#Be limping to the Ash Empress | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amberthefantasy · 6 months

Text

Nitimur in Vetitum

chapter one: sanguis (blood)

"Lucretia Julia Caesaris, or as she would be known to history, Empress Lucretia, is one of the most powerful women in the history of Europe, if not the world. However, just hours after the death of Gaius Julius Caesar the 19 year old could never have imagined what she would become." -Roman Women: The Women Who Influenced the History of Rome by Paul Chrystal

Ides of March in the Year of Caesar and Antonius (15th March, 44 BCE)

Lucretia was terrified, but even that may not be a strong enough word to describe her emotions in this moment. Her father's corpse was laid out before her, blood still seeping from the wounds upon his body. No words would come to her, even as Silvius placed a hand on her back and attempted to lead her away from the corpse. "No," Lucretia snapped, pushing her husband's hand off, "I will stay with him."

"Lucretia, he is gone. We must find Marcus Antonius and figure out what must be done," Silvius said in his regular shaky voice.

"No," she repeated, "go if you will, find Antonius. But I will remain by my father's side until his bones have burnt to ash and his blood has watered the roots of the earth."

"You, woman, are too stubborn for your own good," the man snapped, but he didn't argue with her again, simply turning on his heel and leaving the room.

"Why pater? why was he the man you chose? and why did you leave me alone with him?" Lucretia had spent years of her life after when it would be proper for a Roman woman to marry without a single suiter. Her father had always told Lucretia that she could pick her husband, a man she enjoyed. That was until December of the year before, when he had informed her that she was to marry Silvius Fabius Maximus, a friend of her fathers. Lucretia had been furious. Until the exact day of her wedding, she'd screamed and raged at her father. Silvius was not a very attractive man and they'd never been close.

But Lucretia was a roman woman, and roman women did what they were told. So in ianuarius of that year, they had married. Though Lucretia had refused to let him into her bed. He could try, and he had, multiple times since their wedding but Lucretia would not change her mind. She didn't care for him and she would not lose her virtue to a man she did not care for.

Now, just two months later, here she was alone and bloodied. Holding the limp hand of her murdered father.

There was no sound in the darkened house.

It was a long while before anyone entered the house. Calpurnia, her stepmother, had retreated to her chambers in tears when the body was brought in. Now she returned to the tablinum where Caesar's body lay. Three slaves followed behind her, two with buckets in hand. "Lucretia, my sweet, we must prepare the body"

Lucretia blinked, "a moment more stepmother."

Calpurnia sighed, "Nerva, place the cypress at the door." One of the slaves bowed, taking two branches in his hands and heading towards the entrance way. "Come now sweet Lucretia, we have grieved for hours. His body has cooled, we must clean it and prepare for the proper ceremonies."

Lucretia sat still for another moment, her hand laid across the cold body of her father, "yes, yes we must."

Lucretia stood and took one of the cloths from a slave who she did not recognize. She dipped the cloth into one of the buckets and pressed the water onto his bloodied arm. Calpurnia smiled and began to help, "where is the undertaker?" the older woman asked.

"From what I've heard, the streets have been cleared. No one will come here, not for him ," Lucretia whispered, it was bad form to speak loudly around the recently deceased. "Gaius Julius Caesar."

"Gaius Julius Caesar," Calpurnia repeated, and from them they fell into silence. Simply pressing soaked cloths into the bloody skin of the dictator and watching the watered blood run onto the tiled ground beneath them.

It was after dawn the next morning when they were joined by another. And soon many friends of her father's joined them in the household. Silvius had managed to find Marcus Antonius and had brought the consul to their home to plan their next move.

Now Lucretia and Calpurnia were forced to sit in the atrium and wait for the men to tell them what to do.

"I hate this," Lucretia finally snapped, "sitting here, waiting for them to finish their plans. Plans that no doubt will be foolish and rash, given the temperaments of the men in the room."

"Come now my sweet, what else would you have be done?" Calpurnia said softly, reaching out to take Lucretia's hand.

"I don't know, perhaps we shall go to the murderers and take the blood that is owed us!"

"You would have them hunt the conspirators down and kill them all? That is not possible, many support those men and they have many powerful positions-"

Lucretia scoffed, cutting her stepmother off mid sentence, "I would have my own knife pearce their hearts."

"Lucretia-" Calpurnia began with a chiding note to her voice.

"Do not! Do not chide me for wanting vengeance upon those who have slain my father!" Lucretia snapped at her, standing in a single sharp movement.

"It would not be-" Calpurnia tried again.

"-proper? No it would not, but I do not care, my FATHER was murdered and I will have my revenge upon his killers," she hissed, leaning towards the older woman with narrowed eyes.

"What are you ladies discussing?" Marcus Antonius's voice cut off whatever Calpurnia was going to say in response.

"How I shall take my vengeance upon those who killed my father," Lucretia said, turning to him with a smile.

"Oh? Well, perhaps you shall, but not today. Today I will call a senate meeting and then we shall open your father's will once I have discovered the extent of the conspirators' plans," Antonius told her, already fixing the toga clasp at his shoulder.

Lucretia nodded, watching the man, and some others that had joined in the planning, exit the house. "Do not fret my love," Silvius's voice came from close beside her as he placed his hand upon her hip. Lucretia cringed away from him and shot a glare to her right. He didn't react, "Antonius shall ensure we are safe."

"I do not care for my safety, I want my vengeance." Lucretia repeated, pushing his hand away and returning to her father's side. "And I will have it, I will."

Lucretia was furious again. Antonius stood before her, the two were alone as Calpurnia had left to retrieve her father's will from its place in the Temple of Vesta and Silvius had escorted her. "What do you mean you have given them an amnesty?" Lucretia hissed.

"It was best for us all, Lucretia. If I did not grant them an amnesty for the murder they would have named it a tyrannicide, then all would be lost." Antonius said in a placating voice.

"They could not name it such. If they named the murder a tyrannicide then all my fathers laws and appointments would be null and void. They would lose all positions granted to them by him, and the people would be furious."

Antonius raised an eyebrow, "you... know quite a bit about politics then?"

"My father wanted me educated as he would educate a son," Lucretia proudly stated, raising her head slightly. She had expected that reaction, she always got it. Men were always surprised when she revealed her knowledge on these things. She told truth, as to why she knew them, her father had gifted her many books and scrolls full of things that women would not often be taught. He had also spent hours telling her about the decisions he was making in the Senate. She was after all his only blood child, so she had to be informed of the family's political moves.

"How kind of a father he was," Antonius said, though there was an odd note to his voice. At that moment Calpurnia and Silvius reentered the room.

"Porcius," Calpurnia called to one of the slaves, "read this for us."

The pale slave took the will and opened it. The door opened suddenly before he could begin speaking. "Cousin Atia!" Lucretia called, standing to give the new arrivals a proper greeting.

"Cousin Lucretia," Atia smiled, her daughter Octavia stood behind her smiling, "how I have missed your presence, but oh what a terrible way to meet."

Lucretia nodded and smiled softly, taking Octavia in hand and greeting her as well. "Yes well, you have arrived just in time to hear his last wishes."

The three took their seat and Lucretia waved towards the slave, "well, read on."

He bowed, cleared his throat and began. "I, Gaius Julius Caesar do hereby confirm that this is my final will and testament. Having made due provision with the well-being and security of my honest and dutiful wife, Calpurnia, et cetera. I leave the sum of 75 denarii to every enrolled citizen and I gift my gardens to the citizens of Rome to use as they please.

My name and the remainder of my estate, with all legal obligations and benefits, all remaining property, gold, silver, and other monies, I leave to Gaius Octavius. Who is henceforth to be regarded for all intents and purposes and my lawful son and heir."

There was silence. "Gaius Octavius? Cousin Gaius?" Lucretia asked softly.

"My Gaius..." Atia whispered, "adopted... heir?"

"Well, isn't that wonderful," Antonius said, though he didn't sound like he found it wonderful.

"Gaius, he will be..." yes Lucretia could work with Gaius. From what she knew of her cousin, he was a good man, a young one and a promiscuous one, but a good man nonetheless. And if Lucretia could get him to see that her marriage was failing, that would change things. As her new pater familias Gaius would be able to request her marriage be annulled because of its lack of consummation. She just hoped he would return to Rome and accept his adoption.

"Now we have a funeral to plan." Lucretia said.

16th Day before the Kalends of May (16th April, 44 BCE)

This day Lucretia was delighted. Gaius was returning to Rome. For two weeks now, Lucretia had been full of both delight and righteous anger. The day of her father's funeral, on the 13th day before the Kalends of April, those who led the murder of her father had fled the city. This had made Lucretia happy of course, they deserved to fear the anger of the people they had wronged. But it had also made her angry for it robbed her of the chance to plot her vengeance.

Today though, she felt the delight more than the anger. Her cousin, her new pater familias if all went well, was returning to Rome to claim his inheritance. Lucretia hoped that the young man would be helpful in her plans.

"Lucretia! He's here," Atia called.

Lucretia smiled, standing and heading to the entrance of the home. Once she reached the door, she saw the man that had returned to Rome. Gaius's hair had grown out some since he had left for Greece, now it sat just above his shoulders in soft waves. His tunic was pale in colour and tied with a golden belt. "Gaius!" Atia called for her son, taking his head in hand.

"Mother," Gaius smiled, offhandedly giving one of the slaves his horse's reins, "I've missed you."

One of the men behind him dismounted as well, and smiled at Atia. "Agrippa," she smiled, kissing him as well. "I am happy you have returned with my son."

"I am happy to have returned as well," the man, Agrippa said. Lucretia had heard of him, though they had never met face to face before.

"Cou... sister," Gaius said with a smile.

"Brother," Lucretia stepped forward to give him a kiss in greeting, "you are accepting the adoption then?"

"Of course," Gaius said, glancing at his mother, who pursed her lips but didn't speak.

Lucretia looked between them for a moment, before turning to the other man. "I do not believe we have met, I am Lucretia Julia Caesaris of the Julii."

He smiled at her and stepped forward to kiss her cheeks, "it's a pleasure, Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa."

They smiled at each other for a moment. "Well," Gaius cut in, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, "what have I missed?"

NiV masterlist / full masterlist

#domina mgm+#domina2021 #fanfic #oc

5 notes · View notes

acerbusfilus · 3 years

Note

NSFW prompt list- Silence (@acatofmanylives 👀)

SILENCE. our muses having to keep down during sex, due to whatever reason.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best places for Kylo to pull the hellcat, but it became a common place that every time he laid eyes on her, he just wanted to...well...fuck her. Ever since their first time, he had found himself insatiable. It didn’t help that their busy schedules prevented them from seeing each other as much as Kylo would like. After all, there was still a war going on. So when she had appeared to him on the halls of The Finalizer, he had pulled her into one of the meeting rooms without much thought.

Their lips collided the moment the door closed behind them. Large hands picked her up by her thighs, spreading them apart. He nestled his hips between them as he dug his fingertips into her skin. He didn’t need to tell her how much he needed her in that moment. He was sure that she could feel it -- through the force and directly pressed against her groin. Even through the layers of clothing and armor he wore, the erection he possessed was apparent. Insisting to be put back where it was meant to be -- inside the beautiful hellcat that he held in his arms.

