#towards tyranny spoilers

[crystal-overdrive]

Snippet Sunday Monday!

Tagged by @darkurgetrash 🖤 Under the cut because the upcoming chapter of Towards Tyranny is very naughty...Tav gets her "trapped in Wyrm's Rock" fantasy fulfilled. 😘

There was a tremor in her voice, a hitch in her breath. ‘What?’ Gortash regarded her with a cold stare before repeating himself. ‘Take. Your. Clothes. Off.’ Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around herself, as if to shield her body against his probing glare. His dark eyes seemed to bore into her, like he could see past the dark velvet that covered her body, past her body itself, and into her soul. He shook his head; his voice was clipped, impatient. ‘This won’t do.’ In a flash, he strode across the room and gripped Tav’s wrists, wrenched her arms away from her form. He transferred both wrists to one hand, and held her arms above her head, just too high, so that a sharp stretch reached from shoulder blade to wrist. She strained against it and drew in a sharp, pleading breath. ‘Please. This isn’t what I’m here for.’ This drew a dark chuckle from her captor. ‘Isn’t it?’ His free hand gripped her chin, and the claws of those cold, metal gauntlets dug into her delicate skin. ‘You’re here for whatever I want, little hero.’ His unfeeling eyes flicked to her lips. He kissed her, roughly, pushed his face uncomfortably against hers. She tried to turn away, but his grip on her chin held her firmly in place. When he eventually broke the kiss, a thin strand of saliva continued to join their lips together. ‘You’re disgusting,’ said Tav. He wiped the spit from her lips with a gilded thumb. ‘You won’t be saying that later.’

[yanderestarangel]

HEADKANONS MK1 - TRIO LIN KUEI + FRIEND!READER | SFW

TW: gn reader, sfw, headcanons in general, spoilers about mk1, platonic relationship, little angst.

˚｡⋆.☆Do you want to make a request? Read my blog rules in the pinned post, comments and reblogs are welcome♡

A/N: I'm just used to writing smut things, but here's something softer. Maybe I'll do a part 2 after Bi Han's betrayal with his brothers and his reign of tyranny, what the relationships would be like, but just maybe.

You were friends with all of them, since you were a teenager. The first to bestfriend you was Kuai Liang, he was always the most communicative of the trio of brothers - he saw you training with other newly arrived ninjas and decided to welcome you into the clan, you were friendly towards him, which Liang was Unaccustomed, he really liked you so he invited you to dinner at one of the local restaurants - perhaps Mrs. Bo's - You really didn't want to bother him, after all, he was the grand master's son but he was extremely simple and humble, even offering to pay for the meal, so you accepted.

When you got there you met the shy Tomas, sitting alone at a table and eating in silence, he got a little clumsy when he saw you - the poor boy had no social interaction skills, he still doesn't have any to this day - so he stays quiet, just watching you talk to the his brother but soon he starts to loosen up more, laughing and talking to you too - and the two of you become closer than you and Kuai -

Over time, you became so friendly with the two that you started visiting their house, meeting their father and mother and being welcomed as their son too, but Bi Han looked at you crookedly and coldly - as he did with everyone - however he began to see potential in you, a future ally and skilled ninja and also you miraculously made him laugh even if a little, it was the beginning of the three of you's friendship.

You train with Bi Han, and he goes hard on you not because he hates you but because he sees you as a future ally, even his right-hand man after you prove your loyalty to him - even more loyal than Kuai Liang - "-You have a lot of potential (Y/N) just don't fall." -Bi Han is serious, however, offering you his hand after knocking you to the ground in one blow, lifting you up and helping you shake off the dust from your body.

Kuai Liang likes to talk and ramble with you, he would sometimes skip class with you to stroll through the cherry blossom gardens or just practice fighting in other places - once Bi Han caught you two skipping class and almost killed you both, Kuai ran with you on his back across the roofs of the houses in the local village -

Tomas likes to sleep with you and this was a habit he got used to doing even after he was an adult - on the days you went to sleep at their house you always slept between Tomas and Kuai Liang, Bi Han would stay in a separate bed in the same room . Tomas hugged you tightly and the next thing you knew he was clinging to the ninja's arms with him accidentally suffocating you with his chest and Kuai sleeping crookedly next to you, drooling on the pillows and with his leg over you, accidentally - Bi Han also snores at night, meaning he gets used to the loud noise.

On summer days you played games... Not very conventional - one of them being you, Tomas, Liang and Bi Han on a calm day doing a mouth-watering challenge, whoever smiled first would pay for the other's dinner, you all got dirty of water because of Liang who tickled you, making everyone laugh and lose the challenge, the last one to laugh was Bi Han who was extremely competitive, but after being spat with water in the face by Kuai Liang, laughing and then doing an ice dagger to run after his brother - while you and Tomas watched Liang laugh as he ran from his older brother -

Speaking of competition, Bi Han likes to play fights with you, but please don't go any further, he is very competitive and will end up putting you in a headlock and really hurting you - without meaning to -

On missions, everyone will be super protective of you, especially Tomas and Bi Han, in different ways. Tomas wants you 100% safe, without a scratch even if it's impossible sometimes. "-You're my best friend, I don't want you to get hurt (Y/N)." -Vrbada spoke worriedly as he followed you with his brothers.

But unlike his younger brother, Bi Han liked to see you in challenges, obviously he cared about you but he knew that evolution came from competitions. "-You are my best ninja and... Friend, come back alive (Y/N) I know that you are capable of many great feats, because I trained you." -Bi Han spoke seriously and arrogantly as always, but with a little concern in his dark irises, a reminder from him for you to return alive to the Liu Kuei clan and into his arms.

You, Tomas and Kuai wear friendship bracelets, the bracelet was made of strong fabric with the colors yellow, gray and blue mixed. The only one who didn't wear it was Bi Han - but he kept the bracelet in his pocket, he always put his hand in his pocket and brushed his fingertips against the accessory, smiling slightly behind the sub zero mask, it was good to know that he and his brothers They had you as a friend.

One day, when you and Kuai had no training he let you touch his hair, ending up with Liang with two braids in his hair, Tomas also wanted to do it but his hair was too short to style.

"-You can't do it on mine because it's too short?:(" -Tomas said sadly as he lowered his shoulders in defeat - he let his hair grow after that, just so you could style it - Bi Han said that was nonsense , but soon ended the day with two braids raised with colorful clips, arms crossed and sighing "-I'm only doing this because (Y/N) insisted a lot" -He said, looking at himself in the mirror irritated, it was a lie, he himself had offered to be your hairstyle "model".

You and Kuai had a game of slapping each other's asses, but one fine day, you confused which ass you were going to hit by slapping Bi Han's ass hard - he was on his back and wearing neutral clothes, you saw his round ass and gave a hard slap, soon seeing Bi Han jump and look at you with a murderous look, you had to use all your skills to run away at full speed to escape the grand master's attack, then you only came back at the end of the day seeing Bi Han with an ice complex on his ass. -

"-YOU WILL PAY ME (Y/N)!!!" *starts saying something about being the grand master and needing to be respected and about the honor of the Liu Kuei, typical boring talk from Bi Han* -He shouted pointing to you while Kuai Liang walked in between the two of you, trying not to smile, while Tomas was practically laughing, crying with laughter while Bi Han was still holding the ice on his ass.

(Y/N): "-Pikmin:3"

Bi Han : "-I'LL BREAK YOU (Y/N) I'LL DESTROY YOU I'LL-"

(Y/N): "-Pikmin:3"

When you had a birthday, everyone gave you a gift. Tomas gave you a little letter about how important you were to him, with some detailed drawings of the two of you together - Vrbada knows how to draw very well, with his favorite pastime being drawing you or the two of you together. "-I hope you know how important it is to me (Y/N)." -Tomas said while smiling, giving you a chaste kiss on the cheek, blushing to see that you were moved by his letter.

Kuai presented you with an outfit that you had wanted for a long time, a fine fabric from the best store in the village and the best seamstress of the Liu Kuei clan, it was fabrics in your favorite color, a luxurious and soft silk. "-I knew you had your eye on this outfit, so I decided to buy it for you (Y/N), I hope you like it, it will look beautiful on you." -Liang speaks with a soft voice and a smile, ruffling your hair.

Bi Han pretends not to remember that it's your birthday but obviously he does, he's a serious man and cares about you - so, when everyone goes to sleep he calls you into his living room giving you a custom-made and personalized katana, with purple blade and your name engraved, along with a phrase: "From: Grandmaster Bi Han, To: (Y/N) (L/N)". - you are extremely happy as you saw Bi Han cross his arms and also smile a little. "-This is a useful gift for you (Y/N), which will remind you how important you are to the Liu Kuei clan." -He speaks in a confident and happier voice, as he walks towards you, placing a hand on your shoulder "-And important for me too, happy birthday little one." -Bi Han gestures with his head, while smiling, it was one of the few times he showed feelings, on your birthday.

Every time you see a kitten in the windows of the tallest houses, Tomas will help you pet them, easily lifting you on his shoulders while Kuai and Bi Han watch, Kuai would laugh at the cute moment while Bi Han would say "-that was silly." but deep down I also thought it was adorable, even if I would never admit it out loud.

One time Bi Han saw you, Tomas and Kuai watching some random cartoon on television, rolling his eyes while giving a lecture about "You're too adults and too old to watch silly children's cartoons." In the end, Bi Han was also sitting on the couch with the three of you and focused on drawing - yes, it was my little pony and he marathoned everything with you that afternoon -

When you went shopping in the city, the four of you would stay on the sidewalk in the late afternoon, sitting on the asphalt curb, watching the cars pass by, with the joke of "that's my car", Tomas would always stay and point to the white ones in the city, Kuai for the red ones and you for the colored ones (which rarely passed), Bi Han just said "this one", pointing to the black cars, it was a silly joke, but you liked it.

When the betrayal happened, you were torn between helping Bi Han or your other two friends Kuai and Tomas.

If you chose Bi Han's side, you would have his approval and pride and as you always believed in your potential to be his right-hand man in a new era of the Liu Kuei, you would be treated like royalty, having respect from everyone, but leaving Kuai and Tomas extremely sad and swearing to themselves that they would rescue you one day from Bi Han's clutches - even if it had been by their own choice -

If you chose Kuai and Tomas' side, they would welcome you with open arms telling you how you would make a new clan without Bi Han's tyranny, but Bi Han would be extremely disappointed in you, even if he masked it with anger and hatred. In his speech, deep in his eyes you would be able to see his pain at not having you around anymore, he would swear to take revenge on his brothers and get you back to the Lin Kuei clan and to him.

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[it-happened-one-fic]

Ink and Magic - The Rose-Red Tyrant

Author Notes: So this is a sort of halfway non canon compliant what if with the overblots and their aftermath. I've been considering, for quite some time now, why the Prefect (reader) gets to see what amounts to the overblot victims memories and hear what seems to be their thoughts regarding said memories. So I guess you could say this is a kind of headcanon for what happens in those moments. This isn't exactly romantic. in fact, I would say it counts as more platonic, but it certainly can be taken as shippy. This will also be a series, though the Diasomnia section won't come out until that entire matter is resolved in game. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Spoilers for Book 1: The Rose-Red Tyrant!!

[Heartslabyul: You're Here!] [Savanaclaw] [Octavinelle] [Scarabia] [Pomefiore] [Ignihyde] [Diasomnia: To be released]

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fic series/ Can be platonic or romantic/ fluff/ angst/ comfort/ Spoilers for Heartslabul overblot.

Word Count: 2311

The ground was a brutal red. Covered in crushed and bruised rose petals that mixed with dark ink and made everything slippery. 

All I could hear were the screams and shouts from those nearby, but rather than fleeing or continuing to shout directions and warnings until my voice was hoarse, I stood silently. Watching in quiet horror as Riddle stumbled, reeling from the magical attacks he’d just received from his fellow dorm-mates. 

