#also this maybe showed me that i should really learn how to render metal and crystals etc lmao

[maironsmaid]

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

~ Maglor / Finrod (or as I call them Macarato)

#FINALLY DONE WITH THESE TWO LOVEBIRDS #OMGGGGGG hdhfjsjs #soooo exited about this ngl #also this maybe showed me that i should really learn how to render metal and crystals etc lmao #fuck shiny things #not really though bc in this house we love jewellery #it's a rubber #silmarillion #elves #noldor #maglor #sons of feanor #finrod felagund #Finrod/Maglor #Macarato #valinor #years of the trees #tolkien elves #j r r tolkien

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 22 part one

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Not Quite Like Old Times

We ended the previous episode in daylight, with Lan Wangji putting Wei Wuxian and swordpoint and declaring his undying love lecturing him about his lack of sword skills.

We start this episode in full night, with the two of them sitting on a roof together. Presumably they spent the missing scenes getting dinner in the mess hall, doing some laundry, and definitely not making out. Fic writers, do your thing.

Finally, FINALLY, Lan Wangji has chilled out enough to actually sit and listen to Wei Wuxian, instead of yelling at and/or physically attacking him. The Zoloft is really helping!

Wei Wuxian is indulging in romantic recollections of their first rooftop encounter. Lan Wangji, who has loved him since he first laid eyes on him and who wrote a whole song with an entire music video about their love, featuring that very same rooftop encounter, shuts him down so completely he might as well have whipped out Bichen again.

First he corrects his description of events by pointing out they were fighting, not talking, back then. Then when Wei Wuxian continues in his charming, smiley reminiscing vein, Lan Wangji says "things change, how could they stay the same" with a deep, sad, weariness.

He seems like an old man in this moment, and I feel for him, really, I do. But he's not the one who's carrying the actual essence of death around inside him. Wei Wuxian is being much more generous in this interaction than Lan Wangji is.

Wei Wuxian thanks him for not narkng to Jiang Yanli about the whole talisman/forced suicide/ghost hummer/ghost flaying thing he did back in Yiling. Like there is any way Lan Wangji would ever tell Jiang Yanli, of all people, something like that about Wei Wuxian.  He's lying to his own brother to cover for Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian totally doesn't get it.

(more after the cut)

Unfortunately, there's no reason Wei Wuxian SHOULD get it, at this point; Lan Wangji has not communicated anything but disapproval to him since his return, and Wei Wuxian, despite their (apparently temporary) mental linkup in the Turtle cave, is not a mind reader.

Lan Wangji is so hurt here, and Wei Wuxian appears to ignore that, continuing to smile and laugh; he’s still sunny, still happy. Seriously, they are so tonally out of step with each other in this conversation, it's excruciating.

Lan Wangji: I’m feeling good about my tear-holding-back ability Wei Wuxian: do I look more fuckable sitting up? Or leaning back?  

But every one of these smiles is an absolute lie. This is Wei Wuxian appeasing an authority figure; baffling with bullshit and skating by on charm. This is not a young man confiding in his soulmate.

Even when the conversation shifts, and they talk seriously about what is going on with him, Wei Wuxian is barely confiding anything. He briefly acknowledges that he was in the Burial Mounds for three months, and shudders at the memory, but Lan Wangji doesn't respond to that other than to look away from his face.

This is almost the last thing Wei Wuxian will ever say to anyone about that experience.  He only alludes to it again when Jiang Cheng visits the settlement and talks smack about their corpse turnips. Lan Wangji says he wants to know why Wei Wuxian’s cultivation changed, but he really doesn’t; he just wants to convince him to change it back.

Wei Wuxian explains about using Lan clan techniques to protect his temperament, as well as the flute and talismans, to control the resentful energy. This is a good reminder that Wei Wuxian was never a bad student. He was an outstanding cultivator within the Jiang Clan, and he learned a hell of a lot during his time in Gusu, despite getting expelled for fighting.

His original golden core was stronger than Jiang Cheng's, even though he apparently started cultivating later. Yes, he fell asleep during meditation that one time in Episode 43, but that's not because he's bad at meditating, it's because he was tired from getting railed all night by his boyfriend stabbed in the gut by his nephew.

Lan Wangji eventually manages to ask him a question like an interested fellow human being sharing knowledge, instead of like an authoritarian dick calling him to account.  

Side note: I still am flopping around trying to find good-sounding English terms for Chinese philosophical concepts. I kind of like "ghost path" vs "sword path" for the two styles of cultivation - I don't know where I saw that, apologies to the translator. I like "necromancy" for the part where the dead are reanimated and controlled, because we definitely have that in English. But there are many layers of nuance in these conversations that English is not equipped to render in a natural-sounding way.

Lan Wangji tells him, again, that it's dangerous, but this time he does it in a gentler and more poetic way, saying it's like taking grain from a burning fire, and says he's in danger of becoming the novel version of Wei Wuxian a demonic cultivator.  Wei Wuxian, also gently and seriously, says he knows.

Then he immediately goes back to his lightest tone and promises, with his three-fingers gesture, that he will not fall into demonic cultivation. This gesture is basically the Wei Wuxian "I am totally fucking lying" salute.

He is totally fucking lying, and he MUST know it. He's baking the Yin tiger amulet every day during his meditation, getting ready to use it against Wen Ruohan, getting ready to take over his army of the dead.

He has the audacity to ask Lan Wangji, "do you believe me?" and Lan Wangji, also totally fucking lying, nods.  Their relationship is just as broken right now as it was before their courtyard sparring session.

