#thrall could have been anyone else and been better

[bookerdwitt]

also overwatch is crossing over with wow rn and let me tell you if i never get litch king reinhardt im blowing up blizzard hq

[aran-morinorea]

Tar-Telepta, Aran Morinórea: I want to hear about Annatar's Shit Paradigms, of course :D

...All right so here's the thing you don't get Annatar's Shit Paradigms because it needed so much groundwork before I can begin to write actual prose. But you do get this whole thing describing Annatar's interiority in the months after The Inciting Event for the whole au. Because I needed to pin it down so I can even start Annatar's Shit Paradigms.

--

Celebrimbor confronts Annatar - Tar-Mairon - about his activities in Mordor, gives him the “Your evil plans or me” ultimatum, and then Mairon fucks off to go have a tantrum.

This tantrum involves: 

Going back to Barad-dur and killing some people who definitely 100% deserved it for sure. 

That thing where someone goes to a bathroom and splashes water on their face and looks in the mirror while leaning on the sink except it’s lava instead of water. 

Laying facedown in the fires of Mount Doom and rethinking his life. 

Causing multiple earthquakes. 

...Thinking about the joy of watching Celebrimbor learn and make things. 

Thinking about the satisfaction of working in partnership with someone else, someone as vibrant and strong and smart and wonderful as Celebrimbor. 

Thinking about going and taking Celebrimbor by force, laying siege to Ost-in-Edhil and putting him in chains and bringing him here and keeping him.

… Thinking about how strong and vibrant and stubborn and principled Celebrimbor is. 

Thinking about whether Celebrimbor would be one of those people who would rather die than live as a thrall. 

Realizing that yes, Celebrimbor absolutely would die for what he believes in, and it would be so much work to try keep his spirit around, and it wouldn’t be nearly the same as having him - really having him - having him to work and argue and play with - having his love.

Remembering that Celebrimbor still doesn’t know about the Sauron thing, and he might be able to keep it that way.

Remembering that Celebrimbor did not cast him out of his life unequivocally - he will not be the friend or lover of a slaver and an imperialist, but if Mairon takes steps to stop being those things -

Thinking about how hard it would be, really, to stop being those things.

Realizing he’s genuinely considering just giving up on the vision of Melkor.

Spontaneously filling the whole room with flames.

That was the throne room. He’d been sitting there, motionless and completely unresponsive, for four days.

There might have been people in there who will be annoying to replace. Mairon simply cannot care about it right now.

Remaining on fire while thinking about Melkor’s promises.

He said it was only a matter of time.

He said it would be better to put the rightful king on the throne of Arda quickly, and get back to the business of metals and fractals, than to fight a long defeat and be judged unworthy at the end, never having time for beauty again.

And then He lost.

Three times out of four.

As soon as the Valar bothered to interfere.

And maybe, at the end, after the final battle, it would be better, safer, to have been working toward His purposes the whole time He was gone, but -

Thinking about what would happen if the Valar bothered to interfere with his current projects.

…Thinking about how hard it would be, really, to be - in truth, even, maybe! - someone Celebrimbor could love.

How hard would it be to act within the boundaries of Celebrimbor’s principles?

He did not say “Believe what I believe.”

He did not say “Cease to be a monster.”

He said “Your policies are monstrous and I cannot support them,” which suggests that it is the action that matters most to him. That the problem is what he is doing, and not what he is.

Changing that does not seem so hard.

Perhaps it will be a fun challenge, like an arbitrary restriction for a jewelcraft competition.

And really - if anyone is going to change him - if he’s going to accept anyone’s judgement - if there’s anyone currently in Arda who Mairon thinks is right - would it not be Celebrimbor?

Of course it would.

Deciding that, you know what, Mairon would be willing to commit to Celebrimbor’s vision - if Celebrimbor will fucking commit to him.

This is so Mairon can keep him.

So that they will twine their souls together and be - be that partnership which is so full of joy.

Deciding that if Celebrimbor won’t do it - if he wants “Annatar” to give him this without giving anything in return - then - yes.

Then he will find another way to keep him. 

And it would not be as good, it would not be Mairon’s shining vision, but it would be something. And eventually Celebrimbor would see the value in Mairon’s methods. He’s sure of it.

When he’s finally done with his tantrum, Annatar climbs out of the magma-filled crevasse he'd been sulking in and goes up to draft the words to a wedding proposal.

[lavender-romancer]

Winter

Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader CW: suicide mentions, conflict

You wanted to be his again, not owned by him but a part of him. But it had been so long since you'd felt close to Ivar that it felt out of reach as he descended into rage filled madness

”*°•.˜”*°•. ˜”*°•. ˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

You were drifting apart more and more with every hastily made decision fueled by anger that Ivar made. He would curse you, berate you and you could do anything because you didn't trust that he wouldn't kill you himself. You knew something was deathly wrong when you kept finding yourself high on a hill looking over a rock face, moving closer to the edge every time and not feeling afraid. It was impossible to not feel that you were lost in the dark of Ivar's tyranny. But you still craved his adoration, his love and the affirmation that he only wanted you. All of these things would never happen now, you weren't good enough for him.

You needed him running through your veins like a sickness that couldn't be cured- a toxicity that fuelled your love and in turn, your hatred for him. You didn't want to need anyone, when you were younger your mother had always taught you to never need anyone more than yourself. To stay self-reliant and not let anyone control you but, it was impossible. When you met Ivar he was the son of Ragnar, a grumpy boy with no battle experience and a soft spot for you. Now, after 6 years of marriage you couldn't decide if you needed to try harder or just throw yourself on to that cliff face.

"It feels like he's trying to erase me, fade me out of his life and forget I was ever there." You told Helga as you sat descaling some fish with her.

"Ivar is… complicated, I'm sure I had this conversation with you when you started seeing him. He's a different type of person from us. Not as emotional," she tried to smile but could tell that her words weren't necessarily comforting.

"I was so convinced that he loved me then, that he would do anything for me. But he just wants power and money and meaningless sex, I just can't believe he deceived me into this marriage." Helga suddenly gripped your hand.

"This is not your fault. As you said, you were deceived by someone who claimed to love you. The boy has some kind of power. It pulls some people in and I don't know what it is but it captured you," She paused. "I think you should tell him."

"He wouldn't even see me, I can guarantee there's a thrall rooted to his lap right now." You clenched your teeth together and tried to hold in your rage.

"You need to let it out, your rage. Go to the top of a mountain and scream, allow yourself to feel it." Helga suggested and you nodded.

"What I really want is to have him, it's pathetic but I'm so in love with him it's hard to overcome." You placed down the fish and groaned.

"It will pass, and if it doesn't, meet someone else who will be more emotionally attentive. Ivar seems like the kind of man who needs other people's feelings laid out in front of him." Helga smiled and her dark rimmed eyes made contact with you as the two of you carried on with the fish.

Ivar was drunk out of his mind, two naked thralls sitting on his lap as he'd occasionally take their breasts into his mouth. Some days he would forget you were even his wife, you hardly saw each other. He wouldn't say it was an excuse for his behavior but it was definitely a promoting factor of it. You used to smother him, cover him in a blanket of affection and make him feel like no one could hurt him. Ivar didn't remember when that stopped but he also didn't remember when he began sleeping with other women. The crossover between the two was so seamless it made him feel less remorseful, as if your absence made his actions warranted.

When Ivar saw you walk into the Great hall he felt less than he thought he would. In some ways he was happy to see how miserable you looked, hopeful you'd come crawling back to him in pure adoration. Ivar couldn't think of a better way to gain a woman's affection than by making her jealous. Unaware of his ridiculous thought process, Ivar continued looking you up and down through his eyebrows. You could only glare back at him as you headed towards your room, but you annoyingly had to go past Ivar.

"You despise me, wife?" Ivar asked and you stopped in your tracks, sighing deeply.

"Yes." You said simply, even though you loved him you needed him to wake up.

"But… that's not. What?" He said confused, pushing the thralls to the floor, with a resounding yelp from both the women.

"What do you want, Ivar?" You looked at him with such disdain it genuinely surprised him.

"You cannot speak to me like that!" He yelled and you sighed again.

"Then kill me." You sounded defeated, you didn't care anymore. It would be easier for it to all be over so you didn't have to deal with the emotional turmoil of him.

"I'm not going-" he paused. "You are my wife! Why won't you respect me?" He yelled again and you almost winced at the level of noise he was making.

For a few moments all you could hear was the scrape of his crutch and the crackle of the fire, for a moment it felt surprisingly peaceful. You just wanted to exist in that scene, a beautiful fire with furs on the floor in front of it where the local children would sit and be told stories. There was such a serenity to watching children's faces as they listened to a story, they hadn't experienced the hurt or the pain. All they knew was that this was their favourite day because they could sit inside the great hall and feel important. Even Ivar couldn't take that sense of pride away from them.

"Are you going to say anything, wife?" Ivar broke the blissful silence and you couldn't quite believe how aggravating it all was.

"I hate you, I hate what you've done to me." Was all you said and he looked astonished.

"I won't have this bullshit!" He yelled even louder before calling for his guards. "Tie her to a tree in the forest." He swatted you away like you were a pest but, at this point you saw no reason to resist. Ivar would do whatever he wanted with his power and most of the time that would mean fucking you around.

Even the guards were uncomfortable as they threw a rope over a strong tree branch and tied you by your wrists so that your arms always had to be extended. It wasn't the worst punishment you could have got, you were surprised Ivar hadn't got a lust for blood when you disrespected him. He would continue to degrade you and debase you no matter what you did, even though you loved him it didn't matter anymore. Ivar was so consumed by greed or power or hatred for you that he couldn't focus on anything else.

Your heart felt cold and tight. There wasn't any room for any more love because you had given it all away to someone who didn't want it or didn't realise how much he needed it. In one breath you would hope that he would just come and kill you and in the other, you still hoped he would wait for you. That he would allow your coupling to at least attempt to survive. Sometimes when you were around Ivar, you would feel a tiny part of your body decompose. One part of you died because you couldn't hold on to someone who only wanted to break away from you. But all you wanted was to be taken back to when you were younger, you needed him, you wanted him and he would never be what he was again.

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 4/?

Read on AO3

Pairing: Buck/Tommy, Vampire/Witch!AU

I was not expecting to have to delve this much into political structures, but I can't lie--it's kind of fun.

“Do we get to know why we’re kidnapping one of Gerrard’s party favors, or is this another situation where I sleep better if I don’t know?” Sal asked conversationally as they made their way to the big SUV Lucy preferred to drive.

“You don’t sleep,” Tommy retorted testily.

Sal sighed, and Tommy didn’t have to look to know he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “He got car keys? Gerrard’s got a few on his cleanup crew that’ll notice if there’s more cars than bodies.”

Damn it. That was a good point. “Fuck, I don’t know. He was talking to a friend or a roommate earlier; they might have come together, but I don’t know. Lucy, can you…?” He shifted Evan in his arms, holding him so that Lucy could rifle through his pockets. After a moment, she came up with a peeling leather keychain, on which dangled a couple of keys, one with the Jeep logo emblazoned on it. Sal snatched the keys and shot Tommy a look.

“I’ll go check where the staff was parking. If I don’t find anything, I’ll make my own way home. We are talking about this later, Tommy boy.”

