#there’s such a desperation to her retained grip on power after it was snatched so brutally from her

[halfyearsqueen]

WHAT TAROT CARD ARE YOU ?

Justice. What would you do to ensure justice? You know full well I don’t speak of lofty ideals and courts and magistrates, dearest. What would you do to those that hurt you? If I dropped them in your lap, what would you do? What kind of pain could you possibly inflict upon them? You are right to do so. You are right to want to do so. Ignore the screaming, dearest, you are the hand of justice now, and they hurt you. Do not look too closely at their faces, dearest. You are within your rights. You spell out your own rights, now. Are you happy about it? Are you certain that this is the right person you hold by the hair? Does your anger hurt less now?

tagged by: @adamanteine

tagging: @lcerys , @lannioness , @stormbcrn , @wallflowerswit , @sevynhells , @eiragon

[aspiratixxn]

A price to be paid

Warnings: suicidal thoughts, canon-typical violence 

Inspired by: Monster (MDZS Animatic)

They’re coming. 

He pants in the demon slaughter cave, the once open space now crowded to the brim with his thoughts. His fears that whisper from the walls he’s built to protect himself. They claw at his throat and his chest. His reflection shows nothing but himself, tears streaming down his face and hand clutching his robes. The brand mark burns. 

They took everything from him. 

No, that’s not quite right. Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Granny, Uncle. They all left because they knew. He was supposed to be protecting them but in the end, he’s still the one being sheltered and hidden away. He raises his hands and they drip with non-existent blood. How much has been spilled by his hands? People who didn’t need to die, innocents he’s killed with his careless actions.

They’re coming.

Everything he’s ever done has been under scrutiny. It’s never good enough, he’s never good enough. He’s tried so hard to do what’s right. Hasn’t he? He grips Chenqing tight, knuckles white as he staggers to his feet. His reflection looks back at him, haunted eyes grey and exhausted. The shadows under them have never been deeper. 

In a sudden fit of anger, he snatches up a stone from the ground and throws it into the pond, sending ripples back and forth that disrupt his image until it’s distorted beyond recognition. Just like how the rest of the cultivation world view him, a caricature of who he really is. The powerful Yiling Patriach, controller of the ghost general and possessor of the stygian tiger seal. 

He wants to curl up and hide away. He wants to lay his head on his shijie’s lap and feel her hands stroke through his hair. He wants to tease Wen Qing and A-Yuan and Wen Ning until they’re all laughing so hard his sides hurt. He just wants, so desperately, to be left alone by the expectations that have weighed on him since he was first dropped in the Burial Mounds. He did what he needed to survive. He knows that. But still, a small part of him whispers that he didn’t have to take in the spirits when they circled him. He didn’t have to craft the seal. They could still have won. 

There are no winners in a war, he thinks bitterly. Just those who live on to take the burden of another day and those who die under the weight of their choices. He’s never wanted to be powerful. He wanted to be recognized and respected like anyone else but this, this wretched reputation has brought more ruin and harm than good. At the beginning he hadn’t cared. It was war after all, fear does wonders when it comes to the enemy. And then when he had taken in the Wen remnants, he hoped that no one would want to poke a sleeping bear. It had, for a while. 

Everything changed at Qiongqi path. It was supposed to be a joyous event, being invited to his nephew’s one month celebration. It was just going to be him and Wen Ning, who refused to let him go alone. It shouldn’t have been hard, even dealing with Jin Zixun’s ambush attempt. The dark spirits whisper to him now, why didn’t you just kill him? It would’ve been easy enough to pass off as an accident. Especially if the eyewitnesses had mysteriously vanished. He could’ve claimed he went around a different path.

Pain splits down through his head and he howls, falling to his knees. It feels like all those shattered pieces of his world are coming for him again. Jin Zixuan’s pained smile, his last words. Shijie’s unnaturally still posture in front of a golden grave. Jiang Cheng’s eyes, glaring and pleading all at once. Lan Zhan’s bleeding fingertips clenched into trembling fists. Wen Qing’s last words. Wen Ning’s apologies, spilling over and over again even as he screamed blame and threw him to the ground. 

His fault. All those terrible things are his fault. He was arrogant, he made mistakes that sent him down this tumultuous path. Forcing himself to his feet, he lurches toward the entrance of the cave. 

They’ll be here soon.

Carrying their swords and their morals high, denouncing him from their lofty thrones. Should he fight? There’s no one for him to fight for anymore. Doesn’t he deserve to die? Shouldn’t he allow him to rip him apart, to repent for the sins he’s committed in the name of… His own twisted brand of justice? He touches a sheathed dagger, one of Wen Qing’s. The gilded hilt feels cold under his fingers, the delicate swirls calling to him. The blade is sharp, it wouldn’t hurt too much. He could take that last bit of pleasure from them, a last act of defiance.

It wouldn’t be enough though, would it. To repay all the lives that have been given up for his own. His debts are so deep that he’ll drown in them. His last breath still wouldn’t be enough to pay off even one act of kindness from his worst enemy. He snatches up the dagger and unsheathes it, the blade shining in the early morning light. Silver, like his eyes. Silver like the bell that lays only a few feet away, the last gift Jiang Fengmian ever gave him. 

He rips the blade through his hair, chopping it off at his neck. So what if he nicks his neck and bleeds a little. So what if he cuts the last reminder of his parents in half. The red ribbon flutters down with the weight of his hair, landing in a soft pile on the ground. He feels a light touch as the jagged tips brush against his neck. His shijie would definitely be upset; she’d always loved playing with his hair. But she’s gone too. He’ll never be by her side again. Not even after death. 

The blade shines as he heaves, gasping breaths. One edge glints red. If Chenqing was made of anything less, it would’ve snapped in his grip already. He lifts the dagger, seeing himself again in the curved edge. More eyes stare back at him. A sharp stormy grey. Warm hazel gold. Piercing amber brown. His own eyes flicker between silver and crimson, resentful energy swirling like dust shifted by the wind. 

What is he supposed to do now? What can he do? Why can’t he do something right for once? 

He stumbles to the wall where he placed the tiger seal. Even through the layers of rock, he can  feel it pulse, calling to him. It would reach out to strangle him if it weren’t being restrained by countless layers of talismans painted in his own blood. He smashes the hilt of the dagger, now sheathed, into the wall and it crumbles easily. The seal reveals itself, bit by bit. 

It was strangely beautiful, in the way that only powerful things are. He drops the dagger and grasps it, feeling it quiver. He clutches his hand tighter until he can feel the sharp edges bite into his skin. He couldn’t even find fault in the wretched thing. It was just a tool after all, and a tool has no intentions. It’s only used in alignment with the wielder. In the end, it’s still his fault. He should’ve left it back in the Xuanwu cave, sunk in the depths. 

But he knows that wouldn’t have worked either. Once its existence was revealed, it wouldn’t be possible to hide it away again. People would still seek it out even in shards. If only they knew how the resentful energy choked when it coursed through his veins. How it felt like setting every nerve on fire and being unable to douse yourself in anything but boiling oil. They’d still want it, even then probably. They’d make lesser valued, disposable people use it so they didn’t have to get their hands dirty. 

Rage flares in his chest as he squeezes until his hand is bleeding. The seal instantly evaporates the red fluid, retaining only the rich iron smell. The energy gets absorbed, a little at first then growing more and more until he’s being enveloped in a cocoon of it. He lets it, lets it take from him. There’s nothing it can take that he wouldn’t give anymore. 

They’ll be here soon.

He can feel their thundering footsteps through the mountain. Hear their shouts through the whispers of the trees. He reaches down deep into the earth and calls upon the dead, who respond with enthusiasm. Some emerge slowly, clawing their way up. Some fly out, their clothes rotting but not quite fully decayed. They crowd around him, leering. To them who come to accuse. To him who teeters on the brink. 

They’re to blame too, they whisper, urging him to go forth step by step. They pushed you to this, they took everything away from you. From us. From you from us from you from us. They dance around him in their jerky movements, limbs not connected to their torso properly. It’s alright, they say soothingly. It’s alright, let go now. Let go and let us protect you. 

He looks at the seal that vibrates in his hand. It seems to smile back at him, the twin tiger carvings and their flickering eyes. Fear floods him, cold and sharp. Is this really right? Won’t this be more blood on his hands, more debts to pay with his life? It doesn’t matter, the corpses around him call. They’ve never paid you a debt, so why should you pay theirs? The wind ruffles his hair, so light now. He wonders if that’s just his hair or if he’s shed another weight by making this decision. 

They shout at the entrance. “Yiling Patriach Wei Wuxian! Surrender now and turn over the tiger seal!” 

He snickers, giggles as he plods forward. Their faces come into view, Jin Guangshan and his ilk, bursting at the seams with poorly masked excitement. Lan Xichen, smile absent for once. Nie Mingjue who’s got a set grimace on his lips but whose eyes shine. And...

Jiang Cheng. 

For a second he falters. For a second, Wei Wuxian thinks to step back and drown in the blood pool behind him. He sees his shijie, standing behind Jiang Cheng and smiling as she places her hands on his shoulders. Take care of A-Cheng, A-Xian. 

Jiang Cheng who he’s failed before too. Who he abandoned. He knows that, though he tried to deny it. It was for the best, he argued to himself. Jiang Cheng doesn’t need the Yiling Patriarch sullying his nacient reign. Jiang Cheng doesn’t need a brash, impulsive person at his side, unable to contribute because he gave up his core. Jiang Cheng who looks conflicted even now, all because of the choices Wei Wuxian has made. He’s put his little brother, no, his former sect leader into this position. 

A strained smile comes to his lips. “You’re here.” His words are meant for no one else, but they still see it fit to take his words for their own. 

“Surrender now! Don’t make this any harder on all of us.” 

He snorts, gestures a hand at the army they’ve brought. Harder for them? That’s the funniest thing he’s heard in a long time. He raises the seal and dangles it in front of them. It’s hilarious, the way their eyes follow it like animals begging for treats. They’ve never had to beg in their lives, have they. They don’t know what it’s like. Another funny thing.

He takes it in his hand again. Squeezes, even as it stings his barely sealed wounds. If they want it so bad, they can take it. He raises it high in the air, the energy screeching around him. It flows into the seal, making it burn hot. They look confused, rustling about with their swords. He forces energy into the seal until it’s unbearable to hold, to feel it drawing from him.

It’ll be over soon.