He didn’t need to say a word. He pinned her with his hips against the wall, a gloved hand covering her mouth when she went to speak. The sound of people bustling just outside the door made it so that any sound they made might be heard. He pressed his finger to his lips as he looked at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. She nodded and he got to work, eager digits pulling the hellcats panties to the side and let leather work between her folds with a heavy vigor. His lips fell open as he watched her squirm. Her eyes wide and the quiet sounds she couldn’t hold back were muffled by his hand. Watching her fall apart for him was one of his favorite things.

“You’re such a good girl.” He leaned to her ear to whisper, middle finger sliding inside of her, curling inside to tease her further. Her hips stuttered and he began to pump his finger in and out of her. Both the sound and smell were intoxicating and he couldn’t help but let out little growls into her ear as he inserted a second finger, prepping her for the moment he would plunge his cock inside of her. It was aching, but he cared more about her. He always cared more about her.

“Cum, kitten.” He hummed as he felt her walls clench up. His thumb flicking at her clit quickly. He could feel her tail lightly rubbing up against his crotch, but he wasn’t going to stop her for now. She bit down on his hand as she came, if only to stop herself from screaming from the sheer pleasure. Her body went limp after the moment passed but he held her steady.

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to her lips before pulling his fingers out of her, rubbing her cum on her cheek as he undid his pants. He pulled them down just enough to pull his cock out and he watched as her eyes immediately went down to it.

“Do you want it?” He questioned and she nodded. He pulled his glove off with his mouth and tossed it aside, grabbing hold of the shaft with his warm hand. He slapped the oozing tip against her sensitive clit a few times and he was forced to cover her mouth again as she made another sound.

“Sssh.” he said before slowly sliding into her. Her walls squeezed him, pulling him further until he bottomed out. He took a few seconds to compose himself -- thighs slightly shaking. She felt so good. She always did. He buried his face in her shoulder as he began to slowly thrust. It was hard for him to keep his sounds to a low level but he managed. Her fingers were in his hair and each second brought him closer and closer to his edge.

“I’ll do it inside.” Kylo said softly, “And you’ll keep it safe for me, won’t you?” She nodded as he began to fuck her faster. His urgency to fill her up becoming more and more apparent. He bit into her shoulder as he felt himself cumming, still covering the hellcats mouth so that she wouldn’t scream from euphoria. After a moment, he steadied himself. He gave her a soft kiss on the spot where he had bitten, leaving a harsh mark there.

“Always a pleasure to see you, Empress.” He said softly then.

“Mm...” Ashe mumbled, “You too.”

@acatofmanylives

#answer ;#drabble ;#bc she told me to write the whole damn thing so i did #{ i should have protected you ; ashe ; }

3 notes · View notes

samayla · 5 years

Text

An Utterly Impractical Magician

Chapter 6

A Jane Eyre/Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell fusion fic.

Also on AO3

Summary: When John Reed burnt Thomas Godbless’ book of magic to spite his cousin, he had no idea how drastically he would alter both her fate and that of English magic.

@majorxbuddyxboy @shygaladriel @bookhobbit @wolfinthethorns @kaethe-nicole @warsawmouse @cassandravision@mythopoeticreality@jmlascar@seriouslythoughguys @isawatreetoday@rude-are-food @the-stars-above28@the-candor-shadowhunter

Let me know if any of you would like to be added/removed in the tags list.

This chapter went much faster than I anticipated. Hope you enjoy!

The Girl in the Chapel

Lowood School, July 1805

Lowood School was the perfect place for a man of Childermass’ skills to move about unseen. Shadows congregated there, even in broad daylight. They spilled from doorways and dripped from the walls, and pooled beneath the dark, somber bonnets worn by all the pupils. Childermass had spent days lurking about the place, watching, learning, and gathering leverage to use against the puffed-up old headmaster, while he awaited a final ruling from the girl’s aunt.

About the girl herself, there was no shortage of gossip to be heard. Brocklehurst maintained that she was a liar, a troublemaker, and a danger to everyone in his school, and he had bullied most of his staff into believing the same. They spoke scathingly of the stories she told of faerie mischief, of sparks and ashes and nightmares that came true. They lamented her stubbornness, her lies, and her blatant disrespect for the headmaster. The more superstitious among them claimed she was a changeling, and they blamed her for all manner of misfortunes: that spring’s typhus epidemic, or a recent outbreak of headlice, or even the slugs in the garden.

Many of the students capitalized freely upon those beliefs. They bragged to one another of the misdeeds they’d managed to pin on her. Broken slates, stained dresses, spilled inkwells… It seemed that if anything went awry at Lowood School, it was Jane Eyre’s fault.

Some were awed by her seeming ingenuity and creativity, wondering aloud how she’d managed to set a live badger loose in the schoolroom without once moving from the front desk. The most popular theory held that she’d somehow tamed the beast — and some of the girls claimed she’d enchanted it with faerie magic — and smuggled it in beneath her skirt. When the headmaster had laid into her that last time, the badger had risen to the defense of its mistress. To a small handful of girls, Jane Eyre had become something of a patron saint, the physical embodiment of mischief, freedom, and the apparently universal hatred of Mr Brocklehurst.

Whether they thought her sinner or saint or changeling child, everyone at Lowood waited to hear what the headmaster meant to do about her.

But as much as he had wandered about the school, Childermass could find no trace of the girl beyond her reputation. She wasn’t in the dormitory, or the schoolroom, or out on the lawn. She wasn’t scrubbing pots in the kitchen, or pulling weeds from the turnip beds. At last, quite by chance, he felt a familiar, if faint, thread of magic that drew him to the chapel.

A pitiful little bundle of leaves lay inside the door. A scrap of tattered lace bound the leaves to a stick, atop which sat an acorn, smeared charcoal picking out eyes and mouth. The acorn was split, and some of the leaves were coming loose from the lace tie. Another faint wave of dizzying magic had him fearing the worst, but a faint sniffle came from the corner on the other side of the altar, and he realized the ruin in his hand really was only a doll. He tucked it into a pocket for safekeeping, not sure who had broken it, or why they had done so.

Childermass kept to the shadows. He did not mean to speak to the girl, did not wish to offer her false hope in the event that her aunt caused yet more trouble. He wished only to see her, to confirm for himself that she was alright, that he had heeded his cards’ warning in time.

If not for the sickly, grey-green plaster creeping slowly in from the edges of her dress, Childermass might not have believed it was really Jane Eyre huddled in that corner. She bore little resemblance to the fierce little creature he’d met in the library so many months ago. While she had been pale and thin then, now she had the pinched, knobbly look of a child who was growing far too fast for her meager diet to keep up. She stared at nothing in particular, a slack frown further proof of her disinterest in even the encroaching plaster that threatened to consume her entirely.

Childermass was torn. His firm conviction that it would be better to keep her in the dark until matters were settled, seemed suddenly shortsighted and cruel. As in her aunt’s house, the girl was utterly alone. She could fade right into the chapel wall, and no one would notice, but for the way it interrupted the ghastly motif of demonic lambs. How could it hurt, even if he could not take her away immediately, to tell her that someone was there, that someone cared whether she lived or died or disappeared entirely?

He pulled a card from his pocket.

The Empress: nurturing, abundance, life in bloom.

The girl shifted suddenly, her attention snagged by her left hand. She raised it slightly, sending plaster crackling away from her elbow, and stared with a sort of detached curiosity at her bloodied palm. The spark of interest faded, and she returned her hand to her lap, and dropped her head back to the wall, where the plaster immediately began to creep into the edges of her bonnet.

“Hello there, Little Miss,” Childermass murmured, crouching before her and letting his shadows fall away. Already he was tucking his card away and pulling his handkerchief from an inner pocket.

She blinked in surprise, before her face slackened once more. “I haven’t any books for you today, sir,” she mumbled. “I am sorry for in-inconveniencing you.” Her lip trembled, and her cheeks flushed pink in her pale face, and she looked at anything but him.

“I’m not here for books, Little Miss,” said Childermass gently. He carefully reached in to inspect one hand, then the other. “I am here to see you.” Beyond the tangling burn scars that climbed halfway up her forearms — doubtless from the incident in the library all those months ago — her hands were swollen and bloodied from a brutal caning. Childermass was no stranger to such injuries himself, having been caught out by the local magistrates on more than one occasion in his pickpocketing days. He ripped his handkerchief in two and began carefully wrapping her palms to halt the sluggish bleeding for now, until he had charge of her and could tend to the injuries properly.

Jane flinched as he drew the first knot tight, and plaster cracked and flaked around her. “Have you taken good care of my books, sir?” she asked at last.

“They’ve had better care than you have, Little Miss,” he tried teasing as he finished with her second hand.

“I’m glad,” said the girl, smiling a little, as though the news had eased something in her, but still the plaster crept over her, nearly reaching her bodice now.

He wished to see her animated once more. Fierce and defiant. Even the magic in the air was limp and listless now, and he felt only the barest trace of dizziness at his proximity to it. Her current state alarmed him far more than he would care to admit, even to Lucy, who had guessed it. It would seem he was attached to the little book-murderer after all. “Would you like to see them again?” Childermass asked, unable to help himself.

Jane looked up sharply, seeming to register him properly for the first time. The plaster on her skirt cracked and crumpled as she sat up straighter. “You’re really here? Truly?”

He laughed and answered that he was. “What did you think, Little Miss? That you had conjured me from air and shadow?”

She blushed properly, bright spots of color warming her pallid cheeks and throat, right down to the collar of her dress.

Taking that for a promising sign, Childermass took her by the elbows and tugged her free of the wall. “Come on, then, Little Miss. Up you get. Let’s have a look at you.” The plaster crumbled away to form a little heap on the damp floor as he chafed her arms to coax some warmth back into them.

“Will you take me away like you did my books?” the girl asked carefully, staring at Childermass as though afraid he might vanish if she were to so much as blink.

“There are some matters yet to be settled between the headmaster, your aunt, and myself,” he answered carefully.

Her face fell, as if she had known better than to hope.

“Take heart, Little Miss,” he scolded gently, lifting her chin to stare firmly into her mismatched eyes. Shapeless spills of black ink drifted aimlessly across her grey eye. “I’ve a mind to reunite you with your books as soon as I can arrange it.” He pulled a card from his pocket — the Star, of all things. “You take this now, and take good care of it. This cards says hope and luck are on our side. It is one of my favorite cards, so I don’t mean to be without it for long, and I certainly wouldn’t like to return and find it a smear of paint in this dismal little pit they call a chapel, understand?”

She looked down at her dress, now largely plaster-free, but still the color of the drab paint on the wall. The face of a lamb was imprinted upon the fabric near the hem. Color blossomed on her cheeks once more. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Good girl,” he praised. “Now, I saw someone’s left you an oat cake and a cup of water by the door. You must promise me you will eat and drink after I’m gone. I mean to have words with your foul headmaster, and I won’t have you starving yourself any more than he’s already done.” She didn’t answer right away, so he stood and gave her a very stern look, indeed. “I want your word on it, Little Miss.”

“You have it, sir.”