“Expected nothing less,” Tommy sighed, and then frowned. “I’m taking him to the apartments, though, not the main house.” Sal looked surprised, but just nodded and loped off towards the end of the estate opposite the gardens, where presumably all of Gerrard’s victims had been told to park for the night. “You drive, Luce. I’m gonna have to handle him if he wakes up before we get home.”

Lucy’s eyebrows climbed towards her hairline, but she didn’t question him further, just hurrying along to the SUV and unlocking it with a quick chirp from the key fob. He clambered into the backseat with Evan and spent an awkward few moments trying to sort of lean him comfortably against the window in the seat before giving up with a groan and just pulling the kid back against his chest.

“I’m biting my tongue so hard I’m tasting blood, Kinard. I just want you to know that,” Lucy said from the driver’s seat, staring at him in the rearview mirror. “Also, just how much handling does one half-drained frat boy need? Not that I’m judging you. Much.”

Tommy glared at her half-heartedly, before turning his attention out the window, restlessly scanning their surroundings for any of Gerrard’s people. The SUV’s tinted windows—darkest UV blocking glass they were legally allowed to have in California, of course—should keep them safe from any prying eyes, but he didn’t fully relax until Lucy had pulled them out of Gerrard’s compound and they were out on the highway.

Evan showed no signs of waking, and Tommy took the opportunity to finally take a (metaphorical) breath and really consider just what the fuck he had done. He’d gotten the witch out of Gerrard’s territory…but now what? The kid had already proven he was dangerous. If it had been anyone else in that parlor apart from Tommy or Gerrard himself, he had no doubt Evan would have been able to escape.

He also had no doubt that Evan would not have been able to get off the estate. Against maybe a handful of younger vampires? Probably he’d have been fine. Against dozens and dozens of representatives of every coven in the greater Los Angeles metropolitan area? He might have taken a lot of them out with him, but eventually he would have been overwhelmed by sheer numbers. But the fact remained that bringing him home was dangerous. It was stupid. He'd accomplished what he’d set out to do—which was get the witch away from Gerrard. The smart thing to do would be to have Lucy drive to the nearest hospital, use the thrall to blur Evan’s memories enough that he wouldn’t be able to identify Tommy, and leave him on a bench near the ER doors.

What was he thinking?

He wasn’t, that was the problem. He’d been riding on instinct from the moment he’d watched Evan burn Gerrard’s turn to ash…and his instincts were insisting he not let the witch out of his sight.

Tommy had not survived for eight hundred fucking years by ignoring his instincts.

A faint tremor ran through Evan’s body, a small grimace twisting his face. The delicate skin of his eyelids twitched and trembled, his eyes moving restlessly back and forth as though he was dreaming. With a soft sigh, he turned further into Tommy’s chest, his forehead brushing the skin of Tommy’s neck. The kid was ice cold—especially compared to the warmth that had been radiating off him before. Well shit, of course he was. He was a few pints of blood lighter and he’d been fighting for his life with his magic. He was probably going into shock. Fuck…he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had to worry about a human’s welfare. The only one he spent any real amount of time with was Lucy’s girlfriend—and not only did Lena decidedly not need Tommy fussing over her, she would be one of them soon enough (Lucy had already asked, and Alonzo had consented…but Lena’s mother was in the final stages of a long battle with cancer and she didn’t want to abandon her human life before her mother passed).

He twisted in his seat, searching through the multitude of things that had been tossed into the third row until he found a jacket he vaguely remembered seeing Ravi wear a few times crumpled up under some random books and an umbrella. He snatched it up and turned back to drape it over Evan, drawing another long look from Lucy in the rearview mirror. He sighed heavily.

“He’s a witch, Lucy,” he said without preamble.

Lucy did not slam on the brakes in shock. But the SUV did swerve a little. An angry horn blared behind them, and Lucy rolled her window down to stick her hand out and flip them the bird.

“Tommy, what the fuck? Are you sure?”

“He burned one of Gerrard’s turns to ash with a spell. Tried to flatten me like a pancake. And I could barely hold him in the thrall. So yeah, pretty sure.”

“What the hell is a witch doing at a vampire coven gathering?”

Tommy shrugged one shoulder, massaging his temple lightly. Sal insisted that they couldn’t get headaches anymore, but Tommy called bullshit. “Tending bar,” he said. “I don’t think he realized what kind of party he was working until it was too late.”

“His familiar let him walk into a den of vampires?” Lucy asked in disbelief. “Wait…where is the familiar?”

Another shrug. “I don’t think he has one. Like you said, no way it would have let him walk into Gerrard’s place. And there was nothing helping him when he was attacked. Even if his familiar was a damn fly, it would have tried to do something.”

“Is that—I mean, the only witch I know is Chimney, but—isn’t that…kind of weird for a witch his age?”

It was fucking bizarre is what it was. A bond with a familiar was considered part of becoming an adult among witches. Most were bonded with a familiar by fifteen or sixteen, sometimes earlier. But hardly ever later. Familiars helped witches regulate and control their power as they became fully functioning members of their covens. Granted, Tommy wasn’t exactly sure how a familiar was chosen for a witch. He would cautiously say that he and Howie were friends, but it wasn’t like they regularly traded coven secrets, and Howie had never offered up the story of how he’d come to be bonded with the wrinkly-faced bat that clung to his clothes and fluttered around his head constantly.

“It’s not normal, no,” he allowed eventually.

“Okay…okay, so I see why you took him out of Gerrard’s. No way in hell you could leave him there. But what are you planning to do with him?” she asked carefully. Too carefully.

“Lucy,” he said warningly.

“Kinard,” she replied in exactly the same tone. Then she sighed heavily. “You know we have to consider how much of an advantage this could be. You already drank from him!”

He shifted, unconsciously tightening the arm he had around Evan’s shoulders. To keep him from tipping all over the place, of course. The power of the witch’s blood still coursed through him, and would for several days…maybe even a few weeks. Tommy was already stronger and faster than anyone else in the coven, was stronger and faster than almost any other vampire in this part of California, but right now? He was fucking untouchable. Lucy was right…having access to Evan’s blood regularly would be an incredible advantage for the coven. Even if they limited who drank from him and let the younger members of the coven drink from those people regularly, the strength of the coven would increase tenfold. He knew why Lucy had to put the thought out there.

Alonzo’s coven was well-respected and well-liked. But they did not have the sheer power that was required to be politically important in their world. Tommy’s presence in the coven was the source of a lot of what political clout they did have. Even with their relatively small numbers, there weren’t many covens who were willing to anger a vampire who was close to measuring his age in millennia rather than centuries. Alonzo and Sal were decently powerful in their own right—both of them having been turned sometime during the early Renaissance—but apart from them the rest of the coven were all under two hundred years old. Most of them had been turned in the last century.

But no witch would willingly let themselves be used like that by a vampire coven.

Witch and vampire covens had an uneasy truce. In places like LA, with large populations of both, interaction was necessary to preserve the secret of their existence from the even larger human populations. That was how he’d come to know Howard Han. He and Howie had known each other for going on ten years, had spoken often in both official and unofficial capacities. He considered Howie a friend, and knew Howie felt the same. But they had never been to each other’s territory. Never been alone together. Every meeting he’d ever had with Howie had been conducted in a public place, or on carefully agreed upon and regulated neutral territory.

If the coven were to utilize Evan’s blood, they would have to force him.

Keep him locked up somewhere. Neutralize his ability to cast spells. Keep him a secret from every other witch and vampire in the city. And the worst part was, he knew Alonzo would consider it. Gerrard had been expanding his powerbase in LA for decades, and the very real possibility he would enter into a formal alliance with Ortiz had every coven not formally aligned with him on edge. The situation was becoming precarious enough that he knew Alonzo was considering if it was even worth it to stay in California anymore.

He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Evan what Gerrard would do to him back at the mansion. Gerrard’s solution would be to slice out Evan’s tongue and keep him chained in the basement of his most heavily fortified property and he would do it in a heartbeat.

Tommy had done unsavory things in the name of survival before. He no longer had to kill when he hunted, but there were hundreds, if not thousands of deaths under his belt in that pursuit. And that was just the hunting. Tommy had done many cruel, vicious things—in the name of survival or revenge or protecting something he valued or just because. The idea that he could be as old as he was with clean hands and a clean conscience was laughable. He certainly didn’t care that the other members of his coven still killed when they hunted, and far more frequently than he needed to. Tommy was no stranger to cruelty. It was true, though, that in general, Alonzo’s coven refrained from the worst excesses of their kind. That was what he liked about them, what had spurred him to join, and why he stayed.

The thought of doing anything the way Gerrard would turned Tommy’s stomach.

But it was one person—one stranger—held up against safety and protection for his entire coven.

“Tommy?” Lucy said again, and he shook his head.

“I don’t have a plan, Luce,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking beyond making sure Gerrard didn’t get ahold of him.”

“Well, you need to figure that the fuck out!”

“I know! Okay? I know. Look, just…just get us to the apartments. I’ll call Alonzo as soon as you’re gone and, I dunno, I’ll just see what he has to say.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…who said I was leaving?” She turned fully in her seat to glare at him, and he smacked the back of her headrest.

“Eyes on the road!” he snapped. “Fuck. And I said you’re leaving. Did you miss the part where I said this kid burned one of Gerrard’s turns to ash? Why do you think we’re not going back to the compound?”

“He’s thralled, it’s fine!”

“Lucy,” he said firmly. “No. I’ve never actually had someone fight me like that, I don’t know how long I can hold him.”

“So gag him,” she shrugged.

“Right, because waking up like that’s gonna inspire him to listen to me calmly and objectively.”

Another glare in the rearview mirror, this one suspicious. “Why do you need him to listen to you calmly and objectively?” she asked warily. “Tommy—we can’t let him go, you understand that right? Doesn’t matter what reason you had…and let me guess, someone caught you trying to sneak him out? It still doesn’t matter. You drank from a witch, completely unsanctioned. His coven could demand your fucking head. Even if by some miracle they accepted that you were trying to save him, the SoCal high coven has been trying to find a way to drive you and Gerrard out of LA for years. They hate having vampires as powerful as you in their territory.”

“I. Know,” he gritted out, although in truth he hadn’t been thinking anywhere near that far ahead. He’d just known he had to get Evan out of that mansion. Besides…if what he’d seen when he drank from Evan was accurate (and he still wasn’t sure it was…experiencing flashes and fragments of memories and emotions wasn’t unusual when drinking from a thralled victim, but he’d never seen anything that complete, that solid), the witch covens in the area might not respond for Evan the way Lucy thought they would.

“Okay, well, then what the fuck is the plan? Cause if you can’t answer that, we’re going to have to kill him. Tonight. Fuck, right now!”

“We’re not killing him.” The words were out of his mouth before he even realized he was going to say them. Lucy turned to look at him again, shock plain on her face. The SUV drifted in its lane and another horn blared at them. Tommy rubbed a hand down his face, taking a deep, unneeded breath. “I am very aware of just how precarious the situation is, okay? But I don’t want to kill him unless we have to.”

It was strange, actually, how very much he didn’t want to kill the witch. If his position was reversed with Lucy or Sal, he’d be questioning if Evan had somehow cast a spell on them. But his instincts were screaming at him. Screaming. He had to listen.

“Tommy,” Lucy said softly, and when he looked at her face in the mirror, she was biting her lip, a worried frown wrinkling her forehead.

