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jade-len · 10 months

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hello yes i'm that one guy who was asking if people would be interested in svsss x / & gn or male reader fics (also tysm for the comments?? like i was not expecting so much support. i really appreciate it!)

i've decided on writing idea 3 first, the bingge one! ...albeit with a lot of tinkering lol. if you don't know what i'm talking about, feel free check out my last (and first) post.

however, because i am very indecisive and absolutely cannot make many decisions on my own without some guidance or opinion, i would like to ask for a little feedback!! please choose which idea you like more, and i might write that one first.

i feel like the themes in both ideas are pretty similar, though just approached a little differently. i don't really wanna spoil how it'll entirely go ofc.. but there def is more to them, i hope it'll be sorta clear once i present both routes!

i can't promise i will go with the more favored idea, but it will definitely heavily influence my final decision! please don't be afraid to ask any questions, i'll answer :)

if i end up choosing the one you were less interested in, don't worry! remember, this is what i'm going to be writing first. it doesn't mean i won't write the other one too.

route 1:

an enemies to friends to lovers type deal! a slow burn fanfic where you are pretty much the opposite of shen yuan's passive nature, absolutely fuck with luo binghe's plans (at least, the ones you know of..), and slowly find the small, bruised boy hiding under that proud front. will be rated M.

that manipulative bastard, luo binghe, hurt everyone you loved and cared about. he tarnished the sweet gongyi xiao's reputation, seduced your fiance, and shredded the small, remaining pieces of self worth you had left in your heart.

you played right into his clawed hands, believing his charismatic front and pretty lies. you were naive, downright stupid. you and huan hua palace welcomed luo binghe with opened arms after he crawled out of the endless abyss, and because of it, those you cared for suffered.

really, you were so easy to manipulate. if only you noticed earlier. you couldn't do anything. no- you wouldn't do anything. if you weren't such a coward, perhaps this would've all been prevented. this isn't fair for everyone else. why did you get to live, while those who fought back and stood up against luo binghe had to suffer?

the survivor's guilt eats you away every waking moment of your life. and, when that's not happening, your sleep is plagued with nightmares of what could've been.

it's too late. luo binghe is now the almighty emperor of the two realms. he can easily overpower anyone who gets in his way, and especially you.

while you certainly wish to beat luo binghe, you don't hate him.

maybe this is just the softer side of your brain, but for some reason, you can't shake off the empty, miserable look in his eyes. even as he's surrounded by countless of maidens and riches, luo binghe looks as though he he'll never be truly fulfilled.

what is it, luo binghe? do you need more power, more gold? a hundred more women, perhaps? do you regret killing them? do you regret not killing more? why is it that even with your intricate mask, behind it is a hollow shell?

it's strange. you should absolutely detest him, but instead, you pity the king. luo binghe is a man who has everything, yet it seems as though he cannot find any sort of happiness through it.

when you travel back in time - exactly right after the demonic invasion where luo binghe was pronounced dead - you are determined to make things right.

you won't let anyone suffer from his wrath. you'll play your cards smart with that very same poker face luo binghe uses. use your knowledge of the future to your advantage. be smart, all the way from the start.

when luo binghe enters huan hua palace, you are the stronger, better person you were too scared to form into before. "gifted with the knowledge most people can never obtain," the old palace master says. you're an essential part of the sect, whereas you were nothing before. maybe not the head disciple like gongyi xiao, or the child of the master like the little palace mistress, but definitely akin to a secretary in the disguise of an ordinary disciple. someone with very valuable information.

you'll save your dear friend, gongyi xiao. you'll save your fiance, and, hopefully have her be with someone who isn't a manipulative, two-faced asshole. you'll save everyone.

(perhaps you'll save a poor, hurt boy, too. one whose been hiding from his cruel shizun for years, using the face of a proud demon to muffle the sounds of his crying and the breaking of his already cracked heart)

you know luo binghe's advantages. you know of his plans. let's just hope he doesn't find out about yours and change up his too much.

aka, you severely confuse and frustrate luo binghe (why the hell aren't his plans working? who are you? why do you look at him as if you can see right through him?), and luo binghe severely confuses and frustrates you too (why the fuck is luo binghe doing that? that totally goes against what he was supposed to do! hold on, hold on- new plan guys!).

both of you are smartasses who are also, secretly, simultaneously dumbasses going against each other.

route 2:

this'll most likely be rated T, but it may change.

luo binghe stripped you of your very being. you were once someone who was proud and undeniable, and now, you are a person that people only pity and grimace when your name is mentioned.

you hate it. you hate him. you can't even remember what the outside world looks like anymore, you can't even remember that wretched man's face. the only thing that is burned into your mind is his demon mark and those cruel scarlet eyes. the only thing that runs through your head is revenge. the only reason why you're even still alive is because of the glimmer of hope that you'll do the exact same things he did to you.

you fought back against him early, while he was still rising the ranks. continuously, you tried warning people about his capability and evil nature. yet, no one listened to you. and then, it was too late once people realized. fuck! everyone was so stupid, believing his pretty face and lies! you'll get back at him, you'll carve his heart out and present it to his wives, the world, and everything that he has. you worked too hard to reach to where you were before luo binghe destroyed your reputation for daring to step in his way. you went from a mere nobody to a powerful cultivator, and it just all went downhill from there!! for... months? or years? you don't remember anymore - you wished to the heavens for a second chance. you'll correct his wrongdoing. only evil lies in his heart, behind his deceitful, flowery words.

after suffering from a qi deviation, your wish to prevent any of that destruction is granted, and suddenly you've been transported back into the past. way, way before you've even heard of the name... wait, what was his name? fuck, fuck! you don't even remember the outline of that- that monster!

you'll still get back at him, though. you recognize your clothing and the time.. it seems as though you're still just a wandering, rouge cultivator. if your calculations are correct, then you'll have more than enough time to prepare. when you fought back, you were still weaker than him. you'll get stronger and take him down before he can even dare to lay a finger on your hard work.

on your journey to gain even more power, you come across a poor, abused boy. he reminds you all too much of yourself. luo binghe, the orphan says that his name is. your heart can't help but still at it, but it's probably for no reason, right? you're in a little shock after literally going back in time.

how could this small boy with such pure, starry black eyes, hurt you after all? how could anyone hurt such a sweet thing, too? it's a shame how monsters like that man take advantage of people like luo binghe. a white lotus, you mentally nickname him.

he frequently visits you with a wide smile and some lovely tea (where did he get that from? this is some really expensive, fancy stuff. he couldn't have gotten it without stealing it from somewhere really nice, like shen qingqiu's stash, or something... haha, he would never! that pure boy!). you keep on telling luo binghe that he shouldn't miss out on sleep just to say hi, that maybe he should be with his friends instead, too. luo binghe doesn't talk much about his life at the peak, but it's nice to chat with him.

when you realize what's exactly going on, you take him under your wing. if shen qingqiu can't appreciate the little lotus, then you will (you'll put him right under that man on your "revenge" list.. which only consists of them two). perhaps it'll be good to have a successor, a disciple you can pass your teachings down onto. it would be handy to have someone else's help once that monster's actions come into light, after all.

its then you decide, you'll protect the little luo binghe, too. the world is much too cruel, and it'll especially be under that demons' ruling. you won't ever understand how people could become so evil, downright monstrous. you swear on your life, you'll keep that man in your grasps and end his tyranny.

unknowingly, you've already stopped it the moment you held your hand out to that very same monster.

oh, what will you do once nothing happens to you or anyone? once you begin to remember more and more of that man's face and find out just who exactly you've helped?

aka, you're an utter buffoon worrying over that man, while that same man is now just a little guy wanting to please his kinder (and kind of more improper) shizun.

. . .

i've planned a little more for route 1, but i have a pretty good idea for route 2 as well. route 1 will most likely be a little longer than 2 too since it's a slow burn with scheme-y little shits. ever since i posted, i've just been trying to plan out the plots lmao. please leave your thoughts! or not, but thanks for using your time to read all of this lol.

@happycandydinosaur @tuxibirdie @wilczymotyl sorry if you guys expected a full chapter with me tagging you three but i promise after this, i'll (hopefully) have a chapter ready! tysm for supporting my last post :)

#should i do male reader or gn uuggghhh i have no idea help #btw in the first one you may or may not be able to pin binghe down in an angry hot enemies to lovers fashion #i love both of them #sweet baby white lotus binghe and feral manipulative ho bingge #im having a hard time choosing which one to do first ok #svsss #luo binghe #mxtx svsss #the scum villain's self saving system #white lotus binghe #luo bingge #luo bingmei #x reader #x male reader #x gn reader

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gofancyninjaworld · 2 years

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Six degrees of Stench

I joke/not joke that One-Punch Man canonicity consists of canon and not canon (yet) link. Wild shit just happens because it can and somehow it works.

So, for shits and giggles, a handful of headcanons that I’m fairly sure *won’t* be becoming canon.

First degree: cute

When Genos wants to wheedle a new toy (like a kit car) out of Kuseno, he makes the old man his favourite treat: home-made doughnuts, a chocolate dipping sauce, and freshly-ground coffee made over the stove. Kuseno claims every time that it won’t work. It's never failed.

Kuseno is strict about his bedtime: from the time he retires at 11 pm to when he appears at 6 am, Genos better have a damn good reason for disturbing him. A leg dropping off does not qualify. Most afternoons, Kuseno also has a nap behind his desk. He has always claimed to be just mediating when Genos has asked.

Second degree: unexpected

Although neither man knows it, Kuseno is the reason King quit competitive gaming: there was this one mysterious guy he just couldn't beat. It still haunts King.

Kuseno himself no longer does competitive gaming: between Genos keeping him busy and missing his once-faithful rival, it's lost its appeal.

Third degree: connections

Bofoi was his old student. They each changed their names for... reasons.

Fourth degree: Chekov's gunman... or there's no badass like an old badass

Manga-only. Kuseno finally shows up to give his boy a hand. As Genos tells Kuseno to fall back already, the old man levels one of the suit's shoulder-mounted guns and... there's a void where there was once a dragon-level monster, not even a curl of smoke remaining. Kuseno: yeah, I came up with this last week but I've not yet figured out how to make it small enough to install on you.

Fifth degree: Old man, you scary

Webcomic-only. The climax of the battle sees Genos and Saitama get to the heart of the Organization and just as things are getting super tense, a third person joins the fray. It's Kuseno, heavily armed and very much alive. That bring-back-a-dead-person-so-long-as-their-brain-is-intact technology we saw elsewhere? He was the original inventor. Genos: but you told me to run away! Kuseno: And yet, here you are. Be so kind as to shelter behind Saitama-kun, will you? Kuseno (to the enemy): I don't mind if Genos gets beat up, that's how my boy learns. But you bastards made him cry...unleashes hell

Sixth degree: Cruel, cruel world

Like something out of a cruel soap opera, the reason Genos and Child Empror look a bit like each other is that they're siblings but each was so convinced the other was dead that they'd never thought to look into it. In Isamu's case, his foster parents had been very good at gaslighting him so he doubted his very memories. As they compare notes, suddenly the random attack makes sense... it'd been intended to grab Isamu in the first place. Something else makes sense too: why Kuseno had arrived so fortuitously. Genos: Oh, I was the consolation prize.

And so...

Webcomic edition: Genos finds his inconsolable grief over losing the old man suddenly become consolable, although it's down to Saitama to accidentally on purpose to say something that puts it in perspective, e.g., by pointing out that there was nothing false about the affection he had had for him.

Manga edition: Since the old man is alive, Genos confronts him. He doesn't deny it but says that he'd intended to kidnap Child Emperor alone to forestall the massacre that happened. And yes, while to begin with, he'd thought of Genos as a consolation, he's long since changed his mind. Yes, it's true that Genos doesn't have the mind of the century, but he's got the sort of intellect one meets only a few times a decade. His courage though? That's the sort people write legends about. Now let’s talk about you trying harder to stay alive long enough to become one.

#OPM #Kuseno #wild speculations #I'd not even dignify these as headcanons #I'll be surprised if any show up in any form in the story #well other than bedtime as the old man does value his rest #would most like: the fifth one #would least like: the sixth one #would be most amused by: the second one. Saitama would become an instant fanboy

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gch1995 · 2 years

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How do you feel about Anakin blaming only himself for his fall tot he dark-side? Personally I think self hatred is his own worst enemy….

It is absolutely true that all of Anakin’s arrogance and denial is entirely a “mask” to cover up for his own guilt, insecurities, and self-loathing as Darth Vader. It’s not just his fault he ended up where he did, but he also can’t keep letting his past define him either. There is hope to do better, and deep down he knows it. He’s just too afraid and too hopeless to try.

Yes, his agency is compromised under Sidious, even more than it was under Obi-Wan and the Jedi Order, so, yeah, objectively speaking, it’s not just Anakin’s fault alone he’s in this position with no real safe escape opportunities. In and of itself, it’s not even morally wrong to want to connect with his son to escape his abuser. The means he was using to try to reach out to him were abusive, manipulative, selfish, and unfair in regards to Luke until the end of ROTJ, though, and that’s why he gets framed as wrong for it it. He’s not being cowardly or selfish in his desire to seek a healthier connection than Sidious in his son. That’s relatable. The fact that he was endangering, hurting, and threatening Luke to try to pressure his son to become someone he did not want to be for his own ends out of a desire to gain freedom, while simultaneously continuing to live in denial of his own guilt and fear of the unknown, was fucked up.

Anakin’s arrogance, denial, and attempts to manipulate Luke for Sidious and his own personal “greater good” out of fear of the unknown and self-hatred as Darth Vader is actually a lot like Yoda’s and especially Obi-Wan’s attempts to use Luke for their own “greater good.” Yeah, I’m not denying that the Empire was worse than the old Republic and needed to be taken down. I’m not arguing that there aren’t valid reasons for many people to hate Darth Vader and want him dead for personal safety, justice, and protection reasons in A New Hope. I have a lot of sympathy for Anakin. He’s my favorite character along with, but, regardless of the living hell of constant victimization he endured under a series very abusive, arrogant, corrupt, oppressive, and manipulative bastards of authority figures from whom there was no reasonably safe escape, I’m not going to pretend like he didn’t also enable and perpetuate horrendous systematic abuse, crime, oppression, and tyranny for a little over two decades himself.

I think diminished responsibility is a more accurate way to judge Anakin for his crimes, considering the constant living hell of abuse, manipulation, and exploitation his entire life was under these corrupt authority figures in these screwed up state sanctioned military cults that recruited children as soldiers under incredibly dubious and ill-informed consent. However, while Anakin definitely was capable of being an amazingly kind, loyal, empathetic, and self-sacrificing person at his best, he definitely did become a horrifying lawful evil at his worst, and not all of his crimes were ones he committed just because Sidious, Obi-Wan, and the Jedi Council coerced him to. He did develop a personally angry, selfish, and vengeful side, too.

So yeah, I can understand the logic of thinking that the galaxy might be safer without Vader. I can understand why a lot of his victims would feel that way. However, never once do Obi-Wan and Yoda tell Luke to kill the Emperor, too, and they know he’s the “big bad” in charge, not Darth Vader/Anakin, Yet, it’s just Vader, their former student, who they helped fuck up, left to burn when he turned on them, and then continued to hide and run away from after finding out he survived, who they are focused on using Luke to kill, which heavily implies that their motives aren’t nearly as selfless as they keep trying to convince either Luke or themselves. They’re being self-centered and manipulative cowards who are trying to find an easy way to redeem themselves without having to take personal responsibility and living in denial because facing the truth the right way hurts and is risky. It’s quite similar to what Vader was doing to Luke.

It’s easier for Yoda and Obi-Wan to continue to avoid facing the reality of their bad decisions and mistakes, instead of acknowledging how deeply abusive, damaging, self-centered, and toxic they had become in their fear of facing the unknown through their support of a corrupt Republic government, their hypocritical, their problematic methods and lifestyle in regards to Anakin and their other recruits, and the Republic as a whole, That is why they end up going in to hiding after Order 66 and attempt to use Luke to kill off the monster they inadvertently helped influence his father to become in the first place by deceiving him, endangering him, and manipulating him to try to escape their guilt and absolve themselves in regards to their mistakes with Anakin and the Empire without actually having to do the work of admitting they had been wrong and taking full personal ownership. The fact that they want to redeem themselves is a good instinct. The fact that they’re using an innocent Luke to try to do it for them is where it becomes cowardly, manipulative, and selfish.