His once soft gray eyes were a violent red and wide open as he stared at me with an expression that spoke of shock. Like his entire world had just come crashing down like a house of cards around him.

He was no longer a form of horror, as the monstrosity behind him collapsed in a flood of ink that spread across the already-soaked ground. 

Instead, Riddle now looked pitiful. Like a lost child. He was trembling all over, but he’d at long last stopped attacking, and I honestly wondered if he’d simply run out of steam.

But as I looked at him, an unexpected sorrow swelled within my heart and caught me off-guard as the young man looked down at his hands, still blackened with ink stains.

Bitter tears began to fill his red eyes, and his previously loud voice wavered as he began to speak, “I…. I was wrong?! But that’s…. Impossible…..” 

His hands came up to cover his eyes and hide the tears that now threatened to roll down his too-pale face.

 He was no longer a creature perfectly fit for nightmares, and my heart seized painfully at his next words. So soft and broken that they were barely audible, “Isn’t it…Mother?”

 With those words, he gave a shudder and stumbled forward, his hands limply falling away from his face, which was now streaked with ink from his stained hands.

This was a Riddle I’d never seen before. One that was completely different from the mature but tyrannical young man I’d met.

 This was a young boy who was lost, broken, and one that I simply couldn’t abandon in this moment.

I didn’t know if it was instinct or something else, but something drove me forwards. Spurring me into running towards the young man, who had begun to collapse forward. 

My feet slid against the inky but tattered rose petals that littered the ground. Evidence of the horror we’d all just witnessed. The other students' voices followed me as they let out alarmed cries. Ace’s voice was perhaps the most prominent as he shouted my name. 

The panic in his voice almost made me want to stop even as my tired legs continued to carry me forward.

In truth, I had only one thought in my mind: that the young man in front of me, Riddle, didn’t need to be alone. 

It was a truth that was whispered to me from within my own mind. Something I knew as a solid fact even though I had no proof.

I barely even knew Riddle. All I knew of him was tyranny.

But I held out my arms, catching the small young man that I now realized was quite frail despite the immense magical power he possessed.

 He clung desperately to my shirt with trembling hands, and a sob tore its way out of him. I could practically feel the cold ink staining my shirt as it seeped through the thin fabric, and we both sank to the ground. 

He was exhausted, with his head drooping towards me like he could no longer stay awake. And as my knees hit the soggy ground, a wave of fatigue washed over me that promised me peace if I would just let it carry me away.��

I faintly heard my name get called yet again, but it sounded far enough away to be in an entirely other world.

Perhaps it was a voice from my world, trying to call me back home.

But even with that thought in mind, I didn’t respond. Instead, I fell into a darkness that consumed me, and I slumped forward. Still holding the small, broken boy close to me. As if that could bring him the peace he seemed to so desperately need.

But I wasn’t meant to slumber peacefully here, and though the deep darkness of what I thought was deep sleep surrounded me, I was not truly resting.

I looked around in confusion, looking for someone else in this deep darkness. After all, it didn’t feel like I was alone. It felt like I was surrounded in a space that was filled with only myself and one other person.

 It was a strange sensation, one that left me feeling out of my depth as I glanced around in confusion. Finding that here, I was no longer exhausted or sore from the events that had just unfolded in Heartslabyul. 

Like a glitch on a television screen, the blackness flickered, and a hazy scene appeared. That reminded me of an old black-and-white movie recording. 

Even the voices were crackly.

“Happy 8th Birthday Riddle….” I frowned slightly and shook my head, wondering what I was seeing. 

I had to be dreaming, but…. Something about this didn’t feel like a dream. It felt more like I was trying to sift through my memories and was instead being faced with wholly unfamiliar images. 

A large woman stood, smiling down at an adorable red-haired boy whose face I immediately recognized with an alarmed jolt. 

Riddle. Without a doubt, that was the very same young man who’d just attacked me, my friends, and the other members of the Heartslabyul dorm in the midst of what I could only describe as a psychotic break.

I stared in a strange mixture of fascination and confusion at the scene before me as a voice that, unlike the others, was perfectly clear began to narrate the scene that lay before me. Riddle’s voice.

It sounded like he was right next to me, but when I turned, he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I appeared to be alone. 

Alone, but I was wholly surrounded by the scene of what seemed to be his, Riddle’s, childhood.

 “I’d always wanted to try one of those tarts with the bright red strawberries….”

His voice was as solemn as ever as it calmly explained the thoughts and feelings of the child Riddle, who seemed to star in all of these scenes. But the image before me did not stay peaceful, and I soon came to realize a darker truth about what was unfolding in front of me.

I listened and watched with mounting horror as memories from Riddle’s childhood, barren of playing and fun, played in front of me like a film. Every bit of it was narrated by a numb-sounding Riddle himself.

My eyes went wide as a young, brightly smiling Trey flashed in front of me. He was accompanied by another boy, whom I soon realized was that cat-like fellow I’d met in the Heartslabyul maze. Chenya, I believed his name was.

It was then, right after their appearance, that everything truly began to snowball out of control. 

Tiny Riddle finally got to experience the joys of childhood, only to be caught by his mother, who enforced even more rigorous rules on him. And it was painful to see the small child, who would someday become the young man I’d met not too long ago, weep as he was denied some of the most basic aspects of childhood.

I was beyond enraged on behalf of the small child in front of me. But what made it worse was Riddle’s voice, which was still narrating each scene even though tears were slowly beginning to choke off his voice, “But Mom… Why? Why does my heart hurt so much?”

I covered my mouth, as if that could somehow help me cope, as I listened to the young man whom I could hear crying, but I couldn’t see nor comfort.

The scene in front of me slowly faded to black, leaving me only with Riddle’s voice, begging for an explanation as I turned, searching for him in vain. But he was invisible, in this darkness, as he pleaded for an answer to his questions, “Tell me, Mom, please….. What rule do I need to follow to make this pain go away?”

I closed my eyes, shaking my head as if that could somehow help me figure out what to do, and then, like flipping a switch, it all stopped.

I opened my eyes wearily, only to find I’d been crying silently as I‘d held Riddle close to my chest. My cheeks were even still wet, judging from how cold the breeze was on my face.

Riddle himself was still asleep. His expression slowly relaxed from an upset that matched his tear-choked voice, which I’d just been listening to, to a more peaceful one that suited him far better. 

And it was a relief to see him relax after having seen what I’d just witnessed in whatever that dream was.

 One of his hands was still fisted in my shirt as he clung to me like a small child, causing me to smile slightly even as I shifted to better examine him. I froze mid-motion as I heard a sharp inhale from just next to me. It was then that I realized that both me and Riddle were not, in fact, being supported by one another.

Instead, it was the young man who knelt next to us who held us upright with his arms wrapped securely around the two of us in a sort of embrace.

I looked over and made eye contact with warm, honey-colored eyes that stared at me, relief sweeping through them as I managed to croak out the man’s name, “Trey.”

He let out an exhale, a relieved smile appearing on his face as his grip on my arm tightened ever so slightly, almost like he was trying to reassure himself that I really was present and that all was well.

“Thank goodness. You’re back,” His voice was soft, more of a breath than anything, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by ‘back’. 

But I didn’t get to ask, and he didn’t get to continue since I heard three familiar voices both yell the same name at the same time.

“Y/N!” 

I half turned, finding I was still exhausted and slumping against Trey a bit more as I spotted Ace and Deuce both staring at me in wide-eyed relief before they both took off as Cater, who was right behind them, was still turning to look at me. 

The two boys' feet dug into the still-inky ground as they darted towards where I knelt with Trey and Riddle. 

Deuce reached us first, hitting his knees and grasping my arms as he scanned me for injury, “Are you alright?”

His voice was trembling as he questioned me, looking up at me with wide, panicked eyes. His expression was mirrored by Ace, who was desperately asking me what had happened while Cater appeared behind them. Carefully scanning both me and Riddle.

“Hey, hey. You’re crowding them. They only just came too,” Trey’s grip on me shifted in an almost protective fashion as he spoke, and I realized I was still relying heavily on him for support.

Crowley walked up far more slowly than the others, his eyes on me and a frown on his face as he began to open his mouth to say something. 

But before he could speak, one of Riddle’s hands, which had been gripping my arm this entire time, tightened slightly, and he made a mumbling sound.

All eyes darted to the young man, who slowly opened his eyes, once more a soft grey not unlike that of a dove’s feathers, with a groan. 

He looked up, making eye contact with me before looking at Trey and then back at me. 

Cater was saying something to both of us, but I'd tuned it out almost completely as I scanned the boy for any injuries. 

Riddle continued to look up at me with hazy eyes as I carefully scanned his small form, frowning as I noted exactly how exhausted he still looked. 

After a brief moment, though, he pulled away from both me and Trey. Distancing himself as his eyes slowly cleared and the gravity of the entire situation sank in.

From there, the situation devolved fairly quickly, with numerous questions being asked and reconciliations being made. Trey swept in towards the end of things, with Cater by his side like two concerned parents. Demanding that me and Riddle both go to the infirmary for a checkup.

It wasn’t until we were alone in that cold room filled with cots that Riddle made eye contact with me once more, “My… memories. You saw them, didn’t you?”

I was silent for a moment as I recalled those strange scenes in flickering black-and-white before I at last nodded, “Yes, I don’t know what caused it but…. Yes, I believe I did…. I heard you too.”

He nodded, falling silent as we waited for the nurse to enter and give us a clean bill of health. After a few moments, he met my gaze again, “I think we…. Connected for a moment there. I don’t know how, but you saw my memories and heard my thoughts. And I… I felt you there.”

I watched him quietly, not sure of what to say as he fell silent. But I couldn’t blame him. I too wouldn’t know what to say or think if some had seen my memories.

After a moment, though, he looked over at me with a troubled expression before he spoke  quietly, “If I were you, I would tell the Headmaster about this.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say since something told me neither of us knew what this meant for me or him.

[short-wooloo]

The thing that really jumped out to me about Transformers One was how relevant Megatron and his "burn it down" view is in the current day

I see it so often, young (often leftist and/or communist) people who declare that the only solution is the destruction, at best not thinking about the innocents who will disproportionately suffer from it, and at worst deliberately ignoring the suffering, or worse declaring the death and suffering to be "acceptable losses"

(Spoilers under the cut)

And we see this in the film, Megatron has won, Sentinel Prime is beaten, injured, has been exposed as a fraud, and lost any support he had, but it's not enough for the newly christened Megatron, the only thing satisfactory to him is total, unnecessary destruction, he brutally kills Sentinel (there's something there to be said about revolutionaries declaring themselves judge, jury, and executioner), Murders Orion in the proccess, and has the proto-Decepticons start indiscriminately firing in order to "burn it all down", endangering the lives of other bots-including his fellow miners!-in the process

But this is fine to Megatron, because to him the goal makes it ok, "the ends justify the means"

But "the ends justify the means" always leads to a dark place, and that is what "burn it all down" is at the core, the willingness to sacrifice so many innocent people for a hypothetical

But there's another way Megatron feels very similar to the "burn it all down, damn the collateral" crowd

The way both deem those who prefer reform over destruction to be a traitors or just, if not worse, than what came before, real life "burn it down" types tend to hate reformists and realists (ie normie libs) more than the fascists and racists

And lastly, there is the Tyranny

We all know Megatron's story, what he will becone, a Warmonger, genocidal towards non Cybertronian-especially organic life (who wants to bet in the sequel Megatron's solution for dealing with the Quintessons is to Slaughter them to the last?), a mass murderer, destroyer of worlds, and above all, a Tyrant

That is where his revolution leads (oh hello russian/french revolution and civil war/napoleonic wars, I didn't see you there), because Megatron sees violence as the only answer, violence will be his only answer, violence is what keeps his followers in line (Starscream), and if he successfully comes out on top of the coming war with the Autobots, violence will be the only means he'll remain on top, because that's the only reason he's there in the first place

The "revolution, burn it down" types of the real world already have a nasty pro authoritarianism streak, between their dictator worship and belief that they know best and everyone who disagrees needs to shut up/is a traitor and must die (but leftistly), why would that change if they get their wish of violently burning it all down?