Without a word, he reached forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. Blindly, she grabbed it, rubbing her cheek against his knuckles. Lucy was not his turn. He hadn’t made her. But the one who had had completely abandoned her to her new life, cutting her loose only days after she’d risen. Tommy had been the one who found her, half-feral and on the verge of being declared for extermination by the local covens. He’d been the one who helped her regain her control, herself. He hadn’t made her, but neither of them really made that distinction anymore.

“Luce, do you trust me?” he asked softly.

“You know I do. More than anyone.”

“Then trust me. I’ll figure this out.”

Lucy swallowed convulsively but gave a sharp nod. She squeezed his hand one more time, and then let it go to concentrate on driving. They spent the rest of the drive in silence, until Lucy eventually guided the SUV into the underground parking garage of the apartment building Alonzo had acquired as a coven safehouse a few years ago. They’d gone to great pains to bury its ownership under multiple shell companies and shadow investors, and even occasionally rented out units in it to preserve the fiction. At the moment, it was completely empty.

The perfect place to bring what was essentially a ticking timebomb. It wasn’t like Tommy didn’t have the funds to buy the coven a hundred more apartment buildings if this went badly and Evan ended up burning the place to the ground. The witch was still deeply unconscious, but a little bit of color had come back to his face as Tommy gathered him up again and slid out of the backseat. His breathing and heartbeat were steady enough that Tommy wasn’t worried.

Lucy insisted on following him up to one of the loft apartments they kept furnished with the basics, dithering by the door while Tommy carried Evan up to the second floor and laid him down on the bed far more gently than was strictly necessary. He hesitated briefly, then mentally threw up his hands and made quick work of removing the witch’s shoes and belt. He searched briefly through his pockets, just to remove anything that might be uncomfortable to lie on, and came up with only his wallet and a pack of gum. He debated only a few seconds before flipping the wallet open, his eyebrow climbing when the driver’s license in the first plastic sleeve read EVAN DANIELS. That was weird…the kid had said his last name was Buckley when Tommy questioned him back at the mansion.

“Hey, Sal just texted! The keys matched an old Jeep in the staff parking area…what do you want him to do with it?” Lucy called up the stairs, breaking him out of his thoughts. He looked down at Evan again and closed the wallet, setting it down on the nightstand in easy reach.

“Have him bring it here,” he called back.

“Oh, so Sal gets to stay?” Lucy grumbled but didn’t try to argue further. Tommy rested his hands on his hips, drumming his fingers on his belt as he tried to think ahead for perhaps the first time tonight.

“Hey, Josh still does a lot of hacking doesn’t he?” he asked, going to the top of the stairs and looking down at Lucy. She looked up from her phone, a distinctly unimpressed look on her face.

“His literal job for Alonzo is erasing the coven’s digital footprint and keeping our finances straight, so, uh, yeah.”

“Think he could find out some coven information discreetly?”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m guessing we’re talking witch covens, not vampire. Ugh. I can ask…but if he thinks we’d trigger something, he’s not doing it.”

“No, yeah, no, that’s fair. Just…see if he can find out anything about an Evan Buckley.”

“That’s not a very unique name—do you have any other details, or are we just looking for what we can dig up in LA?”

Tommy thought back to the strange…vision or dream or whatever. “No, no he can’t be from California.”

Lucy’s glare turned disbelieving. “You want Josh to go fishing through coven records for a name like Buckley and the only geographical distinction is ‘not California’?”

Okay, when she said it like that…

“I think…I think he was banished,” Tommy admitted after a moment. “Probably a few years ago.”

“Banished,” Lucy repeated slowly. “A few years ago? But you said he was casting spells?”

“I know. I—I might be wrong. But there’s something weird going on here.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Lucy muttered darkly. “Fine. Evan Buckley, banished from anywhere in the United States except California…you do think he’s American, right?”

“I mean, if he’s not he does a really decent accent,” Tommy said with a shrug.

“You’re giving me ulcers, Kinard!”

He smirked at her, spreading his hands in a placating gesture. “They’ll heal. Now get out of here. See what Josh can find, if anything, and text me later.”

At that, the irritation melted off Lucy’s face, and she stabbed a finger towards him, her expression deadly serious. “Stay safe, okay?”

“You know me Luce. I’m hard to kill.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded, and turned to leave. Tommy watched the door close and the deadbolt engage with a solid thunk, and then he was alone. With a witch. Who he had bitten without permission and kidnapped, and who had already demonstrated a complete willingness to try and kill him. And who he absolutely was not going to be able to let go when he woke up, regardless of whether or not he particularly wanted to.

Right. What could possibly go wrong?

[sxypigeon]

Love Bombing

Wednesday x Enid

Wednesday wouldn't be a good cult leader, but she knows who would be.

A slice of life for the couple and their friends.

***

The mundanity of everyday life, though often dull and repetitive, can occasionally prove to be entertaining.

“Babe, I’m hurt.  Vampires are known for their thralls,” Yoko whined irritatingly.  “I would absolutely make for a bad ass cult leader!”

Divina rolled her eyes and pecked her girlfriend on the cheek, “Sweetie, you’re the laziest person I know, except for Ajax.  You wouldn’t even last a week before letting someone else take over because it would be too much work.”

“Delegating is an important life skill.”  The vampire crossed her arms and huffed childishly.  “So who do you think would be a better cult leader?  You and Bianca don’t count since you can just siren everybody into following you.”

Both sirens and Enid looked up from their phones at each other before simultaneous turning to look at Wednesday.

Since entering an amorous relationship with my technicolored wolf, I find myself unwilling to part with Enid longer than necessary.  As a result, I’m often among my peers, her friends, during our lunch hour.  Though I don’t usually participate in their mindless conversations, today it seems unavoidable.

Enid grinned her radiant smile as she nudged Wednesday’s shoulder, “How would you feel about leading a cult?  I bet you’d put Jim Jones to shame.”

“I’m flattered, but no I wouldn’t,” the seer looked up from her battered Old English copy of Beowulf and was momentarily blinded by her love’s beauty.  “I . . . I daresay you’d be a much better candidate.”

An exaggerated cough that sounded suspiciously like simp came from across the table.

“For real, Addams?” Bianca teased in a grating voice.  “Your girlfriend would be a better cult leader than you or Yoko?”

Everyone goes through phases as they age: in elementary school I was fascinated by medieval torture, in middle school it was serial killers, and most recently my guilty pleasure has been destructive cults.  Enid’s podcast recommendations on the subject have been surprisingly enjoyable.  

“What is the single most important trait of a non-siren cult leader?” Wednesday asked the table as she folded her hands on top of her closed AP lit reading assignment.

Divina cocked her head and frowned, “Charisma.”

The seer nodded shortly, grateful the siren had a few more brain cells than the vampire.  “And do I or the parasite have any relevant amount of charisma?”

“I’m very charismatic-”

“Yoko, people are just afraid of you because you’re a vampire,” Bianca interrupted.  

Enid giggled, the sound nearly as hypnotic as a siren’s song, and nudged her girlfriend again.  “I think you can be charismatic when you want to be.”

“Which is never.  You on the other hand possess the trait in excess,” Wednesday stated with confidence.  “Your gift for befriending our peers is truly extraordinary.”

The wolf was nearly vibrating out of her seat as she leaned further into her girlfriend.  “Wens, you’re literally the sweetest.”

“Okay, stop flirting for a sec.  We just decided Yoko couldn’t be a cult leader because she’s too lazy,” Bianca pointed out, skepticism dripping from her tone.  “Don’t you think your girlfriend is way too nice to manipulate anyone?”

“She is uncommonly kind and patient, yes,” Wednesday readily admitted.  “But Enid also has a drive to be exceptional at what she cares about, something the vampire lacks.  I believe that drive could overwhelm any perceived niceness.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or-?” Bianca asked.

Wednesday slipped her book back into her bag.  “Simply an observation and a theory.”

“I’m gonna take it as a compliment,” Enid justifiably preened.

Tongue loosened by Enid’s proximity, the seer continued, “Aside from her personality, I also believe Enid would be a master at love bombing.”

Yoko petulantly threw her straw wrapper at Wednesday.  “We don’t need to hear about what you two get up to in your dorm.”

Why does Enid like this obnoxious tick?  I would much rather be there with her than here with this lot.

“Love bombing is a popular method employed by cults to quickly incorporate new members.”  Wednesday continued in a painfully even and measured tone, “Many individuals targeted by cults are social outcasts, those without families.  These people tend to be starved for affection, thus giving them that affection in high concentrations at the beginning of a relationship will quickly overwhelm them leading to something akin to addiction.  They’ll do nearly anything to continue receiving that love as a result.”

“So love can be a weapon?” Enid asked with a fang-filled smirk and a playful crinkle to her eyes.

Wednesday swallowed slowly, ignoring the blush trying to flood her face.  “In the right hands, yes.”

Yoko sighed loudly while rolling her eyes,  “Fine.  Enid, when are you going to start your cult?”

“I think I wanna graduate first,” the wolf said after an adorable snort of laughter.  “Maybe between sophomore and junior year of college?  Oh, what should my angle be?”

With no hope of stopping the flow of adoration, Wednesday spoke up.  “You are the personification of love and the moon incarnate.”  The seer continued, ignoring Enid’s- the rest of their friends, taking her love’s hands in her own, staring intently into her eyes.  “In a world filled with misery and pain, you would be an avatar of peace and acceptance.  Those blessed by your presence would instantly fall victim to your aura and gladly adore such a divine being.”

Silence lingered for a moment after the seer’s speech.  

Divina cleared her throat a bit awkwardly, “I know this is all hypothetical, but holy shit can Wednesday sell worshiping Enid, the cult leader.  Where do I sign up?”

“Underneath all that monochrome anger beats the heart of a romantic,” Bianca cooed teasingly, insufferably more than anything.

Enid threw herself at her lover, purposely almost knocking Wednesday over on the bench seat.  “Damn right it does,” she purred as she tried to hug the life out of the seer.

This is precisely why I don’t usually partake in these conversations.  The urge to shower my wolf with approbation is hard enough to contain without speaking.  There is no internal filter strong enough to resist the devotion begging to fall from my lips.  I can only hope my wolf follows through and suffocates me with her embrace and puts me out of my misery.

Whatever fear and mystic my reputation once held has surely been replaced with soft romanticism.  I fear I’m no longer as intimidating as I once was and perhaps never will be again.  I mourn the loss, painfully at times, but will gladly sacrifice it all again for just a moment of my wolf’s attention and affection.  

“How can someone so socially awkward have so much rizz?” Yoko groaned into her hands.  “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

Divina rubbed soothing circles over the leech’s back.  “It’s not a competition, Sweetie.”  

“If anyone here has pressure to up their romantic-ness, it’s me,” Enid muttered, squeezing the seer once more before finally releasing her.  “I kid you not, she’s made me swoon before.”

Wednesday felt a wave of indignation crest upon her.  “You are more than adequate with your affection and love.  I doubt my sanity would remain intact if I were any more smitten with you.”

“Is no one gonna take that?  Really?” Bianca asked before muttering, “Low hanging fruit.”

“Are you claiming you were sane to begin with?!” Yoko shouted belatedly.

“Your wit is truly something to behold.”  The seer sighed and focused again on the only person worth her time at the table.  “The torment you inflict upon me is like none I have encountered before and, more often than not, leaves me overwhelmed in the best possible way.”

“Okay, this is getting a little too PG-13.  I’m gonna walk Yoko to her next class before she gets herself staked.”  Divina stood and pulled her girlfriend up with her.

“Make sure you get your head on straight before fencing,” Bianca added to the seer as she too stood.

