#too filled with incandescent rage

[w04hxo]

.

[arealcrow]

it's one of my firmest held beliefs at this point that internet need to nationalized. i need xfinity to be torn limb from limb by dogs named regulation

[fortjester]

how do you do, i'm 0.5 seconds from ripping my uterus out, personally

[jwooyoung]

they should invent a wayv with a scheduled comeback that actually fucking happens

[stormsthatrage]

Tsuna is kind. Tsuna is compassionate. Tsuna, unlike many bosses, does not see himself as more than simply because of his station.

The only people who are capable of bringing out the entitled, spoiled, possessive Mafia Prince - the tiny piece of Tsuna's heart that is a stereotypically behaved Vongolian Sky - are his closest family. And even then, they can only manage it in very specific circumstances.

Allow me to clarify:

Imagine Tsuna, in a café filled with rubble and smoke, looking down at Hayato's fallen form. He stares at the blood seeping out from Hayato's chest - the chest that was torn open when Hayato jumped in front of a bullet meant for Tsuna.

(The assassin's corpse is cooling on the other side of the room, dead too late at the edge of Takeshi's blade.)

Tsuna keeps his eyes locked on Hayato. Hayato, who lies limp and motionless, no matter how much sun flame Ryouhei pumps in to him.

It feels like a dream. It feels fake. He feels detached from it all, like he's watching the world from far above and emotions can only reach him after traveling through a mile of cotton.

"Move," he tells his sun, his dying will flaring in the midst of his strange numbness.

His sun yanks his hands back, as instantaneously as if he were following a reflex instead of words.

Tsuna surveys the scene for another second, still through that mile of cotton, and then decides, "No. No, I refuse."

And, after all, does he not have a right to? He, the holder of the Vongola Sky Ring, the Guard of the Vertical Axis, the Sky of Skies. Is it not his birthright to seize hold of, to command, the threads of time?

He reaches out, burning, and undoes it.

An orange glow erupts around the two of them - his Hayato, and the assassin.

And then there is the assassin, alive again, aiming at a spot Tsuna is no longer at.

And there is Hayato, alive again, throwing himself to protect where Tsuna once stood.

Tsuna already has an arm raised, and sends a blast of power at the assassin. The assassin crumples. And then Tsuna is turning around, spinning towards Hayato, and he feels, within him, a hot, violent rage swell up. How dare he. How dare he.

He stalks over to his Right Hand, hands shaking with anger, and he spits, "You."

His Right Hand looks at him, all wide-eyed and taken off guard. As if he's not a fucking thief.

Tsuna snarls up at him, right up in his space, "Sit."

His Right Hand's knees fold. He just barely manages to catch himself against the table directly behind him, and it's not so much sitting as propping himself up, but Tsuna doesn't fucking care.

Tsuna's fists clench, and he stares directly into those green, green eyes. "You," he seethes, "took an oath, Gokudera Hayato." He feels himself burning, dying will an inferno on his skin. "You swore yourself to me, yes? Your life is mine. You do not have the right to take it from me."

His Right Hand, his storm, his Hayato, says nothing, eyes wide and face pale and lips parted ever so slightly in shock.

Tsuna feels incandescent with rage. "You dare-"

And then he finds himself losing the words, swaying in place as exhaustion slams down across him.

The last thing he feels is Hayato's arms coming up around him, warm and alive and oh so gentle, and the last thing he hears is Takeshi, saying - absolutely delighted, Tsuna knows that tone - "Oh, he is going to be so embarrassed when he wakes up."

And then darkness.

[chvoswxtch]

Could you do something with Frank where his s/o is just trying to comfort/take care of Frank after a mission and he just snaps at them? His s/o was having a really rough week and wanted to make themselves feel better by taking care of Frank. S/o leaves and turns off their phone to be away from him for a bit and he panics after he realizes what he did? Ending in fluff of course be my heart can’t handle sad endings 😂

Ps. Absolutely love your writing

thank you so much for the request nonnie! you know I love some good angst. but, as requested, I did give this a nice ending for you. a bit of a...flirty ending if you will. 😏

warning: swearing, lots of angst, slight mentions of blood and violence, allusions to spiciness word count: 3.4k

[part two]

really bad week.

Frank let out a heavy exhale as he shut off the scalding hot water in the shower, watching through hooded lids as translucent streams of red disappeared down the drain. He was exhausted, completely overstimulated, and there wasn’t a muscle in his body that didn’t ache. 

The job had been harder than he’d planned for. The information he was given was bad, and he didn’t realize it until it was too late. Frank knew how to think quickly on his feet, he’d been trained to do that, and he normally excelled at it, but it didn’t stop the rage he felt towards his ignorant informant. The anger was like poison in his bloodstream, spreading further throughout him with every injury and minor inconvenience, and it followed him home. 

It wasn’t until he stepped into your shared bedroom with a towel draped low across his hips that he realized how quiet the house was. Frank stilled, ears perking up as he listened for a sign of your presence. You were there to greet him the second he got home, and you normally either joined him for a shower or waited with a first aid kid to tend to his wounds. 

But Frank didn’t hear the patter of your feet on the hardwood floor coming to him.

“Baby?”

Silence. 

Frank quickly dropped his towel and slipped on a pair of boxers, swiftly making his way down the hallway towards the living room. His dark eyes darted back and forth around the space before his feet carried him into the kitchen where you normally waited. 

But you weren’t there.

Frank made his way back into the living room, instantly going rigid when he noticed your keys were still on the entry table. Pulling back the curtain, he swore under his breath seeing that your car was still in the driveway. Rushing towards the bedroom to grab the pistol he kept in his nightstand, he grabbed his phone and furiously dialed your number. 

He held the phone between his shoulder and ear, checking the clip and cocking the hammer of the gun as he made his way around your home, checking every room carefully. The endless ringing coming through the line filled him with dread.

“C’mon baby, pick up. Pick up.”

The sound of your chipper voicemail had Frank swearing again, tossing his phone onto the bed as he dialed your number again and put it on speaker so he could get dressed. 

“Pick up the goddamn phone, Y/N.”

Frank nearly kicked the door to the bathroom off the hinges when he got your voicemail again. Where the fuck did you go? Why did you take off without saying anything? You never did that. You always told Frank when you were leaving, even if you were just stepping outside to check the mail. You knew how important it was for him to know where you were at all times.

Had he missed something when he came home? Did you say something to him about leaving? But where would you go without your car? Why would you-

Frank abruptly paused his incandescent pacing as realization spread like ice through his bones, completely freezing him in place. 

“Fuck.”

You had opened the door to greet Frank before he even made it to the front steps, your soft hands delicately searching Frank’s face and torso for injuries, gently trying to coax him out of his clothes, offering nothing but pure kindness and compassion to help in any way you could.

You just wanted to help. You always just wanted to help. As guilty as it made him feel to come home to you bloody and broken, you always swore that you didn’t mind putting him back together. You promised that you loved taking care of him. You assured him that it wasn’t a hindrance, but that it gave you peace of mind, because you knew no one would take care of him like you would, especially not himself. You even confessed to him that it made you feel better to do it.

“You always take such good care of me, Frankie. You’re always protecting me. I can’t protect you back, but I can take care of you. Being your healer gives me a sense of purpose. It makes all the noise fade away. It makes me happy, baby.”

You just wanted to help him, and he’d been a fucking dick. 

He snapped at you. 

He yelled at you. 

And when he closed his eyes, he saw the fear in yours, and it made him shudder. 

Frank helplessly dialed your number again, rushing to the living room to grab the keys to his truck, tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans as he went into full blown panic mode.

“Fuck, sweetheart. C’mon, pick up the phone. Pick up the phone for me honey, please.”

Frank never meant to raise his voice at you. He didn’t mean to let his anger get the best of him in front of you. You didn’t deserve the way he had treated you. All you were trying to do was help, but he wasn’t thinking straight. He was completely depleted physically, impossibly frustrated, and his entire body throbbed with pain. 

But that wasn’t an excuse for him to snap at you like he had. 

“Would you fuckin’ quit? Goddamn, I been home two seconds and you’re already up my ass. Just fuckin’ back off. I don’t need you followin’ me around, bein’ all fuckin’ needy and shit. I can take care of myself, I don’t need you. Stop bein’ a pain in my goddamn ass and just let me fuckin’ be.”

Frank slammed the door to his truck shut as he forced his key into the ignition, clenching his jaw tightly and flaring his nostrils angrily as he glanced at himself in the rear view mirror.

“You’re one sorry son of a fuckin’ bitch, you know that? Fuckin’ asshole.”

Frank recklessly backed out of the driveway and peeled off down the road, nearly breaking his phone screen as he harshly pressed his thumb against your contact again. But this time when he dialed, it went straight to voicemail.

“Fuck!”

Frank sent his phone flying into the dashboard as he gripped his steering wheel with one hand, dragging his other palm down his face and quickly running it through his still damp hair as he tried to focus. You didn’t take your car, so you had to be on foot, which meant you couldn’t have gone far. But where would you go?

He drove around your neighborhood for nearly an hour, eyes frantically darting around the road and both sides of the street with the windows down. Every second that passed that he couldn’t find you filled him with more and more trepidation to the point where he felt nauseous. His hands shook despite the tight grip on his steering wheel, but he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or from fear.

What if he had fucked up too bad? What if he couldn’t fix this? What if he came home and you were gone for good?

Frank swallowed the lump forming in his throat as the image of your terrified face flashed in his brain again. He never wanted you to look at him like that. He never wanted you to be afraid of him. He felt absolutely sick with guilt that he had scared you so badly that you had run. When Frank drove by the park at the end of the street for the twenty-seventh time, he quickly hit the brakes and put his truck in park. You had brought him to this park a few times before to have a picnic. You liked to watch the kids play, and see all the pretty flowers when they started to bloom. Frank quietly shut his truck door and pocketed his keys as he walked over towards the playground, and he immediately stilled once he saw a shadow on a swing illuminated by the moonlight.

You.

Your back was to him as you sat on the swing, leaning your head against the set of chains that your hands were loosely wrapped around. Frank normally would’ve smiled at the fact that your feet didn’t even reach the ground, but right now it just broke his heart, because it reminded him of how small and delicate you were. He approached you cautiously, and the closer he got, the more he was able to see the gentle shake of your shoulders and hear your quiet sniffles, and his heart shattered all over again.

“Baby?”

Your spine instantly stiffened as his voice cut through the silence of the night. You never reacted to him that way. Even when he surprised you by entering a room without a word when you were too distracted to hear the heavy thud of his boots, you never jumped or got startled, because you knew it was just him. You were never afraid of his presence.

Until now.

When you didn’t respond, Frank slowly made his way around to the front of the swings, keeping a good distance between you and himself so that he didn’t frighten you anymore than he had. He couldn’t see your face from where he stood above you. Your head was tilted downwards, and your hair covered your face like a curtain. He was momentarily grateful that he couldn’t see the look on your face. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it.

