#the struggle between loyalty to the commander and to the state??

[quia-nominor--leo]

decided to read some Schiller so that I can keep up with beloved @burritofriedrich (and also take a break from classics) and Wallenstein's Death blew me away so much that I now, unfortunately, have opened the wikipedia page for the Thirty Years War.

[pure-smut]

radioactive.

featuring: Togame Jo x f!reader

contains: angst with comfort, mentions of a fight, blood, oral (male and female receiving)

word count: 2.6k

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

series: 1. off limits | 2. radioactive

masterlist

Your eyes are on the TV but they’re not focussed, your nails chewed down to the quick. You’d gone out to buy yourself a new phone but now you wish you hadn’t because you keep looking at it every two seconds, checking for a message.

Togame Jo had gone to talk to your brother, Choji, about an hour ago. He’d promised to message you when they were done but you haven’t heard anything yet. You’d cleaned your whole studio apartment, went to buy groceries, picked up your new phone, and you still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

You’d wanted to be there while he did it but Togame didn’t think that was a good idea – he didn’t want Choji to feel ambushed. So he’s gone by himself, leaving you to anxiously wait.

Your phone buzzes and you immediately grab it, only to see it’s a message from your phone provider. Grumbling, you throw it back into the couch cushions and turn to the TV, drawing your knees up to your chest.

And then you hear a knock at the door.

You leap off the couch and sprint to the door, flinging it open. Togame stands there and your heart jumps into your throat.

His face is bloody and he’s holding up his phone, the screen smashed.

“Sorry,” he says, his lazy smile still somehow on his face. “Couldn’t message.”

“Oh, Jo,” you sigh, shoulders sagging.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen Togame in this state – he’s second-in-command at Shishitoren after all – but it’s the first time it’s made your heart ache. You usher him in, closing the door behind him as he sits heavily on the sofa.

You wet a cloth and bring it over, kneeling on the sofa next to him. Togame stares straight ahead as you start to gently wipe the blood from his face.

There’s a gash across his nose, he has a split lip, and there’s a fresh bruise blooming under one of his eyes. You cup his face tenderly with one hand while the other cleans him up.

“It didn’t go well, I take it?” you gently probe.

Togame’s green eyes slide over to you. He catches your wrist, pulling your hand away softly.

“I should have challenged him,” Togame says slowly. “When he said no. I was weak.”

You swallow hard, looking at the injuries on his face, pretending it doesn't break your heart. You glance down at his hands and notice his knuckles are clean. He didn’t fight Choji – Choji fought him.

“He would have put you in the hospital,” you say, shaking your head. “You made the right call.”

Even as you say the words, your voice shakes. Togame watches you carefully so you try to smooth your features into something more neutral. You try to pretend you didn’t get your hopes up.

“So, I guess that means…” A lump forms in your throat but you swallow past it. “Friends?”

A notch forms between Togame’s brows. You can see the internal struggle in him. He’s fiercely loyal to Choji, his best and longest friend. But when he locks eyes with you, there’s a flicker of something there. A spark you don’t quite recognise but makes your breath catch.

“I don’t want to make you break your loyalty to my brother,” you eventually say even though it feels like broken glass in your chest. “I won’t make you choose.”

You give him a watery smile.

“It was a long shot anyway.”

You make to stand up but Togame’s hand shoots out to grab your wrist again, this time firmer. Before you realise what’s happening, he pulls you towards him and kisses you.

You gasp with the sudden movement as Togame drags you onto his lap, his lips never leaving yours. He kisses you like he’s suffocating and you’re the only oxygen he has, his hand at the back of your head while the other wraps around your back.

You know it’s a bad idea, you know it’s only going to break your heart, but you can’t help yourself. You open yourself to him, feeling his tongue slide over yours, his lips so soft and familiar even though you only kissed for the first time yesterday.

You taste blood from his split lip, the coppery tang mixing between your mouths. Togame pulls you closer, deeper, his lips flush against yours. You only realise you’re crying when you taste salt.

“T-Togame,” you half-sob against his mouth. “Jo.”

“It’s okay,” Togame says, kissing the tears from your cheeks. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” You sniff and pull away. “We can’t do this.”

“Y/n-”

“I’m off limits,” you say and the words are choked. “No, more than off limits – I’m fucking radioactive. You shouldn’t even be here. If Choji knew-”

“Choji doesn’t have the right,” Togame says and his voice is louder than you expected, cutting you off.

You blink at him and realise his face is different. His easy smile is gone, his jaw is set, and his eyes… they’re sharp enough to slice skin. You’ve never seen Togame in a fight but you get the feeling this is what he looks like.

“He doesn’t get to choose for you,” Togame says. “Or me.”

You go quiet, sagging. Togame sits back, his grip loosening on your waist.

“I’m not giving you up,” he says quietly. “Choji’s been on the wrong path before and I didn’t say anything. I’m not doing that again.”

You sit with his words for a few minutes, silence falling over you both. Fresh blood is smeared across Togame’s face from his split lip so you reach across and gently brush it away, thumbing the corner of his mouth. The first hint of a smile plays on his face.

“Come here,” he says and you do.

You lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you rest your head on his shoulder. Togame envelops you in a bear hug, squeezing tight.

“I’m not giving you up,” he repeats.

“I’m not giving you up either,” you whisper back.

When you draw back, Togame kisses you again but this time softer. The hardness has gone from his eyes, leaving only the sleepy, relaxed Togame you know so well. His kiss is sweet, his tongue dipping into your mouth as his arms stay around you.

You melt into him, your back arching slightly as you press your chest against his. Togame’s hands start to wander, moving lower until he reaches your ass. Still locked in a kiss, he slowly gropes the plush flesh of your cheeks, making warmth pool between your legs.

You haven’t discussed what this means for you, what’s crossing the line and what’s not. But when you pull back slightly to ask Togame, “Can I take care of you?”, he gives you a wide grin and says, “Absolutely.”

You press a few more chaste kisses to his lips before sliding off his lap. You kneel between his legs and when you look up at him from this position, Togame’s semi-hard cock immediately goes full mast.

He reaches down to trail his fingers along your jaw before thumbing your bottom lip. You lightly catch his thumb in your mouth, sucking on the tip, keeping your eyes on Togame.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, his voice low and throaty.

You smile, his praise making your cheeks tint pink, and run your hand up his inner thigh. You palm his cock through his sweatpants, surprised to feel how hard he is already.

“Is this all for me, Jo?”

“No one else in the world even exists right now, sweetheart.” He grins down at you, resting his arms on the back of the couch.

You try to stem the explosion of butterflies in your stomach to no avail. You tug down the hem of Togame’s sweatpants, watching his cock spring free. It’s as beautiful as the rest of him and your mouth waters at the sight of it.

You lean forward to lick along the fat vein running up the underside of his shaft, feeling his cock twitch as you do so. The tip is shiny with precum so you lick that up too before swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. Togame groans, his hips bucking slightly. When you look up at him, you see him watching you intently.

You lick your lips before wrapping them around the tip, your hand clasping him at the base. Softly sucking, you start to bob your head up and down, slowly taking more of him each time.

“Ah, fuck,” Togame grunts, his hands fisting the top of the couch cushions. “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re so good at that.”

You pull back to dribble more saliva down his shaft before taking him in your mouth again. He feels so hot and hard against your tongue and every throb makes the heat between your legs grow.

You push him deeper in your mouth, splaying your hands on his thighs to angle yourself better. Togame’s groans of pleasure spur you on, encouraging you to go further. When he hits the back of your throat, you gag slightly, your throat constricting around him.

“Shit…” Togame’s hips buck again on instinct.

He reaches forward to tangle his hands in your hair, holding your head in place.

“Stay there for me, baby.” Togame starts to thrust up, sliding his cock past your sweet little lips. “Look at me, angel.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes watering slightly. Togame’s never seen someone as beautiful as you, his eyes locked on yours as he fucks your mouth.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck. Fuck. You ready, baby? You want my cum?”

You moan around his cock in affirmation. Togame’s lips part, his cock throbbing as he unloads his cum down your throat. It’s thick and tangy and you struggle to take it all but you try your best, swallowing his load.

When Togame pulls his softening cock free, some of his cum spills from the corner of your mouth. He grins and swipes it away with his thumb, letting you lick it off him.

“Good girl,” he says and you beam up at him.

You pull Togame’s sweatpants back up and make to climb onto his lap. But before you can, he stands up, picking you up easily.

“Ah!” you squeal at the sudden movement.

Togame crosses the few steps to your bed and throws you onto it.

“Your couch is too small for this,” he says with a lazy grin before climbing on top of you.

“Maybe you’re just too tall,” you giggle before his words catch up to you. “Wait, too small for what?”

Togame says nothing but his eyes glint. He presses soft kisses against your neck, making your eyes flutter closed as you sigh contentedly. His mouth trails down slowly, lazily, taking his time with you.

“I’m gonna take care of you now,” he whispers in your ear.

Your heart sets off at a gallop at his words. You watch him as he kisses his way down your body, hooking his fingers under your pyjama shorts and panties to tug them off. The cool air tickles your bare pussy, your lips glistening with arousal. Sucking Togame off had turned you on more than you expected and as soon as he plants soft kisses against your inner thigh, you find yourself suddenly desperate for his touch.

Togame teases you, kissing you everywhere around where you need him to. You whine and buck your hips as he smirks at you.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he coos. “What d’you need?”

You make another desperate whine.

“Your tongue, Jo, please.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely…”

Togame dips his head, inhaling the intoxicating scent of you. The fact that you got so wet from giving him head is enough for his cock to start hardening again but he’s focused on you right now. You were so good to him, took him so well, he’s more than happy to return the favour. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t going to enjoy himself too.

You’re not surprised that Togame moves slowly. You inhale sharply as he licks a stripe along your glistening lips, parting them with his tongue to gather your slick. He hums happily when he tastes you, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold you in place before dipping his tongue between your folds once more.

You want to buck your hips again, want more of him, but he holds you tight and you can’t compete with his strength. You fist the bedsheets instead, needing to hold onto something.

Togame moves down to your needy hole, pushing his thick tongue inside you. He flicks it against the sensitive nerves at your entrance, tasting your arousal before pulling back to suck on your puffy lips.

“You taste so fucking good,” Togame mumbles against your pussy before dipping his tongue inside you again.

You struggle against his grip, desperate to grind against his mouth as Togame continues to lazily make out with your pussy. He’s driving you crazy, pushing you to the brink of an orgasm but not letting you tip over.

“Jo…” you beg. “More.”

“What’s the rush?” When he grins up at you, his mouth is shiny with your arousal.

You let your head fall back against the pillow, making a desperate noise from the back of your throat. Togame takes pity on you, wanting to play with your hole a while longer but he can see how needy you are for a release. He licks his way up to your throbbing clit, brushing a few tender strokes over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh, fuck.” It’s just what you need.

Togame laps at your swollen bud, each stroke of his tongue sending a million little sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling it at the root as Togame keeps up a steady, languid pace with his tongue. The moans you make are magical, making his cock stir again. He releases his grip on you slightly, just enough so you can grind against his mouth.

“Ah… Jo, that’s it… that’s it!” Your back arches as Togame swipes his tongue over your clit. “Fuck!”

A tsunami of pleasure crashes over you, almost threatening to drown you, washing through every muscle in your body. Togame doesn’t let up, feeling your thighs tremble as you come undone on his tongue. He licks up your slick, his mouth flush with your pussy as you writhe against him.

He only pulls back when you whimper, pushing his head away from being too sensitive.

Togame watches you collapse against the bed before crawling up to lean over you, an easy smile on his face.

“That was hot,” is all he says.

“Yeah,” you half breathe, half laugh. “It was.”

Togame grins and dips his head to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You snake your hand around to the nape of his neck, scratching your nails over his scalp. When you break the kiss, Togame presses his forehead to yours.

“I’m not giving you up,” he repeats from earlier. “I care about Choji but I care about you too.”

“I care about you,” you say, voice soft.

Togame looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky. You cup his face, looking at the marks and bruises on his face, and your chest aches. You know you’re hurtling head first into something deep, something that you can’t come back from. But when Togame brushes your hair from your face and kisses you again, you know you don’t care.

If it’s Togame, it’s worth it.

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[todorokis-girl]

It's MY Body - Chuuya Nakahara x F!reader

Soulmate AU

When Chuuya Nakahara and Y/N, a member of the Armed Detective Agency, wake up in each other's bodies, they are shocked to discover they are soulmates. Navigating their opposing affiliations, they must find a way to reconcile their feelings and work together.

masterlist

The morning sun streamed through the window, casting golden hues across the room as Y/N stirred awake. She blinked groggily, feeling unusually heavy and disoriented. The bed beneath her felt foreign, the room unfamiliar. Panic surged through her veins as she bolted upright, her breath hitching. She looked down at her hands—hands that were calloused and larger than her own. She was feeling stronger, more agile, and surrounded by the masculine elegance of Chuuya's apartment, though she didn't know it was his quite yet. His hat was perched on a stand by the door, his coat neatly hung, and the lingering scent of his cologne enveloped her. She walked to the mirror, her reflection showing Chuuya's piercing blue eyes and signature red hair.