Childermass stayed long enough to see that she at least took a sip of the water. Satisfied that she was drinking something, even if she was not interested in eating the petrified oat cake, he left to see a man about a troublemaker.

#eyre/strange fusion #jsamn #jane eyre #childermass #!!!#kate writes

5 notes · View notes

spectrumscribe · 7 years

Text

mirror well.

a drabble i wrote in a fit of inspiration on my mobile, and have now edited into proper reading material.

lmao, canon never did address the effects the crystal incident might have had on April.

April opens her eyes to darkness, pitch and endless all around her. There is a far off sound of falling water drops, hitting the surface of the abyss beneath April’s feet with steady drips.

April sighs to herself, crossing her arms over her jumpsuit and waiting for the show to begin.

Echoing footsteps begin approaching somewhere behind her. April doesn’t give it the courtesy of acknowledgement. It starts talking anyways.

“You’re back so soon,” It purrs, predatory and awful. “Usually you hide from me for at least a week. Why so eager? Did you… miss me?”

April doesn’t look it in the eye, or at it at all. She still hears the grin in its words.

“I’d burn you to ashes if I knew how,” April says without inflection; keeping her back straight and her wits about her. “Just like you’d burn me to ashes if you knew how. Don’t take this visit as anything more than it is.”

“Oh?” It glides closer, inhumanly graceful. “And what is this visit, then?”

“A warning,” April has to keep herself from growling the words. Anger will get her nowhere here. “to stay out of my consciousness and out of my business.”

“But… messing with you is all I can do like this. And it’s so much fun!”

April breathes in slowly, and turns to face her doppelganger.

Her unwanted headmate smiles serenely at April; hair loose around its face being the only difference between them. April hasn’t worn her hair down since this monster ruined the look for her.

They have the same freckles, and jumpsuit, and same scars. But April sees cruelty in Za'naron’s eyes though, which is too vast an emotion for any human to have and not drop dead from.

Za'naron smiles wider, showing pearly teeth and dimples. “April, oh April. You deny any part in what happened, but we both know you’re misleading yourself. That man deserved to have his neck snapped, and you don’t regret making it so.”

April clenches her fists, quelling her rage. “I could have spared his life.”

“And yet you applied too much force to that throw, and broke his spine. A shame.”

April’s lip curls. “You’re a bad liar. You messed with my power output. You broke his neck. Don’t you dare blame that on me.”

Za'naron laughs, a note off from what April’s sounds like. “I’m the bad liar? Look who’s talking! Like you didn’t revel in feeling his pathetic thin bones snap, like you didn’t leave him in a heap without a look back.”

“We were in a fight, I had no time-”

“Ly-ing!” Za'naron sings. It grins viciously at April, twisting her own face into a mask of hatred. “You wouldn’t have looked back anyway. Face it, dear sweet April- you love having that power, and you love wielding it.”

“I never wanted this power,” April hisses, and Za'naron scoffs.

“You say that, and mean not a single word! Amazing. Did you forget how much you struggled? How you fought to gain every ounce of power you could, not even four years ago? How you watched those freaks move mountains with ease and think ‘why isn’t that me? Why can’t I have that?’” Za'naron walks towards April, grinning wider and wider. “You wanted power all along, April, and now you have it. And you love it.”

“I make the best of my situation,” April says evenly, staring down Za'naron without flinching. Za'naron sneers.

“You repress your natural inclination to destruction and reconstruction,” It says to her, close enough unreal breath ghosts on April’s cheeks. “You could reshape this entire world, could conquer tens of others- and yet you restrain yourself. Stifle your potential.”

“I live my life how I want to. Not how murderous alien monsters want me to.”

“Hm, and which one of us is that, exactly?”

April grabs Za'naron with her mind, and slams it into the solid water beneath them. It writhes in her invisible grip, clutching at its pale neck as April uselessly strangles it.

“I am nothing like you,” April growls, not quite recognizing her own voice, and yet so intimately familiar with her furious tone.

Za'naron laughs, high and wrong. “Is that so? Then why did you drop a ceiling on your Sensei? Why did you throw Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, and even Casey off a building roof? Why did you kill Donatello?”

April doesn’t let that knock the air out of her, doesn’t let it punch a hole through her chest. She swallows dryly. “That wasn’t me.”

“Wasn’t it? Haven’t you dreamt of those things, over and over?” Za'naron smiles, soft and mocking. “Why do you remember those things and wish to feel that triumph again?”

April lifts her tormentor up into the air and slams it back into the water’s surface. A second time after, and a third, and a fourth.

Za'naron laughs at her the whole time, still indestructible against April’s best attempts.

“Just admit it to yourself!” It insists, not even pretending to be choking anymore, the inhuman shade it is. “Admit you want to destroy this filthy planet and rule over its fragments. Admit you want to be a queen, an empress! A God!”

“I want you to stay out of my business,” April says flatly, and drops Za'naron without ceremony. It hits the water with a short splash, stolen red hair plastering against its equally stolen skin.

It lies there as April steps over to it; staying limp as she places a boot on its chest and pushes down.

“You try anything funny again,” April crushes Za'naron’s unreal ribs with a pulse of her mental powers and will, cracking them into shards. “and I swear I’ll find a way kill you a second time, slowly. Painfully.”

Za'naron sneers. “And I’ll find a way to convince you again of your true potential, dear April.”

April steps away, feeling colder than the empty world of darkness around them.

“I already know well enough my own potential, thanks. I don’t need a beaten monster to tell me that.”

Za'naron’s laughter morphs, and with it the false face it’s wearing wavers. For a moment, April sees the corrupted angel it truly is, hidden under the mask of herself.

“Say hello to Donatello for me,” Za'naron taunts nastily. “I wouldn’t want him to forget me.”

April thinks of how Donnie still sometimes watches her use her telekinesis with careful eyes, or how he never looks at her in the eye when her hair is down. How none of her boys do.

“I highly doubt he could,” April says quietly, and turns away from Za'naron. It’s mocking laughter and taunts follow her as she leaves, ascending from the abyss her core has become.

When April opens her eyes a second time, the laughter fades into nothingness as warm light fills her sight. The dojo is peaceful and brightly lit, Leonardo nearby doing his own meditation. Though not as deeply as April had been, since he opens his own eyes as she sucks in a harsh breath.

“Got in too deep?” He asks, quirking a teasing smile. It changes into a sympathetic one not a beat later, warm and caring. “You know not every meditation session has to be so intense, April. It’s for relaxing, not straining yourself.”

Or, it’s for reminding your mind shade its place. Which is a million miles from April’s family and their friends.

April doesn’t tell Leo that, just like she never tells anyone else. The only person she ever even hinted this to is month’s dead, may her Sensei’s soul find peace.

“I know,” April says instead, ignoring the sensation of laughter that isn’t hers somewhere in the back of her mind. “I’ll try to keep things more casual next time.”

It’s long since smashed to dust, but April feels the weight of the crystal around her neck as she walks out of the dojo. But she doesn’t let it stop her from smiling at her family, and joining them for pizza.

The shade locked in her mind will remain where it is, and April has long since sworn it will never affect her loved ones ever again. She intends to keep that promise for as long as it takes to destroy Za’naron completely.

#April O'Neil #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #za'naron #i think about these two often #about how this would have affected april and all the things they could have done with her post-possession experiences #so tada: brain ghost za'naron to torture april about her life choices #fun!#My writing

17 notes · View notes

callunavulgari · 7 years

Text

SCRAPBOOK 2017 - TAKE TWO

Scrapbook for the second half of 2017, because tumblr doesn’t like it when you have a million links on one post.

Italicized titles = enjoyed muchly, bold titles = love, titles with an asterisk* = OBSESSION and titles in (brackets) are re-watches/re-reads. And lastly, strikethough = DISLIKE.

Goals are: read thirty-five new books this year (yikes, way behind), finish four video games (definitely on track here), finish writing and publish the Sabriel AU (eh heh), and write something original (does coming up with the idea count?).

MOVIES

June

Wonder Woman

(Doctor Strange)

Kiki’s Delivery Service

Bronson

Chocolat

Tristan and Isolde

(Moana)

Power Rangers

July

Spiderman: Homecoming

Mona Lisa Smile

Baby Driver

(Logan)

Ouija: Origins of Evil

(Star Wars: Rogue One)

Passengers

Atomic Blonde

King and I

Stranded

August

The Sixth Sense

(Armageddon)

Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children

(The Princess Diaries)

(X-Men: Apocalypse)

Legend

(Silent Hill)

BOOKS

June:

Authority | Jeff Vandermeer

July:

Authority | Jeff Vandermeer

The Secret History | Donna Tarte

A Wrinkle In Time | Madeline L’Engle [Fin]

The Archived | Victoria Schwab [Fin]

Scythe | Neal Shusterman [Fin]

Shadow and Bone | Leigh Bardugo [Fin]

August

Siege and Storm | Leigh Bardugo [Fin]

Less | Andrew Sean Greer

Authority | Jeff Vandermeer

A Wind In The Door | Madeline L’Engle [Fin]

PODCASTS

June:

The Bright Sessions Eps 31-32

Alice Isn’t Dead Eps 3-4

Welcome to Night Vale 1-3

July:

Alice Isn’t Dead Eps 4-5

EOS 10 Eps 1-3

August

N/A

TV SHOWS BY SEASON

June:

Grace and Frankie

American Gods

(Stranger Things)

How to Get Away With Murder s2

Black Sails s2

July:

Black Sails s2

Grace and Frankie

Stargate SG-1 s2, s3

Doctor Who s8

The Strain

Boku no Hero Academia

August

Westworld

Voltron s3

Game of Thrones s7

The Strain

Yamishibai

Jerry Springer (Vacation w/ boyfriend’s family. Brother and friends are awful.)

VIDEO GAMES

June:

LoZ: Breath of the Wild (Definitely more than 40 hrs; Fin)

Dishonored 2 (Corvo Playthrough, 7 hrs)

Witcher 3 (15 hrs?)

July:

Witcher 3 (15 hrs?)

(Final Fantasy XV, 2 hrs)

August

(Final Fantasy XV, 2 hrs)

DELIGHTFUL FIC

June:

Running on Air by eleventy7 (HP; Drarry; 75k; Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.)

Slithering by astolat (HP; Drarry; 27k; Draco found the nest down in the Manor’s cellars, while he was clearing them out.)

Bitter Honey, Green Night by Faith Wood (faithwood) (HP; Drarry; 14k; An inn, an Auror, a criminal, a mystery.)

Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by waspabi (HP; Drarry; 93k; 'You're a wizard, Harry' is easier to hear from a half-giant when you're eleven, rather than from some kids on a tube platform when you're seventeen and late for work.)

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi (HP; Drarry; 57k; Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.)

stranger things than polyamory by trepan (Stranger Things; Jonathon/Steve/Nancy; 3.5k; Somebody spray-paints NANCY WHEELER HAS TWO BOYFRIENDS on a wall she walks by on her way back from school in May. There are a couple of other students watching her as she passes. Nancy gives the sign a long look, then smirks at them politely.)

the heart its own rough animal by trepan (Stranger Things; Jonathon/Nancy/Steve; 21k; “Where’s her daemon,” says one of the boys urgently. “Guys, she doesn’t have one.”)

in the bone by patho (ghostsoldier) (Dishonored; Corvo/Outsider; 2.8k; It all began when Corvo started kissing the Mark for luck.)