“Okay, see you all later!” Enid shouted and waved as the group left the cafeteria.  She turned back to Wednesday and blinded her with a luminous smile.  “I kind of wanna skip the rest of today’s classes and torment you into insanity.”

“Mierda. . . Whatever you desire, mi amor.”

I never did make it to fencing.

[dingoat]

For BIRDMAN: alone, bound, break, failure, fear, future, hide, midnight, mistake, secret, wound. >3

[Answering for werewolf au Crow, aka Steel Crow, whose life experiences have gone on a very hard tangent to regular love-of-Ahuska's-life Crow as written by @koboldgirl ! I am still eternally grateful for having been allowed to bring him into this version of her life and astounded by the driving force he became for so many story twists. Banner image by @tehriel ! :D]

---

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there’s no one around to see them?

There's definitely a big difference between 'being alone' and being lonely. When he just happens to have moments on his own, I think Crow has a tendency to goof off, bop around, sing little ditties to himself. But actual loneliness hits him hard. He's so gregarious, so extroverted, without people around to experience life alongside, to care about and be noticed by and celebrate the silliest little things with, he becomes... empty, adrift, aching to find someone or something to connect to again.

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

Ohhh no. Crow had a very nasty experience being held in the thrall of a powerful renegade Sith Lord (who had used a butchered version of the werebeast procedure to turn himself into an Arkanian dragon), and was being used as a pawn with the eventual goal of taking revenge on Five. (Because let's face it, Five has a list seventy miles long of people he's crossed in his lifetime.) The Sith/dragon was using Crow to speak for him, and Crow was compelled to hold himself at gunpoint to ensure Thirteen's co-operation. It was an intense and nasty situation but, sadly for the Sith, he'd chosen a very bad time to play his hand- ie, when the boys were hanging out with Ulfran on a secluded island on Manaan, while Ahuska was having her early instruction in use of the Force and Blakk (stuck in fox-shape) was (and still is) invisible in the Force. So the Sith/dragon wound up having to contend with the righteous fury of a very powerful bunch, and ultimately lay in shreds across the beach, but not before Crow suffered pretty grievously. He definitely still carries some emotional scars from the incident; in fact, he hasn't brought himself to pick up a blaster since, which has not yet been properly addressed by anyone.

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

I think the closest this version of Crow has come to completely breaking was very early on, when the little life he'd started to build fell to pieces under him- he helped Ahuska escape from under Nines' thumb, was dealing with intense fallout with Nines only for her to be killed by Thirteen, and then in his ensuing battle with Thirteen he lost his ship and his arm, and wound up with nothing and nobody. He wound up turning to the SIS, and indentured to them in return for being a test pilot for their latest cybernetic tech.

Naturally, that all wound up going completely sideways as well.

failure: What’s your OC’s greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

I think Crow would consider his lack of understanding of the reality of Ahuska's situation when held by Five as his biggest failure to date; he allowed what he hoped the situation was to overshadow the actual facts playing out in front of him, and feels hopelessly guilty for it. He wonders, endlessly, if he could have or should have acted sooner, just how much of her and Blakk's suffering he might have prevented. Weighing that up against whether or not he would have been able to stay with Thirteen or become a fugitive himself is more than he can bear. He's trying very hard to learn from his wilful ignorance to do better in the future, without really addressing or resolving his feelings

fear: What is your OC’s greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

Ooof, I mean it's not exactly an original fear but I think it would have to be losing the people he loves? It's not exactly something he discusses regularly or even actively worries about, but I think he'd just assume they'd... know.

Of course, he's left behind in the KotFE-future when Thirteen and Five wind up frozen in carbonite and presumed dead by the galaxy at large, which he basically deals with by refusing to believe they're dead and forsaking literally everyone and everything else in his campaign to find them and bring them back. Unfortunately his own concept of himself is one of the sacrifices he makes in the process.

future: What’s the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it’s a possibility?

Something something watching the people he loves destroy themselves something something rejected by them despite all his efforts...

Yeah um, I'm not sure Crow remotely foresaw the particular way his world crumbles around him after Thirteen and Five's eventual rescue and is floundering a little in finding a way to rein it all in. He misses them both desperately but feels like a stranger, an outsider in their world now, and it is not good.

hide: What does your OC hide? Why do they hide it?

Crow has always been a heart-on-his-sleeve kind of guy; when he found out that Nines knew far more about Ahuska's werewolfy origins than she was letting on he couldn't bring himself to keep it from Ahuska, despite knowing the repercussions on him would be painful. But he definitely very purposefully and conscientiously hid his ongoing contact and association with her from the SIS while she was initially keeping low on Concord Dawn. He thought he was doing the same with Five later on, but in truth it was Five's decision to go with plausible deniability that kept him from wringing the truth out of Crow.

midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

I don't think Crow is typically the sort to spend a lot of time tossing and turning and dwelling, nor is he especially prone to nightmares. He has, however, wound up numerous times in situations where he's had his morals and loyalties pushed and pulled in various directions, and that's probably earned him a few little side servings of anxiety over the years. He prefers to take action, though, and has repeatedly come to blows with people who are the source any current angst. Bruises are far easier to fall asleep with than moral compromise.

mistake: What’s the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on?

I think Crow would probably say it was how much space he gave Thirteen and Five after their rescue from carbonite. He was insecure about how much he himself had changed since they'd been gone, and convinced himself he was doing them a kindness by not imposing, giving them a chance to adjust to a very changed galaxy and five years of lost time.

But in waiting for them to be ready to come to him, he let even more gaping chasms open up between them and the risk of losing them both- Five to the void slowly eating him from the inside, and Thirteen to Valkorion's empty promises- is very real.

I really hope he can rectify this mistake :c

secret: What’s one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

Hmmmm probably how much he wishes Ahuska and Blakk were still living at Five's estate... and properly living there, as part of the family rather than captive, mind controlled and used.

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What’s the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

HMM. Crow has definitely been through a decent amount of injury that he's handled with wild, gritted-teeth grins and cocky perseverance, hence his plethora of shiny cybernetics and the nickname Steel Crow. The mental/emotional wounds definitely build up over time and probably weigh on him more in general? But the worst he's been physically wounded would have to be what he suffered at the hands (well, teeth) of the Sith/dragon that briefly used him as a puppet. (Sorry, Thirteen, you might have taken lots of chunks out of Crow over the years but the dragon wins.)

Poor guy suffered both his kneecaps being broken before being strutted around for the dragon to use his voice... and once he stopped being useful in that regard, had his head crunched in dragon jaws before being tossed around like a ragdoll.

(He only lived through that thanks to Ahuska finally finding motivation to reach for the Force and discover one of her genuine skills, though in her untrained desperation she very nearly died herself in the process of healing him. Girl wound up in a three day coma on the beach, but thankfully all the boys were there to keep watch over her.)

[threerattsinatrenchcoat]

Kressa Bonedaughter Dialogue Notes

Overall:

Necromancer with a streak of fanaticism. She's called "Krustine, Mistress of Souls" in the mined dialogue, which... Ebony Dark'ness, eat your heart out.

Lots of references to decay and death. Definitely has a theme. Some religious terms during the blessing.

Not even the worms will want your carcass once I'm done with you!

I stitched you up just enough to keep you alive, then placed you within your crib - note the use of "crib" for pod

"that interrupts this consecration of the undying"

You are on sanctified ground.

It is not my blessing - I am merely a vessel for our Lord Myrkul's will.

Combos statements and orders with em dashes

I have no need for a thrall - you would merely get in the way

Go find Balthazar - he always has use for another body

Return to Balthazar - he may be able to correct your defects

Come - I will make better use of your bones than you do

Answer me - who are you?

Phrases

Tsk

Halt

And yet-

-, though?

By the Bone Lord/Bone Lord

How precious

This [statement], though [opposing statement], anyway

Surely

Why bother

I don't suppose

Let's ferry them

Swanning about

Beaten black and blue

It pains me

His shadow falls across you. Go forth and reap." - this is specifically used for the blessing, but Go forth and reap is too good to leave unmentioned

I did miss it - instead of "I missed it"

Cannot - doesn't seem to use any contractions

Insults:

Defective/defects

Poor, stupid thing

Compliments:

Arresting

Special one

Dear one - also says "dear General" in regards to Ketheric

Sweet one - a lot of "[compliment] one" in regards to Durge

Sweeter than

Curses: None

Placeholders: None

Misc:

Refers to thralls/corpses as "it", except once, when she uses "them"

Speaks much warmer to Durge than anyone else (most of the compliments are in response to Durge)

Recognizes Astarion as undead and calls him "pretty dead thing"

"Trying to pull rank? And yet not a word of concern for our dear General."

Lists observations and then the conclusion: General Thorm was attacked, the order to evacuate given. You should not be here. I conclude you are one of the attackers.

Durge Interactions (spoilers for Durge playthrough)

Referred to as a "hack-doctor", a grunt. She is the one who watched over Durge after they were tadpoled and became obsessed with them. Speaks to Durge with a lot of affection. Could be written as a caretaker to an invalid or like a lover to a lover

It has never been the same with another... All the other victims who come here just meekly obey. You thrashed, you fought, you were indomitable.

Adorable... I did miss it. Its simplicity, its fear, it thrashing its own head against its pod, cracking its skull again and again in a futile attempt to escape.

Bone Lord... you're the perfect being... All that is unnecessary stripped away... Primal... innocent... pure...

We're going to kill you, sweet one. But I promise I will stay with you afterwards.

I stitched you up just enough to keep you alive, then placed you within your crib.

I kept you as mine until you were needed by our superiors.

[mithraeris]

Minthara on her recruitment to the cult of The Absolute

CW: brainwashing, violence, murder, trauma Minthara (reflecting on her first encounter with the cult of the Absolute): A true soul came to my city preaching a message of togetherness, accompanied by two novices. Menzoberranzen is not fertile ground for such messages. I killed them, and hanged their bodies in my garden. Player (option 1): Decorative corpses. An interesting design choice. Minthara: I would have picked prettier corpses if my intentions had been aesthetic. This was a warning against heresy. I was not content with the warning though. I intended to wage war on their insolent god, and the rest of its followers. Even as the flesh sagged and sloughed away from their eyeless skulls, their audacity infuriated me. I had to know where they came from. And whoever sent them was counting on my curiosity overcoming my caution.

Player(option 2): They were fools to encroach on Lolth's territory. Minthara: I thought so too. This world is full of fools, after all. But in this instance, I was mistaken. Our visitors were not fools - they were bait. Player (option 3): Yet they recruited you all the same:

Minthara : Recruited ("recruited" with a shake of the head. She knows her "recruitment" was actually brain-washing). You could call it that. I intended to wage war on their god and the rest of its presumptive followers.

Player: You should have captured and interrogated them. Minthara: In a manner of speaking, I did. The dead cough up their secrets just as well as the living. All it took was a simple act of necromancy, and the corpses told me where I needed to strike - Moonrise Towers. Player: You mustn't have struck very hard - the tower is still standing.

Minthara (mild regret, and some anger. doesn't like admitting her failures): Despite Ketheric's best efforts, so are we. And we shall outlast the immortal general, and his tower. But he had the upper hand when we first met. I was arrogant enough to believe I had the better of him. As it turned out, to my shame, I was defeated without even drawing my weapon.

I came to Moonrise with a retinue of warriors and assassins - the best House Baenre had to offer. I expected a battle, but found a fully-laden feast table, and a welcome befitting a house matron. Ketheric expected us - expected me - and I fell for his flattery.

