#there's layers to this. i promise. i just need to gather them. in the mean time: pizza!

[yakny]

"As your heir, as the immaculate inheritor of the blood of the Morning Star, Verner the Enlightened, and as your vessel, it is to I that the Order has sworn their absolute loyalties. The Chivalric Order of Knights you've created for peace's sake no longer answers to you, and soon enough, this land will not either."

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

09 Edging

Zhongli x Reader / NSFW / Zhongli is a cold-hearted meanie in here, but you deserve it for being a flirty little brat / Possessive Zhongli / Filthy smut because the prompt demands it

Your beloved was such a polite and considerate man. Everyone who was familiar with him held that impression, including you. Mister Zhongli was always soft-spoken, always fair, always generous with his praises and compliments, giving credit where due.

So naturally, it would come as a surprise to be proven wrong. Although his tone would always remain gentle and patient, his actions would show you that this man was capable of being the cruelest bastard in all of Teyvat if he found a good reason to.

Alright, so maybe you had brought it on yourself. Maybe you deserved to be reminded that your beloved was the archon of Liyue at one point and authority was such a familiar thing to him. Nobody dared to cross him, intentionally that is. You, in all your misguided confidence, decided to not only ignore his request to keep your distance from a particularly charismatic guest at the gathering, but proceeded to flirt with them right in front of his face. Now, Zhongli was never outwardly a jealous man. You'd have to dig deep, peel back quite a few layers to get there. Tonight, with just a few careless words and a bit of wine, you had managed to awaken that slumbering dragon in him.

"Please… please, I need…" You choked on your words, begging like you had never begged in your life.

"I was under the impression that you could do without me, dear. How come you are going back on your words?" The cruel gentleman asked as if he hadn't just denied you an orgasm for the fourth time.

You grit your teeth, panting and heaving like you had just fought and lost a battle with an impossible opponent. Frustration was a form of arousal, you found out after he pulled out the first time. Each time he put a stop to your impending climax, the next one came with an even more vicious urgency. Your heart would beat so frantically, it felt like it would explode as your back arched off the bed.

"I was wrong!" You wailed, crying and sobbing as if you were truly ridden with remorse. "Please… let me have it… I'll be good! I promise! Z-Zhongli!"

"Dear. Look at you. If you had heeded my words, I would not have to resort to disciplining you in this manner."

"Please…" You whimpered as he continued to exert punishment on your swollen, overstimulated hole.

"Poor thing." He cooed, reaching out to tidy your disheveled hair a bit. "Do you want it so badly?

Zhongli leaned over you, close enough for the tassel dangling from his ear to tickle your face. You nodded desperately, eyes glassy from crying so much.

You were so tired, so frustrated. His constant edging drove you delirious with need. Your voice was hoarse from all the begging and whining. Your body shook as he drove into your wet and waiting hole, pumping in and out with brutal strokes. There was no more need for gentleness and patience. You want him to fuck you deep and hard until your mind becomes incoherent mush. Then perhaps you could momentarily forget how mean he was being to you.

"Please… please… Just let me come…"

A steady stream of pleas spill from your lips, mingling with his shallow breaths and grunts. You throw your head back, words replaced by whimpers. He brings you so incredibly close, you could almost taste the sweet release.

Just when you're about to tip over, the feeling vanishes. Your slicked walls clench helplessly, but he's already pulled out. Tears roll down your cheeks as you sob uncontrollably. Your mind was still a complete mess, unable to comprehend that another orgasm has been snatched from you. All you can do is lay there underneath the cruel bastard, crying like the tortured little thing you are.

Zhongli's conscience finally returns. He kisses you softly on the forehead and whispers apologies into your ear as you catch your breath. Very slowly, he reenters you. Your poor hole had been abused all night, puffy and raw despite being drenched in your slick.

"Are you alright, my dear?" He asks you.

"No." You replied, voice coming out halfway between a whine and a sob. "Are you going to let me come this time?"

He chuckles, placing another kiss on your tearstained cheeks. "It seems you've learned your lesson. I have no reason to further punish you."

You wrap your arms around his neck as he fucks you slow and deep, lips finding yours as he works up a gradual pace. Your breathing gets short and your lips part to let out a high pitched moan. Zhongli groans as he feels you clenching needily around his cock. This time, he intends to bring you all the way to the finish.

"Heartless." You huffed in between moans.

"I could say the same about you as well, my dear. You can be quite insensitive when you have one too many glasses."

Zhongli pins your thighs against your body as his cock impales you over and over. Whimpers spill from your lips as he drives into you at a maddening pace.

You tremble as the familiar sensations begin to wash over you. Pleasure clouds your mind like a thick fog. Everything stills for a split second. All the pent-up frustration and tension culminates into a single, tight coil that comes undone all at once. Convulsions rake your body as your walls cave around him.

Warm cum floods your insides, seeping out and soaking the sheets beneath you. Zhongli pulls out with a groan, cock drenched in cum and slick. Thick ribbons of milky white spilled from your hole, some of it still connected to his cock in glistening threads.

Turned out you weren't the only one tortured tonight from the amount of cum still leaking from his tip. How he managed to last this long, you didn't need to know. All you needed to know was that you should definitely watch your alcohol intake from now on, unless you wanted to purposely invite the wrath of a very jealous, very possessive god.

[hyunjilicious]

First time with shy and insecure Felix??? Only if it's ok! Thank you!

🥺🥺 this was very adorable to think about!! I'm not sure about how it turned out tho, I hope it's decent!

Warnings: none really, it's very soft!! just unprotected sex, and also a brief description of oral (f receiving) (SMUT) 1k

Puffy and swollen, his lips parted softly to allow a low his to rush past them. His eye brows gathered together, here and there covered by the little strands of hair that fell prey to the layers of sweat that coated his forehead - his cheeks were red, burning hot to the touch, and his breathing matched his distressed expression.

“Easy, it’s ok” you cooed, cupping his face into your hands.

His innocent eyes snapped up and met yours, looking absolutely helpless and completely at your mercy. “Mhm,” Felix licked his lips and nodded, “Ok”

“Here” you said and guided on his hands to your hip, “Guide me, show me how fast you want it”

Now, he may have known exactly what he wanted, but overwhelmed as he was, even such a simple task as this one made his breath hitch in his throat. “Ok…”

Seeing the terrified look in his eyes, you softly pressed your lips against his, “It’s ok, baby, I promise”

But was it really? God knows he dreamed of this moment for so long, that he imagined every little thing over and over again, every single little detail every time he got the chance, but now it was different, unimaginably better. And there you were, sweet and patient, fully composed and calm unlike him, and the fact that he already felt like he was about to burst the second you straddled his hips, wasn’t of any help. Right now, you weren’t moving and he dreaded the fact that any second now you’d start rolling your hips and he knew he'd be done in the blink of an eye.

“I didn’t-” he cringed, “I didn’t think you’d be this tight”

You grinned, “You like it?”

“I’ll cum if you move” he said shortly and it made you giggle.

“I can stay like this for a while if you want” you pecked his lips, “Or I can make you cum… over and over again, you tell me”

Felix opened his mouth to speak but then stopped abruptly to wipe his forehead, “Fuck, I just- I didn’t want to cum this fast”

“Why not? I can’t wait to feel your cum dripping out of me” your words got to him more than you thought they would, translated into a sharp buck of his hips up into you and a soft, little moan against your lips.

“I don’t- I don’t want to be one of those guys that just- just like… I want it to feel good for you too”

“First of all, just because one of us cums, it doesn’t mean that the fun has to end. And second of all-” you grabbed his hand and guided it between your bodies. The very subtle movement of your hips made him cry out in pleasure, his cock slipping halfway out of you. His eyes widened - another thing he didn’t know would rock him so hard - the sight of his glistering cock, drenched with your juices, disappearing between your folds. “Should’ve probably let it show more, but I thought that if I pretended to be calm and unbothered it would help you relax. I didn’t think I needed to tell you, but it feels very good for me too, Lixie. Filling me up so good”

With his chest shiny and rapidly traveling up and down, Felix looked up, “Promise?”

“I promise, baby” you smiled.

He then fervently nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat, “Ok, then”

Again, you grabbed his hands and placed them on his hips, “Guide me”

His touch was feather light, he wasn’t doing much - not at first at least. But you did your best to follow his lead and slowly started rolling your hips against his, the friction making your eyes flutter shut just as you cupped his cheeks and kissed his lips.

The deeper the kiss got, the more confidence he had - his fingers sinking into your skin, his cock rock hard and ready to coat your walls at any second. But despite running out of air at a dangerously fast pace, he didn’t want to pull away from your lips, his tongue just becoming greedier and greedier until, despite his best efforts, he just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck, fuck, ok-” he panted, his forehead against yours, “I’m gonna-”

“Come on” you cut him off, picking up your pace, and fucking yourself down on his cock, “Cum inside me, baby, come on”

You rode him throughout the entirety of his high, feeding on the way your name rolled off his lips along with little moans and guttural grunts of pure pleasure, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. You kept going until he met your eyes, and then progressively slowed down until you reached a stop. 

With an orgasm building in the pit of your stomach but still not close enough to be chased right away, you savored the feeling of his cock pulsating against your sensitive walls, his cum dripping down your cunt, and his heaving chest against yours. 

"How are you feeling, Lixie?" you asked, rubbing his lower lip with your thumb. 

"So fucking good" he chuckled, as if in disbelief, and then kissed your finger. "I love you so much"

"I love you too, baby" you said, kissing his jaw, and you remained like that for a couple of more moments, before finally pulling away. "I, ugh, I'll go clean up a bit"

Swiftly, his eyes traveled down your body, to your parted legs and to the way his cum coated your pussy and slowly dripped out. "Fuck, you look so hot like that" he sighed.

Without saying a word, you brushed two of your fingers along your cunt to gather as much of his cum as you could. Felix watched you wordlessly and couldn't help but blush when he saw you stick your fingers in your mouth and suck, "You taste so good, Lixie!"

"Can I?" he blurted before he could stop himself and the second you nodded yes, he went for it. 

Arms wrapped around your thighs as they rested on his shoulders, he got lost between your legs, his lips instantly pressing to your cunt and his tongue diving right in. 

It may have been sloppy, and he may not have known what he was doing, but after stopping a couple of times to ask for instructions - which he followed to a T, he drove you to one of the most liberating orgasms of your life, leaving you absolutely nothing else other than a moaning, panting mess under him.

[mamamittens]

Every Fold a Wish

This is my piece from the Marco Zine, not related to Spooktober, I promise! For the rest of the fics--and even artwork!--just click the link provided above!

Also, I swear I didn't mean for it to be so sad--the original plan was goofy shenanigans and maybe ending with Marco trying to throttle Thatch when he cracks a joke about his little paper cranes but then...

well, this happened!

Oh, and here's a link to the fic specific artwork for it by @luna-orix, it's a wonderful take on the Big Scene in lovely color and style!

Word Count: 2,757

Under much pressure, Marco would have to confess this all started a very long time ago.

Back when he was still a deckhand sorting through musty maps littered with ink blots that barely passed as navigation tools. Their contents were downright illegible at best, but did well enough as teaching tools for what not to do. Over time, as they were passed from hand to unsteady hand, the parchment became worn. Rips becoming tears and holes until the only thing keeping them in one piece was hopes and dreams.

What to do with such a well loved piece of parchment?

Tossing them seemed almost an insult. And making them into paper again, while an interesting task, was usually not worth the effort. The ink bleeding and dying the usable parts darker and darker. Until it was good for little else but tissues. Marco had done it a few times just for something to do between tasks. The paper drying in the press able to be left for hours if needed. And he did hold a fondness for the old parchment made new again. But it was still not terribly useful. The ink needed to be even darker, or chalk but it smeared something terrible at the slightest touch.

In all fairness, he didn’t start with the worst off pieces.

A kind, older nurse with weathered hands and a gentle smile showing him the way. Every crisp fold building up to a new, enchanting shape. Even money could be manipulated. A cute way to leave a tip, if he was so wanting. And something to do with his hands.

And he kept doing it too. Starting with his clumsy, childish fingers. Baby fat clinging to his digits as he used his bitten nails to scrape the edges clean. Until they started to even out, habit and hard work turning them into slender, calloused tools of his trade. A little treat for himself as he learned the medical trade. It was good, to know that his hands could create even if he could not heal the hurts in others. A small comfort for himself after his patients fell asleep holding his hand, yearning to not be alone with their sickness.

He got some flak for it over the years. Always teasing remarks about how cute he was being. Little flowers and fortune tellers a popular demand when a particularly mischievous brother or sister was bedbound. And Marco would sigh. Teasingly remarking on their ungrateful attitudes even as he was plied with gifts of decorative paper for his little hobby.

They decorated his office shelves. Tucked in corners and atop the spines of medical texts. Peeking behind picture frames or marching along the windowsill of Oyaji’s room. A cavalcade of shapes in a rainbow of colors and prints. Every so often one would be found covered in layers of dust somewhere forgotten and returned to him with a wide grin. Laughter echoing down the halls as Marco racked his brain to remember when he made it.

Officially, he had no favorite paper craft. No beloved origami he had mastered over the years. Just as he had no favorite sibling.

But, if his family had the wherewithal to gather every one of his little treasures from over the years and fill up a room or four with them, there would certainly be an obvious contender.

Starting with the very first one he made with a crooked wing, crumpled lightly from the very hand that had taught him so long ago.

“I saved this one for last, boyo. Hope is… so dangerous to have on the high seas. Without it, you’ll never truly live. But too much and you’ll be too drunk to survive. And this little fella? This is what he’s all about, in a way. They say a thousand paper cranes, each folded with love and care, can grant you a single wish.” She whispered to him softly, guiding his hands over the worn map of some distant island lost to time. “Make as many as you want, it’s important to remember what it means to live—to wish. But never forget the work that goes into them. Wishing—wanting—that’s not even half the journey. Admitting you want something bad enough to dream is but the first step. After that, you still need to fold the paper. And fold it over and over again until it’s fit to fly. And then? And then, little Marco, you need to do it again. Until you have a flock a thousand strong. It can’t be done in a single day. Most won’t have the patience to do it in a lifetime. But one little crane at a time…”

She never finished that sentence.

She sighed, leaning against the pillows of her bed as Marco finished his first little bird in the palm of her hand. His own cradling the bird between their palms and she squeezed gently. Bending the worn paper a little in the cramped space.

Then she let go.

And Marco hadn’t stopped making them since.

Even as he gained his devil fruit. Grew from a boy to a man. They were his little indulgence, the fuzzy memory of a weathered hand clasped in his, paper crinkling between them never far from his mind. It hurt in a good way. A way that his fruit never gave him. A sense of release. A long sigh after a hard day. Sea breeze wrapping around his bare ankles in the hot sun. Endless blue before him with heavy storm clouds littering the horizon behind him.

His office door slammed open.

A boisterous voice practically singing out as Thatch sauntered into his office with a hot meal. It was late. Later than Marco realized. The bubbly, cool fire running thick in his veins. He’d been pushing it as of late, Marco acknowledged reluctantly.

“I come, O’ Great One! With the gift of food~!” Thatch sang, squinting into the dim candlelight of Marco’s office. Free hand hovering ominously over the light switch.