The Sea and Stars Are Yours, My Dear, But the Moon Would Not Cooperate by NeverwinterThistle (Dishonored; Corvo/Outsider; 25k; The Outsider explores the murky seas of human courtship while Corvo watches in bemusement, and in the background Emily draws, Callista takes charge, Piero sulks, and Cecelia accidentally becomes indispensable. There's also a plague, a vase of asparagus, and about a hundred singing whales who randomly showed up in the harbour one evening.The squid is still wriggling.)

apocrypha by aerynlallaboso (Dishonored; Corvo/Outsider; 95k+; WIP; The Eighth year of the reign of Empress Emily Kaldwin, First of her Name, the second year without a whisper from the Outsider, is the year the Void chooses to mark the end of an era.)

a small soft death by patho (ghostsoldier) (Dishonored; Corvo/Outsider; 2.8k; “The finest steel,” the Outsider says, “is forged with true purpose in mind. Elements that enhance the strength of the weapon are carefully chosen, and those that make the metal brittle and weak are burned away. It is an exacting process. The most beautiful dagger will be of no use at all if the steel is not properly tempered. Do you understand?”)

in·car·nate by bygoneboy (Dishonored; Corvo/Outsider; 21k; The Void’s Chosen have loved him before.)

The Crown of the Summer Court by astolat (Merlin; Merlin/Arthur; 24k; "The king sent me to get you," Merlin said, with a tone that implied strongly that he wasn't rolling his eyes where Arthur could see, but just wait until his back was turned. "He said you're to get changed into formal clothes and meet him in the Great Hall, there's a delegation coming from the Summer Court.")

the king of oak by saltpans (HP: FBAWTFT; Credance/Percival Graves; 38k; The first thing Percival Graves does after being released back into the world is buy a new wand.)

Hi, You Were My Husband in Another Life, Professor by littlebirdtold (Star Trek; Spirk; 48k; Um, hi. I'm Jim. Jim Kirk. You don't know me, but I know you. Well, sort of. It's a long story.)

Bluebird by waldorph (Star Trek; Spirk; 7k; Jim whipped around so fast most of his drink ended up on Spock, who was reaching for the phaser that wasn’t there. The Enterprise crew was parting like the biblical seas before Moses, and Jim could feel the temperature dropping. “Mom,” Jim croaked.)

Misethere by astolat (Witcher 3; Geralt/Emhyr; 46k; Emhyr was looking at him for once, with a strange expression. “I have misjudged you,” he said, sounding irritated actually: how dare Geralt surprise him.“I get that a lot,” Geralt said.)

Blooded Crown by astolat (Witcher 3; Geralt/Emhyr; 24k; “You need not thank me,” Emhyr said. “I have an ulterior motive.”It annoyed Geralt to be surprised. He should’ve known from the start. “Yeah?” The words came out with a little bite. “Have another daughter you need me to track down?”“If I wished to hire you, I would hire you,” Emhyr said. “No: I want you to come to my bed.”)

Cursed by astolat (Witcher 3; Geralt/Emhyr; 8k; Geralt was reasonably sure this was the worst damn day of the worst damn month of his life, and it hadn’t hit bottom yet.)

July:

The War of Silver and Ash by astolat (Witcher 3; Geralt/Emhyr; 15k; He hadn’t come here with a contract. He’d come here to get the faces out of his head: the bloodless dead sprawled in heaps through the streets of Beauclair, the morning after the rampage Detlaff had unleashed; the blank eyes of the boy in the orphanage tilting his head to let Orianna drink from his throat, with the lullaby she’d been singing him still hanging in the air.Wasn’t working that well so far.)

A Year In Toussaint by astolat (Witcher 3; Geralt/Emhyr; 30k; Geralt had no damn idea what to do with a vineyard when Anna Henrietta gave him Corvo Bianco, but he figured it couldn’t be that bad.)

circling by xpityx (Witcher 3; Geralt/Emhyr; 5k; Emhyr sighed, as if Geralt’s lack of immediate understanding was a fundamental failure of his character.)

Running Behind by Asidian (FFXV; Prompto/Noctis; WIP; There's a tag hanging on his storage pod, instead of the clipboard that documents his progress. On that tag, there's a single word stamped in red: defective.)

Toys by astolat (Lucifer; Lucifer/Chloe; 2k; “You want to fuck me!” he said gleefully.)

Emblazoning by astolat (Merlin; OT4; 19k; Morgana turned away from the high, barred window and rubbed her arms, chilled and bare. Arthur was sitting in the dirty straw at the very limit of his chains, which kept him a few inches too far away to touch Merlin's limp body. Outside they were putting up the stake.)

Redemption Merry Go-Round by astolat (Lucifer; Lucifer/Dan/Chloe; 8k; Dan was deeply sorry for whatever he’d done in his life that had landed him in this mess, and also reasonably sure that despite all the shit he’d pulled in the last couple of years, he still didn’t deserve this.)

wild peaches by notbecauseofvictories (The Labyrinth; Sarah/Goblin King; 3k; The morning after Sarah Williams defeats the Goblin King, she gets up and makes toast.)

where the weeds take root by beenghosting (Supernatural; Destiel; 30k+; “Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.”)

damnatio memoriae by temporalDecay (Witcher 3; Geralt/Emhyr; 12k; “May I walk the estate?” Emhyr repeated, and his nose crinkled in that familiar twitch of displeasure that Geralt had always secretly delighted in causing, despite how downright suicidal it was to invoke it on purpose. “I'm not going to run away,” he added, with a slight glare. “I'm merely bored.”)

Heart and Home by lc2l (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 97k; In an alternate Paris, werewolves occupy the majority of the ruling classes, making and adjusting policy to suit their interests. The punishments for a human attacking a werewolf can be brutal, unless they have the protection of a wolf pack.How this translates to 'claim Grantaire as your mate to get him out of prison' is something Enjolras is still trying to get his head around, but he's never been one to give up on a cause even when it's sleeping on his sofa.)

August

How the Future's Done by barricadeur (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 12k; "Grantaire," he says slowly. "What do you have in that box?")

vocal ink by sarahyyy (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 3k; “Officially, we don’t have a leader, everyone here is equal,” Courfeyrac says, keeping his voice low as Enjolras starts his speech, “but if we did, and we don’t, it would be Enjolras.” He looks over to Marius. “Do not approach him. Let him come to you, let him be the first to initiate conversation, and for the love of God, do not mention soulmates.”)

Years Since It's Been Clear by lady_ragnell (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 10k; Grantaire really doesn't expect Enjolras to force him to move in with him when he hears how shitty Grantaire's apartment is. And he definitely doesn't expect Enjolras to want him to stay, or how easy it turns out to be, or the way Enjolras has a habit of doing his studying in the sunshine on the living room floor ...)

Tolerable (Inuyasha; Sesshomaru&Miroku; 30k; “The scent is not entirely unpleasant.”)

Silence Is the Speech of Love by lady_ragnell (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 50k; Grantaire's life has a pattern: he pays his respects to Aphrodite, he goes to work, he loves Enjolras and provokes him because he can't bring himself to do otherwise.)

The Five Year Plan by Neery (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 16k; Enjolras loses his memory. Thankfully, nothing unexpected seems to have happened to him in the five years he can't remember. Well, except for the boyfriend. The boyfriend's kind of a surprise.)

dance this silence down (the emergency room remix) by Fahye (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 54k; He's sitting in a car with all of his belongings in the back seat and his hands wrapped around the steering wheel, admitting to himself that a stupid, dizzy firework of a one-night-stand with a man he'd barely known is one of the only bright memories he has right now.)

World Ain't Ready by idiopathicsmile (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 185k; Enjolras presses his lips together. He already looks pained, and Grantaire hasn't even opened his mouth yet. That's got to be a record, even for them."I need a favor," he says at last)**

The Ghost of You by luchia (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 25k; Grantaire moves into an apartment inhabited by a poltergeist. Enjolras haunts him, and Grantaire should really win an award for most complicated relationship status ever.)

box of secrets by nightswatch (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 53k; Grantaire leaves his doodles all over the place. Enjolras collects them without knowing who drew them.)

Yes, Sir by mikkimouse (Voltron; Sheith; 8k; "Are you all ready to get started?""Yes, sir!" twenty voices answered in unison.Shiro's stomach flipped at the words. Oh, no.The soulmark on his right wrist burned, confirmation that his soulmate was one of the twenty people who'd just uttered the phrase.)

despite what you've been told by caseyvalhalla (Yuri On Ice; Yuuri/Viktor; 14k; When Victor falls, he goes down hard.)

these things take time by sonhoedesrazao (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 63k; He’s always wary of making assumptions; even more so when Grantaire is concerned. He knows he’s not the easiest person to deal with. People either like him or can’t stand him, and it’s easy to respond to those reactions, but Grantaire—Grantaire is hostile and mocking, Grantaire scorns his beliefs, and Grantaire stays.)

In the End We Have Each Other by samyazaz (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 50k; what startles Enjolras the most is that he manages approximately half a step through the door into the back room where they all meet before Grantaire rattles his glass down on the table in the back that he's taken for his own and drawls, "Is there something you forgot to tell us, Apollo?"That silences the room, predictably enough. Everyone breaks off their conversations and swivels to stare at him. At him, and at the baby carrier that he's got hooked over one arm.)

True Colors by lady_ragnell (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 4k; The first thing that catches Enjolras's eye when he enters the Musain Cafe for the first time is the walls. They're a dull black that it takes him a moment to realize must be chalkboard paint, because near the tables there are words and doodles, and all over, even the erased sections are stained with faint colored marks like the walls have soulmarks.)

Hit Me With Your Best Shot by tellthemstories (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantaire; 10k; Fourteen times Grantaire tried to kill Enjolras.And one time he fell in love.)

RSVP (+1) by tellthemstories (Les Mis; Enjolras/Grantire; 21k; When Enjolras is invited to Marius and Cosette’s wedding, he fully intends to ignore the ‘plus one’ on the invite. He’s busy at work and he has a lot on - he doesn’t have time for relationships. What he doesn’t expect is for Grantaire to invite himself along and then hit it off immediately with all of his friends.)

always there to remind you by estora, taywen (Dishonored; Corvo/Daud; 8k; Later, after he had killed a number of people for coin, but before he killed so many that he lost count, Daud was glad he had no mark. No soulmate deserved to have his words marked on their skin.)

( Watercast by Fishwrites (Voltron; Lance/Keith; 96k; WIP; Shiro has been a Galra prisoner for over a year; with his flight feathers clipped and unable to fly. Desperate to escape, he jumps overboard while being transported to the capitol on a Galran ship. Lance is a merman who saves him from drowning. Keith thinks Shiro is about to become mermaid dinner. Hunk just wants Lance to stop going to the surface all the time, dammit!))

DELIGHTFUL FANVIDS

June:

Multifandom || Tessellate (TYS: round2)

Multifandom || Bleeding out (collab w/ KatrinDepp)

Multifandom || Is this Real?