Ketheric proposed an alliance between Moonrise and Menzoberranzan. I admit, I was captivated by him.

He invited me to the head of his table, as his guest of honour. I was wary, of course. If I had been in his position, the food would have been poisoned. It was not the food I should have been wary of. It was the pale woman at the foot of the table - Orin the Red.

(regret and anxiety - she fears Orin the Red more than anyone else in the world)

We had barely begun to eat when she spoke for the first time. I only caught one word - my name. Then, quick as lightning, she climbed onto the table, a dagger in each hand, and skipped toward me, slicing the throats out of my men as she passed them. Few things frighten me. Orin is one of them. Ketheric held me still. His hand on my shoulder, the grip tight enough to crack the bone. When Orin stood before me, she touched the dagger to my eye, drawing out a tear of blood. I want this one, she said. Ketheric nodded his permission, and I was taken below. You've seen the horrors of the colony. Orin kept me there for days. She forced me to watch as my men were processed; some for food, others as thralls. And then she placed the tadpole in my eye herself. Player: You were too trusting. Minthara (Regret and sadness - she's being cruel to herself here, suggesting past trauma was deserved): I was. I deserved what happened to me, for my passivity, for my weakness. For my pride. .

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

TW: character death; blood

When Simon regained his wits, he finds no sign of the vampire lady that enthralled him. He also has no idea how long he's been under his thrall. He finds himself waking up to an empty, patchwork room. The walls were made from broken pieces of cement, assembled together like a giant jigsaw puzzle. Thin sheets of tin metal was laid on top of the walls to resemble a roof, and barely managed to prevent exposure. Damp dirt, just dry enough to avoid becoming mud, served as the floor, with layers and layers of newspapers to act as some form of insulation.

Yet despite the lack of proper resources, someone ensured this post-apocalyptic shelter contained personal touches. Crayon drawings and half written lyrics were pinned on most flat surface. A mattress of scrap cloth was laid out beneath him, sewn together with wide clumsy stitches. And lying next to him, as if to keep him company, there sits a stuffed toy - its long, threadbare limbs fraying at the edges.

Simon woke up in Marceline's home. But Marceline was nowhere to be found. His hand automatically reaches up to his head, and his fingers brush the cold kiss of metal. She didn't take it off. Now, what could that mean? And where has Marcy gone? And why hasn't she come back?

He jumps to his feet, storms out the shelter, and runs - runs - runs. The sweet whispers of frost - no, shut up! Shut up! Something is wrong! He needs to go. Where? He doesn't - the Empress. She would know! He reaches into the Crown, pushing past its cold promises and seizes the heart of its power. He summons a howling wind that nearly knocks him off his feet before it carries him up and over and far - further - faster!

The sun is a sliver of orange in the horizon. The stars are already twinkling in the indigo sky. And perhaps, it would have been better if light had completely abandoned him - the whole damn universe already saw fit to forsake him, why not light as well? A shroud of immutable darkness would have shielded him from... from...

Simon never reaches the Empress - never finds her in whatever den of depravity she dug for herself. As a self-styled expert on lost and forgotten things, he is doomed to find precisely what he's looking for.

He spies an abandoned camp - torn tents and tossed supplies. He hears screaming - men, women, children. No, that's not important. No. There - pressed against the trees all broken and bent, there is a little girl. Except, she's not so little anymore. It's been years. He left her. He left her.

She was supposed to be safe.

He lands, soft as if afraid to wake her. But her eyes are wide open, staring sightlessly into the distance. A sharp thing - he cannot look. Her shirt is soaked through - there's so much. Her hand holds a stake - she hasn't let go.

Time stops for Simon Petrikov. His thoughts fade to depthless black. His body becomes a distant memory. The world dissolves around him like snowflake melting in his palm.

It's dark now. The sun sunk a long, long time ago. In the lack of light, he could almost, almost believe that he was looking at someone else - anyone else. This could be another girl with black hair, pointed ears, and grey skin. This could be another daughter of a different man.

The axe damns him. Its sharp blade nestled deep into her chest, sliding straight into the tree. The axe is bright red and sharper than the Devil's tongue.

She was supposed to be safe.

She was supposed to be protected.

She was supposed to have her father.

tHe CrOwn HuMS.

It sears with power, balancing on a precipice, awaiting his command. He only needs to ask. His will be done.

A branch snaps to his left. The bushes rustle as a creature leaps out, long fangs ready to sink into its next meal. Poor thing. It freezes mid-air, neither feet will ever touch the ground again.

Frost begins to sweep and curl across the ground. It swallows whole everything it touches - every leaf, every worm, every creature in its path. It crawls through the veins, solidfying lungs, entombing hearts. The living and the dead and everything else in between - all turn to ice.

No one is screaming now.

Simon grabs hold of the axe. His fingers brush against the embedded strings - her work, undoubtedly. He grits his teeth, letting every curse and cry rot within his throat. He pulls.

How does that old saying go? When hell freezes over? Well.

Simon can answer that one, can't he?

[heyitschartic]

I've been sitting on a cape for a while that I really love but just haven't gotten around to doing anything with. An ex-Heartbreaker thrall who is trying to hold onto the pieces of her life after Imp killed him. She gets put in the Parahumans asylum, for obvious reason, and is getting psychological assistance to hopefully deal with having her emotions all hollowed out. But she can't help but see enemies in everyone, doesn't trust her own feelings and judgement, and ultimately triggers from the realization she is never getting better.

She gets a thinker power that guides her actions by recreating feelings of comfort. She sees bright colors to know where she should go, feels soft velvet when she should take something, hears bright music down a hallway she should go down, etc. Possibly thought about slapping a trump power on too, still unsure on that

Part of the reason I never got around to her was because I realized this is just Harley Quinn. The other part is because i needed to gen a bunch of capes csuse she moves to Florida right after.l and gets involved in a lot of stuff. Still, I love her, just this flaming burnout heading towards oblivion. Weird how a lot of my OCs end up that way...

I let me power take me, and the world focused down into what I needed to see. What I needed to know.

The broken pool cue in my hand felt like silk, and for a second, I could see the reflection of Nikos in the officer's helmet. He wore the same smile he always did, the same confidence to his face, the same pressure in his gaze. It was the smile of a man that just made you want to love him.

For just that one moment, high on coke and drunk on wine, I remembered something I'd forgotten. Something that had gripped my heart and been pushed down again and again. Like junk tucked into drawers, dirty clothes shoved in a closet, my thoughts and feelings sealed up tight in a deep dark box.

I hated Nikos Vasil more than I had hated anyone else in my entire fucking life.

[astarab1aze]

hmmm.

in modern verse, sorti runs the escorting service faith works for. would explain why the mysterious man who approached and hired him doesn't really matter (he's an undead thrall anyway), and also why faith is so strong in his belief that exactly zero harm will come to him while he works for her, and even if he was, he would see some semblance of justice in the end. sorti's a complex woman - willing to commit unspeakable acts of violence and cruelty to get her way, but she's not an idiot. there's a time and a place for everything, and it's elementary: they'll perform better if they're not afraid, hooked on any substances, homeless, starving, or otherwise aggrieved. what's good for the goose is good for the gander anyway. a second chance in return for any inklings, whispers, implications, hints, rumors, references, anything that could possibly point her in the right direction. they were free to keep 100% of the money they earned, too, just as long as they did what she asked. such was the agreement with faith as well, in the end.

he doesn't care about all that though. he gives her every scrap of pertinent information he manages to squeeze out of certain clients, about the sanguine star or otherwise, though this is a treatment he reserves for clients he particularly dislikes (imagine what you'd have to do in order to find yourself in this category). he can keep a secret; the question is whether he will. self-preservation is arguably his strongest instinct and, if brought to tangible harm, he will divulge every secret he's gleaned, every single one - may hargraven and the fates have mercy on the stability of their life. one way or another, they won't be seeing him again. this is code for 'he isn't afraid to ruin anyone who abuses him, because sorti will do one of two things: kill them, or legally destroy them, no in between.' faith is also complex, happy to wash his hands of disliked clients the very minute he starts talking, but it isn't something he resorts to frequently. i'd say he's only done it once, and it's strictly, specifically because he was drugged and raped on two separate occasions, and he wasn't the only one. he's lucky he has excellent memory, damn near eidetic. otherwise, he's not so sure he nor any of the other victims would've seen any justice at all.

so there's a lot of give and take here. it's simple but complicated, and all very circumstancial. faith is a good person, but he's also incredibly flawed, willing to bear the shame so long as something is done about the people who victimize others. insodoing, the distance he's created between himself and the consequences of unpersoning someone else (regardless of context) deeply disturbs him. anyone could understand why a victim would kill their rapist, but taking someone's life, conceptually and in practice, is an entirely different matter, deserved or not. it isn't a righteous, triumphant feeling. it just makes him feel so sick, but something is better than nothing, and his morals are loose enough to accept what that means for him. vigilante justice, whatever form it takes, will always be faster than any sorcier or cop. he accepts everything about this even though it disgusts and even hurts him to. the logic is circularly punishing for him, so, for the most part, he simply ignores it. buries it a thousand miles under his cute, playful, freckly facade, makeup and shots of tequila (i lied, he drinks more than you think), and sex. expertly pretending everything is fine, getting up and going to work the next day as if nothing happened in the first place, he has never been touched by a violent man in his life or been spoiled in any way, no sir.

really helps that he gets to keep all of his earnings and maybe sometimes help others with just the right tidbits of information used at just the right times - and that he has very good friends in very high and low places.

[jinx-on-mars-19xx]

The Siren's Tease and the Secrets Spilled

⚔️ All Previous Parts Here ⚔️

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: future ABO, slick, talks of breeding (mpreg), Viking Col, fae Dom, needy boys, fingering, anal fingering, (not so) dry humping, talks of sex, fear of sex, talks of sex with women, talks of anal sex, talks of period sex, siren's song, grinding, slow burn ☠️ rating: mature/explicit ☠️ ideas helped by @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker 🖤

"Fuck." That whine echoed in Dom's head, his cock twitching, both his holes clenching tight where his lover had his fingers teasing his insides. He wished he could be sweet and innocent still, he knew that's what his master loved about him but gods- he needed to feel the Viking deep in his guts and he knew he would. Whenever they finally joined he knew he'd feel him for days all the way to his bellybutton. He couldn't wait. That leaking massive length was pulsing against his quaking thigh and he thought if he could just try… but no, he finally understood the man's reticence, he wouldn't push.

He tried so hard to school his pout as he pressed in close for another kiss but he could only hide so much. He thought sometimes the Viking could taste his mood on his skin. In the air. "So-" He was going to ask if that curse was a 'no' but the bastard bit gently at his bottom lip and tugged.

Kol'son sighed as he pulled back, his touch wriggling deeper inside his boy before he finally spoke the truth. He'd been doing well so far and he didn't want to stop. Some part of him liked the thought of Dom knowing him deeper and better than anyone else, even if he ended up thinking the man was a little soft. He planted his elbow more comfortably under the kid's neck and looked down at him. His thrall was beautiful and he could imagine how perfect their children would be. He just couldn't make them. Yet. Every night he would tell himself stories of babes with green eyes and button noses and he vowed the next day would be the day, but every morning he woke from nightmares of blood and death and he froze all over again. Maybe if they got drunk he might slip but he wanted it to be special. His prince deserved the best. "Of course I want your ass at some point, you know how much I love it but- I want your cunt first."

