#visage / rebel spirit

[aislingarrow]

tags 1/?

[pupsmailbox]

DOLL︰PUPPET ID PACK

NAMES ⌇ abbie. adelaide. adorablesse. adorablette. aerlyn. alena. alexis. alice. amaia. amaya. andrea. angeline. ankou. annabelle. annie. antoinette. anxiette. anxious. apricot. asaka. ash. asha. aspen. atticus. ava. avel. babette. babydoll. bambi. bambina. bambino. bashfelle. bashful. beau. bellamy. belle. bells. bernadette. blu. blue. bluesse. bluette. blushe. blushesse. blushette. boo. bram. bronach. bronagh. brone. button. buttons. cadel. candace. carmilla. carrie. catherine. cessair. charlie. charlott. charlotte. chelsea. chia. chica. chirella. chirelle. chiwa. chuckie. claeg. coffin. colere. commedia. constance. coquette. cordelia. corelle. corette. corsette. cypress. dahlia. dalia. damon. darling. dawn. dearesse. dearest. dearette. dearie. deidre. demure. desdemona. devin. devon. doilie. doily. doll. dollaintye. dollawie. dollerie. dollesse. dollette. dolleyed. dollie. dolline. dollita. dolly. dolores. dottie. drea. dread. drusilla. dáinn. eeria. eldritche. elissar. eliza. elle. elodie. eloise. emerence. emily. essie. esther. evangela. evangeline. evelyn. eveyln. faith. frill. frillette. genevieve. genoveva. gia. gladys. glorie. glory. gorey. gorie. gracelyn. gregory. gretta. gwen. gwenivive. haldor. haunt. hiccup. hyde. iraia. iresse. irette. itishree. jabez. janelle. janet. jannet. jinx. josie. julie. juniper. juno. kailey. kanani. kewpie. kiva. krak. lace. lacesse. lacette. lacey. lacie. lain. laintess. lakka. lalki. lavender. lea. lefu. letta. letum. libitina. lilac. lillith. lilly. lily. loaela. lola. lolah. loletta. lolita. lolite. lolla. lottie. lovelace. luci. lucius. lulu. lute. lyla. lys. madison. mahina. mandy. mannie. manon. many. mara. maria. marianette. marie. marion. marionette. marionne. marotte. marrionette. marrow. mary. maryjane. marzana. maveth. meek. melanie. melodie. melody. merripen. miel. minuette. mold. moldie. moldy. molly. moonie. moore. morana. morgana. morgue. mors. mort. mot. muriel. murmur. muse. nadine. nadzen. nancy. nanea. nanelle. nanette. nappi. naz. negan. nekane. nelly. nemesis. nettie. nicodème. niegan. nimbus. nina. nuri. olive. oliver. olivia. omega. panchaali. parner. pinkesse. pinkette. pinkie. pinky. pinocchio. pippin. poe. poppet. poppette. poppy. porce. porcelain. porcelynn. prantika. pulau. punthali. pupetta. puppet. puppetear. puppetesse. puppetette. puppette. puppyte. putala. quinn. ravanche. raven. realiteer. rebel. ribbon. ribbonne. riley. rion. robert. rose. rubella. ruby. sacrifette. salem. sasha. satin. scarlet. sebastian. sew. sewine. shivani. shiver. sidney. smierc. smiley. smilie. softesse. softette. softie. solikha. spirit. sprout. statuette. stitches. strings. sweeheart. sweetheart. sweetie. sweetiebelle. sweetine. sychar. teacup. tearie. teddy. tempest. thalia. than. thana. theodora. thorn. trembelle. trista. ultima. ulysses. vanessa. vera. viola. visage. whisp. whisper. willow. winston. wisp. wispera. wrathes. zizi.

PRONOUNS ⌇ adorable/adorable. ae/aer. angel/angel. anger/anger. antique/antique. app/apparition. bell/bell. berry/berry. berserk/berserk. bjd/bjd. bla/black. blank/blank. bliding/bliding. blue/blue. blush/blush. bug/bug. button/button. cake/cake. car/carcasse. cheer/cheer. cloth/cloth. coffin/coffin. control/control. coo/croon. cor/cor. cor/corrupt. core/core. corpse/corpse. coy/coy. crack/cracked. cracked/cracked. cre/creepy. creep/creepy. cu/curse. cu/cute. curse/curse. cute/cute. da/dark. de4/de4d. de/dear. de/demure. dea/dead. dead/dead. dead/death. dear/dear. death/death. decay/decay. delica/delicate. delicate/delicate. demon/demon. despair/despair. dirt/dirty. do/doll. doll/doll. doll/dolly. dolly/dolly. dread/dread. dress/dressup. dress/up. d♡ll/d♡ll. eer/eeerie. elegant/elegant. en/energy. end/end. evil/evil. eye/eye. fabric/fabric. fae/fae. fi/figure. fig/figure. figurine/figurine. flower/flower. fragile/fragile. frail/frail. friendly/friendly. frill/frill. fury/fury. gho/ghost. glass/glass. glo/gloomy. gore/gore. grave/grave. grief/grief. grim/grimm. grime/grime. gru/grudge. ha/haunt. happy/happy. haun/haunt. hx/hxm. h♡/h♡m. it/it. joint/joint. joint/jointed. joy/joy. ke/ker. kew/kewpie. kill/kill. kor/kor. kor/korrupt. la/lace. lace/lace. lae/lace. lo/love. lo/loved. lolita/lolita. love/love. mad/mad. mae/mae. mari/marionette. marionette/marionette. me/meek. mi/mier. mim/mimic. model/model. morbid/morbid. mu/mutter. mur/murmur. nap/nap. null/null. ny/nym. patch/patch. phan/phantom. pink/pink. pitter/patter. plastic/plastic. play/play. play/playtime. play/time. plush/plush. plush/plushie. por/porcelain. porce/porcelain. porcel/porcelain. porcela/porcelain. porcelain/porcelain. pose/pose. pose/posed. possess/possessed. pup/puppet. puppet/puppet. rea/reality. rest/rest. reven/revenge. rib/ribbon. ribbon/ribbon. rot/rot. scare/scare. scary/scary. seem/seem. sew/sew. sew/sewn. shi/shift. shi/shiver. shx/hxr. sh♡/h♡r. sie/sier. silk/silk. slee/sleep. sleep/sleep. smile/smile. snap/snapped. sneak/sneak. soft/soft. sou/soul. spi/spider. spi/spirit. spo/spook. spook/spook. sta/stalk. sta/stare. statue/statue. sti/string. stitch/stitch. string/string. sweet/heart. sweet/sweet. sweet/sweetdolls sweetie/sweetie. ta/tap. te/teer. tea/teatime. teeth/teeth. thre/thread. thread/thread. thxy/thxm. th♡y/th♡m. ti/timid. to/toy. toy/toy. toy/toytime. trick/trick. un/canny. unca/uncanny. ve/ver. vey/vem. vi/vr. vintage/vintage. vomit/vomit. wan/wander. watch/watch. whi/whisper. white/white. wilt/wilt. wood/wood. wrath/wrath. yarn/yarn. zzz/zzz. ♡/♡. ⚰️ . 🍨 . 🛌 . 🛏️ . 🥀 . 🧸 .

[xasha777]

In the year 2147, the Dauphine of France, Élise de Marigny, stood as a beacon of hope and a symbol of resistance against the corporatocracy that had gripped the globe. With her distinctive pink curls and piercing blue eyes, Élise wasn't just royalty; she was a revolution cloaked in silk, her every appearance a statement of defiance.

Her journey to the spotlight wasn’t by birth, but by a twist of fate. Born to a family of high-ranking scientists under the corporate regime, Élise was a child prodigy in bioengineering. Her life took a dramatic turn when a DNA test, mandated for all citizens, revealed her direct descent from the long-lost royal family of France, thought to be extinct after the corporate wars of the late 21st century.

The revelation came at a time when the public's unrest against the corporate overlords had reached a boiling point. The corporates, in a bid to quell the unrest, restored the monarchy as a ceremonial figurehead, hoping to use Élise as a puppet. But they underestimated her.

Refusing to be a mere symbol, Élise embraced her role with a strategic mind and a clear vision. She used her status to covertly support and amplify the underground resistance movements. Her palace, under the guise of royal events and ceremonies, became a meeting place for strategists and rebels.

It was during one of these events, disguised as a grand ball, that Élise met Luc Moreau, a rogue AI developer who had turned against the corporate sector. Luc had developed a sentient AI, capable of infiltrating and sabotaging the corporations' systems from within. Together, they devised a plan to launch a digital uprising, using Luc’s AI to take control of the corporate data streams.

The night they decided to initiate their plan, Élise stood by a window overlooking the illuminated city, her thoughts as tumultuous as the scene before her. Luc joined her, his presence a calming assurance. They knew the risks were immense, but the potential for a new dawn, a free society, was worth everything.

As the AI began its silent spread through the networks, Élise addressed her people via an unauthorized broadcast. Her message was clear and powerful, a call to reclaim their freedom and identity. Across France, screens flickered to life, displaying Élise’s visage, her words igniting the hearts of millions.

The uprising was swift and chaotic. Battles erupted across cities, and the corporate powers fought back with lethal force. But the tide was too strong; the people, fueled by years of oppression, had risen with irrepressible fury.

After days of conflict, the dust settled on a changed world. The corporates were dismantled, and a new governance system, led by a council of representatives elected by the people, was established. Élise chose not to rule as queen but served as an advisor to the council, ensuring the transition to democracy was smooth and just.

Her legacy was not just the liberation of France but the inspiration it sparked worldwide. Other nations followed suit, overthrowing their corporate rulers and reclaiming their futures.

Élise de Marigny, the Dauphine of France, remembered not for her royal blood, but for her indomitable spirit and unwavering commitment to her people, lived on as a legend in the annals of history, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, light can be kindled and fanned into a blaze.

[justjollyjeanie]

In the gentle embrace of the morning light, Dakota stands by the window, her visage a canvas of unabashed joy. The sun, a maestro of illumination, casts a soft glow upon her, cradling her in golden ribbons. Her hair, a cascade of wild curls, dances to the symphony of a gentle breeze, each strand joyously rebelling against the very concept of gravity.

Dakota's laughter is a melody that intertwines seamlessly with the day's new breath, echoing through the room like a song of the heart unchained. Her eyes, glimmering with the spark of a thousand sunrises, gleam with the kind of pure joy that could only be bottled in old myths.

She is the personification of life's unspoken beauty; her exuberance a testament to the splendor of existing, of being part of this tapestry we call life. Dakota's story is one that is unwritten, yet every subtle nuance of her joy inscribes itself onto the hearts of those fortunate enough to witness it. Her spirit whispers of untold tales and futures waiting with bated breath.

Dakota is a reminder that within us lies the capacity for moments of transcendent happiness, a spark set aflame by the simplest of pleasures. In this moment, frozen in time by the lens, her radiance is not just seen but felt, an infectious tide of warmth that invites a smile to bloom on even the sternest of faces.

[ourdawncomes]

peace tag drop

all destinies are in harmony ( peace | about )

the circle ( peace | visage )

he who conquers himself is mighty ( peace | ic )

the greatest enemy is that which lies within ( peace | headcanons )

v; the stillness of meditation ( peace | elvhenan )

v; a war that opens the doors to heaven ( peace | rebellion )

v; the heart must be frequently swept ( peace | veil )

a; let your heart die. awaken the primary spirit ( peace | b&tb )

vher tag drop

elves & cats will do as they please ( vher | about )

the chariot ( vher | visage )

cat got your tongue? ( vher | ic )

dare to notice me ( vher | headcanons )

v; servant to a careless god (vher | youth )

v; nothing is holier than my freedom ( vher | rebel )

v; never let them see your claws ( vher | agent )

v; if you pick torb i'm throwing ( vher | modern )

[love-archon]

A Poem For You

Fleeting romances in the court of the Raiden Shogun, whose reign stands eternally still...

Spring - 春

"In Naniwa Bay, now the flowers are blossoming. After lying dormant all winter, now the spring has come..."

-Wani of Baekje

• The old tales warn of kitsune: yokai that take on forms of handsome men and beautiful women to play tricks on the unsuspecting humans. When they are careless, however, their disguises slip, and one can see a tail or two poking out from under their robes.

• Or, in the case of your soldiers' archery instructor, Gorou, a pair of large, fluffy ears emerging from his hair.

• There are whispers of a general in the rebel army far in the mountains, who has the features of a fox spirit and the slyness to match. Thankfully, the army lacks valuable intel to proceed, and cannot move forward without the use of spies.

• You blink and, in a shimmer like dust on sun-baked earth, the ears are gone. The gentle afternoon breeze rustles the leaves, and he nocks his arrow and lets it fly.

• Perhaps you were simply imagining things?

• Gorou, who guides his trainees with a strong, reliable hand, steady as stone,

• Gorou, who splits arrows in half as they fly, vowing to protect you always,

• Gorou, who smiles fondly at you as you walk through the gardens of your estate, holding your parasol to veil you from the sun, would never betray you or the great shogun. Would he?

• One warm spring night, where the dew still drips from the sakura flowers, he sits with you on the rooftops. His round lazuli eyes meet yours, and he tells you, truthfully, that he'll be leaving soon. Won't you join him?

• Your heart stirs to agree, but you respond that you cannot abandon your duties to your family, or to the shogun. He looks disappointed, but gets up from his seat, telling you that he accepts your decision. “If you ever change your mind,” he begins, but stops when the look in your eyes makes it clear you can’t.

• But you didn't know that "soon" meant now.

• Papers stolen from your family's most secret rooms are rolled up in his hands. His plain clothes melt away to reveal the uniform of the rebel army. The foxlike ears you thought were a dream now rest on his head, clear as day. 

• Most striking of all, however, are the nine tails shimmering behind him- the mark of a fox spirit that’s accumulated centuries of magic.

• Your eyes can’t quite catch the way he leaves, and you’re not sure exactly when you became alone in the night with the flowers.

• Or if you’d imagined the saddened way he said goodbye.

Summer - 夏

"The spring has passed, and the summer comes again;

For the white robes are spread to dry on the Mount of Kaguyama."

-Empress Jitoh

• You do not know who keeps sending these letters, despite your best efforts. Only that they must be a refined noble of high status and excellent taste.

• Each cut of paper, beautifully bound, is dyed the right color to match the season. They are appropriately adorned with fresh sprigs of plants from the sender's garden, or tied with a luxurious ribbon of patterned silk. Lavish scents drift off the pages in a perfume that's sweet and light.

• Oh, and the words.

• The appearance of these gifts pale in comparison to the contents. The mysterious admirer has learned the alphabet borrowed from Liyue, and the complex brush strokes are applied with just the right deftness that each kanji character shines.

• Your beauty is eternal, they proclaim, like unmelting snow on summer mountains, and strikes the heart like a bolt of lightning. In your luminous eyes, the ideal of your god has been met- a thousand times over...

• As dizzyingly romantic as it is, one thing gives you pause, as you lift your own brush to write your reply.

• "Your god," it says. Not mine.

• Who would know the secret etiquette of the court so intimately, to the point that other suitors' letters paled in comparison... and not worship the immaculate Raiden Shogun, much less take an interest in you?

• Then you are sent in your clan head's place to deal with the troublesome Fatui that have slipped past your nation's defenses, and you find your answer then. Their leader wears the traditional attire of a traveling nobleman, and wields his weapon with aristocratic grace.