“Do it and I’ll kick you into the sea.” Marco warned. His fruit offering little reprieve from eye strain at this point. Bigger fish to fry, he supposed.

Thatch pouted, nudging the paperwork on his desk aside. Rather than setting down the food, Thatch instead placed his ass there. Wafting about the food Marco still couldn’t quite identify temptingly.

“C’mon, Coco! You’ve been in here for hours! It’s time to eat up and get some rest!” Thatch huffed.

“Stop calling me that.” Marco was ignored, as usual. The nickname a little rare but typically whipped out when Thatch thought he was being an idiot about himself.

“What could possibly be more important than enjoying some good food and even better shut eye? C’mon, I’ll even give you breakfast in bed! Doesn’t that sound scrum-didily-upmtious? This handsome man personally serving you up a hot plate of food in the morning?”

Marco imagined—not Thatch ‘handsomely’ serving anything—but sputtering as seawater ruined his hair. The woeful cries for mercy as he drowned, just a little while, he swears Namur. He deserves it!

Familiar with Thatch’s everything by this point, Marco doubted many would argue that Thatch didn’t deserve just a little waterboarding.

As a treat.

“Sounds like my sleep paralysis demon talking.” Marco drawled, fixing Thatch with a dry stare.

Thatch arched back as though struck, his dramatics nearly sending the food and himself to the floor.

“My own brother! After all the hard work I put into this? Every ounce of love I put into it?” Thatch emphasized, finally lowering the plate enough for Marco to see it was flayed sea king, glazed with honeyed pineapple and served with stuffed potatoes, a hot roll, and a slice of upside-down pineapple cake. A cup of what could be anything from tea to booze to wash it down with.

It looked fucking good. But just for being obnoxious, Marco rolled his eyes.

“Gross.”

That earned him a sharp gasp and playful tears as Thatch attempted to clamber into his lap for apology cuddles. Pressing obnoxious kisses to his face like Thatch was trying to console him from some terrible tragedy that had occurred.

“G-Get the hell off of me, you ass!” Marco sputtered, reeling back as Thatch smashed Marco’s face into his chest with petulant cries of forlorn love.

“—Oh, my poor, stalwart brother! You’ve worked so hard and can’t even accept crumbs of affection! It doesn’t make you any less of a man to cuddle!” Thatch reassured him as any protest was muffled into his shirt. “I promise I won’t think any l-LE—ES--! SHIT! ACK! M-MARCO—NO!”

Marco dug his fingers into Thatch’s unprotected sides, trapping his idiot brother in place for the deserved payback.

“Marco, yes!”

Thatch wriggled fiercely, yelping with every poke and prod as they laughed, eventually knocking back the chair and ending it with Marco wheezing under Thatch’s weight.

Finally, Marco shoved Thatch off into the floor, face aching from the smile they both shared.

“Ugh! Fine! I’ll eat and go to bed, you prick!” Marco huffed, Thatch still giggling beside him.

“Great! I’ll be sure to deliver breakfast to you, as promised~!” Thatch tittered cheekily, dodging the swipe of Marco’s hand.

“The fuck you will!” his fingertips grazing the fabric of Thatch’s sleeves. Still warm with laughter and affection.

Thatch was cold now.

Somehow colder than Marco’s veins as he desperately lifted up the other man into his arms. So much heavier than before, faint breaths wheezing with blood on his lips. Cool blue fire danced over his pale face, sinking in deep with a desperation Marco hadn’t felt in a long time. Hands slick with blood, skin blossoming with feathers and scales. Teetering between bird and man so violently his words were more akin to bird cries.

There were hands pulling him away. Trying to tug his trembling body from curling over Thatch’s cooling corpse. Hot, burning hands ripping him away.

A large hand, firm and steady. A rock in the ocean that beached him with such violence.

A deep, rumbling voice.

“We’ve got it from here, my son. We’ll save him, my boy. Come back to me. Come back to us. We love you.” Those words followed him into the dark. The world shaking as his lungs rattled with sobs.

“We love you…”

There was a beeping.

That was all Marco could think about.

All he could handle.

His hands were wrong. Almost incandescent. The bones vague shadows flickering in gossamer blue light. Gold licking his fingertips as he stroked… something. Lips stiff. Twisting with difficulty out of the pointed beak they were trying to form. Every ragged breath licking across his tongue with a heady weight to it.

There was something in his hands, Marco knew.

It was… thick. A little tepid. Some give until stiff scaffolding within protested. Thin threads slipping beneath a strange, upper layer. A steady, weak thrum beneath his touch.

His eyes burned. He wanted to rip into it, whatever it was. Until it was hot and thrashing and alive—

But a keen slipped from his lips as a rhythmic beeping finally registered properly.

He was at someone’s bedside.

Again.

He was a little deckhand tending to a dying nurse.

No.

He was a man at a bedside.

A friend?

A brother?

He loved them fiercely. Whoever they were.

Marco wanted whoever it was to wake up already. Tease him for losing control like this. Obnoxiously cry about the display of affection that was cutting into Marco’s chest. Turning his lungs to ribbons. Hooking into the arteries of his heart until every thump made him ache for release.

There was a blanket over his shoulders, Marco realized.

How long had he been here? He shifted in the chair and heard paper crinkle.

Fresh, patterned sheets. Traditional ocean waves with little fish peeking here and there. Tiny boats fighting even, arching waves. All in soft blues that transitioned to richer hues, imbuing the artwork with depth and emotion.

It was instinct to reach for the paper. But the weight of a whole person stopped him. Marco looked.

Both his hands were grasping a limp wrist with a faint pulse.

Letting go felt like ripping away his flesh. Piece by piece.

Fold it over and over again.

Marco’s hands were steady despite everything. And it felt like betrayal.

He shouldn’t be able to do anything right now.

Not even breathe.

But his heart kept going. Lungs expanding with the scent of cold antiseptic.

The paper was smooth. Flawless despite the neglect he’d shown it for… however long he’d been sitting at…

Here.

Without it, you’ll never truly live.

She meant this, didn’t she? His family?

Even without a smooth surface, Marco’s hands knew the way. Folding and pinching the edges clean.

No, Marco remembered.

She meant dreams. She meant hope.

Marco knew, deep down, that eventually there would always be a goodbye at the end of their stories. Said or avoided like the plague.

But he expected it…

Marco never wanted to expect it.

He’d rather drown than look forward at a time he’d say goodbye with any one of his precious family members.

The little crane perched between his fingers. Perfect after years of practice.

Marco choked up as he placed it in Thatch’s hand. Gently curling those limp fingers around it’s delicate shape. Calloused hands cradling the bird in a loose cage.

Marco retreated. Shuffling into his dark room. No one stopped him, their gazed burning his hunched shoulders.

In the bottom desk drawer, so rarely opened it almost got stuck, was a single item.

A lopsided paper crane with a bent wing. Stained with faded ink and weathered with age.

Like he was scooping up a live bird, Marco lifted it to his chest. Careful even as he collapsed to the floor.

He cried. Wept like he’d been cut in two with sea stone. Tears gushing out instead of blood. His fire, confused at the agony he was experiencing, danced in the air. Casting dizzying shadows across the space battered with open sobs.

Marco couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t fill his lungs enough between his cries that ached down to his bones and the fire filling his lips with faux heat.

Everything hurt.

Nothing could heal.

He was a little boy again in his father’s arms. Weeping and certain he was dying from grief. Every wail a benediction. A plea against the inevitable. What was already past.

A wish burning in his veins even as shame filled him.

Death was natural. A long sigh at the end of a hard day.

But Marco wanted to hold his breath until he burst. Stop in the middle of a hurricane just to keep feeling the rain.

Parchment protested in his grasp and Marco shot up like he’d been burned.

Opening his palms to find the paper crane bent even further. Flickers of light cast across the ragged edges of ink—no?

Burns.

The bird was smoldering. Fueled by the open air of his shaking hands, it burst into golden fire. Marco wailed, shaken and confused as it lit up. Flying into the air with a trail of burning embers. Dancing in an unseen wind until, before Marco’s blurry eyes, it was gone. As though it was Thatch’s vivre card.

Time stopped. Stuttering as his heel stamped into the ground.

His shoulder nearly slamming into someone.

A door bashing into a wall.

That damn beeping so like Thatch. Annoying and reassuring in its consistent presence.

Nurses crowded Thatch’s bed, arguing over each other as familiar hair rose over them. Wide eyes looking around, face flush with warmth again.

He smiled, that crooked, familiar smile that tugged Marco’s lips into a similar shape.

“Hey, Coco, look! I got a little hospital buddy!” Thatch crowed, voice a soft rasp as he gently held up a small, blue paper crane. Gold catching the light as fire flickered over it’s wingspan. Every cresting wave lined with unnatural color that had not been there before. It seemed as alive as Thatch.

Thatch let out a creaking rush of air as Marco hugged him. Body awkwardly half in his lap as he buried his face into Thatch’s neck. Careful and weak, Thatch curled his arms around Marco’s chest. He smelled of antiseptic, sea salt, and spice.

The storm was behind them now, but there was still time for rain. One breath after another.

Little paper cranes littered across a pirate ship.

Every fold a wish.

Every step hope.

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Personal Heater

Summary: Spencer has no heat in his apartment, but that doesn’t stop Reader from spending the night.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: fluff

Word count: 858

You are so stubborn. Stubborn to the point that Spencer finally caved and let you spend the night at his place, despite constantly telling you the heat is out. It took two weeks and several weather reports including wind mileage and humidity percentages, but you broke him. Now you’re in his bathroom, spitting your toothpaste and mouthwash concoction into his rickety sink. And it was your sharp, minty inhale that put the stamp of regret on the night.

Out of all potential points of convincing you to wait, he failed to mention that he lived in a building originally constructed in the early 1900s; when insulation wasn’t even a thought.

Your feet are freezing under the tile, and you’re convinced if you put enough force behind it, you can land in Spencer’s bed with one jump. Moving as minimally as possible sounds ideal because your legs feel as mobile as frozen pipes. But a screw-up will lead to you hitting the floor in the darkness, alerting your boyfriend in the living room, and — worst of all — you’ll have to admit he was right.

So instead, you lumber out of the bathroom, sliding your feet across the floor to navigate any potential hazards. The floor creaks with your weight. Once in the clear, you, quite literally, hop into bed. Spencer was still focused on some work at his desk, but he promised he wouldn’t be long since he was already in his robe. You took advantage of the time to gather the comforter and the extra blanket he’s been using. Then you grab some others folded neatly on a nearby chair (that you may or may not have fished out of his closet) and let them all fall on top of you. The warmth creeps in if you stay still and prevent drafts, but your feet instinctively rub together like they were sticks and you needed a fire. It’s the only movement you allow as you try to zone out enough to fall asleep, apart from the occasional kick to yourself for not being patient.

The benefit of being in an old building is that doors creak too. So Spencer coming in to call it a night is not subtle at all. He turns on the lamp on his side, and it’s the first time you’ve dreaded hearing him chuckle. “Well, well, well,” his tone is infuriating, “I see you found the extra blankets.”

You keep your eyes closed and hope for the best.

“I heard the floors creaking three minutes and 42 seconds ago, hun. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Dammit. You use your bitterness to turn on your right side, making sure to keep your body encased under the small mound of various cozy materials.

Spencer’s robe is tied: boring, plaid, and brown. But it gives him a secure layer over his fun pajamas, the light blue ones with cloud patterns, also known as the ones you got him. His hair is adorably messy and his lips purse into an annoyingly cute smile. “Anything you want to say to me?”

“Yes, actually,” You prop yourself up on your elbow and look him in the eye as you ask “How the hell does someone who grew up in Vegas tolerate freezing temperatures indoors in early spring?”

“Well, robes help, but it’s also not freezing,” He corrects. “It’s 43.4 degrees outside, which means it’s…” He feels the air for reference because it matters to him. “About 58.2 degrees in here right now considering what floor we’re on and —”

“If I admit you were right, will you please come to bed?” You fall back onto your pillow and pat his, utterly defeated. 

He doesn’t hesitate to switch off the lamp. Spencer climbs in and nestles under the comforter. “No need, I already know.”

You wish you had a snappy response to that, but Spencer’s hands are already distracting you by navigating blindly under the comforter. You take the hint and push yourself closer to him. When your bodies meet, he pulls your leg up so you can be just a little closer. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and your fingers end just above the back of his neck. You play with the hair you can reach and he finally kisses you. It’s sweet and slow, with no urge to prove a point. “Your nose is so cold.” You tell him.

“So is yours.” He replies, rubbing them together. He kisses the bridge of yours.

“I’m warming up though.” Slowly but surely. You try to keep your icy toes away from his to avoid ruining the moment.

“Good. Me too.” The hand keeping your leg steady slid up your back, finding a comfortable place to rest. “Seriously though, do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?”

“Yes.” You nod for extra assurance.

“Okay,” He rubs your back. “Wake me up if you can’t.” He gives you another precious kiss.

You want to say you’ll be fine, but you don’t feel like risking being wrong twice in 24 hours. So you plant a kiss on his forehead, and that’s good enough for him.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

Daughter Part 2 - Torchbearer + Clancy + Nico!Daughter

Warnings: Anything Dema related

Word Count: 2343

A/N: WELCOME TO PAHT 2 BESTIES. Not much happens here but it leads up to stuff :)

PART 1 + PART 3 + Part 4

The name lingered in the air, heavy with implications. Clancy. The way Keons said it hinted at something significant, a spark of promise that tugged at my curiosity. But could I trust him? Trust anyone? My mind was still reeling from the encounter with my father and the fallout with Torchbearer. I didn’t want to add another layer of complication to my already tangled life.

“Why should I care about him?” I asked, my voice harder than I intended, but the walls I’d built around myself felt too fragile to let anyone in.

Keons stepped closer, lowering his voice as if afraid someone might overhear. “Because he’s not just another citizen, Y/N. He has potential—potential that could help us challenge the Order, challenge your father’s grip on Dema.”

My pulse quickened. The thought of someone with the potential to stand up against my father sparked a flicker of hope. Was it possible? Could this Clancy be the ally we needed?

“What do you mean by ‘potential’?” I asked, intrigued despite myself.

“He’s smart, resourceful. He’s been gathering information, making connections, and he’s not afraid to speak out against the silence that Dema enforces.” Keons’s eyes glinted with fervor. “But he needs someone to guide him, someone who understands what it means to defy Vialism.”

A part of me wanted to dismiss him, to turn away from this new temptation, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this was a chance to turn the tide against the regime that had controlled my life for so long.

“Where is he?” I asked, my voice softer now, the walls beginning to crumble.

“He’s currently living in an apartment in the outer section of my district. I can take you there if you’d like?” Keons asked, glancing around as if worried my father’s eyes might still be watching.

I hesitated for a moment, torn between the impulse to flee from the memories of my past and the curiosity about this boy who might change everything. Finally, I nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”

As we made our way through the streets, the weight of Dema loomed over me like a shadow. The air was thick with memories of my childhood, the lessons my father drilled into me about loyalty, obedience, and the futility of rebellion. Every step felt like a betrayal of those lessons, but I was no longer willing to be defined by them.