You can tell it's broken, because after they've reached this apparent place of peace, Wei Wuxian just hops down off the roof and LEAVES Lan Wangji sitting by himself. When has Wei Wuxian ever been like "gotta go!" with Lan Wangji? The last time they were here, he spent the night sleeping on the roof tiles just so he could be near him.

As he leaves, Lan Wanji stands up and says "let me help you." Wei Wuxian is not a fan of that idea, at all, if his expression is any guide.

He agrees, though, and leaves smiling, apparently for real, but maybe just practicing for all the fake smiles in his future.

Hooray for War

In the morning, Nie Mingjue makes an angry speech to the 2 dozen cultivators who apparently make up the army. Extras are expensive, y'all.

The senior cultivators are standing to the right or left of him, with the Lan brothers bracketing the Yunmeng sibs. Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng are both staking their claim to Wei Wuxian, while Lan Xichen is standing in the spot closest to Nie Mingjue; Nie Huaisang is on the opposite side with the Jins.

All of the random cultivators yell a war chant in response to Nie Mingjue's speech, while the senior cultivators are like, we don't have to do that yelling stuff, thank goodness.

Nie Mingjue's war outfit includes metal (ish) epaulets on his shoulders and a totally not-kinky belt featuring multiple rings with nothing attached to them (yet) and an angry demon face right above his junk.

Nie Mingjue says we're going to storm into Nightless city and I'm going to chop off Wen Ruohan's head! By which he means, I'm going to get captured and get my ass beat, and then my murder-babie ex-boyfriend who had this belt specially made for me is going to stab Wen Ruohan in the back while he's distracted. They do say no plan survives contact with the enemy.

Side note: Baxia makes a loud metallic "shnk" noise when NMJ takes it off his back during this speech, even though Baxia does not have a scabbard. You do you, Baxia.

All the senior cultivators file out down the center while everyone else parts to let them pass. Then everybody does the Electric Slide.

Jiang Cheng tells Wei Wuxian they should go ahead of the main force to get some killing in early, but Wei Wuxian just pulls a face and looks down, staying with Lan Wangji. 

Jiang Cheng is disappointed, and no doubt takes this as a sign of WWX choosing LWJ over him. But actually, WWX can't fight side-by-side with Jiang Cheng without showing his weakness.

LWJ and WWX exchange one of their unspoken "let's go" eye touches and get ready to ride out together with the main force. 

Lan Wangji is still super, super sad. Wei Wuxian is still fake. But something is starting to knit together between them, and once they can hit a battlefield together, it will get a lot stronger.

On A Horse With No Name

Everyone rides out on horses, which will presumably get eaten somewhere along the way, because they appear to travel on foot after this. While Wei Wuxian practices his horseback-flute-twirling, Lan Wangji asks why Wei Wuxian didn't go with the forward force to fight.

Wei Wuxian says that he has a case of the don'wannas, and Lan Wangji snarkily points out that he used to like fighting. Wei Wuxian reacts, just as he did at the end of their sword fight, with embarrassment, and doesn't answer.

Lan Wangji, sweetie. You are really not helping. 

At this point, despite their ongoing fighting, Wangxian are clearly together again. Lan Wangji isn't riding with his brother; he's RIGHT next to Wei Wuxian, and will stay close to him through the rest of the campaign.

Nie Huaisang hollers "Wei-Xiong" from the top of the battlements and tells him to take care. Wei-Xiong lifts his flute in acknowledgement while Nie Huaisang looks worried. He doesn't tell Nie Mingjue or Lan Wangji to take care, just Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian is his particular friend, more than Lan Wangji is, but he may also be concerned because he can tell that Wei Wuxian isn't well.

Nie Huaisang hasn't yet developed the deep cynicism that he calls upon in his quest to avenge his brother, but he has always been a voracious collector of information, and he is keenly observant.

Side note: what the fuck is going on with this sculpture? Kudos to the artist. This has beautiful forms, and is weird and disturbing. The main head is wearing a horned skull on its forehead, small ungulates that I hesitate to call “deer” chilling on its horns, and...snakes? biting its ears? 

Boring Wen Interlude

Wen Ruohan is waving his hands around. Sigh. This is one of the more boring villain performances ever, and it's not the actor’s fault. They could have given him a sidekick to yell at or something, so we could get more than just hand waving. I’ve given up screen capping any of this; there are more interesting things to look at. 

Battle Moves

Jin Zixuan and Jiang Cheng and their forces have an extended fight scene with a bunch of puppet dudes and stuntmen in harnesses. 

It's pretty fun to watch. (Fanvid with more over here)

The gist of the fighting scenes is that Wen Ruohan is getting stronger, and Klingons are hard to beat.

Battle Planning

Finally we see a sidekick with Wen Ruohan, although he's blurry so it's hard to tell that he is totally Meng Yao.

The Sunshotters have set up a Battle Camp Playset. It's got chunks of gates and walls that don't connect to anything, like a Duplo set. It's just randomly open for most of the back area so that anyone can walk in. 

They've got a cage of hilarious definitely-not-zombies set up, and the rest of the wounded cultivators are lying on the ground. 

The main battle trio go chill in Nie Mingjue's incredibly fancy tent. They talk it over and say it's impossible to kill unkillable enemies, "even when we have millions of troops." And by “millions” they mean “dozens.”  

Nie Mingjue decides the way to handle it is to kill the leader and everyone else will collapse, because he has watched vampire movies and the last season of Game of Thrones and that's how it works. Watching the last season of Game of Thrones is why he is so angry all the time  He says he's going to sneak into Nightless City and assassinate Wen Ruohan.