• His underlings fall rather quickly under your hand, but he himself is annoyingly persistent. He darts out of the way of your attacks, but it takes all your power to stop his from striking true.

• You do not get his name, only his face- fair and clean and luminous, with delicate features twisted in cruel amusement. 

• It’s a shame that you must marr it with your blade, but what can be done?

• Then, he glides past you, close enough to whisper in your ear, and completes the poem no one has seen but you. 

Autumn - 秋

"Even in the age of almighty gods unheard of;

The waters of Tatsuta are dyed in crimson red."

-Lord Ariwara-no-Narihira

• It is time for the great procession- an event of fanfare and decadence, where you and your family must travel from your ancestral home to the domain of the immortal shogun to display your wealth.

• Despite the excitement surrounding the occasion, you know quite well it is nothing more than a way to maintain control over the lords of Inazuma.

• But no expense must be spared if it means preserving your reputation. If it means that no other family dares question your wealth. Not in travel, not in housing arrangements, not in entertainment, not in the hired guards to protect you on your long and arduous journey.

• And so, after you pay the Kaedehara clan the exorbitant sum they demand, they give you twenty able-bodied samurai under their command... including Kazuha, their youngest son.

• The servant girls- and some of the boys- traveling with you blush when he passes, observing his lithe form and gentle eyes and striking, pale blond hair. One streak of red is visible there, calling to mind a sole maple leaf in autumn.

• Kazuha does not join in the other samurai's revelry. While they cheerfully indulge in the food and drink provided to them on the journey, and boast of their prowess when the time comes to fight bandits hiding on the path, he remains silent and alone, his eyes only on his collection of handwritten poems.

• (And, when you aren’t looking, they shyly flit to you before looking away.)

• In the end, however, Kazuha is the only one who actually bests a bandit in combat.

• Late at night, when the others are sleeping off the wine, large shadows flit past the trees. The bandit clans in the area thrive during this time, like hunters when beasts migrate in droves. They're confident that this traveling party will be easy prey.

• But one thief approaches too rashly, too quickly, and one crimson eye opens to meet him.

• Kazuha drifts from one opponent to another like a leaf falling from its branch, carried by strong winds. And yet, none of them can touch him. One after another, each man collapses with a sharp cry, only their silhouettes visible in the darkness. 

• In the morning, the traveling party awakens to see fifty-some criminals tied up and piled up in a heap, and bursts into laughter. As the other samurai are still hung over, it’s clear who was responsible for this.

• Yes, Kaedehara-kun is a wonderful samurai. Skillful, composed, brave. And an excellent companion to have by one’s side, if one is lucky enough to have met him.

• It was quite the shock to learn that he would later flee the islands, sailing onward to the Land of Contracts aboard the ship of a pirate lord.

• But if anyone had the strength of mind to defy the gods- wouldn’t it be him?

Winter - 冬

"In winter, the early mornings. It is beautiful indeed when snow has fallen during the night, but splendid too when the ground is white with frost..."

-Sei Shonagon

• Lady Ayaka is one of your closest friends, with your families being in a partnership for centuries. You have fond memories of playing together in the snow, with cranes flying overhead in the white sky.

• You know her secrets, and she knows yours. Nothing is kept between you- this is how you survive in a court of treachery and lies.

• So when she passes by in a sunlit hallway, you hear a whisper that shocks you to the core. Smooth silver hair floats past your sight, quiet as snow, and just as fleeting. But you must collect yourself quickly, for spies may lurk behind any silken screen.

• You will be betrothed to Kamisato Ayato, your dear friend's older brother, in ten day's time.

• As close as you are to Ayaka, Ayato has always been a shadow flitting in the corner of your sight, being too busy with his duties to see you. So his visage- to you- is as featureless as a field of snow.

• After all the romance novels you've read, it's difficult to accept marrying a man you've never spoken with, but... what can be done? You can only hope that Lord Ayato is kind and treats you well.

• But... what if he isn’t?

• Lady Ayaka would never speak ill of her brother. In fact, no noblewoman would even consider such a notion, even if it were true. Good appearances, on every level, are more important to nobles than gold. 

• But all the same, you’ve seen the ladies of the court who are trapped in loveless homes like birds in cages. How their smiles are painted on, how their laughs ring hollow and empty, how they glance longingly to the world outside, beyond the lavish court that hides them here.

• Your gaze drifts towards the harbor, where the water shimmers with light. You could run away, too. To the eastern mountains, where your former archery teacher hides with his fellow rebels- although to do that would invoke the shogun's wrath. Or, riskier still, follow Kazuha's path to the harbor, and chase him on to Liyue...

• “Young Lord Kamisato is waiting for you,” a servant says, breaking you from your thoughts, and bowing hastily before you can meet her eyes. The servant across from her does the same as the paper doors slide open, and they do not rise as you walk through.

• This room is airy and spacious, of course. Wind from opened windows seems to sigh as it passes over you and beyond, and you can smell flowers from the garden carried in from the breeze. How strange... even a garden that you played in countless times seems completely new and unfamiliar.

• Gracefully, soundlessly, Ayato emerges from behind his ornate screen. Power and elegance flows from his every movement. And at last, you dare to look at what you have never seen before.

• You look at his face, finally revealed before you, like translucent ice giving way to the land beneath the white...

• And gasp.

_______

Author's Notes

Wani of Baekje: Each opening quote is a poem by a famous Japanese author, but Wani was a scholar visiting from Ancient Korea!

Great procession: Known in Japan as sankin kotai. Powerful lords were forced to spend massive amounts of money to travel from their homes to the shogun's castle and back; in this way, the shogun was able to keep them on an efficiently tight leash.

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part III)

Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

Summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter summary: It will take more than a betrayal and blood blath for the reader to stop protecting those who really need it.

Words count: 4.7k

I knew things were going to go from bad to worse when we returned to Paradis; but I never imagined that I would have a letter from the Supreme Commander on my desk. Days had passed since my fiasco conversation with Eren, spreading the word of my insubordination towards the lack of notification to the respective authorities. Sure, the guards had let me into the cell just because they knew me, but I never had the decency to tell Hange-san or even ask for a meeting with the Supreme Commander.

And here I was. Wrapped up in a much bigger shit roll since I decided to enlist in the Survey Corps, with a simple letter demanding my presence in his office for a little "talk."

The medical center where I could do my practices with ease was quite far from the justice’s court where the Supreme Commander was, having to go out to ride through the beautifully paved streets. A street I crossed, a street I saw citizens read the newspapers that had brought so much catastrophe to peace within the walls. People were revolting against the militancy, demanding Eren's immediate release, praising he was the only one who could lead Eldia to its ultimate glory.

If they could heard themself right now. They spoke as if Paradis itself had become an empire, a power on the verge of attacking and taking every country under its feet. It was as if they wanted to turn the game around, to be us the empire and our enemies the war slaves.

I was still far from my destination, but the crowd could be seen cowering above the barred court doors. Men and women with posters screaming without sense or unity, an angry mob demanding explanations, ready to use violence to make their way into the hierarchy.

I got off my horse when I faced the crowd, needing to get up front and through the secured gate and with my loyal traveling companion I wasn't going to make it. I left him tied up outside a local, asking the owner to take care of him, if necessary, I would give him a monetary compensation on my returned.

I tried to get through the mob, asking permission, even nudging some people, but no matter how hard I tried to take a step forward, there was always a bastard blocking my way or pulling me back; They even had the decency to grab my coat and throw me off.

"Excuse me, but I need to pass"

Empty words at this situation. If they didn’t listen to the specialized people of the militancy, it was obvious that they wouldn’t listen to me, a simple doctor in practice for the legion.

"Free the leader of the Eldian empire"

"Free Eren Jaeger"

"Give us some damn answer"

"Fuck off you cheap bitch"

The day wasn’t even beginning and I was already receiving hateful comments, typical of closed minds.

I looked around for a solution, I was wasting valuable time and starting to get irritated. If I was late for my meeting with the Supreme Commander, who knows what punishment he would give me apart from my insubordination.

Besides of the mob there wasn’t much more than a few elegant houses and shops, no other entrance except the one in the backyard, but to get there, I would have to go all the way around the building and it would take much longer. The walls were too high to jump alone and too smooth to climb, otherwise enough people would have sneaked in by now.

I turned my head towards my horse, which was still in the same position where I left him, patiently awaiting my return. Surely what I was about to do wasn’t going to please him one bit.

I ran as fast as I could and unhooked him from the wooden post, ignoring the comments of the owner of the premises who was indisputably claiming for his pay. Without turning my head to such scum, I motioned for the horse to turn around and run down the avenue, against the crowd. Being at a considered distance, I again instructed him to turn around and go as fast as he could.

"I'm sorry Phillip, you're going to have to forgive me for what I'm going to do"

We were a few meters from the mob, mentally preparing myself for the feat that was about to be accomplished. Almost arriving, about to impact, I gave him a little jerk to the right, guiding us towards the wall, and raised my legs towards his back, squatting against him, waiting for the right moment and the impulse he would give when braking hard.

When he was about to slam his trunk against the wall, Phillip stopped his galloping, propelling me forward and flying toward one of the door columns. I grabbed the stone as best I could, avoiding falling on my backside, and raised my legs towards the top, finally reaching my goal. Being already on top and looking at the terrified faces of the rebels, I went down to the other side of the door, slightly hurting my feet and hands in the fall.

"That was quite a show"

Hitch was already in front of me, malicious and proud on her face. She was giving a few applause to the air, trying to lift the spirits of the people of the military squad, even if her acting was a bit cocky.

"Desperate situations call for desperate measures." I waved my hands over the coat, looking at her with the same smug visage she was giving me.

I didn't like Hitch per se, but we weren't friends either. The way she acted and talked gave me bad vibes and I planned to stay as neutral as possible in her presence. Even her gazes seemed to want to pierce the soul of whoever she was speaking to, as if she wanted to undress you internally and seek your darkest and most shameful secrets. I would stick my hands in the fire by assuming that in her younger years she had been a bully or a blackmailer.

But it was better to keep those thoughts for yourself, before generating greater repercussions in the times that hugged us.

"Did you come to see Armin and Mikasa?"

Any thoughts I had of her dissipated.

"They ... are they here?"

I was fuzzy. Not because of the fact that I was uninformed about their actions when they left the legion barracks in the morning, which I was getting used to since last year, but because they were in the same place as me. What a coincidence.

To be honest, the two of them never owed me anything and it wasn't their duty to tell me where they were going every minute of the day, just like Hange. Each one of us had their own will to go where we were sung; But if the three of us were in court, and if they gave me the chance to guess, I would say that to see the Supreme Commander, it made me a bit suspicious.

"Yes, they are talking to the Supreme Commander to try to go talk to Eren"

I must have hit my head at some point in the battle of Marley, because lately every occurrence was quite impossible to believe. They were the ones who asked me to go talk to him a few days ago, they were the ones who questioned me when I returned to the waiting room where the few survivors of 104° Squad were;it was them who gave me a compassionate look as they saw I hadn’t accomplished much and I had ended any relationship that bound me with Eren.

And now here they were, demanding an audience with their childhood friend, while I would have to be judged for the same action. Something wasn’t fitting. I looked around trying to find them, or maybe to find an answer to the thousands of questions that were forming in my head, and finding no help, I turned to Hitch.

"What is going on? Why-"

Before I could finish my question, an explosion rumbled across the cobblestone floor, hurting our ears and knocking us to the ground. Fire and debris couldn’t only be seen in the air but also smelled, flooding our nostrils, causing us to cough and cover our eyes with debris.

I looked up to find a flare coming from one of the court offices and a heavy body falling in our direction. I couldn't make it out until it fell to the ground, leaving a stain of blood and ash around it, apart from leaving a trail of smoke from where it flew off. My eyes were opened with shock and amazement, since the person in front of me was nothing more and nothing less than the same militant leader, half of the body lost and burned by the explosion.

"Well ... that's new"

In all my years of service I have seen every horror inside and outside the walls. True, even the Survey Corps had acted against the law, but it was for the greater good, to expose the bastards who lived on the wall farthest from the sea. I had seen people hit and kick another for a piece of food when the wall Maria fell. I had seen how we were massacred one by one with bullets to the head as we tried to go beyond the walls.

But never in those years I had seen a rebellion like the one taking place, being willing to eliminate such an authoritarian figure as Darius Zackly.

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The chaos went unnoticed by a large part of the population, only those who were present at the time of the explosion and the military police were aware. Faced with such an atrocious event of treason, a small meeting was convened involving the most important heads of each faction; unfortunately I couldn’t be there, my presence had been required in a clinic a few meters from the court. There were quite a few injured.

Some had mild and harmless burns, others had large parts of the body with third degree burns. Some had splinters stuck in their arms and faces, some had a piece of wood stuck in their stomach.

A couple of hours had passed which seemed like weeks to me. I had been assigned the milder cases, but as I pulled the splinters out of a patient's eyes, I had the countless howls of people echoing in my head, listening as they took their last painful breaths. People who asked to die on purpose to ease the pain.

Hours passed and welcomed the next day. I had terrible black circles under my tired eyes, hands stained with dried blood and splintered; they’re fucked up and I needed to heal them as quickly as possible before they got infected. I grabbed the cutting tools and placed them on a metal tray, the cold of the surface soothing the pain in my hands, and although it wasn’t too heavy I felt like it trembled on my grip.

I heard the door open wide at the other side of my last patient's room, the front door, letting in multiple heavy footsteps on the hardwood floor. Apparently, the soldier who had entered was in a hurry or was about to deliver terrible news...I wish I had been wrong in the second option.

"Bad news, Eren Jaeger has escaped from the underground cell"

I dropped the metal tray on my feet, making the sound of metal and utensils rumble across the room. My hands were shaking even more and surely if I saw myself in a mirror I would see my face completely pale.

"If you want to free yourself from this cell, go ahead"

My words invaded my mind like a bucket of cold water, as if they wanted to make me see that I was to blame for his escape. I knew that sooner or later he’s going to free himself, his eyes showed it and by not getting an answer that contrasted with mine, it was perfect evidence of his plans. But even knowing it, even Hange knowing it, I didn't expect him to do it in a moment of such betrayal.

I cleaned my hands as best I could with a towel hanging over the room sink and grabbed my coat, rushing out of the clinic.

"I’m sorry, I need to go"

But where to go was the question. I had no idea where Eren might be, and even if I knew what he was going to win, surely he was with his followers and with the simple image of me approaching from the horizon, I would be dead in a matter of seconds ... or imprisoned, whatever happen first.

At the exit of the clinic, there were two soldiers of the military police standing guard and watching the justice’s court from the distance. I approached them with the intention of asking them about the whereabouts of the Survey Corps, but they looked at me like I had the plague and pushed me aside hostilely, almost knocking me to the ground. I kept my composure as best I could and looked for someone else to ask; I didn’t have to wait long, since a woman of my age with mahogany hair, extremely black and matted, pointed the way where my comareds had gone. According to her words, they’re heading towards a large and luxurious building in the middle of one of the main avenues, recognizing the word restaurant from the conversation between the riders.

The only place that matched that description was the restaurant where Nicolo worked.

I hurried out with Phillip galloping through people, avoiding stepping on them and apologizing on my back. If there was something clear to me in all this mess, it was that Hange would go to find answers among the working Marleyans of that place. Maybe something could be solved.