“Sweetheart?”

Silence.

Frank’s fingers twitched at his sides. He didn’t know what to do. He knew what he wanted to do; rush forward and pick you up into his arms, hug your head against his chest, kiss your forehead and run his fingers through your hair as he apologized over and over. He just wanted to fix it and make it better. But he wasn’t sure if you even wanted him to touch you right now, and that hurt worse than a bullet to the skull.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Frank took a few more cautious steps forward and knelt down in front of you, still trying to keep enough space between you both to make you more comfortable.

“Honey…I’m…I’m sorry. I’m real fuckin’ sorry. I didn’t mean to-I shoulda never raised my voice at you like that. I didn’t mean to, baby. I swear.”

Nothing.

Frank closed his eyes for a moment as he fought back tears that threatened to build along his waterline. He clenched his fists tightly, trying to keep his voice calm and even as he pleaded with you.

“Y/N…please talk to me. Please, baby. Just…say somethin’. Yell at me, hit me, hell take this fuckin’ gun and empty the clip right in my fuckin’ chest. Just…somethin’.”

“I’m not gonna do that, Frank.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper as it hit his ears, and Frank hated how small and broken it sounded. He watched as you lifted your head slightly, tucking your hair behind your ears as you sniffled, still refusing to look at him. 

Frank thought he’d had his heart broken before, but that was nothing compared to seeing the pain on your face beneath the glow of the moon. He nearly broke down in tears seeing your puffy eyes and reddened nose, and the lingering hurt that was carved into every feature on your face.

“Baby-”

“I’m sorry I upset you.”

“What? What are you talkin’ about?”

Frank’s dark brows knit together in utter confusion at your apology, cocking his head to the side in complete disbelief.

“I just wanted to help. But…you’re right. I need…I need to back off. I…it’s too much. I’m too much-”

“Hey, stop it. That is not true-”

“Yes it is, Frank. You said it yourself.”

Even though your voice was more firm with anger behind it, there was no denying the ache that dripped from your words. Frank closed his eyes for a moment as he let out a heavy exhale through his nose, quickly shaking his head in rejection.

“I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean a goddamn word I said earlier. Alright?”

“Frank-”

Frank moved closer on his knees toward you, shaking his head quickly as he stared into your teary eyes.

“I didn’t. I swear…on Maria and the kids. I was…I was in a bad mood when I came home. I was frustrated, and I was hurtin’, and I took all that out on you, and that wasn’t fair. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong, you understand me? Nothin’. I was not upset with you. I do not think any of that. I…I lost my temper, baby. I’m sorry. I’ll never be able to apologize hard enough, and I’ll never forgive myself for scarin’ you like that.”

Frank wanted nothing more than to reach for you when your bottom lip started to tremble. He watched as you lowered your head, toying nervously with the bracelet around your wrist as you refused to look at him.

“You were so mad…”

The fear in your fragile voice would’ve brought Frank to his knees if he wasn’t already on them. He closed his eyes as a remorseful tear slipped down his cheek, swallowing thickly as he tightened his jaw and inhaled sharply.

“I…I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart. I would never hurt you. Please…please tell me you know that.”

“Hurt me? I didn’t think you were going to hurt me, Frank.”

“I scared you-”

“I wasn’t scared of you, Frank. I was scared that you were mad at me. I thought I upset you…and that you didn’t want me there.”

Frank’s eyes flew open as he stared at you incredulously, lips parting as he began to shake his head quickly.

“Didn’t want you there? Baby, why would you say that?”

“Because you said you didn’t need me.”

As fresh tears slipped down your cheeks, Frank moved even closer on his knees until yours were pressed against his chest, fighting to keep his hands by his sides as he shook his head furiously.

“I didn’t mean that. I do need you, honey. I love you. You are the one goddamn good thing I got, and I don’t ever wanna lose you.”

“Promise?”

Frank hated that he had to make that promise to you. He hated that he had fucked up so royally, that you were even questioning it. But he would make that same promise until his lungs gave out if that’s what you needed from him.

“I promise, baby. Please forgive me, honey. That’ll never happen again, I swear.”

“I forgive you, Frankie.”

“Can I touch you, is that alright? Let me hold you, sweetheart. Please.”

Frank sighed in relief when you leaned forward to wrap your arms around him, instantly wrapping you up in his own arms as he held you protectively against his chest. A soft giggle slipped past your lips as you wiggled in his grasp.

“Easy, big guy. You’re crushing me.”

“Shit, sorry baby. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. How did you know I was here?”

Frank cupped your jaw in his large hand as he searched your face, giving a slight shake of his head.

“I didn’t. Been drivin’ ‘round for hours tryin’ to find you, sweetheart. You weren’t answerin’ your phone, and then it started goin’ straight to voicemail. I thought…I was assumin’ the worst.”

A sheepish expression coveted your features as you nibbled on your bottom lip nervously.

“I…turned it off. I’m sorry, Frank-”

“Don’t be. You just…scared the shit out of me, baby. I thought…thought somethin’ happened-you can’t do that to me, Y/N. You can’t just leave like that. You need space, I’ll give it to ya, but you gotta let me know that. I gotta know where you are, sweetheart. I gotta know you’re safe. I…I swear I’ll never snap at you like that again, but you gotta swear to me you’re not gonna run off on me like that again. Please.”

“I’m sorry…I wasn’t thinking. I was just…upset and-”

“I know, baby. I know. S’alright. I got you now, yeah?”

Leaning your face into Frank’s palm, you wrapped your hand around his wrist as you stared into his eyes and nodded your head slowly. A sad smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you swallowed thickly.

“I didn’t mean to run. It’s just…I had a really bad week, and I missed you so much. And you always…just being near you makes me feel better. I thought you were upset with me…and didn’t want me there…and I just…that made me feel even worse-”

A furrow formed between Frank’s brows as he looked at you, lips parting slightly as he wiped your cheeks with his thumbs.

“What happened that made it bad?”

“Just…stuff with work.”

“Why didn’t you call me, baby?”

“Because I hate bothering you with my problems when you’re away. It was stupid anyway-”

“Hey, it ain’t stupid if it hurts your feelin’s. And you never bother me, sweetheart. You can call me anytime, no matter what time it is, or what it is. I wanna be there for you as much as you are for me. I can’t stand the thought of you bein’ upset and feelin’ like you can’t come to me. You need me, you call me. You got that?”

Instead of answering, you pushed yourself off the swing so that you could climb onto Frank’s lap, burying your face in his chest as he tightened his arms around your body. He pressed a soft kiss to your head, gently rocking you from side to side on his lap when you clung to him even tighter.

“I love you, sweetheart. You know that, yeah?”

“I love you, Frankie. I’m sorry-”

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for. I’m the one that’s sorry. Will you let me take you home, baby? Been a week without you, just wanna lay down and hold you. Can I do that?”

Frank slowly rose up off his knees when he heard your muffled yes, keeping both arms wrapped around your waist securely as you locked your legs around his back. As he reached his truck door, you pulled back to stare into his eyes curiously with a tilt of your head.

“Why is there a gun in your jeans?”

“I’m just happy to see ya.”

A light smile appeared on your lips as you rolled your eyes with a shake of your head.

“I’m talking about the actual gun.”

“Ouch. Ya’know how to kick a guy when’s down, huh?”

“Frank-”

He cut you off with a gentle kiss as he pushed your back against his driver’s side door, trapping you there between it and his body. Brushing his nose against yours softly when he pulled back, he brought one of his hands up to tuck your hair behind your ear as he gazed at you.

“Told ya, baby. Wasn’t sure what happened at first. Thought I might need it.”

“And what were you planning to do with it?”

“Didn’t get that far. Just knew I had to find you, and wasn’t gonna let anyone get in my way.”

“So, what…you were gonna threaten the whole neighborhood to find me?”

“I’d wage war for you, sweetheart.”

The strength in Frank’s gravely voice and the intensity in his eyes confirmed his words. You knew he wasn’t lying, and it suddenly occurred to you just how far Frank would go to protect you. Gently grabbing onto the back of Frank’s neck, your lips parted slightly as you stared into his dark brown eyes.

“You’re…probably really…tired-”

“Wide awake, darlin’. You tired?”

Frank held your gaze, and you could see a flame starting to dance in his eyes. You knew that look, and it spread heat throughout your lower half that was trapped by his hips. Giving a slight shake of your head, you lightly fisted the collar of his shirt in your free hand, unable to tear away from the hunger in his eyes.

“Can I take you home, sweetheart? Show you how much I need you?”

“You can take me right here, Frankie.”

A low groan reverbated in his chest and it made you shiver. He leaned in to delicately brush his lips against yours, grabbing onto your hips tightly.

“Hate to wake up the whole neighborhood at this hour.”

“You really care about that right now?”

A sharp gasp fell from your mouth as Frank pushed his hips further against yours, allowing you to feel just how badly he needed you.

“Said hate to, baby. Didn’t say I wasn’t gonna.”

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

[labeteenmoi]

Kings of the Subura

Part 2

Fandom : Those About To Die

Pairing : Tenax x OC

Warnings : Mentions of violence, rape and slavery

Summary : Wavering feelings and power teachings

Note : if you want to be tagged for the next chapter, just raise your finger

The bell rang.

“The race is on! Bets are over!” the man behind the counter shouted as he closed the jar filled with betting odds amid protests from the latecomers.

Another chariots race Tenax already knew the results of. He didn't even have to fix it anymore; he had the greatest power in the Subura: information. Tenax knew all there was to know about anything race related: who runs for money, who runs for glory, who runs for life. He also knew about all the power struggles involved: who owed who, who owned who, who fucked who. Incidentally, what the horses ate for breakfast and how much quality shit they had had mattered too, and he knew that too.

However, all that power, his pride and joy, mattered a little less lately. As he was distractively watching the chariots enter their second lap in a cloud of dust as they passed in front of the stable’s door, his mind shifted to the creature that roamed his house like a caged tiger, yearning for freedom, or at least for a hint of it in the streets of Rome, something he had always denied her.

Almost a month had passed since he had brought her home and the least he could say was that this woman’s pride was beyond imagination. No matter how good the care and security he provided to her, she resisted fiercely and that was probably the very reason she was growing on him. He liked it, her irrepressible spirit of rebellion—not in deed, she did what she was told, but her attitude was untamed, her eyes insolent, her repartee sharp on the rare occasions she bothered to answer him. Briga was far from purring while rubbing against his leg — she still seemed constantly tense, on alert, watching his every move whenever he got too close to her, but Tenax could see a change in the way she looked at him, a formal coldness had slowly replaced the ostentatious hatred she used to address him, and sometimes, he could swear, there was even a hint of curiosity.