We reached the tall cement structure of the building Clancy was allegedly in. There weren’t many windows but the few that were there were either boarded up, closed, or had vultures perched outside. 

“Stay close,” he murmured, leading me down a narrow hallway lined with flickering lights. Once we reached a door at the end of the hallway Keons knocked three times before waiting. I could hear footsteps from the other side of the door before the latch on the lock clicked and it was pulled open,  revealing a dimly lit interior. 

Inside, the air was filled with murmurs and the scent of something cooking. As we entered a small room, my eyes landed on a young man sitting at a table, his unruly brown hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled notes on a weathered notepad. He looked up as we entered, and the moment our eyes met, something shifted in the air.

“Clancy,” Keons said, gesturing to me. “This is Y/N. She’s… well I’m sure you know who she is by now.”

Clancy’s expression shifted, a mix of surprise and caution flashing across his face. He set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, studying me with a blend of curiosity and skepticism. 

“Is it true? You—you’re N-Nico’s…” he asked, his voice steady despite the shock of the revelation.

I nodded, my heart racing as I braced for his judgment. “Yes, but I’m not here to uphold his legacy. I left Dema for a reason.”

Clancy’s gaze softened, and I saw something in his eyes—a flicker of understanding. “I get it. Dema’s suffocating. It’s designed to keep us all in line. But it’s hard to know who to trust when the whole city is built on secrets.”

“Don’t you think I already know that?” I scoffed. Keons flashed me a threatening look. While he was one of the less strict bishops he always acted like an uncle to me—which meant he would try to tell me how to behave (not that it worked). “I’m not here to play games,” I replied, feeling a surge of determination. “Keons believes you have what it takes to help us fight back.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism creeping back into his expression. “You really think we have a chance to fight back? To win against them? They have eyes everywhere. You’re risking everything by just being here.”

“And what do you propose we do instead? Sit around and wait for someone else to save us?” I countered, anger rising within me. “I spent my whole life under my father’s thumb, believing in his vision for Dema, but I can’t live like that anymore. I want to change things.”

Clancy studied me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “I suppose I could help you.” He ruffled through the several sheets of paper spread across his wooden desk–each typed on with a typewriter. 

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the weight of what I was about to say. 

“What do you know about the rebellion?” I asked, moving to sit next to him. Keons kept his composure as he stood in the corner in the room, his blood red robes standing as a stark contrast to the monotone cement walls which likely made the room cold at night. 

“You haven’t read my letters?” Clancy looked slightly surprised. 

“Letters?” I turned to Keons who nodded.

“Clancy has made quite a name for himself by publishing letters going against your father’s teachings. There have been several outbreaks of rebellion in the districts in the last few months as a result of his messages,” he explained, voice cold. Vialism had that effect on people, it made them darker, less human. Clancy’s eyes flashed with a mixture of pride and defiance as he shifted his gaze from Keons back to me. 

“I’ve been sending them out—smuggling them beyond the city's reach. People are waking up, realizing they don’t have to follow Vialism blindly. But the more I do, the more dangerous it becomes.” The weight of his words hung in the air. I could see the conviction in his expression, the way he spoke about rebellion as though it were inevitable, a flame that couldn’t be extinguished. It was contagious, that hope he carried. But the risk was just as palpable.

Keons, standing rigid in his blood-red robes, folded his arms, watching us both carefully. “The rebellion needs direction,” he said. 

Clancy’s eyes darkened as he thought about it. “You’re taking a huge risk being here. You know that right? If your father finds out, you’ll be—”

“I know the risk I’m taking,” I cut him off, the words sharper than I intended. “This isn’t about just me or my father anymore. This is about Dema and everyone trapped under its shadow.”

The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the flickering hum of the dim overhead light. The concrete walls seemed to close in, making the weight of our conversation feel even heavier. Clancy looked down at his hands, tracing the edge of one of the papers before him, and then he spoke, his voice quieter but no less determined. His fingers brushed against the worn paper, the edges frayed from countless hours of reading, writing, and rewriting. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, weighing his next words carefully.

“We can't just run,” he finally said, his voice steady but low. “If we leave now, without a plan, without weakening Nico’s control first, it’ll all be for nothing. Dema will hunt us down, and you know they’ll find us. They always do.”

I looked at him, realizing the gravity of what he was saying. I had been so focused on the idea of escape—on breaking free from the chains of my father’s rule—that I hadn’t considered the consequences if we failed. Clancy was right. Dema’s grip extended far beyond the walls, and Nico had eyes everywhere.

“So what do you suggest?” I asked, leaning in. “We can’t stay here forever. They’ll figure out I’ve gone missing.”

Clancy glanced at Keons, and for a brief second, I could see the wheels turning in his mind. His gaze shifted back to me, sharp and calculating. “I’ve been having regular confessions with Nico. I’m getting close to convincing him to take me out of the walls. I’m sure I can find a way to sneak you across. Clancy’s words hung in the air, thick with a mix of hope and uncertainty. The idea of sneaking out of Dema through Nico’s own trust in Clancy felt like a dangerous gamble, but it also seemed like the best option we had. I could feel the tension in the room, a silent understanding passing between the three of us.

Keons spoke first, his voice careful but authoritative. “You realize what you’re suggesting is borderline suicide, Clancy. Nico is paranoid—he’s not going to let you waltz outside the walls without a hundred eyes watching.”

Clancy met his gaze, his determination unwavering. “I know, but we need to take that risk. If we can get outside the walls, even just for a moment, we can figure out the next step. We can start unraveling his control from the outside, where his reach is weaker.”

Keons turned to me, his expression a mixture of worry and resolve. “Y/N, this plan hinges on you too. If you disappear, Nico will know something’s wrong. He’ll start looking. You need to be ready to face whatever comes next.”

I felt a cold knot form in my stomach. This wasn’t just about me or Clancy anymore—it was about destabilizing Dema, risking everything to tear down the system my father had built. But there was no turning back now. I had to play this game carefully.

“We can’t just storm out,” I said slowly, trying to piece it together in my head. “Nico’s too smart for that. If you’re meeting with him, we need to make it look like everything’s normal. I’ll have to stay low for a while—make it seem like I’m still following his rules.”

Clancy nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Exactly. If I can convince him I’m loyal enough to go beyond the walls with him, we can use that time to plan our real escape. But we’ll need to be precise. One mistake, and it’s over.”

Keons folded his arms, his eyes narrowing in thought. “How do you plan to get Nico to trust you enough to take you outside? He doesn’t trust anyone that deeply.”

Clancy let out a breath, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’ve been careful. Over the past few months, I’ve been subtly reinforcing his belief that I’m buying into Vialism, that I’m starting to see the ‘value’ in his teachings. I’ve planted the seed that I need more exposure to the ‘outer districts’ to understand the full picture.”

My heart raced as the plan began to take shape. It wasn’t foolproof, but it had the potential to work. Still, something gnawed at me. “What if Nico changes his mind? What if he decides you’re a threat after all and takes you somewhere else instead?”

Clancy met my eyes, and I saw the same doubt reflected in them, but he didn’t flinch. “That’s the risk we have to take. If we stay here, hidden behind these walls, we’ll never have a chance to fight back.”

Keons’s gaze flickered between the two of us, and for the first time, I saw the weight of his own conflicted loyalty. He was one of the few bishops who hadn’t completely lost his humanity, but he was still bound to the Order in ways neither Clancy nor I were. “I’ll do what I can to buy you time,” he said after a long pause. “But you need to be careful. If Nico even suspects for a second that you’re trying to manipulate him, he won’t hesitate to smear you.”

“I know the risks,” Clancy said, his voice steady. “But this is our only shot. If we can make it outside, I’ll figure out the next step.”

I could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on me. We were walking a tightrope, and the slightest misstep could send us plummeting into disaster. But I also knew that if we did nothing, we’d be doomed to live under Dema’s suffocating rule forever.

“What’s the timeline?” I asked, looking between Clancy and Keons. “How soon do we move?”

Clancy glanced at Keons, who gave a subtle nod. “It’ll take a few more meetings with Nico before I can convince him,” Clancy said, turning back to me. “But when the time comes, you’ll need to be ready. We’ll make it look like you’re still under Dema’s control, so no one suspects anything. When we’re outside, we strike.”

Keons leaned forward, his voice low and urgent. “And Y/N, you’ll have to act as though nothing has changed. Stay close to your father, play your part. Make him believe you’re still on his side, even if it kills you inside.”

I swallowed hard. It felt like I was stepping back into the nightmare I’d just escaped, but I knew it was the only way forward. “I can do that,” I said, though my voice shook slightly. 

Clancy gave me a brief, reassuring look. “We’re in this together. Once we’re outside, we’ll find a way to bring Dema to its knees.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle in my bones. There was no turning back now. The plan was in motion, and we were about to step into the lion’s den—together.

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[bionicle-ramblings]

While I work on Naho's post, I have this on my head

Got the idea from conversations with @chancetimespace

Also, @crystaltoa you're getting the boot story!

Nokama knew more about dragons than she realized, that or simply knew what she did because dragons were reptiles, like snakes or lizards.

She knew of the collecting, or hoarding, they did and how protective they would get, but agree realized how that only applied to Vakama when she found a collection of weapons, masks, and even paintings that had been gathered away from the rest of the treasure in the vault and kept orderly.

She also knew of the way he actively sought to warm himself during winter by staying in the vault longer and even burrowing himself in treasure.

But dragons were nothing like snakes or lizards.

Definitely not, Nokama thought as she watched Vakama practically kicking himself in the face, growling quietly.

Truth be told, she was simply outside after winter had finally gave away to spring and the weather was nice enough to enjoy a book.

She stopped reading at the sound of the dragon scratching himself.

"Shedding season already?" She asked.

Vakama huffed and flipped into the grass. "Yes. And it returned with a vengeance."

"Surely it's better than molting? Or having fur?"

"Molting in what way?" Vakama asked as he awkwardly rubbed his face against the ground. "Leaving a husk of myself behind or making myself bald?"

Nokama furrowed her brow.

"No, having scales in place of fur does not mean I'm bald," he said dryly.

"What about fur, then?" She asked. "Dogs and cats shed."

Vakama groaned with disgust. "Have fur and cover everything around me in hair because I can't keep track of it when it falls off my body? That sounds like hell, and messy."

Nokama laughed lightly. "You're just being dramatic."

"As I have the right to be. A layer of skin is loosened from my body and I can't get it off yet."

The elf girl set down her book. "The river is close by. Maybe it could help."

"It is," Vakama admitted, finally laying still. "The water will just be cold."

Nokama ran her hand along one of his horns, smiling softly.

"It will all loan up and I can peel it off. Waiting for it to happen is just frustrating."

"Better than having fur, as you said."

"Or having barely any hair and needing clothes." He eyed her. "You could use some better clothes."

"Mine are fine. And maybe I could find some after we find a way to break the curse."

"Too long. What will happen this coming winter and you have no boots?"

"Boots?" Nokama repeated. "I have other shoes."

"Yes, but they are useless against the cold."

"I'll find boots eventually," the elf girl promised, her eyes on the trees.

Beyond them was the barrier that kept her and Vakama in the castle grounds, one that had become a vicious trap that led to travelers and wild animals to their deaths, leaving only whatever they might have been carrying behind.

Nokama felt her stomach churn as she remembered days of finding and practically scavenging what remained of travelers, how she so quickly adapted to looting no longer existent bodies for supplies she would need.

What a wonderful model of our world I am.

She noticed Vakama's expression as he adjusted to rest his head on her legs, purring despite his pensiveness.

Maybe we all do what we must to survive.

***

Vakama was usually a good hunter, able to find and catch prey easily and feed both himself and Nokama.

Shedding made that almost unbearably difficult, both with every inch of his body itching and with his eyesight going cloudy.

Regardless, there was a deer in front of him, healthy and big enough to be eaten.

And regrettably fast, racing away when Vakama lunged for it.

"Damn deer," he growled. "And damn this shedding!"

Beside him, Nokama patted his neck. "Getting close to shedding the skin off?"

"Not close enough. We'll need to be more creative in getting food."

"I can get us some fish," she reminded him. "And we still have some crops left."

Vakama grumbled and looked at a tree- or thought was a tree.

"I'm not helpless, Vakama."

"I know," the dragon sighed.

"And you don't have to make yourself do things on your own either."

I do, if I'm going to get used to being alone again.

Vakama only huffed.

Nokama patted his neck again. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

"Off to the river?" he asked.

Nokama nodded. "Yes. The fish should be coming out of torpor now."

"That's a weird word," Vakama said as he followed at her side. "Torpor. It sounds more like a spell."

"I think there is a spell that roughly translates to it." Nokama ducked under a half-fallen tree. "It knocks out your enemies for a while."

"How long?"

"I think it depends on how much energy you put behind it."

Vakama hummed. "So you could make someone sleep for the rest of their lives, if you really wanted."

"If I really wanted," Nokama stipulated, following the sound of flowing water.

Vakama was close behind following the sound and scent of water. "That sounds like a horrible way to die," he admitted.

"I think it would be peaceful," Nokama argued, rolling up the legs of her pants and wading into the river. "You don't exactly feel when you die while you sleep."

"But you're stuck in your own mind." Vakama dipped his mouth and nose into the water and snapped back, yelping at the cold. "Do you know how unforgiving your mind really is?"

Nokama smiled and moved her hand in a circle.

The currents shifted and carried fish to her.

"I do," she said as she caught one by the tail and placed it in the basket she left on the ground. "And I think my mind is more forgiving now that I have you to bother with my problems."

"You don't bother me," Vakama stated, "but I will be if you mention what you family used to eat again."

Nokama's jaw fell as she dropped a fish she'd just caught. "Really?" she laughed.

"You elves have no taste."

"This coming from a dragon who hunts in the woods and eats deer, fish, and any rangers that try attacking him with a knife." Nokama filled the basket and stepped out of the water. "Even for you, that's funny."

"I never said my taste in food was selective," Vakama amended. "And you need to go out of your way to prepare your food first."

"It makes the food taste better," Nokama said as she slipped her tattered shoes back together. "And it kills anything growing on the meat."

Vakama only eyed her shoes.

She won't last another winter in those sorry things.

"Vakama?" Nokama called, further ahead than he realized.

"I'll be there in a moment," he called back.

Then he hissed as he waded into the river, the cold of the water barely made better in the light of the sun.

There were a pair of boots in the castle somewhere, but they weren't resistant to anything. Good for the cold, but not much else.

Vakama shook in the water, looking at a rock with narrow eyes.

At least his shed would loosen, hopefully.

***

It was storming.

Normally, Nokama slept easily in the rain, lulled by the sound of raindrops on the window and rooftop.

Instead, she was more awake tonight than she had been in a while.

The flashes of lightning and roar of thunder only made memories of renegade magic resurface, bringing with them the images of people trapped under rubble, screams of men, women, and children, and the king himself demanding to know what had happened as Nokama was ushered away.

Another lightning strike brought her back to the present, loud enough to shake the castle from its foundations to the very window she had sat herself in.

"Still awake?" Vakama asked from further down the hall.

Nokama nodded, seeing a pair of glowing eyes in the darkness. "I guess you are too."

Vakama stepped closer to her, his foot steps light in his alternative form.