“What the hell?” she muttered, her voice deep and commanding. Familiar.

Meanwhile, across town, Chuuya Nakahara awoke in a similar state of confusion, in a world entirely foreign. He groaned, rubbing his eyes, only to find them softer and more delicate than he remembered. He sat up, feeling an unaccustomed lightness and the silky sensation of long hair brushing his shoulders. He looked down at himself, eyes widening in shock. he stood up to look at himself in a near by mirror, the reflection staring back was of a young woman with hair cascading around her shoulders, eyes wide with shock.

“Y/N?” he whispered, his voice unfamiliar and soft. "This has to be a joke," he muttered, his voice higher and more feminine.

The two spent the first few hours in a state of utter bewilderment, trying to come to terms with their new realities. Y/N, now in Chuuya's body, felt an overwhelming surge of power coursing through her veins—an intensity she had never experienced before. She struggled to control it, fearing she might unintentionally unleash his ability, Corruption.

Chuuya, on the other hand, found himself in awe of the gentle yet profound connection to nature he felt within Y/N's body. He could sense the wind whispering secrets to him, the plants responding to his emotions, and an innate ability to influence the weather. He marveled at the raw, untamed power that seemed to flow so naturally through her.

After a frantic exchange of phone calls and a hasty meeting, they stood face-to-face in a secluded alleyway, away from prying eyes. The air between them crackled with tension and unspoken questions.

"How did this happen?" Y/N asked, her voice shaky "Did you do this?" The accusatory tone, evident.

"I have no idea," Chuuya replied, crossing his arms and trying to appear composed despite the turmoil inside. "I didn't do this, But we need to figure it out. Fast."

Their eyes locked, a mixture of distrust and curiosity flickering between them. They had always been on opposing sides—Y/N, a dedicated member of the Armed Detective Agency, and Chuuya, a formidable executive of the Port Mafia. Their encounters had always been fraught with tension and conflict, but this was different. This was personal.

As they navigated the complexities of each other's powers, they began to notice subtle, inexplicable connections. Y/N could feel Chuuya's memories and emotions, his fierce determination, and his loyalty. Chuuya, in turn, experienced Y/N's gentle compassion, her unwavering resolve, and her deep connection to the world around her.

It was during a particularly tense moment—when Y/N, in Chuuya's body, struggled to control his ability—that the truth dawned on them. As she faltered, Chuuya instinctively reached out, his touch grounding her, stabilizing the overwhelming power within.

Their eyes met, and in that instant, they knew.

"We're soulmates," Y/N whispered, her voice filled with awe and disbelief.

Chuuya's eyes softened, a rare vulnerability breaking through his usual tough exterior. "Looks like it," he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Fate has a twisted sense of humor, huh?"

The realization brought a mix of emotions—shock, disbelief, and a strange sense of completion. Despite their differences, despite the chaotic circumstances, they felt an undeniable bond, a connection that transcended their individual selves.

But the weight of their affiliations hung heavy between them. Y/N looked away, her expression conflicted. "Chuuya, we're on different sides. This—this complicates everything."

Chuuya sighed, running a hand through his borrowed hair. "I know. But maybe this is fate's way of telling us there's more to this than just sides."

As the day wore on, they learned to trust each other implicitly, relying on the newfound understanding that being soulmates brought. By the time the sun set, casting a warm, golden glow over the city, they had grown closer than ever before, their shared experiences bridging the gap between their worlds.

When the world shifted once more, returning them to their original bodies, they stood side by side, the weight of their experience settling between them.

"So," Chuuya began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "wanna come back to my apartment?"

Y/N laughed, her heart lighter than it had been in ages. "Absolutely. Not. I'm still with the Agency."

"And I'm still with the Mafia," Chuuya replied, his tone serious. "But maybe we can find a way to make this work. The universe has spoken, and I'm not in the habit of saying no to a beautiful woman."

She rolled her eyes, overwhelmed and exasperated. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Chuuya smirked, the usual confidence back in his stance. "I've been told. But seriously, Y/N, this is... something neither of us can ignore."

Y/N sighed, her mind racing. The idea of being soulmates with someone from the Port Mafia was ludicrous, yet the connection she felt with Chuuya was undeniable. "I guess we can figure it out as we go," she said, her voice softening. "Just... don't expect me to make it easy for you."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Chuuya replied, his eyes glinting with determination.

As they stood there, side by side, the lines between their worlds blurred just a little. It wouldn't be easy, and the path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time, they felt a flicker of hope. They were bound by something greater than their affiliations—something that defied logic and expectation.

And together, they were ready to face whatever came next.

[gatheringbones]

[“Asked which side he supported, one peasant from a village close to Saigon told a Front cadre in 1963: “I do not know, for I follow the will of Heaven. If I do what you say, then the Diem side will arrest me; if I say things against you, then you will arrest me, so I would rather carry both burdens on my shoulders and stand in the middle.” Caught between two competing regimes, the peasant did not assert his right to decide between them, rather he asked himself where his duty lay. Which regime had the power to claim his loyalty? Which would be the most likely to restore peace and harmony to his world? His decision might be based on personal preference (a government that considered the wishes of the people would be more likely to restore peace on a permanent basis). But he had, nonetheless, to make an objective analysis of the situation and take his gamble, for his first loyalty lay neither with the Diem regime nor the NLF but with the will of Heaven that controlled them both. At certain periods attentisme was the most moral and the most practical course.

As a warning to Westerners on the difficulties of understanding the twentieth-century conflict in Vietnam, Paul Mus told an ancient Chinese legend that is well known to the Vietnamese. There was trouble in the state of Lu, and the reigning monarch called in Confucius to ask for his help. When he arrived at the court, the Master went to a public place and took a seat in the correct way, facing south, and all the trouble disappeared.

The works of Vo Nguyen Giap are but addenda to this legend, for the legend is the paradigm of revolution in Vietnam. To the Vietnamese it is clear from the story that Confucius was not taking an existential or exemplary position, he was actually changing the situation. Possessed of neither godlike nor prophetic authority, he moved an entire kingdom by virtue of his sensitivity to the will of Heaven as reflected in the “eyes and ears of the people.” As executor for the people, he clarified their wishes and signaled the coming — or the return — of the Way that would bring harmony to the kingdom. For the Hoa Hao and the Cao Dai, the traditionalist sects of the south that in the twentieth century still believed in this magical “sympathy” of heaven and earth, political change did not depend entirely on human effort. Even the leaders of the sects believed that if they, like Confucius, had taken “the correct position,” the position that accorded with the will of Heaven, all Vietnamese would eventually adopt the same Way, the same political system that they had come to.

Here, within the old spiritualist language, lies a clue as to why the Vietnamese Communists held their military commanders in strict subordination to the political cadres. Within the domestic conflict military victories were not only less important than political victories, but they were strictly meaningless except as reflections of the political realities. For the Communists, as for all the other political groups, the vehicle of political change was not the war, the pitch of force against force, but the struggle, the attempt to make manifest that their Way was the only true or “natural” one for all Vietnamese. Its aim was to demonstrate that, in the old language, the Mandate of Heaven had changed and the new order had already replaced the old in all but title.

When Ho Chi Minh entered Hanoi in August 1945, he made much the same kind of gesture as Confucius had made in facing south when he said (and the wording is significant, for he was using a language of both East and West), “We, members of the Provisional Government of the Democratic Republic of Viet-Nam solemnly declare to the world that Viet-Nam has the right to be a free and independent country — and in fact it is so already. The entire Vietnamese people are determined to mobilize all their physical and mental strength, to sacrifice their lives and property in order to safeguard their independence and liberty.” His claims were far from “true” at the time, but they constituted the truth in potential — if he, like Confucius, had taken the “correct position.” For the Confucians, of course, the “correct position” was that which accorded with the will of Heaven and the practice of the sacred ancestors. For Ho Chi Minh the “correct position” was that which accorded with the laws of history and the present and future judgment of the Vietnamese people.”]

frances fitzgerald, from fire in the lake: the vietnamese and the americans in vietnam, 1972

[yoonavii]

Father of boys

Context: The heavenly demon and his devil sons

Doflamingo’s feelings towards his twin boys would likely be ambivalent, torn between his responsibilities as a father and his pursuit of power and control.

Given his manipulative nature, Doflamingo might try to mold his twin sons into following in his footsteps and becoming part of his grand schemes.

He would likely have high expectations of his sons, enforcing strict rules and discipline to shape them into powerful individuals.

He would emphasize the importance of strength and power, teaching his sons to see themselves as superior to others.

Doffy might keep an emotional distance from his sons, viewing sentimentality as a weakness.

He would teach his sons to survive and thrive in the dangerous and ruthless world they inhabit.

Doflamingo might test his sons’ loyalty and dedication to him, ensuring they are truly worthy of his legacy.

The twin boys might experience sibling rivalry as they vie for their father’s approval and attention.

As they grow older, the twins might struggle with conflicting loyalties between their father and their own desires for a different path in life.

Doflamingo’s role as a father might evolve unexpectedly as he witnesses unforeseen developments in his sons’ personalities and aspirations.

————��—

In a grand and opulent chamber within the depths of the Dressrosa palace, Doflamingo sat regally upon a lavish throne, surrounded by the intricate patterns of his sinister birdcage. His twin sons, Don and Marco, stood before him, both adorned in attire befitting their royal lineage.

Doflamingo’s eyes surveyed his sons with a mixture of pride and calculation. “Don, Marco,” he addressed them with a smooth and composed voice, “you are the heirs to the Donquixote family legacy. Remember, strength and power are the cornerstones of our existence. Embrace them, and you shall command respect and dominion over the world.” Don, the older of the two, maintained a stoic demeanor, absorbing every word his father spoke. He knew the expectations placed upon him were immense, and he was determined to prove his worth. Marco, however, displayed a glimmer of defiance in his eyes, his spirit not entirely aligning with his father’s vision.

“As heirs, you must learn to navigate the treacherous currents of the world,” Doflamingo continued, his tone becoming more commanding. “Weakness is unforgivable, and the strength to crush your enemies is paramount.” Don nodded solemnly, internalizing his father’s teachings, while Marco’s expression remained guarded. He was not convinced that the path laid out before him was the only way. Sensing Marco’s hesitation, Doflamingo’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “You doubt me, Marco?” he questioned, his voice taking on a colder edge.

Marco hesitated for a moment, then straightened his posture, meeting his father’s gaze with newfound determination. “I believe strength can be found in different forms, Father,” he stated, his voice firm yet respectful. “There is more to power than merely crushing one’s enemies.” Doflamingo’s eyes narrowed, intrigued by his son’s defiance. “Explain,” he commanded.

“Strength can be seen in compassion, in protecting those who are weaker, in forging alliances rather than instilling fear,” Marco explained, not backing down. “A ruler should inspire loyalty and admiration, not just fear.” Doflamingo’s hand clenched on the armrest of his throne, torn between pride in his son’s assertiveness and irritation at his audacity. He recognized that Marco had a point, even if it challenged his own beliefs.

After a tense moment, Doflamingo’s demeanor softened slightly. “You have a will of your own, Marco,” he acknowledged. “Use it to prove yourself worthy of the Donquixote name.” As the conversation concluded, the twin boys exchanged a knowing glance, each acknowledging the unique challenges they faced as the sons of one of the world’s most feared and enigmatic figures.

©𝐘𝐀𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

[sugutoad]

matchup for @eurydiceauxenfers

GAME OF THRONES MATCHUP

I ship you with Jaime Lannister — Kingslayer and Commander of the Kings Guard. A steady factor in Jaime’s character is his growth and redemption from the douchebag knight we are introduced to a flawed golden hero (that is until season 8 threw everything ever developed out the window quite similar to Bran in the very first episode — oh the irony!) Jaime starts out as this arrogant, self-serving knight , but his whole journey is about confronting his past and learning to be better (for you and himself). I do not let a person’s ideal type sway my matches, but you mentioned how you’re drawn to characters who grow from villain to hero, and Jaime absolutely nails that arc. When reading your information, I had a sense that you are someone who chases perfection. On Jaime’s hand, he feels the width of his actions and runs away from his imperfection. In a sense, it almost feels as if you are running together, side by side, towards whatever comes to achieve your goals.

Jaime unconsciously wears his heart on his sleeve, bleeding through layers of bandages. He’s passionate, impulsive, and doesn’t really hide his emotions—which sounds a lot like you. As someone who’s emotionally expressive, you would most likely prefer the company of someone who is not one to keep things bottled up. Jaime listens to his heart and might act recklessly sometimes, but at the core, he’s fiercely loyal. That kind of emotional intensity could be a huge point of connection for you. You have that same loyalty within you, and while also fiercely protective, you tend struggle with self-doubt especially when even the smallest rift is created between you. I wholly believe that you and your knight in gold would understand each other’s emotional depth really well.

No relationship is perfect in any sense. Since we were little, we understood that every relationship would not agree at some point and with you and Jaime, it feels very heated. Anger is always described as hot and red — it makes your vision bleary as something boils within you as you stand without control. Jaime’s impulsive nature and your tendency to get perfectly at a steady pace contrast one another. He wants to listen to his instincts and heart as he has always done, but you fear his safety, telling him to step back (you desire for your actions and his to be taken as perfect by society) Yet this pushes both of you to grow — although it takes time.