I was very wrong.

I rushed into the building, finding only a long entrance hall and a corridor that led to god knows where. No one was even around to see me panic and I didn't see a soul nearby either, the only thing if I could hear a heated discussion far away and heavy footsteps on the floor. I let myself be guided by the sound, running back to its origins and finding a bizarre and meaningless scene in front of my eyes.

The room that seemed to be the main one hosted the orphaned children of the Blouse farm as well as Sasha's parents, sad and anguished parents if I paid better attention. The children were just as sad, with tears in their eyes, especially Kaya; they were crying the same way as on the day Sasha's death was reported. They were cornered under a window all together, hugging each other and letting the rays of the sun streaming through the window illuminate their figures, as if those rays could replace the heat that Sasha had left behind.

That scene broke my still fragile heart. I would have liked to reach out to them and try to help them move on, as I would have liked to stay on the farm with them when we came back from Marley to help them get by; obviously I could never have replaced Sasha and they could never have replaced my family, but in these times of battle, what mattered most was healing the wounds between all of us.

I would have liked to talk to them, but my eyes shifted from the Blouse family to the figure of Hange carefully placing a child on the floor. The blond boy was very badly injured on the side of his head, he was bleeding and his clothes had stuck to his body due to the large amount of liquid that had flowed down his torso.

"Hange-san, Wha-" As I stared at the blond boy on the floor, I could see that he was one of the children who had sneaked into our war balloon.

“Isn't that one of the Marleyan children? Why is he here and why is he bleeding?"

Unconsciously my body leaned forward, resting on one knee on the ground and reaching out to the boy. My instincts as a doctor were screaming for me to tend to the poor injured boy regardless of his race and I was willing to do so.

"We will take care of him, go to the room continue with Mikasa and Armin"

I got up without hesitation, taking one last look at the room I was in and it was just at that moment that I recognized Nicolo and Jean in a corner away from everyone else. They both looked very distressed, but I didn't have the opportunity to ask why, they had given me an order and I had to carry it out. I would have to wait until got back to base to understand this terrible situation.

The room they sent me to was at the end of the corridor, the door was closed but every step I took I could hear the soft voices of Mikasa and Armin, apparently talking to someone else. Well, that conversation must have to get a pause because I was about to slam the door in and leave the doors wide open.

“What the hell is going on? Why is a Marleyan child unconscious in the kitchen?"

Upon entering, all excited, my eyes only saw the figures of Armin and Mikasa around a table. They both looked up at me in disbelief when they saw me standing on the threshold. For the second time that day, I looked back across the stage in front of me and spotted a small brown-haired figure sitting at the same table. With a little more attention, I saw that the small figure was trembling, perhaps from fear or from adrenaline, at the same time that its face was bruised and full of blood; and putting all my attention on that bloody face I realized that I recognized those eyes, those same eyes that I had looked at with contempt and had looked back at me with the same feeling the night of the invasion.

The missing girl from the Marleyan duo was sitting across from me staring with sheep's eyes.

All exaltation I had in my body dissipated, my gaze fell, leaving nothing more than a neutral countenance. But ... anyone who could see through my eyes, would know they reflected the fatigue and sadness of several accumulated days. Seeing the girl was perhaps a way of attaching all the harmful feelings in a single part of my body.

I let out a long sigh and closed the door slowly behind me. I walked slowly towards where the girl was, running Mikasa to the side and looked at her with the best possible adult countenance. She had a red nose, it looked like it had been hit right on her septum causing her to bleed and stain her dress, which I assumed was courtesy of the Blouse family. Her cheek was scratched and red too, traces of broken and inflamed skin could be seen around her wound, but without any bleeding. This girl would have a swollen face the next day if we don't give her some ice.

“You’re hurt. Care to explain me what happened?"

I reached my hand out to her, but was greeted with a flinch from her. I could tell she was scared and she had every right to be.Either way, way I brought my hand to her face, placing my index finger and thumb on her jaw to move her head and look for other injuries.

Her face was the one that received the most impact, nothing in her eyes which was a very good sign, and I didn’t notice any kind of fracture in the bones of her cheek or septum. Good. I looked around the room for something I could use, but I only found empty tables adorned with a classic tablecloth and a very well elaborated and cared wine cellar, apart from showing off one of the best wine collections in recent years.

"Armin, can you go get some alcohol to disinfect the wounds? Surely they have something in the kitchen "

The blonde gave me a slight nod and left the room, leaving me alone with Mikasa, who was absolved of the situation, but still maintaining an imposing posture. The girl was still shaking on my hand, so I pushed her away and inspected her body for more injuries.

The palms of her hands were stained with blood, I guessed from the bleeding from her nose, but they also had some slight scratches, perhaps she had fallen to the floor. Her dress didn’t seem torn in the area of ​​the knees, so I assumed that they weren’t injured or it was a very slight scratch, almost no bleeding. Her arms seemed intact as did her torso. I turned to the back of her head, running her hair gently trying to find any trace of blow that could generate a contusion. I didn’t find anything that could be fatal or serious, but I did see something that caught my attention.

“You have marks on your head, diffuse, but they are there. What happened?"

"... A horse bit me"

Of all the situations that could have led to those brands, I didn't expect to hear this one. I didn’t expect it, not at all. It caught me off guard and I let out a giggle which I covered with the back of my hand.

"Sorry, shouldn't laugh… you deserve it thou" I gave her a little pat on the top of her head before ruffling it a bit and bending down to look into her eyes.

Armin returned to the room, alcohol in hand and a clean cloth. Thank God something was clean in this whole city, I was beginning to lose my faith in the cleanliness of this people. I reached for the items and I proceeded to apply a large amount of alcohol to the cloth and apply it first to the frightened girl's cheek.

"Why are you so good to me? I killed a one of your friends"

That comment made me stop for a second, just like I stopped looking at her wound. My gaze fell to the floor in search of an answer; I searched, searched and searched for answers to questions that didn’t have one or weren’t as simple as they seemed...or simply looked in the wrong places and the answers were always in my mind, only that my heart wasn’t prepared to face them.

"The girl you killed the night of the invasion was called Sasha Blouse and she was the best archer and sniper of the legion"

I turned my gaze to her, continuing to heal her wound on her cheek. When I saw that there was only a small pink stain left on the surface, I moistened the cloth further with alcohol and ran it under her nose, removing any trace of blood. The girl pulled back a bit when she felt it’s smell her nostrils and I had the opportunity to cover her nose for a few seconds to stop the bleeding.

"You know ... you remind me of a boy exactly like you"

When I saw that the bleeding stopped and the girl stopped moving due to the burning and itching that the alcohol was surely causing, I grabbed her hands and began to clean them with small touches avoiding tearing her skin.

“Just as intense and ready to fight for what he thinks is fair. You are just a little girl who was taught that we were the bad guys. It’s the way you were raised, the way you see the world. They taught us something else, but at the end of the day, apart from everything... we are the same"

It hurt. Yes, it hurt to see the one guilty of the death of my best friend, but it hurt more to see in her eyes the hatred and contempt they had taught her towards our race. The hate cycle we were getting into wasn't going to get us anywhere and it was better to nip it in the bud, even with baby steps.

When I finished cleaning all her wounds, I put the cloth on the table and looked at my performance with deep pride. It wasn't much, but it was enough; Not only had I cleaned a few simple wounds, but perhaps, I wished that perhaps, it would begin to heal her mind ... and mine as well.

I got up heavily, noticing how my knees creaked when squatting for a long time and I stretched my body generating more crunches, but noting at the same time how the heaviness of my back left and leave behind a much lighter load.

“Very good, you’ve been a good patient. Surely there is something sweet in the kitchen that I can give you” I patted her head again and gave her a sincere smile, one that I hadn't given anyone for quite a while. I headed to the door unconcerned about the situation I assumed was still going on in the main room.

"What's going to happen to Eren Jaeger?"

What will happen to him? And why does she ask me that?

"Don't worry, I'm not letting him put a finger on you" A sincere answer to a question asked out of fear. I reached the door and in the middle of the sentence I turned the knob wanting to make my way into the hall, but a tall figure blocked my way.

Eren was right on the threshold with the intention of opening it.

Well mark me impress

My body jerked back instinctively, avoiding taking my eyes off his. I moved to the right side, avoiding the figure of the Marleyan girl from being in Eren's point of view. I didn't know why he was here or if the others knew about it, but whatever the reason, he surely wasn’t alone and this wasn’t going to lead to anything good.

"Sit down"

He took a few steps forward, closing the door with his foot, not even paying attention to his surroundings, or maybe yes, now everything was a confusion when it came to the brunette in front of us.

"You can't tell me what to do" I planted myself in front of him, without taking a step back. We were both facing each other, him carrying me several inches tall, several dominating inches that made my legs shake and my heart race.

If it had been in any other situation, that trembling, that acceleration would have been very well received. It was impossible not to feel small next to Eren, the damn bastard had hit a big stretch and there was a great difference around the body between the two, a difference that I always loved to admire.

But not now. Not at this moment when everything was going to shit and I had to stand up to the figure of a little girl who was internally dying of fear thanks to him.

"Sit. Down"

Few centimeters separated us from each other, his chest too close to mine, I could feel how it swelled with each breath. He raised his hand to my face, letting me see his cut palm and dripping blood. Fear took hold of me, making me stand even more in my position, but I wasn’t going to give in so easily.

"You wouldn't" I looked him in the eye, defiant, longed for and everything in between.

"Try me"

It was all he said before grabbing onto my shoulders and pulling me back. My body collided with the table and instinctively I placed my hands on it. I heard how Armin and Mikasa tried to get closer to where we were, but a single glance from Eren made them stay still, submissive, as they lost in their positions. His gaze returned to mine. My breath hitched and I had to avoid with all my might thinking about the position we were entwined.

It wasn’t the time to think about how my hips were slightly elevated, just my butt up on the table and one leg dangling, his knee between my legs, preventing me from closing them and keeping the leg that was hanging in the air. His gaze wandered between our bodies and he returned to my eyes. He tightened his grip on my shoulders and pushed me to the side of the table, dropping me onto the chair next to the girl.

"I said. Sit. Down"

He took his hands off my shoulders, took the seat next to me and Armin and Mikasa sat with him, leaving an air of discomfort and tension in the environment.

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[idesofrevolution]

Black Leather

Sorry, I just have been in weird headspace yet again. But whatever we have a story, yay... By the way, I’m slightly inebriated so if there are typos, GENTLY DM me and I will fix them later or whatever. My boozy demeanor may also explain my very... colorful language on this one. Don’t be too offended. Wahhhhh

It was a dark and stormy night... Nah, I’m fuckin with ya. It was a pretty clear night, actually. A Friday night to be specific, and after a long couple of hours in my old office, I have to say, it was a fuck shit day. All in all, after doing a solid 12 hours behind my computer screen under the dim light of a flickering fluorescent bulb, I’d felt as if I had earned a drink or two. Every now and again I’d go out with a few work friends to grab a Vodka Soda or two, but ever since we’d moved office spaces across town, our watering hole was a little too far out of the way. I found myself going out alone that particular evening, when I came across the Raw Hide.

The moment I walked through the door into the bar, dimly lit with a scarlet red light, I knew that this wouldn’t be the same experience I’d been used to. The cement floors were dirty and littered with wet napkins and questionable puddles, the wallpaper was literally peeling off of the walls, the bartender was wearing only a leather vest with assless chaps... But at the end of the day, Svedka is still Svedka, and if I was lucky, he’d be heavy handed.

“What can I get ya?” The bartender spoke with a slightly slurred, but gruff timbre. I coughed out my Vodka Soda order and sat down on the barstool, pulling my phone out to hopefully avoid making eye contact with the other various patrons. Yet, past all the beasts of men clad in harnesses and netting was one single guy in the back booth. Couldn’t have been older than his mid twenties, and he sat there in the booth by himself, sipping on a Jameson on the rocks. The bartender placed my drink on the Miller Lite coaster on the bar and walked away, but my eyes did not break with the kid in the corner. That dark brunette hair, and deep abysmal eyes... Something felt different... Off... Wrong... And yet, so inviting, alluring, intriguing...

He raised a single eyebrow, and nodded toward the door. Completely lost in his gaze, I’d forgotten entirely about the drink sitting on the bar. I trotted along past booths of laughing bears and drunk twunks, until I met the mysterious man at the back door. He pushed it open, holding it with his arm. I walked outside, catching the subtle scent of aged leather, pomade, and masculine musk as I brushed past him. He followed and the door shut on it’s own. Out in the back alleyway, he leaned against the metal garage door, pulled out an American Spirits cigarette, and lit it with a mischievously intense glance. He offered me one, and not wanting to lose whatever semblance of interest he had in me, I obliged.

“What’s yer name, kid?” The man’s voice was relatively high pitched, but gruff and scratchy. I stammered, tripping not over words, but the very letters that build them. I couldn’t even give an audible response. “Heh, yer smitten. That’s what I thought.” He took a drag off of the cigarette, and smirked at me. He knew exactly the hold he hand on me, and I was powerless to prevent it; though it was not my intention nor desire to protest. “The name’s Westie, short for Weston. And his name is Nicky.” He pointed behind me at the second greaser I hadn’t even noticed had crept up behind me. I turned my head, feeling the heat of his close body looming over me.

Nicky was considerably bigger than me: height, muscles, hands, feet, chest... bulge... He stared at me with that bad boy smoulder one would expect from a rough and tumble “Rebel without a Cause.” I could smell the musk from his well worn ribbed beater shirt, and the greasy oil-stained harness boots; it was intoxicating. He gripped my chin between his thumb and finger, turning it to examine it.

“Yeah, Nicky is a picky guy. I had to bring him someone that would be a good fit for him, ya know? Though it’ll be one hell of a tight squeeze.” Westie laughed as Nicky got handsy with me. Pinching and prodding, even going so far as grope my growing bulge, not once breaking eye contact with me, nor budging from that scowlesque smoulder. His touch was rough, and not just in referencing the callouses on his meaty hands. His gropes, his pokes, everything was assertive and firm. Again, though I couldn’t protest, I didn’t want to... Everytime those rugged, jagged fingers ran across my skin, I wanted it even more. Nicky looked me over one last time, then turned to Westie with a single, apathetic nod. “Aight, boys, let’s make it happen.”

Westie flicked his lighter, and lit the cigarette that had sat between my lips unlit this entire time. I took a drag, but only got a small puff before it was pulled away by Nicky. My back now to him, I heard him inhale deeply, and a puff of smoke blew right past my head. I closed my eyes, as I felt Nicky’s breath on the back of my neck, his hands and leatherclad arms slowly wrapping themselves around my waist. His supple lips planted themselves on my lower neck, slowly and sensually kissing me. His arms raised from my waist, slowly rising to my chest, pulling into a tight hug. I felt the throbbing from his growing bulge against my behind, as he started to grind against me.

With every shallow breath, I could taste the smoky flavor of Nicky’s hot breath. I could smell the sweaty, dirty musk radiating from beneath his heavy leather jacket. I could feel his body pushing against mine... Or rather, into mine. Too caught up in the sensory overload he had given me, I didn’t see that the tip of Nicky’s firm pecs had begun to sink into my back. It was the pressure, the weirdest sensation of some gelatinous form pushing into me, through me, past my skin, my bones, my lungs and muscle. I could only moan in absolute euphoria as I felt his chest push out from beneath my skin. It was only then that I caught a glimpse of my corruption, my new physique, I glanced down to see two, meaty, thick slabs of pectorals where mine used to be. Nicky’s stained, smelly tank slithered across my torso, covering the popping abs that began to protrude from my stomach.