I get that they’ve been in these messed up space soldier cults and systems for most of their lives with limited options, so their agency to be able to reasonably feel safe doing any better is compromised,l. It’s not entirely their faults they ended up in these positions that allowed them to grow up to be such deeply damaged and dysfunctional adults. They were victims who deserved better. However, they also had consciences that they buried by living in denial and fear of the unknown, which became a seriously fucked up issue of selfishness and toxicity when people who had nothing to do with their issues became “worthy” collateral damage and scapegoats for them to continue to not take personal accountability and risks to self-improve instead.

Still, in the end, Anakin’s the only one of his predecessors left from the old Jedi in the movies who learns to do the right thing.

#I definitely agree that it’s not fair to blame it on JUST Anakin for becoming Vader and remaining with Sidious #same with obi wan and Yoda #but when people who had done nothing to deserve their abuse or crime became collateral damage for their own ends because #it was easier than trying to take a risk to do the right thing and take personal accountability you do have to place blame on them #for knowingly doing wrong to others for worthy ends instead #and that’s the whole thing that does actually make Anakin/Vader obi-wan Yoda and prequel Jedi sympathetic in spite of their deep flaws #like in and of itself it’s not wrong for obi-wan and Yoda to want to redeem themselves #nor is it inherently wrong for Anakin to seek out his son and other relationships to try to escape abusive and corrupt authority figures #to want to protect his family or to want to make the galaxy better than the shithole it so often is in SW #but the means of enabling and perpetuating abuse crime manipulation and oppression against those who don’t deserve it is selfish #obi wan critical #yoda critical #I mean not really. they are flawed characters but just in case #anakin sywalker #the tragedy of anakin skywalker #the tragedy of the old republic and jedi order #cptsd-skywalker

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tanoraqui · 4 years

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There actually are enough good fics about postcanon tentative reforging of assorted pairs and even the whole of the Gusu Summer School No Brain Cell Trio to satisfy my niche itch, so pls enjoy these stray snippets of a fic I don't have to write:

Nothing would've happened if the cultivation conference wasn't at Cloud Recesses. But it was, Cloud Recesses with its pale stone and gracefully winding walkways and too many memories, including Lan Xichen sitting the whole thing out in seclusion somewhere... If it'd been at the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang would've been busy and if it'd been at Carp Tower the memories only would've been manageably bad, and if it was Lotus Pier or one of many smaller sects, it would've been...fine. Just fine.

But it was Cloud Recesses this year, this first conference since Jin Guangyao's downfall, and specifically it was half past ten at night, and Nie Huaisang was wandering the elegant pathways with a mostly full jar of wine in one hand. The previous jar, now entirely empty, had been left back in his room. He was a Nie, so he was only half as drunk as he'd always used to pretend at these things - but at least twice as drunk as he'd ever actually been.

After da-ge's death, of course. Before that, he used to get plenty drunk. Playfully drunk. With friends.

It would be a terrible idea for him to go appear on Lan Xichen's doorstep. Neither of them was ready for that yet.

So he appeared on Jiang Cheng's.

[ . . . ]

"Fine." Nie Huaisang pouted and turned. "I'll go ask Wei-xiong - "

And Jiang Cheng was easy, he was so easy, he'd always been easy, the only new thing is the faintest edge of wariness to his fury -

He grabbed Nie Huaisang's elbow in a flash and snapped, "Ugh, fine, I'll go - but I'm holding the wine."

Nie Huaisang laughed and handed it over. Jiang Cheng immediately took a deep swig.

[ . . . ]

It must've been a quiet night at the Jingshi. Wei Wuxian's sleeping robes didn't look the least bit hastily pulled on, and his lips were only the slightest bit red and puffy.

[ . . . ]

[for the record, this takes place in a book-show postcanon fusion wherein immediately post-Guanyin Temple, WWX and LWJ ran off to fuck in the bushes at least once a day for as long as possible, but in their absence, various sect leaders voted that Lan Wangji should be Chief Cultivator now, and alas some messenger caught up with them about six months into their honeymoon. Definitely caught them in flagrante delicto. Tragic for all. I’d probably communicate all this hereish somehow. It was definitely NHS who finally tipped someone off on how to actually find them.]

[ . . . ]

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," Wei Wuxian said, with a lidded look at Nie Huaisang, and Nie Huaisang burst into a giggles because the two most unequivocally lethal people he knew were afraid to leave each other alone with him, and it was satisfying to be recognized but also what's he going to do, personally? Cry at them? It'd taken him years to destroy Jin Guangyao, and at this point it'd take him months, if not years again to re-destroy the Yiling Patriarch, much less Sandu Shengshou. Especially when they both kept doing things like watching each others backs while pretending they weren't.

[ . . . ]

"Of course we need more!" Wei Wuxian declared. "This isn't even Emperor's Smile!"

[ . . . ]

"It's just a rat or something," Jiang Cheng scoffed.

"So?!" Wei Wuxian cried grandly. "Are we not noble cultivators? Is it not our duty to investigate this woman's complaint, and to slay whatever monster plagues her good inn’s wonderful cellar, whether deathly or monstrous or rodential it be?" He turned to Nie Huaisang and begged, "Help me out, Nie-xiong. You agree with me, right?"

Nie Huaisang clutched his cup against his chest, eyes wide, and shook his head in sharp jerks. "I don't know! I don't know!"

Wei Wuxian laughed and elbowed him in the side.

[ . . . ]

[while waiting for Wei Wuxian to send some sort of signal]

"You know I don't bear any grudge against Jin Ling, right?"

Jiang Cheng's impatient glare snapped to him, darkening with threat; his hand shifted on Sandu's hilt toward a drawing position. "What?"

"I don't bear any sort of grudge against Jin Ling," Nie Huaisang repeated, holding only the last jar of Emperor's Smile. "That's why you've been side-eyeing me all night, right? All conference." He took another sip (it really was the best!) and added recklessly, "If I wanted Jin Ling dead and disgraced, or all Carp Tower burned to ash, they already would be."

Sandu slid an inch out of its scabbard and Nie Huaisang watch it with fascinated curiosity. From a greater distance, he wondered if that was entirely healthy.

"What about Lotus Pier?" Jiang Cheng asked abruptly.

It took Nie Huaisang a blinking moment to focus on him.

"What about Lotus Pier?"

Jiang Cheng sat beside him on the cold earth and yanked the jar out of his hands, cruelly before Nie Huaisang could take another sip.

"Where's your grand terrible vengeance against me and mine? I get it, but if you're being honest for once right now, you could at least tell me when it's going to hit, and how."

"What?" Nie Huaisang pushed himself against his tree trunk, genuinely confused. "Why would i have a terrible vengeance planned against you?"

"I benefitted from Nie Mingjue's death, didn't I?" Jiang Cheng took another swig of wine of his own, and swung the jar illustratively. "My disciples have hunted in your territory while you 'weren't paying attention.' I absolutely fleeced you in that trade deal four years ago. And I worked with that bastard as much as anyone but Lan Xichen, especially on those damn watchtowers, and you broke him. So when's it my turn?" He pointed at Nie Huaisang, finger only wavering slightly. “If you fuck with Jin Ling, Wei Wuxian, or my sect, I will fuck you back.”

"You- oh, gimme that. Gimme. Gimme!" Nie Huaisang leaned forward and tried to grab the wine jar, and more importantly whined until Jiang Cheng handed it to him.

He stared at it for a moment, thrust it back and ordered, “Drink,” without letting it go, and once Jiang Cheng had dutifully tilted it back, pulled it back and slugged down the last swallows. He needed more alcohol for this much honesty, and so did Jiang Cheng.

He set the jar down very carefully, because the ground seemed to be moving, and leaned forward with even more care. He enunciated clearly, “Everyone fleeced me, and hunted in my territory, and I acsh- ass- let them. Why would I expect you to go looking for trouble with Jin Guangyao, when he had your heart locked in a box in his treasure room?”

Jiang Cheng, who was a respected master of all five arts but probably hadn’t actually read poetry for fun since an instructor had officially declared him as such, and who was himself at least a full wine jar in, squinted in angry confusion.

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “He had final say over where and how Jin Ling spent his time, and could’ve tried to poison him against you. What would you have even have done if I had come complaining?”

Jiang Cheng’s face only fell further, with the very sort of drunken moroseness Nie Huaisang was out here to avoid.

Nie Huaisang attempted to swap him sharply. He failed on both the swap and the sharpness.

“Stoppit! Stop thinking you’re not useful! You weren’t! I needed to pry er-ge away from him and for that only Lan Wangji would work, and I needed someone to watch his back through thick and deadly thin, and to be so disruptive that even Meng Yao couldn’t...circle, sneaky, planning...”

They were waiting for the pulse of a light talisman from the other tunnel entrance, half a mile away. There was a small but very bright explosion. laced with resentful as well as spiritual energy.

“Motherfucker!” Jiang Cheng cursed, leaping to his feet and drawing Sandu in one hideously coordinated motion.

“Just Lan Wangji, I think,” Nie Huaisang said, because Nie Mingjue himself couldn’t have stopped him. He groped for his own weapons - fan, check; wine jar -

“Oh no!”

“What?” Jiang Cheng snapped, as he bent and dragged Nie Huaisang to his feet with one hand. (Hideously coordinated. Sword people, honestly...)

“He’s going to be so mad that we finished the wine without him!”

[ . . . ]

[three grown-ass men, two sect leaders and one Yiling Patriarch, flying at high speed through Caiyi Town on one sword, all screaming. Nie Huaisang is clinging to Wei Wuxian; Wei Wuxian is flinging to Jiang Cheng, a little bit to Nie Huaisang, and most importantly to a chicken, Jiang Cheng is flying the sword. There is a bedsheet draped over all of them from where they ran into a laundry line. It’s 2am. Again I say, all are screaming]

[ . . . ]

[it probably wasn’t a rat - not just one, at least. Wei Wuxian does something incredibly clever, possibly including a creative use of that bedsheet; Jiang Cheng singlehandedly defeats something in combat, probably after he and Wei Wuxian shove each other out of the way of blows without either of them acknowledging it. Nie Huaisang shoves them both under cover and then with perfect professionalism tells whoever came to check on the ruckus that they handled the problem exactly as planned with absolutely no involvement of alcohol, and the Chief Cultivator will foot the bill for the unfortunately absolutely necessary property damage. Overall, they did handle the problem, but the local cryptid they were chasing will only have its reputation swelled and its continued existence assumed by all locals. it is possible that they themselves made this cryptid up two decades ago, but idk how heavy-handed we want to be.]

[ . . . ]

Nie Huaisang was leaning heavily on Wei Wuxian by the time they got back to the guest quarters. He could hold his alcohol, he was a goddamn Nie, and frankly he’d had it adrenalined out of him at least twice this evening. But he’d also had rather a lot, and he didn’t have Jiang Cheng’s golden core or Wei Wuxian’s blithe lack of sleep schedule.

“I missed this,” he admitted, head on Wei Wuxian’s (Mo Xuanyu’s) shoulder while Jiang Cheng opened the door.

Wei Wuxian leaned his head on Nie Huaisang’s. “Me too.”

“You’re both fucking annoying,” Jiang Cheng grouched, which meant, Me too.

Wei Wuxian stripped off Nie Huaisang’s muddy outer robe and tucked him into bed, and Jiang Cheng poured a glass of water from the pitcher by the door, drank it, poured another, scowled at Wei Wuxian for a moment, and set it on the bedside table. Wei Wuxian glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, finished with Nie Huaisang and started backing out of the room.

Nie Huaisang sat up more or less abruptly. “Both of you have got to stop that bullshit. I miss my brothers, okay? I’d I had a second chance...” He sagged back down with the plural, and flung an arm over his damp eyes. There was a glimmer in the sky; it’d be morning by Lan standards soon. “I fucking miss them.”

“...Ah,” said Wei Wuxian, who always spoke even when he didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said abruptly, and, “Drink your fucking water.” And the door slammed behind him as he walked out.

[...a few lines of dialogue later...]

“Seriously, you can go.” Nie Huaisang flicked a few tired fingers in dismissal.

“Are you sure?” Wei Wuxian added with an audible smirk, “Because if I stay up for another half hour, I can wake Lan Zhan with a morning...big ol’...loving...”

Nie Huaisang finally adjusted his arm to crack one eye up at him.

“People usually cut me off before I get that far,” Wei Wuxian admitted.

[ . . . a bit more dialogue and the end.]

#mdzs #the untamed #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #to the shick of no one i did write more in this than i thought i would #it's still like...no connective tissue though #and i'm not bothering with anything more #my fic #ficlet #i'm not gonna lie that plural snuck up on me #love when that happens!#incidentally you can’t prove that there ISNT a classic ancient fantasy China version of a telltale heart so my reference stands

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sugasplug · 2 years

Text

EPISODE 3

tw: discussion of suicide

- lim is so fucking funny the way he does a complete attitude 180 when ryeon says "so i can use [jun-woong] how i want" 🤣🤣👌 top tier

- jun-woong can be such a bootlicker sometimes lmfao

- OKAY FULL NAME TIME LETSGO very grateful that he gave us the characters unprompted: Lim Ryung-gu, ryung as in "high" and gu as in "to rescue". wonder why thats considered a teaseable combo

- "MR. TEMP" "MR. CONTRACT" HES SUCH A BASTARD IM IN LOVE WITH YOU SIR

- god they cut jun-woong down so quick. "you look like a rag doll", ryung-gu's mean little snicker, "keep looking forward (newbie bitch heavily implied)" yall are fucking ruthless lmfao

- damn ok this show is so good at getting me comfortable in the flow of bullying jun-woong and then punching me in my kidney with some nuance. the scene with his fathers shrine grabbed me by the balls even as i called him an idiot for going home in the first place and almost getting caught. "i wanted to fill your shoes better...still, this is...a pretty big company. i dont think theres one as big in korea" please sir im begging you to shut the fuck up my heart cant take it 😭😭

- TLDR; jun-woong can have a little depth. as a treat

- "you know how our family is unnecessarily frank and objective, right?" ok dialogue exposition go off. thanks 4 this peek into the psyche of why jun-woong is Like That

- damn that shit on why the dads missing from all the pictures hit ngl

- jun-woong you bystander trash its all "dont get involved" til its YOUR shoes got fucked up. but hes too charismatic and funny to stay mad about it. also every time its shown him doing this he gets involved anyway so as far as we know hes not even bystander trash. hes....wannabe bystander trash ??

- the delivery of him and jae-soo becoming friends in this moment was 1 of the funniest things i seen in a long time i dont even know how many times i played it back. theyre both so ridiculous who does this shit

- the creation of kim woong-jun ahjussi = petty bitch lim ryung-gu confirmed

- THE ROOSTER CROWING IN THE BG WHEN JUN-WOONG SAYS THEY NEED CHICKEN AFTER JAE-SOOS DEPRESSION MONTAGE WAS SO UNNECESSARY I HATE KDRAMAS OMFG 🤣🤣

- lmao they rly spooked the fuck out this man he ran like an olympic gold medalist was chasing him with a knife

- ryung-gu seems to be developing a habit of holding jun-woong back from shit and im interested to see where that goes

- "a temporal error will occur if your temporary body gets close to your real body" sorry but what does going tachycardic have to do with time glitching ?? anw i really thought mr sexy grim reaper did all that shit to prove a point but it turns out he didnt and also kind of saved jun-woong's life by getting him away from his own body?? granted he didnt have to choke-throw him but yknow

- ryung-gu's energy is very matchy in the scene about the contract. jun-woong raises his voice, he raises his back. jun-woong speaks quier and with deliberation, so does he. gonna have to see if thats a pattern during a rewatch sometime

- OH NO THE STRAW 🥤😭😭

- damn my mans jae-soo rly said nah this nosebleeds gonna have to wait til im done studying

- "like im the only one standing still" [meme oof audio]

- "dont cry" [cries] "nevermind. cry it out" [stops crying immediately] why is this guy so relatable

- duality of man: jun-woong is smart enough to snag his shoes from the entryway before hiding so hes not caught out and able to argue his way onto jae-soo's case by citing his usefuleness as someone who grew up in the neighborhood but also dumb enough to forget his face will change to anyone in the land of the living that knows him and not even skim the contract before signing it. YOU ARE WORKING FOR THE MF JADE EMPEROR READ THE FUCKIGN CONTRACT

- LMFAO THE DIRECTOR WAS SO IN AWE AT THE GALL OF ASKING FOR A FORBIDDEN PRACTICE TO BE ALLOWED FOR THE SAKE OF FRIED CHICKEN SHE JUST SAID YES THATS INCREDIBLE

- jun-woong really stuck his head out the window just for the reverb on that "ANDWAE...!"