Because here’s the thing: you’ve got a bit of Jaime’s stubbornness in you. You both have this drive that is almost impossible for one to ignore, and when it comes to your own pride or honor, neither of you back down and that is something I believe you have in common with Jaime. You’re driven by your own internal code as he is by his.

This need for perfection in the eyes of other, to be the golden lady or knight without any imperfections smearing your name is central. I touched upon it earlier, but it is only right to delve more into. You’ve mentioned how self-criticism and doubt can spiral when things aren’t perfect, and Jaime deals with that too. Although not very vocal, Jaime Carrie’s this constant guilt over the Kingslayer incident and the struggle with his reputation after being smeared in the Kings blood weighs him down throughout the series. No matter where he is, it appears that can not escape his past (especially as he finds whispers in every corner and crack of the Red Keep), and that’s something you understand, especially when it comes to feeling like you’re not measuring up to your own standards. Both of you have this need for self-acceptance, but there’s also this undercurrent of self-criticism that you’d probably both struggle with at times. With each other, you find this love and perfection as your personalities slot perfectly into one another.

Another quick thing concerning your ideal type that I could not skip! You’ve stated your love for heroic characters and the whole “rescue romance” trope, and Jaime just so happens to be a a knight who will do whatever it takes to protect those he cares about. He is willing to make any sort of sacrifice for you, simply to see a smile lit up on your face. He wants to be the chivalrous knight in your fairytale stories. He wants to be better for you.

HEAD CANONS

You and Jaime have somehow developed an entire unspoken language made simply of looks. All it takes is single glance across the room to say anything to one another from Save me from this conversation to Are you seriously talking to them right now? You find that you don’t need words to explain every single thing to him, but rather it seems he has always understood you on a new level.

Similar to you, Jaime’s love language is physical touch, but rather in a casual, understated ways then acting grand like most people portray him as (he is afterall a member of the Kingsguard). A hand resting on the small of your back as you walk through a crowded hall, fingers brushing against yours absentmindedly when you’re sitting together, the way his knee bumps against yours under the table and stays there. Tiny touches speak volume.

He acts like he’s effortlessly confident, and he truly is as he strides the room with a white cape and golden armor glittering, but when it comes to you, Jaime is almost hesitant.. Sometimes, when you’re fast asleep, he’ll trace the curve of your cheek with his fingertips, staring at you with something softer than anything he lets the rest of the world see. “You terrify me,” he admits one night, his voice barely above a whisper, yet so so raw and real. “Because if I lose you, I don’t think I’ll survive it.”

Jaime has this uncanny ability to know exactly when you’re about to say something that will cut him or another. He can see it in the slight arch of your brow, the way your lips twitch just before the words slip out, and before you can even get it out, he’s already smirking—half amused, half waiting for you to continue. “Go on,” he’ll say, resting his chin on his hand like this is the most fun he’s had in weeks. But the truth is, that he’s never truly offended. If anything, your wit is one of the things he loves most about you

Ship Tropes

‘Who’s that idiot? Wait that’s MY idiot’ (you) x the idiot (jaime)

okokok (jaime) x lalala (you)

the lover (jaime) x the loved (you)

‘Here We Stand’

It took me a while to figure this out, but in the end, all would say House Mormont is where you belong. They are know for their fierce independence, and while House Mormont is a smaller house (like how you preferred), they have a strong sense of honor and responsibility, much like you do. You have a tenacity and commitment, one that you are proud of, to reach perfection which perfectly mirrors the pride of House Mormont. Although more isolated on their island, their loyalty and resilience can not be doubted. Your stubborn nature a paired with your strong sense of self aligns so ever perfectly with House Mormont. House Mormonts does not lead, yet you skills make you valuable in any situation, much like the Mormonts who hold a silent power in the North.

BACKSTORY

You were born on Bear Island, older cousin to Lady Lyanna Mormont. The daughters of House Mormont were never delicate things hidden behind castle walls—you were taught to fight, to lead, to endure (although you found yourself lacking in the leading section). From the moment you could walk, you were taught the way of the bow and the politics of a land. But you were different from your sisters. Where many in Bear Island found purpose in battle alone, you craved something more—not power, not riches, but knowledge. As a child, you would devoure books, scrolls, and anything that could teach you how the world truly worked, from the strategy of great generals to the healing arts of maesters. When talks of marriage began, of duty and alliances, you resisted, stubborn as ever—why should you, a daughter of House Mormont, be shackled to a southern lord who knew nothing of winter, nothing of the sea, nothing of you? But then came war, and war changed everything. When Robert Baratheon rebelled, House Mormont followed Lord Edward Stark. During the war, your elder and only brother left to fight alongside the Targaryen’s, believing in their victory. He believed that fire and blood shall prevail yet the stag sat the throne. After his beheading for his treasonous actions, Robert was half tempted to take your life and that of your sisters and only after Ned’s words, did he yield. As the eldest Mormont sibling now, Robert took you in as a guest. A guest who was a hostage in all but name as a sword hung over your head and that of your family back home.

Whatever the reason, the south was different. It was soft in ways that made your skin itch, full of whispers behind painted fans and daggers hidden behind honeyed words. These lords and ladies in their perfumed silks, their endless feasts and hollow smiles thought you were wild, untamed, a bear. And maybe they were right. But you were not just a Mormont—you were Eurydice. 

HOW YOU MET

The cold came first.

It seeped through your cloak, the damp chill of the ground biting into your bones as you lay there, breaths shallow, fingers curling uselessly against the dirt. The sounds of battle had long since faded, the ringing clash of steel against steel now nothing but a dull echo in your skull. You’d fought. Hard. You always did. But even the fiercest of warriors could only do so much when outnumbered, when your sword arm grew heavy and the world blurred at the edges.

It’s not your fault, not really. You were minding your own business—well, mostly minding your own business— near the woods, when things went south. A skirmish on the road, bandits who took one look at your cloak and decided they didn’t care if you bore the sigil of House Mormont, especially when heavy emerald wrapped your throat.

The coppery tang of blood filled your mouth, sharp against the back of your throat as you forced yourself to move. Every muscle screamed in protest. The effort sent a fresh wave of agony slicing through your ribs, but you gritted your teeth and pushed up onto your elbows. You would not die here. Not on your back like some helpless whelp. Not in the mud, forgotten and nameless.

I am a Mormont. I am a Mormont. I am a Mormont.

The chant, a prayer that rotted and twisted your tongue, kept you alive. A shadow loomed above you, blocking out the weak light of the overcast sky. A figure dismounted, boots striking the earth with quiet certainty, a gloved hand resting idly against the pommel of a sword. You tensed, fingers brushing against the hilt of your own blade, though you knew it was foolish to think you could fight in this state.

"You’re still alive," a voice observed, dry amusement lacing the words. "That’s something, I suppose."

The gold of his hair caught in the dim light, the metal of his armor glinting beneath the dried spatter of blood—some of it his, most of it not. Jaime Lannister. The Kingslayer.

You had seen him before, from a distance, the golden lion of Lannister standing apart from the rest of his kin, but never like this. Never with his gaze fixed solely on you, sharp and assessing, as if you were some puzzle he had yet to solve

“You put up quite the fight,” Jaime muses, glancing at the bodies strewn around you. His tone is almost impressed, which somehow made it worse. “Remind me never to get on a Mormont’s bad side.”

You scowl, but the effect is ruined when you wince at the pressure he applies to your wound. “Are you going to talk me to death, or are you actually going to help me?”

Jaime smirks, the kind of insufferable grin that makes it very clear he enjoys being exactly this irritating. “Depends,” he says easily. “Are you always this charming, or is it just the blood loss talking?”

You groan and let your head fall back against the dirt. “Seven hells, let me die now.”

Jaime only chuckles, and before you can protest, he’s lifting you like you weigh nothing at all, cradling you against his chest with the ease of someone who’s done this before. His armor is cool against your feverish skin, and you hate how solid he feels—how safe.

“You’re going to owe me for this, you know,” he says, because of course he does.

You glare up at him, even as your vision starts to blur at the edges. “Add it to my tab, Kingslayer.”

And then the world fades to black

CONFESSION.

The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting long, flickering shadows against the stone walls. You are not quite sure how long you’ve been sitting there, staring into the flames, but the quiet is heavy. It’s been following you both for weeks now, lingering in the space between sharp words and stolen glances, and you’re tired of pretending not to notice.

Jaime stands by the window, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other clenched at his side. He hasn’t looked at you once since he entered the room, and for some reason, that makes your chest ache more than any wound or word thrown at you. This silence made you suffocate, barely being able to breathe in his presence as he glances at you for a split second — olive and emerald so similar yet so different — before shutting his eyes.

“You’re leaving,” you say, and it’s not a question. You already know the answer.

Jaime exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You make it sound like I want to.”

You scoff. “Don’t you?”

That gets his attention. He turns, golden hair catching in the firelight, eyes sharp and unreadable. “You think I want to walk away?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, something raw and unguarded that you’re not sure you’ve ever heard before. “From you?”

Your breath catches. For a moment, the world stills, balanced on the knife’s edge of something dangerous. “Jaime—”

He steps closer. Not far enough to touch, but near enough that you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you and doesn’t quite dare. “I should have left weeks ago,” he admits, voice rough. “I told myself it was duty, that I had obligations, but that was a lie.” His throat works as he swallows hard. Yet he did not look up, could not. “The truth is, I couldn’t make myself leave. Not when I—” He exhales sharply, as if the words physically pain him. “Not when I care about you this much. And if I died, which I probably would without my another arm to protect me, I won’t see you again.”

Your heartbeat is a thunderous thing in your ears. You should say something, anything, but your mind is blank, your body frozen. This is Jaime Lannister standing in front of you, Kingslayer, lion of the Rock, a man who does not give his heart easily—if at all (except to his sister if one decided to listen to those foul words)And yet here he is, looking at you like you’ve stolen the ground from beneath his feet.

“You make me reckless,” he murmurs. “You make me want things I have no right to want.”

You find your voice, though it comes out quieter than you’d like. “Then don’t leave.”

His breath hitches. And then, before you can think better of it, before you can second-guess yourself, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that is every bit as reckless as the man himself, arms around his neck as your fingers dig into a sea of gold.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. And then his hands are on you, gripping like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, and when he kisses you back, it’s with the kind of desperation that makes it clear—he was always yours. He just hadn’t realized it until now.

BRIDGERTON MATCHUP

I ship you with Benedict Bridgerton. Benedict starts off as a bit of a dreamer, someone not content to follow the prescribed path of nobility, but rather with a deep desire to prove himself and carve out his own space in the world. I believe this to be similar to your need to chase perfection and carve out a path that’s true to your values, even if it’s a bit off the beaten track. Unlike Jaime, Benedict’s growth as a character isn't about redemption from villainy, but about self-acceptance and finding his purpose. Much like you, Benedict is someone who’s constantly evaluating what he wants from life and how to become the best version of himself, while also grappling with self-doubt and the pressure of living up to family expectations — especially as a second son often overshadowed by his brother.

You two share ann emotional depth; Benedict is far from emotionally repressed, and his honesty with his feelings which would match your emotionally expressive nature. He isn’t afraid of vulnerability, instead giving you the space to be equally open about your struggles. Your shared understanding of needing validation—whether from yourself or others—is a key bonding point between you two because Benedict too experiences constant self doubt as he criticizes his skills.

He’s also fiercely protective, even if it’s not in the same “warrior knight” sense you might see with Jaime (after all, Benedict has so so many siblings!) Benedict’s protection comes from a place of deep empathy, and he’s the type to shelter you from any storm, even if that storm is just your own self-doubt or insecurity. He’d be the kind of person who helps you through those moments when you feel like you’re not living up to your own expectations. His care is gentle, but no less intense.

Benedict doesn’t shy away from flaws—his own or anyone else’s—and that’s something I think you would deeply appreciate. His willingness to admit his vulnerabilities would provide a safe space for you to be your true, unguarded self. You’d help each other heal, grow, and, ultimately, accept that being “perfect” is never the end goal—it’s the love and understanding you share along the way that counts.

HEAD CANONS

Benedict is often seen as the lazier brother between the three, but he isn’t. He is perceptive. He, unlike many in the ton, notices when you need space, and even if he’s in the same room, he won’t intrude. His presence is there, but he knows when not to push. Growing up with 7 other siblings, he learned from a young age to not push someone when they are upset (he had to learn this the hard way). He’s perceptive in a way that most miss, being able to see things you don’t even acknowledge in yourself

The second Bridgerton son has this way of pulling you out of your enclosed shell, without even trying. He'll often show up at your door unannounced, full of excitement over his latest escapade, dragging you along for whatever he's decided on that day for the two of you . Although you rarely are able to match this enthusiasm, a small smile always plasters your face. It’s one of the things you’ve come to adore about him—his ability to make you feel like there’s always something new to experience in this small world

He finds your passion for the things you care about incredibly endearing as he props his head in his hands as you talk away, a twinkle in your eye. He might not always understand the details of your world, but he’s fully invested in seeing you shine.