It had taken a while for Nokama to get used to the more human appearance Vakama occasionally took when he changed forms. Rather than looking like a kobold or Dragonborn, he looked closer to a rugged young man, his hair the same red as the scales covering his face, body, tail, and wings, the latter closed slightly before opening as he walked into the dim light of the window. His legs were longer, resembling a cat's or dog's more than a human's, and he looked as if he was about to return to walking on all four limbs, as he was likely used to doing.

The only thing that appeared to stop him was the bundle he held in his arms.

Nokama still smiled when she saw him.

"I've been awake for since dusk fell," he admitted as he perched near her, balancing easily on his toes as he set the bundle down. "I have something for you. Your birthday is coming up soon, I think."

Nokama blinked. "You remembered?"

She remembered when her last birthday passed and her family hadn't even sent her a letter or come to find her. Even when they barely knew each other, Nokama had cried to Vakama as he comforted her.

Now, Vakama gave her a smile, his tail wagging like a dog's.

"Of course," he said. "Why wouldn't I?"

Nokama shrugged. "Dragons don't seen to acknowledge their birthdays, so I got surprised."

"My birthday is just another day for me," the dragon stated, nudging the bundle closer to Nokama. "And I gave you something I think you'll like. Not too fashionable, but it will be better than the rags you put on your feet."

Nokama decided to ignore the insult toward her usual shoes as she carefully opened the bundle.

She gasped at the sight of a pair of red boots, the leather gleaming crimson in the light. "How did you find these?"

"Rummaging," Vakama replied simply. "They should keep your feet dry for winter."

Nokama examined the boots more closely, running her fingers along the leather and feeling its texture.

"Is this your shed?" she asked, brow furrowed.

Vakama's smile grew. "Maybe. Off my neck, actually."

"How do you know how to cobble shoes?"

"I dabble," he said modestly. "This form has its uses."

Nokama carefully slipped the boots onto her feet and stood, unable to keep the smile off her face.

"Are they all right?" Vakama asked.

"They're perfect!" Nokama beamed. "Thank you!"

Vakama dropped his head against his knees, his wings closing and hiding him as he grinned, bashful.

"How did you get them to fit so well?"

"Oh!" His wings opened and tail wagged once more. "I used your old shoes."

"Speaking of, what did you do with them after?" she asked, eyes narrow.

Vakama eyed the ceiling.

"Vakama."

"Would you believe me if I said I burned them?"

"You didn't!" Nokama protested.

Vakama held up his hands in surrender. "Of course not. I just... hid them."

"Where?"

The dragon stood and began walking away.

Nokama followed. "Where did you hide my shoes?" she giggled.

"Nowhere," Vakama said, feigning ignorance. "Just on one of the rafters."

Nokama froze. "The rafters!?"

Vakama raced to a window and left out of it, transforming once more into a full dragon. "You're welcome!" he shouted over the rain.

"As much as I appreciate the boots, that does not mean you can hide my shoes from me!" Nokama laughed after him, too caught by the absurdity of it all to be angry. "Not all of us can walk around barefoot!"

She watched Vakama vanish into the storm before closing the window and returning to her room, often looking down at her newly gifted boots.

She had to admit it: She was glad to have footwear that was more practical. The boots being flame resistant was an enormous benefit as well.

And the boots being from her friend made them all the more precious.

I hope my family doesn't mind that I hold on to them, when I get home.

If I get home.

She pushed those thoughts away as she opened the door to her room, nearly breaking into laughter when she saw her tattered shoes set neatly by the foot of her bed.

[theia-eos]

Elincia Was Not Too Hesitant to Act

I love the Tellius games. I think the writing for the Fire Emblem series as a whole peaked in the Tellius duology. There's a lot of nuance and tiny details and characterizations and depth and layers to every character. However, this does not mean that the games are perfect or beyond criticism.

And one such criticism I have is the message they try to sell in Radiant Dawn Part 2. I am not buying it. Spoilers below the cut.

In Part 2 of Radiant Dawn, we see how being ruler of Crimea is working out for our fair Queen Elincia. The last time we saw her in Path of Radiance, she was filled with self-doubt and worried about her ability to rule as she was never raised to rule and kept secret from the public, so her coronation as queen of Crimea is a big step for her.

Ike stayed on as a member of the royal court for a while, but dips out 6 months prior to the events of Part 2 because he's only causing her more grief than he is providing support now and he goes back to the simple mercenary life he loves.

Bastian has also left her side, citing sightings of the Black Knight returning in Daein and wanting to get a good understanding of Ashnard's "son," the new King Pelleas. He is lying to her, which I'll go into later. So it's only Elincia and the children she was raised alongside, her knights Geoffrey and Lucia, in the courts.

And the nobles do not respect Elincia at all. They disparage her at every chance they get, they blame her for Bastian wanting to go scope out Daein because she lets him go because he tells her, as her advisor, that it's the best idea. They chastise Lucia and Geoffrey for trying to defend her. Generally, you get the idea why Ike had to leave, he probably kept calling them out until he was blue in the face and then some.

Leanne comes looking for Ike, and he's disappeared into the wind, and then Elincia gets word from Nephenne, Brom and Heather from Ohma that one of the nobles, Duke Ludveck, is attempting a coup based on what the recruiter said. Elincia sends Lucia to Ludveck's territory, under the guise of showing Leanne around Crimea's best orchard region, to gather some more information. Lucia finds proof that Ludveck is trying to start a civil war/insurrection, and brings that back to Elincia, who then sends Geoffrey and the Crimean Royal Knights to arrest Ludveck. Elincia privately despairs to Leanne that she never wanted to be queen, she never wanted to deal with these problems, the burden of having to act against her own people is too much for her to bear.

There's some political espionage, Ludveck had a decoy force at his castle and attacks Elincia in her safehouse in Fort Alpea, and Elincia bests Ludveck, captures him, and then says he needs to be executed for treason. Ludveck says she should make him king instead, as she's too indecisive and feeble to be queen, she took too long to stop him plotting under her and that's weakened her authority in Crimea, and to force her hand, he says that he captured Lucia. His forces will execute Lucia unless she releases him and promises to pass her crown to him. Elincia refuses, Lucia is about to be killed but Ike and the Greil Mercenaries swoop in to save the day to save Lucia. Elincia resolves to be more decisive in the future.

So what is my problem with this plot? Well, let's review the chapter count of Part 2, it's very short.

Prologue - Elincia finds Begnion wyvern riders attempting to capture Leanne and intervenes immediately

Chapter 1 - Nephenne, Brom, and new recruit Heather fight their way out of Ohma to warn Elincia directly

Chapter 2 - Elincia sends Lucia to find solid evidence that Ludveck is a traitor

Chapter 3 - Lucia comes back with proof and Elincia sends Geoffrey to arrest Ludveck

Final Chapter - Elincia fights Ludveck

Please tell me where Elincia was indecisive, failed to take action, dwadled, or let the insurrection just grow. As soon as she finds out that it's happening she goes to get evidence, and then as soon as she has the evidence, she orders for Ludveck to be arrested. She immediately refuses to hand Ludveck the throne.

Ludveck: So I take it you understand everything now? And considering Lady Lucia’s life is on the line, you haven’t much choice. Now, let’s have you free me from this prison cell, and then we can discuss any further details… Elincia: I don’t think so. Radiant Dawn, Chapter 2-F, Elincia's Gambit Extended Script Translation from Serenes Forest

No hesitation. None. Even in the prologue where she fights and kills Begnion forces intruding on her home, trying to enslave Leanne, no hesitation.

Elincia: Begnion dracoknights… You will only be warned once. Leave this area immediately! I serve the queen of Crimea. Trespassers on Crimean territory will be dealt with. No exceptions. Zeffren: The queen, she says! The very queen that relied on us, the Begnion Empire, to free her nation. Imperial dracoknights are not frightened by soldiers so weak as Crimean pegasus knights. Listen up! Leave those two alone. It’s the Serenes maiden we want. Do not allow her to escape! Elincia: …Looks like we’ll not talk any sense into them. I suppose we have no choice. Sir Nealuchi! We’re here to help you! [Elincia attacks Zeffren] Zeffren: You… You Crimeans seriously believe you can withstand the might of Begnion?! Elincia: Crimea takes this sort of encroachment seriously. We will not overlook invaders in our domain. Release your weapons, and apologize for your discourtesy… Only then will we lower our own. Zeffren: You have quite a mouth on you… I won’t be addressed in that tone by anyone. It’s time to end this farce. Radiant Dawn, Chatper 2-P, On Drifting Clouds

Like yes, she offers diplomacy and a chance for them to stand down, but the story and Ludveck would have you believe that she's so crippled by hesitation that she wouldn't take action. Ludveck says "you were too hesitant and too concerned about harming the people" in stopping the civil war decisively to be a strong ruler.

What the hell else was she supposed to do? Elincia never caught wind of the rebellion until the beginning of Chapter 2, and then what was she supposed to do? Take the word of three villagers that there was some random unknown man they didn't even bring in with them recruiting for a rebellion for Duke Ludveck? Like I love Nephenne, Brom, and Heather as much as anyone else, but if she had just arrested and executed Ludveck based on that information she'd be a tyrant, the other nobles would never trust her and could possibly turn against her too. Getting proof was not a sign of hesitation. Sure, she says she'd like to attempt diplomacy first instead of immediately resorting to the sword, but as soon as she says that, a soldier runs in and says Ludveck is preparing to attack and Elincia realizes the time for negotiation is over and authorizes an immediate attack.

Lucia: As we suspected, Lord Ludveck is intent on rebellion. His followers are spread across the land, inciting insurrection. We have the documents to prove it. Geoffrey: Queen Elincia, I stand ready to defend the realm! I will lead the Royal Knights into Felirae, and we will seize the duke! Elincia: I am hesitant to resort to the sword without at least attempting diplomacy. At all costs, I must stop the people of Crimea from fighting one another. [A Crimean soldier rushes in] Crimean Soldier: Your Majesty! News from the countryside! Duke Ludveck has assembled an army and announced his intentions against you! The rebellion in Felirae is growing quickly! Elincia: I see… Lucia: He must have realized that his operations were no longer a secret. Your Majesty, we have no time to waste. We must stand against this, for the future of Crimea! Elincia: …I understand. Geoffrey, leader of the Royal Knights… I hereby authorize the use of military force against the rebel army! Geoffrey: Yes, Your Majesty. At once! Radiant Dawn, Chapter 2-2, Tides of Intrigue

Does a few seconds warrant Ludveck's criticisms? Is that a failure of Elincia, for taking a moment to say she wants to try diplomacy first?

Ludveck: Exactly, Your Majesty. If you truly had the power to quell the civil war… As long as I could affirm that, even if I were executed as a traitor, I would have no regrets. But, no, you were too hesitant and too concerned about harming the people… Now look what has happened. Radiant Dawn, Chapter 2-F, Elincia's Gambit Extended Script Translation from Serenes Forest

No, the real reason it took Elincia so long to act is because Bastian, Lucia and Geoffrey failed in their roles for her. All three of them had known that this was underway for a while.

Elincia: I see… So, that’s what’s going on. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I’m very sorry your village was affected by this. You have my sincere apologies. Brom: Oh, no, Your Majesty. We don’t need no apology. We’re just happy we could help. Geoffrey: Lucia… Brom’s story confirms what we’ve suspected all along. Lucia: Yes, as we thought. Duke Ludveck of Felirae is firing up a rebellion. We should have seen it coming. To be honest, Queen Elincia, there have been a number of indications that something like this was under way. We’d hoped to uncover something more tangible than hushed rumors… I should have told you sooner. Radiant Dawn, Chapter 2-2, Tides of Intrigue

They've suspected it. They've known it. They're not surprised when the Ohma villagers tell Elincia about it, which is the first time she ever hears of this going on. Lucia apologizes for keeping it from Elincia because she was waiting for more proof. If Elincia had known about this sooner, she could have acted sooner. She would have acted sooner, by how she immediately sends Lucia to gather evidence.

But worst of all is Bastian. Bastian not only knows that this is happening, he is so certain his absence would set things into motion that he hires Ike and the Greil Mercenaries to step in and assist at the last minute if things go as he expected. Does he warn Elincia of what might happen while he was gone? No. Not only that, but Bastian isn't even going to Daein to see if the new king is going to be friendly to them. He's going to Daein to get Izuka to force Izuka to cure Renning, even though Bastian has known all along for years that the herons could have cured Renning. Why does he go this route?

[エリンシア] ユリシーズ、あなたは いままでどこにいたのです？▼ 突然、連絡を絶ってしまって… とても心配していたのですよ。▼ [ユリシーズ] デインにて…… 長く探っていた”鍵”にめぐり合いまして。▼ それ故、表より姿を消し、 策謀を巡らしておりました。 全てはクリミアの未来のために……▼ Radiant Dawn, Chapter 4-5, Unforgivable Sin Extended Script

In the Extended Scripts (JP Only script locked to Hard/Manic Modes), Bastian explains that he is looking for a "key" to Crimea's future in Daein while working in secret, which is later revealed to be that he wants Izuka, former advisor of King Pelleas of Daein, cure Renning. This despite the fact that he could go to the herons the entire time, and eventually winds up going to the herons in the end anyway. While never talking to Elincia about any of this. The only justification for this is that Bastian is in love with Renning and Bastian is worried that Renning will die if he is cured through heron galdr, as Rajaion did, and Bastian's emotions get in the way of his reason. The best and most charitable explanation I can give Bastian saying that Renning is the key to Crimea's future, to the point he's left Elincia alone since before Part 2 begins when she really could have used his help, is that he hopes that Renning's support will make Elincia's rule more stable, but it's never explained why Bastian believes Renning is the key to the future or why Bastian doesn't go straight to the herons, so your guess is as good as mine.

But that still doesn't excuse the fact that he hires mercenaries to rescue Elincia without ever warning Elincia himself. He either doesn't believe in her himself, which him saying that Renning is the future of Crimea kind of hints towards, or he is just leaving the the queen of the country in the dark because he thought his plan was best. Either way, unforgivable.

None of Elincia's most trusted people, the people she relies on for advice and counsel, gives her a single hint of a warning of the information they have, even if it is only rumors. Elincia should have been told.

Is Elincia young and naïve? Yes. Ludveck's criticisms that she's too trusting, that it is too easy to assassinate her, or poison her food or drink are 100% valid. I'll even agree with his point about her letting the fleeing rebels leave after she captures Ludveck in the final chapter, they absolutely should be arrested and punished for treason. Maybe not killed, but punished.

But that she is too hesitant to act to quell the rebellion? No. Bastian, Geoffrey, and Lucia keep vital information from Elincia. That the civil war gets so far is on them, not Elincia. Elincia always takes the correct next step for her based on what she knows and what they know after finding out about it. Now, for all Ludveck knows, Bastian and the others found out and told Elincia from the start and the inaction was on Elincia, because why wouldn't they keep the queen informed, so he can say what he believes to be true. But the fact that Elincia believes him, the fact that no one calls out the three of them for what they did wrong, is a failure of the writing.