He throws the seal with as much force as he can muster and as it leaves his hands, the corpses surge forward, chasing it. The human forces bluster backwards, a few almost impaling themselves on their companion’s blades in their haste to get away. Jin Guangshan is screaming something but it all sounds hollow to him now. Nie Mingjue roars something in response, pointing Baxia forward. Purple flashes as Jiang Cheng unleashes Zidian and its motion is supplemented by the waves of energy coming from Lan Xichen’s guqin. 

Lan Wangji isn’t in the crowd he notes a bit late. He raises Chenqing to his lips one last time. Well, maybe he can play this last melody as a parting gift. It won’t reach Lan Zhan’s ears but he feels like he needs to play it. 

The tiger seal hits the ground and shatters into pieces. Shards fly everywhere, a few small ones rolling on the ground while the larger, sharper fragments embed themselves in some bodies, forcing resentful energy into their meridians. More resentful energy explodes, blowing cultivators in all colors back in every direction. Bodies, living and dead, fly in every direction. 

Wei Wuxian takes in the chaos, eyes seeking out only one person. Jiang Cheng bellows commands, protecting his own. He’s grown so much, become so mature. Wei Wuxian feels an inkling of regret that he wasn’t there to see it. But he doesn’t deserve to see it. But there’s some comfort in knowing that Jiang Cheng is just fine without him. He admonishes himself quietly; Jiang Cheng was always fine without him. He was never needed there. 

He raises Chenqing to his lips, breathes what will probably be his last. Jin Guangshan has run away. Nie Mingjue is starting to get overwhelmed. Jiang Cheng herds the last of his disciples into a corner and shields them singlehandedly with Zidian, Sandu flying remotely. He blows, a shrill note that stops everything. Even the resentful energy is frozen in the air. 

Will this be enough? He hopes it is. 

The resentful energy rushes back towards him, urged on by the song he plays. The corpses too begin to haphazardly pile back towards him, grisled hands outstretched and mouths eternally snarling. He plays even as the energy converges on him, pouring into his body until it’s overflowing. His eyes glow the brightest vermillion. He sees Jiang Cheng, just barely through the flurry of bodies, racing forward with Sandu unsheathed. Mouth forming words that he can’t hear or read. 

Wei Wuxian lowers his flute and closes his eyes. Hands tear at his robes, his throat. Energy ruffles his hair, forces air out of his lungs. It burns, quiet and dull. Maybe it’s the resentful energy, taking away his senses. He falls under the weight of energy and bodies. It’s not enough but this is all he can give to satiate their demands even momentarily. 

Even then, with everything he’s given up, it’s never enough. 

[deathgatesideblog]

Top 10 “Alfred Loves Haplo” quotes, ranked

When I made this post I promised a sequel and so here I am, delivering. Standard disclaimer, this is a (very) non-inclusive list, and also order is not to be taken too too seriously. Anyway. Onward.

10. Seventh Gate, Alfred almost kills people because he’s so worried about Haplo

All he’d been able to think of was killing. And he’d actually considered it! It’s this world, he decided, horrified at himself. This world of death where nothing is permitted to die. That and the battle in the Labyrinth. And his anxiety, his soul-wrenching anxiety over Haplo. Alfred was so close to finding his friend, and these—his enemies—were blocking his way. Fear, anger… 

It says a LOT about how effusive Alfred gets about Haplo that a quote about him literally almost killing a bunch of Patryns because he’s just that desperate to get to Haplo is the quote I put at the bottom of the list. Like. This is the dude that basically gave himself a handicap to avoid even the possibility that he would ever use his magic to hurt other people. (Unrelated, but you can’t tell me that Haplo wouldn’t be ridiculously into the fact that Alfred was that worried about him. Being so devoted to someone you’d be willing to kill for them has got to be a huge turn-on in Patryn culture, right?)

9. Fire Sea, Alfred heals Haplo

The circle between the two was truly forged, truly complete. And Alfred knew, with a feeling of overwhelming sadness, that Haplo would never forgive him.

I like this quote because of the sense of tragedy in it. Up til now, Alfred hasn’t exactly said that he’d quite like to be Haplo’s friend, actually, but there are a lot of mentions of how lonely he is, how he feels a connection to Haplo and refers to him as a friend before quickly thinking better of it, how he wants to believe that Haplo has good in him, and so on, and all of those leading into this moment where Alfred realizes he can’t let Haplo die. Alfred already cares enough about Haplo to follow Jonathon and Jera into danger to save his life, but more than that, he cares enough about him to be deeply saddened by the idea that Haplo will hate him for it. He just wants a friend, dangit!! That’s the tragedy of it!! Also, that’s not even touching the whole “forging the circle between them” thing. Which is… wow, that’s a thing.

8. Serpent Mage, Alfred makes a scene in front of the Council trying to talk to Haplo

Alfred was concentrating his attention on the Patryn and the dog, but he was also uncomfortably aware of Samah, who was watching the entire incident. Alfred recalled the words he’d just said to Haplo, realized how they must sound to the Councillor, foresaw more questions, more interrogation, and he sighed heavily. For the moment, however, none of that was important. What was important was the dog… and Haplo.

After almost a whole book of Alfred desperately trying to fit in with the Chelestra Sartan and knowing full well that Samah will be watching how he interacts with Haplo, the fact that this whole section is like. All Haplo really does is show up, look at Alfred, and Alfred does an anime blush, exclaims to Haplo about this blasphemous experience they had in the Chamber of the Damned, then realizes how much he screwed up only to go “well, getting the dog back to him is more important right now.” As its own quote it’s not all that much, but like. The context, man. Alfred knows what the dog is, more or less, and knows that it’s Very Not Good that Haplo lost it, and probably even has an idea of the significance of the dog picking him to come to, and in this moment, he decides that reconnecting Haplo with this piece of himself is more important than how he is perceived by the rest of the Sartan, including Samah, which has been his main worry for like… the whole book. That’s love, baby!!! And we’re STILL in the bottom half of this, oh God…

7. Into the Labyrinth, Haplo and Alfred (and Marit) hold hands in Abri

Haplo held out his hand– the hand that was powerful, tattooed on the back with blue runes. Alfred extended his hand– white, shriveled, with knobby wrists and thin bones, its flesh cold and clammy with fear. The two hands met, clasped, gripped each other firmly. Two people, reaching across a chasm of hate. At that moment, Alfred looked inward and met himself. And he was no longer afraid.

So like, obviously hand-holding, and also the FIRST hand-holding, and Haplo’s just called him friend for the first time, and Haplo’s friendship and faith in him giving him courage and confidence, and also just, like, them officially being Friends and that friendship bridging the enmity between their races, and the way the whole thing is such a Moment– to borrow Ana Navarro’s words: “The power that that has, the intelligence that that has, the clearance that that has, the access that that has, the influence that that has, the profile that that has, the international implications that that has–”

6. Fire Sea, Alfred feels a connection to Haplo

“But now we are strangers in a strange world– a world that appears to grow exceedingly more strange the deeper we probe into it.” Alfred appeared confused, almost shy. “I can’t explain myself, but I feel a… kinship to you, Haplo. Perhaps because of what happened to us going through Death’s Gate. I’ve been where you were. And I think, if I’m right, that you’ve been where I was. I’m not explaining this very well, am I?”

A great moment in and of itself, and all the better with @thatclumsysartanisbi​‘s observation that the word for “kinship” they used in the Hebrew translation can also mean “attraction.” Also great in that it mirror’s Haplo’s Elven Star quote about being strangers to the rest of the world, but not to each other. Also like, dang, who else remembers reading this for the first time and being as surprised as Haplo that Alfred isn’t viewing him as an enemy at all? That can’t have been just me, right? Like, it genuinely came out of left field for me, in the sense that I expected them to distrust each other and have to learn to get along, and here’s Alfred starting off by refuting that whole idea?

5. Seventh Gate, Alfred’s vision in the Chamber of the Damned

The Sartan’s face was handsome, strong, resolute — fine steel emerging from a forging fire. No doubts marred its shining surface; its blade was honed to a sharp, cutting edge. The young man looked familiar to Alfred. He could almost put a name to him, but not quite. Now he could. The man had been Haplo. Alfred smiled. “I remember the feeling of elation, of knowing that I wasn’t alone in the universe, that a higher power was watching over me, caring for me and about me. I remember that, for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid.”

This ties in nicely with that earlier Into the Labyrinth quote where Haplo is showing up significantly in moments where Alfred is self-actualizing. Haplo and his influence on Alfred is so so connected to Alfred’s feeling loved, strong, not afraid and not alone, and this isn’t the only time that connection is made clear. Also though, this quote breaks the top five because of the whole “Alfred gushing about how handsome and cool Haplo looks” thing, which is QUALITY.

4. Serpent Mage, Alfred watches Haplo sleep and touches his hair

Alfred settled himself beside Haplo, occupied himself by studying the Patryn’s stern face. He noticed that it did not relax in repose, but retained its grim, forbidding expression, as though nothing, not sleep, perhaps not even death, could bring perfect peace to the man. Moved by compassion, by pity, Alfred stretched out a hand to smooth back a lock of hair that fell forward over the implacable face. The dog raised its head, growled menacingly. Alfred snatched his hand back. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” The dog, knowing Alfred, appeared to accept this as a plausible excuse.

So looking back on this I’m not sure if a Hair Touch actually happens or if the dog stops Alfred before he can actually Hair Touch, but the intent is still there either way so I don’t suppose it matters much. I choose to believe the Hair was Touched though. Anyway, Alfred is terribly affectionate towards Haplo here, and it kind of makes me want to cry. He sees Haplo and knows how hard he’s had it and why he’s the way he is and wants Haplo to be happy??? Shut up I’m emotional. Also… this is that scene in Little Mermaid where Eric’s passed out on the beach after Ariel saves him, and she watches him and touches his hair and all that. Right? I’m right, aren’t I? I’m absolutely correct. Do I need to pull up a picture? I won’t, but. It’s that scene. He’s even got a fucking dog that shows up at the end of that scene. Like. Come on.

3. Seventh Gate, Alfred helps Haplo and Marit speak and also loves Haplo

Her love poured out from her. Haplo’s love flowed from him, and Alfred was the fine silk through which both passed. The tragedy of their separation grieved him deeply. If he could have given them ease by tearing himself apart, he would have done so. As it was, he could only be a poor sort of go-between. What made it worse was that he knew Haplo was speaking to him, too– to Alfred as well as Marit. Alfred, too, must find the strength to leave someone he had come to love.