Multifandom || Insane Like Me (TYS: round1)

Multifandom │ Warriors

July:

the beast of america | percival graves

Get You Killed || Percival Graves

Percival Graves - Hit & Run

► Graves (+Credence) | Are You Insane Like Me?

Credence Barebone/Percival Graves || And I wanna fight, But I can't contend

[FIREFLY] - She always did love to dance

[Multifandom] - Dance with me

The Last of Us || Can't Pretend

The Walking Dead || Bottom of the River

Multifandom || Do Not Go Gentle Into That Goodnight

Doctor Who (Logan Style)

Spider-Man (Peter Parker) // Everybody Loves Me

Iron Man (Tony Stark) // Gold

In The Flesh | we're gonna die, die, die

In The Flesh || We're Alone Now

Fantastic Beasts || Step into the light

Stranger Things|| Knocking On Heaven's Door

Jonathan & Nancy|| Tighten Up

Multifandom|| Stuck.Broken.Dead.

[Multifandom] - One Word

Marvel | Human

percival graves | can't hold us

August

Hela // Castle

grantaire & enjolras - help me kill the president

Game of Thrones || Blood of My Blood (for 60k)

(GoT) House Stark | The North Remembers

(GoT) Jaime Lannister | Oathbreaker

Jonathan Byers || I'm not like everybody else

Uptown Funk || Marvel Universe

MARVEL || Can't hold us

GLITTER & GOLD || Multifandom [HNY●2017]

I'M SO SORRY | Marvel Cinematic Universe

David Haller [Legion] | Dysfunctional

(Legion) It's Better When it Feels Wrong

unless you make it real [Legion]

not today [yuri on ice]

Haikyuu!! || not today

Multifandom | Tame Your Demons (w/SnowLightxx)

Six Of Crows - Trouble

marvel || battle royale

(GoT) Jon Snow | The Targaryen Wolf

Arya Stark // See What I've Become

(GoT) Jon Snow || The Wolf With Dragon's Blood

MARVEL/DC || BORN ready

DELIGHTFUL MUSIC

June:

Johnny Hollow - Boogeyman

Sia - To Be Human feat. Labrinth

Lorde - Green Light

The National - "Don't Swallow the Cap"

The Growlers - "I'll Be Around"

The xx - I Dare You

Phantogram - Fall In Love

alt J - In Cold Blood

And I Waited All Night For You To Come, But You Never Did

Sia - The Greatest

Hopeless Fountain Kingdom - Halsey (Album)

History - Monakr

Wildcat! Wildcat! - Relentless (feat. Wynne)

Ingrid Michaelson - In the Sea

Cities in Dust Lyrics- The Everlove

Prides - Messiah

ODESZA - It's Only (feat. Zyra)

Metric - Breathing Underwater

Purity Ring - Sea Castle

Hundreds - Fighter

Labyrinth Ear - Urchin

Rasputina - Dig Ophelia

Sóley - Fight Them Soft

Soap&Skin - Boat Turns Toward The Port

CocoRosie - R.I.P. Burn Face

AURORA - Nature Boy

July:

Hamilton Soundtrack

Karen O - I Shall Rise

Miracle of Sound - Lady of Worlds

Annie Lennox - I Put A Spell On You

Woodkid - IRON (Sara cover)

Peronal Yeezus By Chambaland (Atomic Blonde Trailer Music)

Kesha - Praying

twenty one pilots: Screen

Lemaitre - Higher

Regina Spektor-Blue Lips

Zaz - Les Passants

Katie Costello - Stranger

Arctic Monkeys - Knee Socks

Silversun Pickups - The Pit

If I Apologized - Mirrormask

August

Les Mis - One Day More

Les Mis - Red and Black

Les Mis - Do You Hear the People Sing

Les Mis - Epilogue

Sleeping At Last - Mars

Hozier - Take Me To Church

Lynrd Skynrd - Freebird

You - Keaton Henson

Radical Face - All Is Well (It’s Only Blood)

Valerie Broussard - Trouble

Erutan - The Willow Maid

Imagine Dragons - Gold

Imagine Dragons - Thunder

Which Witch - Florence & the Machine

Paint It, Black - Ramin Djawadi

Honor For All - Dishonored

Daniel Licht - The Return

Patrick Wolf - Teignmouth

Ballet Breakup - RvB

WRITTEN FIC

June:

it's warm, this skin i'm living in (SGA; Rodney/John; 1,170 words; When he is thirty-seven years old, John Sheppard thinks about the universe.

it's good to be in love, it really does suit you (KH; Sora/Riku/Kairi; 1,694 words; “We’ve done dangerous before.” Sora shrugs. “Getting a mortgage was dangerous, but we did it anyway.”)

a hazy shade of winter (Stranger Things; Steve/Nancy/Jonathan; 1,863 words; In November, they build a tree house.)

July:

can't deny your appetite (SGA; Rodney/John; 4,031 words; John finds out that there’s a vampire in Atlantis the day after they’ve stepped through the gate.He finds out that the vampire in question is Rodney McKay four weeks later, when they’re all hunkered down in the yawning shadow of some crumbling ruins and Rodney looks at him, his eyes eerily bright in the darkness, sees the blood on John’s face, and says, “Oh.”)

August

caught off guard by you (FFXV; Prompto/Noctis; 1,671 words; “I just got you back,” Prompto says quietly, words muffled into the curve of Noctis’s neck.)

take me to church (Teen Wolf; Sterek; 3,129 words; Derek scoffs. “You want to take me back to Quantico.”)

FANMIXES/GRAPHICS

June:

N/A

July:

the salt water sting: wor·ship | noun | the feeling or expression of reverence and adoration for a deity.

The Flash | Fire Fire [Vid]

August

love has no heart: A mix for those with no hearts.

i believe in you: You love him. The story still ends.

January.

February.

March.

April.

May.

June.

July.

August.

#heather says what #scrapbook #heather writes

4 notes · View notes

dimension-heroes · 7 years

Text

Sovereign Chapter 1

What’s this? Another story? Why yes, as I’ve been in a collabrative work alongside a few members of the game Transformers Earth Wars. Its thanks to them that we’ve created a story. Anyways, enough of the rambling, onto the story!

Figures walked down a hall; Shockwave turned his helm to the mechs behind him. Various Decepticons, Starscream among them. “Remember what our plan is.” Shockwave stated. (The Decepticons nodded; Shockwave gave them one nod before pushing a door open.

Greeting them were bright lights, showing rows and rows of Decepticons. The far back having members of different Combiner teams. All showing various emotions on their faces. On a raised platform stood Megatron, Soundwave, Mega Empress, and the 4 Guards. Starscream passed Shockwave, giving him a smirk before jumping onto the stage. Shockwave and other soldiers sat in the front row alongside other elite Decepticons. Megatron stepped forward)

“Fellow Decepticons, its been a long time since this war began.” Megatron started. “Indeed, things are still complicated yet, we're getting closer to ending the Autobots.” Starscream continued. (Megatron glared at his SIC before returning to stare at his soldiers.

Among the Combiners, was a four member team. One which lacked the Gestalt leader stared at Megatron. One of them grasped a camera, taking photos of the Decepticon leader) “I'm getting pretty good shots.” A Seeker said. (A red Construction mech looked at the Seeker)

“I'm certain that we'll be able to get better shots once he's done.” The red mech said. “We need to show how powerful he is for our Gestalt leader.” The Seeker said. “How can photos prove his actions?” The construction mech asked. (The Seeker sighed) “Photos can tell a lot of things. Appearances can be deceiving, although I can sense that power. Raw power able to take down the mightiest of Combiners.” The Seeker paused. “Hey, calm down, Megatron doesn't need to know of our leader. He's still resting, although I do wonder if he laughs at our choices.” The construction said. “Enough you two.” Someone said. (The two mechs turned their helms to the sight of an orange colored Soundwave) “Alright, time to getting better shots.” The Seeker said. (He returned focus to his camera.

Megatron lifted a servo, his Fusion Cannon pointed upward) “This marks our anniversary since declaring war upon the Autobots. With what I have planned, it will be their end.” Megatron said. “What are the plans, Megatron?” Starscream asked. “Easy to explain, Starscream. Shockwave assisted in creating new weapons that will turn the tide. The ways the Autobots will fall, it will be a beautiful sight.” Megatron replied. (Cheers filled the room, Megatron's red optics glowed.

Shockwave stood up; staring at Megatron) “I applaud your speech, Megatron, yet your words are empty. You fulfilled none of what we are to have, this war is never ending. Till now!” Shockwave said. (He fired at Megatron, sending him to the ground. Various Decepticons stood up, firing at the crowd behind them. Parts of the walls fell apart, as other mechs rushed in; shooting upon the shocked Decepticons.

Megatron stood up; a snarl on his face. Starscream and Soundwave stepped in front of him, firing back at Shockwave. A part of the wall behind the platform ripped apart; blaster fire greeted the various mechs. Trick rose her Quake Shield close to Mega Empress, Flow walked up to Megatron. Mega Empress glared as she fired shots from her Rail Fusion Cannon.

Moon and Luna hit the ground, attacked by Starscream. Megatron glared at his SIC before raising his Fusion Cannon, ready to fire. Starscream rose a servo; a smirk on his face. Former Decepticons shoved through Empress, Trick, Flow, and Soundwave. All traitors rose their weapons, the combined fire hit Megatron. He crashed to the ground. Empress looked as the leader hit the ground. Starscream kicked Megatron; a grin on his face) “Pity.” Starscream mused.

(Empress yelled; her ladder slammed into the traitors. Sending them crashing into the chairs. Flow, Trick, and Soundwave stood up) “Get him out of here, now!” Mega Empress yelled. (Her Rail Fusion Cannon aimed at the floor, she fired, creating a large hole. Soundwave grabbed onto Megatron as the he, Megatron, and Trick entered the tunnel. Flow stared at the Decepticon femme) “Your highness.” Flow whispered. “Goodbye.” Empress whispered. (She grabbed the ninja, pressing her into the tunnel before a shot hit her back. She hit the ground, mechs grabbed her, trying to shove down the ladder. Empress shot it, sending debris crashing, covering the hole she made.

Flow hit the ground; she looked up, finding dying lights) “Flow!” Someone yelled. (The purple femme moved her helm, finding Trick and Soundwave holding onto Megatron) “We need to escape.” Soundwave stated. “Lets find out where this tunnel goes. I don't know how long Empress can hold them back.” Flow said. “Hurry up then!” Trick ordered. (The group started to run.

The Combiner members ran through the streets. Former Decepticons firing at the escaping gestalts. The Combaticons firing through the enemy forces) “We cannot stay here!” Onslaught said. “Then where are we to go?” Breakdown asked. “Home.” Someone said. (Among the teams was four members, lacking a leader) “Back there?” Scrapper asked. “Yes, now we must hurry before Shockwave finds out.” The Seeker said. “Our King is awaiting our return.” The red construction said.

(More Decepticons appeared; firing at the Combiner teams. They continued to run, heading towards the city's gates. Unaware of what echoed beneath the ground they stood upon.