- damn this kid got kicked out of school, harrassed while alone by weird strangers who lied about knowing his name without ever meeting him before, watched his mom cough up both damn lungs then try to say she was all better because of the hospital bills, and became homeless all on one day which happened to be his birthday

- say bruh i dont think ur dads comin back w that chicken. FUCK AND HE LOST HIS DAD ON HIS BIRTHDAY TOO. SHIT. FUCK

- when jae-soo woke up from one (1) PTSD nightmare and went "hm yea i need to step in front of a moving vehicle immediately" i felt that 😔😔✊

- nah im with ryeon on this one jun-woong is painfully slow on the uptake

- idk whats funnier, the fact that mr sexy grim reaper got scammed just as hard as jun-woong or the fact that jun-woong damn near dove into the other room to avoid being seen. ngl tho id be pussybaby too if some guy choked me out and tossed me ten feet while my physical body was busy being defibrillated

- ok at the risk of sounding callous idk if trying to save jae-soo's dad is the right option here?? like sure he'll be alive and jae-soo might be less fucked up, but that money was assumably what kept jae-soo fed and allowed his mother to continue treatment at the hospital. if his dad doesnt kill himself for that money theyll still be homeless and broke, and shit, maybe his mom dies instead once shes kicked out the hospital and he's just got different trauma. and you know whatever bills his dad wracks up in the hospital after his car crashes is gonna push him futher in debt, not to mention the cost of repairing the car itself, or possibly getting sued by the driver of the semi (assumung s. korean road law is similar to the usa's). fucking with time is always so riskyyy how about just get the man a support system and some therapy idk

#lu watch #lu watch: tomorrow #tomorrow kdrama #tomorrow #suicide cw #wondering if all their cases will be 2-parters like this

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 3 years

Text

Mask of Death - Ashes and Embers

I’m reworking and retooling some of the older installments of tMoD with better grammar, and presentation, and this is still one of my favourite chapters of the series I have penned so far. Thus, I’m sharing it with you again, it might even be completely fresh to some of you. Link to full series is in the bottom notes!

--------------

Captain TL-440 - often called Teel for short - had never seen the man quite like this. It was an awe inducing sight, a sobering reminder of the fact that despite his Force powers; Vader was just as mortal as the rest of them.

Some people would believe Vader was nothing but an expertly crafted droid; that he was unbreakable and unstoppable. That he had no heart, no humanity, no soul. Teel knew better. Especially now, as the dust settled on the carnage of the battlefield. The air was polluted by thick black smoke, fire scorching what was left of blown up AT-AT:s, shuttles and speeder bikes. Bodies were everywhere. Some familiar squad members perished in the brutal fight. Some rebels with their uncovered faces locked in perpetual terror.

Teel himself had come out fairly unscathed. He’d been assigned to a defensive position at the back, rather than the usual offensive front. Thinking about it now, he couldn’t see any traces of the commander who had executed the order to advance. Sure, Teel was very aware of the fact somebody had figured it’d be a good idea to stab a vibro-blade into his side. It stung like a bitch, but it wouldn’t kill him.

Unlike several of his fellow troopers, who laid strewn about all around him in bits and pieces, Teel would heal. The gaping holes in his comrades chests were disheartening; their missing limbs impossible to relocate. He could hear someone coughing in the distance; the hacking gulps of dying man suffocating on his own blood.

In the beginning, the aftermath of battle had made Teel sick. Overwhelmed by nausea, cold sweat had wet his forehead. Sometimes he’d found himself throwing up, wondering how he was ever going to get used to the sight of his friends torn to shreds. These days, after all carnage he had witnessed, Teel felt little more than pity for his fallen peers. Pity for the poor bastards who weren’t lucky enough to get a swift shot to the head.

How many survivors were there, even?

Teel had counted ten plus two so far.

Was that it?

They had been a thousand men strong when they left the cruiser for the DX transport shuttle. The officers and admirals paid them little attention at any given time, thinking them to be disposable and easily replaced. Teel despised the stuck up, spoilt Imperial overheads; despised them and how little regard they had for their subordinates. Vader was different. Vader had always been different.

Vader was on their side, Teel had realized early on. Vader fought alongside them, got down in the trenches and trudged without complaint through the warzone. He was often up ahead, leading the troops on by inspiring them. Vader seemed fearless, pressing on and never faltering. Never wavering. It was no secret that Vader shared the same contempt towards the Moffs who preferred to sit in their pampered palaces and beach houses as Teel and his men did. The high society would be sipping wine as their slaves saw to their needs while their troops were mowed down by enemy Rebellion forces. Vader, for all that he was, seemed to accept the soldiers as self serving individuals. Vader seemed to recognize that they were people, and even seemed to respect some of them.

Teel himself had done battle alongside Vader enough times, that he knew that they both appreciated the other’s efforts. That’s what made him dare to approach Vader in this moment. While the rest of the surviving squad members withdrew in retreat, keeping their distance out of fear, Teel persisted. He knew as well as his comrades that in this state, Vader may be lethal even to his own men.

Still, the captain had faith in the only man of the Imperial army who would dare gamble with his own life alongside theirs. The man who was - despite what governor Tarkin and his fellowship might think - second only to the Emperor in power. Highest command; and yet here he was, on the bottom of the ladder fighting beside the ground forces.

Vader’s majestic cape was in tatters. Not much remained of it; gaping still sizzling holes left by blaster shots and vibro-blade slices lining the ruined fabric. Vader's boots were caked with mud and drying blood, shrapnel digging into the shin guards. Wires hung exposed from his chest monitor; electrical bolts sparking on and off in uneven intervals. His hands were curled into tight fists, one of which still clutching the hilt of his crimson light saber - he other exposed for what it was; cybernetics and metallic prosthetics. The man's chest armour was cracked; his robes in ragged shambles.

But there was one thing that Teel noted above all as unusual. Among the embers of charred bodies, and fizzling equipment; he noted the tear in the side of Vader’s bodysuit. But above, he spotted blood. Deep red, humanoid blood soaking through Vader’s clothing; through the left side of his upper torso.

What more, beneath the mass of torn fabric and red smudges there was skin. Deathly pale skin, injured human flesh. Teel didn’t comment on it, but simply watched in amazed silence. He listened to the still rhythmical, still steady breathing mechanism of Vader's. It was a small wonder that that seemed to have taken miniscule damage.

“Are you ready to retreat, Lord Vader?” Teal finally allowed himself to ask.

“In a moment.”

Vader’s booming vocals were as imposing as ever, an undercurrent of suspicion and wariness seeping through the deep bark. Teel relied on his judgment, he knew Vader’s powers as a Force wielder granted him almost superhuman senses and prowess. It had helped save their lives when traditional tactics failed several times in the past.

Still, Teel let his dark eyes hidden behind the visor of his own helmet linger on the oozing, dark blood. Vader was merely a mortal man. Mighty, unstoppable like a hurricane. But then more than ever, the thought that Vader could die crept up on Teel. Vader could be bested and defeated. He didn’t want to dwell on that scenario. Instead, the captain waited patiently beside the dark, towering figure.

Vader appeared focused on something far off in the distance, standing perfectly still as if he hadn’t even noticed he’d been injured. As if he was unaware of the fact that he was bleeding rather heavily. As if he had no clue that he was wounded,and battered, and bruised, and probably needed a pretty good repair job done on both his suit and his body. The deep gashes in his chest piece just above the wound bore telltale scratches created by vibro blades. And direct blaster fire hits. Smudges of ashes, and dust, and mud linger along the indentations. Meanwhile, dark blood lazily making its way down towards the exposed cybernetic arm in a steady stream; the crimson fluid clinging to mechanic silver making for a jarring contrast.

“Whatever survivors there are have departed. They have lost more men than we have,” said Vader finally; tone meticulous.

Now that was a good omen.

Vader never seemed to care for his own safety, always seemed to want to get the job done no matter the cost. Still, Teel figured that even Vader must be feeling the exhaustion, the fatigue, and the pain of his injuries as soon as the adrenaline rush of combat wore off. He didn’t doubt that Vader could have gone on for far longer, had another wave of rebels attacked; but Teel still released a heavy sigh of relief. There was always a possible what if scenario, and he didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of trudging on without Vader at the helm.

Slowly, Vader began to turn his back on the setting sun ahead; as the crackling flames little by little became the only light in the dark of early nightfall. Switching off his light saber to clip it to his belt he stood tall, not as much as a limp to his step. Perhaps Vader's movements somewhat sluggish when compared to his usual gait, but otherwise he came across as resolute as ever.

Teel watched Vader pause and bring his gloved fingers up towards the thoroughly soaked side of what remained of his robes and chest piece. The captain watched him withdraw his hand, the stench tang of iron and scorched flesh thick in the air. Its sickly aroma was coming from everywhere around them; from the tattered and dismembered corpses. Vader’s hand came back drenched in blood as it withdrew; and the man appeared to contemplate something as he studied it.

“It appears you will be sleeping in your own bunk tonight.”

It was then that Vader finally turned to face Teel head on, and the stormtrooper had to fight back a gasp of shock, biting back the startled noise that wanted to slip out.

The entire left side of Vader’s face plate was mangled, misshapen and cracked. What lay beneath was now exposed as the lense of the same side had shattered and fallen out. The deathly pale, twisted and scarred flesh Vader's torso had displayed carried over to his face. The features were grim and distorted, little more than shadows in the dark of night; but the fires all around cast just enough light to reveal an eye.

One single, deep set ember eye.

The eye was bloodshot, its socket hollowed, and dark rimmed, and sunken. Light reflected off of it like a predator stalking its unwitting prey in the early morning hours. Teel almost believed the eye was generating its own light, and glowing all on its own.

“Yes, milord,” he finally managed to choke out, giving a curt nod of acknowledgement and obedience.

The single burning golden eye fixed his gaze, even through the visor Teel felt it bore pry itself deep into his conscious mind. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. He was suddenly freezing, despite the heat of the furnace the battle field had turned into, and the many flames in the close proximity. He felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end; his fingertips going inexplicably numb. How many men had seen Vader unmasked and lived to tell the tale? Teel feared he may have brought ruin onto himself by simple exposure.

Then, the glowing eye broke the stare and with it, the stalemate. Its attention shifted to cast one final glance behind them.

“How many survivors have you accounted for?”

“Twelve, milord,” Teel responded, mostly on autopilot.

“Very well. Round them up and bring them back to the hangar bay.”

“Yes, Lord Vader.”

For a brief tense moment; their eyes met once more and the piercing golden iris made Teel’s stomach sink with dread seemed to convey an unspoken warning. Feeling a freezing cold chill pass through his very bones, the soldier nodded and complied with its demand. He was never to speak of what he had seen.

"I expect you to handle your promotion better than your predecessor, commander."

Then, Vader simply turned on his heel and began to make his way back towards the landing site. Perhaps, there was a tiny wobble to his steps? Teel squinted but couldn’t say for sure, and it took him longer than it should to realize Vader had just made him the new commander. The responsibility was more than he had grown accustomed to, but he would never refuse or question Vader's decisions.

Perhaps his concern was unfounded, but he deliberately remained a few paces behind Vader as they walked. Just in case.

Then again Teel thought, as he the look in that one exposed eye remained superimposed onto his inner vision; that one eye only added to the mystery of Vader. The sense of dread it had inspired within seconds, that was not human.

Vader may bleed, but he had the eyes of a beast.

---------

The Mask of Death chapter index:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049894/navigate

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teagrl · 4 years

Text

Yay Burn Up My Heels is done. Oh no, Frangi why so many loose ends aaaaaarghhh.

Zombie author here will provide some notes on my ending, but as always the fic stands or doesn’t by itself. Whoever reads is the final arbiter. The fic is posted! I, as the author, am DEAD.

So leaving loose ends is my MO and I've stopped apologizing for it. I bind my stories thematically which means they don't necessarily have closed endings. But they do conclude the specific plot in motion. Burn's A-plot was always bringing the lightsaber back, it's B-plot was Mara's coming of age -- told as a romance (as much as Stone’s was a coming of age told as a captivity narrative, and Citadel was a straight-up gothic, I have written about coming of age here and here). She gets on a path to self actualization through discovering her affinity with someone who, on paper, is nothing like her (by virtue of being a colonial streetwalker etc). Ultimately, her abandonment issues come to play making it so she chooses loyalty above herself, but she returns to the Empire with a goal of making things better which of course blows up in her face. The end for Mara is her worst nightmare come to pass being cut loose from her master, the Empire, being tarred as a criminal, tortured and slated for execution. Oh nooooo.

Have we forgotten that the Empire is a piece of shit? That Mara ultimately doesn't mean anything to the Emperor? He doesn't even set out to hurt her in how I think of the final events, he just point blank doesn't give a shit and lets ISB have their way with her. It's very cruel, but this gets her out of the Empire pretty quick in her tenure (she's 18-19 tops), a good three-four years before canon.

Now what's going on with Luke? The key to that is actually in the dialog our pov imperial overhears:

"It's not really bounty hunting. More like being in the know. It's like that thing the small-time organizations do now," the ensign was saying, loud enough for Ventfor to hear several paces away. "Say Black Sun wants Crymorah middle management out of their hair. But the Crymorah know, they've been enemies for a long time, so there's no element of surprise, right? That's where the little guys come in—unaffiliated small-timers. No one knows them, so they keep their head down, keep their ears open. One day they surprise the vigo, grab him for the big timers. They don't kill him, though. They comm it in -- for a price."

[...]

"They make sure the vigo is easy prey. They cripple him," the ensign continued. "Leave him limping in a dark alley or something," he laughed. "Big-timers want the bastard dead, right? They want to send a message, want the bragging rights for the kill shot, the turf, what's in his pockets -- but without the risk of the other guy getting the drop on them. So these small-time players, they eat the risk without the bragging rights, without the fame. It's not direct, see? They're not the ones pulling the trigger. That's one of the ways they keep a low profile, make their credits, and get those who know not to fuck with--"

Sub in Black Sun and Crymorah for the Empire and Son-Tuul and that describes what Luke’s group is going. They crippled the Star Destroyer then called it in so the Son Tuul could get their payback (Mara mentions Vader destroyed the Son Tuul’s HQ in the transcript that opens the chapter, this is a comics easter egg) .

And if oh any of this sounds like information brokering with a kick (lol literally?), then that’s kind of funny, no?

In Ch 30 Luke had seemed quite interested in the fact that Force users could find locations (Mara finding the Hand of Judgement is in Choices of One):

“I don’t know. They just disappeared. Last time I worked with [LaRone and his men] I had to use the Force to find them --”

He leaned forward slightly, expression shifting to curiosity but no less intense. “Wait. Using the Force? Like the -- the healing? How?”

She waved a hand. “It’s hard to explain, you just kind of focus on what you want to find -- anyway, I tried to look into ISB -- the Imperial Security Bureau to see where I could lodge an appeal on their behalf, but I didn't get too far.”

It’s been six months since this. Luke’s obviously kept very very busy and there’s been a lot of Force-ish stuff going on between the lines among both of them (in VotF it’s mentioned how Luke and Mara were always kind of sensible to each other --that regardless of the bond they had been in tune sort of, this fic takes up that idea on the dl. As they grow closer Mara feels what Luke feels more strongly, by the end she has his nightmare). Is he a Jedi like the Imperials are freaking out about? Did they witness some Mandalorian-style hallway throwdown? LOL NO. But they did see that lightsaber batting bolts and hacking down people left and right, which is sufficient to raise the alarm and have them send the footage to Coruscant. So oooh what does this meaaaaan-- safe to say Luke and Mara won’t be under the radar for that long.

Why the stylistic change?