His entire upper body was submerged into mine, and my skin was struggling to accommodate him. I could hear the elastic stretches as his arms and hands were snaking their way from beneath my new abs up toward my shoulders. I knew where they were going and I was helpless, or rather delighted, to feel his thick biceps and manly hands slip my arms on like a pair of gloves. Our arms flexed their strong muscles beneath the worn leather sleeves of the sweaty old jacket. I could hear him laugh a little bit, and sigh in his own waves of endorphins. He put our hands onto my groin, unzipping my chinos and pulling down my boxers. His own pants followed quickly, his heavy, thick uncut snake closed in on my eager hole before plunging in. I gasped at his girth stretching me open, but after I felt his balls slap against my cheeks, the pain was gone. He just kept pushing forward until his balls were slurped into my body along with his crotch. Our hands grasped my erect cock, and I watched with bliss as his longer, thicker, bigger dick slipped into mine. It stretched malleably, as if he were thrusting into a pocket pussy, before it stretched lengthwise out and his hefty balls fell into mine, dropping substantially.

We both let out a cry of enrapturing pleasure, and he slammed his head into the back of mine. Things were blurry, as if I were experiencing a severe headrush. Dizziness, fuzziness, immense pressure, and then, clarity. Still grasping and now pumping our cock with one hand, we brought our second to our face, pulling the skin to adjust our combined visages. The skin snapped tightly against our new face, but the skin would remain elastic. His tongue thrusting into mine, we opened our mouth and took our first breath. Looking down, our legs the only unmerged part remaining.

We took off Nicky’s boots; hot, wet, heavy musk poured from the weathered opening. As his wet, socked toes began to push against the heel of the man I used to be, they slid effortlessly past the skin. Recalling that Nicky’s favorite part of the merging process was in fact the feet, we happily obliged, bringing the boot to our face and inhaling the rank, ripe funk of it’s cavernous confines. We felt the dank, sticky, yellowed socks wrap around our increasingly growing feet, his toes slipping into mine and wriggling with one last loud schlorp... We were now... me.

I blew my load, more than enough for two virile young men. There, in the dim light of the back alleyway, in a massive puddle of my hot, sticky cum I stood. Westie clapped, the wet stain of his own massive load adorning the front of his jeans. He walked towards me, and slapped my back. To him, I am and will always be Nicky. After all, as I slipped my deliciously ripe boot back onto my cum-soaked socked foot, I smiled. The police only know what Nicky ‘used’ to look like, they don’t know the NEW Nicky that you now know before you. Letting Westie sniff the other boot, one of a pair which had outlasted dozens of other Nicky’s before me, I knew that the one smell of consistency that we both enjoyed would continue on. Long after even the next... iteration of me is created and merged forward. As is the way we do things. And now that you know... Well... I’m sure you’re happy to know we’ll be heading your way soon. Very. Soon.

There ya go. Mergy, musky, greasy greasers. Coming next is going to be the creation of a new long term character, a collaborative effort with @floppyderp that we’re both very excited to unveil. If you liked it, PLEASE consider giving to my tip jar. Click on THIS LINK to toss me a few quid.

[skywalkersolos-blog]

 The mask of Darth Vader looms over the Skywalker family like a shadow stretching over three generations.

For Anakin Skywalker, it came to be seen as a symbol of his power as a Sith Lord and Imperial Loyalist. Privately, the mask was a life supporting element of his cybernetic suit, a means of concealing his personal suffering and scarred features.

For Anakin's son, Luke, the mask symbolized the potential for evil and cruelty inside the young Jedi's own heart. It was the frozen face of a man who murdered his father and his mentor. And ultimately, it was the last piece of the Imperial machine Luke helped dismantle in his quest for freedom from his personal demons.

For Anakin's daughter, Leia, the mask and its unseeing eyes were emblematic of the Empire's stifling regime. It was the epitome of everything she and the rebels gave their lives to fight against in their quest to break free from the shackles of Imperial regulation and despotic rule. 

After Anakin's demise and the fall of the Empire, the mask was melted and deformed by the flames of his funeral pyre. That should have been the end of its story. Yet, Han had deep fear, the warped visage of the Sith Lord continued to seduce the Skywalker line with its promise of unfettered strength and supreme authority. 

For Han Solo, who wanted to be a good father. Even with Leia's words of encouragement over the last few years making his kids nearly five years old now. The former smuggler honestly believed he was failing. Both Ben and Breha were showing more signs of being like their uncle Luke, their grandfather Anakin Skywalker, and their mother in being intune with the force. Just looking at his kids brought fear into his warm heart that he'll end up failing his son and daughter and they will turn into another form to Vader.

Darkness raced deep within their blood. Luke had nearly given into the dark side while fighting Vader and confronting the Emperor on the second Death, only to pull himself back into the light at the very last minute before the young Jedi could kill the father. 

As Han watched Ben flow a toy X-Wing across the room, it made the old smuggler wonder. Could Ben and Breha pull back from the darkness if it chooses to take over?  He didn't know. 

One ounce of darkness that could drive into their blood because of their grandfather. Vader did terrible things to the galaxy and basically wanted to watch the star systems burn into stardust.  

Breha clapped her hands as the toy X-Wing flew around in the air. Ben moved his hand to make the X-Wing spin around Breha as the little girl spun around in a circle following the ship around her. Only for the young female Solo's brown eyes to blur as her body became dizzy and fell onto the ground.

"X-Wing spin," Breha mumbled to herself, sitting down onto the grass. 

Han felt a smile form onto his lips. His kids. 

 They could never hold darkness within them.

"Yeah," Ben agreed, moving toward Breha as he stopped the X-Wing from flying and letting it land perfectly within his open hand. "Breeze."

Breha seemed to understand that Ben wanted to talk to her in private within their own minds. "Yeah, Kylo."  The female twin answered before giving a small giggle.

Han raised an eyebrow at the name exchange.  Why are they calling themselves Breeze and Kylo?  Only the twins seemed to have gone quiet and not talk for a moment. Only for Han to hear childish laughter for a few seconds except no words were being exchanged between the two. I'm guessing it's code for something.  

C-3PO stood beside Han, watching the scene. "It would appear the natural born Twin Force Bond is very strong between Breha and Ben." The droid had come to that conclusion after watching the twin's grow up to be about five years old.

A twin force bond. Han read the books Luke left behind on the subject. The stronger the twins are in spirit and mind the stronger the bond would be. Only twins of the Force can have this special power.  

Even with Ben and Breha at the age of five the Force Bond grew even stronger.

The twins were always together. Still sharing the same room. Han could remember when Breha and Ben were still toddlers and sleep in the same bed together holding hands. Ben was born first and Breha came into the world after him barely even a minute later. 

They were born together. Born as one. The Force Bond proves it.

Ben and Breha had their own code and were close. Closer than Luke and Leia. 

"Of course they do," Han grumbled to the droid, starting to get up from his spot and moving to see what the twins were talking about. He rather knew about what this Kylo and Breeze nonsense was about. 

His mind drifted toward the papers Luke had given Han about what Ben and Breha's twin bond gave the two of them. 

A pair of twins can transfer their power to the other without any trouble. Giving the other strength within the Force, but it drains the other one. Twins of the Force will always be one. One twin will be great at combat and the other at normal force activities. 

"Hi, dad," Ben breathed for a moment, brown eyes looking up at Han as the show of their father formed around the two twins in the form of a hug.

"Mind telling me what the names Kylo and Breeze mean?" Han asked the kids.

"They're just nicknames." Breha answered.

"Nicknames?" Han questioned, eyebrow into the air.  "What about Bree and Benny?"

Ben shook his head. "Those are for kids." 

Breha gave a nod, agreeing with Ben's words. "Yeah. We're big kids now."

Han gave a small nod with a grin. "Okay. But you two are always going to be angel and bandit to me." 

Both of the twins gave a small nod. "Got it."

They speak at the same time very well, Han admits to himself. The twins really are going to turn into Leia.

But never their grandfather. Han would have to be buried deep within ground on some planet or his body would have to be nothing but spacedust before the male let anyone turn his twins into a form of their grandfather. He'll make sure that never happens.

But their force abilities grew every single day.  Han was going to worry. But seeing his twins sitting on the ground with big brown eyes and watching him made the male feel that light would be their path. Just as Luke and Leia's.  Vader was just a ghost. A mask that couldn't touch any of them.   

[sasorikigai]

Can I get a hanzo or two doing that friendship thing with one of his romantic interests? Any verse of him really, let the man be silly and cute happy.

Random Inbox Shenanigans || anonymous, based on this gifset (x) || always accepting!

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ❄️ || Even as the hurt buries itself deep within, Hanzo Hasashi becomes amazed at this condition of his heart breaking; it’s not physical. No bone nor blood or any visible injury, and yet, he feels as if his heart is slowly dying. As if he can feel the flesh tearing and his ribcage opening up. The pain is unbearable and excruciating, but where? Where does it originate? He feels it, but he cannot account for it. He is a most curious creature who loves and pours everything he has into another once his hard-built trust solidifies and becomes eternal. He would push every bit and piece of his trust and devotion to the center of his heart, with the very real risk of having it all taken away in the blink of an eye with a single vicious fatal blow. 

In the past as Scorpion, he may have been doomed to oblivion, just doomed with no saving grace. At least as Hanzo Hasashi, with all the regained humanity and matured sagaciousness of a refined warrior, he still continues to live in a pocket of oblivion. Even as his life itself brings dissolution of senses at times, with his emotions devolving into nebulous destructive hellfire, with spirits of slaughtered lightning across shadow incandescent landscape of desolate and arid earth, Hanzo Hasashi reminds himself of the steady rustling energy of love becoming a catalytic hope. And how the breaking would burn and burrow deep within his soul, as the Shirai Ryu massacre had challenged his self-observation and self-awareness, as Scorpion had lost all the compassion and honor which used to be Hanzo Hasashi’s foundation and blueprint. 

Kuai Liang would be more than familiar with the physical and mental toll of Hanzo Hasashi’s many sacrifices and endured cruelties. Rebelling against the forbiddance of attachment of any kind, the Lin Kuei principles of the past which he vehemently rebelled against, as it reviled any possibilities of human sentiment, which were deemed weak and as vehement hindrance against their fearsome ferocity. Had Kuai Liang known the specifics as Tundra, nearly ostracized from his own clan, but Bi-Han’s younger brother did have significant influence as he was the second-best, the worst cryomancer they had out of the two. The heart-wrenching culture of impermanence would have been still etched deep in Sub-Zero’s heart, for he had experienced and gained knowledge that anything, anything could be taken away from him in an instant. 

And even his honored distinction as Bi-Han’s continued instruction which would further the progress of his stagnant cryomancy did not placate the fact that his life could end in a moment in time. Even the roof above his humble cot and equally simple clothes on his back could be taken away from him, as he once had been kidnapped to the Lin Kuei temple as an infant. The stark synchronicity of his name - quick-freeze - may not even be his real name, despite having been called Kuai Liang or Tundra, or Sub-Zero as he took the mantle in honor of Bi-Han’s name for so long that it too, had become his own foundation and blueprint. 

Their inseparable correlation, the disparate, yet conjoined red strings of fate which entwined them as bitter rivals, then unlikely allegiance, towards tying the knot in Shirai Ryu tradition of Scorpion thrusting his chained kunai deep into Sub-Zero’s heart under both soft, yet portent cerulean skies mirroring the gentility of Kuai Liang’s peaceful love that could stretch like an unfathomable ocean as his awakened passion could match that of Hanzo Hasashi’s effulgent flames, the sunflower yellow and pristine blue-clad warriors, husbands, and Grandmasters engage in warmth-rift of numerous scars, as rich lush earth of the Shirai Ryu Fire Gardens permeate them as their bodies coalescence without boundaries, save for their distinctive flesh hues. 

The overflowing vigor and strength may continue to color them in livid bruises, as the meaty smacks of their fleshes and hard collisions of their adamantine bones and hardened muscles littered with blemishes will continue to blend in with the onyx shadows of the night, while the heated fire and passion they both conflagrate upon one another will grow their love and its commitment profoundly, enough to let one wound one another. What is love, but a sacrifice, and what is love but a collection of wound? 

Having been thrown over the erected ice slab of Kuai Liang’s cryomancy, the scorching tip of Hanzo Hasashi’s kunai penetrates the air with vicious, viper-like celerity, as the serrated blade hooks upon the strap of Sub-Zero’s plated shoulder armor. “GET OVER HERE,” he bellows with his characteristic gravelly baritone, which Sub-Zero effortlessly translates as the recited intensity of the pyromancer’s undying, inextinguishable love. The severity of Scorpion’s visage visibly mellows, as the cryomancer’s broad, bulky torso collides against his more narrow, chiseled musculature. “How you have transformed the drab, moribund, deathly sky to become magnificent, and consolidated my paradigms, principles, and my own spirituality. I will forever be yours, if you promise to be mine in not only life, but beyond death and on as well.” 

How Hanzo Hasashi’s entirety illuminates, as his swollen profile settles and nestles deep into the damp crook of Kuai Liang’s neck. Kuai Liang reciprocates, as the anchoring light olive of his arms cradle the taller lover’s waist, as the deep ocean of his sapphire gaze reflects the dwelling fire in Hanzo’s dark amber eyes. “I will continue to wear your pain as a reminder, for my heart should be able to continue to simply conjure you into my existence - here, beside me to talk, to kiss, to do whatever we envision. For without you, the heart is just a muscle, and not even a heart.”  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ❄️ || 

[savethelastdan]

Sesskagu

"Last night a little dancer came dancin' to my door

Last night a little angel came pumping on my floor

She said come on baby, I got a license for love

And if it expires, pray help from above, because

In the midnight hour, she cried more, more, more

With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more

In the midnight hour babe more, more, more

With a rebel yell more, more, more

More, more, more!

She don't like slavery, she won't sit and beg

But when I'm tired and lonely she sleeps in bed

What sets you free and brought you to me, babe

What sets you free, I need you here by me, because

In the midnight hour, she cried more, more, more

With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more

In the midnight hour babe more, more, more

With a rebel yell more, more, more

He lives in his own heaven

Collects it to go from the seven eleven

Well, he's out all night to collect a fare

Just as long, just as long it don't mess up his hair

I walked the world for you, babe

A thousand miles for you

I dried your tears, of pain, babe

A million times, for you

I'd sell my soul, for you, babe

For money to burn, for you

I'd give you all, and have none, babe

Just to, just to, just to, just to, to have you here by me, because

In the midnight hour, she cried more, more, more

With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more

In the midnight hour babe, more, more, more

With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more

More, more, more!"

“Fujin.” The wind sprite bows low, bangs brushing the marble floor. “She’s returned.”

The wind god exhales sharply. It sends the air in the room skittering every which way, and he draws it back to his side with every step towards The Gate.

His realm and that of other gods is separated by the structure; today, as it has been with many other days, a wind demoness has two of the tall golden spires in her grip.

Wrenching the metal back and forth with her weight, she glares at him with a sparkling rage. As Fujin looks down his nose at her, her lips draw back to gift him a flash of bared teeth.