If I can repeat myself: it says a lot about how effusive Alfred gets about Haplo that a quote where Alfred refers to himself as loving Haplo and compares that love to the love between Haplo and Marit without any qualification is only the 3rd top quote in this list. And seriously, the way he talks about their love for each other is so reverent. Their love for each other is as important to him as his own love for Haplo, which is a kind of love in its own right, that he knows how deeply they’ve felt for each other and suffered over it and how much he just wants them to be allowed to finally be happy together. It’s such a selfless, complete, pure kind of love, that Alfred sees them feeling so deeply and its importance to them makes it important to him, too, his only thought is to protect it, that his happiness and love is in their happiness and love. I don’t know how to put it, exactly, but… it’s not just that Alfred ships them, in this scene, but that it feels like Alfred becomes a part of that relationship, himself. Each of their individual relationships exist and are strong, of course, but this scene in particular has always been about the three of them as their own unit, to me, and it kills me, and is right up there with my favorite scenes in the series, and somehow it’s STILL only #3??

2. Seventh Gate, Alfred thinks Haplo is dead

Alfred knew he should say something, pay tribute, homage. But words were inadequate. What did you say to a man who had looked inside you and seen– not what you are– but what you could be? What did you say to a man who had wrenched that other, better person hiding inside of you outside? What did you say to a man who had taught you how to live, when you would much rather have died? Haplo had done all this. And now Haplo was dead. He gave his life for me, for the mensch, for his people. Each of us drew on his strength, and perhaps, unknowingly, each of us ended up draining a little of his life away. “My dear friend,” Alfred whispered, his voice choked. He bent down, rested his hand on Haplo’s, over the heart-rune. “I promise you. I will continue the fight. I will do what I can, take up where you left off. You rest. Don’t worry about it anymore. Farewell, my friend. Fare–” At that moment, Alfred was interrupted by a whuff.

Do I have to say anything about this? Can I not just cry about it? Anyway. Once again we have Alfred explicitly tying Haplo’s influence to him becoming stronger and more confident and “bringing him back to life.” Also more hand-holding and calling him not just “my friend,” but “my dear friend,” so now both Haplo and Marit have been “dear” to Alfred, which is nice. But yeah that’s all I’ve got because Alfred thinking Haplo is dead after everyone else he loved has died is too much for me, thank god for happy endings.

1. Into the Labyrinth, Alfred explains the meaning of his name

“Whenever you spoke to me, Haplo, even though you called me Alfred, I kept hearing Coren. It was frightening. And yet it felt good to me, all at the same time. Frightening because I didn’t understand. Yet good– you reminded me of my past, my distant past, when my friends and family were still alive. How could you do this? I wondered. Who are you? At first I thought you might be one of my people, but I knew immediately that wasn’t right. Yet you obviously weren’t a mensch. And then I remembered. I remembered the ancient history. I remembered the stories about the—forgive me—the old enemy.” […] “Now I know what my name means. ” “It’s just a name, damn it! It doesn’t mean anything. You said so yourself.” “But it does mean something—to me. You have taught me, Haplo. You even said it. Not ‘chosen,’ past tense. But 'to choose.’ Present tense. Everyone else has always made my choices for me. I faint.” Alfred spread his hands helplessly. “Or fall down. Or"—he cast a guilty glance at Hugh the Hand—"when I do take action, I forget.’” Alfred stood up very straight, very tall. “But now that’s different. I choose to be here, Haplo. You said you needed me. You made me ashamed. You had the courage to come into this dreadful place—for what? For ambition? For power? No. You came for love. The Labyrinth is afraid. Yes, but not of me. It’s afraid of you, Haplo. You have brought into it the one weapon it doesn’t know how to fight.” Reaching down, Alfred timidly petted the dog, stroked its silky ears. "I know it’s dangerous and I’m not certain how much help I can be, but I choose to be here,” he said softly, not looking at Haplo. “I choose to be here with you.”

Freaking. This whole scene. There’s just so much. 1. Alfred connecting Haplo to his true name– the name that only people who love him/who he loves are supposed to know– from the very beginning??? And that it felt good and that he was drawn to it?? Like either he means it literally, in which case soulmate shenanagins, or it’s more metaphorical, in which case it just sounds like Alfred just had a huge crush. Either way that’s A Lot. 2. Again, Alfred crediting Haplo’s influence for helping him grow as a person, but even More because he’s letting Haplo’s (mis)translation of the name he’s always hated reshape how he himself thinks about it? Can there be anything more intimate or romantic than that?? 3. Acknowledging that Haplo came back to the Labyrinth for love. Love that is so strong and so deep that the Labyrinth is afraid of it, even though Haplo is still semi-reluctant to admit that explicitly. But Alfred knows that’s exactly what it is, because he knows Haplo. 4. And then, combining those last two points: Alfred deciding his choice is going to be to stay with Haplo and help him fight the Labyrinth. With his own love as a strength against it, presumably. The fact that he doesn’t just stop at “I choose to be here,” but repeats himself to clarify that “I choose to be here with you.” What the hell. How romantic is that? Alfred, who has been so unsure and unconfident, finally beginning to figure himself out and realizing that the place he belongs, the place he chooses to be, is with Haplo, trying to help him rescue his daughter and save his people? That feels like a marriage vow?? Help? 5. Remembering that he says all this before Haplo has even explicitly admitted that he considers Alfred his friend. True names, according to Alfred, are told to people who love you and who you love. So it wasn’t just that Alfred loves Haplo, but that even without Haplo saying it, Alfred apparently was confident that Haplo cared for him enough for him to tell him is name.

Anyway, I feel like I gushed about these quotes a lot but Alfred is just… too much for me, he cares so much and I love him.

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 19

Table of Contents Go to first. Go to previous. Go to next.

Drugs, decomp, insects/parasitism, myiaisis, emeto, myso, copro TW’s. I’m pretty sure this is the grossest thing I’ve ever written. Enjoy

Skin tight hypoxia gripped Melancholy’s scalp. He wheezed for breath, jerking upright in a coughing fit of salt and rancor. Face still coated in a thick grime, his eyes and nose burned almost as bad as his lungs, and he pulled off his glasses to claw the muck off his face. A rasping coughing fit seized him, only for his stomach to lay out its objections to his activities right into his lap. Everything crawled inside-out with haptic echoes of a phantom myiasis. His diaphragm continued to spasm, adding hiccups to the mix of torture.

The second time he vomited, blood spotted the rejection.

“Fuck, it took you long enough.” Jared snatched him up by the back of his collar and threw him into an office chair. He jammed a shop rag into his hand with bitter, mocking pity. “Does the chemist need some water?”

“--’Zhemoy,” ‘Choly choked out, breathing still unsteady. “I could have-- I could have died.”

“But you didn’t.”

A jar of water found the chemist’s hands, and he immediately without hesitation squinted his eyes and mouth taut and poured some of it down his face. He then poured out a bit into the other side of the rag and did his best to work the ordure loose. Unable to smell anything but the penetrating musk of brahmin dung, he distrusted his ability to gauge the safeness of the water he’d been handed, and did not use it to try to drown the hiccups. Once he got his eyes rid of enough rheum-muck, he opened them, and used the remaining water to wash off his glasses. He dared not look to Jared, to confirm his appearance.

“Look, chemist. You’re going to retain your value to me. I’ve invested too much in you. What’s a more potent dose than the raw source itself? I watched you just now, writhing like the insect you are. That had to be the most intense flight I’ve seen in my life. --Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

‘Choly trembled and shook his head, wringing his hands in his lap and feeling very small. Attentive flies crawled all over him, and diligent maggots did their best to rid his clothing of grime. He squinted his eyes shut and tried his best not to fall into hyperventilating.

“Please, no. No--”

“Do you at least know where you are, you little fuck? You’re sitting in my office. At my terminal. And you’re not going anywhere until you write down everything that you just experienced.”

He slowly picked up his head in the direction of the desk, and stared hollowly at the computer screen. Loathing overwhelmed him in the moment and he shrank from the terminal with a low whine, only to force himself to square up to it, and shrink away, several times. At last he put his glasses back on his face, and recognized at least his hiccups had resolved.

Jared glared at the back of his head until he was goodly confident ‘Choly was committed to the journal entry.

Flies. Flies on everything. Cleaning everything. Righting it all. Devoted. Diligent. I don’t know where they’re coming from. Are they coming from Jared? Jared’s face... He became the largest bloatfly I’ve ever seen. Drooling, adamant mouthparts. Piercing compound eyes. His bloated body teemed with lichinka. Ready for my supplication. Everything was so tight. Flesh sluicing from my belly as they wriggled out to crown my pudenda like a coronation of sex. Appetent. Purifying. Perpetual. Purulent. I was so purulent. But I wouldn’t be for long.

They took me with them when they transfigured into mature bloatflies. A piece of my consciousness arose in each of them, a cloud of rapture. I was present in everything, humble to debride the world of its entropy. Multiplying in a golden mean forever. Everything could be clean.

Sweat drenched him in hard loathing, and he heaved as he saved his draft. He couldn’t get more explicit than that. It hurt his head too much to try to put to words what he had seen. Every time he took Jet, it seemed the conjugating theme was maggot therapy. This was the first time it had brought him a genuine state of entheogeny, and he rubbed at his upper arms in displeasure of coming down from it. Everything felt so... lifeless as the halo of activity faded away. His head hurt. His everything hurt.

In the time it had taken for him to compose the journal requested of him, he found that Jared had excused himself. The wheelchair was still out on the assembly line floor, and divorced of it ‘Choly couldn’t muster the faculty or energy to get himself to it. And he was a combination of too tired and too filthy to simply doze off. So, to keep himself entertained, he turned again to the terminal, only to realize that Jared had left it logged on as the administrator.

He’d never read Jared’s journals before, and he wondered if anyone in the outfit had. Absently biting his lip refreshed the rancid tang that stained his face, and he flinched. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Jared wasn’t even out on the foreman’s mezzanine that overlooked the assembly floor, then went into his journals. He jumped around basing his choices on the titles of each file, and began with one called ‘Setting Up Shop.’

Gunfire’s finally quieted down. Suppose that means either Lonnie or Gristle wiped up the last of the feral ghouls or they’re currently serving as someone’s meal.

But Lexington is secure, I can finally get to work.

Well, ‘Choly thought, somebody sure became the ferals’ meal in the Super Duper Mart. They didn’t look at all the part to belong to Jared’s outfit, though. He opened ‘Subjects.’