Okay, first of all, Nie Mingjue can sneak? I don't believe it.  Second of all, if that was possible, why didn't he do it as soon as Wen Ruohan attacked his clan?

Nie Mingjue wants to take the biggest risk because he's the commander in chief, which is not how commanding is supposed to work, but okay.

He says if he dies, Zewu Jun will take over. Jiang Cheng starts to protest but Zewu Jun appears as if conjured, and shows them a map that will...dear GOD his hands are beautiful.

It's a helpful map, painted in multiple colors with careful writing on it, so if anyone were to show it to Nie Huaisang he would probably go "oh cool Meng Yao painted that" because anyone who could paint that well probably spent a fair amount of time at it on a regular basis. But, Nie Huaisang isn't here so, nope.

It’s always nice to see Jiang Cheng smile.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Waniji examine some of the puppets to see what's up. It's transmitted by touch, and Lan Wangji says that curing one dude takes three months of spiritual power. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Writing Prompt: Missing scene! How did they get from the fight in the courtyard to the talk on the roof? 

Soundtrack: 1. Shine on You Crazy Diamond, by Pink Floyd 2. Electric Boogie, by Marcia Griffiths

#the untamed #the untamed gifs #wangxian #the untamed meta #canary3d-original #my gifs #wordcount 2379 #restless rewatch the untamed

[hamliet]

Metals and Heavenly Bodies: Why There Is So Much Metal in RWBY

So, why is RWBY so metal? 

RWBY uses metallic symbolism to explore the alchemical process (the refinement of metal into gold via the creation of the philosopher’s stone). Alchemy has seven metals that are ordered in terms of refinement: three base metals, one that is the most refined of base metals, and three refined metals. RWBY has been associating each metal with certain characters. It’s also been giving these characters their ultimate focus in the precise order of refinement.

Metals in alchemy are also associated with heavenly bodies, or planets (well, plus the sun and moon, because we’re dealing with ancient astronomy here). The planets, of course, are named after Roman gods, so they too can be associated with the metals, and RWBY directly correlates them.

NB: It’s very valid to critique tropes and subtext. This isn’t intended to invalidate any criticism but rather to offer a symbolic reading of the metal motif.

So, let’s dive in.

Base Metals:

Lead-Saturn

Associated characters: Qrow Branwen, Ruby Rose, Mercury Black

While I can’t think of any specific reference to lead in RWBY, there are a ton of references to the mythical Saturn. 

Saturn's father (Uranus) was a piece of work who hated Saturn’s mother and so took his son (and other children) and imprisoned them in a cave so that they could never see the sunlight. Saturn’s mother eventually persuaded Saturn to take a sickle and castrate his father. He then wasn’t a particularly great dad himself, becoming more like his father than not.

In alchemy in particular, we have images of Saturn with a prosthetic leg (see: above). This is where Mercury begins his arc. He’s abused by his father, who steals his semblance and refuses to allow Mercury to be his own person (effectively rendering him a prisoner). So, Mercury kills him, and then is taken in by Cinder and Emerald to be an assassin for them, an assassin just like his father. You can see the parallels. 

Saturn’s sickle is also often drawn as a scythe, which Death holds in the above image. A scythe is of course the weapon used by Ruby and by Qrow--specifically, Qrow is the person Ruby imitates and admires. But we know (and Ruby now does to) that Qrow is a flawed human himself; Ruby is better of becoming her own person rather than continuing to stay like her father-figure in Qrow (her own dad is great, but that doesn’t mean Qrow isn’t also a dad figure to her!) 

Qrow, of course, is self-destructive, believing his semblance is to bring bad luck wherever he goes. His name is “crow,” the bird symbolizing the first (black) stage of death and rotting in alchemy. His own upbringing can also be compared to Saturn’s. 

But, you see, Saturn isn’t actually a sign of doom and death. It is one of the symbols of the prima materia, the lead to be transformed into gold by the end of the alchemical process. It shows where the characters can grow, and indeed all three of them are along their path towards growing. 

Tin-Jupiter

Associated character(s): James Ironwood (maybe Weiss Schnee)

Well, I’m actually going to talk more about Ironwood and his arc in the next section. But in Ozpin’s circle, in which characters are based on The Wizard of Oz (a blatantly alchemical story), we have Qrow as the scarecrow, Lionheart as the Cowardly Lion, and Ironwood as the tin man. Jupiter is also associated with the Sublimation stage in the process of alchemy, which is where we are now. 

In case we didn’t get the allusion, RWBY has helpfully placed artwork of tin men on the walls in the background of Weiss’s room this season.

I’m aware that this screenshot isn’t from this season but it gets the point across. I also feel tin might well have an association with Weiss and where she was at in her arc after the fall of Beacon. 

Additionally, Jupiter is actually Saturn’s son in mythology, and is saved from being eaten by his father (look Saturn really wasn’t awesome). He returns to force his father to regurgitate his siblings, and Jupiter and his rescued siblings (yes they were still alive; it’s mythology) fight to dethrone their father. They succeed with the use of lightning, among other things. Saturn was then imprisoned in tartarus. You can see the parallels. 

Do note that the glowing sun above the head of the tin man on Weiss’s wall, showing Weiss is destined to become refined like gold. The golden sun is in sharp contrast to Ironwood’s allusion to the Dark Sun, but there’s a lot more to say about Ironwood in the Iron section. 