“Send. Me. Back.” With each snarled word, she pulls harder at the gate. The protective winds of his realm batter her from all sides, tearing at her sleeves and earrings.

It’s curious. He has never bestowed the gift of incorporeality on a creature so ungrateful before. Indeed, from the blink-of-an-eye life that the demoness had (if you could even call it that) one would think she'd be glad to be rid of such a thing as a body.

Especially with how violent that one pathetic creature was with it - Naraku, who if he’d been able to take the Shikon jewel in hand and maybe had a few more brain cells rattling around, could have unseated Fujin himself. This little wind spirit should be thankful that she doesn’t have to worry about such things, anymore. 

With a twitch in his mustache, Fujin turns. As he walks back to the cold halls of his kingdom, the woman's continued snarls bite at his heels. 

-

Sesshomaru lies beneath many layers of rubble. Poisonous blood seeps from a hundred wounds, making the rock on all sides of him to heat and bubble. His self-directed anger - at being so easily caught by surprise, at being arrogant enough to think himself above any threat now that Naraku has departed the Earth - disintegrated hours ago.  He can faintly hear Jaken and Ah-Un’s panicked scrabbling, many feet above him at the top of the wreckage. It will take them some time to drag him out, and then even longer to find his lost swords - he can hear them too, a furious shrieking that rings through the rubble almost melodically. 

What little air he has is stale, bitter. For the first time a long time, he cannot catch her scent in it. 

-

Fujin bends to glimpse her face through the bars. It shimmers and fades, as all his wind spirits’ visages do; only the anger in her scarlet eyes is constant. 

“Send me back to the land of the living already, you insufferable, pompous -” 

Fujin speaks, stroking his mustache with one finger. “What more could possibly be waiting for you there?” 

She rears back. The hands twisting against the metal turn white at the knuckles; A flurry of air sends her bangs puffing up off of her head, and for the briefest of moments she looks tired. 

Which is impossible; only those with physical forms can tire. One of the many reasons that such beings under his power have no need of it. 

“I...”

With a resigned hmph, the Wind God stiffens. “Creatures like you will never stop wanting.”

Before she can form a comeback, he waves a hand. The Gate shudders; with a roar, the winds around it all rush forward. 

Metal scrapes against metal. The wind spirit screams. 

Fujin walks away. 

-

The bleeding has stopped, his bones and muscle starting to thread back together. But before he is fully healed, the rocks on all sides of Sesshomaru’s broken body shudder. 

He stiffens against the rumbling, trying to pick up the sounds from the surface far above and wherever Bakusaiga and Tensaiga are trapped, all at the same time. Then, with a painful-sounding roar, the rock rips away.

Sunlight blinds him as the layers unfurl.  Ah-Un’s noses brush a shoulder each, and he faintly registers Jaken shrieking his title. Fresh air fills his lungs in a sudden burst that makes his hands curl into fists. 

Sesshomaru opens his eyes to see Kagura’s panicked face, and assumes he is hallucinating. 

-

When Kagura turns a series of nasty barbs on his retainer, blaming the kappa for Sesshomaru’s current state, the assumption that he has gone crazy becomes less certain. When Jaken returns the bitter words in kind, it is entirely disproven. 

Still, Sesshomaru focuses his strength on attempting to stand, rather than asking how it is possible that she could be kneeling beside him as flesh and blood instead of air and spirit. After a few minutes of rest, his focus turns to locating his weapons. It saps any energy he might have had to interrogate her. 

Insult burns bitterly in the back of her throat, but even so, she can’t help but be relieved that he’s not quite as bad as she thought (as the Western winds reported to her, as their mistress spirit). Launching another threat in Jaken’s direction for good measure, she pays Sesshomaru’s cold shoulder back in kind.

Indeed, the two of them do not speak to one another directly for quite a while, other than a few mutterings under her breath on Kagura’s part as they march away from the site of his near demise. Only when they reach Sesshomaru’s fortress (nearly unrecognizable in how much time it has been since he’s set foot in it), and she collapses on his bed in exhaustion, does either of them realize the power it must have taken for her to be reborn - and how much more after that, to dig him out of the collapsed mountain. She lifts her arms to inspect the twitching musculature beneath them and senses his eyes watching her. 

Even then, it is not until midnight’s moon shines through the windows that he speaks. 

“Is this temporary?” 

“I don’t think so.” She rolls onto her back to stare at the ceiling. Her body carries a faintly shimmering demonic aura; it’s a relief, since Fujin could have easily sent her back as a human. Just the thought of being so helpless makes her want to retch. “Even if it’s supposed to be, I’ll do what I want regardless.” 

The entirety of Sesshomaru’s chest aches - what does she want, what could she, when her heart and revenge and justice are no longer within the confines of this world? When he looms over her, asks the question - “what did it cost, to lose your freedom?” - Sesshomaru cannot keep it from sounding like an accusation. 

Kagura rears up, hair falling down her shoulders like pieces of the night itself. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, you ungrateful prick. Don’t even bother to thank me for - “ 

When their lips meet, it feels like returning to a place he’s walked a thousand miles to reach. Kagura's sigh sends gusts of air rippling through the room; Sesshomaru sets a hand on the back of her neck to ease her. The chill of her flesh is a hazy memory sharply recovered. 

When Kagura flinches as the hilts of his swords dig into her skin, he moves to pull away. But her arms lock around his neck in a strangling grip. 

“More,” she hisses. Words fill the space in her mind, but it’s the only one her lips will form. Life, living, loving, feeling, freeing - “More.” 

[ryttu3k]

A ridiculously long character sheet and history for a modern nights Ilias cel Frumos, set after his chapter in Beckett’s Jyhad Diary, using his background from the Road of Sin and Dark Ages - Tzimisce books, and made using the v20 system.

Content warnings for child abuse and implied consensual underaged sexual activity.

Name: Ilias cel Frumos (alias Elias Athanasios) Clan: Tzimisce (passing as Toreador) Generation: 4th (originally 8th) Sire: Dorinta, recreated by [Tzimisce] Demeanor: Guru Nature: Caregiver

Attributes

Physical: Strength 4, Dexterity 5, Stamina 4 Social: Charisma 5, Manipulation 4, Appearance 6 (ethereal) Mental: Perception 3, Intelligence 3, Wits 4

Abilities

Talents: Alertness 3, Athletics 3, Awareness 5, Brawl 2, Dodge 2, Empathy 5, Expression 4, Leadership 3 Skills: Animal Ken 3, Crafts 2 (Bone Crafts), Etiquette 2, Melee 2, Ride 1, Stealth 4, Survival 3 Knowledge: Hearth Wisdom 3, Koldunism 5, Linguistics 2, Medicine 4, Occult 4

Disciplines

Animalism 3 (Feral Whispers, Beckoning, Song of Serenity)

Auspex 5 (Ancestors' Vigilance, Aura Perception, The Spirit's Touch, Ancestor's Insight, Spirit Travel)

Celerity 2

Dominate 3 (Command, Mesmerize, The Forgetful Mind)

Fortitude 6 (Sensory Shield)

Koldunic Sorcery 5

Obfuscate 3 (Cloak of Shadows, Unseen Presence, Mask of a Thousand Faces)

Potence 3

Vicissitude 8 (Malleable Visage, Fleshcraft, Bonecraft, Horrid Form, Inner Mastery, Ecstatic Agony, Graft Life to Life, Cocoon)

Amalgam (Soul Decoration - Auspex 2, Obfuscate 2, Vicissitude 3)

Paths

Way of Earth 5, Way of Water 3, Way of Wind 2, Way of Fire 1, Way of Spirit 5; Transylvanian Kraina 3

Rituals

Reawakening the Dead Water, Invoke the Lesser Sign of Power, Ties That Bind

Virtues

Conviction 3, Instinct 4, Courage 3

Path of Nocturnal Redemption 7

Willpower 7

Merits & Flaws

Without a Trace (physical merit, 2pt)

Multilingual (mental merit, 2pt) - Romanian (archaic), Latin, Greek, German, Koldunic Spirit language, English

Dark Secret (mental flaw, 3pt)

Outsider (mental flaw, 1pt)

Thirst of Ages (supernatural flaw, 7pt)

History

Ilias was born in 1087 near present-day Bacău, Romania. From a small and staunchly Christian Slavic community surrounded by Turkic Cumans and Pechenegs, Ilias' family expected their eldest son to uphold the traditions of family, to learn to defend his home against invaders, to start a family, and to, always, obey the teachings of the church. Much to their dismay, Ilias grew up to be passionate and free-spirited, a burgeoning hedonist who simply loved existence and all within it. He certainly had no time for the church's brand of restriction and pentinence, and spent much of his childhood and adolescence facing physical and emotional abuse both at the hands of his father and the village priest in an attempt to reign in his free spirit. This did not work particularly well; Ilias instead became adept at rebelling against them, frequently running away and having to be bodily brought back. During one of these attempts at escape, he discovered another aspect of himself with a boy from a neighbouring village; his newfound appreciation for physical pleasure did nothing to convince his parents and priest he was on the right track.

He escaped this tormented life at sixteen, stumbling away from home, beaten, bloodied, and nearly in shock. Following the trail of blood he had left in his escape, he was approached by the Tzimisce Dorinta, who had become both fascinated and deeply concerned at Ilias' spark of rebellion, his passionate nature, and the abuse his father and priest was inflicting upon him. She helped nurse him back to health - first physical, then emotional, reassuring him that his passionate emotions were natural and something to be embraced, that he had nothing to be ashamed of, that there were those in the world who would accept and love him as he was.

Starved of affection and desperately seeking validation, Ilias swiftly became attached to the gentle Dorinta, even before agreeing to become her ghoul. Over the next year, she taught him all she could - not just about the path she followed, the Path of Pleasure, but about Cainite and Tzimisce society, the pagan faiths she followed, and the world at large. Developing an affinity for Jarilo, a deity of the spring, vegetation, and fertility, he - ironically, given his mistrust of religion and especially of priests - began his studies into becoming a witch-priest of Jarilo himself. His Embrace was lavish and celebrated widely amongst Dorinta's Koldunic community, and following it, she began to teach him the art of Koldunic sorcery as well. For a good handful of decades, Ilias thrived, enjoying his training, his Path, and the relationship he had with Dorinta (often physically intimate, as was so often common amongst followers of the Path of Pleasure, but more importantly emotionally intimate and supportive).

Things... fell apart in the middle of the twelfth century. Under attack by the increasingly aggressive Tremere, Dorinta ordered Ilias to flee and to save himself; the traumatised Ilias barely managed to escape, vowing to get his revenge on the Tremere. Seeking out other Koldun, he began to learn to apply his abilities to battle, taking part in the conflicts that would make up the earliest years of the Omen War, especially against the Gargoyles - monstrosities created by the Tremere from the bodies of the Gangrel, Nosferatu, and his own clan. Uneasy at the remnant magic that lingered in the land following each clash, Ilias took to wandering, never staying long enough in one place to become affected by those remnants, throwing himself into the Path and his faith.

It was the beginning of spring in the early years of the thirteenth century, during a celebration to Jarilo, that Ilias met Myca Vykos. A recent refugee of fallen Constantinople, Myca had begun their own studies of the Path of Pleasure entirely on their own and from a book; Ilias swiftly took it upon himself to become Myca's teacher - and, with undeniable mutual attraction between the two of them, their lover as well. It was enough to put an end to Ilias' wanderings - while he still continued his duties to Jarilo, he had found something in Myca he had only come close to before in those early years with Dorinta - a genuine contentment, attraction turning into affection, affection turning - much to his own surprise - into love. Ilias referred to Myca as his flower; Myca called Ilias their heart.

Those were good years. Politically fraught, of course - Myca's role as diplomat and ambassador saw the pair travel widely across the land. Still, the Obertus monastery near Brașov became home, along with the nearby forest shrine to Jarilo that was the centre of Ilias' domain, and until 1232, it seemed unshakable.

The delivery of the torpid body of Nikita of Sredetz threw things into disarray, with Ilias immediately and instinctively fearing the Archbishop of Nod without quite understanding why. Further adding to his discontent was the presence of the Nosferatu Malachite, a staunch Christian and former resident of Constantinople along with Myca, who had come investigating the Nikita mystery. Still, Ilias attempted to keep his spirits up, supporting the increasingly perturbed Myca to the best of his ability, attempting to cultivate a friendship with Malachite. In these, he was partially successful, able to support his lover as they began to travel across the region, doing their diplomatic duties and trying to uncover the mystery of Nikita.

Nearly two years after Nikita's arrival, their travels took them to Sarmizegetusa, home of Damek Ruthven, one of the most renowned scholars in the clan's history. There, Myca sought knowledge of Nikita's genealogy, while Ilias undertook research of his own. A little into the stay, however, Ilias experienced something much like a mental summoning, following his intuition to a moonlit temple. There, he found a stone colonnade that widened into a circle, and in that circle was an immense tree. This tree was the source of the summoning, the same sensation he had felt upon his first approach to Sarmizegetusa, and he approached it, knelt amongst its roots and fallen leaves that smelt like blood, pressing himself against the warm skin of the bole of the tree, feeling it well up inside him like sap -

- and then he was being reborn, emerging from the roots of that same tree but far underground, naked and bound to the tree with vines like an umbilical cord.

He was, he would later learn, deep beneath New York City and many centuries into the future. Still, it would be months before Ilias would venture out into 2004 New York - he was still only new, recreated and re-remembered by the Eldest itself, the godlike force he had felt in that tree in Sarmizegetusa. The Eldest, in that time, had reformed, faked its own destruction, and had been brought to New York to recover; now, it filled the underground parts of the city like mycelia, tendrils of flesh spread wide. It had created a new body for Ilias, had poured its memories of their encounter in Sarmizegetusa into its head, and brought him back. What had happened to the original Ilias, neither of them knew. Still, the Eldest had its attendants, especially the Szantovich Revenant family (now known as the Zantosa) and the unstable methuselah Lambach Ruthven; it was from them that Ilias began to learn English and to learn about the outside, modern world.

Eventually, he was able to venture out of the deep underground and into New York proper. At first alarmed at the noise, light, and technology, he spent only short bursts of time above ground (that, and his recreation had given him a need for extremely potent blood that the Eldest could certainly satisfy but humans simply could not, leading to many, many accidental diableries of the local Cainite population); eventually, he began to grow accustomed to the hustle and bustle and even start to enjoy the vibrant life all around him.

Delving into research, he learned a few notable things - first, that his name was not present in any record he could find beyond 1234 and he could only deduce that his original self had died, and second, that at some point in the late fifteenth century, his beloved Myca had become Sascha Vykos, the Angel of Caine, and - by all accounts - a monster. Ilias was heartbroken, but determined not to condemn his lover out of hand; he began to work out a way to find his way back to them.

To this end, he developed a new persona - Elias Athanasios, a Toreador from Greece (being fluent in the language). He made contact with another Cainite he was familiar with from his own time, one Katherine Weise. While 'Katherine' curiously had no memory of the exact detail of the Prometheans, she certainly understood the necessity of the fake identity, and was able to present 'Elias' as a Greek Toreador she had met on her travels. 'Elias' became a part of the New York community, opening a gallery of fascinating Cainite-created objets d'arte and artefacts, still trying to work out the best way to lure Sascha to him.