Ravage leaped over a fallen part of a ceiling. Landing onto a rough part of the ground. He turned his helm to find Soundwave and Trick still carrying Megatron. Flow jumped above the three still conscious mechs and ran) “I may know of this place.” Flow said. “How can we be certain?” Trick asked. “These are old tunnels created to be shelters when the war started. Empress and I explored them. We found a path that could help us escape.” Flow explained. “Where, the outskirts of Kaon?” Trick asked. “No, I know a place where we can hide.” Flow said. (She ran forward, leaving the others to catch up.

Empress struggled, the grip on her captors strong enough to force her to stay still. Starscream smirked, looking at his Null Rays) “A pity their going to die.” Starscream said. (The Decepticon femme's ladder started to move. A few former Cons grabbed onto the ladder, holding it down) “Starscream, remember what we planned.” Shockwave reminded. “Oh yes, now stay still your highness. It will be painless.” Starscream smirked.

(The Seeker's Null Ray hit the back of Empress' helm. One blast forced her to fall. Some guards walked away, carrying her frame. Starscream brushed away smoke marks on his weapon) “Hurry.” Shockwave said. “Now, get to finding Megatron before I do the same to you!” Starscream barked. (The soldiers rushed up to the broken part of the ground, ripping through it and allowing some to squeeze in.

A part of the city's street collapsed. Flow looked out, finding them empty. She moved her helm, nodding to Trick and Soundwave) “Its safe, we need to hurry.” Flow said. (The two Decepticons below her lifted Megatron. His frame limp as Flow grabbed him. Lifting him up allowed Trick and Soundwave to get up. All looked around; still nothing) “We must go.” Soundwave said. (Flow pointed to a nearby building) “There.” Flow stated. (She started to run towards it. Trick looked at Soundwave) “I hope this works.” Trick sighed. (Soundwave nodded, lifting Megatron up)

(The purple femme knocked on the door. It opened to reveal Sixshot) “Flow Spade?” Sixshot asked. “We have to come in.” Flow said. (The Ninja Consultant stepped back, letting everyone enter) “What happened?” Sixshot asked. “Do you have any hiding places?” Flow asked. (Sixshot nodded) “Why do you need one?” Sixshot asked. “Did you hear anything outside? We were almost killed.” Trick growled. “We'll explain it later, for now, please hide us.” Flow said. (Sixshot started to walk around; Trick looked at Flow) “You think Empress and the sisters made it?” Trick asked. “I fear they didn't.” Flow replied. (Trick frowned)

“Found it!” Sixshot yelled. (The two femmes looked at the Ninja Consultant; finding him near a bookshelf. He tipped one book and stepped back.

The bookcase swung open, revealing a plain wall. Sixshot lifted a part of it from the ground) “How big is this space?” Trick asked. “Big for you, now get in here.” Sixshot ordered. (Flow ran up to Soundwave and Megatron) “We need to get going. Need help?” Flow asked.

(Soundwave shook his helm, lifting the unconscious Megatron off the floor. The two began to walk to the secret passage, watching as Trick entered. Sixshot nodded as Flow and Soundwave followed. He placed the wall down and pushed the bookcase back. Tipping the book back to its regular spot) “Now comes the waiting game.” Sixshot thought.

(Silence filled the room, Flow stood close to the entrance to where they hid. Trick sat close to Soundwave and Megatron) “How long will we stay here?” Trick asked. “I wish I knew.” Flow sighed. (She looked at Megatron's frame) “How did we let this happen?” Trick asked. “It slipped right through us, Shockwave, he reduced our grand celebration to ashes.” Flow growled. (Soundwave nodded, readjusting Megatron's frame.

Time passed, seeming like forever. Everyone stayed together. All optics focused on where the voices echoed outside. Those screaming of their existence. Sixshot remained silent after all that happened)

“Have you seen any Decepticons running around?” A former Con asked. (Sixshot leaned against a wall) “No, I quit my rank long ago. I didn't see any Decepticons, I've stayed in my house so I'm unaware of the situation.” Sixshot said. (The soldiers whispered things, Sixshot stood still, trying to listen to the conversation)

“No Decepticons are in here anyways.” Another former Decepticon asked. “Yeah, I looked everywhere in here.” Another soldier said. (Sixshot sighed as they ran out of his house. He walked outside of his room and looked outside. They were chasing some escaping Decepticons. Sixshot closed the door, running up to his bookcase.

It opened, shedding some light into the dark room) “They left.” Sixshot said. “Good.” Soundwave replied. “So, now what?” Trick asked. (All turned their helms at the sound of a faint groan.

Megatron cracked open his optics; Soundwave knelt down) “Master, how are your systems?” Soundwave asked. “Painful, and Shockwave?” Megatron croaked. “His soldiers are searching for us, we've managed to escape from them with Flow and Sixshot.” Soundwave explained. “Where are the others?” Megatron whispered. “Killed or missing; I saw the gestalts escaping first as the others fell.” Soundwave answered. “Who are among the dead?” Megatron asked. “A few soldiers, I couldn't see the killing as I busy on protecting us.” Soundwave replied. “How could this have happened?” Megatron asked. (Soundwave didn't say anything; Trick stood up)

“I need to go.” Trick said. “What?” Flow asked. “I need to find Moon and Luna or any other survivors, they escaped and I'm willing to risk it.” Trick said. “Where are you going to start?” Flow asked. “I'll find out.” Trick said. (She walked away, Sixshot watched as the femme left) “So sorry.” Sixshot apologized. “For now, we need to focus on Megatron.” Flow sighed. (The remaining Decepticons looked back at Megatron.

Shockwave walked into a room; Starscream behind him as soldiers killed various Decepticons. The two continued to walk further down the hall) “So, how far are we in conquering Kaon?” Starscream asked. “Almost done, still, Megatron and Optimus will all fall in our power.” Shockwave replied.

Credit goes to Devastator15, SlenderBen, Megatronus, and MookMook. For assisting me with the story and helping bring this story to life.

#Transformers #Sovereign #Story #Fanfic #Megatron #Shockwave #Soundwave #Starscream #Flowspade #I feel pretty good with this #Thanks guys

1 note · View note

aroaessidhe · 7 years

Text

I don’t usually post these (though I have lists of the last four years or so..) but I figured I might as well?? all the books I read this year:

Breaking Sky

The Scorpion Rules

Sons of Thestian

Court of Fives

From The Ashes

The Force Awakens Novelisation

Fourth World

Empress of the World

Six of Crows

Bone Diggers

Shadow Scale

The Porcupine of Truth

Hostage

Howl's Moving Castle

The Crossing

Never Fade

Juno of Taris

Fierce September

Heart of Danger

Angel Radio

This Is Where it Ends

The Choice

Santa Olivia

The Deadly Nightshade

Dragonoak: The Complete History of Kastelir

Symptoms of Being Human

How To Be A Normal Person

We Are The Ants

Sing Sweet Nightingale

Deadly Sweet Lies

From Under The Mountain

The Iron Warrior

Written in the Stars

Lies My Girlfriend Told Me

Lady Midnight

On The Edge of Gone

A Darker Shade of Magic

A Gathering of Shadows

The Abyss Surrounds Us

The Magicians

What We Left Behind

These Vicious Masks

Gabi, a Girl in Pieces

Every Heart a Doorway

Salvage

Sound

Bleeding Earth

The Chimes

The Golden Yarn

Otherbound

The Scorpion Rules

Mechanica

The Darkest Part of the Forest

A History of Glitter and Blood

Tell The Wind and Fire

The Spire of Frozen Fire

Hot Spots

The Hidden Oracle

Spy Stuff

The Sea-Stone Sword

The Silent Helm

Seven Tears at High Tide

The Faerie Godmother's Apprentice Wore Green

The Blue Lawn

Dare, Truth or Promise

Sorrow's Knot

Fat Angie

Annie On My Mind

The Great American Whatever

Seven Ways We Lie

Seven Black Diamonds

To Terminator With Love

This Song is (Not) For You

If I Was Your Girl

Unicorn Tracks

How to Repair A Mechanical Heart

Silhouette of a Sparrow

The Warrior's Path

37 Things I Love

Afterworlds

Shallow Graves

Love in the Time of Global Warming

Tides

The Summer Prince

The Shattering

The Bane Chronicles

Welcome To Night Vale

The Foxhole Court

The Secret Hour

Touching Darkness

Blue Noon

Radio Silence

You Know Me Well

Salt

Gool

The Limping Man

Mister Monday

Grim Tuesday

Drowned Wednesday

Sir Thursday

False Hearts

Lady Friday

Superior Saturday

Terminal

Lord Sunday

Solitaire

Nick and Charlie

The Accident Season

Railhead

Fever Crumb

A Web Of Air

Scrivener's Moon

The Raven King

The King's Men

We Awaken

Gena/Finn

Mortal Engines

The Olive Conspiracy

Predator's Gold

Infernal Devices

A Darkling Plain

Tricks

Traffick

The Girl From Everywhere

The Circle

The Long Way To A Small Angry Planet

The Powers of Callaire

Juliet Takes A Breath

And I Darken

Black Iris

Fire (Engelsfors)

How To Say Goodbye In Robot

Dreams of Shreds and Tatters

The Key

At The Edge

Colourblind

Gone, Gone, Gone

The New World

The Knife Of Never Letting Go

The Ask and the Answer

Monsters of Men

Chameleon Moon

This Savage Song

Run

As Autumn Leaves

Wildthorn

The First Twenty

Highly Illogical Behavior

Wilful Machines

Being Emily

The Impostor Queen

Assassins: Discord

Different Worlds

A Word and a Bullet

The Sky Slayer

Daybreak Rising

The Golem and the Jinni

The Swan Riders

Runtime

Chameleon Moon

The Lifeline Signal

Shield

Away We Go

Everything Everything

Drag Teen

Goldenhand

Mostly Stars, Partially Void

Radio Silence

The Cybernetic Tea Shop

Crooked Kingdom

Not Your Sidekick

Labyrinth Lost

The Hammer of Thor

Unburied Fables

Capricious Issue 5

Life Within Parole

Out on Good Behaviour

Looking For Group

Faerie Queen

Overexposed

Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit

Love Beyond Body Space and Time

The Gay Teen's Guide to Defeating A Siren

Girl Mans Up

Binti

Style

The Reader

Complementary and Acute

Eitan's Chord

Roller Girl

Ascension

The Melody of You and Me

Superior

Swarm

Northern Lights

The Subtle Knife

The Amber Spyglass

Cam Girl

We Are The Ants

Angel Radio

More Happy Than Not

Every Heart A Doorway

Far From You

Turn Of The Story

Howl's Moving Castle

Castle In the Air

House Of Many Ways

Daybreak Rising

Clockwork Angel

Clockwork Prince

Clockwork Princess

The Bone People

Of Fire and Stars

The Midnight Star

Black Light Express

The White Renegade

The Coldest Girl in Coldtown

As I Descended

When The Moon Was Ours

The Next Together

Phaethon

#laya talks #AGH it made it into one big mass of text i will fix this asap #it is fixed now

11 notes · View notes

pamphletstoinspire · 6 years

Photo

Catholic Physics - Reflections of a Catholic Scientist - Part 75

Memento Mori--Thoughts on Growing Old

Story with image:

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/catholic-physics-reflections-scientist-part-75-harold-baines/?published=t

Old Nun, M. Bassetto (1611) from Wikimedia Commons (Caption for linked image)

"Do not go gentle into that good night. Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night." -- Dylan Thomas

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said, “And your hair has become very white;And yet you incessantly stand on your head – Do you think, at your age, it is right?” “In my youth,” Father William replied to his son“ I feared it might injure the brain;But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,Why, I do it again and again." - Lewis Carroll

“Final perseverance is the doctrine that wins the eternal victory in small things as in great” Muriel Spark, Memento Mori

OUR SHIH-TZU AND I GROW OLD TOGETHER

Old people, it is said, love to talk about their aches and pains. I've forborne doing that, but as I look back on my recent 86th birthday, it struck me that it might be therapeutic to do so, and perhaps put my signs of senility into a more encompassing picture.