Although an artist, Benedict shies away at the thought of showing his art (heck, in the books, his own siblings barley saw his work, much less know that he sketched)You’re one of the few people he trusts enough to show his private sketches. At first, he’s hesitant to let you see his work— slightly fearing that you might not understand the emotions he’s pouring into each piece. But you, always the patient and understanding one, never rush him.

He invites you to sit beside him while he paints. He’ll hold the brush lightly, lost in the rhythm of the strokes, and every now and then, he’ll glance over at you—his muse as you look at each stroke as if they were the most marvelous thing you’ve ever seen. As if he was the most marvelous thing. Although not vocal about it, he likes when you get close, your hand occasionally brushing his as you comment on the little details of his work. Eventually, he starts sketching you in the margins of his work, not just physically, but the way you make him feel—like the world has slowed down when you’re by his side. Every color, every stroke, every face is drawn with the memory of you etched at the back of his head.

Ship Tropes

the artist (him) x the muse (you)

she was everything (you) x he was just ken (him)

friends to lovers

Ship Song

Me And My Husband By Mitzki

BACKSTORY

You were born into a family of modest means in the heart of London. Your father was a minor lord with a small estate on the outskirts of the city, his influence limited to local politics and his influence mostly felt among merchants and artisans. Your mother was a former governess from the countryside who had married him for his stability though love has blossomed into their marriage. While your family didn’t possess the immense wealth or power of the great houses, they valued education and culture above all else.

From a young age, you were encouraged to read, study, and learn, with a focus on the practical knowledge that could serve you in the world of noble life—languages, history, and music. But your true passion was the sciences, an interest that often seemed out of place among the fashionable young women of the ton, whose lives revolved around marriage prospects, fashion, and dances. You spent hours in your father’s library, pouring over texts on medicine, chemistry, and astronomy, which you found far more compelling than the gossip and glitter of the drawing rooms.

You were never the social butterfly, and the debutante balls were an event you dreaded more than anything (oh how you and Eloise would get along!). You didn’t fit in with the rest of society’s expectations for young women, which often left you feeling somewhat out of place. Your beauty wasn’t the kind that drew the gaze of suitors immediately —your intelligence and opinions were what sent men away. Your mother, who encouraged your love for books, would still frett that you were “too plain” or “too bookish” to ever find a suitable match of a high class, and your father, though he adored you, worried that your reluctance to engage with the ton might cause you to become a social pariah.

As you entered your later teens, the pressure to marry became harder to avoid. Your family, almosr everyone, knew the importance of securing advantageous matches, and despite your own opinion on the situation , it became clear that finding a suitable husband was not only expected but necessary for securing the family’s future. There was little time to focus on what you actually wanted from life, so you resigned yourself to the idea of a marriage of convenience, knowing that your family’s legacy would be tied to your choices.

However, fate had other plans.

HOW YOU MET

It was one of those evenings in London, when the air felt thick with anticipation but the city seemed quieter, the usual buzz of society absent. You hadn’t expected much from the gathering, and frankly, you weren’t sure why you’d agreed to attend at all. But your mother had insisted, and, knowing full well that you had become increasingly disenchanted with the world of balls, whispering admirations, and endless courtship talk, she saw this as an opportunity.

It was smaller than most affairs, less grandiose, and that, for once, felt like a blessing. You wandered through the house, eyes glazing over the typical décor of polished silver and silk, your thoughts elsewhere. But then, at the edge of the room, tucked behind a delicate display of porcelain and tapestries, you spotted a small collection of books. A welcome change.

Drawn to them like a moth to a flame, you found yourself standing before a shelf where a well-worn artist’s manual on sketching and design sat among volumes of poetry and history. The sight of it tugged at something inside you—a quiet familiarity. You had been researching the same subject for some time, an indulgence you kept mostly to yourself. This felt like a rare find among a sea of superficiality.

A single finger traced the corner of the book as you opened the book. You were not one who dabbled in art, yet there was a comfort in each stroke of paint and blurred charcoal lines. Your fingers grazed over the letter ‘B’ etched in the corner of every page.

“Lady Eurydice?” The sudden voice startled you, your hands shutting the book as quickly as possible — as if what you have seen was a grave sin not meant for the eyes of a mortal. A friendly smile on Benedict Bridgerton’s face met you. You knew about the second son, hell, everyone in the ton knew about him, but only in the passing.

“Hello, my Lord,” your voice came out softer than you had anticipated. “It is a pleasure to see you here.”

Your eyes betrayed you as they nervously glanced up at him, then around the room in hopes no society Mamas would see you, of all the ladies, speaking with Benedict. Much to your dismay, he seemed rather nervous and frustrated at once, but what you could have possibly done?

It wasn’t until you noticed how his eyes kept flickering to the book in your hand, when your flushed a soft pink. “I’m sorry, is this yours?”

“Yes it is.” His words were short and quick, a nervous laugh escaping him. Holding the book tighter in your hand, you stretched your hands towards him for him to grab the book.

Benedict looked up, flipping through his pages yer his eyes stayed on you. You couldn’t help but tell him, “Your drawings are beautiful.” A lazy smile streched across his face, grinning like a school boy almost as he placed the book back in the shelf. He hesitated to look back, but when he did, he pressed a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“Would you do me the favor of the next dance?”

CONFESSION

The rain had softened to a drizzle, a mist clinging to the London streets, blurring the gaslight glow into something hazy and dreamlike. You hadn’t meant to be out this late after reading his letter. hadn’t meant to find yourself standing beneath the ivy-laced awning of Bridgerton House, your pulse unsteady, your hands curling and uncurling at your sides. But you were here. And so was he.

Benedict opened the door before you could knock, as if he had been waiting. His shirt was slightly undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair mussed as though he’d been running his hands through it in thought. Or frustration.

“You’re drenched,” he murmured, his voice low as he tried to smile confidently. “Come inside before you catch your death.”

You hesitated, but the warmth of the house behind him, the flickering hearth light casting golden edges to his silhouette, was too inviting to refuse. The Bridgerton house welcomed you as id you were no guest. He led you inside, past the grand rooms you had long since stopped marveling at, until you reached his studio—a place more his than any ballroom or drawing room ever could be.

Canvases lined the walls, sketches scattered across the wooden table, the scent of paint and parchment lingering in the air. He stood with his back to you for a moment, fingers gripping the edge of the desk. When he turned, there was something in his expression you had never seen so plainly before. Something unguarded as he watched you grace the room. 

“I wasn’t sure if you would come.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should.”

Your words hung between you.

Benedict exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I have tried,” he said, voice thick with something. “I have tried to keep myself from saying this. To pretend it isn’t true. But it is.” He stepped closer, hesitant but intent, his gaze searching yours. “You have unraveled me, Eurydice. Completely.”

Your breath caught. He looked at you as if he were studying a puzzle, not sure what poem to say to tell you how he feels. 

“I used to think,” he continued, softer now, “that I was content with my place in the world. That the life set before me was one I could live without question. And then you—” His lips quirked, something fond, something aching. “Then you appeared, with all your sharp words and brilliant mind, and suddenly everything I thought I knew felt… lesser.”

The room felt smaller, as if the world beyond this room no longer existed. His hand hovered at his side, aching to reach for you, but he waited. “If I have misread things, tell me now. If you wish me to forget—”

“I don’t,” you interrupted, the words a whisper. “I don’t want you to forget.”

His breath hitched. “Then tell me,” he said, almost desperate, “that I am not alone in this.”

You stepped closer, your fingers finally brushing against his, a touch so light it could have been imagined.

“You are not alone.”

[redrydersrequiem]

The Raven and the Vampire

Chapter 2

Updated 11/21/25

Previous chapter _______ Next Chapter

This is a jasper Cullen x oc reader daughter of Loki

The scent of earth after rain fills the air as the ethereal glow of the Bifrost opens, illuminating a hidden clearing unnoticed by the unsuspecting humans. It is unwise to draw attention to their presence at such a moment. 

Elara steps forward, her presence commanding yet serene. Close behind her, her two loyal attendants shadow her movements, their watchful gazes scanning the surroundings, ready to protect their charge at any moment.

“So this is Midgard. How beautiful, just like the ancient Forests of Asgard.”

“My lady, if you and Mila will follow me, I have already scouted the area. Up ahead is an area without much foliage; it's secluded enough for us not to be detected easily but not so far to draw suspicion. It will make a perfect homestead.”  one of Elara's attendants responds. 

Lucas Himilson stood as Elara's primary guardian for this new adventure. A formidable warrior within the vast armies of Asgard, Lucas had long suppressed his innate magical abilities, which were instilled in him by a family that revered brute strength above all else. For years, quiet magic simmered beneath the surface of his being until one fateful day, it burst forth uncontrollably. In that moment of chaos, her father discovered him, recognizing that he was not just a raw force but a young man needing guidance. 

Thus, Loki took Lucas under his wing, and a deep friendship blossomed between them, forged through shared struggles and camaraderie.

Eventually, Lucas desired to serve as one of Loki’s guards, a proposal met with enthusiastic approval from the cunning god himself. Loki saw in Lucas not just a gifted warrior but also a magician of untapped potential, a crucial ally who could offer protection to his family when he could not be present. With a strong bond now cemented, Lucas embarked on his new role, ready to defend and uphold the safety of those he had come to care for deeply. 

While Lucus was Elias' protector, his other half, Mila, was her caregiver.

Mila knew the young girl first, having stood out as one of Sigyn's most cherished companions, embodying grace and loyalty in every facet of her being. With cascading waves of rich brown hair that shimmered in the sunlight and warm, expressive brown eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of the ages, she exuded a gentle radiance. Much like the skilled healers of Asgard, Mila possessed a nurturing spirit characterized by an innate kindness that put others at ease. However, her talents extended far beyond healing. Being a talented defense mage as well. To Elara and her two brothers, Mila was more than just a protector; she was a figure of unwavering support and guidance, akin to a beloved aunt who had woven herself into the very fabric of their lives. 

Elara and Mila follow Lucas up ahead, the clearing coming into view. It was a decent clearing, perfect for setting up a home without destroying native foliage or wildlife.

“Perfect as always, Uncle Lucas”

“Truly, my dear, with the little gizmo Mr. Lang gave us, we should be able to make quite a decent home.”

Mila says, taking the small toy out of the supplies and handing it to Elara to read the instructions. 

“Ok, the instructions state to set the house where we want it and throw the small blue device at it. Let me make a shield just in case, and then we can start moving in.” 

After a simple barrier is erected, Elara sets the model on the ground before throwing the small round blue device that came with it.

The small toy house begins to blossom before their eyes, transforming into a charming abode. Its large bay windows, framed by elegant trim, invite natural light to flood the interiors, while the slanted roofs elegantly direct rainwater away, ensuring the house remains dry and inviting.

 “It's missing a few touches, Elara states before waving her magic at the home.

A spacious porch begins to stretch across the front, overlooking a lush forest filled with chirping birds and rustling leaves. The deep, rich tones of the dark wooden exterior add a touch of sophistication and warmth, making the house genuinely enchanting.

Mila steps up as well. Her soft yellow magic gently softens the landscaping, adding a welcoming front step leading to the door, a smooth driveway that invites visitors to pull up quickly, and an arrangement of polished rocks glistening in the sunlight, imbuing the scene with a sense of permanence and charm. The transformation creates an atmosphere that feels both inviting and lived-in, completing the picture of an idyllic home.

“There we are, home sweet home... away from home. Now all we have to do is get comfortable, and come Monday, thanks to Auntie Natasha, I'll be able to start at the local high school.”

”Are you sure you're ready, little raven?”

“Yes, Uncle, I'm sure. This is where I'm meant to be.”

Monday rolls around with a seemingly never-ending cloudy sky. Light rain hits my cheeks as my favorite motorbike, a gift from Stark, propels me toward the local school.  The wind whips through my hair as I drive. No longer resembling my father, my black locks are now glamoured a gentle auburn red like my mother's, with my once purple eyes now dark brown. I look like an average human; my Asgardian glow now dimmed.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I realized that most teenagers avoid riding motorcycles in the rain, ice, and snow. The chill in the air didn’t bother me thanks to my heritage, nor did the thought of slick roads after over 700 years of training, I've faced much worse.

Not standing out was not going as planned but I couldn’t help it. The bike spoke to me this morning; oh well, adjusting my outfit, I moved into the brick building, not noticing the confused looks of the seven people across the parking lot.

Cullens POV

“Well, they said we were gonna get a new girl, and damn does she know how to make an entrance, look at that bike.”

“Emmett, I’m pretty sure, judging by her face, she didn’t mean to make a big entrance,” Rue Cullen exclaims as she stands next to her cute little girlfriend Alice and the rest of their coven.

“It’s odd, though. I couldn't hear her thoughts, not a single peep.”

“Do you think she could be like Bella?”

“No idea.”

“Either way, we should probably be careful around her. The last time we met a new person Edward couldn’t read, we had to defend her from a pack of rouges.”

“Rosalie babe, chill; it will all be fine.” Emmett throws his massive arm over his wife, trying to comfort her.