The boy shuddered, a fresh rush of slick escaping him. Dom knew he was being honest and a bit vulnerable. He knew when he wasn't feeling mad with need he would think it sweet but the thought of having to wait until he was less terrified made the boy ache. "You never… wiv the girls?" He asked softly, they'd been teasing him. The other thralls constantly talked about his daidí's prowess. They giggled about how it felt to take him deep or how they'd felt him for days. He knew his master wasn't celibate before him but he was since they'd met besides him and that's what mattered. He was just… confused.

Blue eyes flicked away and for just a moment the chieftain blushed but he cleared his throat and reminded himself he liked the honesty. Gods damn it. "Never inside their womb when it was possible to-" He huffed softly and went quiet a moment when Dom just looked more baffled. He couldn't believe how much they were conversing while he still had his fingers inside the boy. He could probably just distract him with pleasure but he didn't think it fair. He couldn't treat him like a child if he wished to make a family with him. Terrified or not, that was their eventual plan. Dom might be pure but he wasn't dim. He was probably the smartest creature he'd ever met with the brawn of a man and the brains of a witchy woman. The fae was certainly magic.

"So… there's a reason I know it's possible to fuck here-" He explained, wiggling the pinkie inside his lover's tight ass. Those sharp jade eyes went wide for a moment when he brushed that spot inside him, his pupils blowing, but he made himself focus even as he felt like melting.

"Umhmm?" Dom's voice went high and his hips bared down but he gave his man a look to continue. Fuck he was shaking though, a fine sweat breaking out over his skin.

"I've taken a few girls that way. It felt safer and… I wouldn't want to give them my children anyway." His nose scrunched up at the thought, a sour taste painting the back of his tongue. He shouldn't be physically revolted by his own people but he wasn't into them that way. They were fun for a time but he'd always been waiting for his wife. Oops. "Or I bed them while they bleed. I don't normally like pussy though. Not with my size." He smirked, proud of his impressive proportions. He could still remember his first lover, a woman from another land he'd met before his father died. She'd been so kind to him before they joined and so evil the next day. She'd spoken so highly of his cock though and he'd carried his head high since. Of course then Dom walked into his life and ruined that by making him mess his pants. So. Many. Times.

"Come back to me. Stop finking about 'em girls." Dom couldn't help but growl, his claws pressing hard against his daidí's skin.

Kol grinned down at his boy, he wouldn't say he was actually smiling because he was thinking about all the times Dom made him cum too soon. He liked his thrall a little jealous. "I was just admiring my cock." He joked and Dom snorted he laughed so hard. Precious little bitch. "I should punish you for that."

"Perhaps you should but you already do. You punish me by finking bout girls. You like me pussy 'ough right?" He asked softly, his face so pitiful he reminded Kol'son of a seal he found once. He had the cutest lover.

"Fucking love it." He soothed, his voice rasped as he pushed his touch deeper and massaged over Dom's spots. The boy full-body jerked, his claws scratching red lines over his skin. It always intoxicated him the way his love so openly and unabashedly reacted to pleasure, no one had taught him to feel shame. His moans went high and his pussy wet, his hips wriggling out of control. The more his thigh pressed close to Kol's cock the thinner his control became. He always fought to get his boy to that peak before himself but too often he failed. He was still questioning his boy's nymph-ness, how was he not some sexual magic creature? "When you say fae-" He started to ask, his voice coming out gruff against Dom's plum black lips.

"You're fucking- fuck Kols, you- seriously?" Damhnaic never snapped at his mate- his lover, but he did in that moment. How could he- how dare he- "Wha'?" He finally whimpered, trying to calm himself but he couldn't stop the way his hips rolled to meet the pace his master's fingers thrust inside him. He was so close and so confused.

"Legends say there's different kinds." He shrugged one shoulder and worked kisses over Dom's chest but the boy cursed and tugged at his braids until their eyes met again. "Are you a sexy kind?" He teased, or at least he thought he was teasing but his thrall gave him a sad look.

"You fink I'm… Wha'? Seducing you wiv magic? Ya don't fink it's natural?"

Kol knew his next words were some of the most important he'd ever speak but so much of him wanted to joke with his thrall. He might think there was magic about the boy but if their love was because of power or fate he didn't believe Dom was doing it on purpose. At least not maliciously. "I trust you." He settled on and they both knew it wasn't exactly an answer but it was the only one that mattered.

"You sure?" The selkie asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His throat felt tight and his mouth dry which was insane because he'd just been drooling for the man.

"I swear. I trust you." The moment the words were past his lips the half-siren tested him- teased him really. A hum hit the human's ears and the sound shot straight to his dick. He swore his body was vibrating with it. "I- I trust you." He groaned, his head falling as he shuddered but this time when he forced his gaze back to Dom's he knew the boy's eyes were golden like the sun. It felt like fur on his skin, a warm bath at the perfect temperature. They were barely moving but he felt like his cock was being sucked deep by the wettest pussy. "Fu-fuck!" His strength went out of him and he fell against his thrall, their bodies slapping together. Tears welled his eyes as he shook and moaned like a bitch in heat but he couldn't care. Nothing had ever felt so good.

The fae was surprised at himself. He'd only used his gift on Kol once and that was an accident. Something had happened between them with their deep talk and spilled truths, something had shifted when he heard the words that his daidí was swearing his life and heart to him. If Kol'son trusted him then he could trust the man to handle his honesty. At least part of it. He wouldn't explain yet that he turned to an animal but this? He supposed the Viking guessed half right but not quite. Gods he was out of practice. The human's body trembled so hard that his fingers slipped free and Dom's song almost broke on a whine until Kol fell completely against him.

The leader grunted and buried his face against the fae's throat, his arms and legs wrapping tight around and under him. Their cocks slot together, pre-cum and slick making the glide smooth as he all but rut against him. The music in his ears went high and breathy and somehow he felt it even deeper. He knew it was in his soul. Between one breath and the next he spilled cum as hot as the tears he was shedding, his spend making a mess of their bellies but he barely noticed the pleasure in his body. It was all through him.

Dom didn't break until he felt his lover release and finally his song turned to moans as he let himself go, it wasn't the deep orgasm he desperately needed but it was just as important. It was pleasure from trust and from finally freeing himself. They rode out their rapture with wet kisses and needy nips, their hands wandering over heated flesh. Eventually he rolled them over, his favorite place to rest was above his man and he knew he needed to check on him. Admit something to him. "I'm a s-"

"Thank you."

"Wha'?"

"Thank you. For trusting me too." Kol didn't need words, he didn't need labels. Magic was enough for him because he'd already known it. They probably had different words for the fae anyway. Dom smiled as if a weight was off of him and he cuddled close, resting his ear against his human's racing heart. He knew he needed to tell him but… perhaps they could wait until they were closer to making love. Did it really matter for him to know unless they were going to have children? He could wait.

Author's Note/Tags: @manicpixiedreamb0y @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @cole-way-iero28 @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker 🖤

Yay they finally got to make each other feel good! Maybe not how we all need them to but hopefully it relived a little tension because shits about to start going down! I hope you enjoy! I love how they keep setting up things to go... Troublesome 😅 back to the plot tomorrow 🖤☠️

[itsalwayswellattheworldsend]

Book 2 Chapter 35 - Ralph Cometh To the Vale of the Tower

Text Audio

Synopsis:

Ralph comes to the Vale/Dale of the tower.

Summary:

"I have cheapened a likely thrall of Morfinn the Unmanned, and he is a gift to thee; and he hath given out that he is no ill player with the spear after the fashion of them of the west; and we are going to prove his word here in this meadow presently."

[1] In the morning, Ralph got up and saw the sun was shining brightly, so he threw on his shirt and immediately went out, turning eastward. He was hardly awake and at first through that the clouds on the eastern horizon were still thick after the previous night’s haze, but when his eyes cleared he realized that what he had thought was clouds was actually a huge wall of mountains, black and terrible, that rose up sharp and clear in the morning air, for there was neither cloud nor mist anywhere in the sky.

Ralph, although not used to the sight of great mountains, felt his heart rise rather than fall at the sight of them. He said: “Surely, there is something new for me beyond them, life or death: fair fame or the forgetting of all men.”[2] And for a long time, he could not look away from them.

As he was looking, Captain Otter came up to him and said: “Well, Knight, you have seen them this morning, even if you die before nightfall.”

“What do you think lies beyond them?”

“None of us really know,” said Otter. “Sometimes I think that if one were to cross them, there would be another great plain, like this one. Sometimes I think that there is nothing but mountains and more mountains beyond, like the waves of a huge stone sea. Sometimes I think that you’d come to the end of the world, a place that’s just a ledge and nothing below it but darkness and howling winds. Mostly I think that all those of us who lived in these parts would be nicer people and better off if that terrible wall were far away from us. It is as if we were thralls of the great mountains.”

Ralph said: “Is this the Wall of the World then?”

“It may be,” said Otter, “but sometimes, there is something else called by that name, which no one living among us has seen. It’s part of the tale of the seekers for the Well at the World’s End, which we spoke of the other day.”

“And the Dry Tree,” said Ralph, “do you know about that?”

“We have, not very far from Utterbol—and on this side of the mountains, a tree of great respect. But I have heard old men say that it is just a trinket, a glimpse of the one that is actually near the Well at the World’s End. But now hurry up and get dressed, we need to get on the road soon.”

“One last thing,” said Ralph; “you said that no one living among you has seen the Wall of the World?”

“No one alive; what the dead might see is another question.”

“But don’t you know of anyone from this land who has sought the Well, since it’s so close?”

“There have been those,” said Otter, “but if they found it, they found something beyond it, or else came west again by some other other road than through Utterbol, for none have ever come back to us.”[3]

Then he turned and went on, and David came up, alongside someone bringing food. David said: “Now, you lucky one, here is your breakfast! We’ll be leaving soon, so put on your clothes and eat up. Have you been looking at the mountains?”

“Yes,” said Ralph, “and the sight of them has done as little to hurt my mood as it has yours; you seem chipper this morning.”

David nodded and smiled and looked so happy that Ralph wondered if something were going on. Then he went to his tent and got dressed and ate his breakfast, then mounted his horse and rode along between two armed men, together with Otter, as David had ridden forward to speak with the Lord. Otter talked cheerfully, but Ralph hardly listened at times, his eyes always on the mountains. He could see that although they were so dark and filled up so much of the sky to the east, they were so far away that he could hardly see any detail, just that they were dark blue and huge, rising up one after another.

They rode like this through the hill country, until about two hours before noon, as they came over the brow of a long hill, they stood before a shallow dale, nicer-looking than anything else they had seen in the land. It was grassy and a little river ran through it, from which came little canals, so that much of the valley was a water meadow, and there were many cows and sheep grazing. There were willows around the banks of the river, and in one of its bends was a farm and its buildings, with many roofs half-hidden by groups of tall elm trees. There were other houses around in the vale, two or three cottages on the lower slope of the hill they were on, and another half-dozen or so around the farm buildings. Past all these and above them, on a mound somewhat away from the river and farmland, was a great square tower, with defenses and a walled yard, all set up for war, and with a banner of the Lord’s flying from it. But between the tower and the river stood a great pavilion of snow-white cloth striped with gold and purple, and around it were more tents, as though a little army had come into the valley.