It’s not the chems.

They’re just a trigger for the sight. It’s me. I’m the problem. Wish I’d realized before my arms looked like pin-cushions, but at least it’s a new lead.

I need subjects.

The chemist squinted. Jared really did believe that psychedelic drugs could make people legitimately psychic. But injections? 'Choly thought all this nonsense revolved around Jet, an inhalant. ‘Walden’ came next.

The pharmacy across the way lit up like Christmas last week. No clue how that fucker got in my town without anybody noticing, but color me impressed that he managed to restore electricity to that place. I had Jerry case the building, top to bottom, and every way in requires either a key or a password. We’ll have to arrange a little rooftop meeting next time our little showman comes up on the roof to dole out chems with his--rifle? That still slays me.

The part that really gets me is, my outfit tells me he’s in a wheelchair. I’ve only ever seen one other person in the Commonwealth use one. It can’t be a coincidence. I have to talk to him.

Skimming a few more entries, he got a few laughs out of confirmation that Jared didn’t genuinely hate him. At least, not before today. Most mentions of him in Jared’s journals involved wanting desperately to flip ‘Choly’s ‘vision’ the ‘right direction.’ Then there was ‘Experiments Continue,’ and his face slacked.

Still no successes but the rumor of free chems has brought plenty of new recruits. Ranks are nearly back up to where they were before we cleaned out Lexington. Lonnie thinks entertaining the chemist is a waste of time, says we need to spend our time building up our defenses.

But Lonnie doesn’t make the decisions. I do.

She does seem to be enjoying her new position, though. Maybe another dose of Psycho will get her visions firing.

‘Choly’s hand went to his mouth at the mention of cyclomorphine, and he sank back in his seat. Jared had access to Psycho, and was trying to jog hallucinations with it as he’d done of the Jet. The raider leader had told the chemist he’d had no interest in branching out into other drugs until they’d done comprehensive work with Jet first. Knowing what Jared had told him before this most recent trip, had the raider simply gotten impatient without any results yet, or was something more sinister taking place here? Holy God how did he get his hands on that stuff... He hadn’t wanted to find anything compelling, incriminating or otherwise, and he pressed on, haunted, with the most recent entry: ‘Stumped.’

Nothing is working. The old woman, she used to just huff some Jet, pop some pills, then she’d start babbling, spouting vision after vision. And they all turned out true. The Raiders burning the town, killing the parents, stealing the kids. Stealing me. I remember the look in her eyes when she saw my fate. “Kid, you’re gonna be a monster.” All true.

If I could get that sort of power, that sight, the Commonwealth, the other gangs. No one would have a prayer.

But nothing’s working. Maybe I need to try upping the dosages. I’ll have to talk with the chemist and see how potent we can get.

“You’re gonna be a monster,” he mouthed, his soul flying from his body.

There was no other explanation in ‘Choly’s haunted grey matter, than that this soothsaying junkie had seen ‘Choly’s hallucinations of Jared becoming a bloatfly. Of course Jared’s interested in developing psychic abilities for power alone. Of course he is.

'Choly backed out to the main screen, and returned to the ‘Melancholy 8′ entry from the holotape in the disc deck, so the terminal would be open to it. The more rational explanation was that this woman had indicated a monstrosity of character, but ‘Choly just couldn’t quit the thought as he reread what he’d written. Context meant everything. Over... and over... and...

“Hey, chemist, you’re still at it? Fuck, you’re taking forever.”

‘Choly jerked in his seat, snapped out of his lucid horror by Jared’s return.

“I, yeah. Yeah, I’m done.” He looked to Jared, to find him still entirely human, and he sighed out his relief a little too readily. The raider had brought the wheelchair, folded up. Pushing away from the desk in the rolling chair, ‘Choly began, “I very much hope this stuff doesn’t come true, and very much hope it’s ridiculous that it ever could.”

Jared leaned down to skim what ‘Choly had written, and his features alternated from hardened to ridiculous. He barked a laugh and slapped ‘Choly in the head, only to continue laughing, almost in tears.

“You are a horny little fuck...”

“I haven’t gotten any in over two centuries.” He let out a small laugh, realizing he’d inadvertently referenced facts which had precipitated Jared’s prior behavior. “I suppose that has a lot to do with it.”

With a delirious sigh, Jared smiled at him and gesticulated emphatically as he spoke next.

“I’ve been thinking, and I have to ask. In some of your other journals, you’ve talked about using some pistol in the same way you use your rifle. A... Nagant? I know it’s total bollocks that you’d have these... bloatfly maggots or whatever you hallucinate every time. Those things are like a dick joke. Having ‘em in the gun’s like, a metaphor for fucking everything under the sun or something. And you getting intimate, up close and personal, with that thing. Real raunchy. ...Is that a real gun you’re talking about? Or is it a vapor just like everything else in that fucked up little head of yours?”

The chemist straightened, and thought how to reply as he slowly wrung his hands in his lap.

“I... yes, and no. The gun is real, but the ammunition and its ability to fire them aren’t.” He stopped making eye contact. “It’s a Russian revolver I found, some vet’s war prize I guess. Takes 7.62′s, but fuck if you’ll ever likely put your hands on any. I can’t think of any regular issue American guns that use it, and the military only let vets have the weapon itself as a trophy--the ammo itself was considered contraband. I only really know the basics when it comes to actually breaking down and futzing with the mechanics of a firearm, but I suppose it’s... entirely plausible to make it work like my syringer rifle.”

Jared squinted at him, unsure whether ‘Choly was being an idiot.

“You can’t put darts in a pistol, revolver or not. Just the combustion in the chamber will destroy it.”

“The Nagant... is different. It’s a gas-seal revolver. It fires the ammo through air pressure, and relies only partly on combustion. I would imagine there’s a way to rig it to rely completely on a pneumatic mechanism. 7.62mm isn’t too far off from the ammo a syringer rifle uses, either.”

“Where is this... Nagant.”

‘Choly made a funny face and shook his head in a vague confusion. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like Jared was trying to confirm facts about a Jet journal.

“I have it stored someplace safe. What, why?”

“I’m very good with metalworking equipment, and very good with firearms. Been playing around with the assembly plant amenities for close to a year, and I grew up in Quincy. You’ve seen how good I am, from how we cooperated putting together the Jet rig. I could take a look at it. And I could probably make it happen. Give it ammo it can use. Make it proud again.”

‘Choly stiffened, recalling that Jared’s journals indicated he had access to Psycho--at least at one point--and he couldn’t imagine a worse outcome. But gradually, his judgment got the better of him and he nodded, then nodded eagerly.

“I’ll bring it tomorrow. So you can look at it.”

The moment the words came from him, he regretted it. And yet, Jared seemed more pleased with him than he’d ever been. With his help ‘Choly transferred over to the now unfolded wheelchair, and Jared escorted him down the mezzanine ramp to meet Angel.

“My stars you’ve gotten most filthy, Mister Carey!” Its tendrils flailed about in utmost concern before taking up the handles and motoring him along. “Shall I help you bathe upon arriving home? I scarce would think you could scrub all that away on your own.”

As they exited, Jared called out after him, “Melancholy! Don’t you forget your promise.”

He shot Jared an o-kay with one tired hand, not looking back.

“Angel, I... I think this warrants a dip in the river. We’ll stop at the pharmacy for the toiletries, I guess.”

“But Sir, you’ll be soaking wet all the way home. You haven’t come across a change of clothes. I should know. You deserve a freshening up.”

“I... have a change of clothes,” he began, almost reluctantly. “Don’t worry about that much. It’s in your storage compartment, actually.”

They fell silent the rest of the way back to the Lexington Walden, to limit any likelihood of stirring unwanted ghoul attention. On the way to their pit stop, all ‘Choly could wonder was whether Jared were more pleased with the journal entry, or with the promise of a new toy for his inhumane scheming... and he couldn’t help but wonder why he was so attentive to gain the favor of this abomination.

He’d given Melancholy everything he could have wanted. But at what price?

Go to Next »»»

[skeletordraws]

Or something

“Pinky! To your left!”

The afterimage of an arm hurtled towards her in a large arc, smashing into the concrete ground as the pink hero shifted her feet to change her body’s direction. The acid under her feet fluctuated, increasing her speed to dodge just as her opponent’s arm freed itself and made another mad grab for her from the front.

“Ashido!” came another, closer, shout. “Duck!”

Mina skidded her acid skating to a halt and made to cover her head as she crouched down into a defensive position. She hissed through grit teeth, fearful she made the wrong split-second decision; but when she didn’t immediately feel pain, she wheezed out in relief.

A screech rang out above her, and her head whipped up to see what stopped the onslaught. Red filled her vision as her chest swelled, breath sticking in her lungs.

“Kirishima!”

Her fellow classmate’s quirk was activated and clashing fiercely with the villain’s heavy limbs, Kirishima’s face twisted in both concentration and determination.

“Get out of my way,” the villain seethed in a low, menacing growl. He had a good foot or two in height on the teens, and the way he bore down on them striked an intimidating figure.

The large man aimed his scowl past the boy in front of him and drove straight into Ashido, spiking her adrenaline enough to scramble to her feet once more.

“Thanks, Kiri!” she huffed, putting a hand on his hardened back for a second as a sign of gratitude before throwing herself back into it. She slipped under the villains oversized and obviously powerful limbs while he was locked in a stalemate with Red Riot, though both students knew it wouldn’t last long.

“Is the civilian safe?” Kirishima yelled, his voice giving away his struggle to keep the guy in place.

She quickly checked to make sure the woman she had saved not two minutes before from the man’s rampage was a safe distance away, then turned towards the man’s back.

“Safe and sound!” she responded loudly. The villain let out an angry roar at that, growing increasingly rabid in his attempt to make the spiky redhead let go of his fists. Kirishima winced when his thrashing bent his own arm in a painful way.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to be violent towards a-”

Ashido pounced onto the brute’s back, causing a yowl of rage to escape his throat as the acid on her boots bit into him. “-Lady!”

Massive flailing arms rounded on Ashido as they tried to snag her, like someone desperately trying to bat a bug off their back. She clung on to him through his twisting and turning, making sure to distract him.

He spun around in an almost comical fashion, giving her a chance to yell to her classmate.

“Kirishima!” she hollered, desperately needing his attention to make this work. She needn’t worry, though, for her friend’s entire attention was on her, albeit very panicked.

“MINA!”

A muscley hand wrapped painfully around her ankle then, immediately making her blood run cold. “Drive him back! Do it!”