All this while, the Eldest was growing stronger, aided by its revenants, by Lambach Ruthven, and by Ilias. One evening, Ilias retreated into the sewers to find that the Antediluvian was gone, leaving behind its bogatyri guards and large parts of its body, now woven into the New York ecosystem. Ilias, much perturbed, continued to pass as 'Elias', wandering the tunnels, feeling lost and unhitched without the Eldest and suffering the effects of the fading blood bond he had developed.

Soon after the Eldest's departure, a new intruder entered the Eldest's former domain, Gangrel researcher Cuthbert Beckett. Saving Beckett from being nearly eviscerated by a rather vehemently over-protective Svyatogor (the bogatyr Ilias was closest to), he healed him from his wounds, giving him his own blood to help him heal. Peeking at Beckett's diary, he had found mentions, over and over again, of 'Vykos'; after taking Beckett somewhere safe so he could recover from the attack, he left two things with the Gangrel. The first, a ring of his own bone, engraved with the symbols of his office as Priest of Jarilo; the second, a note, requesting that the next time Beckett see Sascha, he send them Ilias' love.

Now, he waits in New York, living as 'Elias', tending to his gallery, and waiting for time to reunite him with his flower.

Description

'Ilias cel Frumos' literally translates as 'Ilias the Beautiful', and he lives up to this name. He appears to be in his late teens, with a fair, clear complexion, high cheekbones, and a narrow face, lively red-brown eyes, and long, copper-coloured curls. His skin is largely unmarked, save for his back - long whip scars marr the skin there. If at all possible, he tends to wear as little as possible (save for a weakness for jewellery), but is adept at dressing the part when the need calls for it, blending in well with the Toreador. There is something a little uncanny about his appearance, with features reflecting the era he comes from and an almost unreal air to him; he seems to not quite fit in with modern society.

[sepublic]

Barraki

           The Powers That Be are those Xians who reign above the rest. They are the most powerful of Xia’s elite, upper-class; Members of its upper-echelon of society who hold great dominion and control over various facets of Xian existence. These range from the duplicitous Roodaka, CEO of the all-powerful Vortixx Industries; To Turaga Dume, the powerful and authoritarian dictator of Artidax; And Nicron, the incredibly wealthy banker and economist of Stelt.

           But amongst the Powers That Be, there exists a group of six individuals; Hidden beings elusive from the sight of the public and even most Xian nobles. These select six have had their faces hidden for millennia, and are the most powerful of the Powers That Be. Even the likes of Roodaka and Dume must bow before their absolute and total power, because these shadowed figures control the Codrex; The Eternal Engine and Xia’s primary source of power. No army could hope to match theirs if it doesn’t have any power to run on, and for this reason and more, these six individuals reign supreme as the most powerful Xians in existence, and arguably Xia’s true ‘kings’.

           Their name? The Barraki- The warlords of Xian past, who led and fought their armies in the War of Six Kingdoms… Approximately eight-hundred years ago.

           Centuries ago, before Xia began its industrial revolution, there existed six warlords of rising power; Pridak, Ehlek, Carapar, Kalmah, Mantax, and Takadox. These up-start conquerers succeeded in building empires larger than any other seen in Xian history, absorbing and assimilating neighboring kingdoms into their arsenal and establishing total control. Their famed visages were spread across their respective empires, with statues and offerings and other forms of tribute dedicated to them. The six Barraki were regarded as the most powerful Xians in all the land, and to some, were practically gods.

           The Barraki were momentous, with all of Xia more or less gathered beneath at least one of them; Something never before seen with any other empires in history. A select few groups retained independence, such as the nomadic Skull Raiders or the northern kingdom of Iconox; But generally speaking, wherever one stepped, they would be within the borders of a Barraki’s empire.

           Predictably, the Barraki were not sated with just a sixth of Xia; And upon encountering the empires of one another, declared war. Each hoped to have total control over the entire island, and be forever remembered throughout Xia as THE Xian Emperor. Thus ensued the War of Six Kingdoms, by far Xia’s bloodiest and most brutal conflict. Young soldiers were freshly-churned out and slaughtered, villages and cities erected before being burned down, as the Barraki directed the entirety of their kingdoms’ efforts towards conquest.

           But one day, just as the War of Six Kingdoms began to reach a stalemate; The Barraki vanished, seemingly from thin air. Decapitated and leaderless, their empires collapsed as others attempted to take control in the ensuing vacuum of power. Six kingdoms fractured into many more, and eventually, the dust settled and Xia resumed its normal business prior to the creation and expansion of the Barraki.

           Shortly afterwards, Xia’s industrial revolution began. Inventors and engineers began devising brilliant schematics for powerful machines that could change the face of Xian industry, mechanizing the process of mass-production. Factories were built and devised, and complex technology and lights spread that relied on electricity and other intricate forms of energy to be fueled. Xia itself became engulfed in this wave of technology, reliant on the machines that made up the island itself; And in turn, the entire island of Xia became dependent on the Codrex, the Eternal Engine that powered it all.

           Despite conspiracy theories, the Barraki did not die; If anything, they ascended. Rumors of a massive ‘treasure’ at the core of Xia, a secret worth dying over, reached their ears. Eager for an advantage over the others, the Barraki set out in the dead of night with a small group of their most trusted followers and attendants, and explored the caverns below Xia. There, they came across one another, and after a brief conflict, the six Barraki headed off alone to Xia’s core.

           There, they found a titanic, metallic sphere; An ancient machination potentially older than Xia itself, located within its heart. Entranced, the six Barraki recognized that they had found something larger and grander than even all of them combined; And so they reached out and touched it.

           Like the Great Forge of Okoto, the Codrex activated –or perhaps reactivated- at the touch of six, powerful souls. In a burst of energy, the Codrex’s mechanisms began to turn, generating pure energy that had no outlet to go, building up.

           Upon being struck by the flash of energy, the Barraki were changed. Like the Mask Makers who awakened the Great Forge, they were imbued with pure Life energy that rendered them immortal beings with superhuman qualities and attributes. Feeling the raw power coursing through their veins, the Barraki realized they had found Xia’s greatest secret; And like any secret, it would cease to be a secret if everyone knew of it.

           A quiet agreement was made over blood that night, signed with the massacre of all their nearby attendees and servants to keep quiet. The six immortal Barraki agreed to go into hiding; It seemed that the best way to rule Xia with the Codrex was to do it from the shadows. If their subjects saw them last eternally throughout the decades without aging, inevitably people would try to find out the truth of their immortality; And in turn, they would learn of the Codrex. Thus, the Barraki must remain hidden, to the chagrin of some like Pridak or Kalmah- Although Mantax and Takadox were perfectly fine with this.

           Through proxies and puppets, they contacted engineers and inventors. By analyzing the Codrex’s ancient mechanisms, these inventors were able to reverse-engineer the Eternal Engine and create advanced forms of technology. A great city was established and founded, right above the Codrex, and its powerful machines and factories all got their power from massive underground cables connected to the Eternal Engine below. The Barraki began to rule through proxy, puppet-leaders, often assassinating minions once they had reached their usefulness and trading them out for fresh blood; No one could truly be trusted at this point.

           And as that famous city of legend grew and expanded, the knowledge of its technology spread. The rest of Xia began to industrialize, and more cities allied with that City of Legends, sharing in its massive swathes of infinite energy, none the wiser as to its source. All of Xia became rooted in technology, separating further into a strict lower and upper-class. To compete with anyone else, a Xian must have powerful technology; But that technology was useless without an energy source. And by controlling Xia’s main source of energy, the Barraki had total dominion over the entire island…

           Since then, the Barraki have ruled from the shadows, guiding Xian politics, economics, and so forth. They have influenced and swayed Xian culture from the shadows, directing upper-class nobles and elites from the darkness. Only the most esteemed of the Powers That Be know of their existence, and it is a true privilege to meet the Barraki first-hand and learn of the six who control all of Xia.

           Xia became more or less ‘conquered’, save for the district of Zakaz; But that needed to remain lawless, so as to create a thriving wartime industry. Inevitably, the Barraki found themselves bored, having found total control, but being unable to flaunt it. They wished for more lands to conquer, but there was nothing beyond Xia except the endless oceans and their raging hurricanes.

           Then came Kratakal, the Rahkshi from Okoto. Through the son of Makuta, the Barraki learned of another land out there; The mythical island of Okoto, a natural paradise of spirits, elements, and power. It was a land brimming with life-energy, the very thing that the Codrex generated, the very power that made the Barraki immortal. They saw the reality-warping abilities of the Kraata and became obsessed. Plans were discussed of launching a Xian invasion of Okoto, so the Barraki could relive their old glory-days as warlords and conquerers.

           Alas, it was not meant to be; The massive hurricanes beyond Xia ensured that travel between islands would be nearly impossible. A small, sleek canister could make the voyage, but ultimately it would be an impractical venture. The likes of Pridak were incensed, not caring about the cost because to the warlords Okoto was THEIR right, as kings entitled to ruling. If it weren’t for that blasted ocean, they could easily invade Okoto; The Brotherhood of Makuta and its swarms of Skull Spiders would be no match for them, they reasoned!

           Once again, it seems as if fate smiled upon the Barraki. The Shadowed One, leader of the Dark Hunters, succeeded in hijacking the Codrex right beneath their noses. This would normally be a disaster; But with Makuta’s Mask of Life, The Shadowed One transported the entire island of Xia right next to Okoto, before being foiled by an Okotan expedition and slain by his own lieutenant Lariska. With the Codrex back beneath the Barraki’s control, the island of Okoto was now just beyond the shores of Xia, barely even a few miles away…

           Since then, the Barraki have mobilized their armies. They have begun to exercise their authority, pulling together nations, governers, and soldiers to invade Xia. The six warlords, eager to conquer Okoto after all this time, have now kickstarted the Xian-Okotan War. Now, their forces clash with the Okotan Alliance, who stands against their mindless expansion and conquest.

           On the side, a Xian rebellion, a revolution unlike any other has begun to brew. With Xians seeing that a better life IS possible through Okoto, many have had enough are choosing to rebel. Thanks to the Okotans, knowledge of the Codrex and its role as Xia’s primary energy-source has spread throughout both lands. Now a rising rebellion is forming across the island, hoping to overthrow the Powers That Be, and leading them is the Order of Mata Nui; a secrective organization that has recently revealed itself and hopes to defeat the Barraki.

           With all bets off the table, the Barraki have revealed themselves. And while many question how these six warlords are alive after all this time –with some theorizing them to just be impostors- there are those who know the truth. The Mask Makers Ekimu and Makuta recognize the effects that an ancient machination has had on those six, having felt identical immortality themselves.

           While the Barraki lead a war against the Okotan Alliance, they also lead a war against the rebellion; The Core War, named after the primary objective of the Eternal Engine. Whoever controls the Codrex, controls Xia’s power and thus the entire island by consequence. The Barraki are incensed by the blatant insolence of their subjects, and hope to suppress them. In the process, they have formed a tenuous alliance with the Brotherhood of Makuta. The Barraki know that Makuta is not to be trusted, and likely intends to betray them (they have their own plans vice-versa)… But regardless, the Brotherhood wants the Okotan Alliance gone, and so do the Barraki.

           These aligning interests are for the best; With the Brotherhood’s capture and execution of Kratakal, they now control the Kraata and the means of creating them. And without Kraata, the Barraki can’t power their Exo-Toa armies. Thus, the Brotherhood and Barraki are allied, and under Makuta’s orders, Roodaka is producing Exo-Toa and various other war machines for the six warlords at a fraction of the cost. Together, the Barraki will take over Okoto; And in time, they will prepare for Makuta’s inevitable betrayal, and deal with the Mask Hoarder later.

           After all, that fool couldn’t even conquer an entire island! Meanwhile the Barraki have control over Xia, AND will soon dominate Okoto. Soon… for now, they are secretly paying the Nynrah Ghosts and other engineers to create ‘bootleg’ forms of Kraata energy and wave-lengths, hoping to find a way of powering the Exo-Toa without the Power Serpents. Kraata are simply life-energy, and the Codrex produces this constantly; All they need to do is replicate that special wavelength, and perhaps they’ll be able to power their Exo-Toa without need of the Brotherhood!

           Once THAT happens… They’ll be prepared to eventually betray Makuta. But for the timebeing, that upstart failure has his uses.

           There are six Barraki warlords;

           Pridak is the self-appointed leader of the Barraki, a title that means little practically-speaking. Easily the proudest and arrogant of them all, Pridak believes it his divine right to rule and conquer, having clawed his way from the bottom and arriving at the top. Thus, he believes all his victories are earned, and that more are due to him. Pridak is a ruthless, vicious individual with a penchant for bloodshed and a love for battle. He is hot-headed and can kill subordinates on a whim before perceieved slights against his godly honor. Nevertheless, he can still manage to be practical… It frustrated him when he couldn’t invade Okoto at first, but he nevertheless listened to reason. How else could he be such a brilliant tactician, having created the largest empire of the Barraki?

           Suave, confident, and charismatic- These all describe Pridak. He believes himself to be the peak and pinnacle of physical being, and it is not hard to see why; He loves posing for paintings and sculptures. A few parties have seen him roam around entirely naked for guests to enjoy his beautiful, sculpted physique. Pridak is terrifying and intense, and demands total loyalty from guests and minions; Once, he ordered a noble to kill her husband to prove her loyalty to him, reasoning that words meant little without actions to back them up. Pridak is entertained in combat and loves to personally participate in it, enjoying a good fight as well as brutally tearing apart his enemies.

           Takadox is a beautiful, dazzling Barraki. Once a pharaoh in the deserts of Zakaz, even before he found the Codrex he had scarlet eyes; Enchanting eyes of psychedelic beauty, like staring into a kaleidoscope of colors. Since his beginnings, Takadox has had the unique ability to hypnotize others, and since becoming immortal those abilities have become even more powerful. Through hypnosis, clever manipulation, and ruling through proxies, Takadox was able to back-stab his way to the top.

            He is an incredibly charming and distracting individual, with a beautiful voice like a siren’s. Takadox is musically-gifted, and it is considered the greatest honor to listen to him sing. Takadox is both a composer and a conductor, having penned brilliant works of music before leading orchestras of the most skilled musicians into playing them. Much pressure is put upon performers to convey his music, and failure can mean execution.

          Takadox loves to treat others as puppets, toys, and play-things, utilizing his hypnosis to completely control servants. He has employed it upon performers to better control them, and he greatly enjoys forcing people to do things they never would through hypnosis; It makes Takadox feel powerful and superior. He is a natural sadist, making his slaves do his bidding and exhausting them to the point of death, knowing they can’t refuse, and has had many he has hypnotized –ranging from servants to nobles that have angered him- dance for his amusement. Takadox has used his hypnosis to access the secrets of others, and values total control over anything else. A master-manipulator, he doesn’t need to be flashy, and is fine with pulling the strings from the shadows.

          Ehlek is a Lekara; A race of aquatic beings found both on Xia and Okoto. Ehlek succeeded in uniting the Lekara clans scattered around Xia’s shores, rivers, and lakes, uniting them beneath his banner and controlling most of the island’s water-source. By controlling the waterways, transport between his empire was the fastest and most efficient, making up for a geographically smaller size; Ehlek managed to expand his armies beyond the shores by inducting kingdoms bordering him, but regardless it seems his specialty was in the water.

          Ehlek is aware of his outsider-status as a non-human among the Barraki, and knows that they underestimate him for allegedly being limited to the water. However, Ehlek understands that water is also the essence of life, and far-outdwarfs the land with its oceans; He believes that in the end, HIS armies will rule, expanding into the vast oceans while his fellow Barraki remain isolated on comparatively tiny islands.