So as they looked at this beautiful place, Otter stood up in his stirrups and threw his hands up in joy, crying out “Now, young knight, now we are home! How do you like my Lord’s land?”

“It’s a beautiful land,” said Ralph; “But has some army come to challenge your Lord for it? Whose tents are those?”

Otter laughed, saying: “No, no, it has not come to that yet. That’s my Lord’s wife, who has come to meet him—but in love, not battle—not yet at least. Though, I won’t say that the cup of love they share is overflowing. But it’s not mine to talk about, even if you are to be my brother-in-arms, since we’ll be tilting together soon. Look! there’s the tilt-yard, lad.”

He pointed to the broad, green meadow, but Ralph said: “How can you, a free man, be brothers-in-arms with a thrall?”

“Don’t let that bother you,” said Otter, “for I was once like you. Indeed, I still am, but I have the habit of staying cool in battle, which makes me valuable to my Lord, so that I’m treated quite well. In truth, free folk in my Lord’s land mean little, since they usually have to do what my Lord and his thralls tell them to. Indeed, brother, it is we who have the wits and luck to rise above the whippings and the shackles that are the greatest men around here. I say ‘we,’ because I think that you will do just as well. You have a lucky look in your eyes, and let’s put that to the test today.”

As he spoke, many glittering figures came out from the tents, and there was the sound of horns and the clashing of cymbals, and the traveling group’s horns answered with a sound of welcome. Then Ralph saw a man in golden armor of a strange, foreign design, sitting on a huge black horse beside the Lord’s palanquin.

Otter said: “Look! My lord, armed and on horseback, goes to meet my lady. She likes to see him like that, though just between you and me, he’s no great fighter. Not that he needs to be, since he has us for his defense.

Then they came onto the raised road that ran through the green meadows, and soon they stopped in front of the pavilion, standing in a half-circle facing about forty brightly-dressed warriors who had come with the Lady, and a crowd of people from her household. Then the Lord got off his horse and stood in his golden armor, and all the horns and other instruments began to play, and out of the great tent came the Lady with about ten of her women, dressed brightly in silk gowns in green, blue, and yellow, embroidered with silver and gold, but barefoot, and with iron rings on their arms, so that Ralph could tell they were slaves.[4] Something told him that the woman he sought would be among them, so he looked hard but—though they were pretty—there was no one like her.

As for the Queen, she was dressed in fine linen and gold, with gold shoes on her feet. Her arms were bare, and they were large, with large hands, but well-shaped and very white and rosy. Her hair was as yellow as hair can be, and it was plentiful, cascading down around her. Her eyes were blue and set wide apart, her nose a little  snubbed, and her mouth wide with full, smiling lips. She was very tall, a half-head taller than any of her women, and even about as tall as an above-average man.[5]

She came forward quickly with long strides and knelt before the Lord, but even as she kneeled she looked around with a smiling face. The Lord stooped down and took her by the hands, raised her up, and kissed her on the cheek, and he looked plain and unimpressive compared to her.[6]

He said: “Greetings to you, my Lady! You’ve come far from your home to see me, and I thank you for that. Is everything well with our House?”

She spoke, seeming carelessly and loud, and her voice was somewhat husky: “Yes, my Lord, all is well; things are in order and the harvest has been plentiful.” As she spoke, the Lord furrowed his brow and looked at the women behind her, as if looking for something. The Lady noted his gaze, smiling and seeming to redden in merriment.

But the Lord was silent for a while, and then his face cleared and he said: “Yes, Lady, you are thanked for coming to meet us, and your timing is good, since there is food and sport ready for you; I have bought a promising thrall from Morfinn the Unmanned, and he is a gift to you. Furthermore, he has said that he is good with a spear, like others from the west, and we are going to test his claims here in this meadow shortly.”

The Lady’s face grew happy, and she said, looking toward the ring of newcomers: “Yes, Lord, and which of these is he? If he’s here, that is.”

 The Lord turned a little to point at Ralph, but the Lady’s eyes had already found him, who was now blushing shyly for being shown off to such a great lady; but as for her, she flushed bright red all over her face and chest, and she looked away, her eyes growing troubled.

But the Lord said: “That’s the young man, in the green coat and without a sword. He looks promising, if he has not lied about his skill. And he can sing for you as well, tell old sad stories, and do all the other things nobles of the westlands are trained to do. Do you like the look of him? What do you think?”

The Lady still kept her eyes down, and she scuffed the turf with her foot, murmuring a little, for she had not yet re-gathered control of herself. The Lord looked at her sharply and said: “Well, when the tilting is over you will tell me what you think, and if he turns out to be a coward I don’t expect you to take him.”

Then the Lady lifted up her face and looked pale, but she forced words out: “It is well, Lord, but now come with me to my pavilion, for your meal is ready and it’s almost noon.” So he took her hand and led her into the pavilion, and all the men dismounted and got to pitching the tents and readying their food, but Otter took Ralph off to a corner of the farm and they ate their meal together.

Notes:

[1] The title of this chapter is “Vale” even though I think the narrative only calls it the “Dale of the Tower” (at least when saying the whole thing as a title). The two words mean the same thing, so either is correct, but it’s an odd inconsistency (though not one that surprises me).

[2] Was going to translate this last phrase, but I liked the original a lot. He’s saying “I’m either gonna make it big as a hero or die in obscurity, but I’m excited to see what happens.”

[3] To summarize: they call these mountains the Wall of the World, but the story goes that there’s another, greater range that’s the actual Wall, and they call these mountains that after the legend. The same goes for the famous tree nearby, which they call the Dry Tree, but which old folks say isn’t the real Dry Tree. Compare to the Order of the Dry Tree, which named themselves after the Dry Tree, using it as a symbol. Also, the presence of this tree fortifies my theory that Utterbol is named for being the “furthest tree” (or that’s how I choose to interpret it).

[4] In many cultures across time, slaves were made to remain barefoot, even when dressed-up for special occasions. I’m going to assume the reasons are 1) it marks them clearly as slaves, 2) it’s demeaning, and 3) it’s hard to run away while barefoot.

[5] I have stuff to say about the Lady of Utterbol, her physical description, and the physical descriptions of her servants (this will come up over the coming chapters), but am going to hold off for a little bit. I’m trying to get my hands on a book about beauty standards over the ages, at which point I’ll make a post comparing different characters’ physical descriptions and societal perceptions.

[6] Not a real note, just me pointing out that this last clause was originally a parenthetical, and leads into the following dialog with a colon (like a lot of sentences), so it looks like this: “(and he looked but little and of no presence beside her:)” which has :) like a little smiley face at the end of it.

Map:

[titanicfreija]

Something Else

Even before they got close, they could smell the death. The bodies strewn nearest the entrance clutched weapons and a few featured steaming green wounds. Not fresh but not old either.

"Our work?" asked Freija. "Looks like we've been here."

"I can't tell if it's us or Hive. It's really hard to tell," said Thomas. "It doesn't help that we take our enemies' weapons so often. There's definitely Hive magic here, but it could be relics or Thorn or Striga..." He shrugged.

"If it was the Hive, they'd still be here," Rex said.

"Then they've either gone or they've hidden their energy signatures," Sunny replied.

"Glimmer says the latter," Thomas agreed, checking his Perpetualis and adjusting his gloves.

Freija and Thomas ventured into the derelict Golden Age building, Ghosts over shoulders providing light. The lobby was empty except for puddles and dust and Eliksni corpses.

"I'm gonna guess you're more okay with genocide when it's Hive?" Thomas asked.

"In a cultural sense," Freija admitted. "Dunno about the species, but genocidal cultures get to die by the sword. Or gun. Whatever. It was your line, you know what I mean."

"It's another old one. Live by the sword, die by the sword," Thomas said. "I was being cynical at the time."

"I know. But Xivu is literally genocidal. There is no treaty to be had here. If-- when we get them down to the last thrall, it'll be trying to kill us just as hard as Xivu Arath herself, because all it wants is to kill. If this is where hunting to feed takes the Hive, they need a predator to keep them in check or they need to be wiped out."

"At least two entities in the universe believe that about us," Rex said snidely.

"I don't think they're wrong about us needing to kill, but we can kill each other just fine. If left to our own devices.... That's pretty much exactly what the Warlords did."

Rex didn't answer, but Thomas chuckled quietly. "He likes you."

"This looks a lot like hating you," Sunny said. "It means he'll actually hunt you down to be antagonistic."

"Oh. Then he's liked me for a while. Since the Imbaru Engine." Freija looked back at Thomas. "He all but stalked me any time I came back to the Tower, giving me shit about my names for the Hive symbols."

"Aww," teased Thomas. 

~

"If the Hive have been in here, they decided it wasn't worth nesting in," Freija said. "Looks like Guardian work."

"Corpse count is high. We're normally pretty bad about disintegrating everything."

"I don't see dead --ohhh."

The facility opened into a huge room of desks with screens, littered with Hive and Eliksni corpses. Mostly acolytes and dregs, with a couple of knights and Captains. A single wizard lay amongst them.

"If anyone survived, they fled," Thomas said. "Not that I blame them."

Sunny and Rex scanned the ruined computers while Thomas and Freija searched the room. Just corpses. Couple of ether tanks.

"There's another server room down the hall," Rex said. He and Thomas strode ahead while Freija watched his back.

Freija shot by reflex, immediately regretting it when she finally saw the dreg, but they didn't fall. They ran back into cover, glowing shield from its servitor saving it from the Guardian.

"Hey-- velaask?" Freija called.

Thomas watched the crack in the wall where they vanished into.

"I hate to kill a last survivor. Always feels dirty," Freija complained. "Why the fuck do they keep trying to fight?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"I'm immortal, that's different."

"If it was Hive?"

Freija's mouth twisted. "I wanna say I would be smarter than that but I'd be lying," she admitted. "So good point. Either way." She directed her external comm into the ruined wall. "Look, guy, we're here for data retrieval and nothing else. Not fighting. Get out. Illa tokal aaska."

Thomas turned back to his task, trusting her to handle this. "Your enunciation has gotten a lot better. You getting practice?"

"A little."

She deliberately moved past the gap so the alien could see her do it, went to a t-junction of the corridor, and pretended to ignore them. She watched her radar as they snuck through the wall and up the hall, away from them and toward the exit. She stuck her head into the room to check for others, finding nothing threatening.

Thomas banged around in the closed room and Freija did her best to keep still as he swore at the terminal and a chair he kicked, and the soft crackle of electricity immediately followed by a hiss of pain.

Sunny ventured in and Rex hovered out, refusing to look at any of them. Freija could hear the low hum of electric device working for the first time in centuries.

After a few minutes of silence, she called in. "Anything?"

"My name," Thomas said. "And an employment history. Apparently I did tech work. My name was-- You're kidding."

"What?"

"Ambros Zaunbrecher."

"What, like ambrosia? Or amber?"

"It translates to immortal. Roughly. Zaunbrecher means 'fence-breaker'."

Freija didn't make a sound, to the extent that Thomas wondered if she muted or changed channels.

"When we figure out time travel, I'm going to ask my original parents why," he promised himself. "I was cursed from the first life," he added under his breath. "Let me find out my middle name was wizard or something.... No. Schreiber. I think that might be worse. Cursed, cursed, cursed. And I'm a second! There's no way the other guy with this name is still dead! Suddenly I understand your feelings, Freija, calling him my father felt weird."

"Right? Even after Crow pointed out that dead family is still family. Got anything else?"