[shadohood]

"Frisk. I'll be honest with you. Chara hated humanity."

What if their hatered was more then justified? Afterall humanity did seal Monsterkind under the mountain Ebott and potentially shunned a child to the same fate. CR!Underfell (short for "Chara was Right" Underfell) aims to explore a version of the underground and surface where humans were even more hostile towards monsters and each other.

Every fallen, be they a child or grown, tried to eradicate Monsterkind, taking more and more from them. The only thing the King of monsters could do is prepare his people for the next fallen, handing all the power to the royal guard. Like in the original Underfell, monsters became cruel and rash just to survive the tyranny of humanity and their own rulers.

Ruins, like the underground itself, is a place of exile. All of those who were called for the war on humanity, but refused to fight are sent to the old ruined capital, cursed with isolation, closeness to the birthplace of the fallen and raids of the guard.

Flowey, at least that's what it calls itself, can be seen everywhere in the underground, holding some power over it. Unlike the OG Flowey, he doesn't seem to hide or work from behind the scenes and is more powerful for spoiler reasons.

The mourning mother, a mysterious woman wandering the old capital. It is dangerous to cross her, fire seems to be her main weapon that she uses recklessly, it seems like she just wants to be left alone. She seems to be afraid of children, to the point when the kind exiled folk had to abandon the stiped clothing tradition. The exiled of the ruins often hear cries from the birthplace of the fallen, as if the mother is mourning them. Some monsters say that she holds on to a relic of one of the fallen that she at one point seen as her child before they lashed out on the ruins' population to find an exit.

A portion of the ruins is believed to be haunted. The ghosts are one of the few monsters that cannot be attacked with physical damage, making them way less likely to be killed by the more often then not magicless fallen. This quality makes them especially valuable for the royal guard, hoarding power for their war on the fallen. Napstablook was once called for the war, but the guard couldn't force them to intentionally use their power against others. The fierce "training" of the guard seems to have broken the ghost's will which made them useless for the guard. Now they wander the ruins as their place of comfort.

Training dummy of the ruins suffered a similar fate, but wasn't seen as useful to begin with. The guard is known for preventing possession of the ghosts, as they lose their ethereal qualities in the process.

The ruins are full of other monsters, exiles from the outside and "order enforcing" members of the guard. Many here have scars from fights and raids.

CR!Underfell navigation: (Snowdin) Next <-- --> Previous (humans)

(Btw, I take commissions)

[tavyliasin]

The Tyranny of Memory - Gortash x Durge Short

Durge meets Gortash at night in secret, and the finds the Tyrant has other ways to coax out old memories... D/s Switch for both, Gortash is AFAB and Durge is AFAB nonbinary in this 996 word request piece from some deliciously devious sinners~

A warmup short run a little long~ Click Here for AO3 Version Pairing: Gortash x Durge SPICE Rating: 4/5  Content Warnings and Tags: Power play, mild blood/wound, mild neck grab (no choking), rough sex,

Spoilers Mild act 3 Dark Urge reference (1-2 dialogue lines taken out of the original context), mild Dark Urge spoilers. Canon Compliance Barely any really other than the vague mention in the spoilers. This is just smut for smut's sake~ Other Notes As mentioned at the top, Gortash is an AFAB trans man and the Durge is nonbinary with they/them pronouns and AFAB anatomy.

Song Pairing Warfare by Katie Garfield (Youtube Link Click Here) "We won't stop 'Til you fall Cut you down Take it all One by one Say goodbye You can run but you can't hide

This is warfare"

SMUT BELOW THE CUT! --- ---

“A divine oath, sworn upon spirit and flesh. I do no harm to you, nor you to me.” Simple words that had been spoken with hope, Enver Gortash smiled as he had said them.

“First you will rule, then you will ruin.”  The words of the urge echoed in their head too, there was a pact, but every agreement had its weakness. Durge knew that the moment they agreed to meet him again, alone, under cover of darkness. The way to rule over a tyrant was first to make him believe he had control, soothe his over-inflated ego, to make the ruin all the more satisfying. 

That was how they were on his desk, golden claws raking down their spine staining white scales red, and lifting their tail to claim them. They allowed it, first his fingers - too greedy to tease, too impatient to give them what they wanted - and then one of several straps he kept in his drawer. 

They remembered those, or rather some part of them did. Durge wasn’t sure how, why, which ones had perhaps been used in the past, but their body soon did. They bit down into the leatherbound cover of a book that had been carelessly pushed to one side to make way for their reunion. Gortash’s voice was deep, dark, a growl that sent a shiver through their mind as he spoke. “There, my dear assassin, back where you belong.” 

Their body was responding, feeling Gortash…Enver… Their mind rebelled, even as their muscles tightened in the bliss of being so thoroughly filled, even the heat of his breath on the back of their neck drawing forth a low moan from their throat. “Fool, FOOL! Wait for his weakness, then take it all back.”

“Stay still, my dear, we do not wish to break anything. Least of all your delightful body.” He dug his claws into the base of their tail with a savage grip, the pain awakening a bloodlust they had struggled to suppress in every waking hour. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Gortash.” Durge muttered through gritted teeth, even as his cold metal gauntlet dug deeper. Even with their pact, *’harm’* did not account for pain that they enjoyed and welcomed

“So you want me to stop?” He slowed, but did not cease. His thrusts instead became languid yet purposeful, ensuring they felt every moment, encouraging them to seek their own pleasure by pressing towards him. But the heat of blood seeping onto their scales was tipping the balance, and winning the wager Bane’s chosen had set the moment he took control. 

“I warned you, Enver. Reap the rewards of your tyranny, and remember exactly the pride that brought your fall.” Durge’s tail wrapped around his waist, pulling him from their body as they grabbed a spare strap and turned, shoving him backwards, grinning wickedly as he stumbled towards the wall.

“There you are, my dear.” The light of fear in his eyes was coloured by arousal, as infuriating as it was deeply erotic to the dragonborn already leaping towards him.

Durge slammed Enver’s back against the wall, as they breathed in the scent of the breath that left his lungs, savouring it, drinking in the view of him half naked and quivering. “You thought it wise to take from me...to push me…to *awaken*-” 

“I did. That look in your eye, you’ve missed this just as much as I have. Perhaps a part of you still dreamed while your memories slept.” His golden claws traced a path over old scars, scratching over healed scales as if to reopen the wounds and drag their former self back out by visceral force.

“Little Tyrant…you speak of dreams when you’re awakening a nightmare.” Enver’s sturdy arms felt weak in their grasp as they turned him around, shifting their grip up to his hair, forcing his cheek against the cold stone of the wall. “I’d forgotten what your voice sounded like when you whimper and beg, Enver. You’ll be kind enough to remind me now, won’t you?” 

He nodded, as much as one can with their face held so close, his arms wretched easily behind him as their tail wrapped around his wrists to bind them still.

“Good boy.” They purred into his ear. “Do not move.” The command allowed them to hold him only with their tail as they swiftly secured the strap. Grabbed from the drawer in haste, it was longer and thicker than the one that the tyrant still wore, dripping with the remnants of their own arousal. It might be pleasing to take their pleasure from him more directly, to throw him to the floor and command his wicked tongue to spill his secrets directly to their core, but power… Real power held far more allure. 

They hadn’t been concerned about preparing him, and they quickly remembered why. The oil glistened in a thin trickle down the back of his thigh betraying how he was always ready, waiting, hoping. 

The tyrant groaned as they entered, teasing just the tip at first. Durge took hold of the back of his neck, keeping him flush against the wall, but their other hand snaked down to his waist and around, gripping the strap he still wore and working it slowly as if the false appendage had feeling. “Should I thank you, Tyrant, for being so well prepared for me? Should I thank your hungry little hole for swallowing all of this with ease?” Enver whined. Perhaps he might’ve preferred the more direct pleasure that penetration of another kind could offer, but this… They knew it was the degradation he wanted most. To know they could take his body and own it. 

Durge increased their pace slowly, savouring how he shuddered, moaned, and grew weak as their hips slammed against him. They grew drunk on the power, intoxicated by how they brought him to his knees in a pool of his own arousal, and they did not relent until dawn. --- --- ENDING NOTES --- ---

So maybe I'll do more with Gortash. I still haven't played a Dark Urge run, but I have very much enjoyed indulging in all manner of Durgetash content~

[humanpurposes]

Karma is a God

Chapter 12: Harrenhal

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: spoilers for F&B and future seasons of HotD, canon divergence, descriptions of violence, death

Words: 4400

A/n: The truth comes out. Also available to read on AO3.

It is said Harrenhal is cursed. 

Harren the Black’s rule over the Riverlands was marked by tyranny and brutality, ruling from a seat built to fuel his own pride. Generations of Rivermen were taken as slaves and forced to construct the very symbol of their subjugation, a castle the size of a city, five towers of black stone looming over the God’s Eye. 

It is said blood was mixed into the mortar; Death lives within the castle’s very walls. Aemond feels its presence as he felt it back in the Red Keep, the Stranger breathing down his neck as his father decayed, as his grandfather ordered the executions of those who were loyal to the false Queen, as he spent restless night in his chambers staring at the red cloak hanging over a chair by the fireplace.

He feels it now. It has been over a century since the flames of Balerion roasted Harren Hoare and his men alive and melted the castle into the ruins it lies in today, but everywhere he goes air is thick and tastes faintly of smoke. The silence is heavy here, especially in the tower. There are no sounds of people like there are in the city, no birds or rustling trees, just the soldiers and nervous servants. No one ever raises their voice here, and if there is a short burst of laughter it is snatched back, out of fear of disturbing the ghostly quiet. 

Harwin Strong died here, less than a decade ago. He understood the loss as a boy, the sadness in Jace and Luke’s faces on the day of Laena Velaryon’s funeral, mourning an aunt they never knew and a father they could not speak of.

He has never thought to find the room. In a place scorched by fire, every room looks the same. 

It is said that every family and castellan who has held Harrenhal will meet a gruesome end. Aemond dismisses this as superstition. A gruesome end comes to most, regardless of the castles they do or don’t hold.

But then again…

“Retribution will come with fire and fury,” Alys still whispers in his ear.

Since he has had news of King’s Landing he cannot bring himself to lie with the witch. She sleeps in his bed, and he does not sleep at all. Granting himself rest would be an insult to his mother, to Helaena, to Aegon and Maelor. The only solace he has is that Daeron will be with the Hightower host. He has written to his youngest brother, instructing him to wait at Tumbleton until they can formulate a plan to retake the capital.

For now he waits. 

The wind howls against the walls of the tower. His mind tells him it is the Stranger, taunting him, or the castle’s ghosts impatient to see what his gruesome demise will be.

He watches the flames in the hearth dwindle and die. By dawn it is cold, not so much as an ember left glowing, just charred firewood.

Alys groans from the bed, telling him it is time to begin dressing. She wraps herself in a black robe and moves to the window, while he removes his shirt from the previous day and reaches for clean clothes. 

A sliver of early morning light pierces the room as Alys draws the curtain back. Aemond has his back to her as he fastens the final buckle on his jerkin.

“A dragon, my Prince.”

He feels his eye widen.

“Which dragon?” he says, though the possibilities are small. If it were one of Rhaenyra’s, they would be dead by now.

Alys says nothing.

He huffs and walks towards the window, ushering her out of his way as he drags the curtain back fully. The cobalt blue scales and bronze belly of Tessarion gleam in pale sunlight, gliding over the God’s Eye, towards the courtyard. 

He hurries down the endless spiral of steps to meet them. Alys’ footsteps echo a few paces behind him. He reaches the courtyard as Tessarion’s rider dismounts, a young man with silver curls, dressed in black and gold armour. 