Iron-Mars

Associated characters: James Ironwood, Marcus Black, Mercury Black

First, let’s continue with Ironwood. I’ve noted before that iron is associated with war:

Iron in particular is ruled by Mars, the god of war, meaning it is associated with violence. It’s not a coincidence that pretty much from the second Ironwood is introduced, the concept of war comes up, and his entire character has gone on to be the embodiment of the military and violence.

In addition to seeing himself as a sort of be-all-end-all Jupiter figure, Ironwood of course is always expecting war. His arc is one of reverse alchemy, which is a thing. It means that instead of becoming refined, he’s corroding from Iron to Tin. I don’t see good things for him. 

Mars in mythology also becomes obsessed with Venus, which... you’ll have to read the next section for that ;) 

Marcus Black, of course, is an assassin, hence it makes sense that his name literally means “dedicated to Mars.” Mercury (our Mercury) becomes more like him in taking over his role as an assassin. He’s so broken from his father’s abuse that he refuses to become his own person and just falls into his father’s role. It’s tragic. 

So is Mercury’s arc reverse alchemy? No, I don’t think so. There’s more (of course) later on, but if we look at the stages of his development, we see he has moved from Lead to Iron. It’s progress. His leg is a focus for the early arcs of the story (he uses it, along with Emerald’s semblance, to trick everyone into turning against Yang), and only later did we learn his history with his father. Even if the events of course did not happen in succession, the story revealed the allusions one after each other. He’s also made progress in that he’s clearly emotionally attached to Emerald even if he pretends otherwise. Also... (see below)

The Most Perfectable Base Metal:

Copper-Venus

Associated character: Penny Polendina

As I also mentioned previously, Penny’s name references copper (a “copper penny”). The Summa Perfectionis, a thirteenth century alchemical text, calls copper “the most perfectable of base metals.” 

Venus in alchemical imagery is almost always wearing (or surrounded by, since she’s also often, well, not wearing anything) green. 

Green is in alchemy the color of the prima materia, the raw, immature material that will eventually be refined into gold, because green is of course symbolic of the earth, fertility, growth, etc.

As I wrote previously, in mythology Mars had a thing for Venus. I’m certainly not suggesting Ironwood has a thing for Penny in a romantic/sexual sense, but he does seek to control her, and like the Mars of myth, his pursuit of Penny/Venus leads to his humiliation (the Mars of myth gets caught in a trap--no literally a net--by Venus’s angry husband). 

In contrast to Ironwood, Penny, who is originally made entirely of metal, becomes human, while Ironwood becomes more metal--not necessarily literally, but in his spirit. He’s lost his humanity, or rather, gave it away, while Penny found hers. It makes sense to me that a story with spiritual alchemy at its core (which focuses in the Jungian sense on individuation/self-actualization, or fully coming into an understanding of the self) would have Penny literally transform into what she has always been: a final product, a real girl, the philosopher’s stone. 

Refined Metals:

Now these are going to be a bit more predictive. The allusions are clearly there, but how exactly those will play out I don’t know because if we look at these metals as steps in the process, we’re not quite there yet. 

Mercury-Mercury

Associated character(s): Mercury Black, (maybe Emerald Sustrai)

I think the name says it all. 

Kidding. Mercury as a metal is also known as argentvive or quicksilver. It, along with sulphur, form the basis of the alchemical process. They must be united to achieve the Philosopher’s Stone (it’s one of the reasons I am wondering if we’re going to get an important, Mercury-related event in a place named for sulphur or its other name, brimstone, in Vacuo; all the places we know of in Vacuo are named after types of stones including several that are sulfuric in nature). Mercury himself unites the two principles of the work, sun and moon (for who those are, read below). Mercury is the metal from which all other metals come from--he’s way more important to this story than we’ve seen yet. Most likely, he will eventually turn on Salem as well, and in a pivotal moment.

As a god, Mercurius is the author of alchemy. He’s the mythical author of the Emerald Tablet (which Emerald’s name alludes to; I actually don’t personally think Emerald alludes very much to Aladdin. Instead, I think her allusion is the Emerald Tablet and her Egyptian design is based on Thoth, Mercury’s Egyptian counterpart). Mercury is the spirit that gives life.

Lyndy Abraham notes that Mercury is “both destructive and creative” (oh look at the relics of Atlas and Vacuo) and that “the elusive, duplicitous Mercurius who consorts with the devil is at the same time a redeeming psychopomp” (”psychopomp” means spiritual guide) “The fact that he can freely participate in both light and dark worlds without taint makes Mercurius the perfect mediating bridge.” Jung calls Mercury “a symbol uniting all the opposites.” So yeah, Mercury should have a redemption arc that will probably be pivotal in the story.

If we follow the self-actualization endgame of spiritual alchemy, with true life and wisdom as the metaphorical philosopher’s stone here, I think it’s likely Mercury becomes more himself--going from being Lead to Iron (as he’s clearly spiraling right now, but also has a connection to Emerald) to Mercury. I would also suspect he’d get his semblance back to establish that he’s his “own person” (a major recurring theme of RWBY), and while, like with Yang and her arm, I don’t think he’ll get new legs, I think it’s pretty likely his semblance will enable him to fly (since mythical Mercury, you know, flies). 

Silver-Moon

Associated character(s): Ruby Rose (also Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, Oscar Pine, Jaune Arc, and Summer Rose).

The most important character here is Ruby, obviously. She’s our MC and titular character! But Weiss, Jaune, Blake, Summer, and Oscar are all addressed here. But I think it’s obvious that Ruby’s defining trait is her silver eyes. They got her noticed by Ozpin and sent to Beacon early, they’re the reason Salem is targeting her, they’re what could destroy her (turning into a Grimm) or save the world (what’s going to happen). Silver is noted to be “pure” which is what other characters constantly comment Ruby is. 