It was only in the quiet, soothing moment of Claudia's bath that she seemed to find real comfort. The occasional glances he threw at her at that moment, a moment far too tempting for him to constantly be able to hold back, gave him the opportunity to witness a few rare moments when she let her animal sensuality express itself. In the incandescent darkness of that room, she looked something like a snake, undulating and glistening. Then she would see him and stare as if she had spotted a prey; fascinatingly deadly.

What never ceased to amaze him was how oblivious she seemed to all of this, oblivious to this aura of danger that emanated from her, unconscious to the attraction she exerted on him. Either she had no clue, or he was extremely good at hiding it. Anyway, it could be of use for his business. Not that it was his plan all along, he wasn't the kind of man to do things on a whim usually, except when it came to her apparently. Tenax could recognize an opportunity when he saw one.

The last silver fish tipped over to a cheer from the crowd announcing the final lap. Tenax's eyes widened in the ray of sunlight that streamed through the door's skylights as if suddenly coming to. The rider of the blue faction, Scorpus, had taken the lead, as usual. He didn't seem very happy about it though, whipping his horses with rage.

Tenax didn't linger after the race ended that day, each time a little less than the last. His home had gained in appeal lately, in a way, he wanted to return there more and more as the days went by.

At this twilight hour, it was bath time, so it was not surprising to find the first rooms empty. However, the quiet of the place struck him as soon as he passed through the door. No light came from the kitchen which was unusual, and the slight whispers of Claudia and Briga's conversations in the bathroom were muted.

Tenax stiffened, moving cautiously towards his room. He pushed the door open wide with a slight creak. The air that reached his face was thick, loaded with humidity and floral scents. Someone had indeed used the bathroom but as he moved a little further into his bedroom he saw the bathroom was empty.

When he turned again, peering into the darkness at the back of his room, a movement of air made the hair on the back of his head stand on end, immediately followed by the cold contact of a blade on the side of his neck. He froze for a couple of decisive seconds. Gritting his teeth angrily, he suddenly stepped back, hitting hardly the body of his assailant that he carried in his momentum against the wall behind him. The knife bearer let out a slight hoarse gasp under the heavy shock. Tenax immediately realized that this body was much lighter than he had anticipated. It was her, of course. He turned around quickly, pushing aside the hand that held the blade with one arm and grabbed the slave's neck, who didn't seem surprised.

"What are you doing?" he growled sharply.

Briga grabbed the hand on her neck.

"...You should have knocked." she muttered sarcastically under her breath.

Tenax took a breath, trying to calm down a little. He loosened his grip on her throat just enough to let her gulp.

"Drop the knife now." he snapped with a hint of worry in his wide opened blue eyes.

Her eyes narrowed as she formed a slight smirk before letting go, the kitchen knife fell heavily to the floor with a loud clatter.

Tenax sighted lightly, she could have pressed a little harder on that knife if she had really wanted to, cut just a bit at this exact point of his neck and he would have bled to death at her feet no matter how quickly he had reacted. She knew how to kill, now he knew, and it could be useful in the future, well, since she had chosen not to end his life on the spot of course. He should have felt dread but instead, he felt somehow aroused. The aftermath of gambling with his life when the odds seemed quite off. Suddenly, his thoughts interrupted: something on his peripheral vision seemed strange, there was way too much skin.

Lowering his face, his eyes fell on a damp chest to which were stuck soaked strands of her black hair that heaved with each deep breath she made. He moved away a little, realizing that he was still pressing his all body against her, and then saw her stomach and further down, her legs; she was naked and still wet. Tenax's hard gaze faded little by little, as it travelled the firm contours of her body.

The fine grain of her skin, tanned no doubt by the sun of her native province, appeared clearly to him now that he saw it so close. Claudia's care had borne fruit; she was immaculate, as if she had never been bruised. Despite the dizziness of such a magnetic vision, he began to feel observed and suddenly raised his head and met her piercing gaze. Briga was indeed watching him in silence, without any sign of embarrassment at being thus exposed to Tenax's eyes, without any sign of aggression despite his proximity and the contact of his hand on her neck, the elbow of which grazed the tip of her breast. She was too busy scrutinizing his reactions to her nudity to care much.

Briga still didn't know if she could trust him and somehow, she needed to prove to herself that he was just like these others perverted men who caused all her troubles. She needed to confront and kill this increasing attachment feeling he had awakened in her over the weeks she had spent with him. She had seen his haunted eyes when he thought he was alone in the room, the inner struggles he sometimes seemed to have when coming home. She had heard the screams at night, his wanders in the darkness of the apartment trying to catch his breath. He had secrets and dark thoughts that usually seemed to disappear as soon as he laid eyes on her. Do vile men ever feel remorse?

Maybe he was different after all, and that mere thought was enough to make her mad. More than once, she had trusted a Roman only to be painfully played in the end, how could she still be so naive? So, she often looked on his face for the same scornful looks that she had seen on the faces of her Roman delinquents. His occasional, not-so-accidental glances while she was taking her bath couldn't be that innocent.

Tenax suddenly had the feeling he was somehow being put to the test. That was some vicious way but certainly the most effective one, clever girl. He did want to feel more than just her neck under his hands, he wanted to smell these scents of rose oil all over her body which turned out to be all the more intoxicating once applied to her skin, to kiss her lips, but above all, he wanted her to want it too. He was closer than ever. So close, and yet, that enticing creature was expecting to see him losing control. He would hate not to disappoint.

He raised his head in a controlled inhale, hardening his expression.

"Where is Claudia?" he curtly asked, closing a little harder his hand on her neck.

She startled slightly, blinking at the pressure.

"She’s resting," she let out looking him straight in the eyes, "she felt ill.”

Tenax sustained her look, he wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. After all, she had just reminded him that she wasn’t as harmless to him as she had let him believe lately. He searched her face for any signs of a shifty glance but saw none, she seemed sincere enough to reassure him. He asked more calmly:

"Where is she?"

"In the guests room."

As she had answered in a soft voice, veiled by the pressure on her trachea, his eyes had landed on her lips. She talked so rarely that he had barely ever seen them moving. Fleshy velvety dark-rosed lips that never smiled, only sometimes grinned disdainfully at him when not firmly shut. But now they were parting slightly under his sudden hypnotized glance. Briefly looking up, he saw a glimpse of confusion in her eyes as she witnessed his softening mood, felt her breathing becoming barely perceptible under his hand but her pulse quickening.

Strangely, his own pulse caught the same rhythm as hers. A warm sensation invaded his own chest, a shiver ran up on his skin and before he knew it his hand was no longer holding her neck but simply laying on her collarbones, still held by hers.

It was as if time had frozen, the surroundings had disappeared, and they were all alone in the middle of an undefined mist. Their gazes travelling over their faces, he slowly leaned in, uncontrollably attracted towards her mouth that trembled a little at his approach when, suddenly, the walls of the apartment began to shake from violent blows.

Tenax and Briga opened their eyes wide in surprise, abruptly emerging from whatever spell they were under. The knocking started again, someone was banging on the apartment door with their fists and shouting "Tenax!! I know you're here!"

Tenax suddenly turned his head towards the door behind him:

"Scorpus!" he breathed shortly. "Get dressed," he addressed Briga eagerly.

She took a few seconds to react, her mind still foggy from what had just happened, then hurriedly grabbed the dress lying on the bed. Tenax opened the door without waiting and at the same time Scorpus burst into the apartment in front of a dazed Claudia who had rushed from the corridor.

With a quick glance, the man caught a glimpse of bare legs in the half-open bedroom door as Tenax was closing it.

"Scorpus! What's going on, my friend?" Tenax said hurriedly, opening his arms wide to the newcomer with a faked smile, pretending to ignore his rudeness.

The man had stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the closed door behind Tenax with a disconcerted look, before looking back at his host who was advancing. He seemed to regain his senses and pointed an accusing finger under the latter's nose:

"Where's my money?" he barked.

"Scorpus, I warned you not to bet on the lap," Tenax sighed, "the white faction has been running new horses that are younger than yours..."

"What?!" Scorpus shouted indignantly, "You didn't tell me anything!" he bellowed.

"Of course I did, you were probably still drunk…" Tenax retorted, shaking his head in disapproval.

The man sighed heavily, ostentatiously rubbing his eyes in disappointment. He looked up at the closed bedroom door, holding his hips, and seemed to ruminate for a few moments before fuming loudly:

"I lost big on that, Tenax!"

Tenax approached him, opening his arms again in a gesture of comfort as the man cast furtive glances at the door. Ignoring his friend’s approach, he kept on:

“And who’s in your room there?” he asked suspiciously, pointing toward the bedroom.

"Nobody." Tenax hastened to answer as innocently as possible.

Scorpus wasn’t listening, he walked around Tenax who didn't have time to hold him back, and pushed the door open, revealing Briga inside who suddenly sat up. Seeing that she had had time to get dressed, Tenax let out a discreet sigh of relief.

The newcomer stared at her for a few moments, stunned, while Briga, motionless, gave him a stone-hard look.

"Who are you?" he finally asked, visibly intrigued.

Briga remained unmoved, eyeing the visitor up and down.

Scorpus tilted his head, seemingly offended by the girl's silence.

"Who is she?" he insisted to Tenax behind him.

"No one," he sighed as he stamped his feet on the ground, "just… a slave..."

"A slave!" Scorpus exclaimed, a smile growing on his lips. He looked back at the girl, ogling her without shame. "What's your name?"

Silence still as the only answer, the man was starting to look seriously upset.

"Briga is her name, and she won't answer you..." Tenax intervened.

"Why? She can't talk?" he asked curiously before returning his interested gaze to the girl. "I bet this pretty mouth can do other things though..." he mumbled to Briga, whose eyes narrowed in return in a murderous glare.

Tenax heard it too and rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Because she hates you, Scorpus. She hates all of us, don't take it personally." he sighed heavily, shooting a complicit grin at Briga whose fierce eyes oscillated between him and the visitor. It had been a while since Tenax hadn’t seen such a fierce look on her face, he could tell a cold anger was slowly rising in her, her knuckles were turning white.

Scorpus stamped his feet, hesitantly waving his body towards Briga but held back in the face of the hostility emanating from her.

"No one hates Scorpus, I'm not a fucking Roman." He retorted in a mock-outraged tone, ostensibly giving her a smile of the kind he usually gave to his future conquests. Nothing seemed to stop this rake in front of a beautiful woman.

The thought of the knife left on his bedroom floor crossed his mind; Tenax started to fear for his friend’s life if Briga ever remembered it as well.

“What else can I do for you, my friend?” he cut in impatiently, loud enough to catch both their attention.

“Oh, well…” Scorpus mumbled, trying to stall for time before being openly dismissed from the place, “you’re not going to help me, then?”