He hasn’t seen Daeron since he was a thin and clumsy child, before their grandsire sent him to Oldtown. That was before Aemond himself had claimed Vhagar, while he still thrived on stubbornness rather than pride, while he still had both of his eyes. 

But any sense of hope his brother has brought with him fades when he spots the gashes in Tessarion’s hide, the marks left behind by the teeth and claws of another dragon. Daeron fares a little better. His mouth is bloodied, his skin and hair dusted with ash, his eyes red and heavy with exhaustion. He clutches his chest as he takes staggered steps towards Aemond, wincing at the effort.

Aemond finds himself rushing forwards, holding Daeron at his elbows and brings him to stand straight. “You’re hurt,” he says.

Daeron shakes his head. “I’ll be alright. We made the flight at least.”

Until now Daeron has only been a memory to Aemond, an infant he can barely recollect, a name always spoken like a question, half a lifetime of neatly written letters. And yet he is so familiar. His eyes are shaped like their mother’s, his face lean like their grandfather’s and his mouth quirks like Aegon’s does when he’s nervous. 

“What happened to you?” Aemond asks.

Daeron’s eyes trace over the scar and his sapphire eye. “Mother tried to describe what happened to you that night, in her letters,” he says, “but I could never quite picture it.”

The courtyard is starting to fill now, but the men linger as close to the walls as they can, away from the injured dragon and the Princes. Criston Cole is the only man who dares to take a few steps closer. Daeron looks around them, his gaze lingering on the woman in a black robe, beyond Aemond’s shoulder.

“Daeron,” Aemond says, tightening his grip a little more. 

His brother looks up. The colour violet shines brightly through the redness in his eyes and the spots of black and grey on his face. “We were ambushed,” he breathes, “near Cider Hall. Four dragons.”

Cole is beside them now. “What of the Hightower army–”

“Which dragons?” Aemond asks sharply.

Daeron looks to Cole, then back to his brother. He swallows thickly. “Moondancer, Seasmoke and two of the wild dragons. Sheepstealer. Grey Ghost.”

Aemond sneers in anger and disgust. “Rhaenyra sent her heathen dragonseeds to slaughter you and the Hightower host?”

Something about Daeron’s expression is unsettling. He won’t stop looking at Aemond’s scar, gazing at it in terror like a child, as though he hasn’t fought off four dragons and watched them burn an army of thousands. 

“Aemond…”

He is just tired and frightened, he must be. He is more of a child than a man. Their mother had warned against involving Daeron in this war. 

“Did you kill any of the dragonriders?” Aemond asks.

Daeron stares at him in bewilderment, like there’s something Aemond is missing and it irritates him.

“She let me go,” Daeron says.

Aemond’s fingers feel numb. “Who did?”

“She… there was a strange moment, Tessarion resisted me, I felt it. She threw me from her back and caught me as I fell. I thought I was going to die. But she let me go.”

In the corner of his eye he sees Cole turn his head to him, a look of confusion or curiosity, Aemond doesn’t spare him a glance.

“It’s been so long,” Daeron says, “but I know it was her.”

Not Baela. If it were, Daeron would say her name. Instead his eyes are darting around, between Aemond’s violet and sapphire eyes, trying to summon the courage to speak.

The numb feeling begins to spread, through his arms, coursing through his blood and creeping towards his chest like venom. “Who?”

Daeron’s mouth hangs open slightly but no sound releases.

Aemond’s throat rasps at the strain of his sudden shout. “WHO?” 

Daeron winces, hunching his shoulders and attempting to retreat into himself, but Aemond will not relent.

“TELL ME!”

The wind stings his skin and creeps under his leathers at the neck, but he does not hear it. All he hears is his own heartbeat, drumming in his head, pulsing in his chest and veins. 

Daeron’s answer plunges him into coldness, like his body has been thrown into the sea before he has a chance to take a breath. 

“Lucerra.”

His scar burns as it had done when the wound was fresh, while Luke still held the knife in her hand, her face covered in blood— her blood, his blood— the two were indistinguishable. 

His throat closes. His heart feels as though it might burst under the strain.

“Aemond,” Daeron says, trying to shuffle away from him, “let go of me.”

Then he looks at Cole. He has never seen his old swordmaster to seem afraid. What would Criston Cole have to fear while he lived within the Red Keep? Instructed to guard the Queen and her children, to guide them and recount stories of the days when he was a true soldier, the horrors he saw, the men cut down in the name of glory. His response to danger is anger, always. Now he looks up at Aemond like a child.

Some feeling finally starts to come back in his fingertips as they squeeze around Daeron’s arms, hard enough to bruise. “How…”

He searched Shipbreaker Bay for hours, and flew her further out, his vision blurred by the rain pelting down against him. He had seen a torn wing tossing about on the waves and followed it as it washed up on a beach below Storm’s End. Vhagar had grumbled at the other pieces of Arrax’s flesh, but there was nothing of Luke.

And then he saw it, a flash of red riffling in the water where the waves met the shore. The cloak was the only trace of her that remained. 

She couldn’t have survived the fall. She couldn’t have.

“How…”

“I don’t know,” Daeron says. He struggles against Aemond’s grip but not to escape it, to place his hands on his brother’s arms in return. “But it was her. I know it was.”

He cannot think past the noise in his head, but he clutches at words, memories, two little headless bodies and his sister’s screams.

“Jaehaerys and Jaehaera…”

Fire and the dying cries of a dragon, the armour melting into Aegon’s skin, the stench of burning flesh and a body charred beyond recognition.

“Rook’s Rest…”

The Gullet. Jacaerys and young Viserys. King’s Landing. His grandfather. His family left scattered. A throne fought for, paid for with so many lives. 

“We should have known,” Aemond utters into the deathly silence of the courtyard. “We had spies at Dragonstone. Larys has spies in every corner of the Kingdom…”

The icy feeling under his skin starts to burn.

Larys.

With a thrust of his arms he sends Daeron stumbling backwards. His sword sings as he draws it and marches to the ruins of the Wailing Tower, down the steps to the crypt, where two guards stand by an iron gate.

The crypt lies deep underground to accommodate the needless height of its ceiling. It was built to match the rest of the castle, a vast hall held up by pillars and arches. Like the rest of Harrenhal it is impractical, impossible to light or keep warm. 

The entirety of House Strong is huddled together on the floor.

“Open the cell,” Aemond says quietly.

The guards do not hesitate to obey. Aemond snatches a torch from its place by the stairs. Behind him he hears footsteps and murmurs of confusion. The gate clatters in its frame when he slams it shut.

Slowly, he turns to the Strongs, the flame of the torch scolding the scarred side of his face and catching in the polished edge of his blade.

The men rush forwards and the women push the children behind them, quietly begging for them to stop whimpering, stop crying. Do not fuel the simmerring rage or prompt a reaction from a Targaryen Prince.

Simon Strong fronts their group, and another man, tall with broad shoulders stands beside him. “My Prince,” he says in a defiant voice, but he falters. In all the weeks they have been prisoners, Aemond has not stepped a foot in the crypt that serves as their cell. “To what do we owe the… privilege?”

The tall man clenches his fists and widens his stance. In any other moment, Aemond might have smirked at their presumption, but he has no room for pride now, no anticipation for joy or satisfaction as he stalks towards them. 

Some of the others follow his lead, and some glance down at the ground, but there are only waterskins, slabs of stone sealed into the floor and dust— nothing that might be used as a weapon.

He can feel his right hand shaking and grips his sword tighter. Fear is a feeling Aemond is unaccustomed to and it fills him with a searing rage. The more he withholds it the more it burns. “You said you were loyal to our King,” he says.

Ser Simon cowers at the sound of his voice. “Yes, we are–”

“You said Lord Larys was loyal to our cause.”

He looks to the men standing by his sides, his sons, nephews, cousins, then back to the Prince. “I believe him to be so, yes.”

Aemond tuts. Cole used to tell him to be selective with his mercy. Some men deserve death, while others deserve a chance to redeem themselves. “We pass judgement by the guidance of the Gods,” he had told Aemond on a quiet morning in the yard in the Red Keep, “but mercy is a gamble. Leave the root of a threat and it will come back.”

He had given House Strong his mercy, and how had his kindness been repaid? With lies and deceptions…

He can hardly bear to think. A pain pulses in his head and there is so much noise.

The girl he murdered is not dead. 

She has another dragon.

She has decimated armies.

She spared Daeron.

Daemon and Rhaenyra had no mercy for Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. They had no mercy for Otto Hightower. If Aegon and Maelor are still alive, they will have no mercy for them.

But if she is alive then the bloodshed has all been for nothing. If Lucerra Velaryon is alive then this war began on a lie.

He breathes deeply through his nose, focusing on the hum of the torch in his hand and the pain searing through his head and the scar.

And suddenly his mind seems clear.

He lifts his gaze to the Strongs, his blood boiling with anger, fear and disgust. “Your family are traitors to the crown,” he says, coldly.

The tall man clenches his jaw and lunges forwards, only to be yanked back by Ser Simon. 

“No,” the old man hisses before he turns back to Aemond.

Perhaps the tall one is Ser Simon’s son. They have the same glare, evident even in the low light.

“We have done as you have asked. We did not resist you when you came to our home. We have sat in silence and in darkness, with no way to count the days but the delivery of food and water. Our house has committed no offence to you, to argue otherwise is to argue against reason.”

Aemond feels his mouth break into a sneer. “No offence?” he utters.

His scar stings at the heat of the torch and that same pain throbs deep inside his head. The pain that has haunted him for eight years, pain that came at the hands of a Strong bastard and was dismissed by his own father for her sake. A girl of their blood.

“NO OFFENCE?” he roars. “Lord Larys has lied to me! Who knows what other secrets he has been hiding? What part could he have played in the downfall of King’s Landing? In the disappearance of the King and my nephew?”

“So punish Lord Larys!” the tall man shouts, brushing off Ser Simon’s protests as he takes a step forward. “We have done nothing!”

“Ah,” Aemond breathes, “but if only it were that simple.”

He tests the weight of his sword one final time.

“No… I see now the scourge of House Strong must be rooted out in its entirety.”

He hears the collective intake of breath. They seem to understand now.

The tall man moves first and in one swing of Aemond’s sword, his head slices from his neck and thuds against the floor.

It doesn’t satiate his anger, it only feeds it.

The rest is a blur. He hears screaming and spurts of blood through the darkness. He feels the impact of his blade through flesh and one by one, he purges himself of House Strong.

None are spared. The ones who try to fight him die first. The others run to the iron gate but they have nowhere to go. Finally he picks off the children, attempting to hide in the shadows and far corners of the crypt.

And when it is done, as the cloud of anger begins to fade and he catches his breath, there is no relief. His hand releases his sword and his knees fall against the damp stone beneath him.

Blood floods the floor and the air is thick with the stench of death and dust. He chokes on it, gasping for air that seeks to poison him. He cradles his head in his hands and even still he cannot escape it. He hates himself for the hot tears that spill into his palms and recoils at their bitter taste.

He returns to his rooms. He can feel the bursts of blood lingering on his face and in his hair, it feels thick and heavy. Through the gusts of wind howling against the tower’s walls, he hears their screams ringing in the back of his mind.

Alys is standing by the foot of the bed, waiting for him, her hands clasped before her. Those once hauntingly bright eyes seem duller than they did before, the lines around her mouth and forehead set deeper.

He stalks towards her, each step he takes a challenge, a test to see what she will do.

She is unphased, stepping into him to undo the buckles on his jerkin. “Allow me to help you bathe,” she says.

He snatches her wrists in his hands, staining her pale skin and the cuffs of her sleeve red. “And wash me of the blood of your own kin?” he hisses.

She drags her hands away from him but he grabs her again, by her neck, firm enough that he can feel her heartbeat under his hold.

“Perhaps I should have you join them,” he says, numb to the feeling of her fingernails clawing at his hands. “She is alive. Lucerra is alive.”

