujikawa Industries is what she is, and Tony is so, so glad to have met her in this moment. 

“Yeah, she’s great. We’ll have lunch, it’ll be a ball.” 

“I’m holding you to that,” Steve says, “I won’t have coffee with you again if you’re just making this up.”

“You were planning on having coffee with me again?” The thought warms Tony’s chest straight through his heart.  He can feel the grin on his face. 

“Well. I gotta check you ... out, or---” 

Tony laughs, startled, then laughs harder because he can hear Bucky hacking up a lung in the background. 

“Shut up! Never mind, offer rescinded.” 

“Too late!” Tony crows, “You can’t take that back! You said it! I’m holding it right here, by my index card. I’m signing it out, it’s set in stone, buddy, you’ve got yourself a date.” 

“You have a date?” Pepper asks.

Tony whips his head around so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.  The phone drops and Pepper rises from her seat at Tony’s desk. “Tony?” 

“Holy shit, I’m out!” 

Steve’s voice comes out tinny through the phone. 

“Tony, are you okay?” Pepper’s smile has taken on a shade of concern.

“You’re real, right?” Tony asks, before bending down to pick up his phone. “Steve, I found Pepper, I think I’m out!” 

“Okay, I’m going to call for an ambulance,” Pepper says, frowning. 

“No, I’m fine! I’m great!” 

Steve’s voice sounds generally approving, though Tony isn’t really listening to him right now. 

“You’re delirious, I think.” 

“No, I have a date!” He exclaims, and Pepper just shakes her head.

Steve and Bucky investigate ever corner of the spaces Tony inhabits, and they find a folded page in his night stand that Tony doesn’t remember.  The paper is think, and the only thing printed on it is an old looking wood cut of a silhouette. Looking at it sends chills up Tony’s spine, but after Steve and Bucky take possession of it the weirdness stops, so that’s fine.  Tony is good to put the incident behind him and focuses instead on figuring out how to get Steve to follow him on a plane trip to Japan. 

“What is it, Tony?” Steve’s voice is groggy, but Tony doesn’t feel bad for waking him. 

“Thought I saw a shadow outside my window.”

“You did not.” Steve says, matter of factly. 

“You don’t know that.” Tony says, smile quirking around his mouth. 

“You’re the worst.”

“That’s true.” Tony grins, because he can hear Steve shifting around, getting up. 

“Fine, I’ll be there soon.”

“Actually, it’s gonna take you about eight hours.” 

“What?”

“Yeah, you see, I’m kind of in Japan.”

“I’m not going to Japan, Tony!” 

“Aren’t you, though?” Tony says, and yes! He’d timed it right because he can hear the knocking at Steve’s door.

“Tony, what did you do?” Steve whines. 

Tony grins and takes a sip of the tea Rumiko had brought out for him.  On the table between them is a crumpled napkin with a spider imprinted on it, something slipped into Rumiko’s things without her noticing.  

“We’re going to Japan,” Bucky says, his voice muffled through the connection. 

“Tony, what did you do!” Steve’s whining takes a panicked edge to it. 

“It’s fine, Steve.” He says, then addresses Rumiko, pointing at his phone. “I told you, Rumiko, I know Weird Stuff experts. Everything’s gonna be fine!” 

“Seekers!” He hears Bucky yell. 

“RUMIKO?” Steve yells.

Rumiko puts her head in her hands, but she’s laughing. “You’re lucky I like you,” she says. 

Tony smiles, winningly and turns back to the phone, “You can buy me coffee when you get here.” 

[chalcid]

9: Follow the Swords (Disappear

I was solid, again, I think. The world still resembled an abstract painting I made in third grade, but I staggered to my feet. Wild Magic was like the worst amusement park ride ever, but it has sure helped me appreciate the feeling of my boots on the ground.

As the world began to stop swirling and churning before my eyes, I could make out Edonia and Kev.

"You weren't there before," I think Edonia said. It was hard to tell in this dreamy state.

"Hey guys," I said weakly "So, I just had a really bizarre encounter with the guitarist from Thordis's band and I think we're supposed to follow the swords."

"Swords?" Kev asked "A guitarist? What?"

"Hang on," Edonia said "How do we know you're the real Merika?"

"Test me."

"How do you classify any objects you find when you're not sure where it's from or  what it is."

"Usually by whatever's going on in my life at the time, along with relevant information, like the School Dance Vase or the Unit 3 half a pot," I replied.

"It's her," Edonia said to Kev.

Kev hugged me tightly. "I'm glad you are okay."