          He is a high-strung, short-tempered individual, capable of bearing grudges eternally. Ehlek has a tendency to lash out bitterly at those he perceieves as having wronged him, or even just for having things that he does not. Since his ascension as an immortal Barraki, his temper has cooled; But he can nevertheless be an impulsive, wrathful leader, and he has employed incredibly brutal executions in the past, being a person with little trust.

          Hailing from darker regions of Xia, Mantax and his people were taught by necessity to hide and lurk in the shadows, striking rapidly and concisely. A master of stealth and assassination, Mantax led an army of samurai against his rivals, with his own personal clans of shinobi to perform murders on select individuals. Mantax is a stern, secretive individual; He is the least socially-inclined of the Barraki and not much for small-talk, always keeping an eye out for danger. For everyone he meets, he makes sure to understand exactly how to kill them should the need arise; To Mantax, he has no friends or allies, merely enemies he hasn’t killed yet.

          Easily the most elusive of the Barraki, Mantax is an incredibly patient and cautious warlord. He knows when to cut his losses and retreat, and prefers subtlety and being unknown. He appears the least to nobles in formal events, instead using his time gathering information on others, surveying Xia, and training his own fighting skills. Information and secrets are the key to victory for Mantax, and he is always vigilant and keeping a close-eye on is fellow Barraki. To call him paranoid may not be entirely correct, as it would imply that Mantax’s wariness is unfounded.

          Carapar is a loud, boisterous, and seemingly-agreeable individual. He hailed from the steppes and plains of Xia, leading nomadic tribes on horseback as he swiftly raided, conquered, and pillaged his enemies’ settlements. Carapar is proud of his raw, physical strength and prowess, being the largest of the Barraki. Unlike the others, he likes to be seen as approachable and amicable, like a friendly politician who will gladly shake one’s hand and brightly smile at them. But beware- Carapar is at heart a treacherous, cunning individual with a mind for dirty tactics. He has no honor, and will resort to any trick in order to win; Once, he violated the rules of parlay with an enemy tribe, poisoning the food at their feast to ensure his victory. Yes, there were also children present at that feast; But he does not care.

          While his tactics can be subtle, by the end of the day Carapar is a brute in how he considers others. Since his rise to power as an immortal Barraki, Carapar has often visited subordinates unprompted, hoping to charismatically pull them into his circle of supposed trust. He has led frequent hunts with honored guests, occasionally heading into Nynrah to kill Vorox and take them as trophies; He has a penchant for displaying the heads of creatures, and even sapient enemies, that he has slain. Sometimes a servant will exceed his patience, and Carapar will drop the façade entirely before bluntly getting his point across.

          Kalmah is a hedonist, an emperor who once led legions of centurions to conquest. Now, he throws the most lavish, extravagant parties; According to him, he fought for the right to be a king, so it only makes sense that he lives like one. Kalmah prizes luxury, wearing the finest threads, all while greedily hoarding wealth. The flashiest of the Barraki, Kalmah suffers from frequent boredom and will hold brutal games and gladiator matches in the Coliseum Atero, all for his personal amusement.

          He has a penchant for the finer things in life, such as delicious cuisine, and he has a zoo of exotic animals and beasts, many of whom are the last of their king, and others from Okoto itself. Unfortunately, Kalmah is also a sadist, and he enjoys subjecting his pets to cruelty. Sometimes he’ll feed others to them, or force nobles or servants that have displeased them into facing off against beasts in the arena. Kalmah can be loud and spoiled about what he wants, and believes himself worthy of praise. He enjoys parades, and would rather not dirty his own hands, being displeased with the ‘lesser’ facets of life and preferring servants do the deed for him. Kalmah is highly possessive of his wealth, and to have his own possessions dirtied is a personal insult to him by extension in his eyes.

          The six Barraki wielded armor and weaponry in the past; Since their ascension amongst the Powers That Be, they have since taken to wearing more modern clothing. Nevertheless, they’ll still dress up every now and then, either to show off or train and hone their combat skills, ensuring they remain sharp as ever. And with the recent Xian-Okotan War, the Barraki have begun to don and wield their old armor and weapons like the good old times…

          In combat, Pridak wields his Shark Tooth Blades; A pair of incredibly-sharp swords, said to be crafted from hundreds of carefully-compressed shark teeth. They are of a beautiful craftsmanship, and capable of scarring even Protosteel; Weapons befitting of a king, in Pridak’s eyes. Pridak’s Shark Tooth Blades of a beautiful ivory that is stark-white, an identical coloration to his armor.

          Takadox wields a pair of long, thin blades that are slightly-curved at the end; He prefers to hold them upside-down, as part of his confusing, dance-like fighting style. Ehlek has a pair of Protosteel tri-talons that he attaches to either hand, to shred opponents with. Mantax wields a long sword, but also prefers daggers and hooks. Carpar has a wide, dual-edged blade, while Kalmah relies on a pair of whips in combat, as well as a crossbow, preferring to keep his opponents at arms-length.

          As a whole, the Barraki jointly-rule Xia as part of the League of Six Kingdoms. They hold the most wealth and stocks in just about every property and company out there, and their authority is absolute. With a snap of their fingers, they could rend an entire city razed, and there is no one who is permitted to disobey them. Even incredibly secure locations like the Archives must fully-yield to the authority of a Barraki, who is immune to rules that are normally uniform amongst all.

          The Barraki have orchestrated Xian politics to ensure an oligarcy with them at the top, keeping workers in line while having a select group of nobles for their upper-class. Xia is structured to leech as much power and wealth as possible from the island and its inhabitants, with even a war-time economy established in the district of Zakaz. To those that know them, they are truly the most terrifying people in existence; Servants are usually dominated by the most advanced and loyal of machines.

          Those who ARE alive are tied to their masters for life, with their living quarters established upon the various properties, mansions, and villas that the Barraki own. They regularly trade out servants and puppet-leaders, but the pay from them is also very good at least. Each of them have quarters in the Coliseum Atero’s tower, and at its peak is a meeting room for war-strategies and other important events. Among those who know them, the Barraki often host extravagant events to flaunt their power and wealth, and will occasionally sharpen their skills in combat against desperate slaves and the like. Just about every powerful Xian on the island answers to them, and is vulnerable to their control over the island’s power-supply.

[soufcakmistress]

Rekindle

Pairing: Erik x Thick Black Reader

Summary: You and Erik finally split ties, but it was far from a clean break..

“Seven years. Seven years of my life, I gave that man. Down the fucking drain.” Your living room is covered in party decorations, wine bottles and your best friends sprawled along the carpet. Big gold balloons filled with helium spelling out “FUCK HIM” are tracing your ceiling; the “Happy Divorce” cake has been rationed out amongst your girls, still left uncovered. All of them drunk and half asleep. Not you. The celebration of your divorce has fizzled out and left you in a state of despair and confusion. How did we get here... 

Talking to no one in particular, you muse out loud, eyes watery, clutching a glass of Cabernet. “I gave that nigga everything. My body, my mind, my fuckin spirit, and we still couldn’t get right. What could I...what could I have done...?” A lone tear dropped and you gulped the entire glass down your throat. 

All you could think about were the divorce proceedings. Erik didn’t fight you on anything you asked for. It was hard to read him, just like usual. Blank expression, dead eyes....you had no idea how he felt at this very moment signaling the end of your union. You requested child support, the house you and him had built from the ground up and being the custodial parent to your four year old daughter, Nneka and you got it. No matter what you felt for Erik, you would never keep Nneka from her father. He cherished her, she was his pride and joy. You wanted that for her; it was something you never had. 

Irreconcilable differences was the grounds on which you filed for divorce. You both grew up so differently from each other and that became very evident as the relationship progressed. Erik, orphaned in childhood, fighting and surviving in the Oakland foster care system, overcoming every obstacle before him by taking control of his life, going to college, enlisting in the Navy, and traveling the world, leaving his dreadful past in the dust.

You, the only child of two Black yuppies who had their nanny practically raise you, were thrusted into the world of prep schools and country clubs, groomed from birth to be the wife of some senator or judge with an impeccable pedigree. Born to be a Black Stepford wife. That wasn’t you, and if your parents actually took more 5 minutes to talk to you about it, they’d know too. You were free and needed to spread your wings on your own terms.

This fueled you to rebel and shit on every expectation your parents had of you. A flawless grade point average, you could write your ticket to any school you wanted. When you told them you were going to Spelman over Dartmouth, they hit the roof. You were determined though, to set your life path without the black cloud of your parents looming over you.

Shortly after you graduated from school, you made a life in California, far away from your family. Beautiful weather, beautiful people, beautiful weed. You adjusted nicely being a brash East Coaster, adapting to the relaxed lifestyle of the west coast. Finding some really good girl friends, securing a bomb condo, killing shit at your new job. And in walks hurricane Erik...

He was a livewire, always the center of attention even when he wasn’t seeking it out. Erik was the director of several outreach centers in the state, with close ties to the Wakandan government as their primary benefactor. Developing after school programs, multicultural outings, or just making sure the kids of the community were fed; that was what he had his hands in every day. A Black knight in shining armor. It didn’t hurt that he was fucking gorgeous, with the charm and wit to match. 

You guys met at a gala for the center headquarters in Oakland and like a moth to a flame, y’all were inseparable. He just started growing his locs, gold canines in tow, and bulging muscles through his suit jacket that you could hardly rip your eyes from. He romanced you in one night, banter over champagne flutes and hors d’œuvres. A fine ass Black man who was driven and passionate about the welfare of his people, with a slick mouth, you were a goner. But Erik wasn’t the only one with game. You gave as good as you got it, evening gown wrapped around your curves, showcasing what you were working with. Erik noticed that, and he pounced accordingly. Imagine his surprise when you had a mouth on you as well. Your brown skin, shimmering with flecks of gold, natural hair in an updo to flaunt your neck and décolletage, and a sort of whimsy in your eyes. It took all he had in himself to not ravish you in the midst of this fine engagement. 

“You’re not the only one who’s charming, Mr. Stevens...” you remember whispering in his ear. You were a little tipsy from the bubbly and feeling uninhibited. You guys spent the whole night talking, slow dancing a few times. He felt so good holding you, smelling like a dream, his body warm and substantial to hold on to. You guys exchanged numbers and he kissed you on your cheek, his hand at the small of your back, “I’ll be seeing more of you, Miss Y/L/N......” 

You got blankets and placed them all on your girls in the living room, and stumbled to your bed room. The tears are flowing now, and a hot shower could at least wash the day’s events off of you. You undress and step in and let the water roll off your skin. It did no good though. Your mind can’t stop thinking about the last decade of your life, mulling over the big and small details.

How he made you laugh so much at the late night diner on your first date. When your car broke down on the side of the road and he came and saved you by changing the spare. The first time he entered you and gave you the most earth shattering release you’ve ever had. The uneasiness he felt when he finally told you about his past life and the symbolism of his scars. The tears in his eyes when he bent down on one knee and asked you to be his wife. The utter peace during your honeymoon in Aruba at the thought of your newfound union. The contractions you felt as you wailed loudly, bringing your baby girl into this world. Him cheering Nneka on as she learned how to walk. The emptiness you felt when you miscarried when Nneka was a toddler and him consoling you. Your rage at him coming home late consistently with little to no explanation. His ugly and controlling words to you about him being the head of the household and how you belonged to him. The shock and awe on his face when he was served the divorce papers. The one slip of his poker face as he held the door for you to exit the boardroom after finalizing the dissolution of your marriage. You read shame, anger and even a hint of sadness on his visage, all a shock to your senses. “I told you I would give you whatever you wanted, Y/N..” Those were the last words he spoke to you earlier that day as you both exited the building, going to your separate cars. He pulled off and you could have sworn you saw a tear streak down his cheek.

All these memories bombarded you at once. The hurt, the pleading, the despair at separating from the only man you’ve ever loved, the father of your child....you allowed yourself to really feel it. Your tears mixed with the shower water, and you slid to the floor of the shower, hair be damned. This was the first step, everything was so fresh and still so raw. You bawled, doubling over as your cries filled the space of your once shared bathroom with Erik. You would give yourself this night. To cry and scream and bellow at this unfortunate moment. After this....you were moving on, by any means necessary. 

[daxfarroh]

Chapter 1

On a rebel ship.

She stared at the ceiling, her mind running in useless circles. Although her room had been prepared for her with plumes of flowers and freshly turned-down sheets, she hadn't bothered to confirm what she already knew: that the blaster-proof door was locked from the outside.

They had loved her, once - called her their hope. The last Jedi. They used to whisper about her amongst themselves, spreading tall tales of heroic feats. Now, they still whispered, but not in reverence. Now, it was questions and doubts and inconceivable rumors that her more steadfast supporters adamantly denounced.

It was worse to hear them defend her, because a few of those rumors were true. And although she didn't think of them as sins, exactly, she knew that she had done things that were subversive to everything and everyone she thought she knew - thought she loved - just a few short months ago.

As she lay here now with her head spinning, she could not be sure what “sin” was or if it even existed. If it did exist and was as immutable as some believed it to be, well then, she was as good as dead to the Light. She should have gone up in flames along with the Jedi temple.

In truth, she never was a Jedi - let alone the last. The only one who could bear that title was locked up somewhere else on this ship, suffering at the hands of justice. Although he was shielding her from this, she could feel the vibrations of his pain through the Bond.

God help her, she could always feel him. He was dark as deep space. But also like that realm of the unknown, he kept going and going. The more she looked, the more she found. He was power; he was danger; he was passion, and he could love - immeasurably - of this she was sure. He was everything. And although he still scared her sometimes in the wilderness of his wrath, he was hers - undoubtedly.

And as her hand rested upon the flicker of him that grew inside her, she was Rey. Just Rey. Scavenger of Jakku. She was nothing but her quick mind, her even quicker body and the Force that fueled it. And a hope - a hope that burned eternal for someone to call her own.

She was nothing, but it was enough. Because, for the first time in her life, she had found someone who thought she was somebody. Not a weapon or a means to an end, but someone's end worth fighting for.

She was Rey of Jakku, and she was going to find a way out.

***

"Rey?" He had felt her presence but was unsure as he squinted through the darkness. "Is it you?"

"Yes."

"Come here." He had been working on using a less commanding tone with her, but he had to admit the last few hours had worn him down. Like many times before, he wished he had his mask. As she crossed the cell to sit beside him in a few wary steps, he composed himself in the Force.

"You look terrible," she said without jest as she explored his battered visage and torso with sad eyes. "Did they torture you?"

"Not very well," he scoffed, managing a smirk.

The back of his head was resting against the unforgiving wall and he could still barely see her between the dark, his hanging hair, and his swollen eyes. Everything hurt, but he knew what he had to do.

"That charlatan wouldn't last a minute on Starkiller Base."

He awaited her usual rebuttal but didn't get one, so he turned his head painfully to really look at her, only to find tears streaming down her cheeks. He could take on just about anything or anybody. But this, he could never take.

"Hey," he took her face in one hand and held her eyes with his. "Stop that. ... It's okay."

"No, you stop," she pushed back, suddenly indignant. She arrested his hand from its task of wiping her tears and pulled it toward her stomach. He wasn't sure if this was intentional. "It's not okay.” She was fervent, wet eyes shining.