“Not by my doing,” Alys seethes through the constriction on her throat.

Aemond leans into her with a snarl. “You knew.”

The harder she struggles and digs in her nails, the tighter his grip becomes, his thumb ghosting over the spot they both know could end her life in minutes.

“You lied to me.”

“I have told you no lies,” she says.

“But she is to be my retribution, yes? Luke will come to me, with fire and fury.”

A cruel, knowing smile spreads across her lips. 

The ghost of a dragon. It was damaged, and is rebuilding its strength through anguish.

“Answer me!” he cries.

Alys shakes her head as much as she can underneath his hold. “I believe you already know what awaits you.”

He releases her with a grunt and shouts for a guard. “Get her out of my sight,” he orders, “throw her in the crypt with the rest of her house. Leave the witch to rot.”

A servant draws him a bath and he dismisses him soon after. He scrubs the darkening blood from his skin, and keeps scrubbing until his flesh is red again. 

By some mockery of the Gods, it is the first night in days he has been able to find sleep.

He dreams of a gloomy chamber, a stone floor below him, fingers gently threading through his hair.

He tips his head back to look at her, the soft and unassuming face of his sister in her youth. Her pale blue eyes beam at him– blue, not the grey they were when he left her. She was gentle and solitary back then, and she had less to mourn.

She drags her fingers through his hair, twisting strands into braids, just as she did to him when they were children, and as she used to do with the twins.

There is so much he would say to her, regrets, apologies and the sheer noise that clouds his mind. But he says none of it.

Her hands drop from his hair but he doesn’t want her to go.

Instead her hand cups the left side of his face, her thumb brushing over the edges of his scar while her eyes are fixed on his sapphire.

She whispers to him, words he’s heard before. “Bonds of blood are so easily forgotten...”

He remembers the way she held Maelor when he returned from Storm’s End, how she turned her son away from him.

Because he was dangerous. Because she thought him a monster.

He told her he would protect them, but everything he touches turns to blood or ash. 

What would Helaena make of the bloody mass of bodies in the crypt below Harrenhal?

He whispers back to her “...never forgiven.”

He stands by the lakeshore, looking up at the castle as their army marches through the gates, each man dressed for battle. Cole leads atop a white horse at the front of the company. 

A growl rumbles through the air like thunder and every man turns his head to the sky. 

The rising sun goes black when Vhagar flies before it, circling the ruined towers of Harrenhal before she lands by the lake, the ground trembling under her.

Tessarion rises from the courtyard and lands further along the shore. She rears her head when Vhagar growls curiously, and Daeron tries to calm her, keeping a tight grip on her reins and smoothing his hand over her snout. The sheer size of Vhagar would not allow for such delicate gestures. 

Daeron dismounts and walks slowly to Aemond, his spine straight and his hands behind his back. He has recovered quickly from his injuries, as has his dragon; keen, young fighters, the pair of them. He cannot look Aemond in the eye for more than a few moments before his gaze falls to the ground.

“Will she be safe to ride?” Aemond asks. His voice has felt different these last few days, rough and visceral. 

“I am sure we will be,” Daeron mutters back. “She held firm when we were attacked.”

“You are not to engage should you encounter another dragon,” Aemond warns him. 

“I know. We will be swift and stay hidden, you have my word, brother.”

Daeron’s route south has been planned meticulously by Cole’s order. He is to avoid flying over castles and towns, especially as he flies over the Riverlands. The ageing Lord Tully has kept his banners at Riverrun, but once word of the Strongs starts to spread, he doubts they will find much support in the Riverlands. 

He is to fly to the Reach and find whatever remains of the Hightowers, and Cole and his men will follow. Ravens have been sent to Borros Baratheon and Jason Lannister. The Baratheon banners are amassing in the Stormlands, while the Lannisters will march north to the Twins, to hold off the Starks, should Lord Cregan ever make the journey south. The rest of the war will be a waiting game. 

He watches his brother mount his dragon. Tessarion leaps into the air with a flourish of her blue and bronze wings, disappearing into the clouds.

When the sound of the marching fades too, all he is left with are the waves in the water, the pulsing in his head and the hum of Vhagar behind him.

Even so far removed from the castle his stomach churns at the lingering stench of blood in his nose. He can still feel its weight on his skin and in his hair.

What place would he have with his brother, who cannot even bear to look at him. What place will he have with the Hightower host, restlessly waiting?

He has spent half of his life training for the inevitable war, he rides the largest dragon in the world, as Regent he wore the Conqueror’s ruby crown, and it means nothing. Cole was right, they should never have left King’s Landing. The stubborn and irritable blood of the dragon will not allow him to follow Daeron and Cole as they move south.

No, fate has another path for him.

The noise in his head keeps rising. The screams of his sister, his brother, the men he kills at Rook’s Rest, the Strongs as he cut them down one by one. The cries of dragons in pain and anguish. Flashes of thunder and lightning, the rain pelting down against his leathers, the sound of the sea as he stood on the shore below Storm’s End. 

It rises and rises until it splits his skull.

He unleashes it, bathing fields, forests and towns of the Riverlands in dragon fire. 

He finds no solace in the lands he leaves charred, in the lives he takes, but what difference does it make? His mother never looked at him the same after Storm’s End, nor did Helaena. If they could not forgive him, what should it matter what the rest of the world will make of him?

He is Aemond Targaryen, the Kinslayer, the one-eyed Prince; death, destruction and cruelty are written into his blood, burning through his veins like fire. 

If the Tullys will not make their loyalties known, then their people will die the deaths of traitors. Rhaenyra will either watch the Riverlands burn or send her dragonriders. Perhaps she will send her bastard dragonseeds, or perhaps he’ll hear the piercing whistle of Caraxes when Daemon comes for him.

But he thinks one dragonrider will leap at the chance to kill him.

Not a day goes by when he does not feel her or see the marks she has left on him. Perhaps they have always been fated, born to differing sides of family doomed to tear itself apart, bound by childish affections, but finally welded together with their blood on each other’s hands and faces.

Everything he is comes back to Luke, perhaps it is only right they should be each other’s demise.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @boundlessfantasy @toodlesxcuddles @starwarsslut @skikikikiikhhjuuh @arcielee

[chirxlity]

SATSUKI KIRYUIN

CW: KLK spoilers, mention of: compulsory heterosexuality, physical & emotional violence, s-xual trauma, CSA, SA, r-pe (for the sake of better background and context about this anime & about Satsuki story)

About her character and why she is stone femme headcanon for me.

SATSUKI

This character does not have this cold, strong but sharp and fierce appearance as a random addition of traits just for the sake of fanservice. Her physical appearance and her personality traits are polished and calculated, yet she is pretty vulnerable on the inside and has a huge and rich inner world. She is acutely smart, a powerful strategist, a good and strong leader with the kindest heart I've ever seen in a character apparently so cold, stubborn or even despotic. But we have to keep in mind her upbringing and that she did what she had to do in order to survive because her main goal was to save the world and protect her closest friends. She wanted to free them as well as she wanted to free herself. But... from what?

SATSUKI'S PLOT

about her plans, goals and what Ryuko meant to her

Satsuki had such important goals: she wanted to free humanity (and herself) from the biofibers and the tyranny of her own mother, who was working with them to subjugate all the people on Earth, but she also craved to avenge her father and sister for what Ragyo did to them, so she fought for revenge but also for love. In the end, all that she wanted was to protect the ones she loved the most. 

Satsuki believed she could lead a revolution against Ragyo and the biofibers by using the power she had as her daughter against her. She took advantage of that power and the fear it inflicted on everyone to build a hierarchical system based on The Law of the Strongest and blind obedience (basically she militarised the school), and then she started to ‘colonise’ other schools to gather an army. She did this to trick her mother into thinking that she was working for her because her empire was much larger and stronger, so she had to be very cautious or else the chances to defeat Ragyo and the biofibers would be even lesser. All of these factors led her to repress her thoughts, feelings and emotions.

But when she met Ryuko, her plans started to change a bit: she saw a lot of potential in Ryuko and wanted her to get stronger and surpass her from the very beginning. She felt that Ryuko was something more, not just another soldier that could help her defeat Ragyo once and for all, and she wasn't wrong about it: later on they found out that Ryuko was that little sister Satsuki and Ragyo thought dead and that Isshin Matoi was actually Soichiro. He raised Ryuko and hid her from Ragyo with the hope that, one day, she would defeat her and the biofibers.

When these facts were revealed, Satsuki knew everything changed: she could trust someone of her own blood, she could finally have her dream family: one that she'd have built, one that she'd have chosen, one that would have truly and deeply loved her for who she is.

NONON

Now we have to talk about Nonon, Satuski’s best friend and (implicitly) lover, the only person who knew her best and could fully trust: this character can come across as an irritating or pedantic girl, but that’s just the surface; she acts tough the only way she knows just because she wants to show that she’s strong and the most important person in Satsuki’s life. I find it so heartwarming that even though the rest of the Elite Four are respectful and loyal towards Satsuki, it is Nonon that better understands her boundaries, and they treat each other as equals. Nonon is not just another subordinate to Satsuki (and never was). I think that because of this and her appearance (small, cute, etc) she wants her value as a fearsome opponent to be acknowledged, and that's why she acts so sassily and arrogantly (a thing which I personally love about her).

Nonon always finds the courage to fight and never gives up whenever Satsuki is near her; she feels the need to protect her, and she is always willing to carry all the weight if that means Satsuki will be safe and sound. 

She is the one who always took care of Satsuki’s deepest wounds but also her dreams, and is the only one who knows best the pain Satsuki had to endure in order to save everyone. Both of them shared their dreams and hopes with each other when they were kids, and since then Nonon took care of hers as well as Satsuki took care of Nonon’s. 

JUNKETSU

It is hard to talk about Junketsu and what it felt like his relationship with Satsuki and Ryuko to me right after talking about Nonon, but it has to be done if I want to illustrate why I headcanon Satsuki as a stone femme. 

Junketsu is, first and foremost, an allegory for compulsory heterosexuality. He was the symbol of the chastity/virginity forced upon the future bride and spouse, Satsuki (we have to remember it was Soichiro the one who told this to her, that Junketsu was going to be her wedding dress). So it was the underlying expectative of defeating Ragyo by sacrificing her will to Junketsu that her father put on her shoulders, one of the reasons that kept her from loving Nonon freely, openly and wholeheartedly, maybe the main one because Ragyo simply wanted the whole subjugation of her daughter, her complete devotion to the biofibers cause, while Junketsu was just a tool for both her father and mother that would force Satsuki to do the will of one or the other.

But even though Junketsu was just a tool, Satsuki had to wear it on all the time, which means that Satsuki was living constant situations of rape; after all, whenever Satsuki dressed Junketsu and tried to activate him, she endured a lot of pain and ended up very weakened from resisting Junketsu taking full control. And the thing here is, although Satsuki willingly wore Junketsu, that doesn’t mean she had another option. As I said, this suit was made to control her and Ragyo used it later to control Ryuko too. He, as the symbolic husband, tried to tie them up to heterosexuality at some point in their lives. 

So as we can see, Satsuki didn’t want to wear any biofiber cloth, she had to use them and let herself be used by them in order to save the whole world and set everyone free.

CONCLUSIONS

I think it is well pictured that Satsuki truly cares about people but felt she couldn’t trust them because of how the world was built by her mother and the biofibers, and also how Ragyo treated her with so much despite at the same time she emotionally and sexually abused her (it’s so obvious that Ragyo is a child abuser and a paedophile). But Ryuko was key to help her understand that things could be different, that she didn’t have to make everyone afraid of her in order to get what she wanted, that she actually could trust people. 

So for all that has been explained in this post is why I think Satsuki embodies so perfectly what it’s like to be a stone femme for me and not just for her appearance, but for her choices too. She had to carry so much weight on her shoulders but Nonon and the rest of her friends supported her without putting more pressure on her; they just took care of what Satsuki ordered them to do. 