Gold-Sun

Associated character(s): Oscar Pine (also Sun Wukong, Yang Xiao Long, Tai Xiao Long, Ruby Rose, Pyrrha Nikos, and maybe Jaune Arc)

The most important/obvious character here is Oscar. Oscar’s first name is a shade of gold and a type of fish that is most often brown or gold. He’s facing a similar dilemma to Ruby: the threat of merging forever with Ozpin (which clearly won’t happen; he needs to be his own person, as Ruby said). 

Both Ruby’s and Oscar’s individualizations are somehow instrumental to defeating Salem. 

#rwby #rwby meta #rwby vol 8 #oscar pine #mercury black #emerald sustrai #rwby theory #alchemy #james ironwood #weiss schnee #penny polendina #qrow branwen #ruby rose #ozpin #rwby volume eight

[honesthammie]

Prompt 39: Death wants you to be terrified. But the scariest thing is wanting death.

13th Doctor x female curvy reader

Warnings: mentions of suicidal thoughts, alcohol and drug abuse, domestic abuse, fat phobia

I'm sorry for this. Its really depressing and I've been hesitant on letting you guys see it but I kinda like how it's written. I've made the abuser gender neutral as females can also be abusive. I promise the next one will be much happier!

"Come on (y/n), you can make it! Just jump across and reach for my hand. I promise you won't fall." The Doctors voice echoes across the widening canyon. If you looked down, you would only see pitch black. You didn't know how long you'd fall. Maybe this would be the perfect time to just go for it. Its not like you'd matter, you're only slowing the team down as is.

They wouldn't even be in this mess if you didn't slip and hit the world shattering drill, turning it on full blast. Unfortunately, you smashed the button making it unable to turn it off. Of course the only way you'd be able to turn it off is to actually go towards it. Everyone in the room screamed at you and some raised their tentacles to attack you if the Doctor didn't step in front of you. You know the Doctor noticed you flinching and your eyes gloss over and noticed you bracing for the impact.

You learned over the years to just accept your fate. You can't run from anyone when you weighed this much. You couldn't hide either, which often left you to just accept what was coming and hope nothing broke. Bruises were always easy to cover and so were any cuts but broken bones, that was always on display and you'd have to break your number one rule: never lie. You hated lying. The truth always comes out anyway so why hide it? If you hide it, you get punished worse anyway so why bother?

If you jumped and actually went with the team, you'd get questioned about earlier and about hesitating at jumping. But if you fell, would the Doctor miss you? As much as you hated to admit it, you were absolutely in love with the adorable alien. Why did you hate to admit it? Because she was a goddess and you were a waste of skin and bones. You weren't skinny and you didn't fit in with the team at all. You were only here out of pity.

You remember when you first met the team. You were the only person alive when they searched underneath the hotel. Even the spiders didn't want you. You were at the hotel because you heard about killer spiders and you wanted an out. You could never do it or something would come up stopping you from ending all your misery. You were the complete opposite of the Doctor. She was so brave and said whatever she wanted and didn't really care for the consequences.

You focused on the Doctors sparkling eyes. Despite the situation, she still sparkled with hope and encouragement. She wasn't upset with you. You really wished she was. This would be such an easier decision to make. Your head was pounding and your heart was going faster than her two hearts. Did you even want her upset? You couldn't tell, your head was spinning wildly, one thought going to another without a chance to process the last one.

You had come to a clear decision. You ran back and let momentum do its thing as your feet left the muddy gravel. You felt so free as you glided in the air for a few seconds. It was the most beautiful feeling. No punishment, no tears before going to sleep and no terror of going back home. Just you and gravity.

Then with a clearer mind you regretted your choice. You were horrified. You weren't ready. It wasn't time yet. Graham can't lose you. He'd only recently lost his wife. He'd feel the same as you and that thought terrified you. He'd survived cancer and gained himself a new family. He can't be like you. Ryan needed him, wether he was willing to admit that or not.

Suddenly you panicked and last minute reached your hand out hoping you'd grab something. Anything. You felt a soft warm object and latched on for dear life. You were then lifted up and onto soil. You focused on your breathing a moment and waited for your heart to calm down. You looked up and saw what, or rather who, saved you. You shouldn't have been so surprised to see the Doctors worried face above yours. She gave you a questioning look, knowing the question, you nodded your head and she straightened herself and helped you up.

"That was great (n/n)! So brave of you! Let's go gang, we've gotta turn this drill off before it splits the planet in half!" She shouted as she ran forward, seemingly knowing the way. She didn't let go of your hand until you reached the drill about 10 minutes later. You couldn't help the blushthat formed on your cheeks. The Doctor quickly opened a panel on the side of the drill.

The drill was massive, bigger than the Eiffel Tower and that what was on surface level, it went down much deeper that it had reached halfway to the liquid nitrogen that ran in this cold planet where our magma centre would be. The drill itself was purple and spherical. The panel box was the size of a human head which was about the size of the civilisations sucker pads. Inside were 3 buttons and 1 lever. You needed to type the pattern that would gain the access to the drill and force stop. If it goes wrong, it speeds up rendering this planet uninhabitable.

You watched as the Doctor quickly typed the pattern in. Red,blue,red,red,red,blue,black,black,blue. That was the pattern she quickly pressed in and held the lever down for 10 seconds. Soon the drill came to a halt and the planet was peaceful once again. You all let out a sigh of relief as it stopped.