Elincia: Yes, that’s true. It’s for the same reason that, once I knew of the rebels’ movements… I didn’t immediately make any decisive orders. Radiant Dawn, Chapter 2-F, Elincia's Gambit Extended Script Translation from Serenes Forest

If they wanted me to believe that message, they would have needed to add another chapter into Part 2, not that Radiant Dawn needs to be any longer, ideally making Chapter 3 deal with her attempting diplomacy and hesitating to act (maybe they set up a place to talk that gets attacked and she still doesn't authorize an attack on Ludveck), and then Chapter 4 being Geoffrey's Charge when Ludveck mobilizes his army.

However, as it stands, Elincia hesitating to take action is completely absurd.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

ok what about soft moments w the main six???

The Arcana HCs: the best part of the day with M6

~ @godslayer143 requested something like this too, I think their words were "romantic tidbits throughout the day" and something about that phrasing made me melt. anyways here you go, much love from - brainrot ~

Julian

Every evening you spend with him is a gift

He's got the kind of anxious energy that peaks in the late mornings and he likes to fill his day with things to do and people to talk to and places to see

He really mellows out when the sun begins to set, and that's when he comes home and realizes that he's forgotten to eat a meal or hydrate (he's trying, he promises, he just gets distracted) and that's when you've learned to have your time free to catch your breath together

Sometimes this looks like having a hot plate of food ready or a cool glass of lemonade, sometimes it means sitting next to him and asking about his day while he strips off all the heavy outer layers of his clothing and lets the day's sweat air out

Those little moments of grounding become the thing he measures his days with and you will never fully understand how much he appreciates them

He in turn likes to make you feel special, every night is date night

Maybe it's drinks at the Raven, maybe it's attending or watching him perform a play at the community theater, maybe it's a walk on the beach while he tells you about his days at sea

He's a hopeless romantic, and he's hopelessly romantic for you

Asra

If mid-morning wasn't your favorite time of day before, it is now

Because that is when they wake up

You've got your own schedule to keep but now you know to be free around 10 AM and have some tea on hand

They're the most refreshed when they wake up, the light is golden and the air is warm, the day is full of the unknown, every muscle is relaxed from sleep, and when they start to emerge from their pile of sheets and pillows the first thing they get to look at is you

There is nothing wrong with being a naturally guarded person, but these are the moments when he can be completely open with you and he treasures each one

Drowsy cuddles are the best, the lines from the pillow are pressed into their cheek, they have the fluffiest bedhead, their clothes are rumpled, and they're fixing you with the most lovesick gaze

You have never seen dimples look so soft, he's pressing chaste little kisses to whatever part of you he can reach and murmuring sleepy sweet nothings just to watch you blush

He's going to spend the rest of the day trying to make you feel as loved as waking up to you did for him

It'll be creative little gestures, a little note on the counter, your favorite drink in the coolbox, maybe a surprise date rambling through the alleyways until you find a new place to eat

Nadia

Late nights with her are unparalleled

She is fully dedicated to taking care of Vesuvia, and her days are tightly scheduled with meetings and committees and important dinners

But once Vesuvia's asleep, she can dedicate all her attention to you

You know being around people and maintaining a city's well-being is tiring, so you like to gather everything she needs to relax with you

You got Portia to write down her evening routine in detail, so when Nadia's finally finished her state dinner you have her bath drawn and your hands free to de-style and brush and wash her hair

Once you're both in your dressing gowns you'll go somewhere quiet to enjoy the night view

A lot of the time it's a slow walk through the wilder parts of the palace gardens, breathing in the cool night air, talking about the day and checking in with each other

Often it's going up to the contemplation tower and opening the windows, sharing a nightcap and stargazing

The sleep she gets after nights with you is restful and dreamless, and it makes her want to give you the same peace it brings her

She may be busy, but you will always be her priority and she makes sure you know that

Muriel

Early mornings with Muriel are spectacular

Unless you're the type to go to bed a few hours after sunrise, he is definitely up before you are

He has chickens to feed, and a host of protective wards to refresh

And now, he has you to make breakfast with

It takes some effort to consistently open your eyes as the sun is rising and he's just returning from his walk around the perimeter, but it's worth it to cook next to him

You've been adding new items to the menu besides just eggs, and now you two have the perfect synchronized dance as you assemble a breakfast of yogurt, nuts, fruit, and bread

You'll sit together in the doorway, watching the sun rise and mist clear, snuggled next to him for warmth in the morning chill with Inanna laying over your feet

These are the moments that tell Muriel that all is right in the world, something he rarely experienced before he met you

He used to sleep to escape the discomfort of going through life, but now he looks forward to waking up so he can begin a new day with you

He in turn wants you to feel empowered to make whatever decisions you want to, and will happily sit down with you in the evenings with a hot drink and listen to you tell him all your thoughts

Portia

You have a lunchtime tradition with her

It's one of the few points in the day that you can plan on having free, without expecting to have something you want to do with it besides eat with each other

Mornings are an organized rush to get out the door, and evenings are full of social activities, but lunch is one hour to sit and eat with minimal interruptions

You take turns packing a picnic and you'll meet up wherever works - in the palace gardens if you're in Vesuvia, on the ship deck if you're on a trip, on the front steps of the cottage if it's your day off

She makes the best sandwiches and Asra taught you the skill of perfect tea brewing, and there's always baked goods somewhere

She'll kick off her shoes and sit in the sun, her hair shining and her face steadily freckling, blue eyes twinkling as she schemes for your evening plans and belly laughing about all the funny things she's heard and seen so far

As someone whose schedule is organized around other people's activities, you organizing your schedule around time with her means the world to her

She wants you to always feel as relevant and important as you make her, and it shows. Whatever challenge you want to take on, she's putting her all into it right next to you

Lucio

He's at his best in the afternoons

He is a naturally early riser, but he's a naturally early riser who doesn't like mornings, so he tends to pout his way through the first several hours of the day

Evenings are when he really comes alive, which means he's too energetic to stop and connect

Afternoons are when he's just been rejuvenated by lunch, when the air is nice and warm and the day is at its busiest, when there is still work to be done and therefore a task to focus on

When you're on the road with him, it means swinging your clasped hands between the two of you as he teaches you the rowdiest drinking songs and tells you of the mischief he got up to as a kid

Since your childhood memories are faint at best, he likes to retell his childhood like you were a part of it, and imagine what sort of youth he'd have had with you

On off days, it means a sparring session, practicing footwork, strengthening your grip, learning new techniques

He's beautiful in his element like this, golden hair and arm glinting in the sun, a rosy glow across his face, and his sharp, proud smile as he compliments your hard work

You were quick to recognize and encourage the good in him, and he is determined to do the same for you in every way he can

[shearlin]

Word count: 2977

An epilogue to 'A Piece of Heart'

First || << Previous

Every journey comes to an end. This one was no different. But there are still somethings to settle before the final farewells. Like items that were rented out that needed to be returned to their rightful owner. Like Legend was going to allow for them to give them back.

Hi :D I was fully expecting to post it in like few months. But as I was working on a different WIP I kept getting distracted writing this instead.

Enjoy :D

Nine portals of swirling white and gold framed in the arches of runes - glistering and icy blue - shone brightly in the middle of the meadow, as nine heroes of courage filled through the sparse trees.

They were allowed some time of reprieve after the final battle, some time to heal, to celebrate, to say their goodbyes.

Small mercies , Legend thought as the little whisper that guided them all here fizzled out to the soft rustling of the leaves. He took a deep breath to steady himself before turning to look around at his brothers, who were talking easily though the final final goodbyes.

This is it . The end of our journey.

He thought he would be angrier. Or more apathetic. That was usually how his journeys were ending so far. Either caught in the staticky fuzz filling his mind, while waiting restlessly for yet another unforeseen catastrophe to happen or in a simmering, directionless anger when faced with that particular kind of loneliness and longing that came with the goodbyes. 

Instead he found himself… calm? Tentatively content, even if a bit wistful. It was… bizarre. He scoffed at his own anxiety and rolled his shoulders, willing himself to relax. Seriously, if his mind could enjoy the ‘sweat’ part of the bittersweetness of this moment, it would be great.

They gathered in the space between the time gates and repeated for a hundredth time today the same plans for the future they shared a million times already in those last two weeks. Maybe no Link was good with goodbyes.

[...]

They stood in silence watching the portals radiating with power, all feeling a slight pull reaching deep into their souls. They would need to go soon.

Four broke the silence first stepping towards Legend and reaching into his bag. “Well, I think this officially counts as ‘the end of all of this’ so here.” He pulled out the Rod of Seasons and held it out for the veteran, “Once again, vet, thank you for everything. I dread to think how this journey would look without you.” And somehow Legend knew he meant so much more than just saving him from the worst of the portal sickness symptoms.

He looked at the item in smithy’s hands with furrowed brows feeling his hands itch. He needs it back. He promised Din he will keep it safe and away from any ill meaning person or being, while Farore re-establishes the Secrets keeping the Oracle Islands safe. He should bag it and as soon as he returns to his house, put it in a basement layered thick with protective and masking charms for however long he needs to, until Din sends for him.

He turned away looking deep into the swirling maw of the portal closest to him. Stretching his senses and focusing on the tiny tug on his very soul he had no doubt about it. They were divine in origin. Hylia Herself sends them their way to take them home safely. What were the odds She would put them in danger the first thing when they’re truly on their own for the first time in months?

… You know what? Never mind, better not answer that .

There was no way of knowing what exactly was upsetting Four magic this badly. Were his shattering scars sensitive to dark magic? Or it was the time-space shift itself, with its unnatural stretch and bend and crush and-

“Um, Vet?”

“Keep it.”

Read the rest on Ao3!

[edutainer2022]

I'm in a very complicated (non)relationship with faith and religion. Loss, grief, and war do a number on that. And I'm in a weird mood (also insanely busy). I would assume the Tracies too have a complicated (and different for each) relationship with faith and spirituality, in their line of work. It's Easter time. So here's a little Earth and Sky piece centered around that time of the year, memories, fears, and love, of course. All blatant parallels with religious symbolism are all on my agnostic self, I mean no disrespect whatsoever!

EASTER

Christmas was easy. Approachable. Christmas was always about family and snuggling, comfy pijamas and Lord of the Rings rewatch maraphons, and gifts for everyone, cinnamon, cocoa, decorations and garlands. Christmas was manageable even after Mom. Then after Dad. Never the same, but manageable.

Easter was weird... In their childhood Easter was always a whirl of colors and activities - egg die on every surface besides the eggshells, egg hunts on the farm and ranch, chocolate prizes, bright baskets, and laughter. And Mom. Always Mom at the center of it all, orchestrating and directing the colorful chaos. Mom told them stories. An Irish Catholic, Mom made a point to go to mass on Easter morning, although she didn't insist they go with. They usually did, dressed in Sunday best, even Gordie on his best behavior. There would be waffles and ice-cream on the way back from the church, and sprinkles in John's hair. With Mom gone the colors muted. The whirlwind stopped. The spring lost its promise. It felt almost a blasphemy to celebrate a resurrection after a loss they suffered. Scott tried to uphold the egghunts for Gordie, who barely remembered his with Mom, and for Allie, who didn't, but it fell flat.

Dad never much discussed spirituality with them. An astronaut, a war veteran, a widower, he held certain cards close to his soul. They grew up with boundless belief in scientific knowledge and answers to be pursued by scientific methods. If there were no answers this side of known universe, that meant the science was yet to catch up. They all helped with catching up a lot. As much as they grew up with boundless belief in each other (that and an elaborate array of superstitions, given their respective specializations). And a firm conviction Mom was an angel up in heaven, watching over them. It all made sense when a brother's comms were silent in the danger zone or a brother's hand was limp and cold over hospital covers. Unbeknowest to them, through the endless night alone in outer space, their father always had but one prayer: "Look after them, my love! Keep them all safe as I can't!"

In a rare arrangement of circumstances, they were all at the farm for Easter weekend, for a change. Some issues needed to be dealt with the estate. And it was an unspoken opportunity to visit Mom's grave. (And Dad's headstone over an empty casket, right next to her). Virgil found Scott at the backporch, seated on the stairs overlooking the meadow. Alone. As he suspected he would. Virgil would have been happy to just plop down and sit it out with biggest brother shoulder to shoulder till dusk, giving him room to just be and a friendly ear, should he want one. Scott had been in a mood all day, maybe all week. So much so even John was worried, who didn't get to observe Scott in his natural brooding state up close often. Biggest brother was obviously not forthcoming with any conversation starters. Virgil took his chances and nudged a flannel clad shoulder to his right. In their childhood home Scott always dug out old, broken in flannel, albeit in blue.

"I think about going to Mom's church tomorrow morning. You wanna come with?"

It was a multi-layered invitation and Virgil knew it. It would imply quality time away from the general mayhem for just the two of them, a chance to gather one's thoughts and to connect to Mom in a way that was special to her, even a chance to bring home a decent breakfast from the diner in the town, across the church. They would then all pack up in two cars, make a trip to the cemetery, pay their respects, and have an Easter dinner all together as a family. Virgil nudged his brother's shoulder again, looking up with hope. Scott's gaze was still far away.

"You wanna go to Easter mass?"

Virgil felt self-conscious suddenly. He loved the music and the spirit of celebration. Generally loved the idea of connecting to something bigger. Connecting to Mom. He tried another angle.

"You don't believe?"

Mom did - left unspoken over the evening meadow. Scott hummed at that, blue eyes finally landing on his brother. The sadness there left Virgil breathless.

"What? Whether a guy could resurrect in three days? I don't honestly know if I believe that, Virg. But I do believe one could die for all of himanity."

Dad did - another silent echo over the meadow.

That, right there, was Virgil's deepest fear. That one day Scott would leave him behind, crying and helpless, on the sideway of his own via dolorosa, dragging a crucifix through the dust and grime of a danger zone. By Dad's unspoken command.

"Please go with me to Mom's church tomorrow! We can have waffles after."

That was blatant food bribery (aka a tried and true way to get Scott to go to concerts and art galleries). But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Scott responded with an amused chuckle and lifted an arm to invite his brother into a hug. Virgil didn't need to be asked twice. Scott's old flannel shirt smelled of old machine oil from the farm tractor, fabric softener and the inextinguishable odor of his very first, hideous aftershave from way back in basic training. Virgil closed his eyes against the steady heartbeat. "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from him."

[kotylynnemerrill]

Alrighty y'all, another one bites the dust...and as always I hope you guys are still enjoying this fic.

Once again a huge shout out to @aquamarine-dreamer for all her help! I really appreciate you!

Your Words I Hold Forever Ch. 8

May 26th, 1968 4:57 pm

Lexi spotted Rue first. She observed the girl she considered her best friend through the living room window, sitting on the top step of her front porch.  Rue's slender frame was hunched over, her long wiry arms wrapped around her knees.  Her dark curls were held in place by a single hair tie, leaving the long tresses to hang in layers down the middle of her back.

Lexi had no idea why she was here. There was no reason for her to be here...not a good one anyway...

It had been several days since her directorial debut...a disaster in her opinion.  Well, not a complete disaster, but just as she had predicted, it had ruffled some feathers, and Cassie was definitely not happy with her.

She had rushed out of the auditorium with tears in her eyes and had been giving her the cold shoulder ever since.  She had even refused to stay home for summer break.