I also find so relatable the way she copes with all the trauma she’s got from facing lots of sexual violence, and physical and emotional abuse, or the fact that a close relative (her own mother) made her believe she was a failure and a good for nothing, that she didn’t belong and would never be enough for her. She didn’t lose her kindness and her hopes and dreams even though she had to turn herself more tough, it just happened that she showed her soft side differently. She actually cares, she is the one who provides and she sacrifices lots of things to protect humanity’s freedom. And she finally learns to trust in the good potential of all humans, and to let the women she loves take care of her too. 

To conclude, Satsuki was key to make me come to terms with me being a stone femme because I can see lots of subtle details in how she moves, behaves, thinks and approaches things that -somehow-remind me of myself, although I know we are not on the same league. But I really think she might be a stone femme too because she is a woman with strong and rigid boundaries around every aspect of her life, and she defends and makes everyone respect them. In the whole anime I’ve never seen anybody try to question her and her boundaries, and I truly admire her a lot for this.

[dear-mrs-otome]

I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but can you explain who Carlo is? Saw you mention the name a few times and got curious…

I don't mind at all, Nonny...I adore Carlo and will take any opportunity to blather about him 💕 Spoilers for Silvio's route behind the cut:

Carlo is Silvio's...not quite valet, not quite servant. His employee and his trusted right hand man, although Silvio would swear otherwise until he was blue in the face. Carlo is a scholar and man of science, with his studies focused on nautical navigation. He's been Silvio's assistant for many many years now, ever since Silvio found him being bullied down by the shipyard and rescued him. Recognizing Carlo's intellect, Silvio hired him and he's been with him ever since, accompanying Silvio on voyages at sea and assisting him where he can in exchange for his research being funded.

Carlo is loyal and speaks Silvio-ese fairly fluently by this point, although he's a somewhat shy and reticent man and therefore easily cowed by Silvio's tyranny. But when push comes to shove he has spine enough to stand up to his boss, and is quick to call out injustice directed towards Silvio and come to his defense. When Silvio tries to do anything stupidly self-sacrificial, it's Carlo who will be sticking by him and trying to talk his boss out of it. It's also Carlo that gets incredibly indignant over how the king treats Silvio and what Rio doesn't know about Silvio's efforts on his behalf...and he insists, no matter how much Silvio protests, that Silvio is a good man.

Carlo will show up in Rio's route and in Silvio's, where he'll feature most heavily in the dramatic end and in the both-endings bonus story.

[extrasweetcoffee]

Riddle and Cater's Friendship is Being Slept On and I Want to Ramble About Them

This has been sitting in my drafts for a bit, so I'm just gonna post it to get it off my chest since why not. This is gonna get mega TL;DR, so more under the cut. Also spoilers for TWST JP content and several personal stories.

Basically, a few ideas that almost exclusively happens in fan content with Cater angst at the forefront has been sitting at the back of my mind for a while now. Usually (but not always) it'll have: Riddle being portrayed as a mega asshole towards Cater, Riddle stealing Trey from Cater, or portray Trey as a bad/neglectful friend towards Cater when none of that very accurate, if at all.

Okay. First off, it's not impossible to have multiple best friends. Trey was already friends with Chenya before meeting Riddle, and the two are still buddies despite attending different colleges. My guy is 18; he can handle a social circle just fine.

Second, Cater is practically the second vice housewarden if you think about it. Riddle trusted him to lead a group with the unbirthday setup and management in Cater's dorm vignette, Riddle acknowledges Cater's importance as the mood-uplifter of the dorm during Halloween II, and we learn in Masquerade that Riddle trusted Cater's advice to get a better haircut (Riddle was really out there with the Rollo cut lol). There's more instances I could name, but you get the jist - Riddle isn't the kind of character to go putting this kind of faith onto some randy.

I get the feeling that people see that one line in Cater's gym story and roll with it without thinking more about the context behind the dialogue. In that story, Cater knew he was breaking school rules by using his magic in class to cheat. Trey probably would have told him to do his exercises normally, since it's kinda his job as a vice dorm leader to make sure his boys aren't fucking around. If it were Rook, Jamil or Lilia, I have no doubt they'd do the same with their own dorm members. Plus, Riddle already knows Cater is a habitual bullshitter, so it's not like Cater had any chance of lying to his face and getting off scot-free if even if Trey wasn't there. (I wanna say this is a problem caused with the EN's translation being a bit blunt at times, but honestly I think people would still misinterpret this scene regardless).

Yes, Trey and Riddle have the more familiar relationship so Trey may prioritize Riddle over Cater if the option arises which would hurt the latter boy's feelings. But truth be told, Cater already had attachment issues LONG before NRC; I doubt Trey being Riddle's second in command or him trying to tide over Riddle's tyranny during his tenure as housewarden was changing much of anything between them. Cater couldn't muster the courage to break his facade long enough to give his (possibly) closest friend a non-superficial wish for the Starsending, even after Trey called him out for using the same one three years in a row. Cater purposely keeps people at an arm's length, and I wouldn't call Trey a bad friend in this case for respecting Cater's boundaries. Also Trey is possibly the only person in NRC who's aware of Cater's tastes and often makes him spicy food (or uses Doodle Suit on sugary foods so Cater can stand them).

Like shit, if you think about it Riddle's friendship with Trey is probably the main reason why Riddle likes Cater and is willing to tolerate his quirks in the first place. Riddle knows Trey Clover of all people would never squad up with absolute fuckbois such as the faceless NPCs who always start shit. Trey trusting you at all is one of the strongest forms of friendship clout there is, which is probably why Rook isn't on Sage Island's sex offender registry (as far as we can tell).

While Riddle does get annoyed with Cater's easygoing habits and tendency to cut corners, it's not a behavior he exhibits exclusively towards Cater. Riddle is a man of high standards, especially when it concerns Heartslabyul's integrity. He isn't singling out Cater for shirking his responsibilities any more than he would Ace or Deuce. And like I said before, Riddle does give credit to Cater when it's due. Riddle was even willing to help Cater with his test via utilizing Cater's social media addiction (and they're probably still mutuals on MagiCam, which is a cute thought).

I'm not saying people should stop doing this exact trope. After all I'm just some rando on the internet and I certainly don't have any more right to police what people do in their own time more than anyone else. Also the ex-dorm leader Cater headcanon, which is a favorite of mine, pretty much thrives off these tropes. Really this is me airing my thoughts about this as someone who likes Riddle and Cater's companionship and eats any crumbs the game and supplemental content gives me. I guess my thesis for all this would be some characters have better relationships than is read at face value.

Anyway that's my TED talk, I hope you have a good day :)

[crystal-overdrive]

Gortash Week Day 1: Inventor/Criminal

For Gortash Week I'm posting a series of diary entries that show the events of Towards Tyranny (my evil TavTash fic) from Gortash's perspective. Crossposting to AO3, but under the cut if you'd rather read here.

Eleasis 12 1492DR

I must thank Wyllyam Ravengard. His utter destruction of his own political career and foolhardy attempt at rescue has pushed Rina straight into my arms. Quite literally. She’s asleep next to me right now. She looks so vulnerable. I’d kill Ravengard a thousand times over to keep her with me. 

I wish I’d killed him tonight, I wish I’d battered his face until his airways collapsed. How dare he assert claim over her? Her place is here. My Rina does not belong in a ragtag Harper camp. I’d put her in a palace.   A palace guarded by better soldiers. My creation failed today. I will not suffer such defeat again. Work resumes immediately.

The nightmares have returned. Auspice or omen? From Him it is never clear. 

[the-unknown-writer-of-dreams]

How is Imu related to Nefertari D. Lili?

In One Piece Imu is a mysterious ruler of the world who sits on the empty throne and was first introduced to us in the “Reverie Arc”, shortly after the Whole Cake Island wrapped up and their powers are believed to be unparalleled.

All the countries affiliated with the world government are shown to be equal to each other through the Empty Throne, a historical seat located at the center of the world. As the name suggests the Empty Throne is supposed to remain empty to show the equivalence in power however that is certainly not the case as we can see a shadowy figure with the name Imu sitting at the top of it, making him the supreme leader.

Nefertari D. Lily was among the founders of the world government. As told by Nefertari Cobra in chapter 1084 after meeting with the five elders of the world government. Cobra introduced his request by recalling the foundation of the world government.

800 years ago, twenty kingdoms formed an alliance and successfully defeated the ancient kingdom, the rulers then came together to continue the alliance by forming the world government. To show their loyalty they created a throne that resides at the center of the world on the Mary Geoise, inside Pangea Castle, surrounding it with weapons as a vow to never sit on the throne. The rulers were later invited to stay at the Holy Land of Mary Geoise, and become what is now known as “Celestial Dragons”. Although everyone agreed, the monarch of Arabasta, Queen Lily Nefertari refused to become one.

Cobra continues to ask about the real meaning of the initial D when used in the surname of many characters including his own and upon revealing that he is also a descendent of D, Imu enters the room where the five elders and Cobra are talking.

Imu, who has been listening to the conversation between the elders and Cobra from the room of flowers enters the room and much to Cobra’s shock moves ahead to sit on the empty throne and murmur the name Lily. From here we confirm that Imu is aware of the situation with Nefertari D. Lily.

According to Cobra, after Queen Lily denied the choice of living as a celestial dragon, she decided to travel back to her kingdom Arabasta but went missing without a trace shortly after says a lot about the fact that something big must have happened.

A connection was formed between Imu and the Arabasta Monarch when Imu whispers her name without the honorific of Queen hinting towards a significant level of acquaintance who lived 800 years ago.

With the current information, it is quite difficult to state the relationship between the former queen and Imu but some theories made by the fans are listed as follows:

Was Nefertari Lily the love interest Imu: in chapter 906 Imu was holding bounty posters and photographs which were either stabbed or cut apart but among those was a picture of Vivi Nefertari, which was left unharmed. It could be seen that Imu couldn’t destroy the photo of their lover’s descendent or that Vivi looked similar to Queen Lily.

Connection between Queen Lily and the Amazon Lily: Because Queen Lily was on the run it made sense that she hid herself on an island that was surrounded by the calm belt and infested by the sea kings. It is possible that she created an island that allows her to create a new state where women reign supreme and no men and no relationships are allowed.

Lily and the immortal Imu: The silhouette of Lily in the Cobra’s mind looked quite similar to that of Imu, leading fans to speculate that they might be the same person.

As shocking as it was to know that the former Queen of Arabasta might somehow be involved in the formation of the tyranny of the World Government, it could be seen as Lily herself gave up on her title and decided to sit on the empty throne. She must have seen that even with the formation of the alliance things weren’t going exactly the way it was supposed to so she secretly decided to take the reigns and put the world in order. However, she somehow became immortal and let that power get in her head, and decided to rule however she saw fit. Another theory could be that she took the throne to protect everyone from learning about what happened during the war by banning research and going as far as destroying the islands for the greater good.

Whatever the reality between Queen Lily and Imu is, we already know Oda will bring something even more fun and interesting to keep the audience engaged with it. With nothing to work on, we could also speculate that Imu has no memory of who Lily is and the reason he murmured her name was simply because he is indifferent and has no respect for anyone since it has the supreme power.

[sociopath-analysis]

Sociopath Profile: Emperor Belos

Real name: Philip Wittebane From the animated series The Owl House (2020-2023) Voiced by Matthew Rhys (main form), Alex Lawther (Philip), and Fryda Wolf (child)

The main antagonist of the show and responsible for many of the conflicts of the show. Considering the tyranny of the Boiling Isles he holds, he shows a lot of traits of a sociopathic dictator. And it only gets worse with the more that is revealed about him.