You made your way back to the chief of the race and explained that they should dismantle and never use that drill again unless they plan to empty the panet of everything it has within. He quickly agreed and the fam made their way back to the TARDIS.

As soon as tye TARDIS was parked on the edge of your solar system, you got into your comfy clothes ready to nap or maybe play a few games to slow your adrenaline until you were tired enough for a full nights rest. You played a few rounds of uno and some poker where you used some bits of metal instead of chips. Eventually everyone had left except you and the Doctor.

You made your way to the doors of the ship and settled down just watching the stars in front of you. If the sentient machine hadn't already been aware of your darkest thought, you would have jumped out there and been amongst them. Just floating eventually turning to nothing but bones drifting, maybe to never be found. All the sights you've seen and yet this is where you were the most impressed. This was your home, your galaxy and because of all the light pollution, you had never been fully aware of how many neighbours you had because you had been literally blind. This was only stuff captured and faked and now, it's forever in your mind.

You heard movement and a shuffle next you. You knew who it was because she was the only other person awake and you knew she was going to ask and not let it drop until you tell her truth. And you were going to give her it but that doesn't mean you were ready to do so but you had to, someone had to know. Maybe you wanted help or maybe just someone to listen and know everything making you mentally naked in front of them.

The Doctor waited a few moments. She was figuring out how to word it without sounding horrible. "Is everything alright at home?" She asked her voice laced with genuine concern. "Sorry if this sounds a bit abrupt but let me explain. You've been really weird lately. You hardly speak and when you its with as few words as possible, you keep going elsewhere mentally and Rassilion forbid anyone getting angry with you! I also noticed how you hesitated today when jumping and I saw your worry and panic when you jumped. I think I know but I can't help you if you don't at least tell me what is going on! And don't change the subject or anything, just answer me please. I lo-. I can't lose you too." Her voice raised a little as she panicked just speaking about it. Halfway through she grabbed both of your hands and continued her speech.

You looked deep into her eyes for any sign of a lie but there wasn't one. Just like at the canyon, her eyes showed nothing but love. Maybe you should tell her, just her. No Yaz, no Graham and no Ryan. Just you, The Doctor and the TARDIS. You looked away for a moment as you collected your thoughts. However, as you opened your mouth and tried to speak, you found no voice. You couldn't tell her about them. Lord knows what she's capable of. But you've been looking for an out for so damn long. Maybe this is it. She's your out, no death involved.

You walked towards a panel in the console and pushed your hands inside and focused. You focused on the worst time it happened. You concentrated on the fear and everything attached. You couldn't tell her, but you could show her. The TARDIS disappeared into the vortex but didn't seem so sure on landing. She was picking it all up, she felt everything you did and she did not like going. "Please baby girl, I need her to know. I need help but I can't tell her. She's my only out that doesn't involve death and that terrifies me! Please. I understand your hesitation but she needs to see." You spoke mentally to the sentient blue box. She made a sad sound as she gently landed in the moment.

The Doctor looked at you bewildered. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape. You walked up to her and grabbed her hand reassuringly. You led her to the doors that separated her from your darkest secret. You took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.

You appeared to be in the basement of your house. You walked up the stairs and took her to a storage room where she could see it happen. You sat in silence for a few minutes only the sounds of breathing and your heartbeat could be heard.

You knew this day off by heart, it plagued your nightmares often. It all started to sweet and went sour so quickly. At this time you were currently on your way back from doing your weekly shop to Tescos making sure you didn't forget their vodka and gin on your way to pay. Thankfully, the shop was only 10 minuets away and you doubted that the TARDIS would make you wait longer than nessacary. Just as the Doctor opened her mouth to speak the door opened and in walked an 18 year old you.

You set the bags down and started sorting the items into their new places. The canned foods go in the cupboard and the meat goes into the fridge. There were loads of food and stuff to go through and place properly. After you placed the last can of baked beans into the cupboard, the door swung open, nearly breaking the door.

They came home from their dealers place early. They stunk of weed and alcohol and had a little white powder around their nose. They looked like they had a good time until they had to come home. It was their dealers birthday so he was having a brothel themed party meaning there were strippers, pole dancers and prostitutes as well. The dealer was a rich guy who practically ran this city. The cops couldn't do anything as he could always bail himself out of jail.

They looked you in your comfy clothes and scoffed. They looked angry. "Why aren't you in your normal clothes babes? I thought I told you to throw away all of that shit. Come on now. Don't tell me I wasted all my well earned money on those clothes I specifically chose for you?"

You shuddered, both in the past and now except now they only made bile rise into your throat. You were so young and vulnerable. Now you know better.

The past you quickly scampered off to get changed. After only 5 minutes you reappeared in what was sexy school girl. The blue miniskirt covered less than most underwear so you were forced to wear a thong. The shirt was a bralet that barely covered your nipples. Your hair was in pigtails and you wore thigh highs. The sight made you silently sick in your mouth. You looked pathetic and weak.

You looked at them expectingly. You were waiting for your next order from them. They seemed to drool at the sight of you. "That's better babes. Why didn't you go shopping like that? Show the world your fat ugly figure? I want you to walk out there and see that no one else wants you but here I am, loving you. I am the only one who will ever like you in the way we have now. Your lucky I've had some fun tonight. All I want is my vodka and a new blunt darling"

You quickly went and grabbed their stuff and walked towards them as they settled in front of the TV. They turned the TV on and put Love Island on. How you hated that show. It made you feel bad for being the size you are. The women on there were beautiful but you also knew that, that kind of beauty costs money. So while your partner had fun watching the show for the romance, you watched it to spot what part of them was bought and what was real. Almost all the women had fake teeth and breasts. You hated how your partner would make snide comments on how they looked compared to you.