"There's nothing more I can do Scorpus…"

"You should take her to the races one of these days," Scorpus unexpectedly eluded, "I'm sure she'd appreciate seeing the great Scorpus at work!"

He puffed out his chest, a display that still didn't seem to impress Briga whose gaze had not softened one bit.

"Or else you introduce her to your debtors, Tenax, if she looks at them long enough like that, they'll quickly settle their debts!" Scorpus noisily laughed.

Tenax chuckled. Of course he had thought of it, he had realized her silent hard looking presence could indeed have a certain power of persuasion. Surely others besides him could perceive this feeling of danger that her attitude gave off, Scorpus did seem to feel it as well or he would have been closer to her already, Tenax believed.

“I’ll consider it Scorpus,” he answered, “now I have things to do.” He concluded firmly, tilting his head towards the door.

Scorpus bit his lip in frustration, nodding at Briga with a salacious look.

“Of course, my friend!" he eventually gasped, "I’ll see you at the Circus in three days!”

Slowly stepping back without taking his eyes off her, he added with a wink:

“See you soon, Briga…”

Tenax accompanied him through the entrance door, holding his breath for any new try at poking at his slave. Scorpus passed the door but suddenly turned back and whispered in his face with a dubious look:

“What were you doing in there with her?”

"Goodbye, Scorpus" he replied with a contented smile, closing the door in his face.

Tenax held the door for a little longer, taking some time to recollect his thoughts. Finally turning around, he caught eyes with Claudia, holding her hands together in a confused expression.

"I’m sorry, Master, I…"

"I know." Tenax interrupted gently, "Are you feeling better now?"

"Hum… yes, thank you, Master."

He glimpsed at Briga, just long enough to see her staring into the void, when Claudia kept on:

"I’ll prepare supper right away, Master. Briga, please come, child." She called in a still sleepy hoarse voice.

Her name came to her as a distant sound in the air, only after some instants she seemed to have heard it and raised a confounded face to see Claudia and Tenax looking at her in puzzlement.

The way this man had looked at her had shaken her core. All these weeks locked in the security of Tenax’s apartment almost made her forget what it was like to be preyed upon like this, submitted to the depraved eyes of men willing to abuse her.

Regaining her senses, she saw concern in Tenax’s eyes, and it reminded her that she could breathe, he was there. Swiftly seized by the soft and warm sensation of being so close to him only instants before, for a mere instant she wished he was holding her again, leaving her all the more stunned.

"Briga?" Claudia called gently.

She shook her head and walked across the room quickly at the renewed call, unconsciously avoiding all the eyes on her; a confusion that first left Tenax speechless. It seemed so unlike her to appear overwhelmed like that and something told him it wasn't just about him and the unexpected letting go they had experienced a few minutes before. In some way it was bothering him and that was so unlike him.

Briga had eaten with Claudia in the kitchen as usual, mostly in silence from what Tenax had perceived from his sit at the table, only to reappear in front of him for the sole purpose of clearing the table. He tried to cross her eyes that she seemed to avoid.

"That will be all Claudia, you go rest home, the cleaning can wait." He announced suddenly, staring at Briga who finally met his eyes with a hint of suspicion; it was unusual for him to send her home so soon.

Briga immediately stopped and waited by the table in silence, staring at Tenax, both wary and curious about what would happen once Claudia left. When she did, the heavy silence between them lasted for a moment until Tenax calmly ordered:

"Sit. Please."

Please? That was new and rather intriguing to her. She was more used to him showing who the master was than that. Further arousing her curiosity, she complied and took a place at the table in front of him, keeping her hands on her lap and her eyes firmly locked on his.

He took a slow sip of wine, pondering how to address the elephant in the room.

"You didn't like the way Scorpus looked at you." Tenax finally let out.

Briga took a breath.

"I've seen this filthfy look on Roman's faces before." she bitterly said, thinking back to what these men had done to her.

Tenax nodded slightly, showing he knew well what she was referring to.

"Hmm… You see, I’ve learned in the streets that rage arises from fear, it’s like a defence mechanism. As impressive as your rage mays appear at first sight, it mostly reveals weakness."

She slowly tilted her head and intensely glared at him, unsure to appreciate the direction Tenax was taking there.

He softly smiled at her expected reaction; calling her weak and getting away with it was probably a privilege all his own and he certainly appreciated the sensation it provided. But beyond that, he mostly wanted her to understand his point, it was key to the purpose he aimed for. So, he resumed, calmly but more firmly than before, imposing her to listen through.

"When men look at you like Scorpus did, it means they covet you and that, Briga, gives you power; the power to either refuse… or accept, at your own terms. In my world, that is called an opportunity. You could use that to get what you want. You could use them..."

"Refuse or accept?" she interrupted sharply with an ironic frown, his voice almost hissing, "As when you have the choice? What power do you have when you are held by both arms… or chained?"

For a split second Tenax felt his mind on the verge of wandering; finally, there was a chink in her impenetrable armour, willingly giving away an ounce of what might have happened to her. He felt the urge to know more, but now was not the time, so in a controlled inhale he simply nodded thoughtfully, holding her stare with a surprising intensity:

"We are all bound to something."

Briga narrowed her eyes, wondering in what way could a man like him ever feel restrained. It just then occurred to her that outside these walls she did not know anything about him. She didn’t know much about him even inside these walls for that matter.

She observed him silently for some time. Being used by people, using other people… This would have never occurred to her before, not in the simple life she used to have back in Lusitania. But now she was in Rome, very far from her home, her way and her life. Adapting may well be her only way out of there someday.

"So, does that mean… I could use you?" she finally addressed him, biting her lip in an equivocal way.

She was getting it. Tenax rejoiced inwardly. He grinned back and playfully answered:

"You are free to try."

"Am I? You do want something from me… but you’ve never looked at me like that." Briga dared, eyeing him up and down ostentatiously. There was indeed a shift in the balance of power between her and Tenax, she could feel it now; something about domination that felt quite pleasant.

Tenax straightened up imperceptibly, a contented pout on his face. He knew the feeling that Briga was displaying, maybe a little too much. She still had a lot to learn though, he had to put her back in her place. He stared deeply in his slave’s eyes and softly said :

"Hmm…Well, that must be because I don’t covet what I already own."

[shellem15]

It's taken like 2 months for me to respond to/expand on this, but whatever:

I'm not actually concerned about Asmodeus not being voiced by Brennan in an animated Exu Calamity (or tlovm) just cause that'd be an objectively insane choice to make (and would certainly overcomplicate things by having to find another VA).

My real concern is them making him have one of those stupidly deep voices that every male villain is forced to have, for some reason. You know, the deep booming one that every "big monstrous red devil" type has. Or god forbid they put some sort of vocal effect over it. That would suck.

Like, I noticed Matt (and kinda Abu? Though he went more growly than deep and already has such a deep voice anyways so it didnt bother me) doing that when he was playing him, and while his (and Abu too especially) physical acting and mannerisms were AMAZING I was just kinda left thinking: but that's not what his voice sounds like???

Cause like, the whole point of him is that he's sounds kinda just like a guy? Even when he was screaming at Zerxus it never went deep, just more growly, y'know? Same thing when Laerryn heard him out of the time stop too, or in the mask-off reveal during downfall. he doesn't have that booming base even when he's being candid. It just doesn't make sense with his character, which is why I really hope they dont go that route in the future.

...

I also really, really hope they don't give him those stupid hair-horn things that every official dnd art gives him. JUST GIVE HIM NORMAL HORNS AND HAIR, FFS. It's so ugly, I hate it!! I would physically not be able to watch him animated if they gave him that design because I'd be filled with such incandescent rage and disgust that I'd simply have to turn off the TV. Please, I'm begging on my hands and knees, don't do this to me!

[9ofspades]

Opinion:  I'm an Anti-Specsser and Everyone Else Should Be Too

Why are you wearing glasses?  

No, seriously.   Why the fuck are you still wearing glasses?  

The epidemic is over.  I don't know anyone who worries about nearsightedness anymore.  Do you hear anyone talking about it?  Do you see nearsightedness germs flying around?  No, because it's OVER.  

Look, I don't know how to break it to you, but a thin piece of glass in front of your eyes isn't going to help protect you from macular degeneration.  It's a false sense of security, an illusion; like if you just keep looking through them you can pretend that the world has crisp sharp edges.  Well, guess what?  The world is blurry.  You don't know where empty space ends and your body begins.  In fact, it doesn't.  Your body is mostly empty space.  

Everything happens for a reason, anyway; so if you get into an accident because you can't drive without your glasses?  Tough cajones; take your punishment like God intended.  It's your fault for having bad genes, which you got because of... original sin, or something.  I don't know, I didn't actually read the Bible.  I just believe vehemently in every word of it, except the words you use to disagree with me.  Because that's wrong.  

I don't think I'm doing anything wrong by yelling at glasses-wearers on the street.  It just fills me with such visceral, incandescent rage when I see a pair of pince-nez balancing on someone's nose.  It's like they're sending a direct fuck-you to people like me, who choose not to wear glasses.  So of course I have to yell at them; it's just simple self-preservation - if I don't, pretty soon everyone will be wearing glasses, and ganging up on those of us that don't, because we're "jeopardizing public safety" or "a danger to the common good."  I don't need to listen to that.

When you declare you're on the opposite side from me with that flag you wear right on your face, you shouldn't be surprised when I treat you like an enemy.  "What sides?" you ask?  "There's no 'sides' here; everyone is just choosing-" oh, shut up.  You're so naive.  Of course there are sides.  There's sides to everything.  What about a circle? you say.  Inside and outside.  There.  Now don't you feel stupid.  

And those circles you wear on your face mark you as being on the inside.  I don't like that.  Nobody likes being left on the outside.  So stop wearing them.  That way I can find something else to be angry about, like freckles.  I think I'll take on freckles next.  If you have them, stop having them.  You're being too different from me and I don't like it.

[bigasswritingmagnet]

Blood Will Out ch 9 - The Enemy Approaches

Summary: When Agatha Sannikova learns she is, in fact, Agatha Heterodyne, she inadvertently kicks off a series of events that reopens old wounds, drags secrets into the light, and brings war to the doorstep of the all but defenseless Mechanicsburg. Saturnus struggles to crush his enemies with a town almost as broken as his body; Agatha, determined to undo the chaos she's unleashed, plunges into the depths of Castle Heterodyne.

Raised by a literal saint and the devil incarnate, Agatha - with an unleashed mind, a burning spark, and a band of very unexpected allies - will fight to do the unthinkable: be a good Heterodyne and a good person.

< Prev chapter | A03 link

Mid-afternoon, the telegraph system went down.

At 5:15 pm exactly, a Corbettite monk, incandescent with rage and trailed by a nearly hysterical pack of tourists, appeared at the gate to inform them that the train tracks just outside the mouth of the valley had been sabotaged.