“What about you, Jasper? Did you get any readings from her?”  Silence echoes around them 

“Hello, earth to Jasper,” Alice says, waving her hand in front of her best friend's face.

“What, what were we talking about?”

“The new girl, cowboy, did you get anything from her?”

“ No, nothing, just like Edward.”

“ Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I feel like something good will come with this girl. And I'm sure Bella will be glad there is a new person to take more attention off her.”

“Sure, Alice, whatever you say, sweetie.” 

Jasper, still in a daze, silently agrees with Alice and Rue. There’s something about this girl, something almost pulling him towards her. The other Cullens share a look as they wait for Bella Swan to join them so they can start another tedious day of high school.

Elaras Pov

The building itself is old but well-maintained. Opening the door, she heads to the front office to retrieve her new school schedule. The front lobby is brightly lit and slightly warm, and the office is small, with a small waiting area. Ugly padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices, and awards clutter the walls, and a giant clock ticks loudly. 

An extended counter cut the room in half, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. The only saving grace for the poor space was the multitude of plants that grew everywhere in large plastic pots. Behind the counter was a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses.

“Can I help you?"

"I'm Elara, Elara Mani ,"

Immediate awareness lights the women’s eyes. Thankfully, I was expected. Mila had come earlier in the month to help set up everything for my human cover because although Uncle Thor, Father, and everyone were well known and respected, I was not and wanted to keep it that way, at least for now.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk until she found the ones she sought. 

“You must be brilliant. Most of these classes are advanced.”

“Yes, ma’am, school has always been important to me and my family,” and the 750-plus years of experience I had over the oldest person here didn't hurt either. 

“Well, I have your schedule right here and a map of the school."

She brought several sheets to the counter to show me what my classes were, highlighting the best route to each on the map and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day.  She smiled at me and hoped I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could before walking away.  Going around the cafeteria and towards building three was easy. The classroom was small, and people pushed past me to hang their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them, hanging up my black leather jacket. 

Taking in the room, I notice how boring this world seems compared to Asgard; it's almost colorless. I also need to rethink some of the things I'm wearing, seeing as everyone is bundled up to fight the chill in the air. While I'm sitting in a simple shirt, I'm looking very much out of place. Before I can grab my leather jacket again, a tall, curvy woman I assumed was the teacher, Mrs Jones, walks in.

“Good morning. I’m the new student, Elara Mani.”

“Oh, hello, dear. Welcome to Forks and AP English. I’m Mrs Jones. Find an empty desk, and we can all get started. We are currently on page 394 of the textbook.”

I sat at an empty desk in the back, making it harder for my new classmates to stare at me openly. I kept my eyes forward and maintained a kind smile on my face. Once the lesson began and everyone's attention was directed at the teacher, I seized the opportunity to reach out with my aseir, hoping to feel the presence of my soulmate. Auras filled the room, but nothing stood out to me. That eliminated a handful of people from my possibilities. I couldn’t decide if that was comforting or boring. Well, it's only the first class; we’ll see what happens in the next one.

Jasper's pov 

Sitting in my first-period class as the teacher drones on, I feel a prickling sensation on my neck, as if an invisible hand is reaching out for me, even though I'm in the back corner. Rue nudges me and looks concerned, silently asking if I'm okay. I nod back and turn to look out the window, thinking again about the girl from this morning. Could she be the source of this feeling? It makes sense; she’s the only new variable in my life. I just need to make it to lunch to talk to Edward and Alice about their thoughts and see if they felt what I did.

Elara pov 

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me. He looked like the overly helpful chess club type.

"You're Laura Mani, aren't you?"  

"Elara, it's Nordic,” I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.

 "Hmm, Government, with a Mr. Jefferson, in building six."

I replied after checking my bag and pulling out the schedule the woman had given me earlier.

"I'm headed toward building four; I could show you the way…" 

Definitely over-helpful.  

"Oh, and I'm Eric," he added, extending his hand for me to shake. I smiled tentatively, returning the gesture. 

"Thanks."

The next thing I knew, we packed our jackets and headed out into the rain. Several people behind us followed closely, trying not to be evident that they were eavesdropping.

"So, is this a lot different than where you're from?" he asked.

“Very, it's a lot darker here.”

“Oh, does it not rain a lot there,”

“No, it does, but I guess it feels more…. blue here if that makes any sense.”

“Oh no, I get that.” 

We walked back around the cafeteria to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, even though it was clearly marked, and he could have just as quickly pointed me there. "Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle, seeming slightly deflated, like he wanted to integrate me more.

"Thank you, and hey, maybe we can have some other classes together or something."He smiled hopefully as I continued inside. 

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I hated instantly, his arrogant personality grating on my nerves, made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself like I was five. It was easy to tell he hoped the new student would be embarrassed so he could show some sort of authority. Typical bully behavior; unfortunately for him, I was raised better; fortunately for him, I was raised better and was on a mission and could not put him in his place lest I get expelled.

After two classes, I started to recognize several faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I liked Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but I mostly lied a lot. At least I didn't need the map anymore. One girl sitting next to me in Trig and Science escorted me to the cafeteria for lunch.

 She was tiny, several inches shorter than me, but her wildly curly dark hair made up much of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled on about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up; my thoughts were occupied as I still hadn’t found my soulmate, and it started making me think my spell must have been wrong. 

I ended up sitting at the end of a full table with several of her friends, whom she introduced to me—the boy from English, Eric, being one of them.

They all went around and introduced themselves. While they all seemed nice, I could tell they were only interested in me cause I was something new. I simply smiled and continued with the small talk and questions people had been asking me all day when the doors in the back of the room flung open, drawing my attention. Sitting in the lunchroom, trying to converse with seven curious strangers, I first saw and felt them.

A group of six newcomers swept into the cafeteria, their energy filling the air as they settled around a large table in the corner, far from my spot. They exchanged soft-spoken words, laughter intermingling with murmurs, yet their plates remained untouched, a curious sight among the bustling students around us. 

Unlike the rest, who often stared at me with unabashed curiosity, these students offered only fleeting glances, which I met with intrigue. Among them were three girls and three boys, all appearing to be of similar age, each radiating a distinct charm. 

The first girl was tall and statuesque, her figure elegant and poised, reminiscent of the mythical elves from Alfheim or perhaps an Asgardian goddess. Her long, golden hair flowed gracefully to the middle of her back, catching the light and framing her delicate features, highlighted by her porcelain skin. Next to her stood a shorter girl with an enchanting pixie-like frame, her demeanor lively and playful. Her deep black hair, cropped short in a wild, whimsical style, seemingly defying gravity, danced in every direction.  She followed the blond dragging behind a stunning girl with a full-figured silhouette, her rich cocoa-toned skin glowing with warmth and vitality. Her curly hair was a masterpiece, cascading around her face in bouncy, defined spirals, each curl adding to her captivating presence. 

As I was about to move to the males, another girl approached the table. She was normal while still pretty compared to the others, with an ashen complexion, long, straight, dark brown hair with a widow's peak, unique chocolate brown eyes, and a heart-shaped face. She sat next to one of the three boys sitting at the table. Like her father, he was lean, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, especially compared to the big, muscled boy, who reminded me of my uncle, except with dark, curly hair. We even briefly made eye contact, and he gave me a gentle smile and a nod before slinging his arm to rest over the tall blonde's chair, playing with her other hand in his, before turning his head to the last boy.

The last boy was the one that caught most of my attention.

He was tall and lean, but it was clear he was also muscular. His beautiful honey-blond hair waved around his head. While the others were looking away and glancing back, trying to maintain decorum as they quietly conversed, he stared at me, and I found myself transfixed. Our silent staring contest was interrupted when a small girl suddenly stood up with her tray, passing between us as she walked away with a frantic look, drawing concern from the others.

"Who are they?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class whose name I'd forgotten.

Oh, those are the Cullens. It was a big deal last year when Edward Cullen, the reddish-headed one with the spikey hair, started going out with the brunette he had his arm around, Bella Swan; she was the new girl last year. It was a big shock to everyone when they started dating.” 

I can't help but note the hint of jealousy in her tone.

“Beside them is Emmett Cullen, his girlfriend Rosalie, and her brother Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen, and the one she was sitting next to was her girlfriend, Rue Turner; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She said,

 “Emmett's family were in an accident before they all moved here; what I’ve heard is that because he was dating Rosalie at the time, Dr. Cullen being the supper dad he is, he adopted Emmet for Rose since Emmet didn’t have any other family left. Same with Alice and Rue. Even though Rue isn’t officially a Cullen, she still lives with them. She came out to her parents, and the Cullens took her in when her parents kicked her out."  Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town.

“You seem to know a lot about them.”I can’t shake the feeling that this girl knows a lot and is unafraid to discuss other people’s family matters. It made me uncomfortable for the group sitting at the table. I’ve been taught about etiquette throughout my life, and what she was doing felt incredibly rude.

"Not really. The things I've heard were all from a few years ago, and it was the biggest topic around here. I think Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, which is why they’ve adopted so many," she added as if that somehow diminished their kindness. I thought she didn't like the doctor and his wife, even though she seemed to know a lot about them. With the glances she directed at their adopted children and their partners, I could only assume that jealousy was the reason behind her feelings.

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the family sat. I moved towards the blonde, then the others as they continued to look at each other and back to me, no doubt trying to ignore the people talking about them. The lunch period was ending soon. I had to know why I felt this connection to the honey blond. Inhaling slowly, I let my aesir fill the room. I put out feelers for anything unusual, and as soon as it hit the family's table, they all looked towards me. Keeping eye contact, I genuinely smiled, for I knew two things. 

My soulmate was there; he and his family were not quite human. 

How interesting!

                                                      

this is how i picture rue

@reblogspostedheresoogcanbeclear

[ofsteelsilv]

..tags > rules > musings > credits..

██▒ 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟖+ ▒██ || A dependent RP blog spearheaded by 🕸Spice. Affiliated with @ruinationsrp.

 

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 — 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒊𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒓

"𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒔."

【 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 】

𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒛𝒐 𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒅, 𝒆𝒏𝒛𝒐 ; 36 y.o. (sept. 13, 1239 - virgo), cis he/him. yaqui, mexican, & irish descent. false identity: mercenary condottiere hired to protect 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍.

denomination: the warrior of steel and silver. a battle hardened, self-made man notorious for wealth being his greatest motivator. also alludes to his absolute loyalty to Frigoria's reigning monarch.

"i come with knives (acoustic)" by iamx  -  "the boy with the gun" by david sylvian  -  "promise keeper" by agnes obel

【 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐄 】

ISTP, 5w6

𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 : disciplined, resourceful, calm under pressure, reliable, adaptable, perceptive, logical

𝒏𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 : overly blunt, aloof, easily bored, overcritical, daredevil

【 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐒 & 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 】

𝑨𝒈𝒆 0: born to a merchant family who are at an economic disadvantage by the closed borders. 𝑨𝒈𝒆 15: left home to enlist as a soldier (lied about being 17); aspires to climb the ranks & return with wealth. 𝑨𝒈𝒆 20: becomes a war hero after subduing a few rebel houses; genius intellect got exploited by his predecessor – has assisted with strategizing ad hoc campaigns. 𝑨𝒈𝒆 25: knighted, serves as a personal guard to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍. 𝑨𝒈𝒆 28: promoted to general. 𝑨𝒈𝒆 36: tasked to exhaust soteran and asterian courtiers.

【 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 】

• given his commoner background, his achievements and rank earn him both ire and admiration. they aren't taken seriously by several noble officers, seeing him as the queen's pawn. there's a rumor that his commanding general is intent on replacing him.

• experiences mild shell shock, slight tinnitus, stiffened limbs, and insomnia. has plenty of battle scars despite his low pain tolerance.

• devotes time to perform grounding techniques on soldiers with shell shock. also assists his troops with their recovery from combat/travel fatigue, especially when morale drops.

• rides bareback with an appaloosa mare, ‘heart’, with a grulla blanket pattern. quite diligent in the caring of horses.

• an exceptional spear fighter and hand and knife combatant. specializes in enemy depredation and psychological warfare. uses a self-bow while targeting opponents.

• born as the eldest son to two siblings, he prides himself as breadwinner. but his brother rejects his gestures of goodwill, insisting that they're blood money of the empire and accusing him of treason against frigoria's struggling merchant community. his occupation is a sore topic between them.

• experiences brain fog after magic overuse. he may even temporarily forget a person or their name and details, except for the valerians – his constant exposure to them is one of his tethers to reality. he is appreciative when people don't invade his personal space during this state.

• the only nobility he addresses by their given names are the valerians. everyone else is referred to as milord, milady, your highness, or your majesty. what with the memory strain, it's easier for him to remember people by associating them with nicknames based on a distinguishing characteristic/interaction.

• has a Tom & Jerry dynamic with prince cefin. 🤡

• was supposed to marry, but abandoned his beloved for duty. since then, enzo became strict with keeping separate his professional and personal life.

• 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚𝒔... sparring, corn and sweet potato dishes, soteran wine, arithmetic, recons, horse racing.  𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔... impracticality, seeing his soldiers suffer from shell shock, sounds resembling explosions and catapult projectile impacts.  𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔... not being able to provide for his family, endangering the Valerian family, losing his influence in the council, becoming crippled, The Coin of Terror and Starvation.