"But it is," he said with simplicity. "I deserve this. I deserve to die tomorrow. You know that. You know me."

"That is not true, Ben Solo!" She was fierce now and fighting her climbing voice. "If you say that - if you believe it - it means that all we have is wrong. That all I've given you is wrong!" She pushed his hand flat against her warm belly. "I refuse to believe that you - we - this - is bad! I will not apologize for believing in you, Ben. Not ever!"

Ben never knew how to deal with the deep-seated discomfort her care for him caused. He had hoped that, someday, he would break through a few of his chains and be able to reciprocate, to give her what she so wanted and deserved. Now, he knew there would not be time. His whole life had been spent backing further and further into a corner, beaten down by those he once trusted until he became a raging, feral thing.

In the fleeting moments spent with Rey, he could only imagine a future growing old with her. By the end of that future, he was quite tamed - a different man. A better man.

Yet, he always knew it was a dream. He had done far too much and still not enough. At last, it was too late. Rey didn't deserve this end, but he did. No matter what she told him, he knew it to be true. He could bask in her light until his dying breath, but it would never be enough to redeem him.

Ben had no desire to explain all this too her now, nor did he have the strength to supply any equivalent words of passion, so he diverted her attention.

"You know, if you'd have kept it together back at the hangar, we wouldn't be in this mess."

He immediately regretted his words as the beautiful ire fell from her face. He tried more gently: "You should have listened to me, for once."

A deep rage moved within him as he remembered the string of unfortunate events that was yesterday. Well, all but one event. That had been the most singular moment of his life: he and Rey, flying away. They had left everything they'd built to crumble; years of fighting, toil, and pain. Thrown it all down like a saber on the floor. He'd realized in that moment that he had never known freedom, only because he knew it so poignantly then.

But, of course, it was over quickly. ...

The dogfight could have lasted forever. They were grossly outnumbered by X wings that refused to fire a fatal shot. When there was, at last, a severe blow delivered accidently (or on purpose) by a frustrated pilot, it rattled the TIE fighter and some sense into Ben. He looked at Rey, her eyes full of hope, as always, and knew she would never give up. For the first time, he knew what he had to do.

He called it. She had no say in the matter. And as they were towed to the rebel ship, he remained steady through her verbal and physical blows, convincing her of what she needed to do. By the time they had docked, against all odds, she had agreed.

It was a glorious fight, truly. He gave it everything, because he believed it to be his last. Rey was watching, safely in the arms of that scoundrel Poe. Ben hated this ending, and he was going to take as many rebel scum with him as he could to prove that point.

Considering their numbers, it was easy - for a while - dropping body after body that came his way. He was literally seeing red, so delicious was the dark. But then he took a shot to the shoulder, and then another, and the tables began to turn. He was submitting now to his fate. His body was still fighting - it wouldn't stop until he was stone dead - but his mind and spirit were ready.

He thought of Rey and reached for the Light.

But, then, something was wrong. She was screaming. It was primal and terrifying. He looked just in time to watch her rake through rebel after rebel, cast in the unearthly green glow of her blade. He knew this was wrong - that it would ruin everything. He even hated her for it. Yet, it would be such a sweet death, fighting alongside this woman. She was truly magnificent in her fury.

His eyes never left her until they saw no more. ...

"I know this was my fault," Rey spoke with sincerity. "I failed you."

"That's not what I -"

"After all the training, I still failed you. It won't happen again."

Her promise was delivered with an intensity that made him uneasy. Following a gut feeling, he examined her more closely and noticed the lightsaber strapped to her side.

"Rey," he probed cautiously, "how are you here?" God, her face was so easy to read. He would miss this, too. Right now, it was very sheepish and a little bit proud. "Is this the Bond?"

"No," she replied, suddenly meek under his prying gaze.

"Are you a doppelganger?" He had not known that she was capable of pulling something like this off, but he wasn't surprised. She'd surprised him too many times already.

"I don't know. Maybe," she answered, entirely unsure.

"No, you're not."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been holding my hand all this time. You're not a doppelganger."

"Oh."

"Then what are you?" She wasn't dark enough to create a Force Phantom - he was quite sure of that. He tried another approach. "How did you get here?"

Rey frowned. "I don't know, really. I just sort of closed my eyes, and I focused everything on you. … And then, I was here."

Could it be that this was something completely new? he wondered. Had she really developed an entirely new form of astral projection just by thinking about him? She never ceased to amaze him.

Then, suddenly, his intrigue was clouded with concern. He remembered Luke after Crait and how he had simply disappeared.

"How do you feel?" he pressed, gaining back his intensity for the first time this evening.

"I feel like. … like I'm here. Completely. I can sense my body back in my room, but it feels very far away." A sliver of fear entered her voice. "I - I'm not sure I could get back if I tried. … Ben, ever since we - well, you know - ever since then, I've felt a new energy inside me. It's this power - it's getting stronger every day. ... I don't know what it is, or if it's good or bad, but I can do things I don't understand. Things no one would understand."

Ben took that information and filed it away for another day, if he ever saw one.

"Rey," he did his best attempt at gentle yet authoritative. "you need to go."

She smiled in response. It was a smile dripping with mischief. "Do you really think I would project all this way in corporeal form just to give you a goodbye kiss?"

"No," he resigned.

"Now, when I scream, they'll come running. You do what you can with the Force, and I'll do the rest." She stood up, lit her saber and drove it into the wall, proving beyond doubt that the weapon was far more than a projection. Her grin widened almost madly in the glow of flying sparks.

"That's enough!" he commanded over the grinding noise of light against metal. "Put it away before they hear you."

"Seriously?" She shut off the blade and placed a hand on her hip while she stood over his rather pathetic form. "I know you're in pain, Ben, and you're tired. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to heal you. But you can pull it together for one last fight. The stakes have never been higher."

"It's not that, Rey," he said, though her words had renewed his awareness of his very real pain and fatigue. "They've been injecting me with something. To weaken the Force."

She frowned but seemed undaunted. "That's alright - you're strong. And they'll be so surprised when they see me that we'll practically be able to walk to the hangar bay."

Ben rubbed his bruised brow gingerly with one hand. "And what will you do with your actual body when we fly off into the sunset? Just leave it to rot?"

"No," she answered with feigned patience. "We'll get you off the ship, and I'll return to my body until you're feeling well enough to come rescue me." Her serious little mouth flickered a smile at that last part.

His eyebrow raised involuntarily. Even that hurt. Damn him. Damn her and her dreams and this whole plan.

"I'm assuming you told them that you held me captive and raped me or something," Rey continued.

"Yes.” He'd told them he had messed with her mind, too, for good measure. It had been quite the show.

"Good. There'll be no question of my insanity, then. All will be forgiven."

In all honesty, it wasn't a terrible plan. It could even work, maybe. And if they'd had nothing to lose, he might have jumped on her ship of optimism and ridden it all the way to paradise. But to him, at least, they had everything to lose. To him, there were only two things in this universe more important than his own life, and they were both in this cell with him. He had realized back on the TIE that he would not risk them. Not for anything.

And so, although it broke him a little to shut her down, he couldn't let her go on like this.

"The Resistance isn't what it used to be, Rey. You know that. Leia's dead. Chewie's gone. Hell, even your traitor friend and his tiny girlfriend took off."

She bristled. "Yes, I know."

"You don't fit here anymore," he pressed on more forcefully. "Who do you think will protect you? Poe? Yeah, that guy you sliced into at the hangar bay. Do you think he'll stick out his neck to protect you now?" Ben shook his head for emphasis. It was crucial that she understood this. "The tide is shifting, Rey. It's a new era. Ordinary people don't believe in us anymore. The Sith and the Jedi are dead. The heroes and the villains are dead! It's just us now. And what are we? We’re weapons. We're something to be feared, Rey. And if they fear you, it doesn't matter what used to be. They will dispose of you just the same."

Rey's buoyant demeanor had been visibly sinking throughout his speech. She sank all the way down to the floor beside him and didn't speak for a long time. Ben found it hard to look at her, like he was sitting next to someone he'd killed. When she finally did speak, her voice was flat and empty.

"So, you're not coming with me, then?"

"No. … I'm sorry."

"But it was a good plan," she whispered as a current of emotion began to breach her throat.

God, this might kill him before the rebels did.

"Yes, it was.” His own voice was beginning to crack. He reached out and pulled her close, breathing in her hair as she laid her cheek carefully against his chest. She smelled like the heat of a sun. He allowed himself to quietly meditate on that observation for a moment, refusing to allow the thought to creep in that he would never hold her like this again. There would be no urgency here. Only quiet perfection that could outlive an eternity.

"Ben. … What will I do?" He felt the hot streaks of her pain run down his chest and prayed to whatever creator may be for strength to carry him through this night. The flood dams had been opened, and there would be no more pretenses.

Ben sighed deeply and summoned his voice of authority while he stroked her hair.

"I'll tell you exactly what you’re going to do. Tomorrow, you're going to attend. You're going to apologize for your little 'episode' yesterday, and you will insist that you attend. And, when the time comes, you're going to stand there with everyone else and look avenged. You're not going to cry or scream or pull any of that nonsense you did in the hangar. You'll stand there and watch."

"I can't!"

Ben held her at arm’s length before him, gripping her as if she would otherwise break apart. He looked into her eyes with an intensity he knew scared her. But he had to be sure of this plan if he was going to arrive at any semblance of peace. Everything depended on this.

"You can, and you will!" He softened a bit when he felt her shaking. "You will because you have to. For you, for me, and for him."

Those last words seemed to summon something within Rey. It was as if, suddenly, she understood her higher purpose. She bit her lip to stifle the sobs and agonizingly rearranged her face into something resembling bravery. She was scared and determined and heartbreakingly beautiful. She was Rey, his hero.

"Will you do it?" he asked her, as a master would call on his pupil to attempt a new task.

"Yes. I will not fail you."

He brought her back to him and resumed stroking her hair, resolving to never let her go.

"When it's over, you'll lay low," he added. "No Force tricks, no meddling. Just a scared little Jedi mascot recovering from an ordeal. ... And for the love of God," he remembered, "don't let them know about any of your unusual abilities."

"And after that?"

"After that, you get away. When they let you out, go openly and quietly. ... Go to Ahch-To. Or Tatooine. It doesn't matter where. Just get away."

"Ok."

With all of that covered, he released his breath. He had never known a more capable person than Rey. And although he would never fully comprehend the Force and its motivations, he was faithful that it would preserve her. It had brought them together, after all.

This thought provided him some comfort, and he allowed himself to succumb to his exhaustion. He rested his head back and let his mind drift through every sensation that was Rey, here in his arms.

"How do you know it's a 'him'?" Her voice was soft, unexpected

"Hmm?"

She sat up and faced him. "Just a minute ago, you called it 'him'."

He returned her gaze and placed his hand back over her belly. There was a slight bulge there, so minute that only someone who knew what it was could detect it. But Ben knew every ridge and valley of her body most intimately from his fair-fortuned travels, and to him, it was an entirely new feature. Beneath that entrancing swell of pearlescent flesh, there was a glow that was his son.

"Can't you feel it?" he asked her.

"Feel what?"

"Our son… Our son, Rey." It felt so strange to say it.

Her face grew radiant as she hung on his words. "What - what do you feel?"

Hand still flush to her belly, he closed his eyes. When he began to speak, he seemed far away: "I feel light… darkness… violence. … and peace. But most of all, there is a balance. ... So much power, in perfect balance."

He opened his eyes, finding her alight and full of wonder. She was so young. And she would forever remain young to him.

"He's perfect, Rey. He's going to be so much like you. Nothing like me. But he'll have all my power and yours, and so much more. … He's going to change everything - I can feel it. End all of this. ... He's going to do everything we couldn't."

He read her face like a book as it turned from teary-eyed joy to somber remembrance. Then her eyes widened with bewilderment.

"I love you, Ben!" she cried out, with strangled desperation.

"I know," he said. Though he would never understand why.

And with that, he took her - there on the cold, hard floor. And despite his protesting body, he gave all that was left of himself to her, so that she had to bury her face into his neck to keep from crying out, until the very end, because he loved her. Against all odds, he loved her.

"I love you, too," he said as they held each other on the floor. She smiled at the vibrating rumble of his voice and planted another kiss on his swollen lips. Then she laid her head back on his chest and wound a small hand through his fingers.

"Are you afraid?" she asked him.

"Yes. But not for the reasons you think."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yes. … Because I know you, Ben Solo." He couldn't help but smile at this, though she didn't see it.

"Well, then you must know that I will find a way back to you,” he said. “It doesn't matter if I die in the Dark or the Light. I will come back to you, if there's a way."

"I know.

He tried to conceal a shudder as he sighed, but it was no use. "And you must know that you have to go now."

"Yes," she barely whispered.

Raising them both up to kiss her forehead and press it against his own, feeling all of the things pass between them that he'd never thought he would be able to feel, he uttered the only prayer he knew: "May the Force be with you."

"And also with you.” Silent tears ran down to mingle with his. He brought her back to the floor, sincere in his conviction to never let her go.

She entwined a hand in his hair as she clung to him, as if it were the only comfort she had in the universe. He liked how safe she felt in his arms and had the untimely realization that he also liked being alive.

"How will I get back?" she finally asked.

"Close your eyes."

She did.

After a moment, he said, "Think of the future. … Think of our son, and of old things dying. … Think of Ahch-To and the changing tides. … Think of all that will come and is meant to be. … And then you'll be gone."

[vosh-rakh]

for the micro story: sea change

The first orcs were initially not unlike the first mer. They followed a cursed god, whose curse followed them. Wherever he went, he was hated. And wherever he went, his faithful followed - often to his chagrin.

Those first orcs were not of noble background, unlike their god. They were mer cast aside from the upper echelons of aldmeri society, and detested by the divisions of mer that followed. They were at best menial laborers, serfs to ignoble lords who made them work mines, quarries, docks, construction sites, plantations. They were the bastard children of early altmeri society, the disposable: the stupid, the criminals, the crippled, the awkward. 

But they were faithful, and they were strong. Where Trinimac-of-old went, they followed without question, and their dedication and tenacity impressed him. The first told him of their struggles, and that of their peers. These first few chose of their own faith to follow. Those who joined later were freed from their slavers. 

Slavery was something young Malacath knew well. It was something he would never tolerate. Even when those he freed were not mer.

There was a mine in northern Valenwood where bosmer enslaved goblins and ogres in secret, despite the Camoran liberation several years prior. When Malacath learned of this he took many of his followers with him to free them.

One of his warlords asked, “Why should we free these beasts from their captivity? Shall we free the cattle and asses next?”

Malacath quickly rebuked the errant warlord before the tribe, telling her, “These are not so much unlike you, Hedra, who once served as plow-pusher and bushel-barreler. That we allow slavery of any people under the heel of oppression negates our movement.”

Hedra, despite her disapproval, was still faithful to her god-king, and so she hung her head in shame.

The bosmer slavers were eradicated thoroughly, and the goblin-ken freed. Seeing the attack commence, the ogres rebelled, swinging pickaxes at the heads of their oppressors, and the goblins rallied under their shamans to join them. The orcs scarcely needed intervene, and Hedra’s concern was proved misplaced.

The bravery of these creatures filled Malacath with pride, and so he gradually became more like them, in spirit, culture, and visage. And as is the way of gods and their faithful, the waves of this sea change gave the orcs new faces befitting their place in the world: the downtrodden, but never forgotten.