I decided to do a transcript because I felt a full-on interrogation from Mara’s pov was unnecessary. I tend to think these kinds of scenes are kind of gratuitous when written blow by blow. In Ricochet, I showed the beginning of one and then cut. Here I liked the depersonalizing effect of having the transcript erase her name and communicating the interviewer’s contempt through tone as well as Mara’s own state through the way her speech becomes more fragmented before she tries to marshal herself together to voice the injustice of what she’s being put through (as best she can in her situation).

As for the Imperial pov, as I mentioned in a comment, canon is SATURATED with breakout scenes. I based this one heavily on ANH, DFR, and Lords of the Sith (though that one wasn’t a breakout as much as a break in). To do something a little different, I thought Imperial pov could give me some interesting beats. I love ending with a female voice on the comm making a kind of sexualized threat (“You’re looking a little...lonely. Maybe we can help”) that ties into the thematics of the fic at large. Why yes, my faves were very, very lonely and while hardly getting a hearts and flowers ending, they’re certainly not lonely now, which is my conclusion to the B-plot.

B-plot-wise I’m back in my own terrain. For several years now I’ve been writing about a girl, her imperial conditioning, and the boy who adamantly refuses to give up on her. I still think it’s a compelling story to tell. Thank you thank you thank you again to all who have joined me!

#my fic #shut up frangi #navel gazing

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blushbot · 3 years

Note

Aurelio. Now.

Ah yes. That bastard.

Full Name: Aurelio Felix Marcellus (First name originally Aurelius)

Gender and Sexuality: Cis man, demiromantic pansexual (Slight lean towards women)

Pronouns: he/him

Ethnicity/Species: Roman uwuwuwu

Birthplace and Birthdate: Rome, probably like anywhere from 100-50 BC (i never gave him a definite birthdate and likely never will)

Guilty Pleasures: He probably secretly liles those shitty romance novels. You know the ones.

Phobias: Heliophobia, aquaphobia (specifically rivers), autophobia, is there a phobia of ash?

What They Would Be Famous For: He was an emperor, one time, so...

What They Would Get Arrested For: Domestic abuse charges 🙃

OC You Ship Them With: lol

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Gautier :]

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Political dramas or murder mysteries

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: i think he would hate cerebus syndrome? I dont feel like doing a tvtropes deepdive rn sorry

Talents and/or Powers: Sighs heavily. I dont wanna list all the shit all my vampires get. So i wont! He can turn stuff into gold. As for talents, hes a seasoned writer and hes quite intelligent in general.

Why Someone Might Love Them: if you dont know about the Bullshit he comes across as a nice old man whos just a little bit sad

Why Someone Might Hate Them: murder, torture, all the shit with gautier and henri. Hes a bad guy

How They Change: lol

Why You Love Them: i dont!

#oc stuff #abuse ment

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btxtreads · 4 years

Text

whispers || min yoongi

CHAPTER ONE

➳ Fate is such a fickle thing. So easy to tamper with.

↳ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Based off of the Daechwita MV)

↳ word count: 1.5k words

↳ rating: PG-13

↳ genre: fluff, angst, historical AU

↳ Warnings: Swords, Death, A gun, Battle Scenes, Forced Engagement, Failed Execution, Assassination

↳Trigger warning note: PLEASE BE CAREFUL IN READING THIS FIC. IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY THE THINGS LISTED ABOVE–PLEASE DO NOT PROCEED UNDER THE KEEP READING SIGN.

↳ a/n: i wrote this for like three days until i realized oh maybe it should be a series so enjoy this first chapter lol also!!!!! i put a lil final fantasy thing here and its kind of a central point to the story lmaooooOoO guys send me some asks im like really bored bls

Empress Y/N

Empress Y/N (1384 – 1461) was the second emperor of the Baekje kingdom during the early Joseon era and one of the best-known queens of the Joseon dynasty. Born to a consort, the ongju only became the heir to the throne when Gongju Sun, only child of the Baekje emperor and the late empress Shin, became the empress of Goguryeo after her marriage with the Emperor—father of the late crown prince Geum—after his queen’s untimely death. Y/N became the first empress to rule without a king in 1413, until her marriage to her royal guard Park Jimin in 1420. The empress was then succeeded by her son, Park Il-Guk, after she and her husband stepped down the throne in 1446. She died of natural causes in 1461.

It was a normal day at the temple when the empress suddenly visited. It was dark and silent—the time of the pig[1].

The heavily pregnant empress of Goguryeo, ever the superstitious, approaches the oracle with a careful bow as she cradled her swollen belly. She was due to birth any time.

“Your highness,” greeted the oracle.

“Priestess Cho,” the empress nodded back. “Apologies for having barged in at such an inconvenient time,”

“None-sense, your majesty.” The priestess replied. “The stars have called you here. Who am I to disagree?”

The queen nodded solemnly before setting her hand on her stomach. “I am to birth at any time. I would like you to tell me about my child.”

And tell her she did.

The priestess whispered a prayer as she lit an incense, then closed her eyes.

As if magic, a prophecy tumbled out of her mouth.

A family of greatness

Birthing a child of weakness

As one approaches his end,

A brother prepares to reign.

The queen gasped as tears welled up in her eyes.

She touched her stomach as she felt her child respond to his mother’s touch.

The stars have spoken.

The unborn child will not reach his seventh year, and he will not see his brother crowned as the heir to the throne.

It had been seven years since then.The country prospered and was better than ever.

The crown prince, Geum, grew up to be a cheerful, kind and intelligent boy. He had an affinity for diplomacy and is exceptionally skilled in warfare and battle strategy. The kingdom loved him.

Prince Yunki, however, was a sad child. Perhaps that was because he was constantly ill and born with a death sentence.

The boy was born with snow white hair, which the queen supposed was the result of his illnesses—though quite unheard of. Despite his affinity for swordsmanship and politics, the boy could barely even wield one.

The queen was disheartened.

Agitated by her son’s fate, the empress once again visits the temple. Once again, she sits across the same oracle.

“Your highness,” greeted the oracle. “You have returned.”

“Priestess Cho. I came for my son,” The queen replied with urgency, no time for pleasantries, “The fates have told you that he will die as his brother ages for the throne.”

“They have.”

“Geum will be groomed for the throne soon,” The queen rushed. “Is the death of Yunki really mapped by the gods?”

“No gods, your grace. Stars—the planet. Destiny. Fate. Whatever it is called.”

“Fate dictates the death of my son?”

“Alas, the stars have changed course.” The oracle whispers. “The spirits whisper.”

“What do they say?”

“That your son will be the fiercest king Goguryeo will meet.” The oracle tells. “The emperor that defies fate and destiny.”

“Priestess Cho, forgive me. I was not talking about Geum.”

“Neither am I.” The priestess replied, shocking the queen into silence as she continued. “He will not die tonight, my queen. Not yet. Not for a long while.”

Perhaps the mistake the queen did that night was not to ask what this entailed.

For the following year, the queen was delighted at what she saw.

Yunki loses his illness, recovering at a fast pace. He grew up a strong prince with fair skin, maintaining his white hair, and a sharp gaze. He became strong and fierce.

The queen perished happily that year, joyed at the fact that her son will live. She returned to the planet as her country mourned.

For years to follow, all was well in the kingdom—they had a crown prince who would rule kindly and another who defied fate.

It wasn’t until years later that it all crashed down.

Prince Geum fell in battle, and the emperor died from grief. Prince Yunki immediately ascended to the throne.

The bitter child that he grew up to be, Emperor Yunki became the mad king. All he did was pillage and burn.

That’s what he did to terrorize nearby cities, that’s what he did to eliminate rebels, and that’s what he did to conquer the Kingdom of Silla.

It was because this that fate finally fixed itself—the planet called the whispers[2].

Min Yoongi was simply… Yoongi.

He didn’t think anything was special about him—well, except for the fact that he was a time-travelling assassin sent to different moments of history to fix details that would change the course of destiny.

It would be nice to see an ancient Korea after the mess I made in America, Yoongi thought as he headed to his mission.

He shuddered at the thought of his previous mission—Yoongi spent two whole years egging Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton’s rivalry to end in a duel rather than amicable terms.

Never again.

Shaking his head, Yoongi stepped through time and landed where he needed to, Joseon era—the year 1411.

Yoongi gazed around at the busy street and the lively Goguryeo culture—but that really wasn’t what he’s here for.

Yoongi breathed and nodded to himself.

He was back here to do his mission: assassinate Emperor Yunki and restore the timeline.

Securing his straw hat on his head, Yoongi started to walk through the busy marketplace.

While he did feel weirdly out-of-place, he found that didn’t actually care as long as his cover wasn’t blown.

Three loud bangs on a drum and airy horns were suddenly heard, making him feel alive—Yoongi came at the same time they were playing the Daechwita [3].

Yoongi has always liked music. He liked to play, to listen, to sing and dance and rap. He liked it modern, classical, and traditional—and the Daechwita was one of his favorites. Perhaps it was the ties to his culture.

Intrigued, Yoongi went to watch the captivating performance.

“You really like music, don’t you?” A soft voice hummed next to him. “Obviously, right? A person wouldn’t smile that big while watching the Daechwita if they didn’t like music.”

He turned to see a girl, donned in a plain-looking blue and purple hanbok, tilting her head at him.

Yoongi blinked and turned to leave. “Hey, wait!”

The girl ran after him. “Hello!”

“Goodbye,”

“What’s your name?” The girl persisted, as Yoongi turned to another pathway, his hands in his pockets.

“None of your business.” Yoongi quipped, shooting the girl an irritated gaze.

“Sorry, I just found it really sweet that you were so happy, watching the Daechwita,” the girl continued. “While I do like music too, I really don’t listen to the Daechwita much.”

Yoongi sighed, deciding to humor the girl.

“You’re a commoner, what business do you have listening to the Daechwita?”

“You’re right, nothing!” She smiled.

“Right.”

Yoongi continued walking, vaguely aware of the footsteps following behind him.

“So, what’s your name?”

Yoongi glared at the happy girl, who only smiled back.

“If you refuse tell me, I will call you Daechwita until you do.”

Yoongi huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Listen, don’t you have anyone else to bother?”

The girl shrugged. “Not really. Besides, everybody in the country is busy these days.”

At this, Yoongi snapped into attention, turning to the girl to gather intel on his mission. “Why? What’s happening?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The girl snorted before shrugging. “The emperor of Baekje and his… ah… daughters have arrived. The gongju[4] is going to marry the emperor.”

“Emperor Yunki? A wedding?” Yoongi asked. That bastard is getting married?

“Yes.” The girl nodded, smiling.

“Have you seen the emperor yet?” Yoongi asked curiously, taking note of possible locations.

The girl slowly shook her head. “No, I’ve never seen him. I’m just a visitor.”

“From where?” Yoongi asked.

The girl gulped. “Baekje.”

“Ah,” Yoongi nodded. “What was your name again?”

“…Y/N?” The girl replied hesitantly.

So, this is Empress Y/N of Baekje, Yoongi noted before he shrugged. Didn’t know she was this annoying.

“Okay, then.”

He turned to leave.

“Wait, that’s it? That’s your response? To what I just told you?”

He turned his head and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, was I supposed to say anything else?”

The girl’s eyes lighted up. “No!”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and turned to leave when the girl bounded up next to him.

“So, where are you from?”

Yoongi let out an exasperated sigh.

This was going to be a very long day.

LORE GUIDE:

[1] In the Joseon era, people told time via sundials and water clocks. As they did not follow the modern format of time yet, they based off of animals. The time of the pig means 9:00 – 11:00 PM.

[2] Based off of the Final Fantasy 7 remake, Whispers were entities that were meant to keep destiny in line. They appear at instances where destiny could possibly change course and make sure that whatever needs to happen, happens. However, this can be broken as Cloud and his team destroys all entities and changes the past, present and future—altering the timeline and creating a new one.

[3] Daechwita is a genre of Korean tradition music played with snares and woodwind instruments. This is usually performed during marching or when the king is out.

[4] Ongju and Gongju are both princesses. Gongju, however is the daughter of the king and queen—a crown princess. An ongju is the daughter of the king and a consort.

For other questions DM me,,,, also i just really want people to talk to u

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mythrilhusk · 4 years

Text

Despite Everything - Chapter 4

NOT RPF (Ao3 Link) Words: 2,091 Last Chapter CW: violence

Feat. Relationship (only SFW): Niki/Puffy (Rainbow Arson)

Spirit Reference Key: Niki Nihachu - Death Captain Puffy - Fire Jack - Light Eret - Ice Awesamdude - Dark Foolish - Life

On the eve of Puffy's birthday, Niki finds herself cuddled with her girlfriend on a beanbag sofa as Jack and Puffy's three other friends laugh and banter around her. She reaches for the cookies to dip in her chocolate milk. Puffy gulps down her own favorite drink, her ears already flushed red with tipsiness.

Jack and Sam play a card game, taking shots every time they lose a round. The two other teammates Niki just met today, Foolish and Eret, dance around in the kitchen as they cook up dinner.

Niki grabs a handful of popcorn and chews it thoughtfully. The others haven't pressured her to fight with them yet, but she's ready for the inevitable disappointment. She watches the card game, trying to keep her mind off of darker musings.

Eret strides out into the living room, their bi-pride-flag cape swooshing behind them. "Dinner is ready, Captain."

Captain Puffy grins and wobbles to her feet. "To the kitchen!" She crows.

Jack groans good-naturedly. "Man, I was just about to win!"

"No, you weren't." Sam retorts, shoving Jack's shoulder playfully.

Niki follows Puffy to the kitchen, where Foolish has set up the dinner table with paper plates and plastic cups. "Thanks, Effy, my son." Puffy slurs her consonants slightly.

Foolish smiles and waves a bashful hand. "No problem, Papa."

Sam sits down beside Niki. She slouches in her seat uncomfortably as he smiles at her. He's been waffling for weeks between either unsubtly avoiding her and being overtly friendly. If she didn't already know that he's very monogamously in love with some other dude, she'd think he's crushing on her. But that can't be it, so Niki is confused in regards to his possible motives.

Eret serves everyone heaping piles of the noodles and stirfry. "Truly, a queen among humanity." Puffy giggles as she stuffs food in her mouth.

Foolish laughs at Jack, who's formed a mustache out of his noodles. The banter is so normal, the scene so mundane, it brings an ache to Niki's heart.

The heavy knock on the door shatters the illusion.

Niki rises to answer, but the door swings open before she can peek out the peephole. "Why, hello." A gruff voice intones, two glittering eyes pinning Niki in place. "Mind if I come in?"

"Who are you?" Niki crosses her arms, blocking the way of the shadow.

"You may know me as Technoblade." The massive form ducks through the door and into the light, shedding the boiling shadows. Niki gasps and flinches back from the menacing figure.

Technoblade adjusts the glasses resting on his muzzle, scratches his bristly neck, and widens his amused grin. Behind Niki, her friends have all stood up, tensing for battle. "Relax." Technoblade admonishes lightly, raising his claws. "I'm not here to kill any of you this time."

"This time??"

Technoblade laughs awkwardly. "Aha, don't let this scare you or anything, but I'm under oath to not harm any of you tonight."

"What do you want??" Puffy snarls, yanking Niki behind herself protectively.

"We would like you to join our anti-emperor coup d'etat as allies." His tusks glint as he bends his head to stare at them through his glasses. "Sam, you smell terrible."

"Ha- what??" Sam clenches his fists. "Wanna say that again, big guy??"

"Yeah, actually. You stink of guilt and lies." Technoblade shrugs. "Hey, that's none of my business though if y'all wanna associate with a traitor."

"Out." Puffy growls, glaring up at Techno. "Get out."

"Wait, wait, haha, I kinda have to secure this alliance. C'mon, Captain, what do you say?"

"Fuck you." Puffy flips him off. "Leave."

Technoblade shrugs. "K. Don't say I didn't warn you." He ducks out of the door again, once more shrouded in shadow.

Puffy slams the door after him. "What the hell was that about?? How dare he come in here to, to try to tear us apart!"

Niki steps back as Foolish and Jack join in Puffy's rage. She turns and meets Sam's eyes. He stares at her with broken desperation apparent in the welling tears. Eret offers Sam their hand. "You good, man?"

Sam flinches. "I- I'm so sorry."