We have a 16 year old Shih-Tzu (112 in dog years) who suddenly is showing his age. His tail, instead of being an arch over his back, now droops more and more; he limps, favoring the two legs that are probably arthritic. Although he has navigated well as a blind dog for these past three years over a large yard and cluttered rooms, he now seems to bump into objects more and more, and without the sound of our voices to guide, will hesitate -- as if to ponder "where am I and what am I doing here?".

His bark is still imperious as he asks to be let out or in, so his spirit seems to be good, despite the drooping tail. (My wife contends that he has racial memories of being a pampered pet in the household of the Chinese Empress and condescends to stay with us round-eyed peasants.) But as he climbs onto his pillow to make himself comfortable, there are little whines of unhappiness and aches. Although his appetite is quite good, albeit selective, he has grown quite scrawny in his old age -- ribs and backbone are conspicuous. (That's one attribute of old age I wish I would emulate.)

It strikes us that he won't be with us much longer, but we will never want to "put him down" as long as he is not in pain, even though it's clear that taking care of him will involve more and more work, some of it messy. And here comes the point of comparison. I myself am noticing a slow-down. Yard work that a few years ago I did to work up a sweat, I now find hard to do without breaking for a rest every five minutes. As a point of pride and for cardio-vascular workouts, I used to avoid elevators. Now it's seldom that I go up or down stairs except in our home, and then I plan errands to minimize trips between floors.

WATCHING THE OLD PEOPLE AT THE NURSING CENTER

But I too, do not want to "be put down", even when what seems to be still working -- my mind -- becomes as decrepit as my body. And I see signs of what could happen when I attend Masses held in the chapel of a local nursing home, managed by an order of Catholic Nuns. The Nursing Home is also a rehab center for patients with Alzheimer's and other senile mental disorders. Many of the elderly nuns are there, either for physical rehab, nursing care, or Alzheimer's.

There are about 10 to 15 of us non-patients (including some still active nuns) who attend Mass there on a semi-regular, twice-a-week basis, We sit in chairs along the back and one of the side walls. The main part of the room is empty to hold the 10 to 15 wheel-chairs in phalanx rows, with four or five patients in wheel chairs against the other side wall. There are a few chairs in the room for friends and relatives of the patients, to sit with wheel chairs. Two or three attendants and nuns sit along the back wall. No one rises or kneels during the Mass -- it would be a hurtful reminder to those in the wheel chairs who cannot do so. As is usual in Catholic Churches, one sits in a customary place.

During Mass I occasionally hear one of the patients (usually not one of the nuns) making a comment -- "that's beautiful", "praise God", "where's my watch", "thank you Father". As the priest makes his rounds handing out Holy Communion to each of us, visitors and patients, I look up and see some of the patients sleeping; the priest or EMOHC (a nun) will gently nudge the patient and slip a small portion of the Host into her mouth.

One of the nuns celebrated her 82nd anniversary in the Order a few weeks ago and her 100th birthday a week later. She is alert and usually not one of those sleeping as Holy Communion is given out. I see another nun, sleeping during the Mass; her hands are folded in prayer, but she seems oblivious to all that goes on around her, even when asked to receive the Host. I recall some five or six years ago -- she was sharp, witty, alert, managing a large enterprise for the order. What are her interior thoughts now, I wonder? Her hands are folded in prayer -- does that posture mirror an interior devotion?

Which direction will I take -- will the mind in exterior behavior go; will there still be an interior self to contemplate and pray?

MEMENTO MORI

“If I had my life to live over again, I would form the habit of nightly composing myself to thoughts of death. I would practice, as it were, the remembrance of death. There is not another practice which so intensifies life. Death, when it approaches, ought not to take one by surprise. It should be part of the full expectancy of life.”

― Muriel Spark, Memento Mori

Recall the Ash Wednesday injunction as we are ashed: "Remember man, thou art dust and unto dust thou shall return". The Latin motto, "Memento Mori"(remember that you have to die) was important in Medieval times for those pursuing an ascetic discipline, to hone their thoughts to the hereafter.

I recall this as the title of a wonderful novel by Muriel Spark about forethought's of death and how they enhance life. In the novel a group of elderly people -- arty and social types -- receive occasional phone calls (before the days of cell phones) "remember you must die". Their lives go on, perturbed somewhat by the calls, but not exceedingly so. They do confront death, in different ways, however. Whence the quote at the beginning of this section. At the end of the novel it is not clear who has been sending the phone messages -- perhaps God?

So, as we grow old we contemplate that "undiscovered country". We hope we are made strong by faith; that by faith even though imperfect, we will find that our Lord, in His infinite capacity for forgiveness, will not look too harshly on our sins.

From a series of articles written by: Bob Kurland - a Catholic Scientist

#catholic physics

0 notes

rinaldoescobar · 7 years

Text

we always got the fight in us

rating: t word count: 3356 summary: Thomas is ever-polite and hardworking, and if he get shot he doesn't hide the injury until it gets infected. Thomas is also a fool.

Thomas, when he was younger, tended to hang on the outskirts and gather snippets of information. Blackmail, gossip he could trade for a snack or some coin. Dirty secrets that he kept for himself. Thomas, with messy hair and bright eyes, slid under the radar and kept his quiet vigil and pulled in secrets like a fishing net. It was no surprise that when he displayed the skill for it Daud made use of his talents in scouting, in a quiet blade sunk into someone's throat.

Working for the Crown, it was only a matter of time before Thomas uncovered a plot. It was only a matter of quick thinking that allowed him an in to thoroughly investigate it, too.

Thomas dressed himself like a gang member and slowly, over the course of a month, insinuated himself into the group. He learned names and connections and wrote them all down in a leather-bound journal. The small rebel group, composed of a slaughterhouse owner, a Gristol-born aristocrat, three Morleyan tradesmen and at least half of a street gang met in the basement of a pub three times a month. They talked about their plans and got drunk. They cursed out their teenage Empress and the remaining dregs of plague.

It all-- uncomfortable clothes, detestable company, hatred bubbling in his heart and fear of discovery in his belly-- led him to this night. The Outsider himself couldn't have stirred up a better night than this one for causing trouble; the air was thicker and hotter than usual, and muggy from the marine layer rolling in from the ocean. The room buzzed with palpable tension and Thomas couldn't bring himself to mingle the way he had in the past. He sticked to the outskirts with a glass tumbler of whiskey and took periodic sips to dissuade conversation. The others in the tiny, musty room panted like excited hounds. They pushed and shoved each other, jostled, spilled sour-tasting whiskey on their clothes and the floor, and the more uncouth of them talked about what they planned to spend their next evening doing. Thomas stayed in the corner, by an audiograph innocently sitting on a low bar table. A blank card sat inside. Thomas, for all his caution, rightly guessed that by the time he placed it in the ones who truly cared about the cause were too drunk to notice and those who were there only for the drink and excitement didn't carry weapons or the grit needed to confront him. This was supposed to be a celebration, of course. Why anyone would celebrate before their cause had been achieved was beyond Thomas.

Still, the revelry did a fine job at concealing his actions, so he thanked the Void and kept on. It only took a half hour before one of the ringleaders tapped a spoon too loudly against his glass and demanded a toast, and at that point Thomas clicked the audiograph machine on.

Thomas shifted himself as if he were interested-- it hid the audiograph machine from view and offered him a clearer line of sight to the speaker. He stood. Thomas idly thought about cutting off the obscenely hanging flaps of his jowls and cast the thought away as unnecessary and more than that, entirely immature. He sipped his whiskey and listened.

The audiograph kept recording and the speaker, the slaughterhouse owner with his small, piggish eyes and scarred face, remained none the wiser.

“--hey, what are you up to?”

Thomas stared. Heat pierced his spine and he stiffened, turned to face the voice. The man, large-jawed and at least five inches taller, glared down at him.

It was like a string broke. Thomas plucked the audiograph card from the machine and stuffed it in his pocket, then bolted for the stairs, shoving past knots of hazy-drunk gang members who cursed at him and ineffectively grasped at his clothes. A gunshot split the air. More, and bullets embedded themselves into the wood at his feet and sides, the majority flying wide. Thomas' side ached like he'd been punched, and he kept running until he could swing up into a fire escape and lose the spreading wave of insurgents below his feet. The audiograph stayed tucked safely against his side.

His Whaler's uniform hid blood. The drab colors and tough fabric kept him looking distant, untouchable, a shadow pulled from the Void and twisted into savage human shapes. This, though, was plain fabric and blood bloomed at his side all too visibly. Thomas couldn't stay crouched on a fire escape forever; Everett was expected, and he'd bleed out if he stayed here. He took off the secondhand vest without a second thought and settled into a neat cross-legged sit, drawing out his hidden blade and beginning to cut and tear it into strips. It wouldn't be too useful-- a staunch, mainly, just to halt the insistent flow of blood that showed on his coarse shirt. It was better than nothing. Better than leaving a blood trail.

Thomas wrapped the strips around himself and, when he went to stand, nearly cried out in pain. Hot agony split his side at odds with the dull pulsing pain he'd dealt with while applying his rudimentary bandage. The thought of his painstakingly gathered information going stale because he'd allowed the targets to escape in a moment of pain spurred him into clutching the railing and hauling himself up.

The journey back to the Tower was nearly a half-hour's walk. Thomas briefly wanted to cry. He had a report to write, a Spymaster and a captain to tip off-- weakness comes later. More than ever he wished for a Transversal. Left reliant on his own two feet, he eventually steeled himself to walk to the Tower.

“Where is your mother, boy?” The Overseer affected concern and his hand rested heavily on Thomas' shoulder. Thomas clutched a dirty coin in his filthy hand and stared at the cobble, willed himself not to shake. Only the hounds smell fear, his friend's voice rang; she was smaller than him and with wild curly hair, one eye. The remaining eye was bright and mean. They don't know if you don't let them.

“She's at the butcher's shop, sir. She gave me ten coin to buy some herbs at Wittle's Apocathery.” The lie came out easily enough. The Overseer patted his shoulder.

“Of course. Make sure you get back to her safely. Gangs are always on the prowl for defenseless little boys to make into their indentured mudlarks.”

Thomas did shake at that. The Overseer patted him again and shoved him, not unkindly, towards the apocathery. ”Run along, now.”