"Me too," I replied.

"Look," Kev said "Swords. We should follow those right?"

"Yeah," I confirmed.

Swords, heavily rusted from who knows how many years of rain were stuck blade first into the ground like they were garden lights. It was almost annoying how painfully obvious it was.

We had wandered the woods for several hours. I was absolutely soaked to the bone, although the rain had stopped. Curse my arrogance. Umbrellas, as it turned out, were not for the weak but for the clever, and oh, what a fool I was.

"Kev," I said, "If anyone ever offers to teleport you with Wild Magic, ask them for a map instead."

"I will."

We plodded on a bit longer.

"End of the line," Edonia said, holding her arm out to bring us to a halt. "There are no more swords."

I glanced at the swords, and then glanced up. There was a curtain of ivy concealing the ruins at the end of the path.

"Open the ivy-curtain," I mumbled, sitting down on a tree stump. "I need to sit for a moment."

"Okay," Edonia said. She glanced at me, and then at the ivy-curtain. "You don't think that the... the spirit who told you all this was lying? This could very well be a trap."

"I know them," I said "I mean, I met them once, and they didn't say anything to me, but they seem cool."

"Did they ask for something in return?" Edonia fretted "What did you promise them?"

"Just that I would buy them some coffee. They get to choose when and where, though."

Edonia relaxed "Then we probably won't die walking into here. You two wait here, I'll scout ahead."

She parted the ivy-curtain and disappeared inside.

"It's past my bedtime," Kev said, moving to stand beside me. "Our family must be super worried."

I chuckled bitterly "You're a good kid, Kev. I'm so sorry I dragged you all the way out here."

"I didn't want you to be lost and far away from home all alone," Kev said, touching my arm.

"I should have been firmer. I should have lied," I buried my head in my hands "I do reckless, stupid stuff all the time and everyone's used to me just... running off. Disappearing. I shouldn't have let you come with me."

"You'd be out here with just Edonia," Kev argued.

"So what? Eddy is an absolute wizard and she knows all kinds of cool things and she's got her life put together."

"You're my sister," Kev said "Sisters are there for each other, right?"

I sighed deeply "This isn't you keeping me out of trouble. This is me dragging you right into it."

Kev didn't answer that.

Edonia poked her head out of the ivy "Okay, it's safe."

"Wait," I said "What did I get you for your last birthday?"

"A pocket watch from an Asterellan shipwreck with amethysts," Edonia replied.

"Okay, it's her," I said mostly to myself. "Let's go check out these ruins already.

I pulled open the ivy curtain "After you,"

Something echoed back "No, after you."

The ruins were absolutely creepy. I mean, the whole woods were creepy, sure, but the village was a completely different kind of creepy. I expected it to be like the rest of the woods with the black and red trees and bones and swords and things whispering about you in the shadows.

Here, there was grass, good old green grass poking up from the dirt. The trees were cleared in an almost perfect circle. The actual village had been sunk into the mud, leaving only the crooked tops of the buildings. The only structure left untouched was a tower on the opposite side of the woods.

"I don't think we should try and go into any of the houses," I informed Edonia. She nodded in agreement.

"Anything interesting has got to be covered in mud," Edonia sighed "If it wasn't so dangerous, maybe we could excavate the place, but..."

"Let the past be buried this time. Cheer up, there might be something cool in the tower," I said. I paused "Actually, everyone, take a turn-back-check. It's here, we saw it," I fumbled with my phone and snapped a few pictures "And now we have photos. So, at this point, it technically wouldn't be a loss if we went home."

"Let's check out the tower and then head home," Edonia said "This is the only chance to explore here we've got."

I glanced up at the stars in the sky "We could come back when it's daytime."

"No, we should see this through," Kev said.

"Curses. I hate it when I'm the sensible one. Alright, let's go check out this tower, but there has to be something cool I can bring home or I'm going to scream."

"Sounds fair," Edonia said "Just don't scream while we're here, or the Calandra Deer might mistake you for a mate."

The thought generated a large amount of yikes.

Runes were gouged in the tower's wood. I squinted at them. Yep, that wasn't written in a language I could understand. They did look vaguely similar to the runes on Deyanira's skin, though. The same language maybe? I took a picture.

Edonia pushed the door open, and we stepped into the tower. She turned on her flashlight and begun swinging the light back and forth.

"Wait," I said.

She froze.

"Up and to the right a little."

The light hit a mural. I took a picture.

"The Calandra Deer," Kev said, touching the paint carefully "And the village."