【 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 】

nightmare generation and creation via lucid-dreaming. he is not a mage, hence his heavy reliance on the madrid's cursed, heirloom commemorative coin: The Coin of Terror and Starvation. the madrids believe it only amplifies nightmare magic, but the coin gives any magic user a massive boost in energy to perform prolonged or strenuous techniques — at a cost. when the coin lands on ‘heads’, you'll gain its benefit, but when it lands on ‘tails’ you'll be temporarily cursed with one of the following effects: extreme hunger, extreme thirst, extreme bodily fatigue, or extreme nightmares — plus constant mild paranoia. duration of the curse lasts 2-3 days, but the user has no way of predicting its termination since it is up to fate.

(only his family and The Ancient Queen knows about the coin. ooc knowledge: he's not responsible for pd001's nightmares. )

need-to-know conditionals:

• his magic is more attuned to anchoring nightmares with the weight of a person's name. if he whispers a birth name, the nightmare is more vivid. if it's a nickname, the nightmare manifests weakly. if the name is false or an alias, he'd know immediately because the nightmare has a 50/50 chance of manifesting — should it manifest, it’ll appear weak and very fragmented.

• his magic can neither control how a nightmare unfolds nor affect a target's receptivity. the target's subconscious reacts to it naturally, especially after sleep. • if a target is forcefully woken by external stimulation, once they've experienced a nightmare, it lingers in memory until they naturally forget.

• because his nightmares are merely fabrications, they do not embed permanently into the subconscious.

• standard use penalties. regular use (two targets) results in one day mental fatigue.

• overuse penalties. if he targets three people, he suffers severe headaches or temporary memory lapses. penalty duration is six days per three targets (e.g., targeting nine people = 18 days of side effects).

• impact of external sensory stimuli from environment. non-coin aided : external stimuli can wake him and he suffers less fatigue. coin aided : the coin overtakes his senses. impossible to wake him externally.

𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: thorough, detailed mechanics of his powers can be read here. but it's not a required read ! i make stat sheets for all of my characters and roll dice based on vtm v5's mechanics + consult the admins for all major ic decisions. i just absolutely abhor godmodding and never want anyone to go through that. 🤘🏼

[warningsine]

This summer marks the 45th anniversary of the Nicaraguan Revolution, when the guerilla forces of the Sandinista National Liberation Front (FSLN) overthrew the Somoza dictatorship, the U.S.-backed dynasty that had ruled the country for more than 40 years. On July 19, 1979, after nearly two decades of struggle, armed Sandinistas entered the capital of Managua victorious, their red and black bandanas heralding a new era of socialist transformation.

The jubilation of victory was quickly tempered by the exigencies of war. From 1980 to 1989, a coalition of counterrevolutionary forces known as the Contras—who were financed and trained by the United States during the Reagan administration—waged a ruthless but unsuccessful terror campaign to unseat the revolutionary government. Between 30,000 and 40,0000 people died in the ensuing violence.

FSLN commander Daniel Ortega emerged as the leader of the revolutionary junta, and he was elected president in 1984. Six years later, Ortega was voted out by a coalition of opposition groups. In 2007, he was reelected and has served as president ever since, since the National Assembly modified the Nicaraguan Constitution in 2014 to allow for his indefinite reelection in contests widely recognized as shams.

Today, 17 years into Ortega’s rule, the 1979 revolution’s promise of liberation and equality has become little more than window dressing for another iron-fisted dictatorship. It is not one of the proletariat or of the people, but of another all-powerful family, led by Ortega and his wife, Rosario Murillo, who is often referred to as his “co-president.” But as the two tighten their grip on power, it seems to be slipping through their fingers, and their rule appears increasingly precarious.

For nearly two decades, “the commander” and “comrade Rosario” have consolidated power through a series of radical legislative and constitutional changes. Murillo has steadily increased her influence since 2008, when she was appointed president of the Councils of Citizen Power, party-state committees that ensured loyalty to the regime and distributed resources at the local level. She assumed Nicaragua’s vice presidency in 2017 after a constitutional reform allowed for her election despite being the president’s wife.

“Ortega’s dictatorship is unique insofar as he is singularly uncharismatic and is uninterested in direct appeals to the Nicaraguan people that other more personalist populist leaders rely on to bolster support,” said Michael Paarlberg, an associate fellow at the Washington, D.C.-based Institute for Policy Studies and a professor of political science at Virginia Commonwealth University. Instead, Paarlberg added, Ortega “has had to rely chiefly on repression, both to create fear and to shrink the pool of potential rivals within civil society, religious institutions, and NGOs,” or nongovernmental organizations.

Any inkling of dissent in Nicaragua has been met with ruthless military violence. In 2018, soldiers, police, and paramilitary death squads crushed a civil rebellion, leaving more than 350 people dead, at least 2,000 injured, and thousands more imprisoned, disappeared, or exiled. Ortega and Murillo have since further entrenched their dictatorship, clamping down on the opposition, securing control of the judiciary and legislature, purging the party-state apparatus of perceived traitors, and criminalizing civil society.

The government has outlawed public protest; seized the offices and assets of dozens of news outlets; revoked the legal standing of thousands of nonprofit organizations, universities, and churches—most recently in mid-August, when the regime banned 1,500 nonprofit organizations in a single day—and denounced hundreds of students, journalists, literary figures, and human rights defenders as “foreign agents,” stripping them of their citizenship. Since 2018, more than 300,000 Nicaraguans have sought asylum in neighboring Costa Rica—and U.S. Customs and Border Protection has encountered nearly 440,000 at the southern border of the United States. Many hope to win an asylum claim. Today, 1.5 million Nicaraguans—roughly 22 percent of the country’s population—live outside the borders of their homeland.

Recently, however, the Ortega dictatorship has appeared increasingly precarious as the presidential couple pluck away at the base of their own house of cards. Ortega and Murillo are getting old—they are 78 and 73, respectively—and the prospect of a democratic opening hangs over their hopes for smooth dynastic succession. All signs indicate that the couple is positioning their son Laureano to succeed his mother after she inherits the presidential crown from her husband.

But as Ortega and Murillo grow more isolated and self-destructive—executing mass purges and banning civil society groups—their popularity continues to wane, down to about 15 percent by last Gallup count in 2023. As their inner circle shrinks and their enemies multiply, a seamless succession appears increasingly unlikely.

For many observers, the question is not whether the dictatorship will implode, but when and how.

“There is no question that the dictatorship of Daniel Ortega and Rosario Murillo is getting weaker and weaker every day,” said Tamara Dávila, a leader of the opposition coalition Blue and White National Unity who is now exiled in the United States. Dávila believes that Ortega’s death or departure from office could create the possibility for a democratic opening despite the regime’s hopes for dynastic succession.

“The question is what that possibility will look like,” she said.

Since February 2023, when the regime released, banished, and denaturalized Dávila and 221 other political prisoners, Nicaragua has drifted out of the international spotlight. But repression and terror continue apace; according to the most current and commonly cited estimate, at least  141 political prisoners languish in Nicaragua’s prisons, according to the United Nations, enduring isolation, torture, and other inhumane conditions.

Dora María Téllez, a celebrated former Sandinista commander, was one of the 222 dissidents imprisoned and then exiled by the Ortega-Murillo regime. She said that the real number of political prisoners in Nicaragua is much higher than 141. “Families are afraid to report people as political prisoners. So there’s probably a little over 250 in total,” she told me in a recent interview. “But it’s a system of revolving doors: They let some out, they bring more in. … It’s a mechanism of repression that the Ortega-Murillo regime uses to keep the whole country intimidated.”

As recently as April, police intensified patrols in Nicaragua’s major cities, detaining five family members of protesters who were killed during the 2018 crackdown. On April 15, the body of opposition activist Carlos Alberto Garcia Suárez was found in a garbage dump in the city of Jinotepe. His corpse was badly burned, but police ruled out foul play, and the coroner ordered an immediate burial without an autopsy.

What is left of the opposition in the country is small and operates in secrecy.

Power in Nicaragua is structured vertically. Members of Ortega and Murillo’s loyal inner circle have some influence over decision-making, but their main role is administrative: All policy decisions lie in the hands of the ruling couple. Dismissals for perceived disloyalty are routine, and purges are increasingly common. Often, they are carried out under the personal direction of Murillo, maneuvering to eliminate perceived threats to her presumed succession.

No one is immune: Friends and close relatives of the couple have been branded traitors and remanded to El Chipote prison or exiled. In 2021, the former Sandinista commander Hugo Torres Jiménez, who risked his life securing Ortega’s release from prison in 1974, was prosecuted by the regime as a traitor. Torres had served as vice president of an opposition party led by ex-Sandinistas and was a vocal critic of Ortega and Murillo, calling the dictatorship “fiercer and more totalitarian than that of the Somozas.” He died in prison two years after his arrest, at age 73.

The presidential couple even went after Ortega’s brother, Gen. Humberto Ortega, a hero of the revolution and the former head of the Nicaraguan Army, accusing him of treason for criticizing the regime’s authoritarian drift and for questioning Murillo’s dynastic succession. On May 19, police surrounded Humberto’s home, placing him under house arrest. Later, after suffering symptoms of a heart attack, he was transferred to a military hospital in Managua.

“Just because we’re blood brothers, that doesn’t mean that Daniel and his group aren’t extremely uncomfortable with someone like me,” Humberto said in a recent interview with Infobae. “Some have even thought about eliminating me. I’ve never heard it from Daniel himself, but I’ve heard it from people who are close to him.”

In October 2023, the regime dismissed 10 percent of all judicial branch employees, including the president of the Supreme Court, a devoted Sandinista militant personally disliked by Murillo. Even the judge who had dismissed charges brought against Ortega for sexually assaulting his now-exiled stepdaughter, Zoilamérica Ortega Murillo, was caught up in the mass firing.

High-level officials continue to fall as the dictatorship closes ranks around Murillo. In the past six years, she has assumed an increasing share of power in areas once managed by her husband, such as the judiciary and Foreign Affairs Ministry. She has also maneuvered to eliminate intermediaries between her and the leaders of key institutions, such as the Interior Ministry, the attorney general’s office, and the national police. The resulting loss of power among Sandinistas loyal to Ortega has increased internal struggles within the party.

Last month, Nicaraguan police raided the office and home of Finance Minister Ivan Acosta, who was forced to resign—allegedly for acts of corruption, but more likely because he had fallen out of favor with the presidential couple. Employees in the Finance Ministry now fear a wave of dismissals, similar to those that occurred following Murillo’s purge last year of the Supreme Court, which resulted in the mass firing of some 900 government workers—including magistrates, secretaries, janitors, drivers, and even Ortega’s first-born son, Camilo Ortega Herrera, who led the court’s technical services department.

On Aug. 6, Nicaraguan news outlet Confidencial reported that in late July, Murillo dismissed Ortega’s chief police escort, Commissioner-General Marcos Alberto Acuña Avilés, who had served as a loyal member of the president’s security team since the 1990s.

All this reveals “an internal crisis tied up with the growing power of Rosario Murillo,” said Téllez, the former FSLN commander, who served as Nicaragua’s health minister from 1979 to 1990. “Rosario is not satisfied with appointees who are unconditionally supportive of Daniel Ortega. She wants people who are unconditionally supportive of her.”

The dismissals, surveillance, harassment, and imprisonment—not only of opposition figures, but also of Sandinista partisans, including high-level members of Ortega and Murillo’s inner circle—are dramatically reconfiguring the makeup of power in Nicaragua. The presidential couple has generated discontent, distrust, and fear at every level of the party-state apparatus.

With institutions in chaos, what little support and perceived legitimacy the regime has remains tied to the increasingly frail and marginalized figure of Ortega, who is a lingering symbol of the revolution. The vast majority of the Nicaraguan population disfavors the dictatorship, and it appears increasingly unlikely that Murillo would be able to fill his shoes without creating a power vacuum that could very well spell the regime’s end.

“Murillo is perhaps the only person in Nicaragua with a less credible claim on authority than Ortega, given her deep unpopularity and having never been popularly elected in a legitimate election,” said Paarlberg, the fellow with the Institute for Policy Studies.

“She would have no choice but to double down on repression,” he continued. “Should she fail to hold power, such as by failing to maintain the loyalty of the Sandinista security apparatus, it would create the conditions for a regime transition.”

[yeehaw-in-magic-space]

Lore Dump 4: The Sovereign Hierarchy

The highest ranking noble in the universe is the Sovereign Among the Stars. This is an individual descended from the previous Sovereign, responsible for management of all the universe. They collaborate with nobles, the church, and loyal companies to establish a lasting order that will maintain peace and security across the universe.

Following the Sovereign in rank are their children. Princes and Princesses are considered nearly untouchable outside of war in regards to influence and power. They are often given commanding positions within the military or the church, or are sent to be mentored by powerful dukes and duchesses on manners of state until they are old enough to help the Sovereign manage palace affairs.