She had fully expected the same treatment from Rue, but here she was. 

Lexi took a step forward towards the window and paused, taking Rue in.  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, gathering her courage to barrel headfirst into the storm she had created, before making her way to the front door.

The sound of the door opening caused Rue to jump, her eyes wide as she turned to face Lexi.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Lexi gave an apologetic smile as she stepped onto the front porch.

“It’s – no, it’s fine.  I was about to knock.” Rue stood up and dusted off the back of her shorts.  “You know…once I stopped sitting on your steps like some square.” She let out a laugh that didn’t crinkle her eyes the way it usually did.

At least she didn’t seem angry.  Maybe she had dodged the storm after all?

“That’s okay…is – I mean, did you want -” Lexi gestured towards the front door with her thumb.

“No. No, I’m not staying long…I don’t want to bug you.  I just…I’m sorry I randomly showed up at your house, but umm,” Rue turned her face from Lexi and folded her arms over her stomach.  “There’s something I want – I need to tell you.  And I’m not good at this, but I need to try, you know? And I was told making amends with those you love is like the first step to healing yourself…or, some shit like that.”

“Okay…here,” Lexi motioned to the bench to her left, “Come sit.” She sat down and patted the spot next to her. 

Rue’s shoulders visibly sagged as she shuffled her way over and sat down.  She scooted herself back on the bench, just enough to where she could bring her knees up to her chest and wrap her arms around them again.

“Honestly I’m surprised you’re here…I figured you’d be mad at me.” Lexi couldn’t hide the relief in her voice as she spoke.

“No! Not at all! I just…” She let out a long sigh. “I’ve been a real shit friend,” she said after several seconds. “To you…to other people too, but especially to you. And I know I’ve done this spiel before - I could sit here and give you all the reasons why, but they're just excuses…they don't excuse what I've done.  But…"

“Rue…I know you’ve been struggling, and…who am I to tell you how to cope with that…whatever it may be.  I can’t. But I don't want you hurting yourself either.” Lexi shrugged her shoulder while raising her hand.  Letting her hand fall back down, she folded them in her lap and angled herself to where she was facing Rue.  “And…I’m sorry…I know I kind of put all your shit out in the open with the play…but my goal was not to hurt you. I promise. I miss you and I love you, you know?  I wanted you to understand that.  And I wanted to help…but I guess I fucked that up huh?” she smiled wryly. “And the play was complete shit too…guess I deserve that.”

Rue raised her head to look at Lexi, an incredulous expression morphing her beautiful features.

“Why do you always do that?” Lexi furrowed her brows in confusion.

“You’re always putting yourself down,” Rue continued.

Lexi huffed out a soft chuckle.  “Yeah…I’ve been told that before.”

“So, stop. I thought your play was really beautiful. You know, seeing your play…what you wrote…it meant the world to me.  It’s probably the first time in a long time I’ve looked at my life and not completely hated myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know…I think I’ve been through a lot and I just, I don’t know what to do with it.” Rue inclined her head in Lexi’s direction. “You’ve been through a lot, and you know what to do with it.”

Lexi scoffed.  “I don’t know about that.”

Truth is she felt like she had some sort of chronic, debilitating illness and only within the past few years had she found something…a way to manage the pain, the hurt she felt.  But it wasn’t a cure.

“Lexi, look at what you’ve accomplished.  You’ve channeled all this negative shit and turned it into something.  I don’t know how to do that.” Rue swallowed thickly. “I don’t know how to get to where you are…but I promise I’m gonna try.  And I just wanted to say thank you…for not giving up on me.  And, you know, for giving me a second chance.”

Lexi gave a small smile. “Of course.”

“I mean it.  Since we’ve reconnected, it’s been nice having someone to talk to again. Someone who understands. I mean, I talk to Gia...but, I could never fully share with her what was going on,” Rue tapped her temple with a slender finger, “up here.  And certainly not with mom. After Dad died, they were grieving too…I didn’t want to unload on them like that.”

“Do you think about your dad often?” Lexi whispered, gently encouraging Rue to continue.

Rue nodded. “Yeah.  I feel like I still had so much to learn from him, you know? I also think I’m really angry about it.”

“Yeah…”

“Do you ever get angry about it?”

“It's… a bit more complicated than that.” Yes, she was still angry. She didn’t want to be, but it was just one of many secondary side effects, or sequelae, to the condition that was left by Gus Howard’s leaving.

“What do you mean?”

“Of course, I still get mad…but, I think like…I was also kind of relieved when he stopped showing up because…I was always so worried something bad was going to happen.”

“Hmm’” Rue hummed “I get that.”

“Now it’s like, every time the phone rings…” Lexi tilted her head “You know…?”

“But you figured it out – you fucking figured it out.  When my dad died, everybody would tell me that it was for a reason.  Ah,” Rue groaned, “that shit pissed me off.  I would literally want to strangle them.  But…I think what they were saying is that you gotta give it a reason - all of it…because I don’t want to hold on to this forever.  I can’t…just doesn’t feel good.” She shrugged “Its just…I know other people are built different but…you know…it’s just too much for me.”

Lexi nodded, feeling the familiar sting of tears fill her eyes at her friend’s words.  She hastily wiped at a tear as it slid down her cheek.

“Hey…I’m sorry.” Rue reached over, gently swiping her thumb at the corner of Lexi’s eye as another tear slid down. “I’m sorry.”

“No…it’s…”

“No – sorry.” Rue tried again.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to ball on you.” Lexi huffed out a watery laugh.

“Lexi…I promise you it's not all his fault.”

“I know that.” And she did…in the back of her mind.  It provided only a small amount of comfort to her.

“And, maybe…I hope he wakes up every day and thinks, ‘I’m gonna be better for her’.  That’s also the problem” Rue inhaled deep and exhaled through her nose, “Because he only wants to be better for you…for Cassie.  Because he loves you a lot more than he loves himself.”

“Hmm.” Lexi hoped that was true.

“I know I do. I don’t know if that makes you feel better…”

“Thank you…” Lexi leaned forward and embraced Rue tightly. Rue seemed to melt into Lexi as she brought her own arms up, placing her palms flat just below Lexi’s shoulder blades and squeezed back. “I’m sorry, I just…I really missed you. With Cassie at college – God, she’s so mad at me right now. And mom…you know…There’s not been a lot keeping me going other than writing and Fe -” Lexi’s eyes widened suddenly, catching herself before she could finish what she was about to say.

Rue released Lexi from her embrace, an eyebrow arched. “And?”

“No – it’s nothing.  Sorry - I shouldn’t…” Lexi frantically tried to back track but it was too late.

“And what?” Rue asked again.  Lexi looked down, avoiding Rue’s eyes as heat blossomed up her neck. “Well…spit it out Howard.”

Lexi scrunched her nose, and a sheepish downturned smile graced her lips before she could stop it.  Her eyes flicked up and she could feel the warm, tingling sensation spread to her cheeks and ears, as she caught the smirk growing on Rue’s face.

“I…okay, there’s –”

“I knew it!” Rue clapped her hands together excitedly. “I knew you were being secretive about something! And the dedication at your play – who is it?”

“Well…” Lexi bit her bottom lip and Rue’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“Is it someone from school?”

“No – it’s not anyone from school, but you do know them.”

“Okay…”

“Oh God…I feel like I’m digging a hole here.  I…promise me you won’t be mad?”  Lexi really wished she could disappear, evaporate, like water on wet clothes, drying in the sun.

Rue’s eyebrows nearly reached her hairline. “Well shit…who is it?”

“Its Fez…”

Rue blinked several times before a wide grin spread across her face.

“You’re trippin’?” She barked out a laugh.

Lexi’s face grew hotter, and she brought her hands up to hide her burning face. “Oh God….”

“Wait…for real?” Lexi nodded, not trusting her voice.

“You gotta be shitting me.  That boy got some balls – how, when?”

“New Year’s.” Her answer was slightly muffled.

“New Year’s – wait, were you at Virgil’s then? I saw Fez but…”

“Yeah…” Lexi lowered her hands. “I was supposed to drive Cassie home, but she ditched me.  I wound up sitting next to him on one of the couches, and we got to talking. Then I saw him again at the Dairy a few days later and…I guess…”

“Well damn…” Lexi fought the urge to groan. “You know...it makes sense in a weird way.”

“What does?”

“The two of you…together.  You’re both kind, curious, and empathetic. You’re both caregivers.”

Lexi smiled, with a shrug of her shoulder. “Yeah…”

“So…you guys aren’t like…ballin’ – are you?  Because this whole coming clean and making amends and shit is a delicate process…one thing at a time okay.”

“I – Rue, first of all –”

“Oh gross…”

“Rue!” Lexi was sure her face was about to combust.

“Okay, okay…I just…at least its not Tucker Green.”

“Fuck Blake Green.” Lexi choked out, giggling.  “You know…you’re what brought us together. Our mutual love for you.”

“I don’t think he’s feelin’ a lot of love for me at the moment.  I think he’s still mad at me, to be honest.  He didn’t say it - I mean, he knows the nature of the game, but I really fucked things up, I think. And now…he didn’t even tell me he was drafted.  I found out from Kitty. I mean…”

“Hell,” Lexi let out a short huff, “He barely told me – I actually found the card – had to yell at him.” She glanced at Rue, tucking her bottom lip in again.  “You can write to him if you want…I am. And we can send the letters together.”

“Yeah…maybe.”

“Might make it easier, to write it out - what you need to say to him.”

“I just…I don’t want the last words I said to him to be… – I was pretty angry the last time I saw him, not in my right mind.  He was pretty pissed at me too.”

“Rue, I don’t think - and I feel I can say this with the utmost confidence - I don’t think he’s mad at you. I think he’s been worried about you.  And I think he feels guilty…”

“He’s got nothing to feel guilty about. I was doing shit before I met him, so that’s not on him.”

“Then write to him.” Lexi’s voice was firm, telling Rue what she needed to do.

“I…aren’t you scared of, like, what’s gonna happen? What if he doesn’t come back? I mean…shit.”

Leave it to Rue to be straight to the point.  Not that Lexi hadn’t been asking the same question over and over, ever since she had found out.

“Fuck if I know.  I try not to think about it. I can’t…”  Lexi’s stomach rolled, and she had to close her eyes. They popped open when she felt a warm hand on her leg.  Rue’s mouth was pursed in a thin line and her dark eyes were wide.

Lexi didn’t know what to say.  For the first time, she truly could not come up with the words to describe all the big feelings threatening to drown her.

She was being ridiculous – dramatic – but she couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t lose the one person in her life that made her feel appreciated and wanted…like she belonged.

Lexi sighed and placed one of her own hands on top of Rue’s, giving it a squeeze.

“I’m scared…of course I am.  I’ve never experienced this before, you know?  And…I know it may seem like I have the answers, but…I have no idea what to do.”

“Nobody said you had to…” Rue’s voice was soft, sympathetic.

“I go through the motions…like I did with dad…like I always do…” Lexi breathed out a sharp laugh. “He told me I should pray.” She laughed again, louder, the force of it slightly shaking her shoulders.

Rue brought Lexi into another tight hug, resting her head on Lexi’s shoulder. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears again.

“You know, I don’t know much about God…can’t say we’re on good terms or anything, but let’s give it a shot.” Lexi managed to sputter out a whimper, as her shoulders continued to shake.

Rue wrapped her arms tighter around Lexi, interlocking her fingers, and it opened something within her. Like her very own Pandora’s box, all the hurt and fear she had been holding onto flowed down her cheeks with her tears.

[jupiter-86]

Finished vol. 3 of Stars of Chaos (Sha Po Lang) today!!!!!!!!

This story continues to get better and better with each book-- it was pretty damn hard to put down. Sometimes I was literally saying "OH MY GOD" to myself while reading.

Thoughts and ramblings under the cut (there will be spoilers)

First of all, the reveal of how Chang Geng was given the wu'ergu as a child... dear god that was so disturbing and horrifying... just 100% nightmare fuel.

I loved how Gu Yun reacted to this though, his absolute compassion and heartbreak and love for Chang Geng despite him being possessed with the evil god. Actually I loved Gu Yun even more in this book overall. I can't believe I wasn't all about him in book 1 what was I thinking???

Chang Geng continues to be such a fascinating character. I can never get tired of his scheming tbh, and the way he can be scary and sneering or placid and heroic (and sweet to Gu Yun)... I just love all the facets of his character. Also, his deteriorating mental and emotional state in this book has been heartbreaking to watch. Somebody help my boy!!!!

Chang Geng and Gu Yun together in this book just stole every scene. I mean what else is new but oh, in this book??? Their romance has ramped up to 11 and it's riveting and complex-- sometimes sexy as hell, sometimes heartbreaking and sweet, sometimes funny, sometimes painful, but always they just love each other so much. I especially love how Gu Yun promised to never abandon Chang Geng if he goes mad-- instead he'll break his legs and lock him up and Chang Geng is into it lol.

And sidenote, Chang Geng being so horny and kinky and Gu Yun's fairly vanilla tastes being scandalized is so freaking funny omg.

The plot, too, has got me so so bad!!! Not so much with the Westerners/war part but with the court maneuvering and gathering of power that Chang Geng is doing. I'm so stressed out!!!!!! But also so invested like never before-- like I love the scheming and the manipulations and I do think Chang Geng would make a better ruler than Li Feng, but also can this really be a good thing if he succeeds? There's the wu'ergu to begin with, the little crown prince who'd need to die for him to rule, and Gu Yun's loyalty...

In this book we've seen Gu Yun dream of retirement and take better care of himself because he wants a future with Chang Geng, meanwhile Chang Geng is helping the nation while laying groundwork for usurping the throne... but is the throne actually his goal or not???? Sometimes I'm not 100% sure???

And honestly I don't even know what I want to happen at this point when it comes to the plot. I think I like Gu Yun's retirement idea better than Chang Geng's apparent eye for the throne, at least in theory, but a part of me also wants to see Chang Geng succeed and step on everyone and sit on that throne...ahhhh I'm so conflicted...

I feel like I need to reread the last few chapters because I know there were layers there-- both with Chang Geng's plans and motivations and in Gu Yun's reaction to it. That flute scene alone omg.

All I know for sure is I'm scared and I'm ready for more lol.

Another thing: Shen Yi. Shen Yi is a real one on so many levels and I love him. The way he figured out that Gu Yun and Chang Geng had sex pretty much instantly was hilarious. Also, I really hate that his shitty family is trying to force him into marriage; I do not want him trapped like that for political bullshit. I hope he gets out of it!!! The only person I could see him marrying rn is the doctor girl, Chen Qingxu. But maybe I'm seeing things?

Also, what is up with the plague??? I really want to see the rest of their current investigation. Them going behind enemy lines in disguise was so much fun!

TL;DR I loved it and can't wait for book 4!!!!!

[nrdmssgs]

Darker matters (part 2)

Masterlist Previous part Next part

Angst Pairing: Nikolai x Olga 'Zhar' Samoilova Summary: Gathering strength, losing something much more important. Warnings: Swearing, inaccurate description of military operations. Author's note: This is a sequel to A heart full of pity. Thanks: My eternal muses: @homicidal-slvt, @sofasoap and @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot. And a very special thanks to @pale-elysium for the unbelievably beautiful things and words shared. Thank you for your kind help with German part of the story. I owe you so much.