The room goes unnaturally silent. Puffy breaks the quiet tension with a furious shriek, throwing up her arms and storming to the beanbag. She throws herself into the poof and muffles an angry scream.

"What do you mean, Sam??" Foolish cries. "What are you sorry for, you've done nothing!! Right??"

Sam drops his eyes with a heavy sigh. "I have prior loyalties that- I thought I wouldn't encounter him again, okay? I thought- I thought he was gone for good. But he's back. And I can't betray him again, or- or he'll kill all of you, and I can't let that happen!"

Jack pats Sam's shoulder. "Hey, look, at least you had good motives."

Niki leaves Jack and Eret to comfort Sam, and approaches Puffy, who kicks her feet on the floor, still making noises like a pissed off tea kettle. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay!" Puffy snaps, going miserably limp in the poofy beanbag. "I can't even protect my own team." Tears well in her eyes. "I can't even protect my own fucking team!! Why the fuck did that goddamn bastard Technoblade notice before I did??"

"I, I think he's still out on the balcony, Puffy." Niki hisses upon glancing out the window.

"Damn him, of course he is." Puffy grumbles. "Please deal with him for me?"

"Of course, babe." Niki impishly plants a kiss on Puffy's wrist, then leaps up.

Upon opening the door, she scowls at the lurking Technoblade. "Fifty thousand a day."

"Heh? That's a rather high price, what about-"

"This is not a negotiation." Niki smiles sweetly. "It's an ultimatum. We will be your allies in this coup if you pay each of us fifty thousand bullion credits a day."

Technoblade huffs heavily. "Don't punt anyone, they said. Just barter, it'll be easy, they said... Damn Wilbur, he should've been here instead."

"Take it or leave it."

"Fine, I suppose that deal is okay, I guess." Technoblade grumbles. "We'll contact you when we want your assistance."

"Deal." Niki slams the door closed on him once more.

Puffy giggles hysterically as Niki sits down beside her. "Niki, I can't believe you just extorted the Pax Triumvirs!"

"Wait, what??" Niki shrieks furiously, leaping to her feet. "The what?? Didn't they beat up Sam??"

"Yes, but- Niki, you good, babe?"

Niki glares venomously at the window. "I am going to extort so much more when those bastards try to contact us again."

Puffy guffaws. Niki glances back at her with a fond smile. In the kitchen, Foolish, Eret, and Jack try to comfort Sam with ideas on how to free him from whatever entity that's been threatening him.

Nothing about this is normal, anymore. But Niki finds she doesn't mind so much.

++++

Cloaked in the night, Badboyhalo trails Technoblade back to his base. The foolish Angel walks confidently, unaware of his stalker. Bad waits as Technoblade turns a corner. He sneaks around after waiting a moment.

But Techno has disappeared. Bad huffs, annoyed that he has to use his meager strength to track the Angel. This was supposed to be a quick, easy mission. He closes his eyes and lets the darkness seep through him.

Technoblade's form is a mere whisper tickling Bad's senses. Right behind him. Bad ducks; the blade of an axe whistles over his head. His daggers leap into his hands and he slashes for the Angel's arms. Feathers rustle, Bad's only warning before a heavy wing bowls him over.

"Rude." Technoblade places a foot on Bad's chest, slowly increasing the pressure as Bad struggles to gasp for air. "Why are you followin' me?"

"I, I was just, just passing throu-gck-!" Iron gravity wraps around his limbs, choking him. "Please-" Bad whimpers.

"I asked a simple question."

The pressure eases slightly, allowing Bad to gather his breath for an answer. "I- I just want to make sure they stay safe!" He cries.

"Who? Nemesis?? They'll be fine. I ain't gonna kill them unless they try to cross us."

"I know." Bad pleads. "I know, but the Lucid Spider is out and looking for revenge."

Technoblade's eyes light up. He lifts his foot and yanks Bad to his feet. "The Lucid Spider, you say...?"

"Yes! He's going to kill me if he finds me, but there's not time, I have to warn the Spirits." Bad brushes himself off. He glances up just in time to see Technoblade hiding a smirk.

"Well, then. I've got some good news, then."

"Oh? Really?" Bad perks up hopefully.

Technoblade caresses the blade of his axe thoughtfully. "Good for me, that is. I'm not entirely sure how great it will work out for you, to be honest."

"Oh-" Bad shrinks away. "Please don't?"

"Alright. What'll I get if I let you go?"

Bad thinks for a moment. He doesn't have riches, or anything really. "Uh, the satisfaction of doing the right thing?"

"Heh." Technoblade laughs darkly. "I'm afraid that doesn't pay the bills. I can't have Quackity getting pissy cause I let a hostage go for having the moral high ground, now, can I..." He raises his axe. "You're comin' with me."

Desperately, Bad kicks Technoblade in the gut. The Angel grabs his foot and twists, knocking Bad off balance. Bad shrieks as the axe slams down. It stops, hovering barely a centimeter away from the heartbeat pounding in Bad's throat. Technoblade scowls at Bad for a moment, then turns away and sheathes his axe. "Come on."

Bad shrinks back, trembling with terrified adrenaline. He wants to go home. He wants to return to Skeppy and Antfrost, his team, his friends.

He starts to draw the shadows to himself in the vain hopes of sneaking away, but he's yanked into the air by gravitational forces beyond his control, then slammed down again. Technoblade doesn't even glance back at him, doesn't say anything, merely waits as Bad regains his breath and struggles to his feet.

Badboyhalo looks over his shoulder at the nearest escape. Then he looks back at the Angel, who stretches his arms with a lazy yawn. He meekly follows his captor.

++++

Antfrost and Skeppy search the bridges and alleys frantically for Bad. Skeppy gets increasingly more and more panicked as no traces are found. "What if Dream got him??" Skeppy cries. "That fucking bastard-" He bursts into tears. "Now Bad will never yell at me again!!"

Antfrost growls low in his throat. He's grown accustomed to teammates dying, but the loss still aches. "We will find Dream and make him pay."

"Ye-yeah!" Skeppy sobs. "I don't understand, how could Bad let himself be defeated??"

Antfrost shakes his head. "The goddamn muffinhead shoulda taken us with him."

"He didn't even tell us where he was going!!" Skeppy cries. "He could be literally anywhere!"

"I will try to look." Antfrost kneels on the cold bridge and clasps his hands together. His eyes snap open, blazing golden as his cyan phylactery floats up from the silver chain around his neck. Beams of light flare and dance around his body.

"Badboyhalo." He hums and Io hums with him. "I am Antfrost, Speaker for the Dead. I summon you. Badboyhalo!"

Skeppy stares at Antfrost, never failing to be amazed every time the former Spirit of Death taps into his lingering power. Antfrost's white and gold outfit glistens with diamond dew, setting off the cyan accents of the sharp holographic wings fluttering behind him.

"We can't find him." Punz murmurs through the invisible portal to Hel's gates.

"He's not here," Fundy confirms.

"We will search for him." Purpled promises.

Tears bead in Antfrost's eyes. He struggles to close the portal and cut off his power. His dead friends give him spectral hugs, then retreat once more to whatever afterlives they've chosen. His eyes flicker closed as he collapses weakly to the ironwood planks.

Skeppy wails as he picks up Antfrost. "Don't die!!"

"I'm not dead, you idiot." Antfrost snaps with his remaining strength. "Just, just let me rest."

Antfrost lets Skeppy carry him back to their team headquarters. Skeppy, dear Skeppy. Formerly Spirit of Life, until it was ripped from him. Badboyhalo, dear muffin, former Spirit of Dark, until he gave it up for Skeppy's life. Punz, Fundy, and Purpled were not so lucky. Antfrost senses his remaining reserves of magic. He's running too low. Just one more spell, and his own body could be torn apart by the forces that only the gods will ever truly understand.

#captain puffy #niki nihachu #eret #awesamdude #foolishg #jack manifold #badboyhalo #antfrost #skeppy #technoblade #magical warriors au #dream smp au #dream smp #not rpf #rainbow arson #magical transformations #violence cw

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frozenartscapes · 4 years

Note

Wilhelm + Rhea - I’m pregnant.

Something was wrong, Seiros was sure of it. She staggered back to her cot after running a cool, damp cloth over her face, and flopped down with little grace. She groaned as she clutched her abdomen, praying to the Goddess that the world would stop spinning so much.

Someone must have poisoned her. Or rather, is poisoning her because this is the fifth day in a row she’s woken up like this.

“Seiros!” A singsong voice floated through the opening of her tent, all bright and chipper.

“Come in,” Seiros managed to call out, gulping as she felt her stomach heave again.

It was Rowena, which was probably good considering her current situation. How Cichol had ever managed to find, woo, marry, and have a child with such a woman so…different from himself had always been a mystery. But it was times like these that Seiros was thankful she was around.

Rowena frowned when she spotted her companion curled up on her cot. “Another rough morning?” she asked, producing some herbs from her bag and setting them down on the desk. She pushed aside some of the war maps and got to work making a nausea remedy.

“We really must…find whoever’s...responsible for this,” Seiros grumbled.

Rowena brought over the concoction and wordlessly handed it over. As Seiros brought it to her mouth, she caught her friend’s knowing, and worryingly smug grin. She gulped anxiously and asked, “What?”

“I think I know who’s responsible,” Rowena teased, “You might want to have a word with Wilhelm.”

“Why would he be poisoning me?”

“Poisoning?” Rowena’s gleeful laugh filled the tent, though Seiros was still at a loss as to why, “Oh my dear, please tell me all this war planning and scheming hasn’t clouded your head that much!”

“I…I don’t understand…”

Rowena reached out and took Seiros’ hands in hers, and gently pulled her up into a sitting position. “Seiros, my dear,” she said softly, breathlessly happy for her friend, “You’re pregnant.”

“…I’m…what?”

Rowena chuckled. “Don’t worry. That news always takes a moment to sink in.”

“I’m what?”

“Expecting, Sweetie.”

“But… I…I can’t be pregnant!” Seiros cried, “We’re fighting a war! I’m leading the war! A…and Wilhelm and I… I mean… We did, but he’s human and I’m…not…” She gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth as it finally, finally hit. “Oh Goddess I’m pregnant.”

“I don’t think you have much to worry about,” Rowena assured her, “It isn’t unheard of for our kind to have children with humans. And it’s not like you’ll be in this alone. I’ll be here, and so will the others. And of course there’s Wilhelm.”

“Oh Goddess…Wilhelm!” Seiros exclaimed, “I…I have to tell him!”

“Knowing Wilhelm I imagine he’ll be rather excited, too,” Rowena added.

“But what about the others?” Seiros demanded, “Cichol and Indech I’m not too worried about, but Macuil will be furious, I know it.”

“Oh don’t you worry about that old windbag,” Rowena sighed, “If he gives you any problems, send him to me.” She suddenly clapped her hands together, bouncing a little in excitement. “Oh little Ceth will finally have someone she can play with!”

“I’m pregnant,” Seiros murmured, suddenly feeling nauseous for a different reason. This was something completely out of her wheelhouse. She could lead an army. She could wield a sword. She could kick anyone’s ass with just her fists if she had to.

She could not picture herself as a mother.

She sighed heavily and buried her face in her hands, trying not to think too deeply about how this was going to affect her war against Nemesis.

“Oh Wilhelm! What perfect timing!” Rowena greeted cheerfully.

“Very funny, Wena,” Seiros groaned.

“Oh! I’m…sorry… Is this a bad time?”

Her head snapped up in an instant. “Wilhelm! No, it’s… Actually Rowena’s right: it’s perfect timing,” she said quickly.

“I’ll…give you two some privacy,” Rowena said, making her way to the door of the tent. She slipped out quickly, but Seiros could tell by the shadow cast against the canvas walls that Rowena’s definition of “privacy” was a tad skewed.

“Is everything alright my Love?” Wilhelm asked, a look of concern marring his gentle face, “Have you been sick again?”

Seiros was momentarily lost in his warm hazel eyes, but she shook her head briskly to bring herself back. “I…yes, I have,” she admitted, “And Rowena believes she’s found out the reason why.”

“It’s not poison, is it? I swear on my life I’ll find the bastard that’s been doing this to you and—“

“It’s not…poison, Wilhelm,” Seiros cut in with a wince. She patted the space on the cot next to her, and Wilhelm readily sat down beside her. She worked her hands into his, and gave a small squeeze. “My Light,” she breathed, “I’m pregnant.”

There was a pause, as the information sunk in. Then a brilliant smile - as bright as the sun itself - worked its way onto Wilhelm’s face. “You are?” he gasped, laughing with joy. He leapt up from his seat, dragging her along with him. He twirled around the tent with her in his arms, before slowing to pull her into a tight hug. “That’s wonderful, my Love!” he sighed.

Then he stopped, pulling away while still holding tight to her arms. “That…is wonderful, right? I… If you’re not… What I mean is, I know you’ve got your own—"

She put a finger on his lips, a common action of hers whenever the excitable man began to ramble. “It…it is wonderful,” she assured him, “I just…never thought it would happen to me.”

He chuckled. “I have to admit, knowing you can I believe that,” he said, tucking a lock of her emerald hair behind a pointed ear. She cast him a playful glare and he smiled innocently in response. “But…” he continued, “Wouldn’t this mean that… Well, we’ll be a family. You, me, and the little brawler waiting to come out.”

She snorted at the thought. “I should hope the child decides to become a brawler after they are born, my Light,” she stated. But then her mood sobered, as the rest of his statement was realized. “A…family…”

He frowned when he saw her eyes beginning to glaze over. “If it’s too soon, my Love, I…”

“No. No, it’s…” Tears began to form in her eyes, and slowly a large smile spread across her face. She could barely contain her joy as she uttered, “I’ll have a family again.”

— — —

She held the bundle close to her chest, still exhausted and sore. But a tiny hand had a tight hold of her finger, and wide, green eyes stared up at her. The child in her arms giggled, then, and tightened his grip.

“He’s incredible,” Wilhelm breathed as he watched over her shoulder, “So…small. But incredible.”

“He’ll grow to be a great Emperor someday,” Seiros sighed, looking up to meet the gaze of the newly-crowned Emperor of Adrestia.

“Hopefully he’ll know more of what he’s doing,” Wilhelm stated anxiously.

Seiros reached for her Light’s hand. “He’ll have an excellent role model,” she assured him gently.

In her arms, little Lycaon reached for his Papa and smiled.

— — —

AN: Ok, hear me out... This is my take on Rhea and Wilhelm. We don’t really know a whole lot and the stuff we do know comes from fairly shaky sources. We know Rhea - then Seiros - had some kind of relationship with Wilhelm but we don’t know the extent. We also know Wilhelm had a son, but we don’t know with who.

So what if Rhea is the matriarch of the Hresvelg legacy?

I’m going to expand on this more later, but for now I wanted to first, answer this prompt, and second, cover something I probably wasn’t going to cover in my longer fic.

So here are my headcanons that appear here and will likely pop up later:

Rhea and Wilhelm genuinely loved each other. They met when Rhea was in a dark place, having lost her family and unsure of where to turn next. Wilhelm was a kindhearted farmer who wanted to help her out, saved her life from some of Nemesis’ men by sacrificing himself, and was then saved by her in turn when she gave him her Crest in the healing process. From there, their relationship blossomed. Rhea calls him her “Light” because he brought light and warmth back into her life when she thought it was all gone (much like how El views Byleth...hmm, symbolism...)

Rhea tells Wilhelm that Nemesis destroyed her family, but doesn’t go into details. He respects her enough to not push for more answers, though he is curious. He always hopes that one day she’ll trust him enough to open up.

The other Saints join the fight against Nemesis at Rhea’s insistence, but they stay for Wilhelm. He’s a charismatic guy, a hell of a warrior, and a kindhearted man, and he wins over Cichol and Indech with little effort. Macuil, however, never trusts him and acts like the scary big brother protecting his little sister (Seiros).

Rowena is my take on Seteth’s wife/Flayn’s mother. I picture her as a Nabatean, just not one of the powerful saints. (I always kinda pictured it like a hierarchy of Sothis first, then the Children of the Goddess/Saints, then lesser Nabateans forming the bulk of the community.) Like Flayn, she’s mostly a healer and has a bubbly personality. She brings out the fun and happiness in Seteth, and after her death he struggles to feel such things again. Her loss was heavily felt by all, due to how friendly she was with everyone.