Dukes and Duchesses are next in order of power. They manage entire solar systems in the name of the Sovereign Among the Stars. They usually live within massive ships that follow the orbit of the star named after their families and control the movement of supplies and troops within their regions. They are directly in charge of every planet within a solar system, but rarely focus on a specific planet for more than a few months at a time. They prefer to leave the managing of planets to those next below them in the hierarchy.

Counts and Countesses are the nobles who rule over planets. At the behest of their duke or duchess, they manage the distribution of supplies and information across their own worlds. They are responsible for maintaining loyalty and steady streams of whatever resource their planet may be known for. They often live within a castle on or just above their planets. Most counts or countesses rule over only a single planet, though in rare cases, some have ended up managing two or three worlds within a particularly large solar system.

Barons and Baronesses are the lowest of the nobles. They manage countries and continents on specific planets, particularly they are in charge of matters of military and planetary security. They tend to be the hungriest of the nobles. They can often get away with conquering the nations ruled by neighboring nobles and expanding their own domains—if they can prove themselves more competent than the competition. Barons and Baronesses are pitted against one another frequently in a supposed effort to make sure only the best noble families are responsible for the armies of the Sovereign.

Though Barons have a reputation for being the hungriest and most warlike of the nobles, war between noble families is not uncommon. Everyone has dreams of expanding or ascending in the order, and everyone wants to prove that they are worthy of the Sovereign’s attention. The power struggle is neverending, and no noble ever feels completely safe, especially with the rise of non noble families and companies in the final years of The Long War.

(if this one seems particularly binary in its gendering, that is perhaps refelctive of the society these nobles operate. Acceptance of gender in all its variance and fluidity is only really seen in scattered pieces across the galaxy in places where people simply don't care about what they've been told is "proper", or where they're so distant from the nobility and the church that they would be baffled to hear that they had such strict ideas about these things to begin with.)

[succiducus]

{uraz kaygılaroğlu, 34, agender, he/they/she} We are so glad to see you safe, ADVISOR ABDULLAH MACKENZIE of SCOTLAND! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are CALCULATIVE and DEDICATED enough to handle it. Just don’t let your RECKLESSNESS bring you down! Stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out after the reckoning your heart is no longer in the rebellion.

b a s i c s //

birth name: murat abdullah mackenzie

nickname: abby

birthday: march 31st (aries)

occupation: royal advisor to the stuarts

orientation: demi-romantic / pansexual

status: single-ish

languages: english, scottish gaelic (native). persian, hindi, japanese (fluent). german, amharic, sanskrit (conversational).

character influences: brian kinney (queer as folk), link & ganondorf (tloz), aragorn (lotr), indra (the 100), uchiha madara (naruto).

tarot card: strength

p r o l o g u e //

crooked by nature, they have always had a knack for manipulation and persuasion - nurture worsened it. selfish; power-hungry; proud; a perfect canvas for the pursuits of the family that they'd been adopted into and admittedly for their own gain. freedom granted them invisibility and they remain clutched onto that to this day. they've slipped into and out of many empires, left impacts, bought loyalties but as chaotic as they are, they're not simpleminded. they make calculative decisions and take well thought out actions for the gain of themselves and the mackenzies. prepared, intuitive, controlled - sometimes they seem outwardly unapproachable, they led their army with a strong hand, charm their way through awkward situations, and work hard regardless of their reasonings for doing so. they have two faces and only those loyal to the mackenzies know which one is real. they will stop at nothing to attain what they want.

a c t i : l a l q i l a //

The Mughal Empire had always been, to him, a means to an end. After his discharge from the Scottish military, being reassigned to a new empire to help aid the rebellion in any way that he could, he thought that settling in Delhi was temporary, that he would not grow attached to the people, sights, and sounds that surrounded him on a daily basis, however, that was far from the case. Assuming a new identity, working his way through the ranks of their military, making connections and friendships (even if surface level), and getting acquainted with a culture that his birth parents had fallen in love with after leaving Scotland wasn't supposed to leave a mark on him, but it did. The Grand Memoriam; reconnecting with Cailean and his sisters; hearing the loud accents of the Scottish court in the dining hall; followed shortly by invasions, political fights, chaos, and watching his heart face death once more pushed Abdullah from a state of clarity into one of complete and utter exhaustion. He decided to resign from his position as commander, swear fealty to Claire Stuart, and return home. The Reckoning shook him far beyond exhaustion; it cemented his love for the empire in his heart.

t i m e s k i p //

Grief was not new to Abdullah. He had been mourning Scotland and his place within it for years before The Reckoning took the rulers of the Mughal Empire from him. However, the loss struck him harder than he thought it might. Grown accustomed to serving them, to his every thought encompassing their safety and safety of their empire, suddenly being without all of it made guilt trickle into the space between his ribs. He struggled with this for the majority of their journey home, tried his best to smile when he was supposed to smile; one might say that his years of pretending came in handy when asked if he was glad to be home by fellow clansmen and their family friends. It was interesting, he supposed, how being back on the moors of Scotland didn't remove the sting of having to leave India behind. With news of it's descent into chaos reaching him, the guilt of leaving it defenceless when he did, lingered. But, somewhere between training with his mother in the halls of Castle Stuart and sliding into bed next to the youngest Fergusson, his grief disappeared and was replaced by a warmth that was often threatened by the thought of what those he cared about most were doing behind the scenes. You see, even with the new reign among them, the rebels that he had once proudly stood with were strong, perhaps, even stronger than ever, and in the land under Stuart reign, whether by one monarch or by four, rebels careless enough to get caught were hung. Once a thought that made him chuckle, the reality of losing those he cared about to something they could choose to refrain from started to make him weary.

p r e s e n t d a y //

Exhausted by his days in the military and the monotony of daily life now that he's back home, when the opportunity to put his mind to use once more approached him, he took it. From Mughal Commander to Royal Advisor, Abdullah is settling into his position comfortably while still training under his mother's guidances to become Duke after her retirement - the most prominent issue? He's starting to see each Stuart as people and not monarchs, an issue for the once rebel still lurking under the surface. For now, he's keeping up appearances for the sake of his parents and lover, however, he's come to the realization that the exhaustion from years of pretending is finally catching up with him and if he had to be honest? He simply wished to wake up to the sun illuminating red hair, the loud purr of Mor, and the smell of grass fluttering in through the open window of their bedroom. He supposed, being so close to love and it's beauty had made him soft - he could no longer stomach the rebellion and what it had the potential to take from him.

c o n n e c t i o n s //

cordelia mackenzie (sister) - to be written

karolina mackenzie (sister) - to be written

cailean fergusson (soul-mate) - they have been caught in a dance of cat and mouse for decades, unable to shed their emotional attachment to one another. they fall apart, put distance between themselves, however the universe brings them back together, often stronger than the last time their souls tangled. once on the same side of the coin, they now faced the unique challenge of being on opposites. its led to countless arguments and skirting around the topic of the scottish monarchy yet underneath all of the anger and frustration, they make moves toward one another and for each other out of love, even if they cannot admit aloud quite yet.

[elodieunderglass]

Actually while I’m in an Aubreyad mood I want to point out that @aurpiment ‘s quote up there - “I hate to see a man hanged for it” - is from the Aubreyad aka the Aubrey/Maturin novels, Age of Sail literary adventure novels about the Napoleonic Wars. Published in 1969, the conversation happens in the first novel, “Master and Commander.” It is taking place between the good-natured and honorable Captain Jack Aubrey of the British Royal Navy, in charge of his first command. One of his colleagues is attempting to sound him out re: his position on “buggery” (anal sex, but homosexuality more broadly) stating that he views it as unnatural. In the time, era, setting and the Navy, it was understood that homosexuality could not be prevented, but people were very much hanged for having anal sex. The expected response is for Aubrey to agree with him and condemn practicing homosexuality as a crime punishable by death.

Aubrey diplomatically replies that “there is something in what you say”, but that he “hates to see a man hanged for it.” The other guy can’t do anything but agree.

This sets up right away that Jack is fairly straight himself, but unexpectedly progressive, holds a principle, and hates to see people killed for breaking certain laws even though a naval captain is expected to be the enforcer of the state on this. It’s in character and true to setting, shows off the captain in a favourable light, sets up an interesting tension given that Jack strives to be an otherwise “good” officer, and given that this was both your grandfather’s and your dad’s favorite book, it snuck entirely past the immune systems of the reactionaries and worked its way into their deepest hearts.

See also Captain Kirk, the literary and contemporary brother/cousin of Jack Aubrey: both captains explicitly drew from the same source material, and were used as the same kind of literary mechanism for the same intentions. “Here is a lens through which we expect the (straight male) modern viewer to project themselves as we explore social situations within his crew and outside his crew. You’ll notice that he’s chill about certain stuff, which is normal, because obviously you are too, right? A guy like this would have to be! Anyway…”

This stated principle of discomfort-with-the-act-but-sympathy-for-the-people also sets up the sweetly doomed crush that a gay crew member has on him, which is compassionately handled by the narrative, while Jack is completely oblivious to it. It also sets up an extremely funny scene later with the goats milk, which shows how Jack realistically treats a crime regarded as the same under law (it’s obviously not the same, but it shows how his discipline and honor are tempered by pragmatism; iirc he chooses not to hang the man). Throughout the book the gay crew member does his best with this raging crush on this giant blonde idiot, and while the openness of his infatuation is criticised by MANY crew members, this sets a useful foil to show the genuine innocence and obliviousness of Jack, who presents himself as a seasoned salty sea dog; this makes his eventual struggles and perceptions-in-other-people’s-eyes more compelling because we, the reader, understand that he is fundamentally gentle-natured, struggles with managing all the politics, and is often oblivious to how people perceive him. He’s perceived by some as encouraging the doomed crush to gain the crew member’s loyalty, which makes some of the crew lose respect for him, and others question his leadership. Later in the book, in a conversation about Jack’s honor/obliviousness about the big gay crush, there is a delayed-action hand grenade of a Jane Austen-phrased pun about anal sex which remains one of the funniest of its type BECAUSE it is in such period-relevant language and phrasing. It’s one of the best puns about buttsex that you will find in literature hands-down. (In fact I have just discovered a second, modern pun buried in the Latin one: mens rea or “guilty mind” keeps autocorrecting to “men’s rear,” hilarious.)

The textual handling throughout also highlights the compassion and progressiveness of Stephen (who regards homosexuality with complete neutrality, which we understand through his anarchistic character.) This handling is not modern or inclusive. However, it does a lot of work: revealing character, setting up tensions and conflict, and bearing on one of the subplots.

Anyway, that’s the context and origin of “I hate to see a man hanged for it”. It is in keeping with the period, while the narrative doesn’t shy away from being ugly and showing ugliness. It shows a LOT about the character who says it, and the resulting stress of his management of office politics and the harsh naval charter in the age of sail. It is an interesting way that a (straight?) male writer working in 1969 found to tell his story. And it is also delicious food for the three generations of Aubrey/Maturin shippers. Because the books try to represent Our Guys interacting and conflicting with the social contexts of their times, and mine that conflict for various plot purposes/character studies/puns, they remain interesting no matter how far we get from the Age of Sail (and 1969.)

Genuinely 90% of historical fiction would be so much better if more writers could get more comfortable with the fact that to create a good story set in a different time period you do actually have to give the characters beliefs & values which reflect that time period

[memoriamori]

The Iron Duke of Dis.

The skies of Dis, the Iron City, roiled with an unnatural tempest, ash swirling in a maelstrom of darkness. Underneath the ominous clouds, the city was a spectacle of metallic structures, forged from the very essence of Hell itself. Towers jutted like the jagged teeth of a maw, spewing forth plumes of smoke that twisted and coiled like the tortured souls bound within the city’s very fabric. Here, the air was thick with the smell of sulfur and the metallic tang of iron, a fitting tribute to the Iron Duke who ruled this domain.

Baal stood atop the highest tower, his figure an imposing silhouette against the flickering crimson and obsidian backdrop. He was a titan amongst demons, skin the color of molten iron, constantly shifting in hue—now shimmering like a dying star, now as dark as the deepest abyss. His massive shadow—wings enveloped him, blotting out the feeble light that struggled to penetrate the eternal gloom of Dis.

His eyes burned with a hellfire intensity, reflecting the chaos of his ambitions. He surveyed his city with a gaze that could pierce through the fabric of deceit, seeking any signs of rebellion, any hint of betrayal. It had been mere weeks since the Iron Fences, his pride and joy, had been sabotaged. The once-impregnable barriers, forged from the molten hearts of ancient demons, had been breached, and he was left to wrestle with the implications. Someone close to him had orchestrated this treachery, a revelation that gnawed at his insides like a ravenous parasite.

Baal clenched his fists, the muscles rippling beneath his skin as he felt the familiar pulse of rage. After centuries of bloodshed and careful maneuvering, his empire was a towering legacy he wouldn't let traitors in the shadows extinguish. The air crackled with his fury, causing the temperature to rise in the vicinity, and the lesser demons below trembled in reverence and fear.

“Malphas,” he growled, summoning his most trusted general to his side. The high general arrived promptly, a figure clad in darkened armor, his presence radiating loyalty yet overshadowed by the weight of recent events.

“My Duke,” Malphas bowed, his head lowered as though to hide the weariness in his eyes. “You summoned me.”