Seeing their foe drag Ashido from his back to dangle in front of him, the image of another similar situation bubbled unbidden into Eijirou’s mind. A time where the same girl in front of him now was in terrible danger, yet back then his legs had refused to cooperate to save her. He had failed.

This time, he forced his skin to harden to its maximum form, Unbreakable, and charged forward. He would not be a coward again. He wouldn’t fail. Wouldn’t fail her.

With a loud warcry, he connected with the man’s middle, catching him off guard with no time to retaliate. He pressed forward, driving the man’s form back, though only by a few feet.

Those few feet were all they needed.

Ashido’s acid had melted away at the ground behind him, giving him no traction under his giant, uneven body. He lost his footing and in a last ditch effort to retain balance, let the pink girl go.

“Oh, sh-!”

She had no time to right herself in midair and braced for a face full of asphalt, until a pair of sturdy and clothed arms caught her just before hitting the ground.

A crumbling sound caught her ear as she looked to see what happened with steroids-gone-wrong.

They waited as the dust settled with held breaths, but the outcome of the short yet intense battle was in their favor. It seemed his weight had worked against him alongside Ashido’s acid, and he ended half submerged in the rubble his landing caused. His roars of anger no longer shook the air, replaced by police sirens getting louder and louder. She heaved a sigh of relief.

The chest below her did as well. She blinked and turned her head away from the fight scene and came nose to nose with her fellow crime fighter, Kirishima. His arms held her in a secure grip, almost clutching her bridal style to his chest.

Noticing they were practically sharing the same breath, he leaned back very slightly to put some semblance of distance between them. He didn’t make any move to put her down, though.

“Are you alright? You pulled some pretty gutsy moves out there!” he both questioned and complimented. She grinned and moved one of her hands from around his neck to show him the victory sign.

“I’m fine, I’m fine! That was pretty awesome though, huh? I wasn’t sure how it was gonna work out, but luckily I had you there!” Ashido put her hand back around his neck, neither really putting a lot of thought into what they looked like at the moment. She giddily bounced a bit in his arms. “That form was super cool! It’s the first time I’ve seen it in action!”

The young male hero’s cheeks warmed up at the compliments and showed off his sharp teeth in a grin of his own.

“But that was really manly of you, Ashido! You saved that lady from being trampled by that guy; you were so fast I almost couldn’t keep up!” he gushed. Ashido giggled at his praise.

Police had filtered onto the scene by this point, subduing the criminal in cuffs and chains built to keep his strength and mass at bay. They quickly led him into a police truck, taking him away with little effort. An officer walked up to the two standing off to the side, pulling his notebook out after letting an emergency vehicle pass him. He quickly got their statements, checked their provisional hero licenses, and congratulated them on doing a great job.

“Oh, and if your partner is injured, you can take her to the ambulance right over there,” the officer pointed in the direction of said vehicle.

“Injured?” the two asked at the same time.

The officer looked at them a bit perplexed. Only then did Kirishima realize that he was still holding - no, cradling - Ashido in his arms.

“OH, uh, yeah, I’ll just-”

His cheeks burned as he quickly moved to put her down.

A hiss of pain slipped out of her as she put weight on her ankle, reminding her of the meat claw that guy called a hand snatching it roughly during the fight. She leaned back into Kirishima for support, who had wrapped an arm around her shoulder in worry.

“It might be good to get that looked at. I can help you over if-”

Before the policeman could continue, Ashido was once again scooped up into Kirishima’s arms, this time being held protectively tight against himself.

“I will take care of her, sir! Thank you for your hard work!�� the spiky boy said, then gave a respectful head nod before quickly taking off. The officer could only scratch his head at the overzealousness the kid oozed, but quickly chalked it up to youth and went on to the next civilian to get a statement from.

Kirishima delicately placed Ashido on the edge of the open ambulance cab. As he straightened, he noticed her face seemed a bit more pink than her usual skin tone, but didn’t linger long enough to be sure.

After looking around and asking for an EMT to look at her, he sat beside her patiently as the swollen ankle was bandaged up. They sat in relative yet comfortable silence. Once the emergency responder gave her the go ahead and moved on to another person, Kirishima jumped up beside her before crouching down.

“Climb on! I’ll be careful not to jostle you,” he said, looking back and giving her a light hearted expression. Mina’s face lit up, and she happily leaned onto his back and wrapped her arms loosely around his neck once more. The thought ‘I could get used to this’ flickered through her mind before he righted himself and adjusted his hands under her thighs.

They chatted idly while they made their way back to their dorms. After about 20 minutes of walking, give or take short breaks when civilians recognized their hero outfits, they were able to reach U.A.’s Class 1-A dorms. Ashido sent a text to Ochako and Tooru to meet them in the common room so her and Kirishima could head back to their separate rooms after they walked through the entrance. She shifted on his back to put her phone away, waiting in the common room.

“So…” the girl started, leaning back and playfully swinging her legs. Kirishima craned his neck to look at her, not sure if he liked the teasing tone in her voice. She met his eyes and smiled coyly. “Did I hear you say my first name earlier?”

Choking on his spit, the startled boy turned his red face in a desperate attempt to salvage his composure. That had caught him off guard, her suddenly asking that. It wasn’t that weird, was it? It was in the heat of battle, right? He’s not sure why he yelled her first name, it just rolled off his tongue in that moment. That was it.

At least, that’s what he thinks.

He cleared his dry throat before answering her. “We-well, I.. that dude was totally gonna, um, I just wanted to warn you! And, I just, yeah.. I mean! Since we went to middle school together, I just thought, uh. Was it- was it that weird?”

He stumbled over his words, not able to pick a definite answer to stick to. The feel of her thighs under his palms suddenly scorching him through her hero costume was not helping, either.

Footsteps coming down the stairs could be heard, drawing his attention away for a second. His muscles tensed, trying his best to ignore the feeling of her pressed up against his back again.

A sigh of relief left him quietly as Ashido slid off carefully. Then, she circled to his front and peered into his face. He blinked, unsure what she was thinking of him at that moment. Maybe she really didn’t like him calling her so familiarly?

“I liked it,” she said smiling, almost as if reading his mind. “You should call me that more often!”

Then she kissed his cheek.

He looked at her dumbly, cheeks cooling a bit from earlier, as she turned to her two friends just coming from the stairs. They both fussed over her, asking what happened and taking each of her arms to help her towards her floor.

Before disappearing around the corner, Mina leaned around Ochako’s brown hair and gave Kirishima a dazzling smile and wave.

“Thanks for saving me earlier, Eiji!”

He stood there for an entire minute after they left, rooted to the spot as if his feet were glued there.

Midoriya walked in from the entrance with a shopping bag and spotted his red haired classmate frozen in the middle of the room, scuffs and dirt on his hero costume. “Kirishima?!” he worriedly called, rushing to his side to check on him.

As if snapping him out of his daze, the young man fell to a crouched position and held his flushed face in one of his hands. His ears now matched his hair color.

In the background, his freckled classmate could be heard making a fuss and asking if he had a fever or something.

“Or something” was right, Kirishima thought. He groaned into his palm, grinning.

[perfectlyrose]

Up In Flames (2/10)

Summary: In the year since they decided to become a team, John Smith and Rose Tyler have made quite the names for themselves as Team TARDIS, bank robbers extraordinaire. Newspapers the world over run headlines about The Doctor and the Bad Wolf and their latest heists. They’re practically unstoppable.

Then their world spins to a halt with a phone call. Jack’s in trouble again and a formidable enemy from John’s past has emerged from the shadows to try and destroy the bank robbing couple once and for all. Will they be able to survive this new threat intact or will the life they’ve been building together go up in flames?

A sequel to Watch it Burn, a Nine/Rose bank robbers AU

Word Count: 4202

Rating: Teen

Note: So you know John’s Mysterious Past(TM) ? Well you finally get to find out some of it :)

Read here: tumblr // ao3 // tsp // ff

Rose fell asleep on the relatively short flight to Seattle, the retreat of the adrenaline that the heist and the subsequent phone call had sent storming through her had left her exhausted. John smiled down at the top of her head as she let out a soft snore from where she was using his shoulder as a pillow.

He envied her the brief respite of sleep. Rose could sleep anywhere, especially if he was around to watch her back, and she always managed to just go out like a light when she decided she needed some shuteye.

It was not a talent he possessed. He could go days without sleep or with just quick snatches of sleep with minimal side effects but he could not fall asleep on command like she could.

John didn’t know why he found it so endearing that she was able to do so.

He waved off the flight attendant who stopped to see if he wanted a beverage or anything and then sighed, looking down at his partner once more. He had seen all the unasked questions simmering behind her eyes ever since the phone call had ended. All of those were going to come out as soon as they found a place in Seattle and John was in no way prepared for them.

Their pasts were a topic they both carefully avoided, choosing to focus on matters at hand, on them and what they were building together. Sure, they dropped in little tidbits that hinted at covered up pasts but it was mostly just about personal preferences or a snapshot of an experience they wanted to share with the other. The big picture was always left obscured.

He dragged his hand down his face. How the hell was he going to tell Rose what she needed to know without revealing the whole sordid story?

John trusted her, he did, more than he ever thought possible. Trust, however, was not the reason he was still hiding his past. There was blood on his hands that he didn’t want Rose to know about, that he couldn’t wash off, things that he had done that he wanted to keep shrouded in the darkness of his past instead of bringing them out to examine in the harsh light of the present.

For some reason, Rose still thought he was a good man underneath all of the layers he’d built up and he desperately didn’t want to watch that faith in him die, didn’t want to see the light that always shined behind her eyes when she looked at him go out -- and it would go out -- when she realized that she had been wrong all along. He wasn’t a good man. He had made himself into a monster with a bloodstained soul years ago and then had disguised it under an almost infinite number of masks, trying to hide the truth from the world and from himself.

It had always been just a matter of time until Rose figured it out.

He just thought he would have more time.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They got as far as dropping their bags in the extended stay hotel room they rented in Seattle before Rose turned to face him, determined look on her face and arms folded across her chest. His time was up.

“So you going to tell me who the man on the phone was, then?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. She figured diving straight into it was going to be less painful than dancing around the topic.

John swallowed hard. “Can we sit? This is likely to be a long conversation.” He gestured towards the little table in their suite that was just outside of the kitchenette.

They sat, facing each other over a corner of the table. Rose bit down on her bottom lip, nervous about pushing for this conversation but knowing that it needed to take place.