[SPOILERS BELOW]

From the beginning, he was dedicated to witch-hunting and would do anything he could to make sure they'd all be exterminated. He's been going through the long game for over four centuries and was willing to work with a horrible monster to do exactly that. And through all this time, he has never developed a sense of empathy for anyone else. As Philip, he was willing to throw his exploration companions under the bus when trying to find a way back to the human realm while writing them as unfortunate accidents that he had nothing to do with. Despite creating Grimwalkers to replicate his brother Caleb, he is the one responsible for his death because he found out Caleb fell in love with a witch. With all the hallucinations he has about it, he ignores them as if he has no guilt about it.

To ensure his rise to power, Belos had to be very manipulative as well. As Philip, he had enough superficial charm to look like a friendly man just looking to get home. This is how he convinces people to fall into his traps to get what he wants. It doesn't exactly work on people once the residents of the Boiling Isles catch on to his tricks, but it manages to trick Luz and Lilith when they time-travel to the time of his journals. As she continued to go through the Isles, he built his profile as Belos to begin the crusade against wild magic by pretending to speak to the spirit of the titan. All to set up his extermination plan. Despite being very oppressive, he still held enough power to keep people under his thumb. Lying to Hunter about his goals and gaslighting him shows the extent of his manipulations on a personal level.

The Collector was also one of his pawns. He promised to release them for the Day of Unity, but he ended up betraying them when his goal was just within his grasp. And when that fails, he resorts to possession to trick others into getting his goals. He did so to Hunter to torment him and his friends. He also possesses the doll of Rain to trick the Collector into seeing King supposedly betraying him. Even at the end, he tries to trick Luz into believing he was cursed into being as horrific as he was. However, Luz sees right through it and shows him absolutely no mercy.

All of this was for his own gratification to be the heroic witch hunter. All to come back to the human realm and become decorated as a legendary man who stopped the evils of witches - despite his views being several centuries out of date. His belief that he will be the one to save people is one that persisted throughout his exile. Despite what he says about needing to eliminate them for the greater good, there is no further ambition than making himself look better. Even if he needs to kill the people he is supposedly close to, like his brother. Even the fact that he recreates replicas of him out of Grimwalkers doesn't really show that he is all that empathetic toward him.

"That man doesn't care about anything but his need to be the hero in his own delusion. And because of that, he fears what he can't control." - King's father

And because of this belief that he is the hero of the story, he will do everything he can to justify the things he does to others. Stepping over his subjects is justified to him because they're witches anyway and they'll be destroyed soon. He seems to feel guilty about killing his brother, but because he can't be in the wrong, he rewrites the memories in his mind to make it seem like he deserved to die for being on the wrong side. Even when humans point out how messed up his plans are, such as when Luz points this out inside his own mind, he shrugs it off and says that she is the crazy one.

Belos: I'll do anything to save humanity from evil. Luz: No. You're evil! Belos: [shrugs] Can't reason with crazy.

And it's safe to say that Belos completely lacks remorse for everything he has done. None of his conspirators are in on the full extent of the plan and those that are want nothing to do with it. Since he thinks he's done nothing wrong, he feels that he shouldn't have remorse. The Collector trying to empathize with him after fusing with the Titan only ended with Belos blasting a beam at them for their genuine efforts. Even at the very end when he is powerless, he still tries to weasel his way out of responsibility by claiming that he was cursed to act the way he did.

Disney Sociopath List

[oddlysweet]

One Percent

            After washing out I had trouble sticking with school which was the prerequisite for living under my parents’ roof.  I began to finally understand the meaning of anxiety and manifested agoraphobic tendencies for a couple years (both during and well after becoming a stoner and taking break for years, so that argument is moot.) I still had no idea what to do with myself or any realistic life plans to strive towards.  All I knew for certain was that I needed out of the tyranny of my familial unit.  I decided I would subject myself to the shittiest jobs I could find, to give myself a taste of what the future had in store for me should I never jump through societies hoops for those two initials that stated I was deserving of a living wage.  Spoiler alert, even a master’s degree today only provides the security that a high school diploma got the boomers. 

After a few months of my applying for my first real job that wasn’t cutting lawns with my father, I landed in a law firm in the financial district, mostly through that “who you know” phenomenon where one of the partners was a family friend.  Before you judge, a 20-year-old getting their first job? Remember, I was pimped out to soccer, training year-round, hellbent on earning a scholarship to a prestigious university.  I had my personal statement written and the “A-G’s” memorized before stepping foot in high school; yet still only learned of the existence of community colleges when attending between the summer of sophomore and junior year if that paints you a picture of the expectations of my household.

I showed up to my job interview with sunglasses, failing to obscure completely, the black eye my father gave me the night before, nursing my broken index finger which still hasn’t healed a dozen years later & it’s untouched counterpart, highly sympathetic has warped to bring equilibrium to my twisted grip.)  Not that it matters, but this would mark the last time my brother and I would exchange blows and the first time my mother would abandon us, gone for a fortnight, leaving us to the mercy of an angry teenager in a middle-agers body.  I explained why I was unpresentable to the mother of my brother’s classmate in shame, but they all decided to hire me anyways.  I did my work competently and perhaps too quickly, shorting myself perhaps five hours a week, but I did come to understand two things; I would not be able to become a lawyer like I had been contemplating and that I hated working inside.  I felt guilty getting the minimum wage in San Francisco for a job that did not require my literal sweat. I was feeling the pressure to move out and joined my friend on his move across the bridge, prematurely, before I secured a full-time job that I could live on.

A few months after entering a situation on unequal footing, I finally got a job I was hoping to light a fire under my ass and provoke the desire to stick with school.  I got hired as a rent-a-cop for a car rental service near one of the busier airports in the country.  The company whose logo was on my jacket had just won the contract by severely underbidding its competitors and made the numbers work by cutting the pay of its ten workers at the site by 3 dollars an hour.  So desperate for work were these people that all but one of them chose to remain and take the absolute horseshit being offered as full-time pay. 

I would be taking home less than $50 a day after my 8-hour shift when factoring my 40miles round trip commute.  I was working for this company for three years at various sites and events, but the maintenance center’s lot would be my mainstay, where the first and last people in and out of the gate would be the three managers of the fleet.  Not once in my three years there, did I ever hear any of them refer to me by name.  I know my name can be intimidating to some, especially when read first, but once one gets over their xenophobic tendencies, it’s quite literally of the simplest, natural sounds a human could make, like a hopeful sigh.  I would have thousands of interactions with these miserable middle managers over the years and anytime they needed me, it would be a click on a radio, “Hey, we need…” “Thanks boss...” even during the empty exchanges of obligatory pleasantries, there was no attempt to humanize me.  All the mechanics, drivers and sub-contractors would befriend me, or call me “Paisano” at the very least, but the management regarded me exactly how the whole security industry regarded its employees: just another body for their contractual obligation, a unit of buffer from liability from litigation should anything go awry.

I would lose my favorite uncle in this time and move a hundred miles away to help take care of my ailing matriarch, further isolated from my life and friends, and develop an inevitable interest in graffiti and quite serendipitously, a family friend would take me under his wing and teach me how to grow weed.  Both would fit very nicely in the voids of my experience, and with the last person whose disappointment I could not bear to feel buried in the earth, nothing was stopping me from exploring these wonderfully rich microcosms of countercultures.  Occupy Wall St came along when I eventually moved back to theBay, and I was asked to work a post at a very large institution’s headquarters.  What happened on this day I will never forget and serves as an insight to what anyone one of us proles can expect, brushing shoulders with those society consider elite.

I was stationed at the back entrance in a deserted alley, dealing with absolutely no one, faintly hearing the march pass me by blocks away, what a stupid useless posting I thought, no action at all, as if I would dream of holding my ground if confused impotent protestors wanted to rush the capitol of capital in the west anyways—I’d just as likely throw the first brick.  At some point in the boring inane shift came my time to shine.  A blacked-out SUV pulled up into the alley, stopping in front of the doors I was “guarding.” The driver, a highly evolved form of my useless occupation, stepped out in his snazzy suit, and opened the door for an obviously VIP, almost bowing—with a reverence I would only consider displaying for my wife or daughter or mother—to the President of Wells Fargo, wafting with pretention in his suit that cost about the same as his brand-new gas-guzzling limo.  I offered him the usual courtesies and held the door open for him, before returning my gaze to the wall in front of me, assuming my living gargoyle duties. 

It might help the reader understand that the back entrance to this building had two sets of doors which is quite common in main entrances.  I heard a noise from behind me, that I’ve since regarded as the inaudible indignation of a Karen or a Trumper whose world shatters when they watch his latest interview.  I did what I always do when I hear some out-of-pocket shit and disassociate, glazing my eyes and letting my focus go to the peripheries, pretending I hallucinated that which has no place in reality. I could feel this piece of shit worth billions stew in his disbelief and maintained my position; I would not be made to suffer the humiliation he expected of all those below him—which let’s be honest, applied to every single person this waste of a man encountered in his life, down to his wife and children.  His driver who was watching us from his seat about to depart looked to me and I yelled over to him, “I think he needs you.”

The loyal dog got out of the vehicle to do his master’s bidding, walked past me, and exchanged a few hushed words with the most powerful man in the west and I heard what put a smile to my face: the squeak of the second set of doors opening for the man in the $70,000 suit.  I could barely contain my laughter but somehow managed to return to my stoic—some say stoned—look on my face as the driver shot me a dirty before peeling away.  I could not believe the impotence displayed by the man who made more money in one minute than I would ever make in my life, the audacity of this glorified skid mark most the sheep of today would pay for the privilege of tossing his salad, the completely ingrained expectations he had of his hardly fellow human beings to forsake dignity to accommodate the exponentially growing delusions of his own worth.

This whimpering echo of a turd leaving its asshole actually thought I was going to hold a door open for him, only to watch him take a half dozen strides, and trip over myself to run around him to hold open yet another set of doors—no doubt prostrating myself while I was at it.  The mass of gall on this man, where his balls should have been.  I couldn’t believe what was happening, I had to pinch myself.  Devil’s advocates can propose perhaps he had a germ phobia, but that is just as feeble an argument as Elon Musk hiding his inhumanity behind autism.  In Islam it is said to be sin to regard oneself as inferior to someone else and the same for the reverse.  I might joke around about sheep and NPC’s but I know fundamentally I’m no better than the next soul, and no one has any right to judge another.  Needless to say, after working at this bank on a handful of occasions including shareholder’s galas, I was never invited to work there again.  Good fucking riddance.

This wasn’t the first time I noticed this growing trend, but with the influx of uncultured techies gentrifying my home it was inevitable to notice the neo-classism that was on the rise.  The way people wanted to put even more distance between their experience and the common person, the aspirations of universal celebrity that came hand in hand with the social media apps developed miles away.  The Bay Area became a lab where all the idiots with laughable amounts of money would foist upon us all their hare-brained ideas and conniving plots to capitalize on the laziness of the human psyche. The behemoth of the Salesforce Tower that could be seen for dozens of miles in any direction was a beacon of what was to come in the coming decades; a city in the clouds where the elite would never have to set foot on the ground again.  So desperately these losers needed to build their castles in the sky that they have been spending billions to correct one notable Millennium Tower that has been sinking on its faulty foundation.

I personally can’t wait for “the Big One” to come and shake the untested black holes of personalities out of their bubbles of hubris and send them back home to whatever dismal existences that bore them.  There was something special to be experienced here, and it can hardly be expressed with mere words.  That which made this place the most accepting, diverse, culturally rich places in this severely scattershot melting pot of a nation has been all but squandered.  I don’t hate techies; I hate techie culture and what it’s done to my home.  The damage has been done, and there is no going back, just like giving the land back to the First Ones is nothing but an empty placation.  The Bay Area was the greatest place left in this shithole of hypocrisy and ignorance, and now it is just another metropolis dominated by Hollywood culture.  The number of conversations I have been made to overhear working in cafes and just on the street with vapid people who need to hear themselves regurgitate an opinion they were incapable of forming on their own would make your head spin. 