“Indeed,” Baal replied, the low rumble of his voice resonating like thunder. “We must discuss the state of our defenses.”

The general shifted uneasily. “The Iron Fences—”

“Do not speak of them!” Baal snapped, his wings flaring in frustration. “I have no need to relive my humiliation, Malphas. Instead, I demand answers. How could such a breach have occurred? Someone among us has betrayed our trust.”

Malphas straightened, the tension palpable between them. “We are conducting an inquiry, my Duke. But the whispers are many, and the suspects—”

“Are you suggesting I can’t trust you?” Baal interrupted, his fiery gaze piercing into Malphas. “You must know that betrayal festers like a wound. It is my duty to excise it.”

Malphas’ throat tightened, knowing all too well the cost of misplaced loyalty. “My Duke, I am yours to command. But trust is a fragile thing, easily shattered by paranoia. It is not only you who must beware; we all face the repercussions of the chaos that Azazel Malkuth has sown.”

At the mention of his arch-rival, a shadow flickered behind Baal’s eyes. Azazel, the ambitious snake, had always been a constant threat. Their ongoing skirmishes had become a brutal chess game, each move calculated and deadly, leaving both sides scarred. “His ambitions grow bolder. He has tasted blood and desires more. We cannot show weakness. We must crush him before he thinks to strike again.”

The wind howled as Baal contemplated the balance of power, feeling the weight of each decision upon his shoulders. It had been a century since he had risen to power through the bloody siege of Dis, a claim secured by sheer will and brutality. Each victory had forged his reputation, but it also bred enemies—both seen and unseen.

“Gather our allies,” Baal commanded, his voice brooking no argument. “Astarte will be at the forefront of our plans. Her influence over the souls flowing through her domain can be an asset—if she doesn’t seek to undermine us.”

Malphas nodded, but uncertainty flickered across his expression. “Astarte plays a dangerous game, my Duke. She may be an ally now, but she is ambitious. Perhaps more so than any of us.”

“Ambition is a currency I respect,” Baal replied, pacing the edge of the tower, his wings trailing behind him like dark shrouds. “Yet it must be tempered by loyalty. If she can be swayed to our cause, we will hold the upper hand. If not…” He let the thought hang, a thin smile creeping across his lips. “If not, we shall break her.”

As he surveyed the city, a vision of conquest filled his mind. Baal was no longer the reckless demon he once was, a creature of pure destruction. He had learned, adapted, evolved into a master strategist. He understood that alliances were as powerful as swords and that trust could be just as dangerous as betrayal. He had crafted a web of intrigue around himself, each thread a potential weapon or a vulnerability.

And yet, the shadows grew darker, uncertainty lurking just beyond the flickering flame of his ambition. Each day brought fresh rumors, whispers of discontent rippling through his ranks. The Iron Duke was a master at masking his own insecurities, but as he stood on the precipice of war, the lines between friend and foe blurred dangerously.

“I shall send for Astarte,” Malphas said, breaking the silence, his voice laced with apprehension. “But there is something you must consider. The disruption of the Iron Fences means our enemies are emboldened. We may soon face an uprising within our own ranks. You must be vigilant, my Duke.”

Baal’s expression hardened. “I will not tolerate dissent. Those who dare question my rule will find themselves wishing they had never been born.”

With that, Baal’s iron—clad resolve solidified, each heartbeat echoing the rhythm of impending conflict. The city of Dis would not crumble under the weight of betrayal, and he would ensure that every demon knew the price of treachery. He would crush Azazel’s ambitions and tighten his grip on the Sixth Circle.

The dawn of war loomed over the Iron City, and Baal—the Iron Duke—was prepared to unleash hell itself to protect his dominion. As the wind howled around him and shadows danced beneath his wings, he felt the familiar thrill of power coursing through him, igniting the infernal fire in his soul.

The game of thrones had begun anew, and Baal was determined to emerge as the victor.

[mariacallous]

On the morning of February 3, an explosion rocked a high-end apartment complex in Moscow, killing at least one person and injuring multiple others. The confirmed victim was Armen Sarkisyan, a businessman and criminal figure from the occupied city of Horlivka in Ukraine’s Donetsk region. Russian state investigators reported that his murder was likely linked to a power struggle over his business interests, though they haven’t ruled out Ukraine’s involvement. During Kyiv’s Euromaidan protests in 2013–2014, Sarkisyan recruited mercenaries to disperse opposition supporters. After 2014, he moved between the self-proclaimed Donetsk People’s Republic and Russia, and in 2022, he backed Moscow’s full-scale invasion, founding the Arbat volunteer battalion. The unit was soon integrated into the Russian army and, according to Ukrainian intelligence, was even considered by Russian authorities as a viable alternative to Yevgeny Prigozhin’s Wagner Group — thanks to Sarkisyan’s loyalty. Meduza tells the story of Armen Sarkisyan’s rise from a provincial gang member to an influential field commander in the war against Ukraine.

[idkyetxoxo]

Davos Blackwood || Masterlist

This masterlist is solely focused on Davos Blackwood, all written as xreader pieces without any specific physical descriptions.

All works have warnings stated before but please read at your own risk!

— ALL ONESHOTS BELOW ->

Fan favourites: 🌟 My favourites: 💓

Carnal Feuds 🌟💓

• Sexual content (smut!!), strong language

When a Bracken girl accidentally enters Blackwood territory, she meets Davos Blackwood. What begins as a fierce argument quickly evolves, as their long-standing rivalry erupts into a carnal clash for each other's bodies.

Do I Wanna Know

• Sexual content (smut!)

In a heated confrontation between estranged lovers, unspoken truths and unresolved emotions surge to the surface, igniting jealousy and frustration. Within the commotion, raw desire and longing burst forth, driven by an intense, feverish infatuation.

Cost of a Kiss 🌟

• Violence (brief tourney description)

During a tourney, a rivalry plays out both on the field and in the heated exchange between a sister and a cocky knight. When a wager ends in a kiss, lines blur between anger, pride, and attraction, leaving both tangled in a battle far more personal than any clash of steel.

The Realm’s Beloved 🌟

• None

Known for her kindness she often finds herself at the mercy of others' harshness. Yet, there's a unique comfort in knowing that with a man like Davos by her side, whose fierce protectiveness balances her gentleness, she's shielded from the world's cruelty.

Sworn to Her 💓

• Sexual content (smut!)

Set out to command loyalty. She captures the attention of Davos Blackwood, whose admiration turns into a desperate yearning for her command. He is left begging her to dictate their fate, blurring the lines between duty and passion in a world on the brink of chaos.

Opposites Attract

• Sexual content (oral f!receiving)

In a relationship marked by intense obsession and fierce devotion, she struggles with her husband's volatile protectiveness and external judgments. Yet, their divergent traits, intertwine to create a unique bond where opposites not only attract but complete each other.

Crawl To Me

• Sexual content (smut!)

She escapes her suffocating destiny only to encounter Davos, a man equally skilled at bending the rules. They navigate a world of desire and defiance, igniting a connection that leads to a night of freedom and passion—challenging everything she thought she wanted.

Meddle About

• Sexual content (smut!!), strong language

She manages to captivate Davos with her free-spirited charm but despite their fiery connection and his earnest desire for a future together, she knows their worlds are too different to ever truly intertwine.

Losing Game

• None

A Bracken and a Blackwood fall in love against all odds. They face the heart-wrenching reality of their families' feud and the fleeting nature of their passion, culminating in one final night where they confront the bittersweet ache of what could have been.

Lost and Found

• None

A runaway princess, desperate for freedom, gets lost in the woods, only to be found by the charming and enigmatic Davos. Their unexpected encounter leads to playful banter, as he guides her back to safety, she can't shake the feeling that their story is far from over.

One of the Girls

• Sexual content (smut!)

A forbidden attraction ignites between them. With each stolen moment, they challenge societal expectations, indulging in their reckless passion. In the shadows of their worlds, they both discover a sweetness in the forbidden that could change everything.

For works involving other characters from House of the Dragon, please check out my House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

[alexanderrekeda1]

The Role of Proxies and Mercenaries in the Ukraine Conflict

The conflict in Ukraine, ignited in 2014 by Russia's annexation of Crimea and the subsequent fighting in Eastern Ukraine, has since evolved into a complex war involving various actors and interests. Among these, proxies and mercenaries have played a crucial role in influencing the trajectory and intensity of the conflict. Understanding the involvement of these non-state actors sheds light on the broader dynamics of modern warfare and the challenges that Ukraine and its allies face in countering this multifaceted threat.

The Emergence of Proxies in the Ukraine Conflict

Proxies have been a significant feature of the Ukraine conflict from its inception. In this context, proxies refer to local or regional groups supported, financed, or directed by a foreign power, often to achieve strategic objectives without direct involvement. In Eastern Ukraine, Russian-backed separatist groups like the Donetsk People's Republic (DPR) and the Luhansk People's Republic (LPR) emerged as key players. These groups were armed and supported by Russia, which provided them with military equipment, training, and even personnel.

The use of proxies allowed Russia to maintain plausible deniability while pursuing its strategic goals in Ukraine. Russia could exert influence over the region by supporting these groups without formally declaring war or committing its regular military forces to the conflict. This approach complicated the international community’s response and muddied the waters regarding responsibility and accountability.

The effectiveness of proxies in the conflict has been a point of debate. On one hand, they have enabled Russia to destabilize Ukraine and maintain a prolonged state of conflict. On the other hand, the lack of a cohesive command structure among these groups and their sometimes divergent interests have led to internal power struggles and operational inefficiencies.

The Role of Mercenaries in the Conflict

Alongside proxies, mercenaries have also been a prominent feature of the Ukraine conflict. Mercenaries, often hired by states or private entities, are professional soldiers who fight not out of loyalty to a nation but for financial gain. In Ukraine, mercenaries from various countries have been involved on both sides of the conflict, though Russian-linked mercenary groups have been particularly influential.

One of the most notorious mercenary groups involved in the Ukraine conflict is the Wagner Group, a Russian paramilitary organization believed to have close ties to the Kremlin. The Wagner Group has been implicated in various disputes worldwide, including Syria and Africa, but its role in Ukraine has been especially significant. These mercenaries have been accused of carrying out some of the conflict’s most brutal operations, including targeted killings, sabotage, and covert operations aimed at undermining Ukrainian forces.

The presence of mercenaries like the Wagner Group highlights the blurred lines between state and non-state actors in modern conflicts. While officially independent, such groups often operate with their home governments' tacit approval or direct support. This creates a complex legal and ethical landscape where traditional rules of war are usually circumvented.

The Impact on the Conflict's Dynamics

The involvement of proxies and mercenaries has significantly impacted the dynamics of Ukraine conflict. For Ukraine, the presence of these actors has made the conflict more difficult to manage and resolve. Unlike conventional warfare, where the opposing forces are clearly defined, using proxies and mercenaries creates a fluid and unpredictable battlefield. This has forced Ukraine to adapt its military strategy and seek new international support.

For Russia, the use of proxies and mercenaries has been a way to achieve its geopolitical objectives without facing the full consequences of direct military intervention. However, this approach has also come with risks. Using non-state actors can lead to unintended escalations, as these groups may act independently or pursue their agendas. Additionally, the international community's growing awareness of Russia's involvement through proxies and mercenaries has led to increased sanctions and diplomatic pressure on Moscow.

The impact on civilians has been profound. The presence of these groups has contributed to the prolongation of the conflict, leading to widespread human suffering, displacement, and economic devastation in the affected regions. The use of mercenaries, in particular, has been associated with increased human rights abuses and violations of international law, further complicating efforts to reach a peaceful resolution.

International Responses and Challenges

The international response to the role of proxies and mercenaries in the Ukraine conflict has been mixed. While many countries have condemned the use of such actors, the lack of a unified and effective international legal framework to address their involvement has limited the ability to hold responsible parties accountable. Sanctions, while impactful, have not been sufficient to deter the use of proxies and mercenaries in Ukraine or other conflicts.

One of the challenges in addressing this issue is the need for more evidence to prove the direct involvement of states like Russia in supporting these groups. The covert nature of their operations and the use of deniable assets make it challenging to gather the necessary evidence to take meaningful action. Furthermore, the geopolitical complexities surrounding the Ukraine conflict, with various international interests at play, have hindered the development of a coordinated global response.

The Path Forward

As the Ukraine conflict continues, the role of proxies and mercenaries is likely to remain a key factor in its progression. For Ukraine and its allies, countering this threat requires a multifaceted approach that includes strengthening military capabilities, enhancing intelligence and counterintelligence operations, and increasing diplomatic efforts to isolate and pressure those supporting non-state actors.

At the international level, there is a need for stronger legal mechanisms and frameworks to address the use of proxies and mercenaries in conflicts. This could include more robust enforcement of existing international laws and the development of new treaties or agreements specifically targeting the use of non-state actors in warfare.

The role of proxies and mercenaries in the Ukraine conflict highlights the evolving nature of modern warfare. As traditional state-on-state conflicts become less common, the involvement of non-state actors is likely to increase, posing new challenges to international security and stability. Understanding and addressing these challenges is crucial for achieving a lasting resolution in Ukraine and preventing similar conflicts in the future.