It was a gruesome painting. People screaming. Blood everywhere. Calandra Deer with arms and legs in their mouths. But...

"Did someone just... stop and paint everything in detail while everyone else was packing up," I questioned. "Edonia, to the right, please."

Another mural. Fire raining from the sky while ships sailed away. The castle looked like the old Mariveyan one in pictures, but the Bazflamep flag was raised. Ships were sailing away.

"This would be the war," I said.

"But that would have been hundreds of years after anyone lived here," Edonia said. The light fell on the third mural.

"And I have no idea what this is," I declared.

There were a group of singers in a circle, heads bowed. In the background, there were more people playing instruments, a couple with swords, and plenty of people using various water magics. A stormy sea with waves ten times as tall as them, at least. And a water demon with a crown and some sort of weird blue lightning.

Wait. That wasn't lightning, it was the barrier.

The barrier cracking.

"This is weird," I announced "How could anyone have known anyone about this."

"Let's search the place," Edonia suggested. "Maybe the resident kept a diary?"

She shone the flashlight around the room, while Kev and I checked under things and on top of things.

"Nothing in here," Kev declared.

"Let's check upstairs then," Edonia decided.

"Watch your step," I warned Kev "Old staircase are rarely stable."

Luckily, we made it up the steps without incident. And... jackpot! A desk.

"Logical place to keep a diary, right," I said, gesturing to the desk.

"Maybe a bit obvious," Kev said skeptically.

"Maybe. But let's check anyway," I said.

Edonia passed Kev the flashlight and opened the drawers. "Nothing... wait, no, I spoke too soon," she pulled out a book and held it aloft like a divine scroll of knowledge. "This is it. I hope."

Something thumped, and we all jumped.

"Hey, let's get out of here," Kev suggested.

"Fully agreed," I said. I glanced at a table "Ooh, shiny. Could I take this with me?" I asked, pocketing a ring of some sort.

"Sure. Let's just get home. My family must be terribly worried," Edonia fretted.

"Ours too," Kev said.

We all glanced at each other. There was another thump.

We sprinted for the door, slammed it shut, and raced back into the woods proper. The heavy rain had returned, so did my terror.

"Keep the flashlight on," I suggested "Maybe it could scare off predators? We could link hands, too, so as not to get separated again."

"Smart," Kev said.

I grabbed Edonia's hand and Kev grabbed mine and we all stumbled through the woods until we found a road.

"Oh thank the stars," Edonia said, collapsing into the roadside grass. "I'm never doing that again. But we've got the diary, and we can read it together tomorrow after school."

"Sounds great," I said, patting the pocket with the diary and the ring to make sure they were still there. "I'm going to call a ride home."

I dialed Uncle Decimus. He picked up almost immediately.

"Merika? Are you hurt? It's two in the morning, what happened?"

"Uncle Decimus, I'm somewhere outside Bramble Woods. I'm not sure where. I need a ride, but I'm not alone."

"What?" he exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, that came out confusing. I set out on what I thought would be a fun adventure in the rain this afternoon and then it went downhill. My friends and I, we found the road though. We're scared, please come and get us."

"I'm on my way," he declared.

"Okay, Uncle Decimus is coming to pick us up," I announced "Let's just sit tight for now."

It started raining even harder. Kev whistled quietly to herself. I vaguely recognized the tune as a theme song to something Lawrence watched.

I spotted a car zooming down the road at ten above the speed limit and pointed "I think that's him!"

The driver rolled down the window, and it was, in fact, Uncle Decimus.

"Merika," he shouted.

I waved, and he parked the car next to us. "Oh, you girls look so pale... No wait, you might just be naturally pasty, but Merika, you shouldn't be that color. You're halfway dead."

He paused his speech to embrace me only to pull away and mutter something like "So cold."

"Thank you, Mr. Saltwaters," Edonia said politely.

"Yeah, thanks," Kev piped up.

Uncle Decimus rubbed his eyes and stared at her "You're a child. Why is this child accompanying you on a dangerous quest."

"She invoked my emotional weakness and I couldn't say no," I mumbled "Never again."

"Never again is right. Get in the car, kids, I'll take you wherever you need to go."

"Thank you," Edonia said again. She glanced at me "Should we test to make sure it's really him?"

"Nah," I decided "He didn't come from the woods."

"What?" Uncle Decimus asked.

"Wild magic," I spread my arms "It's real. I'll tell you more about it on the ride home."

Uncle Decimus opened the the door, and Edonia and Kev moved the window shield to squeeze into the backseat.

I plopped down next to them, and to home we rode.