"You should be looking like Becky ya know. Beautiful teeth, big perky tits and a fucking great ass. What do you have? Flabs!" And there was the first comment of the day. The first of 30, you counted.

"Yeah well you are fucking broke so I can't look like fucking fake ass Becky or the others!" You thought. Then the Doctor gave you a look of shock and pity and then you realised you said that aloud. Not loud enough for them to hear you but enough for the Doctor.

"Make yourself fucking useful and make me some dinner. I fancy a steak and chips." They ordered as you got up and waddled over to the kitchen. A few minutes in you realised you put too much oil in the pan for the steak but the steak was already in and cooking quick. So quick that it started to smoke just a little bit. You tried blowing it away from them before they realised that you fucked up their dinner but ut was too late. They were already on their feet a marching towards you.

"I'm so sorry. I accidentally poured too much oil in. I'm so sorry. I have a spare steak, you can have my meal for tonight, I could do with skipping a meal anyways, helps me lose weight!" Past you was panicked and present you wasn't much better. Even though you were safe from them, they still made you uneasy. If you were to ever see them again, you'd freeze. They made your blood run cold. Even their voice sent unpleasant shivers down your spine.

"You better make me another steak but I still have to punish you. You fucked up, a lesson needs to be learnt." They said scarily politely. They grabbed your left arm and marched you towards the sink. They also grabbed the burning pan and pinned you so you had no escape as they poured the boiling oil onto your skin. You knew not to scream do you bit into your other arm knowing a bite out of it is better than causing more punishments for screaming.

When they were done left to watch the TV and you knew what that meant. You had to cook the spare steak and make there meal before you can get proper treatment at the hospital. Through your tears of agony, you quickly ran your burnt and bleeding arm under the cold water of the sink. You bit deeper into your other arm and tasting blood, but thay didn't stop you until the left one had cooled down. Then you got an old shirt, ripped 2 pieces of fabric off and wrapped them around both arm Injuries. You then continued their meal.

Once they had the meal they kicked you and punched you in the stomach because the chips were slightly cold and then they drove you to the hospital as they promised. When you had left you didn't realise you had been crying until a drop fell on your arm. You walked out of the storage room and sat on the sofa, turning the TV off.

The Doctor looked shocked for a moment before walking over and kneeling in front of you. The Doctor went silent for a moment. Before she could speak, you decided to speak first.

"I couldn't tell you because I couldn't think if a nice way of telling you. I didn't want to appear weak to you." You cried as your voice cracked in the middle due to the tears and the strain. The Doctor looked at you in pity and disappointment.

"This does not make you weak. Being abused does not make you weak. Because being abused is like being tortured by someone who supposed to love you and cherish you. They are meant to protect you from danger not be the danger. I would never hurt you. I know that I put you in risky situations but believe me, I would never intentionally put you in danger. You mean too much to me" The Doctor softly spoke with tears making a little river down her soft cheeks and onto your black carpet below.

"Before I met them, I was like you or Yaz. I was so happy at everything. Very little could bring me down. But I met them and started dating them and suddenly, my world of sunshine faded to grey. There was no light. I wanted to die Doctor. When you found me at that spider hotel, I wanted to be free from them as I couldn't do it. I can't because they'd kill me. I don't want to be alive whilst I'm with them. I have so many scars from either them or me trying to end my own life and that the scariest thing. Death wants us to be terrified but wanting to die is so much more terrifying Doctor, I know that." You cried as you emptied all you could to her. The Doctor was silent for a moment, taking in everything you said. Waves of emotion flashed through her, anger, sadness, pity and something you couldn't quite place.

"You said wanted. That's past tense. You said wanted to die. What changed? What made you want to live?"

"You did. You saved me from the spiders. You gave me a temporary out of the relationship for a while. You made me smile for the first time in 3 years! You made me laugh. The world of grey is now full of sunshine and rainbows Doctor. You also saved me today. When I jumped across that canyon, I jumped to end my life. I made a mistake that nearly ended a planet! If I wasn't so fat and clumsy maybe i-"

"Don't you dare say that! You are not fat (n/n). Yes you have more plush to your body but you are not fat. I hate that word. Its such a nasty word. You are gorgeous, amazing and so brilliant. You can't see what I see and I really wished you could for just one moment. You are worthy of being loved and cared for. You are precious, rare, one of a kind. I've never met anyone like you. There's always some skinny, fake bodied and caked up women but there's no one with as much natural beauty as you! Let's get back to the TARDIS and we'll talk more when looking at the stars because I can see that being here isn't doing you any favours" The Doctor spoke with such passion that you started to believe that her words held more than those of a supporting friend would.

Once the TARDIS was parked in the Milky Way you settled by the door once again and found yourself accompanied by the sweet alien. You both sat there for a moment just content with wrapping your heads around what's just happened. You looked over to the blonde and noticed how the stars made her glow in such an ethereal way that you felt almost compelled to worship her. Maybe you should after everything she's done for you. Her eyes sparkled with si many emotions from the past senario.

"Are you still with them?"

"Why do you think I never left this place? I mean even if could, I wouldn't want to but it's mainly because if I go back home, I'll come back with more injuries. I feel safer with you. You are my sunshine and rainbows and they are my storm clouds. Whilst I'm here, I'm alive and mostly unbroken. Whilst I'm there, I'm as alive as a puppet and severely broken. I can't leave, not on my own anyway."