"Not much. I was with a Braytech subsidiary, doing network maintenance, according to this. Nearly ten years. Clean disciplinary file except one time listed as "insubordination" with no details, that sounds fun. Termination date 30-6-2471. Less than a year after that write-up."

"Sounds like you found the good dirt," Freija chuckled.

"With the name, I can find lots of other things, but not here. I won't have data in the Tower like you did, but first name and last name is fantastic. Secondary education was Heinmann Polytech, they're gonna have more details. Can maybe look up some news stories if I can find a good catalogue...."

"I could make a hobby of this," sighed Sunny happily.

"Did we want to make sure the Hive are cleared out?" Freija asked.

"What happened to sparing the last survivor?" Thomas teased.

"Shut up, I know it's a double standard, but Eliksni run and Hive don't," she grumbled. "I'll be right back."

~~

When Freija came back out, covered in ashes and carrying a lump of cloth, she found Thomas holding a glaive at the servitor's eye while it and the dreg dangled helplessly, tangled in green threads.

"I spared them for your sake," he told Freija. "But it shot first."

"I found why," Freija said, shifting the bundle. Thomas sucked a breath when he saw that the hatchling was dead.

The Eliksni struggled in its bonds with a harsh squawk and loud chittering. The servitor groaned as it tried to get an eye on them, fighting hard and losing.

"Tell me you didn't," he breathed. "And you brought it back up here?"

Freija shook her head solemnly and wrapped the bundle, securing the cloth. "I didn't. They wouldn't have gone if it was alive when we got here. They were guarding the body. They were trying to keep us away from it. Let them down." Thomas backed off and let the hold fall away. Instantly, the servitor shielded the Eliksni, which charged at Freija with two knives. She knocked one knife away and curled a shoulder as if protecting the hatchling. The Eliksni stopped short, stumbling back, second knife falling wayside.

Freija waited to make sure the attack stopped, and she held the bundle out. The Eliksni crept up cautiously and took it at the length of their reach. They brought the bundle to their chest, clutching it with their lower stumps and one upper arm. The other slowly moved across their torso to stop near the other shoulder, and they offered the subtlest of nods. Freija nodded in return and said, "Illa tokal aaska," again. "Sunny, can you give the servitor coordinates?"

"I... think so?"

"Can you send them to a waypoint and contact Three?"

Thomas almost cried out in surprise. "Three? You call up Three? Ever? Don't you guys hate each other?"

"Mutual distaste, but we agree on some stuff, including that the Eliksni need help, not war." Freija stepped away from the Eliksni, holding her hands clear of her weapons. Both Eliksni and servitor stepped backward, refusing to look away from the Guardians until they backed around the building's lobby door, out of sight.

Thomas watched Freija for several long moments, then sighed and shook his head. "I'll hear about this in the city later," he declared incredulously. "I'll go to the Eliksni quarter and I'm going to hear about this Guardian that found the sole survivor of a Hive attack and sent her a ride to the Tower with her dead hatchling for proper funeral rites. And you make this look easy, like it's easy to just peacemake, like she didn't try to kill both of us twice. You know fifteen words in their entire language and at least two of them are swears, and you--" he shook his head and turned away with a heavy breath. "You are something else."

"The Eliksni don't want to fight," Freija said with a shrug. "Most, anyway. Some of them are angry at us for stealing the Traveler, still, and some of them are angry because of what we've done to them and theirs, but fuckloads, even the raiders and warriors, would rather just fucking not. I can't do it in big groups or anything, laying down arms in front of an army is a great way to die, but one on one, one on a few, they  know I'm the biggest threat in the area, and if I stop, they don't wanna start."

Thomas nodded slowly and fixed his Perpetualis under his arm. "Something else," he repeated.

~~~

Request

Communication

The Database

Something Else

Campfire Stories

Jealousy 

Bickering 

Revealed

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

Thank you

Verse 154i:4—Call the Thrall

From a random crypt, Savathûn selected a young Thrall and summoned it into the High Coven. It came hesitantly, fearing death, but nonetheless it came. "Come, come," snapped Savathûn. "Listen as I reveal unto you my design. You are aware that gravity is the curvature of spacetime, and where gravity is powerful, time itself slows." The Thrall indicated that it understood, more or less, for it was a singer of prayers and not well fed with the fruit of the knowledge of physics. "Now I have tried to put an Ascendant in orbit of a black hole while its spawn gather the tribute of an eon. But the worm is not satisfied, for it sees the trick. What I must do is amplify the speed at which tribute is gathered. A pocket world where time passes quickly would do well. Or a world where time is a torus and infinite violence might be gathered. With such a murder battery, I could become a being of supreme insight." The Thrall indicated it was confused, but not lost. "With this tribute, I shall undertake a mighty work. A real humdinger of a scheme. I'm going to refinance my entire existence. I'm going to move from an existential economy based on the accumulation of violence to an existential economy based on the accumulation of secrets and the tribute of failing-to-understand-me. I shall name this tribute of failing-to-understand IMBARU, for it shall be as formless as the mist." The Thrall held up its claws, as if to say, please slow down.

"The universe has not grown simpler in its age. Wherever life can begin, it has begun, and even in some places where sensible folk expect it should not. The great tendency has been toward intricacy, toward sophistication, toward deep thought and richer ways of being. A sword is everywhere edged, but the pieces of a bomb do not look at all like weapons until they are assembled."

Tyrannocide V — The Awoken of the Reef

The Awoken have played their part. This...

...was all part of the plan.

-Queen Mara Sov

Now spoke Savathûn Scheme-mother, "In the beginning, Yul said to me, 'Savathûn, you may never abandon cunning. If you do, your worm shall devour you.' Cunning is the use of thought to predict the function of a system. Therefore, wherever a being should attempt to understand me and fail—has my cunning not defeated theirs? Wherever a falsehood is repeated about me, have I not displayed cunning? I shall gather tribute from every false prediction, misguided theory, fearful rumor, and ominous supposition which derives from the thought of me. And in time, I shall pin my quiddity upon these rumors. I shall discorporate, so that I exist wherever my schemes and conspiracies also exist. And so I will be immortal, as long as anyone seeks to understand me and fails. Do you see?" The Thrall demurred, saying that it did not know much of metaphysics. "Good," said Savathûn. "It's a law of the High Coven that one's sinister plan should be incomprehensible to a Thrall. Do you know why we've come here? If I am to take my tribute from the keeping of secrets… where else are secrets better kept than beneath the event horizon? My brother ruled the flat space of infinity, but I prefer these tide-washed depths… and in time, I shall make them my dominion." Ur the Ever-Hunger heard this and was pleased.

"Inanna had to divest herself of the mysterious "seven mé " (conjecturally, her various jewels and robes) in her descent through seven successive gates leading ever deeper into the underworld until at last she stood naked in the 'land of no return.' Oscar Wilde assigned this symbolic descent to the underworld of the unconscious, a ceremony that equates stripping naked to being in a state of truth, the ultimate unveiling, to Salome."

Dance of the Seven Veils

"If you do not open the gate for me to come in,

I shall smash the door and shatter the bolt,

I shall smash the doorpost and overturn the doors,

I shall raise up the dead and they shall eat the living:

And the dead shall outnumber the living!"

The Descent of Ishtar to the Underworld

Verse 154i:5—The Encrypted Verse

Do you know that nothing in all the cosmos has read this verse?

I encrypted it eons ago, and ever since, it has gone undeciphered. At the moment you laid eyes upon it, I captured the entwined quantum state of the verse, your mind, and your Ghost. Then I used Quria to transmit that state back in time to the moment of encryption. You are your own one-time pad. The key to the lock of understanding.

Who am I?

Call me Coyote. Call me mantis, serpent, Cagn, Anansi, call me Sri-cleans-his-brother's-stomach. Call me the grandmaster of semiosis, the jeweler's hammer which gilds the signal, a purposeful mob none of whose members know its purpose, the infinite regress of enigmas, a self-questioning answer, the word not spoken, black ice, cataract of mimes, the ache and fever of overthought while bedridden with illness, the intolerable thorn of frustrated inquisition, gray regret at the end of a fruitless day, the thing which is unlike your beloved but arbitrarily recalls your beloved to agonizing effect, architrave of the no-window, needle driven in flush with skin so that desperate fingers cannot pull it out, sweet petal, unmemorable, crystal death, the provably improvable.

I know your people well, and so I know all your names for me. But what is your name? I am, of course, especially interested in you. You saw me in the stone laid on your plotting table, and in the shining eyes of the admiral at her dying helm. You hunted me between the lines of your texts. Wherever there was space to fit me in, there you found me. You created me and gave me a part of your thoughts, and in presenting those thoughts to others round the campfires and networks of your little world, you expanded that space.

Here at the center, I lie to you the truth. You have everything you need to know it, but I will give you a clue, as the duelist gives warning before she draws. The answer you seek to the Dreaming City is simple, not complex.

Thank you, sweet friend. You are a gift and a delight. You are more dear than my mother, for you have given birth to me a thousand times.

[writerman]

16 for the 150word prompt 👀😘

From the prompt list which you can find here!

Honestly, I expected something more violent from you but this is fun and I feel like you knew what you were doing requesting this one!

Take this as a 'lost' scene from Thrall and enjoy!

----

Where his story had once been nothing but a blank page, he now returned to the place where it had all started, where the pages were now littered with words near incomprehensible to any sane reader. Anyone looking in from the outside would see merely a fly trapped in the web of a spider, a spider disinterested in the paltry meal and a fly desperate for the ache of living to cease.

Back to where it had all begun, the place they had first set eyes upon one another. When the monster was indistinguishable from any other man for the shortest of moments, where intrigue had not given way yet to horror and disillusion. 

The sun filtered through the stained glass, mother mary serene as she always had been, uncaring of the myriad of gutted-out candles along the once perfectly polished bannisters of the grand stone staircase, her peaceful gaze cast over the child in her arms unknowing of the gruesome acts rife within the halls of the cathedral long since converted into a castle, a den of creatures in line with the devil. 

This was the last place he had wanted to be and yet his feet had carried him there, now he stood looking up at the stained glass and wondering if there was a reason he stalled, was stilled and remained there as if waiting for someone else. 

“Are you reminiscing?”

 Him. 

“What would I reminisce about here?” The uncontrollable urge to snap at the vampire washed over him in waves of red-hot anger, juxtaposed with the desperate want to turn and look at him, to tell him that even after everything he had done to him, he still loved him. 

“You are surely more sentimental than I could ever have imagined,” Aro, of course, came only to mock him as was his favourite pastime. “You will not even look at me?” A softer tone but still just as malicious there would never be a true gentleness to his words. 

“Just for once will you please shut up-” The world starts to spin, a split second and the mother Mary’s eyes meet his and as he crumples to the floor his back impacts with stone that wraps around his chest. 

Darkness, then he is awake, the room too bright as the sun continues to shine in through the windows and his head is pounding. Garrett places both hands on the floor and pushes himself into a sitting position. 

What had happened to him? 

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” Aro is standing next to him and, much to Garrett’s dismay crouches down to look at him.

Empty dead red eyes take him in, there is nothing behind them not a single spark of a soul no emotion. His smile is no better, it is but a haunting reminder of a smile too dangerous to trust. Before long, Aro is standing again, his attention on the stained glass the sun shining over his skin and it glitters as though dusted with minuscule diamonds. 

He is so beautiful and awful all at the same time. And I hate him so fucking much... I need him to love me.