The reason Edelgard doesn’t look more like Rhea/only has a minor Crest of Seiros, etc. is due to the fact that it’s been centuries since Rhea gave birth to Lycaon. The Nabatean traits eventually fade, as Rhea is the only Nabatean to ever continue the line in the Hresvelg family. Crest-strength and other traits shared by Nabateans eventually faded as more human genetics were added in. (This is also why I HC Flayn as having two Nabatean parents rather than just one.)

Rhea, having lost Wilhelm in the war and then watching her son grow old while she stayed young, disconnects from those types of relationships once the heartbreak becomes too much. In her altered history, she makes sure Lycaon’s mother is listed as unknown, and eventually the number of people who did know becomes only her close, remaining family. And she swears them to secrecy. Eventually, the connection she and the Church have with the Hresvelg family shifts and breaks, and it eventually becomes unimportant that the Imperial family literally wouldn’t have existed without her.

Perhaps that was a dumb decision, along with some of the other dumb decisions she made back then, but I also headcanon that Nabateans age very slowly. So while she was probably around 100+ years old by then, for a seemingly immortal being who appears to be in her 30s? 40s? nearly 1100 years later, her emotional age by that point would have been maybe late teenager? Early twenties? Around the same emotional age that Edelgard was when she decided that there would be no potential flaws in her Flame Emperor stunt. That’s not to diss either of them - it’s just that they were young, and dealing with emotional shit far too heavy for any one person to deal with. So Rhea’s choices back around year 90 through to year 100 should probably be taken with a grain of salt.

All those centuries don’t make it any easier, though, when Edelgard declares war on her ancestor unknowingly, and through all the anger and betrayal Rhea feels she can see the same passion and fire in the girl that Wilhelm once had.

#fanfic #fe three houses #rhea #wilhelm i #prequel fic #i have a bunch of headcanons under the read more #if anyone wants to add or discuss feel free #i'm down for some brainstorming #Anonymous

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fr-jedicreed · 4 years

Text

Something Not Quite Right

(a sort-of continuation from this!)

Note--all dragons are in gijinka’d forms, unless noted otherwise!

Janto had been having rather odd dreams lately. Nothing he thought was too unusual, as having absorbed a Shade-being’s power had rendered his dreams very strange, but lately...these had been even more odd. He couldn’t make head nor tail of it. It didn’t make sense. And it was very unnerving how real they felt. And they were repetitive, too. The same environment, the same silence, the same being staring at him from afar, just...smiling.

That being gave Janto a bad feeling. He didn’t like it. The smile was unnatural, the way they stood was unnatural, the way the melty halo above their head dripped, and their wings twitched...

No. Even if it was a dream, he had to confront them. How dare such a thing approach him like this, dream or not...

The dream happened again. It was...different, though. For one, the background had now turned red. The environment was melting around him, yet Janto felt nothing. No heat, no cold, just...nothing. And it was completely silent. Even his moving around issued no noise. Like a void...

But as he turned back around, the being was right there, right in his face. Janto couldn’t help but jump back. The being had approached him so quietly, and he couldn’t sense him at all.

“What are you?” he demanded, surprised to hear his own voice. But it didn’t echo, or reverberate. It sounded like he was just talking in a simple room with another person. ...If this being could even be called another person, “Speak! You’re in the presence of an Emperor!”

The being said nothing. They just stood there, and smiled. Janto noticed that their wings were now a tinge black. They used to be white, when they started appearing in their dreams. But now...now they were pitch black. Black as the liquid dripping off of their halo.

“Why are you here? What business do you have with me?” demanded Janto, staring them down. The being finally moved, tilting their head. The smile faltered slightly...but it didn’t completely disappear. They opened their mouth...and nothing but absolutely gibberish came out. Janto winced, the words seeming to actually hurt his head. He didn’t understand him at all, nor understood the language they were speaking. When they closed their mouth, the smile returned, though...slightly twisted.

“Are you here to warn me of something?” asked Janto, giving them a suspicious look, “Then come out and say it! Out with it!”

The being spoke again, the words making Janto wince. If they were even words to begin with. The halo above their head trembled and shook, and their eyes widened almost maniacally. And...was Janto seeing things, or was this being bleeding from their eyes?

The constant gibberish of harmful words (?) was grating on Janto’s nerves. He snarled, as he started towards the being, teeth bared, “I said, come out with--!”

In a blink of an eye, the being was right up in his face. Janto found he couldn’t move--at all. It was...frightening, he had to admit. This being, with bleeding eyes and a dripping halo, speaking in words that Janto didn’t understood...had him motionless. Stiff. He couldn’t even move his head. He was forced to stare right at this being, with their manic smile, and blood dripping down their cheeks.

A being that, if not for the unsettling imagery, Janto would’ve dismissed as a young man. But no. No, they were much more than that...

Their wings spread, allowing several eyes to open, to stare at Janto, and stare right through him. The environment melted faster, as the words leaving the beings mouth continued to pour out. More words that scratched against Janto’s ears and head, not making sense, but giving him a great sense of unease.

The words stopped, and the being leaned in close, right up to Janto’s ear. He prepared himself for another onslaught of unknown words, but he understood the ones that came out of their mouth.

“Wake. Up.”

And so...

He did.

Janto sat up quickly with a gasp, clutching at the sheets. Heart hammering in his chest, he glanced wildly around. He was back in his quarters, back in the palace. No more melting environment, and no more strange, unsettling being. It was just him...

And Daasdrei, looking rather shocked, as she stood off to the side.

“My Lord...?” she asked, watching him carefully. Janto could see the concern in her Shadow eyes. Allowing his heart to calm down a little, he let out a shaky breath.

“I’m fine.” he said softly, shaking his head, as he pushed his hair back. It had gotten disheveled in the night. He’d probably been tossing and turning, during the dream. Maybe. “Just a dream. ...Though not quite a dream. And yet, not quite a nightmare either...”

Daasdrei just tilted her head, looking confused. Janto sighed again, waving a dismissing hand, as he stood up, naked body leaving the warm confines of his bed. Their bed, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“If I may say, my Lord, you’ve been having odd dreams a lot lately.” said Daasdrei, following the Emperor as he went over to his wardrobe, “Has something happened?”

“A lot has happened, and a lot happens every day.” explained Janto, picking out his robes for the day, “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, Empress. This shall pass.”

“These started, after your escort was found dead...”

Janto paused.

Daasdrei continued.

“Ever since the guards found his room empty, and a bloodied knife on the floor next to his bed, you’ve been acting strangely.” she said, watching him as he continued to get dressed, “Which makes no sense. You said to him yourself, that he was just someone you bought to have something pretty at your side. You were right to reject him, like that. A petty whore like that doesn’t deserve your kindness, and had every right to die in such a pathetic--”

Janto whirled around, and backhanded Daasdrei, sharply.

The sound echoed through their chamber, and silent fell. To her credit, she didn’t fall, but she turned with the force of the blow, hand cupping her assaulted cheek. Neither of them moved for what seemed like hours, before Janto lowered his hand.

“Speak not of things you don’t understand.” he said, voice low and dangerous.

Daasdrei merely nodded, “...Yes, my Lord. Apologies.”

Janto finished getting his robes on, “Have Xuvo come see me, when you get the chance. I need him to send out some--”

“Xuvo...is dead.”

Janto paused, and looked at Daasdrei, wordlessly asking for an explanation.

“The guards found his body this morning. Drained of blood. He was dead, before he had hit the ground, having fallen out of one of the windows higher up.”

Hearing ‘drained of blood,’ Janto gave her a knowing look, and while Daasdrei prepared herself for another blow, it didn’t come. He just sighed heavily, shaking his head, as he accessorized himself, “A shame. A lazy bastard, but he was a good messenger. Find another to replace him.”

“Yes, my Emperor.” said Daasdrei bowing, as she left the chambers. Janto watched her go, before going back to what he was doing. He had told her not to drink from those in the palace, minus guards and those easily replaced. Xuvo had been a good messenger for him. Lazy sure, but he always delivered on time, and never complained and never spilled secrets.

Daasdrei would be hard pressed to find his replacement.

Daasdrei swore under her breath. Not from the sting of Janto’s blow, but of her own mistake. While she didn’t feel guilty about draining Xuvo of his blood, to help repair her face, after her run-in with Eclipsim, she knew she should’ve done something with his body.

Grabbing the firsts guard she came across, she pinned him against the wall, fangs bared, “Tell me, where did they take Xuvo’s body?”

“Wha--?”

“Xuvo was killed last night, and fell out of the window! His body is no longer there, so who collected it?!”

The guard stammered, before finally answering, “M-My Lady, no body was collected! There was nothing there this morning!”

Daasdrei blinked, pulling back as she let the guard escape.

“...What do you mean, there was no body?!”

#Clan Lore #c: Janto #c: Cur Ergo #c: Daasdrei #Slowly getting back into the habit of making lore #And connecting certain things ;u;

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sailorgreywolf-legacy · 5 years

Text

Legacy - Chapter 61

Mexico could sense that America wanted to say something. He seemed to be fidgeting and waiting for the moment that he could finally say what was on his mind. Mexico sighed to himself and decided that he would let America talk. He said, “What is on your mind, Alfred?”

The blonde stirred like he was thinking about what he wanted to say. Then, he finally said, “I thought you were a republican. Other than that Austrian one, you have always chosen democracy. You fought for it.”

Mexico tried not to react to the unexpected mention of his second emperor, thought he did not like America’s tone. Maximilian didn’t deserve that kind of scorn.

He shook his head very slightly and then turned his gaze to America and said, “And you are going to ask me how I could have supported Agustin?”

America seemed to hesitate before he said, “Well, yes. How could you be happy about that?”

Mexico sighed. He had expected the question, since America didn’t seem to understand that he had made a decision based on the specifics of the situation. It was frustrating that America believed that it was always possible to find a democratic solution.

He responded, “I wanted to keep Tony away from me, and I did what I had to. As for happy, I cannot say that I was exactly happy with the way things turned out.”

--------------------------------------------

He pulled the trigger and a bullet smashed through the middle of the target. Mexico lowered the rifle for a moment to start reloading. He thought to himself about the coronation again. It had been beautiful, but it had changed so little.

It had been weeks and Spain had only sent him an ominous, threatening letter in response to the coronation to tell him that the invasion was still coming. One line stuck in Mexico’s mind, and he repeated it to himself in his head as he reloaded his rifle, “I’ve never hung an emperor before, and I look forward to doing it.”

He slammed the ramrod back into place a little more aggressively than necessary. He had given Spain the credit of thinking that he might have been sad, but the letter smacked of vindictive anger. He raised the rifle to his shoulder again and leveled it at the target. He needed to be able to shoot accurately if he was about to be faced with an invasion. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on alert, waiting for something to go wrong and violence to break out again.

He thought as his finger tensed on the trigger that he should have done more when he had Spain under his blade. He pulled the trigger and the bullet hit the middle of the target.

He should have not shown the mercy he did. He had the chance to end it and he had given it up for some petty moral victory.

He lowered the gun again. It felt bitter to think that his mercy had meant nothing to Spain. Even if he could not have killed Spain, he should have inflicted some sort of grievous injury that would have kept Spain from acting against him again so quickly. He cursed his own naive belief that the war would be over and he could show himself to be a stronger person. Only a naive child could put so much weight in showing himself to be more moral.

He placed the rifle to the side. That was enough practice for the moment. He walked over to the target and examined it. His shots had hit the middle, exactly as he had thought. He touched one of the marks where it had hit, and he thought that at least his aim was good.That would serve him well with what was coming from Spain. The best he could do at this point was to try to prepare for the storm, and hope that the damage he had done would be enough to weaken the man.

But, he also had to hope that he would be able to maintain his own stability for that long. Iturbide had offered him that much through the coronation. But, he reflected, he knew there was only a matter of time before there would be dissent again. He knew Guerrero too well to think that he would quietly withdraw. His driving will was part of him that was so easy to love, but Mexico expected to be deeply frustrated with it soon.

As for the other insurgent leaders, Mexico had no idea how they could possibly react to the coronation. He had known them too shortly to be sure, and many of them had left as soon as it became clear that Iturbide was going to be crowned.

If Guerrero still had any of his old influence, he would have little trouble convincing them to start fighting again. It was that thought that was the source of much of Mexico’s worry. He could not be fighting himself when Spain chose to make his move.

He glanced back and realized that Guatemala was patiently waiting for him to finish his thoughts. As soon as he noticed, he walked towards his brother.

He had asked one of the servants earlier to find his brothers and gather them to talk. But, he had asked for Guatemala to speak to him first. It was not hard to see that he had taken a leadership role in Mexico’s absence and provided the comfort of a big brother. Now that Mexico was going to step into that role, he intended to learn about his brothers. He knew that while they were his land, he had a responsibility to act as an older brother.

Guatemala spoke first as Mexico approached him, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Mexico chose to gesture so that his brother would follow him while he slowly walked to meet with their other brothers. He said, starting with the words he had thought of the night before, “I want to know more about my brothers. I know I have not been as present as a brother should be, and I want to change that. But, I do not know them like you do.”

Guatemala fixed him with an expression of hesitant questioning, which slowly turned into a kind of acceptance, Mexico decided not to push him, not until he chose to share the thoughts he was having.

But, Mexico also hoped that he could glean valuable information from him brother. He was hoping that there would be less tension between himself and his younger brothers.

Slowly, Guatemala answered, “Our brothers will be happy to hear it. Both of them having been asking for you.”

Mexico found that hard to believe considering how cold El Salvador had been to him so far. He asked, “Even the youngest?”

The response came with a sharpness that Mexico had not thought his small brother capable of. Guatemala said, “Salvador is not our youngest brother.”

Mexico paused, and tried to think. He had seen his brothers consistently enough to remember how many there were. He said, “Then who is?”

He was certain that it was a question that would bring more anger, but he needed an answer. Guatemala’s voice was harsh when he said, “Belize. Little David. Spain sold him to England and never gave me any say in the matter.” He paused, and then added without Mexico asking, “And one day I will get him back.”

Mexico could hear the echo of a grudge in his voice. He could not feel any surprise at the fact that Tony had traded a child for peace. He vaguely remembered that Spain had mentioned that he had found a way to ease the tension between himself and England in the Gulf, but Mexico had never heard the details.

After all these years, he was no longer surprised to hear that Spain had been exploiting his brothers without his knowledge. He was well aware that Spain wanted to isolate him from all of his brothers.

Without thinking, he put his arm around his brother’s shoulders and said, “Tony is a complete bastard. I promise you that we will bring our family back together.”

Guatemala nodded. His small smile made Mexico feel like he was at least making the right steps with his brothers. Then, the younger man said, “To answer your question, Salvador does ask about you.” Mexico replied, “He does not seem happy with me.”

Guatemala let out a long sigh. He said, speaking like he was choosing words carefully, “Salvador is not the easiest child to understand. He was always like that. Our tutors always had trouble with him because he did not like to sit still and learn. But, please don’t mistake his temper for malice. He feels things strongly, and he can’t stop himself from saying it.”

Mexico nodded to himself. He had never had the luxury of being so open with his feelings. If he had been so easily provoked around Spain, he would have been quickly and painfully corrected.

He was not happy about El Salvador’s temper, but he would rather let it be than act like Spain would. Once they had settled into a family, El Salvador would learn to be more measured. He had decided that it would never be worth it to fight with them while they were still getting to know him.

Mexico drew in a breath, and said, “He should learn to control himself better. I am not going to punish him, but the world is not kind of that kind of impulsiveness.” Guatemala sighed heavily and said, “I have tried to teach him, but it is a difficult thing for him. Please don’t be hard on him about it.”

Mexico could hear the tone of a kind of parental fatigue in his voice, and he wondered what it had been like to raise him. He had never thought about it much, since raising his brothers had never been an option for him.

But, he did not want to continue on this topic, because he was sure that it would just reveal more and more frustration. He thought about the ways he saw the frustration, in the way that Guatemala always kept a close eye on El Salvador, in the way that Guatemala was very quick to correct his brother.

Mexico said, trying to be reassuring, “I will not. I hope that I can show him that he does not need to be suspicious of my intentions. What about Honduras? What is he like?”