“The phone call?” she prodded when John remained silent.

He let out a deep sigh. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“You recognized the voice of the man who was after Jack, yeah?”

“I did and it’s really bad that Jack’s in his clutches.”

“Figured that out on my own,” Rose said. “Tell me about him? Who is he?”

“Goes by ‘The Master’ most of the time. Or he used to. I would guess he still does since his ego’s bigger than his sense and he likes the power trip. He’s a talented hacker and all-around criminal for hire.” He pressed his lips together in a hard line. “He’s a genius with no conscience. He enjoys inflicting pain. Doesn’t hesitate to kill people if he thinks it’s necessary or just because he thinks it will be fun or profitable.”

“Sounds like a piece of work,” Rose hazarded when he trailed off.

“He is,” he responded flatly.

“Does he have a name to go with this bio?”

“If he does, I don’t know it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Really? You know all of that but you don’t know his name? You generally try to know everything.”

“I don’t know his name, Rose!” John ran his hand over his face in a frustrated motion. “Look, we were, for the lack of a better word, partners, a long time ago but we didn’t use our real names and he never shared. I knew him as the Master and by his other code name of Koschei and I’ve stumbled across a couple of his aliases over the years but that’s it.”

Rose felt a curious sinking sensation in her chest as she parsed through the vague bits of information he was offering. “When you say partner do you mean…” she trailed off, gesturing between the two of them.

“No. Not like us. It wasn’t anything like us and I won’t make the comparison,” he said quickly, recoiling at the mere thought of comparing what he and Rose had to the time he had spent with the Master.  “And there was definitely no romance, so don’t go thinking that that’s what I meant by partner either.”

“I wasn’t!” Rose protested.

John just gave her a look.

“Fine, yes, I was thinking it,” she admitted. “Thanks for clarifying.”

He softened a bit, a rare bit of vulnerability glinting in his eyes as he reached out and rested his hand on hers. “He wasn’t even really a partner, it’s just the easiest word to use.”

Rose gave a one shouldered shrug. “Just thought the two of you being involved would explain a lot about your reluctance to get involved with me at the beginning.”

“I was never reluctant about being involved,” he protested, voice caressing the final word.

Rose snorted, taking her hand back to cross her arms over her chest as she leaned back. “You weren’t reluctant about getting me into bed but you so were reluctant about being involved.”

John conceded the point with a nod. “But there was nothing like that with Koschei. We weren’t even friends really. Not any more than we had to be when working side by side non-stop for a few years.”

He saw the skeptical tilt to Rose’s mouth but she didn’t say anything.

“I mean it,” he insisted.

“Okay, I believe you!” she responded, putting her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “What else do I need to know about him?”

John stared at her, mouth slightly agape. “You’re not going to ask me about why I was working with him or what we… what I did?”

Rose shrugged again. “You can tell me when you’re ready, if you’re ever ready. I’m not going to push you for more than what I need to be able to help save Jack.”

She paused and reached across the table for his hand before continuing. “I can’t even imagine having to dredge up my past and spill everything just because someone popped back up again and started causing trouble.” She shuddered. “Alright, I can imagine it and it’s terrible. I’m not going to make that worse for you just to satisfy my curiosity. And I am curious, for the record.”

Rose smiled at him, trying to ease some of the tension between them.

All John wanted to do in that moment was kiss her in gratitude, with all the love that he had yet to voice. He wanted to pour everything into a kiss that could make them both forget about their pasts and their current situation and focus on them for a moment.

He wanted to kiss her and, as far as he was concerned, there was no reason for him not to. He moved around the table and then leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing the question of what he was doing right off her lips.

He gave her a series of light kisses, savoring the simple sensation of their lips sliding against each other. Rose wasn’t interested in being as patient or deliberate as he was though. Using her grip on his shoulders as leverage, she pulled herself into a mostly standing position, trying to goad him into taking the kiss where she wanted it.

John smiled into the kiss when she let out a frustrated noise as he refused to open his mouth to allow her tongue entrance. He rotated them around, still holding off her attempts to deepen the kiss, and sat down in the chair she’d vacated. He pulled her down with him, eliciting a squeak from his lover as she tumbled into his lap.

As he’d expected, she wasted no time in rearranging herself so that she was straddling him and then diving back into the kiss. This time he let her coax his mouth open and he sighed happily when her tongue swept inside. It didn’t matter how many times they’d done this, she still sent shivers down his spine and sparks rushing through his veins every single time.

John retained control, keeping the kiss slow and deliberate despite Rose’s continued attempts to escalate it. He readjusted the hand he had threaded through her golden strands, changing the angle of the kiss slightly.

Rose nipped at his bottom lip and he responded by sweeping his tongue into her mouth. They were always playing this game, wrestling for dominance whether it was during a heist or a thorough snog.

It was always exhilarating even as it was now familiar.

John slowed the kiss, running his hands down her sides to rest on her hips as he pulled away. He rested his forehead against hers, just wanting to be close to her for a little bit longer. He knew they were about to face down the toughest obstacle either of them had ever encountered and he didn’t know if they’d both make it out alive, much less together.

Rose had taught him how to hope again and he was hoping with every atom of his being that they would make it through all of this together but he wasn’t going to take a single second with her for granted either.

Rose seemed to sense the change in his mood and her touch turned soothing, hand on his shoulder and thumb rubbing softly over his collarbone through his jumper. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before climbing off of his lap and taking the chair that had been his earlier.

“So, where do we start?” she asked.

“You’re always the one with the grand plan,” John responded. It was true, Rose had a gift for putting together a plan and thinking through all the different contingencies and potential obstacles and opportunities. He wasn’t half bad at it himself but Rose was better.

“Well, first thing we need to do is figure out where he is and where he’s holding Jack,” she mused. He could practically see the gears turning in her mind as she started to turn the problem over like a puzzle box she needed to solve.

“He usually bases himself in London, at least for something this big.”

“You know that for sure?”

“I’ve seen his fingerprints on crimes in the area in the past couple of years so I know he’s still there and drawing us back there is definitely his style.” He thought for a moment before divulging another piece of information that he’d been holding onto. “He was involved in the Agency job.”

“He was what?”

John winced at the growing anger on her face but it was still better to tell her now than keep it a secret for any longer.

“I didn’t know it when we broke into the Agency but when we pulled our first bank job I recognized his programming in the bank’s computer security and the safe deposit box that the flash drive was in was under one of his aliases, Harold Saxon.”

“And you didn’t think to share this until now?”

“It wasn’t exactly relevant until now and now I’m telling you!”

Rose took a deep breath and let it out. He was right. There was no reason for him to really share this until now and she’d known back during that first bank job that there was something about the security and the safe deposit box that he wasn’t sharing, she’d just forgotten about it.

“You’re right,” she said aloud. “I’m just on edge.”

“We both are,” he replied, accepting her unspoken apology.

“Alright, do you think that this has something to do with the Agency job, then?”

“It has to,” he said. “If it didn’t, he would just be coming after me, not after both of us. Involving Jack makes it even more likely.”

“So the question is, does he know that you’re the Doctor? Is he coming after you personally or just professionally?”

“I can’t tell. He might suspect it’s me based on how I took down the bank security but I doubt he knows for sure.”

Rose was silent for a minute. “We should probably assume he knows who you are. But you know him too so we can use your familiarity with him and his methods as an advantage.”

“Always looking at the bright side,” John quipped.

“One of us has to.”

Rose tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “If you know your way around his systems, can you access them remotely to see if they have any useful information like his location or bits of whatever he has planned?”

John shook his head. “He knows my handle and how I work. If he suspects it’s me he’ll have blocked my normal ways in. Probably blocked them anyways just to be safe. Would take longer than we have for me to hack in, especially with only the laptop. Plus, he’ll know the second I’m in his system. He’ll be waiting.”

Rose bit her bottom lip, considering their options. “What about that other hacker you were talking to last time we were in London. Oswin or something like that, yeah?”

“Clara. Her handle is Oswin.”

“That’s the one. Could you contact her and see if she can get into the system? I remember you saying that she worked a lot differently than you but was scary good.”

John stared into the middle distance over Rose’s shoulder as he mulled it over. “She could probably get in if I was distracting him at the same time. Keep him from noticing that she’s slipping in the back door.”

“Sounds good. Why don’t you try and get in touch with her? I’ll talk to some of my contacts back in London to see what the scene’s like so we know what to expect when we hit the ground since that’s our likely destination.”

“We’re going to have to leave as soon as Clara gets into the system. He’ll be able to backtrack my signal and get our location since I don’t have my normal equipment to mask it.”

“Okay. We’ll be ready,” Rose said, getting up from where she was seated and cupping his face in her hand. “We’re gonna take this bastard down.”

John didn’t say anything, just let out a slightly shaky breath and closed his eyes.

Rose pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, ran her thumb over his stubbled cheek in a quick caress and then walked away, knowing that he would want to be alone to get himself back in control. She gathered her laptop and the mobile she’d bought at the airport when they landed and set herself up on the hotel bed to get to work.

John listened as she started making calls, recognizing the posh accent she used on occasion and the fake enthusiasm she was exuding as staples of her on the grift. She must not be talking to someone she trusted.  He should really start working too but his mind kept drifting back to the last time he’d seen the Master, back when he knew him only as Koschei.

“Target in sight. Two minutes to mission completion.” Koschei said into walkie talkie before glancing over at John who was watching the target through a scope. “I’m ready to get out of this hellhole. They should really send us to nicer places to kill people.”

“We do things other than kill people,” John said shortly.

Koschei rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we scout out people that they then send another team to kill. Don’t get all idealistic on me again, Theta. You know I hate that.”

“Have you ever thought about getting out? Leaving all of this?” John asked, finally glancing away from his scope.

Koschei was looking down his own scope now, sighting the target. “Well we get shit pay for this so I’ve thought about peddling my considerable talents elsewhere.” He activated his mic and began talking to their handlers again. “Mission commencing in three, two, one.”

He squeezed the trigger and a mile away the target fell to the ground.

John didn’t watch the target’s last seconds through his scope. This wasn’t what he had signed up for when a special forces unit had recruited him out of high school. They’d fast tracked him through his degree path with a few other handpicked prospects. Had pulled him out in the middle of his doctoral program and dropped him in some godforsaken desert with the other recruits to be trained.

They gave them codenames that weren’t names at all, just designations designed to make them forget they were people. John was Theta.

They’d all realized how deep they were when their first comrade died in training and their handlers didn’t skip a beat.