The next day, the usual stream of visitors and tradesmen died to a trickle before drying up entirely.

The Storm Lords were marching on Mechanicsburg.

Anticipation filled the air like humidity before a thunderstorm – filling the lungs and sticking to skin, leaving them all sweating on a cool spring day. And yet, in a strange way, the people of Mechanicsburg were enjoying themselves. For the first time in over a decade – honestly, in over two decades – they had a Heterodyne stomping around town, shouting orders and working on machines of chaos and destruction.

And Saturnus was in his element. The town had changed in the last fifteen years, but it was still Mechanicsburg, his town, his engine of beautiful destruction. Despite the stiffness in his fingers and the weakness in his heart, he could still feel Mechanicsburg singing in his blood. Every minute spent breathing life back into her, he felt more and more alive himself.

Mechanicsburg needed a Heterodyne, but so, too, did a Heterodyne need Mechanicsburg.

He wished Agatha could have joined him. He wanted to share it with her the way he had – briefly, when they were young and had not yet had an understanding of good or evil, when they had not learned to turn away from all that Saturnus was – shared it with Bill and Barry. But it wasn’t safe. Oh, Sturmhalten’s invasion was absolutely going to incite others. When word got out, Agatha's reputation as an incompetent might be deemed irrelevant, or perhaps dismissed as an act. But if they could maintain even a sliver of plausible deniability, they could at least keep some of them at bay.

Fortunately – surprisingly – Agatha did not protest. She had been perfectly willing to spend the last two days sequestering herself inside the house, working on some gadget or other with the Sturmvoraus boy. Saturnus did not approve in the slightest for a variety of reasons, up to and including continuing the proud tradition of grandfathers everywhere refusing to believe any boy could be good enough for his granddaughter.

He allowed it, however, on the grounds that Sturmvoraus made a useful, if somewhat galling, smokescreen. Agatha was not a Spark. She was simply helping Tarvek, getting caught up in his madness the way any Mechanicsburger would.

But he didn’t like it.

“A Sturmvoraus! And a Valois!” he exclaimed to the minion currently assisting him in converting the shaved ice machine back into a railgun that shot icicles two meters long. “Both in one body, you might as well befriend an actual viper! He picks locks, she said!”

The minion stifled a yawn; a rant was no good for getting you fired up in the morning when it was one you’d been listening to for two days. Saturnus yanked out the gyroscopic converter that had been gnawed to pieces by rust rats and tossed it aside. He began to adjust the wires and gears, making room for the new, slightly larger, but more efficient converter he had built. 

“Is he a Spark or a common burglar? I’ve never picked a lock in my life! What’s wrong with a good blowtorch, I ask you? Or a miniaturized self-propelled battering ram? Lockpicks.”

He reached out and felt along the nearby table for the converter, which he was sure he’d set within arm’s reach.

“What did you need, my Lord?” the minion asked, snapping back to attention. Before Saturnus could answer, the converter was pushed into his questing fingers. Saturnus grunted in approval, glanced up, and did a double take.

Vole was not quite standing to attention, but his stiff-backed posture was not too far off.

Captain, Carson had said. It was doubtful that Mechanicsburg had enough fighting to keep him truly happy, but he’d clearly not suffered for it. He looked strong and well-fed; his uniform crisp and immaculate; his hat tall, if understated in decoration.

Saturnus tried not to look at said decoration, the Wulfenbach house sigil prominent and unmistakable. A gleaming reminder of Saturnus’ failure.

“De scouts from de far side of der valley haff returned. De army is here. It vill be at der valls in four hours.”

“Damn,” Saturnus said. “Well, the brat said two days and that’s what we got. Where’s Carson?”

Vole’s lip curled. “Dealing vit der tourists.”

“Ah, good. They’ll make excellent meat shields.” He caught the look on Vole’s face and sighed. “He’s getting them somewhere safe and out of the way, isn’t he?”

“Yez, sir.”

Saturnus made a noise of disgust and rolled his eyes. Even with Bill and Barry gone, the cleansing fire had scoured too deep. It might take decades for Mechanicsburg to go properly rotten again – if ever, considering Teodora’s effect on its heiress presumptive.

“You,” he said to the minion. “Go tell Teodora. I want her and Agatha in that house until this is over. She is not to open the door to anyone that isn’t me or Carson.”

The minion nodded, but hesitated, glancing at Vole.

“Go!” Saturnus bellowed, and the minion scampered off.

Only then did Saturnus realize this meant he and Vole were now alone.

They had not been avoiding each other. It was simply that the things they were working on were too important to leave to other people, and so necessitated any communication be sent via a third party.

Vole held out a folded piece of paper.

“De scouts’ report. Vut dey saw of de army before dey ran.”

Saturnus glanced at the paper, then at the device in his hand, and turned back to the icicle railgun. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to think about less: the last time he’d had Vole at his side, or the last time he’d seen Vole.

It’s not his fault!

No! It vuz willful. He tried to kill dem because he vanted dem dead! By Lord Villiam’s order, he lives, but not effen de Heterodyne could compel us to allow dis vun to stay a Jӓger.   

“I need to finish this damn thing,” he said, and waved off the report. “Tell me while I work.”

There was a silent moment where Saturnus could not bring himself to look at Vole, but then Vole unfolded the paper and started to read out the list. Soon Saturnus was distracted by the grim picture the report painted.

Airships, battle clanks, cannon towers, foot soldiers, monsters...

“The Geisterdamen?”

“Dey did not see dem.”

“They’ll be here somewhere,” Saturnus said.

“Yez. I sent de Black Sqvad out to search for dem.” The rustling of paper again, as Vole tucked the report away. “Deze is not exact numbers. De scouts did not stay long. It vuz more important dot dey let us know dey vuz here.”

“No, no, they did right. Hopefully the next group will be able to get a better look.” He finished attaching the wires and selected one of the small brass rods that would form the cage to hold the mechanism away from the engine’s pistons.

“Dis iz more den I thought Sturmhalten vould be able to get hold of dis qvickly. Dey dun have a standing army.” 

“The Fifty Families are always ready for a fight,” Saturnus said. Using two pliers, he twisted a rod into the shape he needed before welding it in place. “Sturmvoraus probably had them hidden in his basement or something.”

“Sturmhalten dun use siege engines,” Vole countered. Absentmindedly, he picked up a rod from the pile and twisted it into the new shape with his bare hands. “Dey dun march out at all. Dey trick de enemy into attacking dem, so dey can fight from behind deir own valls – und it lets dem claim dot dey iz de victims.”

Saturnus took the twisted rod from Vole, snorting disdainfully.

“Hah, and they only do that if they think they can’t get away with sending their damn Smoke Knights after the person they want dead.”

Even before the rod was set, Vole had twisted another. He passed it to Saturnus.

“He picks locks!” Saturnus exclaimed. 

“Hy know, Hy saw. Vuz pathetic. Und he can’t take a hit eidder. De whole family is like dot, dey neffer do anyting to hyu face if dey can help it.”

“But they must have had the army already,” Saturnus said. “The Sturmvoraus boy got here barely twelve hours after Agatha did, and his father was two days behind him – and that’s on foot, with the siege engines. It takes time to gather those forces if they aren’t with you already. You can’t pop round to the neighbors and say hullo, I’m launching an invasion, can I borrow a cup of air support.”

“I iz telling hyu,” Vole insisted. “Dey got dem from somevere else. De airships are big. If der prince already had dem, I vould haff seen dem ven I vent to—”

Vole cut himself off, but it was too late. The illusion shattered, both abruptly, painfully remembering that this was no longer normal. Saturnus was not Vole’s Heterodyne. Vole was not his Jäger. Saturnus’ chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his heart – not the muscle, anyway.

No one had asked Vole to get Agatha, but he had gone anyway.

Nobody needed to ask him.

Hy alvays know vut hyu need.

But Vole had told Agatha he was concerned only that if the Baron found out, he would think he was still working for Saturnus. Because he wasn’t.

“Carson thought you might have something to do with it, with you coming back the same night as Agatha, and Sturmvoraus knowing you by name,” Saturnus said, carefully. 

“Und vut did hyu tink?” Vole asked, just as carefully.

“I knew what happened the second Carson said you’d arrived when Agatha did.” He tinkered very deliberately with the guts of the machine, not able to bring himself to look at Vole. “Only made Agatha cough it up so Carson wouldn’t be distracted.”

There was a moment of quiet.

“I think I owe you a debt,” Saturnus muttered. 

“Hyu dun owe me a debt.”

“Restitution, then.”

“Hyu dun owe me anyting.”

Slowly, Saturnus looked up at him. Vole’s expression held no anger or malice or bitterness – none of the things Saturnus would have expected. None of the things Saturnus deserved. Only solemnity, a kind that was quite odd to see on any Jäger – or ex-Jäger’s – face.

“You can’t say that,” Saturnus said. “Not after—”

The alarm gongs began to ring.

“Dot is too soon,” Vole said, once more the captain of Mechanicsburg’s occupying guards, all professionalism. “Dey cannot be here already.”

“Something’s here.”

Saturnus maneuvered the chair towards the door and nearly ran into Carson coming the other way. The man was ashen.

“Soldiers coming from the east of the valley,” he said.

“The east? “

“Impossible,” Vole said. “Dere iz no vay Sturmhalten could get around der valley dot fast!”

“They aren’t coming from Sturmhalten,” Carson said. “They’re coming from the Refuge of Storms.”

The Knights of Jove. The Refuge of Storms, Sturmhalten – all heirs to the Lightning Crown, the legacy of that damnable Storm King.

“Oh, hell,” Saturnus said. No, that didn’t feel right. He slammed his fist down on the table, sending the little metal rods flying as the old fury burned to life. “They want to come for Mechanicsburg? Let them come! Let them beat themselves bloody against our walls! We will slaughter them like the animals they are! The survivors will decorate the mouth of the valley, and their dying screams will sing to Europa a reminder of why the Heterodynes are feared!”

Much better.

Carson fairly leapt out of the way as Saturnus sent the chair storming out of the room and down the battlements to the east wall. The once-Lord Heterodyne was so swept up in his madness, he did not notice the look on Vole’s face.

But Carson did.

For the first time, he felt something like pity for the ex-Jäger, and left hurriedly before Vole sensed it and killed him.

The people of Mechanicsburg erupted into an even greater flurry of activity. Weapons were prepared in double-time, active repairs wrapped up with creditable speed, the young and infirm sent faster than they could protest to safety in the Great Hospital, which made its own preparations for war.

Nothing happened.

Von Blitzengaard’s forces arrived first, growing from a smudge on the horizon to a long parade line of soldiers and battle clanks, but they camped just out of firing range and stayed there. Some hours later, Sturmhalten’s forces arrived, and did the same. No attack came, but neither did any messages, threats, or demands. They simply...waited. Pinned between the two forces, Mechanicsburg had no choice but to do the same.