“Zhar, you have thirty more minutes before that blizzard reaches your position. Over.” Leaning over the radio transmitter, Iskra nervously taps an intricate rhythm with her knuckles on the table. She regrets succumbing to Zhars persuasions.

Of course, ‘want to make Nikolai happy - make this woman happy’ rule still applied to their work, but this time they are risking losing the second in command in a snow-storm, that approached her. This for sure wouldn't make Nik happy. So the only hope, Iskra has, is that Zhar turns back to the transport right now, and their commander never finds out, what happened on this mission. 

“Iskorka*, don't worry. I was born here - a little snow won't do any hurt. I need just a bit more time to tag our targets and then ill wait till the blizzard calms down in an old depot. Now how about I do my job, and you keep Nikolai occupied and away? Over.” Even through comms, Iskra feels a sweet smile, that always accompanies Zhars cooing tone.

“You stubborn ass, this was my job, and you somehow sold me this stupid idea of passing it on to you.” This Iskra mutters just to herself, taking out a cigarette and patting her pockets in search of a lighter. Not only, she is stuck in this half-dead city in the far north of Russia in November, when -25 C is considered surprisingly warm - she may just witness a slow and painful death of her superior and can do absolutely nothing about that. Iskra is pissed - she already promised herself to never give in to Olga’s persuasion again, but that's not enough to calm her down. She needs just a few inhales of cigarette smoke, to not shout back at Zhar.

A lighter clicks right before her face. Iskra knows, to whom does this one belong, but she still lifts her gaze and immediately regrets it. He was supposed to be on the other side of the continent, but some animalistic instinct led him right here, to an apartment converted into the far north Chimera operations hqs.

Before she even opens her mouth, the man asks to make room in front of the radio with a silent gesture. Iskra looks back with an unspoken regret, but he is relentless. So she takes off her headphones and hands them to him, giving up her chair.

Zhar can't let herself turn back now, when she's almost done. Her mind begs her to give up and run, before a thick gray wall of snow descends on conserved weaponry, cuts off ways back to Iskra and erases Zhars footprints in mere minutes. Her body is already giving up, as she feels her breath shaking and the world around her starts spinning. But to abort this operation now would mean to return to point zero, erasing both strategic and personal progress, she reached. Seeing blizzard, coming after her from far horizon line, she lets herself only one moment of rest, closing her eyes and blindly checking her equipment. And then a familiar voice pulls Zhar out of her cold oblivion.

“You are turning back right now. It's either you coming back on your own, or I'm dragging you out of there. Chose wisely, nebo moye*. By the way, you were born near Moscow, not in Norilsk*, so stop telling nonsense to your colleagues. Out.” Zhar curses under her breath and heads back to the transport. 

When she enters their improvised hq, it's full of people already. She maneuvers between unfamiliar faces, smiles at familiar ones, taking off the outer layers of her winter gear as she goes. In the depths of the apartment there is a dark doorway leading to a small bedroom. Judging by the way the others are slowly gathering at the opposite end of the apartment, Olga understands what awaits her there. 

She pauses on the threshold, takes a deep breath and steps into the darkness.

“Help me solve a riddle, will you?” A familiar voice: deep and husky. A voice, that can be so soft, yet now it's all cold and steel. “I send a group of trained soldiers to infiltrate an old military base and tag weapons stored there. I give them a commander, that would organize their work and manage every step of an operation. Because of extreme conditions, I specifically emphasize that the commander is still rehabilitating after an injury and must remain at headquarters. After I'm reassured, everything will be fine - I let them all go, kiss the woman I love goodbye and go on with my business. That's when I receive an invoice from our equipment supplier. And find out, we only have to pay for one set of winter equipment. Strangely, it's all your size. Any thoughts on how I had to interpret it?”

She is glad that Nikolai is standing behind her and does not see how her hands are shaking while she is trying to unbutton her jacket.

“I'm ok, Nik. I-”

“No, you are not!” The door slams shut. Nikolai doesn't want others to hear, what he's about to say. But most importantly - he doesn't want others to witness, how weak in every single sense she is right now. 

“Olga, you are the best ally, I could ever wish for. Your skills, loyalty, discipline, mindset - hell, I regret not hiring you sooner. But it all turns to nothing once you cross a border of this specific country. Here you are off the leash, fighting at war, that happens in your own head. Every single time, I leave you alone here - you believe, you have to do everything by yourself, even if it means putting yourself in danger. What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you try this hard to get yourself killed here?!”

She knows, Nikolai is not mad at her. Zhar heard his voice, when he was pissed. But this time he sounds concerned, even scared for her. And that convinces her to be honest to him.

“This place owes me a few people… But I promise, it's not about the country, it's about our team.”

Niks hands cover hers, as he presses himself to her back. “Our team? Nebo moye, they are perfectly capable soldiers. Iskra, Yegor, Taava - all trained professionals, and they are not currently undergoing heavy medication course.”

“I can't risk them here, Nik. They have families, they have loved ones to come back to.”

“And you don't?” He squeezes her tighter in his arms, despite her last words hurting him. Deep inside he awaited, mixing work and relationship together, shifting in so many new roles won't be easy for both of them. Being a Lieutenant in the TF is very different from being the second in command in a private military company. 

Zhar finally relaxes, leans her head back on his shoulder. “Prosti. Ya ne hotela… Ya prosto ne smogla ih otpravit`*”

“How about a deal, my treasure?” Nik turns around and sits on the edge of a dusty old bed. “You find a contractor: anyone, you'd like, complete freedom of choice, I won't interfere. I don't care if their tariff is ridiculously high - we get that soldier for you. Only one circumstance from me: this lucky guy or girl wouldn't be your friend, they will be your subordinate. There will be no missions, you are too afraid to send them on. Sounds good enough?”

What Zhar couldn't get used to is Nikolais unique way of leading any potential fight to a deal. Skipping the actual fighting, he was acting as if he already went through all the potential outcomes of it in his mind and ended up with a proposal, she wasn't able to turn down. 

Leaning on his shoulder, she slowly sank onto the bed next to him.

“Any soldier, I'd ask for?”

Nikolai half smiles, remembering something. “Well, any except for the 141. Price still bears a grudge against me for you…”

***

"Five murder charges, a treason, ban on visiting not one, not even four, but six countries... Is it a CV or a hire-a-crazy-boy-to-ruin-your-company bingo?" Nikolai chuckles, but it is obvious that he is not happy with her choice.

"You gave me the green light on whoever I want to hire..." As Nik waves potential recruits papers, pointing at the guy down in the hall, she catches the papers and pulls them out of his hand.

"I can work with that." She rises from the table and heads for the exit of their private room when Nikolai catches her arm and pulls her closer.

"I know. And that is yet another reason, I'm so in love."

It's not even a caress - just a warmth of his breath rolling down her neck. A promise of something yet to come, when she's back. Zhar could cover the marks, he left on her skin, mask his deep earthy scent with her perfume, but she could never leave him with a calm facade after he teased her that, obviously.

To her relief, their applicant was too engrossed in studying the menu to notice her from afar.

"Herr Krueger, schön, Sie kennenzulernen!*" The man rose his gaze on her and squinted displeasedly.

"Eigentlich ist mein Name Doss…*"

"Eigentlich ist dein Name Krueger. Jetzt hör auf mit dem Unsinn und lass uns zur Sache kommen.*"

***

They were spreading thin and Zhar didn't like it. Too many points of clash, and they're multiplying by every next minute. By this point, executing a withdrawal in one piece would be considered a positive outcome for the whole group.

Zhar touches Kruegers shoulder and points to a place, she's about to head in.

“Nikolai is still there? I'm coming with you then!” Kruegers inhuman hunger for a fight sometimes terrified Olga. But she never showed it. 

“You are staying here covering me, Sebastian. Then you take others back to the base. I'm bringing your boss back, no matter what.” Zhar tenses, her manner of speaking does not tolerate objections. It takes a lot of self-control to not show, how worried she is.

“Good hunting, commander.” Krueger takes a position, checks the route ahead and gestures her, that the path is clear for now. 

She moves with such a high speed that any other partner would not have enough time to cover her with fire. But she chose Sebastian over others for a reason: with his talents, this man is worth of an army. Bullets are flying right above her head, as she ducks and almost falls down a slippery spur. Sweat pours into Zhars eyes, the rifle pulled her to the ground, her legs gave way, but she never stopped. But Krueger was right: this was a hunt, and she wouldn't come back without Nik.

When she finally reaches a half-destroyed building where Nikolai is hiding - he meets her with an irritated look. 

“I'm here to extract you. If they want Chimera beheaded - they'll have to pass through me first.” Zhar answers on his unspoken question, checking if he is wounded. 

“Olga, that's exactly what they want: us both in one place. So be a good soldier for me, go back and lead our people away from this shithole now! And I promise you - this way they'll never behead us.” His words sting her like a slap in the face. What is there left for Chimera, if he stays, risking his life, not letting her fight side by side with him? What is there left for her?

“You know, what it costed me to get here? Nikolai, I didn't fight my way here just for you to turn me away!” She hisses, trying to take up his position and make him go instead of her. 

That's when a long whistle is heard in the sky and the far wall of the building trembles and folds like a house of cards, covering them with impenetrable clouds of dust. Zhar falls to the ground next to Nik. He covers her with his body, for a split second, his lips press against her cheek. He doesn't care about the dust or the streaks of sweat on her skin.

“Nichto ne dast mne takoi silu, kak uverennost`, chto ti v bezopasnosti. Proshu tebya, nebo.*” His voice, although husky from dust, is so calm, as if they're not in the middle of the battleground. 

“You!” Zhar stammers, coughs, but goes on. “You come back in one piece to me, you hear?”

“Always.” Nikolai releases her and pushes away softly.

She hates to leave him alone, fights and urge to turn back and protect him by any cost, but his words still echo in her mind, as she sneaks back from his position under dust cover. “Nothing could grant me as much strength as knowing, that you're safe.” Nikolai knows, how and when to press the right buttons, to make her do anything he wants. Even if it goes against her nature. So she clenches her jaw tightly and disappears in a thick forest, maneuvering between enemies, and remaining unseen. 

The shooting subsides long before Zhar catches up with the rest of the Chimera. This is a good sign - it means Nikolai did not try to become a hero and managed to hide from the enemy, double back, and now he must approach the safe point. Olga inspects their transport, counts people: a few are still missing.

She sends the first group, led by Krueger, away and sits on the ground, waiting for the others. A few minutes later, one soldier appears from the forest, then a second. Their equipment iss soaked to the skin, but they are not injured. Zhar inspects them, arranges transport for the second group, and handles other unforeseen circumstances. 

Iskra tries to catch her for a couple of times, but it's useless - Olga is too deep in a myriad of small tasks to break her concentration. When Iskra finally manages to catch her attention, she notices, that Olgas whole body shakes.

“Zhar, listen to me, please: we need to get away from here. You need to get away.” Iskra tries to steady her commander's trembling hands, but it doesn't help. 

“I-I-I… Fuck, I still need to gather one of our men. I h-have to…” This is no ordinary Zhars demeanor - it's something breaking deep inside her right now. And Iska gets it: her commander already understands very well, what have just happened. She is just reluctant to admit it. So Iskra does the only right thing.

“Zhar stop, look at me. It's not ‘one of our men’, it's Nikolai. And you are running around here not for ten, not even for thirty minutes - it's been an hour, since you came back. If he followed you - he'd be here much sooner. By this point, you must break radio silence to confirm-”

Olga doesn't let her end the phrase and roughly breaks out of Iskras hands. She heads straight to the radio-module and turns it on.

“All stations, this is Lima 5, how copy, over.”

The answers followed almost immediately. Soldier after soldier, voice after voice. Zhar was counting, drawing a little line on the ground over and over. Only one station didn't react.

“Yankee 7, this is Lima 5, how copy, over.”

No answer. Zhar felt, as if she was facing this silent void alone. She didn't feel Iskras hands, trying to pull her away from the radio. Didn't even hear, how her own voice betrayed her and broke into an ugly wheeze.

“Yankee 7, this is Lima 5, how copy, over.”

No answer.

Iskorka - a hypocoristic form of a noun ‘Iskra’, which means ‘a spark’ in Russian

nebo moye - my sky/heaven

Norilsk - one of the northernmost cities in Russia. The average winter temperature in Norilsk is much lower than the average winter temperature in e.g. Moscow

Prosti. Ya ne hotela… Ya prosto ne smogla ih otpravit`* - Im sorry, I didnt want to… I just couldn't send them there.

Herr Krueger, schön, Sie kennenzulernen! - Nice to meet you, mister Krueger.

Eigentlich ist mein Name Doss… - Actually my name is Doss...

Eigentlich ist dein Name Krueger. Jetzt hör auf mit dem Unsinn und lass uns zur Sache kommen. - Actually your name is Krueger. Now stop with the nonsense and let's get down to business.

Nichto ne dast mne takoi silu, kak uverennost`, chto ti v bezopasnosti. Proshu tebya, nebo. - Nothing could grant me as much strength as knowing, that you're safe. Please, my sky.

Next part

[nsfwhiphop]

Official Communication - Letter: Subject: Security Protocols for Royalty: A Guide for the Somali Royal Family Wives

1- Letter to the Three Wives of the Somali Royal Family Regarding Security Rules and Regulations:

Here are the Instagram handles of the three wives:

Priyanka Chopra: @priyankachopra

Deepika Padukone: @deepikapadukone

Christina Santini: @santinihoudini

2- Letter to the Three Jewish Wives of the Somali Royal Family Regarding Security Rules and Regulations:

Here are the instagram handles of the three Jewish wives:

Gal Gadot: @gal_gadot

Natalie Portman: @natalieportman

Mila Kunis: @MilaKunisv

Dear Wives of the Somali Royal Family,

I write to you today not just as your future husband but as your guide through a transition that will forever change your lives. Becoming a member of royalty is not just a title—it’s a commitment to a life of discipline, responsibility, and immense scrutiny. The rules I’m about to outline for you are not merely suggestions but essential guidelines designed to protect you, your family, and the integrity of the Somali Royal Family. Understanding these concepts will be challenging at first, but I will explain them carefully and thoroughly.

Royal life is complex, and everything you do will be magnified in the eyes of the world. You must understand that your words, actions, and even your associations can carry consequences far beyond your personal life. Here are the rules and regulations you must follow to safeguard yourselves and the future of our family.

1. Control of Speech

You must always be mindful of your words. The power of your position means that everything you say could be interpreted, twisted, or taken out of context. Learn to control your tongue. Whether in public or private, be careful of what you say and to whom you say it. Speaking out of turn or carelessly can lead to scandal, legal issues, or worse. Remember, your voice is now not just your own—it’s the voice of the Royal Family.

2. Trustworthy Intermediaries

You will need trustworthy female assistants who can speak on your behalf. Royalty is often a target for those who want to sue for personal gain. Direct interaction can lead to people claiming that you promised or said things you never intended. Having trusted assistants to communicate on your behalf adds a layer of protection. They act as a shield between you and the outside world.