There were those who seemed to enjoy the ruthlessness and blood a little too much, who always volunteered to go first in the violent training “games.” John stayed as far away from them as he could, worked on swallowing down the bile in his throat whenever he ended up with hot, sticky blood on his hands, whenever the metallic scent hit his nose. He was doing what he had to survive, to try to keep at least a small piece of his soul intact.

He made it through camp without being responsible for another recruit’s death but only barely.

By the time they left training and started being sent on missions, only half of the recruits remained.

The organization paired him with Koschei, a recruit from the camp before the one John had participated in. The other man trained Theta further as they went on missions, didn’t complain or report it when Theta tried to avoid killing people himself, just took over the wet work himself.

John tried not to think about the fact that Koschei was probably one of the recruits who’d taken  a little too much pleasure in camp activities. As it was, he and Koschei were partners for the foreseeable future and something akin to friends most of the time.

John flinched out of his memories when the report of the rifle sent shockwaves through their carefully chosen sniper nest. He didn’t need to look through his scope to know that someone else had just hit the ground to never rise again.

“What the hell, Koschei?” He burst out, reaching out to wrench the sniper rifle out of the other man’s hands. “The mission was a single target, you didn’t need to take out anyone else.”

“It throws investigators off when they have to figure out who the main target was,” Koschei argued, narrowing his eyes.

“You don’t even know who you just shot.”

“We never know who we’re shooting, just that we’re supposed to take them out. Stop being such a bleeding heart.”

“I’d rather have a bleeding heart than not have one,” John retorted hotly, moving to quickly unload and dismantle the rifle.

Koschei snorted in response but didn’t say anything else.

That night, when they were back in a bunker operated by the organization, John’s mobile beeped. He rolled over in the narrow bunk to read the message that had come in. It was Koschei’s mission report. John had hacked the system back at the very beginning of their partnership and had rerouted all mission reports to go through him first before they were sent to the handlers.

His heart sank and then started racing as he skimmed the report his partner had written. It contained a summary of all the times John had refused to kill a target, the instances where he had purposefully let a mission fail and the ones he had let Koschei complete even when he was instructed to do it himself. It contained information about their argument today and his expressed desire to leave the program.

It ended with a recommendation to the organization to take him out, permanently.

As quietly as he could, John gathered what little supplies were at hand and used his training to sneak out of the bunker. He had no clue if he would survive long enough to make a life outside of the living hell that was the organization when it would actively try to hunt him down for defecting, but he had to try.

He made his way across a barren stretch of land that smelled of stale dust and smoke and freedom. His heart felt lighter than it had since the organization had plucked him out of his flat in Oxford three years ago and he almost didn’t care that he was likely being hunted already.

He was free and he was never going back to that life again.

John took another shaky breath and stood to make tea, hoping that it would calm his nerves even if he did have to make it in the microwave since the American hotel didn’t provide a kettle. Koschei, or Saxon, or the Master, or whatever the hell he was calling himself these days was not going to make him run again. He braced his hands against the counter letting his head fall forward as Rose’s voice from the other room washed over him.

This time he had something he was willing to fight for and he damn well wasn’t going to let Koschei take her.

He had to assume that this whole ruse of taking Jack and luring him and Rose in was a way to get back at John for abandoning the organization, for abandoning him. It didn’t matter to Koschei that he had tagged John for removal, it mattered that he’d left without a word and John hated that he still knew a bit of how the Master’s mind worked.

He’d crossed his path a few times in the years since he left, always online in hacking circles. He and Koschei had been the organization's best cyber operatives. When they weren’t out on scouting missions or wet work missions, they’d been assigned hacking jobs together. He knew Koschei’s tricks as well as he knew his own and he’d recognized him immediately whenever he stumbled upon his work. It had been a bit of a shock to see the Master’s handiwork at the bank during the first heist with Rose. John still didn’t know if Koschei had been working for the Agency or if he’d just contracted with them for that job.

He knew the other hacker could recognize him a good portion of the time as well and there was a gnawing worry in his gut that the Master had Jack and had found them because he’d recognized John’s hacking as being the same as Theta’s. If he thought about it too much, he knew the guilt would cripple him.

He had no doubt that Koschei was still looking for him even though he no longer worked for the organization that had brought them together. He was not a forgiving person and John could only assume he’d continued on down the destructive, bloody path that he’d been on when they parted ways.

The microwave beeped, letting him know that his water was hot and he moved almost mechanically to start preparing his tea.

It would be easier to take Koschei down if he was just a psychopath bent on revenge, but John knew it wasn’t that simple. The man was as brilliant as he was deranged and it made him more than dangerous.

John didn’t know how to beat him and that scared him more than anything.

[athoriaevents]

Tournament SWP - Live Discord Event #2

Tournament SWP Weapons Competition #2 Porter vs Derek 

THE SETTING FOR PART II: 

The competition ring retains a new sanded landscape from an Earth Mage when Remy and Graham leave the arena. Everyone stays excited from the last contest, food is being passed around, and drinks have now consumed the crowds in a thunderous clap for the next two competitors to enter. It's impossible not to feel a part of something far greater than one's self. 

King Nathaniel appears at the edge of his seat in equal excitement; he rises when the two come out.

"My Kingdom!" Nathaniel decides to speak, rising with a fire in his eyes towards the two vampires, the entire area quiets. The mood in the space grows just as the King's hands lift upward. 

"Let the match -- BEGIN!"

emery-

Derek Ryder enters the ring with two matching battle axes in his hands. The energy surrounding the ring is overwhelming, yet he remains stoic and does not allow it to encompass him in weakness.  He had spent the previous night alone in Dragos looking out over the swollen King's Bay, debating on whether or not to make an appearance for the weapons competition. But he shows up, and there is a fire that is fueling his need to win.

z the :vampire:-

It was almost as traditional as the tournament itself that the people left standing in the end games were supernatural in nature. He wonders if anyone else finds this odd. Wonders if they assume it's rigged. Assume, as he dances with the thought making way into the ring, if it was a minstrel for humans to gawk over and little more. Why else the coincidence of his opponent? He steps into the whole affair with twin blades in either hand and a roll of his neck muscles. The energy of the people in the stands as they cheer and rally is vibrant enough to dampen his sensory for a moment, but perhaps he should give credit where credit is due. Having Derek opposite of him is daunting, and as the Elite breeches the gap between them with a smirk on his face, he is forced to remember how damning it was to have the elder deny him training so many years ago. Did they truly have to fight? Was this not all a great jest?

emery-

He is...dumbstruck. And Porter looks the part of a God; shirtless and heroic, monarchical with power and exploiting the desire of confidence, and prestige. Derek finds a sound extracting from his throat...a small gasp, or painful sigh of potent realization. That this was bound to happen. That they were meant to find each other again. And that the fate and folly of humans had been the ones to put them together after so many years of being estranged. He grips the handles of his weapons; such human instruments that will serve little purpose in the end. As Porter walks towards him full of swag, Derek lifts his chin...never wavering from his stare. Emotions flutter and threaten his exposure; he tunes out the surrounding crowd that are cheering and chattering. He is unable to speak as Porter meets him face to face for the first time in thirty years.

cassiel-

Kali looks over at the match ending, and realizes that she missed it all. She chances a glance towards the King and something heavy rests in her gut, lost love always hurt. "Will you kiss me?" she whispers as if its a secret. "Before I must go--"

emery-

Benjamin chugs his ale then wipes his face with his tunic. He feels slightly buzzed. "I WANT TO SEE SOME BLOOD!"

madii-

"You and I both." He said as he downed his drink

z the :vampire:-

How long had it been since they saw each other last? He had lost count. Or rather, had willfully stopped counting. But the memories flooded back. Good times, and bad. Laughter, and bittersweet resentment. The blood trail left in Brailston but a month or two ago now. How was he meant to greet this elder? To look at him? How was he meant to cut his brethren down as though he were a stranger? Those eyes of Derek's bore into him with the lift of his chin, but Porter's own dark gaze did not waver. He stood firm. Patient and steady. He gripped the hilts of those daggers a bit tighter. Clenched his jaw a bit harder. Until at last, almost beside himself, lips parted. "Derek." That's all he could manage before he felt a lump forming in his throat. He choked it back. Swallowed thickly. Made a point to mask the emotions that threatened to consume him. The Elite raised his own chin. Looked down his nose at the familiar face, and took his stance of ready.

cassiel-

Phillip is looking on edge now that he sees who is out there.

emery-

Benjamin leans over to Tristan. "Your dad is really scary but don't tell him I told you that okay,"

cassiel-

"this is a bit of a surpise--" Phillip says to himself, suddenly overwhelmed with the energy of the two."(edited)

hannah-

After changing into civilians clothes Remy figured she might as well catch the fight. See who she would be going up against, and what they were like. Heading up into the stands she heard people's chatting and whispering behind her back. She wanted to get away from that and Bens familiar face was enough for her to head his way. "Seems like you are enjoying yourself" she smiled

madii-

Tristan let out a laugh at this. He had heard his father was scary, but he'd never seen it. "He won't hurt you, promise. Big ole pup, that one." He chuckled, patting Benjamin's back "But your secret is safe with me"(edited)

sorabora/Jade-

She nodded, a shy smile on her lips as she wrapped her arms around the girl and pulled her close. Nervous butterflies filled her chest, like she was back in the library, just a girl with a crush and magical dreams. Jade ran her fingers up the girl's neck to play with those red locks of perfectly combed hair. And with a desperate whisper against pink lips, she fell into a soft nostalgic embrace.

emery-

Benjamin sees Remy and waves her over. "Hey! CONGRATS ON YOUR WIN!!!!"

madii-

"Forfeit hardly makes that a win. Win by merit and I will congratulate  "

hannah-

"Thank you" she smiled happily. The more she thought about it the more excited she got at the idea of getting to compete. But the two guys now fighting seemed like they were going to be hard competition.  Turning towards the other guy who spoke up she shrugged her shoulder, "It is all winning by someone forfeiting. But I know what you mean, not exactly how I wanted it to end. But I will hold you to that congratulations if I win by merit then" she smiled taking a seat next to them

madii-

Smirked, somewhat surprised by the answer. Perhaps he would not turn his nose up at this woman so quickly

emery-

Porter addresses him, so he addresses back. “Deserter,” Derek is not usually one for quick wit or snark, never being able to find it in him to care enough to purposefully take jabs to hurt feelings. Perhaps the humans he has spent time with over the last several months are rubbing off on him; the sarcasm, the jokes, the laughter at nothing funny -- the forgiveness. Derek is stubborn. When he looks at Porter he can only remember his back walking away from him, taking the Havens, bowing to the human king. He breaks eye contact to meet the gaze of Nathaniel -- the boy king, the child king. Will he be worth it? Will he be able to bend his knee as Porter had for Franco Athor? Derek’s lip twitches at the thought. He dives into Porter’s mind. ”Tonight I will remind you what it feels like to be defeated.” In a blur of supernatural speed, Derek lunges for Porter’s heart.