What they were waiting for turned out to be a small dirigible, a swift-moving scouting ship that bore the Wulfenbach crest and arrived at dawn. It drifted up to the city and stopped, hovering, right over the west wall, which made Saturnus grind his teeth so hard it was audible. It did not land, but disgorged a single individual by way of an emergency drop reel.

It was an absolutely immaculate young woman who landed neatly before Saturnus. From her dark hair slicked back in its painfully tight bun to the fitted longcoat to the shiny shoes, she was such a picture of no-nonsense professionalism, Saturnus knew what she was before she even opened her mouth.  

“Good morning,” she said as she tugged the drop reel to send it winding back up into the airship. “I am Millicent Kragen, questor for the empire.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Saturnus said scathingly. “Are you here to arrest the armies marching on this town in clear breach of the Baron’s peace, or simply raise a carefully manicured eyebrow at them until they go home?”

Kragen did not raise an eyebrow, but one did twitch slightly.

“I am here to investigate the allegations from Prince Aaronev Wilhelm Sturmvoraus that Mechanicsburg plotted and executed the kidnapping of his son, Master Aaronev Tarvek Sturmvoraus.”

Everyone’s jaw dropped.

“What?”

“Several days ago, Prince Sturmvoraus sent word to the Baron that a Jäger and a young girl from Mechanicsburg had entered the castle on false pretenses and kidnapped his son.”

“And what about our messages?”

“Yes,” Kragen said, in an amused, almost condescending tone that made Saturnus want to flip her straight over the side of the wall. “The Baron received those, too. I’m afraid your side of the story is not quite as believable. Geisterdamen? I’m far more ready to believe you wished to acquire a companion for your ward – the way you did for yourself.”

Saturnus’ lip curled in contempt.

“If you’re trying to use shame to cow me, it won’t work,” he said. “If Heterodynes could feel shame, we wouldn’t be what we are. Agatha ran away, as young people occasionally do. Vole went to get her back.”

“You sent your Jäger into Stur—”

“I iz not a Jäger.”

Saturnus was not sure when Vole had arrived on the walls, but there he was, staring down at Kragen with his own contemptuous sneer.

“Oh really,” Kragen said chidingly. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Der Baron does,” Vole said. “If he thought I vuz a Jäger, I vould be subject to de ban, und vould not be assigned to Mechanicsburg.” His lips quirked into a tiny, even more contemptuous smile. “Maybe hyu tink hyu iz smarter den de Baron? Hyu know better den him?”

Kragen’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.  

“I will do my own investigation into this matter,” she said, not-so-neatly sidestepping the accusation. “In the meantime, for the sake of peace, Prince Aaronev has agreed that if his son is returned, he will withdraw to Sturmhalten with no further action taken against—”

“Did he now,” Saturnus growled, and turned away from her. “I want men on every secret entrance to the town. Seal up every nook and cranny there is, and Carson, you go yourself to warn Teodora. Agatha and Teodora are to remain in the same room with no less than two guards at any time. Then grab that Sturmvoraus brat and get him out here.”

“You suspect—” Kragen began, but Saturnus thumped his fist down on the chair’s arm.

“Of course I suspect! The army is now a backup plan! Plan A is to keep us and you distracted while someone sneaks in and steals Agatha away – ah, there's that eyebrow!”

“You have a very suspicious mind, Lord Heterodyne. Or are you just basing this off of what you would do in his position?”

Saturnus snorted.

“I’m a Heterodyne, you pampered tracker dog. We don’t sneak around. We face our enemy head on with acid cannons and laser guns like Hell intended.”

There was a shout from below. Carson had not even made it to the end of the street – a guard was running towards them, waving his arms and shouting.

“They’ve gone! They’ve both gone!”

“Ah, how very convenient,” the questor said.

"Search the town,” Saturnus bellowed, “top to bottom—!”

“Not kidnapped, sir! They went off! Miss Sannikova left a note!”

Kragen frowned. “What the hell are you playing at?” she demanded.

But Saturnus had gone pale. Slowly his eyes rose, dragged inexorably to the hulking shadow over Mechanicsburg even before the man below drew breath to shout.

"They're in the castle!"

[swallowedbyfandom]

Her mother is incandescently angry the following morning. The rumors that followed her last night of course being that she ungratefully ended her courtship with Lord Debling over a simple misunderstanding. Mr. Bridgerton was also seen chasing after my carriage. It seems the Ton has decided that I may have been compromised by Colin last night. They are right of course but she will deny it until she is blue in the face. She will shame everyone who questions her virtue.

Her mama starts off the fight before she is even halfway through her morning tea.

"Are you going to explain what on earth possessed you to cause such a scene last night?"

She is tired already of her family looking to make sport of her she decides to lay her cards on the table. After all she will be gone after this season and she will never have to see them again.

Slowly as if explaining to an idiot because well she was speaking to five idiots, she retorted.

"I did not cause a scene last night. Mr. Bridgerton caused a scene when he rudely interrupted my dance with Lord Debling. Lord Debling caused a scene when he allowed it rather than have the spine to stand his ground. Miss Cowper caused a scene when she whispered whatever slanderous tidbit to Lord Debling. Lord Debling once again caused a scene by being so simple minded he chose to believe a lady whom spent her season desperately trying to crawl into his coffers and his britches. I did not cause a scene."

"What I did was refuse to be disrespected and publicly shamed by a man who had no reason to call my character into question. What I did was hand Cressida Cowper my scraps. What I did was end my evening with dignity."

"Further more if Colin Bridgerton decided to chase down my carriage that has nothing to do with my conduct. I suggest you direct your complaints to the Dowager Lady Bridgerton and Lord Bridgerton, they are responsible for his upbringing not I."

"I shall speak on this matter no longer. I am not going to settle and marry the first man who shows interest if I do not believe him deserving of me. You may think me greedy or over reaching I care not. You may think me too fat to attract gentlemen I care not. I would much rather be fat and clever, than thin and vapid. You chose which daughters you wanted to succeed years ago, you can now deal with the consequences of your choices."

"I am done here. "

Let it never be said that she did not inherit the Featherington dramatics as she swept out of the room and made for her chambers to ring for a breakfast tray and to write her letters. She could tell by her sister's silence they were unaware she had just insulted them. She could tell by her mother's squawking that she would be over at Bridgerton house to raise a fuss as soon as she was done eating.

She had arrangements to make it was time to stop dragging her feet. After she shall take a soothing stroll in the park, she has a significant amount of remaining rage to work out. She just hopes she can avoid the Bridgertons. She has already filled her quota for dealing with people suffering from delusions of grandeur for the day.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxvi, ao3)

(Chapter twenty six: In the aftermath of Hybern, Nesta wakes at the House of Wind.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

The darkness spoke to her like a lover, at first.

Softly, low and edged with promise, it hummed as the water closed above her head and it forced its way inside. It murmured like it might lay the world at her feet as icy fingers pressed against her skin and scratched at her soul. It spoke her name— the Cauldron spoke her name within its depths, as though it were a fragment of something substantial lost in the abyss, whispered through the cold. 

Nesta.

Nesta.

Nesta.

It echoed— in the void, where time and space and air and light could not find them. On and on and on, endless it stretched as she kicked and thrashed and cried and fought, until the whispering voice inside her mind turned into a hiss.

And then, in the black, everything began to burn. 

Burned like ice as her veins expanded, collapsed, and through every eddy and swirl she felt it— felt the Cauldron’s hunger, how desperately it wanted to devour her. It swarmed, knifed against her throat and punctured her skin, and though she opened her mouth to scream, there was nothing— a deep and empty nothing with all the silence of a grave. She didn’t know which way was up, couldn’t find a way free, and as that cold, cold water began to boil her blood, she screamed in earnest as she drowned. It was death and destruction and a breaking so brutal that through the silence Nesta could hear her bones snap as the Cauldron swept inside her, forcing the way until its essence was snaking through her veins, smothering and strangling and stopping her heart until there was nothing left. 

Nothing.

Everything ended; everything ceased.

She didn’t know how long had passed— whether the Cauldron had taken a moment or an eternity to cleave her from her humanity. It felt like the latter, and when her heart started to beat again, it hurt. Shards of ice radiated from her chest, and every pulse was a hammer against new-formed ribs threatening to shatter, a physical pain that burrowed deep into every single bone, every muscle torn and every nerve frayed. And as the icy depths of the Cauldron broke her apart…

Nesta Archeron found her fury.

It was the kind of molten, incandescent rage that filled the gaps in her broken bones, and with teeth and nails and a scream not a soul could hear, Nesta writhed in the nothingness, searching for something to hold onto— something to cleave apart with her fingers.

The Cauldron had broken her— and she wanted to make it break, too.

Her chest caved with the force of the scream that left her, and as the cold water forced its way down her throat still she clawed and grasped, until she felt something irrevocable snap beneath her fingers. As she begged for death, something fundamental sundered, something ripped as she thrashed, and this time… she didn’t think it was her bones snapping.

The water swirled and twisted, turned violent.

The Cauldron didn’t whisper her name now. It shouted— it screamed, and still intent on breaking her, it grew colder. Crueller. The darkness shifted, churned, and then—

Light.

After an age of pain and screaming, there was light— breaking through, painful and bright - far too bright - and the world tilted as Nesta was tipped from that Cauldron and thrown onto the cold stone floor. As if no time had passed, as if nothing had changed. The darkness slipped away, leaving only a shadow of itself inside her veins, and as she tried to breathe her lungs ached. 

The burning was everywhere now, as though it had become part of her.

And in that puddle of dark water, her world fractured and broke apart all over again as she tasted blood, smelled it in the air. A familiar voice drowning in its own agony whispered her name, and as Nesta lifted her head, she realised with terrible, terrifying clarity that this was real, not a dream or a nightmare but real, and that was real blood coating the stone floor. His blood, his voice, his—

***

With a start, she woke.

A dream— an awful, terrible dream.

Blinking against the morning light, she stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling and listened to the silence as the dream faded. 

No— not silence.

She could hear the wind. Could hear birds singing distant songs and far away - far, far away - the crashing of the ocean. The light still hurt her eyes, unadjusted and ill-equipped, and as she lay there, in a strange bed in a strange bedroom, wrapped in sheets she knew ought to have been as soft as silk… 

They scratched against her too-sensitive skin, sliding across her bare arms as she sat up. She didn’t recognise the nightgown she wore, the material a kind of satin that felt as uncomfortable as the sheets. Everything was sharp, too sharp, like the keen edge of a knife. Even the air felt different. Tasted different— like it, too, was sharper somehow. Crisper. 

She shifted, extending a hand to shove away those damned sheets.