If you don’t see the once gainfully employed working multiple jobs, driving Ubers and slaving away to do what the avatar on the app believes is beneath them, then my friend, you have been asleep at the wheel.  If you can’t see the new brand of bigotry that is forming, which will prevail even if my halfway joking vision of world peace by way of mandating interracial promiscuity is made a reality and everyone is the same bland beige color, you had better hope you are one of the pretty ones. 

[havarija]

Wednesday WIP

I’m working on a little one-shot for Tyranny. Set after ‘SkyFall’ so it’s all spoilers technically... but come on. ‘SkyFall’ is all about the Anarchy path. it’s pretty darn obvious how that story ends. Now... those very important character driven tidbits in between is what make the story interesting to write. This one still needs work though.

It was his first time at the Mountain Spire, his first time south of the Bastard city, really. All that has ever been accomplished was done through the eyes and hands of his Fatebinders. For him to be away from the Court was, while not unprecedented, this was still something that he had to see for himself.

The pale, pulsing light of the portal illuminated the chamber and along with the large sigil of the Mountain Spire, it was the only source of light, yet it was still bright enough to keep the chamber well lit. Not just any chamber – a throne room to the former Queen of Apex - where the throne itself was covered with an old sheet, like an old piece of furniture, no longer needed but not yet fit to be discarded. Ponirya didn't use it.

He had noticed that with it covered as it was, it could easily appear that she had no use for a throne. Or did not wish to use it. Tunon already had a feeling that Ponirya was doing all she could to avoid any and all connection to anything involved with ‘ruling’. He wasn't so blind to not see how much she wanted nothing to do with Overlord's position. But it wasn't a matter easily avoided forever. The Spires answered her call. The Edicts were as simple as uttering mundane words to her. All that remained now was for her to choose a name. An Archon's name. An Overlord's name.

That too she avoided.

"Adjudicator?"

He turned at the sound of her voice and was surprised. She was wearing commoner's clothing, made of rough un-dyed cloth. He was very much used to seeing her dressed in Court's colors. Black was the color of his Fatebinders.

Ah. But she wasn't his Fatebinder any longer, was she? She was Tier's Archon. His Archon.

"Are you here for the Spire?" She asked, her eyes regarding him with enough open curiosity. Something she seemed to realize as she corrected it immediately, her face going carefully detached. "Forgive me, but it is not often that you leave the city."

"There is nothing to forgive," pale mask turned down. Her choice to treat him as a mentor figure still baffled him. Kyros would never lower herself so. But Kyros was also far older than himself. Ponirya's age put her at a disadvantage. "The keep is empty," he noted after a moment. There was not a single person on the premises. The Citadel has been repaired and, while understaffed, still remains a formidable presence in the valley. "On your orders?"

"Ah... that... More often than not, the energies of the Spire attract Bane. Almost daily now. It's not the healthiest place for-..." 'Anyone who wasn't her', as it were.

Maybe it was best, as she was no doubt hoping for, not to mention the outcome of keep's appearance should she refuse to hold servants. For now. He did not expect her to be this irresponsible in regards to her own hold.

Pale mask turned up, towards the unseen ceiling. The vast empty space above the central chamber disappeared into the darkness. He could feel the old magic, newly awoken to her and humming all around him, dwarfing what he was. Truthfully, he felt like a child under the scrutiny of this ancient presence. He only ever felt such in-...

"Would you care to see the top?"

Ponirya's voice cut through his thoughts. It was an offer he was... hoping for, yes.

"If you would permit, Archon," he bowed his head respectfully and Ponirya looked away briefly (it did not escape him) and nodded walking towards the portal. The light flickered, welcoming her.

"Many find the top of the Spire difficult to adjust," she warned but there was a slight smile. "For different reasons." The light engulfed her. "The portal will let you through." And then she was gone, soft light swaying in the chamber.

Old magic. He questioned it, and yet he trusted her in this. The Spires welcomed her, but he was not so certain that they would welcome him.

And still, he followed through.

*

Even one such as he had to blink away the last of the luminescent trails in his field of vision, the masonry of Ascension Hall was replaced with wide open space in every direction, save for the slab of ancient stone beneath him. High winds shoved him, trying to push him off-balance. The air was cool and thin – unsatisfying to even one as old as him.

The sight before him was remarkable. Certainly something not many could say they witnessed in their lifetime. He was facing the edge of the Spire and so the sight that had greeted him was that of Tiers spreading before him. Every way he looked, mountains rose up along a distant horizon. The rivers and forest below bring to mind maps of Vendrien's Well, and he quickly traced the Matani, the Irenev, and all the numerous waterways of the region. He could even see the distant shapes of other Spires, Oldwalls, and even Bastard city itself. Something like this did not exist in Kyros' empire. Higher than he ever imagined it, this was indeed the pinnacle of the Spire at Vendrien's Well.

From this high up, it was easy to see how this ancient fortress that rested within the center of Apex's valley, its ring-shaped wall mimicked the mountains that bordered the once-nation.

"Remarkable," his voice was calm but heavy with awe.

Ponirya couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow in amusement at the sight – half in surprise that the old Archon could be awestruck by such a sight. And half... well, it made him look less of an omnipotent, all-knowing being. It reminded her that he was human at one point, however long ago that may've been.

Wherever one may find themselves, in the horizon there was always a slender peak of one of the Spires. And all five in the Tiers now belonged to her – and, concentrating, she could feel each of them. She could feel the cold, damp wind blowing their peaks, like the flames in the fires of large halls. When she touched her palm to the masonry, she invariably felt a reciprocal touch – warm and friendly. She was connected to each of these ancient towers – and each of them took something from her. She could not say what it was.

They gave her a taste of freedom. That was in part why her small band of people followed her, despite the very real danger of Kyros’s ire. But what reasons did Tunon have to do much the same, Ponirya could not say.

She turned to look at him, still motionless gazing over the expanse.

Did he decide that Kyros was unjust and that her world is doomed? Or that she, Ponirya, had the capacity to create a better society in his eyes? Was it all about stability, justice and legality? And what of those can she realistically give him? Ponirya didn’t dare try to answer that, not even to herself. But she had to admit that in the near future ‘peace’ will definitely not be one of the things for her to give.

[ayakamizu]

[Fic] Past the Far Edge of Creation

Title: Past the Far Edge of Creation

Rating: Teen

Summary: The aftermath of the level 90 quest - a moment between the Warrior of Light and her most persistent foe.

(Spoilers for the level 90 quest "Endwalker" - originally posted on ao3 as well!)

Her body ached in ways she hasn’t felt in a very long time.

She supposes that was to be expected. Zenos was, by far, the strongest mortal foe she has fought. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling either, the aches and pains she felt in the aftermath of fighting him back in Ala Mhigo and Doma resonated through her body for days.

Now that pain felt different. The aches were still there, but there was numbness present as well.

The red of her outfit--a precious gift from Tataru--didn’t hide the blood seeping in many places where his scythe met her flesh.

‘Ah, ’ she thought, panting as she tried to stay standing. Her eyes remained fixed on Zenos’ prone figure, unwilling to look away or let her guard down around him.‘I might be going into shock.’

Would he have let her walk away? After chasing her all the way to the far edge of creation?

(For all his instability, a part of her knows he’s terribly honest about his feelings. She can’t recall a moment where helied to her, no matter how much his philosophies made her skin crawl.)

“Oh…” Zenos groaned, lying prone on the ground. There was blood pooling around him, no doubt from the places where her rapier met his own flesh. “That I should lose again… How disappointing.”

With dizziness overcoming her, Ayaka fell to her knees, rolling onto her back as she stared up at the stars above her. She knew he wasn’t going to get up--that was a concession to their duel--and with the blood spilling from him…

(Spilling fromthem , she realizes, pulling away her blood-stained glove from her abdomen.)

“Never have I understood those around me. Understood their obsessions,” Zenos continued, the rasp in his voice more prominent. “Besieged by their banality, the world was a mire of tedium and trivialities.

“...But in these fleeting moments, there is… a spark. Blinding, brilliant…”

(She thinks of Hermes. And Meteoin. Two kind souls, brilliant and blinding in the ways they wore their hearts on their sleeves for all to see. The answers they sought causing them both so much sorrow.)

“Gone… too soon…” he whispers, echoing in the vastness of this space. The words ringing in both their ears and Ayaka--

(She thinks of all those lives that gave up under the weight of their own grief. Their own apathy. Brilliant lights in the night sky--gone in a second with no one to remember them.)

“What of you, my mirror?” Zenos asked, weakly raising his arm up and reaching out towards her. His bangs covered his eyes, but Ayaka could feel them on her. “Born into this world, bestowed name, bid to seek out strife and adventure…”

‘My parents wanted me to be a tailor like them,’ she thinks, wondering how they would react to seeing her as she is now.‘I was learning how to use a needle while you learned how to use a blade.’

Ayaka can feel her vision clouding, eyes growing unfocused as the blood continues to seep out of her. She can hardly muster the strength to move any part of her body, let alone use her mana.

‘Seeking out adventure…’ Ayaka thinks, remembering the first time she saw the forests of the Black Shroud. The cliffs of La Noscea and the smell of the Eorzean sea salt permeating the air. The vast deserts of Thanalan. The haunting beauty of the Coerthian snowscape--

“Was this life a gift… Or a burden?”

Returning to Kugane, brittled by the Dragonsong War, but calmed by the familiar scent of food stalls and the sea. Standing victorious in Doma and Ala Mhigo, people liberated from the tyranny of their overlords and their own fear--

“Did you find… Fulfillment?”

The Crystal Tower standing proud in another world, so painfully familiar yet foreign, a beacon of hope against the night sky and a pale foreign moon…

Her friends, her comrades, her second family, standing on the deck of the ship bound for Sharlayan--on their quest to save the world they loved from ending.

“Aye,” she answered, voice weak. She heard Zenos take a sharp breath, perhaps caught off guard by the fact that she was answering him. “Suffering may be a part of living, but so are those moments spent with the people that matter.”

She could taste the iron in the back of her mouth, but Ayaka refused to let it deter her from this. “Every hour… minute… second… spent with someone you care about is something to treasure. Living in this world can be a burden, especially in those moments where all seems lost, but by the kami it’s the most precious gift afforded to us… the chance to live, learn, and laugh…”

Once upon a time, when her heart and soul were too weighed down by guilt and heartbreak, she might have had a different answer to him. But now…

“These last few years… Have been the most fulfilling moments of my life… And not because of all the battles and foes I’ve fought… But because of the people I met and the adventures I shared with them.”

She turned her head, meeting Zenos’ wide eyes and smiled. “While I loathe you with every fiber of my being… I can’t help but feel pity for you, Zenos viator Galvus. That life was cruel to you from such a young age… But a part of me hopes you found some fulfillment from this rematch you pined for.”

Closing her eyes, she turned her head away and stared back up towards the sky. She felt weirdly at peace with this inevitable moment.

She’s cheated death one too many times. Whether it be by a tenacious foe or her own reckless abandon towards her life.

“I…” Zenos started, but didn’t continue. Perhaps he had nothing to say after hearing her answer, or didn’t knowhow to respond.

(“Oh… my. Have I said too much? Forgive me, this...sensation is wholly unfamiliar to me.” )

In the silence between them, Ayaka waited for the moment to come. She hoped whatever shinigami came to collect her soul could manage the long journey.

(A clank. Something falling to the ground near her.

A beeping noise--one that was both familiar and unfamiliar to her cloudy mind.

It was slightly off-beat with her own pulse. More consistent than the slow beating of her battered heart.)

‘Maybe,’ she thinks, mind slowly succumbing to the encroaching darkness.‘I will see them all again in another life.’

(“For those we have lost, for those we can save.” )

‘Would you be proud, Minfilia? Venat? The world you loved so dearly… I kept my promise in the end.’

As the oblivion took her, Ayaka felt no regrets. Just peace.

(Beep! Beep! Beep! Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep!)