cassiel-

kali couldn't help but wrap her arms around Jade's shoulders, to savor something so beautiful and sweet-- especially when she was always giving and not often enough receiving anything so perfect. She is determined to stop crying, to not make it so messy with her tears, but the feeling in her chest swells with so much happiness she can only sigh, pulling back to separate their lips and smile. "Loved me still? No ones ever said such things to me since you--"phillip chain smokes and is squeezing some random human who he pulled into his lap like a teddy bear

emery-

"Remy, this is Tristan. Tristan...this is Remy. Isn't she beautiful!" He pushes them two together and catches Phillip out of the corner of his eye again. He looked...sad, confused? "Here, you guys chat. OH PHILLIP????"(edited)Benjamin is buzzed from the ale, and starts to stumble his way to his strange vampire friend. He snatches another ale from a passerby. "Are you okay?"(edited)

madii-

*Tristan stammers at Benjamin but not fast enough. Before the drunk is gone and he is smushed against the 'winner'. "Tristan. " he said simply, extending a hand. *

sorabora/Jade-

Jade laid her forehead against Kali's, gently stroking her red hair and savoring that familiar scent of bookish knowledge and wildflowers. "Please see me after the competition?" She nearly begged.

z the :vampire:-

The word stings, but only briefly. 'Deserter' was a far cry from truthful. After all, had he not offered him a chance at his side? Had he not offered the old creature a place among his new life? Of equal footing. Equal status? Had he not gone to him endless nights to bother and pester, wishing and begging for the brute to dissolve himself of his stubbornness? The deserter here was not Porter. It was that flagrant ego that weighed his friend down. That made progression, for him, an impossibility. The Elite had resigned to this fact what felt like ages ago. That Derek was never coming to Brailston. That he would never bend the knee to the boy king. But it was only just yesterday that hopes had heightened once again. That the glimmer of what could be had been mulled a possible reality, when he had seen those dead bodies in his city's streets with the stink of his eldest friend all over them.

In the back of his mind, he could hear the whole of the Congregation shrieking with fervor. Their collective worries boomed like thunder in his skull, distracting him just enough for him to have almost missed the lunge to his heart. But time for vampires was but a toy to play with; he focused hastily to slow it down for himself. To catch an axe with his own blade and swivel out of the way. Leave, he begged to Phillip in his mind. Take the others and fuck off. I can't focus. A growl seeped from his lips as he stared at Derek for a second. Maybe two. Then at last he used both hands to drive the weapons forward, in the hopes of catching the brute off guard.

cassiel-

phillip smells the sweetness, and peers up, his chin is hooked over the humans shoulder who he is quite literally squeezing and holding, "Mr. Royston, ahh I'm not, this wasn't how it was suppose to go--" his voice wavers a second until he gasps at the lounge for Porters heart.(edited)

emery-

Benjamin sits besides Phillip and chugs more ale. "Is that your friend? He looks scary. Why do all supernaturals look more scary than me? Am I too scrawny? Do you think reapers can build up some muscle mass?"

cassiel-

phillip wonders if this outcome either way will make him cry. he hates the feeling, how those red tears dont seem to come out of his skin as easily-- this is just-- his thoughts are torn from the chatter from Benjamin, and the distraction is welcomed. "Can you do anything too your body to give you muscles?

emery-

Four blades of steel clash in blurs and sparks. Though to the two powerful vampires, the fight is articulate and at a speed fit for the sight and sound of the undead specie...to the untrained eye, they are but a tornado of sand and movement, speeding across the ring like a cyclone across the dangerous Trinity Bay. Derek feels his skin piercing in unpleasant places, sees the blood stain the glass sand on the ground a deadly and grotesque hue of crimson. But he heals quickly, adrenaline coursing through his entire body as he pushes forward, egging Porter on to fight harder, to not hold back. Anger is swimming across the surface of his exterior now. ”You never came back!” He’s pinned Porter against the wooden wall of the arena. One of his axes is lodged in his thigh, the other having been thrown to the ground sometime before. “You called me your friend? You called me your BROTHER?! You left me there!” He pushes Porter against the wood. “Why did you never come back for me?”

z the :vampire:-

The silver of the weapons sears through him like a hot knife through butter. But every attack is fleeting, lasting but a few moments, and the both of them heal themselves swiftly. Porter's are, of course, a little more slow to get there. But in the duration it takes for another blow to land against his skin and sever its way in to his body, the others have begun the process of healing outright. Blood stained sand drags heavily as it is whipped around them like a crimson cloud catching up to the duelers. The more they push and fight back, the worse of a hit the other provides. Til they are bruises and slow-healing welts. Til they are littered with adrenaline and unresolved pain. He can all but taste the anger from Derek. As a blood trail trickles down his eye from a gash to his forehead, and the wedge of an axe's blade finds its way into his thigh, he could feel that anguish as if it were his own. 

The sneering way Derek barks at him would make a lesser man cower in his own skin. But not Porter. He had a point to prove. Something to gain should he win. Something that might finally click in the base primality of his friend's mind: everything that had led him here only served to make him stronger. So he shoves him back, dropping his weapons altogether in the process. "I was tired of fighting a lost battle with you, Derek!" With all his strength he lunges forward and tackles the male to the ground, freeing the axe from his thigh and impaling it into a shoulder. "Your stubbornness is a plight. On you! On everyone! It weighs everything down, and I didn't want it!"

emery-

Porter’s words cut through the tough exterior of Derek’s skin and mind. They tease at places within his glamoured and forgotten humanity that allow him to feel regret, and remorse, and allow him to take blame for his own actions. For so long he has been alone; tending to the mountain, surviving from the travelers that crossed between Leeds and Miervaldis, chasing away nuisance vampires and ignoring the pleas and cries from the humans inside the cages...ones that he fed well, washed and kept alive for weeks, months. He knew the moment that he turned Annika that everything would change. Even now, his back pressed against the bloody sand and Porter veering over top of him...something changes. He is tired as well. Tired of running, tired of pretending that he enjoys his life...he is tired of worrying about Annika alone in Crescent Grove tending to Brightview Farm without him. She isn't safe. HE isn't safe. It is why he came here, to Athoria, in the first place...to find safety for her. 

To become a better maker...for her. Derek breathes heavily through dead lungs and closes his eyes. They are exhausted. The skin on his shoulder is attempting to heal around the silver of the axe. It rubs against his bone, sending shocks of pain down his left side. 

“My progeny...” Derek is suddenly embarrassed, and ashamed. His hand grips at Porter’s bicep. “I need her to be safe...I need...” Derek is struggling internally. His mind flashes with memories of the past, of abandonment from his human family, abandonment from the Original -- his maker, and abandonment from Porter, his best friend...He wants so badly to break through, to release himself from the torture of being unforgiving, and of moving on. 

“Help me,”

z the :vampire:-

He digs the blade a bit deeper, until he can hear the bone below it begin to wane with the pressure, and see the way those muscles sever to burn and smoke. The scent of charred flesh plumes around them, tickling at the vampire's nostrils. He inhales staggering and shaky breaths, letting the polluted air of sand and skin settle at the floor of his decaying lungs. Exhaustion is a reality that he cannot simply tear himself from. But he can see, plain as he once saw the sun in the skies, that it were becoming the same for Derek. 

Dark eyes flicker for a moment. They falter between the wound pinning his friend to the ground, and his face as it is washed in this sort of... embarrassment. Progeny, he mutters, and the Elite nods in slow response. It is jarring to hear the pleas being uttered from him. They tug at the strings of Porter's heart. And of course they would. Derek knew too much of him. So much that perhaps the only ways to make this all stop were to remind him of own lost past. The humanity he had left behind. The wife he had given up. The child he had abandoned somewhere in Crescent Grove. As though they had meant nothing at all. He had, once upon a time, wished for them to be safe. But after all these years, he was merely searching for something to fill their void still left in his dead heart. 

There's a shake of his head as the Elite tears the silver axe from his friend's shoulder and staggers forward to stand above him. He never wanted any of this; not the blood around them, staining the sands. Not the breaking of Derek's voice as he spoke solemnly of Annika. But he wasn't going to lose. 

"Bring her to Brailston, brother. Bring her to me. Yield, and end this."

emery-

He cringes as the axe is removed, but he is deserving of the pain. Derek lays there for several long seconds as the reality of his surroundings refocus to a staggering halt. How long they had been twirling inside the ring, fighting and breaking bones, flaying skin...how long had they been but smudges against the night air, using unnatural energy to move faster than the human eye could muster. And now the crowd around them is silent; a ghostly hush that falls against the darkest of nights as they wait in anticipation of the final result. It is as if they all know that this moment is more than longing for glory and treasure...it is significant...something tantalizing and unspoken. 

Derek meets Porter’s gaze and allows himself to feel everything now. He nods softly and thinks to himself, ’This is for the best...this is for Annika,’. 

He forces himself to submit. 

“I yield,”

z the :vampire:-

The hush from the stands weighs heavy. The world seems to idle frozen with pause in that moment. Enough for the crickets abroad to be heard singing in the forests. It is this sort of deafening quiet he had read about in stories as a boy. The kind he never imagined himself to experience. But it lingers over them as their eyes meet... 

Every slight movement of his is stumbling and difficult, but he manages to extend a hand out to Derek whilst the other kneads and caresses over bruises still yet to have healed properly. 

I yield - and the crowd goes wild. A frenzy of applause and hysterical cheering erupts like the crackling of lightning, but it is only that defeated expression that his friend carries that Porter can focus on. He drowns out the noise; the over eager crowd, and the Congregation whooping in the stands. Until the world is silent again for him. 

He lifts Derek up and pulls him close, letting his weight lean on himself to bring his lips to his friend's ear.

"Thank you."

emery-

King Nathaniel is at a loss of words, and is unsure how he feels about the competition, and Porter winning. He had never seen vampires at their full capacity before...it is startling something inside of him...