Thomas did not run. He walked, slightly faster than he would have liked, and when he finally looked at the coin he stole it had been clutched so fervently that red indents lined his palm.

Daud melted from the shadows. Thomas sat up in his bunk and dropped his legs over the side, wanting to call out but feeling his throat seize up entirely. Keenan was below him, asleep. Malia was reading a book, coiled up around a pillow in her bunk the last time he checked.

Daud moved too slowly like a man wading through honey. His gait fell smooth and steady with none of the limp that his final battle with Corvo should have left him with, his skin lined with age and strain and the silvery grooved lines of his many scars. Thomas watched, mounting confusion dulling the complaining ache of his side. His eyes narrowed. Daud was here?

I have to warn Corvo, was his first thought, and a sharp sting of guilt pierced his chest and spread throughout in the manner of blood climbing fabric. And then, I have to do something.

He slid off of the bunk and his feet met the cold stone beneath with a whisper of calloused skin. Daud didn't even look at him, still moving toward the door to the security closet. Every breath was a new challenge. Pain, a constant companion he's become reacquainted with, and sickening hesitation closed around his chest like a vise. He had no weapon. No Void powers. Daud had both, and no open wounds besides.

Thomas refused to let common sense come in the way of his action. A more sensible him-- reliable, dependable Thomas-- would be aghast. As it was, he lunged forward and pinned Daud to the wall. His elbows hit the stone, his hands fisted in Daud's coat to keep him still-- surprisingly, Daud didn't go for his weapon. Thomas met his eyes. He looked away, as if stung, and instead focused on Daud's collar.

“Thomas,” Daud said, voice hazy and far away despite his face being a mere few inches from Thomas' bowed head. He sounded surprised, disappointed, like he expected better.

“Master,” Thomas responded, and pressed his hands on Daud's shoulders further against the wall-- whether in a feeble attempt to keep him there or a humiliating grasp at support he didn't try to discern. Daud's lips twisted into a disappointed frown. His hand snaked up from his side-- Thomas could swear he felt the rufflings of fabric-- and closed, tight, around his throat. He barely had to push and Thomas collapsed, knees buckling under his own weight. His side screamed. Thomas, himself, bawled out a pathetic, breathless crying noise. Red swept over his vision, followed by black.

Daud moved on and Thomas surrendered to the dark.

Assassins. Mercenaries, mostly, Thomas was told. Pirates. Highwaymen, too, and those who found killing as easy as drawing a breath. Still more claimed that the descending blades and attached men were spun from shadows and the Void. Thomas, in his stained shirt cleaned in the Wrenhaven's flow and with the itchy raised burns from River Krust acid, found himself hard-pressed to believe that one.

But still, as he slipped smaller pearls that wouldn't be missed into his pocket, he wondered if the stories of men dissolving into ash were true.

The part of him that wasn't rocking pitiably on the ground was ashamed of the part of him that was. He wanted to cry; he probably was crying, terrible salty tears mingling with the blood on his face and dripping into his mouth. The awful, grinding tune screeched in his ears and seized him from the inside like it was tearing his guts out through his throat. His nose was bleeding. Thomas wrapped his head in his arms and hunched down. He'd meant to come and find Misha, who had disappeared. His Bond, severed. Daud sent Thomas.

The Abbey had music. The man who cranked the handle to the damned machine hummed in satisfaction and went to tightening it, punching new indentations, and Thomas only unfolded once he was sure the terrible noise wouldn't start again; then, he fled. Using the Void was like tugging a pulled muscle, a sharp pain of overwork and resistance but he kept going until he reached the yard in front of the Abbey and ducked into the sewer area, familiar as it could be.

Thomas barely kept from screaming, and dragged himself deeper into the outflow pipe. To a cache, where he promptly ripped his mask off, downed a vial of Sokolov's elixir. It settled thick and slimy in his stomach. His belly revolted. He retched, collapsed onto his elbows, and in the next minute saw the vibrant red fluid pour from his throat-- it didn't sting, it did its job that well at least-- and splatter onto the stone. It swam, reds mixing with cobble-brown and brackish water, his head spinning worse than when he Transversed too many times in a row. Thomas passed out next to a puddle of his own vomit, and silently resolved to never hear that grinding music again.

It's the morning after the Fugue Feast, and Thomas was not alone in his bunk. Malia laid next to him. The sharp tang of whiskey sat on his tongue and he guessed, rightly, that it was on hers too; but there was no evidence of anything more than neighborly under the thin blanket and her hair was mussed only from sleep, her skin broken only by knives and scrapes.

“People like us,” she said, and Thomas nearly fell off the bunk when her voice broke the hazy silence, “we're nothing. We're no one.”

His hand rested on her side. He dug his fingers into the skin there, past fabric, and hoped that it snapped her out of whatever hungover maudlin slump she'd fallen into. “I save the Empress' life one night and wash her sheets the next.”

No such luck. He groaned, signaling his own awareness. She sighed. “We're not people, Everett. You're lucky; they didn't scrub you from records because you weren't there in the first place.”

Her voice dropped raspy and soft. “I saw the casket they made for me. Drowning.”

She must still be a little drunk. Thomas decided to solve the question of how she got into his bunk later. “At least I had a funeral.”

She yawned. Thomas hoped that she fell back to sleep quickly. The body heat wasn't entirely unwanted, in all honesty; her voice was a soft cadence rushing over his thoughts. He'd seen younger recruits sleeping against each other on night watch, and took great pleasure in alerting the captain on duty to go wake them up, and they were pursuing the same basic human closeness that Thomas normally denied himself, and denied others from himself.

Malia yawned again and settled her forehead on his shoulder. He shifted his hand from her side to between her shoulder blades. “I'll shoot the ocean when you die.”

“I'm thankful, Malia,” he said, and he was.

Thomas woke in a place he had a none-too-comfortable acquaintanceship with; the infirmary. His side was properly bandaged and his mouth felt dry and tacky, the unpleasant fuzz of sleep toxin coating his tongue. Aches hummed for his attention but they weren't the rising and demanding screams from earlier. Assured that this wasn't another fever dream, Thomas raised his hands to scrub at his eyes and sighed at nothing in particular. Evidently having heard his stirring a white-black-gray-blue mass of fabric bundled itself into the room. Thomas rubbed his eyes again and resigned himself to a severe chiding when the fabric began to speak.

“That was exceedingly irresponsible of you, Everett. You know that you won't be asked questions if you come here for treatment.”

The fuzzy shape soon consolidated itself behind a smooth and firm voice. Thomas rubbed his eyes again and finished picking out the sharp features of one of Sokolov's former students, a physician by name of Joan. She laid the backside her hand flat against Thomas' forehead, still talking in a voice entirely too close to a scold.

“You could have died. Keenan told me you were hitting the wall and then you collapsed, mumbling total gibberish. That's signs of a high fever and possible hallucinations, Everett.” She paused and then said, almost absentmindedly, “You're a guard who tangled with the Hatters, by the way.”

As all of the Empress' spies, when injured he received suitable alibis while laid up in the infirmary. It wasn't something he was proud of or enjoyed. A necessary evil and not much more.

“And Jameson Curnow is here to talk to you.” Joan finished and finally patted his cheek, rather roughly. He nodded. “I'll give you a minute and send him in.”

Just like that, she left in a swirl of fabric leaving Thomas suitably chastised and rather confused with the influx of information on his strained and weary mind. Still, he'd caught enough to start steeling himself for either exuberant platitudes or a professional dressing-down-- all depending on which guise Jameson was wearing today. Thomas groaned and tried to sit up. His side ached dully with the movement, and he reluctantly decided against it.

Jameson pushed inside a minute or two later, dressed in courtly clothes that they both knew he hated. He wore a jacket in robin's-egg blue and dark grey slacks, the overall effect making him look older than he was. Thomas sat up in the cot and fought against his own aches until he could lean against the wall.

“So,” he began. Thomas sighed. Undaunted, Jameson forged on. “You had a little accident.”

“Don't tell Corvo,” is what Thomas settled on, resigned and ashamed. In all honesty he hadn't expected it to get that bad. Sokolov and Piero's solution, as effective as it was at curbing the plague, managed to pinpoint that and no longer mended his general aches; or so it seemed. His gulp of elixir didn't help. His old habits didn't serve him anymore, which he should have found helpful but instead it just made an empty part of him ache.

Jameson sat nearly beside Thomas on the chair placed suspiciously close to Thomas' bedside. “I won't. But he needs to know somehow that you're out of commission--”

Thomas curled his lip to show his teeth, unfairly grumpy when Jameson only meant well. “Your word, Jameson.”

“You have my word.” Jameson raised both hands harmlessly and smiled, a dazzling affair of sparkling, slitted eyes and white teeth. Thomas halfway resented him for being so chipper while Thomas felt like he'd crawled to the Void's doorstop and been unceremoniously booted from the stoop. “I'll leave you to recover, but once you can move under your own power Lord Attano and I have a mission for you.”

Thomas nodded. “And when should I be recovered by?” Most other people would see it as a jab; Jameson, who had experience working with Thomas under his belt, understood.

“You have a week. Two days here as you're treated.” Jameson swept hair out of his eyes and stood, stretching his fingers out, clenching them into fists. “Best wishes, Everett. I do hope you survive Joan better than you survived the bullet.”

Jameson left the room chased by a good-natured curse.

Daud wanted him here. Thomas longed for his mask. It was a true test of his skill, slipping undetected into the grounds, but finding a job was easy enough. Thomas was one of Daud's favored scouts and lieutenants for a reason, after all. He lived on merit and black magic. For now-- a brief stretch of time he'll spend in reconnaissance and familiarizing himself with the many crannies and bolt-holes of Dunwall Tower-- he would have to live solely on merit.

Dunwall Tower, however clean and bright the Empress kept it, could not escape the shadow of plague. Thomas saw it in the haggard faces down in the kitchens, the tired sloped shoulders of the Royal Guard. He trimmed hedges and folded laundry, stole correspondence and forged requisition letters. Once he was pulled from the hall to the kitchen to deliver dinner to Sullivan, the Interrogator. The mute looked at him with piggish and beady eyes. Something in Thomas' heart flipped, clenched, and he hurried from the room.

After that moment, hatred started to burn hot and low in his belly and for days he did nothing but stoke it. For what seemed to be the longest time, fury defined his life. The charm pressed against his breast fuzzed people's memories of him, but whatever cracked and blackened the pearly spokes of bone twisted him somehow, too. Overseers eyed him strangely but sure enough their eyes then skimmed over him, curiosity misdirected. The Bond ached.

Thomas did not want to be consumed by irrational anger. He prided himself on stability, reliability-- crumbling now? No. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

“Good to have you back, Everett.” Corvo looked up from his ledger. Jameson must have told him, the damn sneak. Thomas bowed, brief and at his chest. None of it mattered. His side was healed; his mind, though strained and frazzled, cooled at the prospect of something to set itself towards. No buzz of magic flowed through his veins, no facsimile of a Mark crowning the back of his hand like a bruise. It was just him, now. Just him and his damned loyalty.

“It's good to be back, sir.”

#thomas (dishonored)#daud (dishonored)#corvo attano (dishonored)#penance series #dishonored

0 notes