But the movement was too fluid— her limbs longer, her skin smoother. Foreign, it all felt so foreign, like her mind didn’t recognise her body anymore. 

Horror crept up her spine and coiled within her as she glanced around the unfamiliar bedroom once more, taking in the plush carpets and the sound of civilisation beyond the walls. She ran a hand over her hair, her cheeks, her ears—

Her ears.

Not a dream.

It hadn’t been a dream at all.

Nesta felt the tips of her ears, tracing the new arch there that served as a brutal reminder that everything she’d relived in her dreams was real. As her hand fell away, she couldn’t help the sob that tore from her chest. Her throat was raw, her voice weak from disuse, but her cries left her anyway as she wrenched herself from that bed and stumbled to the dressing table and mirror sitting along the opposite wall. When she looked into the glass, she stilled.

Feyre might have been made beautiful by immortality, but it had made a stranger of Nesta.

Her hair was longer, its colour brighter, and left unbound it lay in a curtain across her neck, made even more elegant by the loss of her humanity. She pushed her hair back, revealing her ears, and catching sight of those pointed tips…

Her tears came thicker, faster.

Silver glinted in the mirror, a flash in her eyes that had Nesta’s heart skipping a beat— skipping several. They were almost the same, her eyes. Almost the same blue-grey as before, the same as her mother’s. And yet— beneath, there was silver writhing there, ribbons of it encircling her irises.

Something else seemed to twist beneath her skin too, something as cold as ice that burned like fire, and it made her fingertips twitch with unease as she looked in that mirror and watched her tears slip down unfamiliar cheeks. 

Feyre had been granted immortality and emerged with a whole host of extra gifts, and when Nesta had been inside that god-forsaken Cauldron she had felt something come away in her hands, some part of it she had taken for her own, and as she looked at that silver in her eyes, felt that burning in her fingers—

She forced the thought away— pushing herself away from that dressing table so hard the mirror rattled.

Not going there.

She wasn’t going there.

Instead she crossed the floor to the window, to see where she had been taken in the aftermath of Hybern. Pulling apart the curtains revealed the sun streaming through the clouds beyond the glass, the sky a brilliant, azure blue above a river curving through city streets. She’d seen it before— been there before, and as her eyes alighted on a small, half-hidden dock…

Nesta recognised it.

Velaris.

No longer was she in that castle, then— the one they had been taken to in the dark, that fortress of roughened stone. There, they had been kept in a cell so far beneath the ground that neither light nor sound could reach them. The stone walls were rough and unfinished, the cold and the damp seeping between the cracks. Elain had cried silently, curling her knees to her chest and tucking her head in her arms as if hoping it might shield her, and Nesta had wished she could shield her sister from it all too. Wished she could spare Elain the terror. For hours - or moments or minutes or days, she wasn’t sure how long they were down there - she’d kept her eyes on the bars that held them, only barely discernible in the dim light. Watching that black space, she had hoped against hope that someone might come to save them. 

That he might come to save them. 

She had lost his dagger.

Cassian’s dagger.

It hurt too much to think his name, but when she’d been woken by Elain’s screams, Nesta had grabbed the dagger he had once pressed into her palms. She hadn’t been quick enough, and the shadowed figures that burst into her bedroom wrenched the blade from her hand before she had chance to move, forcing a foul-smelling cloth against her mouth. When she woke, she was in that cell, wishing she’d been faster. Wishing she still had that dagger.

Don’t touch her.

Don’t you dare fucking touch her.

His voice drifted from some chamber deep inside herself, one she had tried to keep locked. The snarl he’d directed at the king had given her a kernel of hope in that throne room, and she’d watched as he’d stepped forward, the light of his ruby siphons trembling with the force of the power he was aching to spend. She had seen his face - the scar through his eyebrow made pale in the candlelight, the fury etched in every familiar, beautiful plane - and she had known that he would see no harm come to her. That he’d take on the king and the guards and every soul in that castle if he had to.

But then he’d been caught in that blast, unable to even lift his head, and Nesta’s last hope had died. Her humanity had been shredded along with his wings; her life as broken as his bones.

And oh, gods—

She had wanted to run to him, to make sure that he was alright, but when she’d been poured from that Cauldron she couldn’t breathe, the blood in her veins still settling after boiling. On her hands and knees, nobody came to help her stand. She might have remained there forever, curled in on herself, if it hadn’t been for Elain’s sobs echoing through the cavernous space. If Nesta hadn’t hadn’t lifted her head just enough to see that other fae male, with the golden eye and the red hair, reaching for her sister. 

For Elain, Nesta lifted herself off that damned floor.

Her new limbs protested the movement and she didn’t get far, and only then had she seen Cassian kneeling too, his arms shaking as they tried and failed to hold his weight. His wings were a tattered mess at his back, and with her heart breaking she remembered how she’d once ran a finger along the outer edge, how he’d draped one of those mighty wings around her shoulders to keep her warm as she curled into him and slept. A fractured sob built in her chest, and though she’d tried to speak, to stand, tried to cross that room… she couldn’t.

Everything hurt.

And then the fae with the auburn hair had draped a jacket over Elain’s shoulders and said you’re my mate, and even though every single instinct Nesta possessed was begging her to go to Cassian, to stop that flow of blood, she saw Elain shivering on the stone and couldn’t move— couldn’t choose. Then the auburn-haired fae had reached for Elain again and Nesta had been so terrified that he would just take Elain away that she hurtled forwards and— there she was, her choice made.

Her heart had sank, rioting in her chest as her breathing began to feel like knives had pierced her lungs, because Cassian remained lying in his own blood, and Nesta didn’t think she would ever have the strength to cross to him on the other side of that expansive throne room. 

And when he had looked up, their eyes meeting across that vast space, Nesta had tipped forwards, her hands slipping from Elain’s arms. Those hazel eyes, shuttered with pain, his lips parting as if to form her name— nothing in the world mattered quite as much as that. As him. And even though her blood still burned and her bones still felt fragile, too newly-forged to withstand much at all, Nesta tried once more to stand. Bare foot, she couldn’t find purchase on the stone floor slick with the Cauldron water both she and Elain were drenched in. Elain turned her head, dark eyes distant and hollow, and it was at that precise moment that Feyre made her move. The room erupted in chaos as Cassian slipped under, and there was nobody to hear Nesta shout his name as the wards shattered and Rhys fell to the floor, screaming as though his bond with Feyre had been broken.

Cassian’s eyes had closed, his hand outstretched as though even death could not stop him from seeking her out.

In the confusion Nesta remembered Morrigan crossing the floor— taking her hand.

Then— nothing.

As if the pain were too much for her new body to bear, she closed her eyes and let go, and when the crushing, aching darkness surged up to swallow her again, she let it. Let it consume her until her eyes opened again and she found herself in that bed, with no memory of how she got there.

She didn’t know if he was alive.

Didn’t know if he’d made it out.

One hand rose to her chest, palm above her heart, as if she might be able to tell by its beat if Cassian still breathed. 

He had to.

Had to.

But there was nobody around to answer her, and the silence of the house - Rhysand’s, she presumed - turned static. No footsteps echoed down the hallways, no voices drifted from distant rooms. Nothing— there was nobody there waiting for her to wake. 

So Nesta stood by that window, alone, and looked at the reflection staring back at her. Every inch of smooth skin was unrecognisable, from the crown of her head right down to her feet. Her wrists had been rubbed raw by the rope they had bound her with in that castle, but there was no mark there now. She had broken her fingernails clawing at the soldiers that had held her, but those, too, were perfect now. In those dungeons, she had pulled so hard on her chains that bruises had marred her arms beneath the torn sleeves of her nightgown, and yet— gone, too. As if it had never been. Everything had been wiped clean save for that single scar by her thumb. Like even the Cauldron could not erase the damage done by her mother and her grandmother. 

Nesta had been completely reforged, but those wounds— no, those wounds still would not - could not - heal. 

And— gods, when would it end?

The city beyond the glass bustled a thousand feet below, small ships navigating the river as birds soared on the wind across the mountains, and Nesta pressed her palm flat against the glass, dipping her chin as the cold and bitter press of her own anger threatened to close her throat. She gritted her teeth— wanted to scream until her lungs gave out.

When would it end? When would the last of her choices be ripped away?

She didn’t want this life. Hadn’t wanted the one that came before, either. 

She had never wanted her mother to raise her the way she did, chipping away at her until she resembled something that might have been perfect in her mother’s eyes. Her heart started to stutter, her breathing growing unsteady. She had never wanted to marry Thomas fucking Mandray, and the ring on her finger glinted once in her reflection before Nesta tore it from her finger and cast it into a corner, because just like the scar the Cauldron could not wipe away, it hadn’t robbed her of her wedding band either. 

She hadn’t ever wanted to get involved in this war, or play courier to Rhysand and Feyre and yet she’d done it anyway, to the ruination of herself. 

And now here she was, left with nothing.

Less than nothing.

Another sob threatened to slip through her clenched teeth, but before she could let herself fall to pieces, something shifted. Some movement cut through the heavy silence that lay over Rhysand’s house like a shroud. Sheets— the rustle of sheets sounded through the door at the other end of the bedroom, left ajar. 

Nesta smoothed a thumb over the now-empty space on her ring finger before lifting her chin and wiping away the tears that clung to her cheeks. She steadied herself, the way she had a thousand times before, and took a breath.

And when she looked through that door, she found Elain lying in a bedroom almost identical to the one she had woken in herself, her face blank as sleep kept her in its clutches. Her eyelashes fluttered with her dreams, her hand twitching against the covers. 

And despite the hollow, aching kind of grief that was beginning to spread through Nesta’s chest, she looked at her sister and knew she could not leave that bedroom.

For Elain, Nesta had married Tomas Mandray. To protect Elain, she had taken Rhysand’s letters and posted them. Now she pushed aside her own pain and sank to her knees by Elain’s bedside, too weary to find a chair.

And in the silence, she waited.

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

[levwrites]

Vows

A knight finds out his king has been replaced by a demon - or was he a monster all along?

This was inspired by @raineandsky's prompt.

It's a fraction of a second. The knight turns the corner in the King's chambers and sees it: something strange in the King's eyes, an elongated fleshy shape disappearing under the hem of his shirt. Immediately all his instincts are screaming in alarm.

Anyone else would dismiss it as paranoia, as a trick of the mind. But the knight has seen too many demons, faced too many, to be so naive.

"What is the matter?" the King asks, turning to fully face him. Somehow he always seems to know when the knight has something on his mind.

And usually the knight is happy to tell him. Not this time.

Fire in his veins, ice gripping his heart, the knight unsheathes his sword and levels it at the thing in the King's bed. "Who are you?"

This creature stole my King.

The demon blinks. Looks down to the sword hovering so close to his chest. When he looks up again, he has the same expression the King reserves for traitors. "Ah, a wonder you haven't found out before today."