He had some idea, but the boy did seem quiet and reserved. Maybe it was the unintended consequence of standing next to paternal, anxious Guatemala, and hot-tempered El Salvador.

Guatemala swallowed hard, like he was trying to push an emotion down. Then he said, “I wish I had a better answer for you. I have not been able to spend time with him the way that I would like. If I leave Salvador alone, he will cause havoc. Tomas has suffered for it, I admit. I think he asks about you, because he wants you to see him more than I have.”

Mexico felt a strange sadness when Guatemala said it. It must have been lonely to feel like he was unseen. Mexico couldn’t understand that feeling. His life had been a curse of being seen too much.

He knew there was some reason that his brother had been so eager for war stories and conversation. But, Mexico had never been able to give them to him. There had been too much to do to prepare for the possibility of Spain coming back in force.

He wished that he had time to sit with his brother and talk to him the way he wanted. He spoke some of these thoughts as he said, “I will have time for him, but not yet.”

He took this as the moment to prepare Guatemala for the reason he wanted to talk to them. His arm slipped off of his brother’s shoulder as he turned himself to more serious business.

He said, “We are not at peace yet. I have gotten threats from Antonio, and I need you to be prepared for the fighting that will come.”

He saw his brother pull in a breath, like he was bracing himself. Then Guatemala said, his voice almost sounding completely different as it lost all the tenderness it had when he spoke about his brothers, “So that is what this is about. You have something important to tell us.”

Mexico swore that he could almost hear bitterness in the voice. But, he would have to ignore it. They did need to hear what he was going to say. He responded, “I needed to tell you before our brothers, because you look after them. I may have to go fight again, and I will need you to keep them safe."

They had reached the door of the dining room, and their brothers were just on the other side. Mexico shook his head to indicate the end of the conversation, and then pushed the door open.

There was only one person sitting at the table, and it was Honduras. Guatemala let out a long sigh, and said, “Where is your brother?”

The boy shrugged indifferently, and said, “I don’t know. He said he was coming.” The older boy huffed, and said, “I'll find him.”

And then he left, carrying stress and frustration in his shoulders.

Mexico wasn't sure how long that would take, so he settled himself at the table and looked at Honduras. The boy looked up at him and said, “Chava doesn’t understand important things.” Mexico tried to smile at him, and said, “But you do.”

Honduras ran one hand through his hair, and said, "I remember when I was younger, there was a time when we visited you here. Do you remember it?”

Mexico did remember it. It had been before Spain arrived, and he had been able to keep his brother’s close. His mind had nearly forgotten it in the shadow of what happened next, but it came back to him now. He nodded.

Honduras was now running a nail over one of the grooves in the wood of the table, seeming to be thinking as he did. He said, “You had time for us, and I was so happy being able to sleep in your bed with you.”

Mexico remembered him specifically, never far away from him. If not for Spain's arrival, he could have been able to built on that friendship. But, there was not any use in regretting it. Instead, he said, “I promise that I will have time for you again. Once I am sure that you and your brothers are safe, I will.”

Honduras’ thick dark eyebrows went up, and he repeated, “Safe from what?”

Before Mexico could clarify, Guatemala reappeared, dragging his brother by the elbow. El Salvador looked angry and surly as he sat. But, Mexico could not wait for him to be in a better mood.

He said, like he was making an announcement, “Spain has declared our independence illegitimate, and has sent me letters making it clear that he intends to act on it.”

The youngest boy's mood changed visibly. He smiled, and said, “So, we are going to fight?"

He had the naive excitement of a boy who had no experience of war. If he had seen the blood and mud and gun smoke, he would not smile like that.

Mexico said, “No. I am going to fight. You are going to stay here.”

El Salvador’s expression shifted from excitement to anger in a moment. He looked so hurt as he said, with incredulity, “Again? You expect me to stay here and wait again.”

Honduras was regarding his brother with the expression of someone looking at a smoking volcano. Mexico drew a deep breathe and said, “I am your eldest brother. I am responsible for this family. You asked me to care for you, and I am going to do that.” El Salvador said, cutting off what Mexico wanted to say, “Then let me fight!”

The shrill anger in his voice echoed off of the walls. But, Mexico was not going to change his stance. He said, firmly, “You are fourteen. You have no idea what you are asking."

He saw the boy’s cheeks turning redder in anger. It was such adolescent emotion, and Mexico knew he would have to make his point. He said, “Suppose I were to take you with me. What would happen if Antonio captured you and demanded my surrender?”

His speculation made little impact, since El Salvador immediately looked like he wanted to respond.

Before he could, the door opened again. This time, it was Texas who came through it. He said, as he sat, “Someone told me that there was a family meeting. Unless you do not want me here, since you did not ask for me."

Mexico could have been irritated by the intrusion, but it seemed strangely well timed. He responded, “Your presence is helpful, actually. Why don't you tell my little brother what it is like to be captured by Antonio?”

All of the smugness and color drained out of Texas’ face.

--------------------------------------

Mexico stepped into the emperor’s chambers, and didn’t have to look far to find Iturbide. He was looking over piles of papers, which was stacked on a map of the country.

If Mexico did not know him well, he might have thought that the man looked overwhelmed. But, he had no doubt that the man was just engrossed in planning.

He stepped closer, and cleared his throat so that Iturbide was aware of his presence. The emperor looked up, and gave him a warm smile. The look seemed too serene for the present situation. But, Mexico was not going to immediately snuff out his good mood.

He said, “Was the coronation to your liking? Was it as glorious as you imagined?” Iturbide straightened up, and his smile remained. He answered, completely ignoring any of the judgement in the question, “I think it gave the people a good spectacle to inspire confidence. I gave them what they asked me for.” Mexico scoffed, “How selfless of you.”

Iturbide smirked, like he was enjoying the joke. Mexico was not going to continue to press him about his pride, but he was completely sure that Iturbide’s motivations had never been that pure.

But, Iturbide had something planned already, it seemed. The emperor said, stepping out from behind the table towards another, smaller table, “I wish I could have given you a coronation too, since you have also become an empire.”

Mexico was about to say that he didn’t need it, no matter how much the idea did excite him. It would have been a different feeling entirely to have a crown placed on his own head. But, it was impossible. It could never be that public.

Iturbide was not yet done. He continued speaking, “I could not give you that, but I did have something made for you. I wanted you to have something beautiful to commemorate this moment, so I had this made.”

He picked up a long box, and then slowly opened it, so he could see a decorative ceremonial sword laying on red velvet. It was beautiful and golden.

He reached out and ran his hand over the pommel, which was sculpted in the shape of an eagle eating a serpent. He knew the symbol well, and he knew it had been his mother’s.

He felt a strange, uncomfortable knot in his throat. It was a sword meant to show that he was an empire, and that he was his mother’s heir. Iturbide said, gently, “Do you like it?”

Mexico realized that he had been standing still with his hand on the sword. He said, “Yes, I do.”

He finally picked up the sword, and slid the blade out of the scabbard. It was beautiful work, and clearly not meant to be practical. It was a beautiful thing meant to commemorate a beautiful moment.

He slid it back into the scabbard and said, “Thank you for that, Agustin. You must know that it is my mother’s symbol.”

Iturbide’s eyes were already sparkling with his own knowledge and awareness. Mexico could guess the answer already. But, Iturbide provided him with an answer. He said, “I am aware of that. I think it is fitting that you use it. After all, you are inheriting what she left you.”

Part of Mexico knew that Iturbide must be saying it to charm him. But, another part of him didn’t want to resist the charm. He didn’t really care if this was just meant to buy his favor, as long as he could find security and certainty as an empire.

Iturbide said, continuing to speak as he put down the box, “I have some ideas that I want you to see as well.” Mexico nodded and responded, “That is why I am here, isn’t it? You need me to run an empire.”

Iturbide returned and put an arm around his shoulders, to lead him over to the table with all the papers. In the light from the window behind him, he could see sets of sketches of a design of a crowned eagle.

He asked, “What are these for?” They were appealing to him, the symbol of his mother recreated in his own style and crowned. But, he could not imagine what they were for.

Iturbide responded, like he was talking about things that he was very proud of, “They are designs for the imperial crest. We should put it on the flag and coins. It will be official.” Mexico turned a skeptical eye to Iturbide, and said, “Tony is threatening to invade, and you are busying yourself with flags and coins? Don’t you think that there are more important matters?”

He couldn’t help but feel like those things could come later, once there were not military matters that needed attention first. These things were pretty, but they were not armies and defense. Iturbide released his shoulders, but said in a tender voice, “Flags are more important than you think, Ale. Men need something unified to follow, and we are reminding them that there was an empire here before.”

It was very poetic, but Mexico felt a certain frustration at it. He felt like Iturbide was playing with him. He responded, more sharply than he intended, “I do like it all, but it will mean nothing to Antonio.”

He felt Iturbide’s hand on his back, like it was meant to reassure him. He said, pushing the sketches to the side, “This is just one matter. I am not neglecting your defense.”

Mexico could not help that he was being coddled more than he liked. He took to shuffling the papers with his own hands, and trying to figure out what they each were. He wanted to be completely aware of what was happening in his politics.

He moved one of the letters to see one on the bottom of the pile. He saw Iturbide in his peripheral vision, reaching out like he might stop him. But Mexico was determined.

He saw a single set of words in the letter, and his eyes widened. He recognized “arrest” and “plot.”

That was enough to make him take it before Iturbide could insist on stopping him. He pulled away, just far enough so that he could read it. Quickly, he read through the letter. Each point was a shock.

There had already been a meeting of the former insurgent leaders, and they had discussed the empire. They had spoken openly about opposing the emperor, and the concept of empire.

Mexico drew in a breath as he read it, and felt anger beginning to burn in his lungs. He had guessed that they would not be happy about Iturbide’s accession, but he had not expected it so immediately.

He kept reading the letter, though he could feel himself getting angrier with each passing moment. The letter was to inform Iturbide that Guadalupe Victoria had been arrested, because of this plot.

Mexico was going to read more of the letter, but Iturbide pulled it from his hands. His anger welled up as he looked up at Iturbide. He could hear his own restraint as he said, “Why are you keeping this from me?”

The man sighed and said, “I was going to tell you at the right time.” Mexico could feel himself growing even angrier. The restraint snapped, and he said, “How was this not the right time to tell me about a rebellion?”

As he said the word, a second anger started smoldering. He was mad that Guerrero and Victoria knew how precarious the situation was, and they were using it as a time to get their republic. They both knew him, and they were still willing to risk him.

Iturbide said, like he was soothing a worrisome teenager, “I knew you would be upset and-” Mexico rounded on him, incensed by the feeling of being managed, “I need to know what is going on, whether it will upset me or not! I am not a child!”

He caught a breath, and said, “And what else?”

He had heard the weight in that last word, and he needed to know more. It could not be worse. Iturbide had hard set lines on either side of his mouth. He said, “And I knew you were going to ask about him.”

From his tone, it was impossible to think that he meant Victoria. He didn’t have to guess that this was about Guerrero. But, Mexico was not going to ask about him. His pride was so bitter and strong, and he refused to ask. He felt almost childishly stubborn in his refusal to speak Guerrero’s name.

However, once Iturbide had brought up the subject, he could not avoid it. Mexico replied, “And what of him? Have you issued his arrest too?”

Iturbide looked like he was talking about a subject he would much rather avoid. But, he said, “He is in the wind. I would feel safer if he was arrested too, but he remains as difficult to find as ever.”

Mexico had no idea what face he was making, but Iturbide was looking at him with a mix of concern and anxiety. He could only guess that his anger was showing all over his face.

Unexpectedly, Iturbide took one of his hands. His touch was almost comforting, but it felt like it was an attempt to pacify him. He said, “Alejandro, I hope you understand that Guerrero is choosing to threaten your independence. I know what he means to you, but he does not care.”

Mexico wrenched his hand free from his grasp. He responded, “You have no idea what he meant to me.” He was angry at Guerrero too, because his actions showed at least a reckless lack of caution.

But, he was not going to let Iturbide tell him how he should feel about it. He was not going to listen to anyone patiently trying to explain his emotions to him. No matter what Iturbide had seen from the outside, he could not have any idea what it felt like.

He knew nothing about the way it had felt to be with Guerrero during the war. He could not possibly understand the trust that Mexico had put in his general. There was more in those longs nights of uncertainty than he would ever be able to understand. Mexico had laid his whole trust at Guerrero’s feet, and it still hurt for him to think about it. These careless actions felt like a transgression against his trust, but that was not Iturbide’s to say.

Mexico could feel his own thoughts racing, and it was difficult to stop them and order himself. He stepped further away from Iturbide, and could see the way a look of concern passed over the emperor's face.

Mexico drew in a breath, and tried to calm himself. Iturbide said, sounding distinctly placating, “Ale, I didn't mean to presume.“

Mexico felt his blood running hot, and incapable of being calm or forgiving. He took another breath and said, “I need to be alone. Find me when you are prepared to tell me everything.”

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Mexico was sitting over his breakfast thinking about what to do next. He pushed a piece of food around his plate with the back of his fork. The conversation the day before had thrown every decision into question.

He had thought that Iturbide would, at least, not deceive him. He knew the man was ambitious and cunning, but being brazenly lied to again made him feel adrift.

He scraped his fork absentmindedly against an empty spot on the plate, and then felt irritated by the sound that it made. For the first time, he felt like he was alone in the midst of self-involved people.

He could not trust Iturbide’s intentions, but he could also not change his mind now that he had committed to this course. He had supported the empire, and nothing could change that now.

But, there was a pit of regret in his stomach. Guerrero had always told him that Iturbide was not the right choice, but Mexico had felt like he knew better. He put down his fork with a clatter. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

The cup of coffee had long since gone cold since he started thinking. There was a half-rational longing that he was trying to ignore. He longed for Guerrero. He wanted to be able to talk to the man, and ask for some sort of guidance. He wanted the comfort of the man’s presence. It was so strange that he could feel such a profound longing for a man who had lied to him.

The thought had crossed his mind more than once that he could write a letter to Guerrero, and ask for his advice again. But, even if it was possible, he was not going to allow his pride to bend to that.

He would have to admit that he had been wrong, and he could not do that. Guerrero had been in the wrong, even if his instincts had been correct about Iturbide. Mexico refused to take that step back; he was still too angry at Guerrero to admit that he missed him.

He took a drink of the cold coffee, and immediately regretted it. There was no enjoyment in the cold liquid, and the bitterness just made him feel more irritable.

He realized that he was mad at all of them. Iturbide was treating him like he could not manage politics on his own. Guerrero was trying to destabilize him. His brothers were being resistant and stubborn.

He sighed; it would be so much better if he could just find one person to unburden himself to. But, in that absence, he had to let the anger fester.

Just as he was about to clear away the half-touched breakfast when there was a light knock on the door. Mexico looked up, and he realized that Iturbide was standing at the door. Mexico was struck by the fact that he was not in uniform or regalia.

By the man’s own standards, his clothing was almost casual. He also looked like he had not slept. There were pronounced dark circles under his eyes. The look of fatigue on his face made Mexico feel bad for his anger. But, the feeling was fleeting, and his anger quickly returned.

Iturbide said, “Do you mind if I join you?” His voice sounded genuine, and pained. Mexico felt like he owed him at least that after the unfulfilling confrontation of the day before.

He nodded, which was enough permission. Mexico gestured to one of the servants and said, “Get a cup of coffee for the emperor.” Iturbide waited for the servant to leave, and then he said, “I owe you an apology.”

Mexico raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure how to take this development, but he could not reject an apology. He responded, “I think you do. I do not like being lied to, Agustin.”

Iturbide did look tired, and he sounded strained as he said, “I am sorry. I did not intend to lie to you.” The servant returned with a cup of coffee, and placed it in front of Iturbide. But, the emperor ignored it and kept his eyes on Mexico. He seemed to have no intention of paying any mind to anything else.

Mexico said, matching his gaze, “It is still lying by omission. I expect better from you. If you think I am not capable of knowing the truth, then it will be difficult for you to rule. I am still the country.”

He watched Iturbide’s face as he spoke, waiting for a reaction to his sharp words. He saw a slight wince, and was stuck by how strange it was to see Iturbide reacting, rather than being firmly confident and self-assured as he usually was.