3. Guarding Your Conversations

When you speak on the phone, always be cautious. Conversations can be recorded without your knowledge and used against you in the media or courts. Scandal thrives on rumors and miscommunication. It’s crucial that you keep your interactions secure. If you ever need to discuss sensitive topics, ensure you’re doing so in a controlled, secure environment.

4. Witnesses for Interactions with Men

When interacting with men outside of family, always have at least four witnesses present. This is not just about propriety but protection. If a man is overly flirtatious or inappropriate, without witnesses, rumors can quickly spread, damaging your reputation. These witnesses are your safeguard against false accusations, so always ensure they are nearby when in such situations.

5. Photographs

Never take photos with people unless in formal diplomatic settings—such as United Nations meetings or gatherings with state officials. Random photos can be misused, and compromising images can surface, causing great harm. Ensure every photo taken of you is professional, diplomatic, and represents the values of the Royal Family.

6. Indian Legal Protection

We have an important partnership with India, which means our secrets are also protected by Indian lawyers. If you ever find yourself in a complex legal situation or need advice, always reach out to Karuna Nundy, a highly trustworthy lawyer. She knows the best professionals who can help you. You can contact her and ask for legal recommendations.

(Here is her Wikipedia page for reference, click on the blue link: Karuna Nundy)

7. Family Time as Security

The British Royal Family spends 80% of their time together. Why? Because proximity to family ensures protection and loyalty. You must follow a similar principle: spend the majority of your time with your family members—80% of your time, in fact. The more time you spend with outsiders, the higher the risk of betrayal, lawsuits, and scandals. We stay together to protect each other. Socializing should be done with caution and purpose, always with witnesses, and within the confines of trusted circles.

8. Control of Social Interactions

You can be friendly and gracious, but always control how you meet and interact with people. Security is essential when you socialize. Never attend events or parties without at least four or five witnesses. These witnesses are not just your friends; they are your protection, ensuring no one can falsely claim anything about your behavior or intentions.

9. Careful Selection of Men

Be extremely careful with any man who pursues you. Is he genuinely interested in you, or is he attracted to the power and wealth that come with your status? Always seek advice from your family before you enter any relationship. If you allow the wrong person into the Royal Family, it could put everyone at risk. Our unity and security depend on wise choices, especially in relationships. It is essential to recognize that the royal family consists of many influential wives. If any wife introduces a man with power-hungry intentions into our royal household, it will not go unnoticed. The other royal wives will collectively assess the situation (Council of Royal Wives) and may choose to vote on his expulsion from the family. In such cases, the court system will be employed to reveal his true motives, ensuring that he loses any influence and is ultimately removed from the country. This collective vigilance is vital to protecting our family’s integrity and ensuring that only those with honorable intentions are welcomed into our ranks.

10. Council of Royal Wives

To ensure you have a forum for support, we will establish a Council of Royal Wives. This council will allow you to meet and discuss family affairs in a structured and safe manner. I recommend appointing Karuna Nundy as the chairwoman of this council. Her experience and trustworthiness make her the ideal candidate to guide you and provide solutions when needed. It is important to remember that the numerous wives serve a significant purpose; they are sister-wives who should unite and support one another, reinforcing the bonds of family. In times of need or difficulty, you can rely on each other for support and protection. Trust and solidarity are vital; as a family, it is our duty to defend one another and provide moral support when necessary. The children you bear will further strengthen our connections through bloodlines, solidifying the idea that we are indeed one family now.

11. Wealth Management

As members of the Royal Family, each of you will assume significant financial responsibilities. It is imperative that we choose a reliable institution to manage our wealth, and Banque de France will serve as the primary bank for this purpose. Protecting our financial assets is crucial for the security and longevity of our family’s prosperity. Each royal wife will have an account at Banque de France, where you will store your wealth. I encourage you to coordinate closely with one another and with trusted financial advisors to ensure that our family’s financial interests remain intact and continue to thrive. By working together, we can safeguard our resources and contribute to the lasting legacy of the Royal Family. For more information, you can visit their website at www.banque-france.fr. (Click on the blue link)

12. Security Guards

French security guards will be assigned to protect each of you. These guards are experienced professionals, and Nadia Fettah, an expert in security, will ensure that only the best are chosen for your protection. Always trust and communicate with your guards—your safety is their primary concern.

In conclusion, these rules and regulations are meant to guide and protect you in this new chapter of your lives. Being royalty requires constant vigilance. It’s not just about prestige—it’s about responsibility, discipline, and wisdom in every decision. If you follow these guidelines, you will secure not only your own safety but also the future of the Somali Royal Family.

With trust and dedication,

Crown Prince Angelo Future Sultan, Somali Royal Family

P.S.:

Synopsis of the Letter:

The letter outlines the critical security rules and regulations that the wives of the Somali Royal Family must follow as they transition into their new roles. It explains how their lives will drastically change, emphasizing the importance of vigilance and self-discipline in their speech, behavior, and interactions with others.

Key points include:

Monitoring what they say and how they say it, and using trusted intermediaries to avoid misunderstandings or lawsuits.

Ensuring that all personal and professional interactions, especially with men, are conducted in the presence of witnesses to prevent false accusations.

Maintaining a high degree of caution in social interactions, spending the majority of their time with family to minimize risks.

Carefully vetting any personal relationships, particularly with men, to ensure motives are genuine and not power-driven.

The importance of maintaining unity within the royal family, creating a council of wives, and working together to safeguard their collective interests.

Legal matters, wealth management, and security will be overseen by trusted professionals, with specific roles for French security and Indian lawyers, ensuring protection of the family’s secrets and wealth.

Each wife is encouraged to rely on the family for support and to contribute to the collective strength and protection of the royal household.

The letter emphasizes that adhering to these guidelines is crucial to preserving their safety, reputation, and the integrity of the royal family.

Watch this: Here is a video of Karuna, see below:

Karuna Nundy Advocate, Supreme Court of India at SKOCH India LAW Forum.

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Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by James Russell Miller

The Giving of Manna (Exodus 16, Numbers 11)

The people of Israel had now entered upon their forty years of discipline. Daring this period they were to be made into a nation. This wider purpose should be kept in mind in all our studies of the incidents of the wandering in the wilderness. The people were to be trained to trust God and to obey Him.

The first experience recorded was at MARAH. There, in great thirst, after three days of desert journey, they came upon springs to which they eagerly rushed, only to find the water bitter, unfit to drink. A tree growing close by was cut down and cast into the waters, at once sweetening them. Thus a lesson in trust was taught God was leading them and He would not fail to provide for their needs.

Often in life, God’s children come to bitter springs. What promised to be experiences of refreshing, prove to be disappointing. Human lives have many sorrows. But always close by the bitter spring grows the tree which will sweeten it. Many interpret the tree of Marah to mean the cross of Christ. The gospel has comfort for all in any trouble. Dr. Fairbairn speaks of the words of Christ as a handful of spices cast into the world’s bitter streams and sweetening them.

After leaving Marah, the people journeyed to ELIM, where they found an oasis with twelve springs of water and seventy palm trees. Life is not all disappointment and bitterness. Troubles pass away. Joy comes after sorrow.

Moving farther into the inhospitable wilderness, the people soon found themselves needing bread. They had already forgotten the lesson of Marah the kindness of God in providing for their needs and began to murmur! Again God’s answer to their ungrateful complaining was love a new mercy. “I will rain bread from heaven for you.”

“In the morning there was a layer of dew all around the camp. When the layer of dew evaporated, there on the desert surface were fine flakes, as fine as frost on the ground. When the Israelites saw it, they asked one another, ‘What is it?’ because they didn’t know what it was. Moses told them, ‘It is the bread the Lord has given you to eat.’” Exodus 16:13-15

MANNA was a substance which fell with the dew. For forty years, manna was rained about the camps of the Hebrews, until they reached Canaan and had the natural products of the fields for food. It fell in small grains, like white frost flakes; and in taste like thin flour-cakes with honey. It was gathered every morning, except on the Sabbath, and in place of this a double portion fell on Friday morning. If kept over-night, it became corrupt except on the Sabbath. Manna was the principal part of the food of the people all the forty years. As a perpetual memorial of this miracle, a golden pot of it was laid up in the ark.

God always has some way to provide for the needs of His people. He is not limited to ordinary means. He never works needless miracles. He did not send manna while the people were in Goshen, because there was no need for it then. But here in the wilderness, where food could not be gotten in any ordinary way, He supplied it supernaturally .

“Yes,” someone says, “ that was the age of miracles but we cannot expect God to provide for us in these days as He did then for Israel.” The answer is that God’s love is just as watchful and as faithful now as it was in the days of miracles. We may always with perfect confidence depend on our Father to provide for us in some way when we are following His guidance. Indeed, it is God who feeds us every day just as really as it was God who gave the people the manna each morning. We do not call it a miracle when our daily morning meal is spread for us yet it is no less God who gives it to us than if a separate miracle were wrought each morning to feed us.

‘Give us this day our dally bread.’ Back of the loaf is the snowy flour, And back of the flour the mill; And back of the mill is the wheat, and the shower , And the sun, and the Father’s will.

Something was given to the people to do even when the bread was supplied supernaturally. “I will rain down bread from heaven for you. The people are to go out each day and gather enough for that day.” Exodus 16:4

They were not to lay up in store but were taught to live simply by the day. When night came, they did not have a supply of food left over for the next day but were entirely dependent upon God’s new supply to come in the morning.

In this method of providing, God was teaching all future generations a lesson. When the Master gave the disciples the Lord’s Prayer, He put this same thought of life into it, for He taught us to say: “Give us this day our daily bread.”

This is a most valuable lesson for every Christian to learn. We should make a little fence of trust around each day, and never allow any care or any anxiety to break in. God does not provide in advance for our needs. We cannot get grace today for tomorrow’s duties; and if we try to bear tomorrow’s cares and burdens today we shall break down in the attempt.

TIME comes to us, not in years, not even in weeks but in little days. We have nothing to do with ‘life in the aggregate’ that great bulk of duties, anxieties, struggles, trials and needs, which belong to a year or even to a month. We really have nothing to do even with tomorrow.

Our sole business is with the one little day now passing, and the one day’s burdens will never crush us; we can easily carry them until the sun goes down. We can always get along for one short day and that is really, all we ever have.

The Divine purpose in all this experience comes out here, “In this way I will test them, to see whether or not they will follow My instructions.” God is always testing us. Trials test us whether or not we will submit with humility and obedience to the experiences that are sore and painful. Life’s needs test us whether we will trust God in the time of extremity or not.

None the less, do the gifts and favors of God test us. They test our gratitude. Joy tests us as well as sorrow. Some people forget God, when all things go well and they have only prosperity. Do we remember God always as the Giver of each new blessing? Are we grateful to Him for all that we receive? These favors also test our faith. Do we still lean on Him while we have plenty? Ofttimes one who turns to God when help is needed fails to look to Him when the hand is full. The Divine mercies also test our obedience. Do we obey God as carefully and follow Him as closely and trustingly, when our tables are full as when the pressure of poverty or need drives us to Him? Every day is a probation for us.

In the midst of this great mercy of manna, God taught the people to remember the Sabbath. On the sixth day they were to gather and prepare twice as much food as on other days. The reason was that on the Sabbath no work was allowed. No manna fell on that day. There are several interesting things to notice here. While on other days, any manna stored up would rot; the extra day’s portion gathered on the sixth day remained fresh and pure for use on the Sabbath. Still further, on the morning of the Sabbath, no manna fell as on other days. Thus God taught the sacredness of His own day .

He teaches us also here that in order to keep the day as it ought to be kept, we should prepare for it the day before. The people were to gather the Sabbath’s portion on the sixth day. There would seem to be in this provision and preparation in advance, a suggestion of the way we may best observe our Christian Sabbath. Some of us remember certain old-fashioned times in the country, when on Saturday evening careful preparations were made for the Sabbath, so that there would be no needless work done on the Lord’s Day. Wood was cut and carried in, all the implements of worldly labor were put away, boots and shoes were cleaned and blackened, coffee was ground and food cooked, so far as possible in a word, everything was done that could be done beforehand to insure the most restful Sabbath possible. This old-fashioned custom is a good one to keep in vogue always. Very much of Sabbath enjoyment and profit, will always depend upon the measure of preparation we make for it in advance.

The Lord spoke of this manna miracle as an exhibition of His glory. “At evening, then you shall know that the Lord has brought you out from the land of Egypt; and in the morning, then you shall see the glory of the Lord!” The supply of food was an exhibition of God’s glory. We may see the same glory in every evening’s and morning’s blessings, which a thoughtful Providence brings to us. We think only of the unusual, or the supernatural, as manifesting the glory of God. We forget that this Divine glory is shown just as really and as wonderfully in every day’s new blessings. The miracle of God’s daily Providence is infinitely more stupendous, than the feeding of a prophet for a few months from an inexhaustible handful of meal; the feeding of five thousand in Galilee with a few loaves and fishes; or even the feeding of a nation with manna for forty years. If the single special miracle shows glory, what does the great continuous miracle of each day’s common blessings, year after year, and century after century, show?

Let us learn to see the glory of God in every piece of bread which comes to our table, in every drop of water which glistens on a leaf in the morning sun, in every blade of grass and bursting bud and blooming flower in field or garden.

One special lesson that God wished the people to learn was trust. So He rebuked their complainings and murmurings when they found fault, and became afraid when they had hardships to meet. “The Lord hears your murmurings which you murmur against Him!” Exodus 16:8. This is startling! Does God really hear every discontented word we speak? Does He hear when we grumble about the weather, about the hard winter, about the late spring, about the dry summer, about the wet harvest? Does He hear when we fret and murmur about the drought, about the high winds, about the storms? Does He hear when we complain about our circumstances, about the hardness of our lot, about our losses and disappointments?

If we could get into our hearts and keep there continually, the consciousness that every word we speak is heard in heaven, and falls upon God’s ears before it falls upon any other ear would we murmur as we now do? We are always on our guard when we think anyone we love and honor is within hearing, and speak only proper words then. Are we as careful what we say in the hearing of our Father? We are careful, too, never to speak words which would give pain to the hearts of those we love dearly. Are we as careful not to say anything that will give pain to Christ?

There are many interesting points of analogy, between the manna and Christ.

The manna is called “bread from heaven.” “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever!” John 6:51

The manna was indispensable without it the people would have perished. Without Christ our souls must perish.

The manna was a free gift from God there was nothing to pay for it. Christ is God’s gift, coming to us without money and without price.

Yet the manna had to be gathered by the people, Christ must be received and appropriated by personal faith. “Take, eat,” runs the formula of the holy communion. The bread is offered to us but we must take it and we must eat it. So must we take Christ when He is offered to us.

The manna came in great abundance, enough for all. Just so, there is such abundance in Christ that He can supply all the needs of my soul, and of every soul who will feed upon Him. No one ever came hungry to Him and found no bread.

Manna had to be gathered each day, a supply for that one day. We must feed upon Christ daily. We cannot lay up supplies of grace for any future. We cannot feed tomorrow, on today’s bread.

The manna had to be gathered early, before the heat of the sun melted it. We should seek the blessings of Christ’s grace in life’s early morning before the hot suns of care and trial beat upon us.