"Where is he?" The knight still sounds calm. Too calm. "Where is the King?"

How long has he been here? Fear consumes him. How could I not notice?

"I am the King." Vague amusement slips into the creature's tone, despite the faint frown creasing his brows.

The knight grits his teeth. "You will give him back to me. I am the King's knight, I have killed countless of your kin." Threat in every word, danger dripping from them. "I'll make you rue the day you were brought into existence."

"Oh, my love." The demon rises then, calmly pushing the sword out of the way as he does. "You don't know what you are talking about."

The knight's rage turns incandescent at the pet name. He almost sinks the sword into the creature's chest, but he can't - not yet, first the monster needs to tell him where is his King. "You are in the heart of his castle. There's no way you'll make it out of here alive." His grip on the sword tightens. "Tell me where he is."

The demon tilts his head, that dark look melting away in favor of proper amusement. His eyes are dark, magnetic. For the first time there's a strange new pull in them, something actively drawing the knight in. "My castle, you mean? You swore loyalty to me, my knight. Are you taking it away, after all these years?"

With a angry shake of his head the knight plunges the sword forward, aiming to hurt but not kill. He has no time for games, not when his King's life is in danger. Desperation consumes his mind.

I failed him. I let him get captured. I didn't even notice I was sleeping in someone else's arms.

The sword is yanked to the side as the demon deflects it without blinking, used to his knight's style of combat.

"I am the King." His words are firm. "For a decade I have ruled this country. Now let me ask again, my knight: are you taking back your Vows?"

Breathing hard, the knight looks up at him, desperately seeking the truth. The King watches him back with dark, inhuman eyes.

Oh.

The sword clatters to the floor.

The knight folds to the ground, with none of his usual grace. He gets on his knees, his forehead pressed to the ground. Prostrated. He's shaking.

He's fine. He's fine, he's here.

"Sire." A word full of relief. "I am sorry, I didn't know- I am your loyal servant." Horror fills his chest. He flattens even closer to the ground. "I apologise. My actions are inexcusable."

I held a sword to his chest. I threatened him.

The demon - his King - watches him for a moment more. Then he leans down and picks up the sword, holding it surely in his hands as he did when the knight took his Vows. "Kneel."

The knight's heart falls. I failed him after all. He feels his heart contract painfully in his chest as he rises up on his knees, head still bowed. Offering his neck to the King, unprotected.

He's fine. That's what matters. He's here. He blinks, eyes burning. He's going to kill me.

"Do you refute your Vows?"

The knight would rather die. "No, Sire. I stand by them."

I don't care that he's a demon, he's my King.

"Recite them for me."

The knight still knows them by heart, even after all these years. Voice clear and firm despite the tremble that has taken to his fingers, he recites them.

The sword rises. It touches his right shoulder. His left shoulder. The point of it comes to rest on the very centre of the knight's chest, nearly above his heart.

The knight looks at his reflection on the blade. A part of him still expects it to sink into his chest. It feels like he deserves it, right now.

"I accept your Vows." The King's voice comes from above him, echoing a little with something not quite of this world. The sword is lowered. "Rise."

He forgives me.

As soon as he's on his feet again, the King reaches out and tugs him into a hug, holding him firmly against his own chest. "You were trying to do your duty," he murmurs in the knight's ear. "You have no fault."

The sword is placed back in the knight's hand, where it belongs.

[vimesbootstheory]

CK S6 Pt1 Thoughts

Do we still call this "the cut" or did we leave that behind on LJ? Anyway the thoughts are under the cut. I haven't looked at anyone else's thoughts yet, no idea whether this is echo chamber stuff or if I watched a different show than the rest of you.

Overall I honestly had a blast, I'm probably gonna talk more here about stuff I disliked but that's because positive stuff kept me glued to the screen while negative stuff sent me to vent in the notes doc I had open in another window lol

Eagle Fang was Johnny's thing, not an extension of Kreese's Cobra Kai, and I was so angry at the show for not understanding that that I burst into tears

I continue to think that the big cast is spreading character work too thin, such that most characters were either made much less interesting than they have been in previous seasons (e.g. Daniel, Miguel) or were given too little time with the character work they had (e.g. Robby, Kenny) or both.

Characters I made particular note of who are now boring: Daniel, Amanda, Sam, Hawk.

I was surprised in particular how Daniel was given virtually no character work other than this token Miyagi thing. I prefer when Daniel's a bitch. Daniel being The Reasonable One is incredibly boring.

We kinda got slutty gi back? In hallucination form? Briefly?

This was a hard realization: I don't think I ship Daniel/Johnny in these episodes. I'm still absolutely bonkers for them in previous seasons (1-4 mostly) and in the fandom sphere but honestly I wanted Johnny away from Daniel most of the time in s6e1-5. I found it really off-putting how much Daniel was trying to change Johnny into someone he's not.

Fave new character was Kwon. Enjoyably silly. I like his anime hair.

Delighted that Jarmen baby is a girl, even more delighted that the topic of the baby was pretty backgrounded, didn't spend a lot of time on it.

I am filled with incandescent rage that they neutered SamTory; it was weird rooting for Johnny's terrible strategies to make them frenemies instead of friends. But it looks like they're not quite done yet so I'm gonna cool my heels on this point.

Team Captain nepo babies lol. I would be so pissed if I were any of the other Miyagi-Do students.

Loved Johnny championing his female students. In an ideal world I would not have had a little voice at the back of my head wishing he'd spend the same kind of quality time with Robby (How about some Robby time? Robby? Robby now? Johnny and Robby?); nevertheless for what it was, I still really like Johnny supporting Devon and (to a lesser extent) Tory. Meanwhile Daniel over here in his sexist era I guess, ok. Like he really only wanted to send his daughter and no other girls.

Peyton List is the part-season's MVP, obviously obviously. She was so great. Kicked ass, kicked acting's ass. Tory was probably the meatiest character of the season, too, though that's not saying a ton.

My worst fears were not realized re: Johnny's character. He still isn't the fully-realized guy he was in early seasons, but relative to other characters, he's having a pretty OK season IMO. Knock on wood.

I was unexpectedly all riled up on Anthony's behalf. Why does he HAVE to get into karate? Why does he have to be Daniel 2.0? At least this was addressed textually.

So pissed on Kenny's behalf. Justice for Kenny. He deserved one of the top 6 spots. He got poo pants instead. Jesus Christ.

Loved the Lawrence vs Barnes fight, very metal, excellent choreo, love watching Zabka move. I would bet the cobros are lighting up at having an answer on that particular head-to-head.

This has been a running thing with Cobra Kai for a while, but I'm not even sure how I as an audience member was supposed to see Johnny's current teaching style? Honestly I loved his day of blended-style lessons. Obviously broken glass in the koi pond is not a great idea. But like. Jesus Christ, Daniel, katas HAVE STRIKES. WHAT DO YOU EVEN WANT.

Did they really just write Chozen out without any goodbyes? :(((

Daniel's ego flare-up and "I'm the boss" moment, contender for only interesting aspect to his character in these five eps. Hell yea hell yea. Show some goddamn teeth Daniel LaRusso.

One thing I think CK excels at and has always excelled at is keeping the stakes up for tournament-style fights, such that more often than not, I can't tell just through narrative signposting who's going to win. Robby vs Miguel in particular was a nail-biter. I did a full-body arm-pump when Robby won. Though the stakes were weird because it's not as someone can't win in Barcelona if they're not a captain? That was confusing and makes me think it's going to be their way of doling out successes across the main four kids. Like Robby and Sam for the captains, and then Miguel will win, presumably Tory too when she flip-flops back to team good guys again.

Interesting acting/directing/writing (idk which) choice during Robby vs Miguel, Johnny visibly rooting for Robby.

I love that Johnny brought up losing his mum when Tory's mum died, but I really hope they get the chance to bond over it at some point.

The fuckin magic jewel bottle cap got me so bad. Resourceful DIY toys is poor person realness and it was so cute and heartbreaking.

It's weird that new!CK got into the tournament because it's clearly not really the same dojo, so they haven't really qualified.

I'm so pumped about Kreese being the main villain. That was true before the season began and I still feel that way.

I'm excited for part 2!

[lostcauses-noregrets]

WIT Levi has the prettier face, MAPPA Levi has the hotter body. Put both together and you get the perfect Levi. Manga Levi is probably best when Isayama decides to draw him well... still haven't gotten over some of the Derpwin shots that Isayama drew and I'm sure there was some of Levi like that too. The perfect Levi would be when Sasha was stitching him up after the fight with Kenny. Smooth beautiful face and ripped af. That's the good stuff. No Regrets (Manga ofc) Levi suffers from the same problem as WIT Levi: no muscle. MAPPA fixed that but tried to make his face more realistic, and I don't watch AOT to see Levi's realistic face. Bring back Levi's hot face MAPPA, do it for the fans.

Also MAPPA Erwin slays but only in official arts and not in the anime proper. The angles on that man in the new episode were just not right. It was only saved by the dulcet tones of Ono Daisuke's voice. WIT Erwin however... mmfff. That's a man.

But then again, this is all just me. What do you think?

I think you have a fine eye Anon.  Clearly you are a connoisseur of each and every Erwin and Levi we’ve been graced with over the years. 

Definitely agree that WIT Levi was gratuitously beautiful, but tended to be too skinny. He filled out very nicely over the years though and looked pretty damn fit during the chase with Kenny. ACWNR Levi mostly looks like a bobble headed twink weird in the anime, but I have a soft spot for ACWNR manga Levi and his emo eyeliner.  Bless him. Isayama’s manga Levi is, of course, always superior, especially when shirtless, or incandescent with grief and rage in chapter 81. I’m reserving judgment on MAPPA’s latest Levi until I’ve seen the episode, but the caps look very promising indeed. 

Agree 100% on your Erwin evaluation too.  MAPPA Erwin is ridiculously attractive in some of the official art, but sadly that hasn’t really translated to the anime.  Season 3 Erwin will always be peak anime Erwin. When it comes to the manga, Erwin never looks more beautiful than when he's seen through Levi's eyes.

As for the voice actors, Daisuke One and Kamiya Hiroshi just are Erwin and Levi.  I feel bad that I’ve never been able to listen to the English dub because I know J. Michael Tatum  and Matt Mercer are amazing actors, and they both ship Eruri, but it's just too weird.

Nitpicking aside, all Eruris are good Eruris and we're very lucky to have such a range to choose from 😊

[mawofthemagnetar]

I said it once and I'll say it again: the proper English spelling of the word "soffit" fills me with incandescent rage. It makes too much fucking sense. It looks too sensible. That's a specific-ass word, why does it not have some obtuse fucking spelling? It should be spelled Sophet! For god's sake! This is the English Language! This is a lingusitic superfund site! Who authorized this!?