He momentarily wondered if this was the version of Iturbide that Bustamante saw, and was so willing to protect. He was more endearing this way, stripped of his controlled exterior.

Iturbide repeated, “I am sorry. I made an error in judgement.” He fidgeted with a ring on one of his fingers for a moment before saying, “I know you are mad at me, but I want you to know that I do care for you. I took this position, because it is what you need. I promise you that I was concerned with your well-being.”

Mexico cleared his throat pointedly. This all sounded very good, but it did not explain anything. He did not want to listen to this when he wanted an honest answer. He said, “Then why did you lie?”

The man drew in another steadying breath, and said, “I did not want you to withdraw for several days again. I realize how sensitive you are about him, and I did not want you to have to question your loyalties.”

The look in his eyes was sincere enough. Mexico had not thought that the days he had spent recovering from the shock of Guerrero’s lie had concerned Iturbide.

Certainly, the man had not seemed concerned before. Mexico had never considered that there was far more beneath his facade that he had not dared voice. Mexico felt like he had to reevaluate what he had assumed about Iturbide.

He took a moment to think about his response. He felt himself starting to chew on the inside of his lower lip. After a long moment of silence, he said, choosing each word carefully, “I do not want you to hide anything from me. I made my choice to support you, and I am not going to change that now. As for Vicente-“

He paused for a moment as he tried to order what he wanted to say about Guerrero. It would be in his best interest to sound completely unaffected, but he was not certain if that was possible. He continued, “I know that I will have to deal with him. I’m not naive. He hasn't given up, and I accept that he will be a part of my future.”

He hated the words, but he knew they were honest. He was aware that he would have to deal with Guerrero, and even oppose him for the sake of the empire. But, he felt a twinge of pain at speaking that truth.

Iturbide nodded slowly. Mexico still wasn't sure if he could forgive the lie, since it would not have come to light without him uncovering the letter. It would have been just another secret that Iturbide would have kept from him. The thought made it difficult for him to consider forgiveness.

Iturbide said, his voice sounding more emotionally pained than Mexico could imagine it could, “I realize that I made a mistake, and I will not do it again. I promise that I will not keep anything from you. I am asking you to forgive me and trust me again.”

Mexico leaned back in his chair and thought about it. For the sake of harmony, it would be better to forgive. Being at odds with his emperor would only make the situation more difficult, even if he did not feel forgiving.

But, he had to also consider how much Iturbide had humbled himself by coming here and being open with him. If he rejected this vulnerability, he would only encourage Iturbide to lie to him. He sighed and said, “I forgive you. But, I don’t think trust will come so easily. Show me that I can trust you again.”

The man nodded slowly, like he was accepting this as enough for now. He said, “Thank you. I do not want more than that for now.”

It seemed that a weight had been taken from his shoulders, and Mexico couldn’t help but imagine that he had spent the night worrying about this conversation. It was strangely endearing to know that they had both been fretting. However, this also felt like the ideal moment to test that honesty.

Mexico asked, “Now that we are being honest with each other, what are you planning to do with Victoria now that you have arrested him?”

He tried to keep the accusation out of his tone, but in the back of his mind, he was perfectly aware of what Spain would do with this opportunity. He did not think of Iturbide as the kind kind of man who could be so brutal, but he had heard stories about the way Iturbide behaved when he was a Spanish commander. Part of him wondered if this would be the opportunity to return to those tactics. If so, it would make supporting Iturbide much more difficult.

The emperor responded, looking more comfortable once he could answer easily, “Nothing drastic, I assure you. I intend to hold him somewhere that he cannot stir up rebellion. He is popular and beloved, and I would gain nothing by punishing him.”

Mexico nodded, more to himself than to Iturbide. It made him far more comfortable to know that he was not backing a tyrant. He knew that he should have not been so shocked by the fact that Victoria was already building support for another rebellion. He had expected it from Guerrero, and it was not a stretch to imagine that the other insurgent leaders would follow him.

Mexico could clearly remember how much Victoria had objected to Iturbide. It was best, he thought, that dissent was limited until after the threat of Spain had been dealt with.

He said, “I would advise you to be gentle with him, and with Vicente if you find him. They are war heroes, and the people still love them.”

Mexico felt the lie behind the words, that he was judging the feelings of his people by his own. The thought was interrupted by a second knock at the door.

Iturbide turned as one of his men stepped through the door and said, “Sir, there is a man who wants to talk to you.”

Mexico was immediately puzzled by how vague he was being. What could Iturbide be expecting that could be referred to in those terms. He turned a curious eye to his emperor.

Iturbide sighed deeply and said, “He must not have recieved my letter. Tell him to wait." Mexico asked, now thoroughly intrigued, “Who is it?”

Iturbide looked for a moment like he did not want to answer the question, but then he grudgingly remembered his promise to be honest. He answered, “Tlaxcala. He is here to ask me to make good on a promise."

A feeling of pure rage immediately blossomed in Mexico's mind. It was strong and clear. Mexico could not remember ever hearing that name spoken, but he knew it. He had seen Tlaxcala's name in the story of the conquest so many times. He knew the man was a Judas.

The very thought of the man who had betrayed his mother to Spain made all his anger crystallize around a single point. He asked, “What promise did you make him?”

He wasn't sure that he wanted to know, since it may mean that he was obliged to concede something to the old traitor. Iturbide answered, “I went to him for information during the war.”

Mexico could hear the hesitation, but at least it was honest. He pressed further for an answer, “And what did he ask for in return?”

He could not imagine what information was so important that it had required that sort of deal, but he also found it hard to care since the war was over. He did not want to pay a price for the information, especially to a traitor. He braced himself for the answer.

Iturbide said, “He asked for less than I was expecting; he only wants a chance to talk to you.” Mexico scoffed loudly, “What could he possibly want to talk to me about?”

Iturbide shrugged and responded, “I don’t know. All he told me was that he wanted to talk to you. I sent him a letter to tell him that you would not be in a fit state to talk to him today. If you would like, I will tell him to leave.”

Mexico thought about it for a moment. He could completely avoid talking to the man, especially when he already had so much anger building up from the circumstances of the last couple days.

But, it would only be delaying the inevitable conversation, and he was in no mood to leave another thing undone. He also remembered when he had stumbled across the story of the conquest, and seen the name of the man who had taken Spain’s side.

It was an old memory, but he could recall the feeling of anger that any tribe would have trusted Spain and taken the opportunity to aid him. It had seemed like such an unthinkable betrayal to him.

At the time, he had felt such a burning sense of loathing, but he had assumed that the man was dead. It had never occurred to him to think that there were tribes who had survived the conquest. This was the opportunity to confront that old anger, and to put it to rest. He said, “I won’t make you break your promise. I will speak to him.”

Then, without waiting for an answer from the emperor, he said to the servant, “Tell him that I will talk to him in the garden. I do not want him in my house.” The servant nodded and left. Mexico stood up and went to grab a jacket.

Mexico stood on the steps above the garden for a moment, looking to catch sight of his mother’s old adversary before he spoke to him. To his knowledge, he had never met Tlaxcala before in his life, and he had no idea what the man looked like.

As he looked, he caught sight of an old man. Whatever Mexico had anticipated, it was not an old man slightly stooped with age, and a head of white hair. Perhaps it did make sense after all of these years.

The unbidden thought occurred to him that his mother would have been old too if she had lived. It was enough to urge him down the steps and toward Tlaxcala.

The old man turned at the sound of his footsteps. He smiled in a way that completely baffled Mexico. There was nothing happy in this meeting for him, but Tlaxcala was smiling at him.

He stopped in his tracks, momentarily stunned. Tlaxcala took the opportunity of his momentary silence to say, “I haven’t seen you since you were a child. You are so grown up now.”

His familial tone seemed completely out of place to Mexico. Why should this man care so much about his rival’s son? He said, his tone indicating how unmoved he was, “I do not believe we have ever met.”

His shortness was enough to make Tlaxcala’s smile fall. But, when he spoke, it still sounded like he was attempting to be friendly, “You were very young, so you may not remember. Perhaps it is better that way.”

Mexico pushed aside the fleeting thought that he did not remember much of anything before his mother’s death. That would just cause him to fixate on the lack of memories, and he did not want to take that road.

Instead, he decided to make himself perfectly clear. He said, “I may not remember, but I know what you did.”

The color drained from Tlaxcala’s face as he understood what Mexico meant. It was perfectly clear that he had not expected Mexico to have any idea. Mexico found himself completely unsurprised that the man had intended to lie to him. He knew enough about men by this point to expect it.

Tlaxcala said, still sounding shocked, “Did Spain tell you that? I assure you, his version-“ Mexico snapped before he could finish, “No. Tony never told me anything, but he didn’t need to. I know what happened.”

There was a look of abject shock on Tlaxcala’s face at the outburst. Nothing about this seemed to be meeting his expectations. The other man put up both of his hands in a gesture that seemed to be somewhat supplicating, and replied, “Please let me explain myself. That’s all I asked for.”

Mexico could feel his blood running hot at the very idea that a betrayal of that magnitude could ever be explained. He could feel himself bare his teeth before he said, “What could you possibly explain to me? Are you going to tell me why I deserved to grow up without my mother? Are you going to tell me that I deserved to lose the only family I had?”

He didn’t realize that he was yelling until he stopped and heard his voice echoing. He drew in a breath between his clenched teeth.

He realized that Tlaxcala had taken several quick steps back, and there was a look of horror on his face like a man who had seen a ghost. Mexico could hear his own heart pounding in his ears as he said, “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

Tlaxcala looked like he would give anything to escape this situation. He looked pale and terrified. But, he could see that silence would win him nothing. So, he said, “I made the mistake of trusting Spain. He never fulfilled the terms of our agreement.”

Mexico could have guessed that much at least, but he did not care what the terms could have been. He replied, “It was your fault for believing Tony when you knew nothing about him. You hated my mother enough to think a stranger would help you. I don’t think that absolves you of anything.”

The old man swallowed hard, and seemed to be seeking for anything to say. Mexico took a step back with a scoff, “You cannot explain that to me.”

Tlaxcala said, breaking through his own restraint, “She would have killed me if I didn’t do something! You may not want to hear it, but she was a tyrant.”

Mexico could see red in the edges of his vision. He stepped towards the old man, who retreated immediately. He said, now at full, deafening volume, “She was my mother, and I do not have to hear your slander!”

His voice echoed strongly off of the walls, even with the garden around them to buffer the sound. Tlaxcala opened his mouth for a moment, but no sound escaped it.

Mexico took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself. He felt like it would be better to at least lower his voice. He said, after a few calming breaths and complete silence from Tlaxcala, “I am curious though. How have you survived this long?”

He sounded calm, but he knew the hard edge in his own voice. Tlaxcala took a deep breath and said, “Spain granted me special status.” He realized that it was a mistake a moment after he said it. His eyes widened with the understanding of the danger that he put himself in.

Mexico said, “Antonio doesn’t rule here anymore, and I am not going to pay you blood money. No more special status, no more special agreements.”

Tlaxcala responded, tripping over his words, “If you do that, it might kill me.” He sounded terrified. The tone in his voice gave Mexico a strange sense of satisfaction. He had the power to get a small piece of vengeance for his mother, and he intended to.

He stepped closer, and said, “I suggest you leave before I make it certain.” Mexico then looked away, and saw Iturbide looking at him with complete shock.

---------------------------------------------

America let out a long breath, and then said, “You didn’t really kill him, did you?” Mexico raised one eyebrow, and said calmly, “Yes, I did. It was not a rational decision, but I know what I felt.”

America shifted uncomfortably where he was sitting, like the very idea made him squirm. There was such an irony to his discomfort at the idea of killing a country, like he had never come close to that before.

But, as long as he remained silent, Mexico was going to continue. He said, “But, Tlaxcala was not my only problem. Tony was never far away, and I had other issues.”

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Bustamante arrived late in the night, and joined Mexico and Iturbide in one of the sitting rooms. Mexico was slowly drinking a glass of French cognac, which was not make him feel any better.

Iturbide had not left him all day, but had also not spoken to him about the events of earlier. They had spent hours on the state of the country, and the preparations for another battle with Spain.

The topic had assured Mexico again that he was exhausted, and it would be difficult to muster the force to repulse an attack again.It was better for now to prepare and make it as difficult as possible for Spain to get a foothold. When he came, it would be by sea, and they would have to throw him back into the gulf.

As much as constant war had exhausted Mexico, he felt a longing for battle. It was so much simpler than all these lies and secret deals. On the battlefield, his problems could at least be solved with gun and saber.

He was aware that the thought could be coming from the strain of the day and the influence of the cognac, but it seemed rational enough.

All they had heard in advance of Bustamante’s arrival was that he had an urgent letter. He arrived and spoke immediately to Iturbide, “The commander in Veracruz wrote to you. He is asking for reinforcements and permission to dislodge the Spanish forces there.”

He looked out of breath after his ride. Mexico could hear the slight breathlessness in his voice and see the flush in his cheeks. For everything he could say about the man, he did seem dedicated.

Satisfied that he had delivered the message, he sat on the sofa next to Mexico. He was far enough away to be proper, but Mexico cast a suspicious eye at him. There were other options of where he could sit, and he close the nearest place that manners would allow.

Iturbide responded, “I think we should send reinforcements. There is no use in avoiding a war now.” Mexico heard the possibility of battle in the comment, and he replied, “I could go with them. I would prefer to handle this in person.”

He hadn’t really thought about it before he said it, but leaving for Veracruz did sound appealing. He could get away from the frustrations of the capital, and center himself. A new place and a new commander could bring him more serenity.

Bustamante responded first, saying, “No, I would rather you stay here.” Mexico also felt him put a hand on his shoulder, and he was too tired to shake it off. The man did have a deeply annoying habit of touching him.

But, Iturbide waved him away, and said, “I think that would be a good idea. Remind the commander who he is fighting for; I don’t entirely trust him, and your charm will reassure me.”

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The trip to Veracruz was exhausting, but Mexico was glad to have the time to think. Iturbide had provided him with a warhorse whose temperament matched his own much better than the horse he had rode at the end of the war. It made him feel more comfortable with the long ride.

The long rides in the sun allowed him time to consider his confrontation with Tlaxcala again. He had never seen himself that angry before, and it was strange to think about it. Though he had no regrets, he couldn’t quite believe that he was capable of that kind of explosive temper.

He assured himself, as the sun started to sink towards the horizon, and Veracruz came into view, that he would control himself better than that in future. The accomplice in his mother’s murder deserved that kind of rage, but few others would, and it would make him look weak to be easily angered. If he could control his rage when he was faced with Spain’s provocation, then he could do it in front of anyone.

The city gates opened in front of him, and he rode through, feeling like he was returning to the war. There were guards at the gates and soldiers in the streets. But, even this feeling of impending conflict was comforting. And he could also not forget that he was here to keep an eye on the commander.

He found himself curious that Iturbide could trust a man with command, and yet doubt his intentions. It made him think that Iturbide may be more alone and uncertain than he let on, with only Bustamante being predictably at his side.

Mexico decided not to linger on the thought, since he had to keep his mind on why he was here. He was intrigued to meet the commander, and assess what kind of man he was.

After the past months of infighting and frustration, he knew it was too much to hope for a levelheaded general with enough sense to prioritize the Spanish threat. But, he hoped that they would at least understand that the Spanish forces should come first for now.

As he reached his destination, he was met by a cohort of soldiers. One took the reins of his horse. Another, who wore the uniform of a second lieutenant, said, “We are very glad that you are here. Please come with me.”

Mexico did as he was told, and followed the officer into the inner courtyard. There he came face to face with a man in full uniform, with an air about him that left no doubt that he was in command.

The set of his face, and the straightness of his back gave the impression of a man who was absolutely confident in himself. He said, “I am glad that you came. It is an honor to meet my country.”

He extended his hand to Mexico, and there was a twinkle in his eye that made Mexico think that he thought it just as much an honor for Mexico to meet him.

It was a charming self-confidence though, and he felt warmed by it. Mexico took his hand and said, “Please call me Alejandro.”

The man put his other hand on top of Mexico’s warmly, and said with a charming smile, “I am Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, and I think we will get to know each other quite well before this is over.”

#aph mexico #latin hetalia #hetalia #historical hetalia

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