The Doctor looked at you in thought. "The starlight compliments you. You look so pretty and almost angelic. I just wish they never hurt my angel. My innocent angel had broken wings and I'm going to fix what the Devil broke, I promise. Just hold on, I'm going to take us somewhere."

You held the nearest crystal as the TARDIS transported you somewhere but it seemed like the sentient machine was determined to take you there as quick as she could. As you opened the doors you noticed a familiar smell of weed mixed with alcohol. You heard the familiar tune of Love Island and knew exactly where you were. You were home. The Doctor saw your hesitation and whispered softly, "I want you to pack everything you want. I've written a note for them to find. I'm going to put it on the bed. If they notice you scream for me and I'll be there. They will not hurt you much, hopefully not at all. I just need to do something in the TARDIS before I help you." She turned and left into the TARDIS and disappeared down a corridor.

The atmosphere sent chills down your spine and you were frozen. The TARDIS seemed to notice and words of encouragement were sent into your head which helped you move towards your bedroom. You quickly buy quietly opend your suitcase and started to fill it with clothing and hygiene products. As you entered the bathroom a bottle of their shampoo fell into the tub giving you away. You knew you only had so long before they came in and hurt you so you closed the door and barricaded it with whatever you could.

As you pushed the last cabinet to the pile they roared through the wooden door. "Let me in you fat dumb bitch. You've been gone for 3 weeks and you've got some balls coming back! You're lucky I haven't burned all your shit! Where have you been?"

Your heart ran at an extremely fast pace nd you knew only one person could help you now. And so you screamed her name so loud it hurt your throat bit that didn't stop you. You screamed until you heard talking. You couldn't understand what was said but suddenly a thud was heard and then silence.

"Hey Starlight! It's only me. I've taken care of them. They're not dead but in a venishion aikido. They can't move, they're paralysed. You can come out and finish packing"

You moved everything out of the door and opened it to a view you expected. The Doctor with 2 fingers to their pulse point on their neck. The Doctor smiled at when they saw you. You finished packing and zipped the bag up. Then Yaz walked in with her police uniform on and arrested them for domestic violence and many other things. Now you understood why The Doctor left, it was to get Yaz as a back up option to completely take them out of your life.

The Doctor helped open doors for you as you got your room and you set the suitcase to one side to empty another day. You both sat down on your bed. The sound was filled with nothing but 2 lifeforms breathing and the TARDIS faint buzzing. You two stayed like this, staring into each other, trying to read the others emotions. But we all know what The Doctor is like, she can't stay silent for long.

"I had to save you because as long as you were with them, you weren't ever going to be truly happy. I didn't want my big bright star to turn into a black hole, I wanted her to be a supernova. My Starlight deserves to be happy."

"You keep saying my Doctor. And you asked if I was still with them and then when I basically said yes, you quickly, as in a rush, sent us home so I could leave them. You keep saying all these things about me. You held my hand from the canyon to the drill. You are always the first to check on me and you always make sure I'm OK first even if I'm the farthest person from you! Doctor, be honest, I don't want any more bullshit. Doctor why?" You spoke softly but with determination. The Doctor blushed and shifted her gaze to the stars and quietly gulped. She knew this day would come. The day her secret was revealed. And she dreaded her answer and she dreaded your reaction. And whilst she figured out what to say, you already knew the answer.

You gently grabbed her chin and made her look at you. Once her gaze caught yours, you smiled and placed your lips to her soft ones. Quickly she caught up and kissed you back with all the love and passion she could muster. She wanted to relay that she did love you and that she would do exactly as she said earlier, she would cherish you.

As for you, you smiled. You finally had an out that didn't end in death but instead ended with the same love that you yearned for, for years.

#13th doctor #thirteenth doctor x reader #13th doctor x reader #depressing post #im sorry

[stormgardenscurse]

Pearls and Apples - Part 1

A/N: A belated birthday fic for the one and only Epel Felmier!

This mermaid AU is also a collab with @dumplings0ups !

The ocean was mostly a dark place; sunlight only breached through shallow waters, leaving its glow to gradient into murkiness by the time one reached the seabed. By then, any foreign lifeform unacquainted to it was sure to lose their way, ensuring that humans would never hope to reach the underwater city tucked in its depth; lit aglow with magic and architecture.

When he’d finally deemed you trustworthy enough to divulge this, you’d mentioned that a thing like that sounded like a scene out of a fairytale - something that never crossed his mind as such until put into perspective by a human.

‘I guess… It’s kind of cool, huh?’

‘It is!’ You’d agreed, and perhaps it was around then that Epel continued sharing bits of his world with you. He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen into the habit of trying to make you smile like that, but by the time he realized it was a little too late.

Well… Maybe it’s not too bad of a thing anyways. Sure, it was dangerous to be friends with a human and risk being caught by your kind - but interacting with you was something that he enjoyed, for better or worse. Despite your contrasting backgrounds, there was a similar wonder that you shared when it came to learning about one another’s worlds. The way you lit up as you learned more about his life, which was so different from yours… It was the same wonder he felt, when you’d first met.

Initially, Epel ventured to shallow waters as the result of a swole of anger - he barely recalls what bothered him enough for such a thing that day, but he’d swam past the outskirts of the city where he lived and into quieter waters to cool down. Except-- in his occupied state he hadn’t realized just how far he’d gotten, in his want to escape to somewhere that was easier to breathe and think.

Perhaps it was for those reasons that he subconsciously carried himself upwards, feeling the coolness of the current that grazed him like a passing breeze. He liked fighting against it at times, but on that day it was as if it led him along to the shore, with the echoes of a friend that understood he needed a distraction.

That was when he belatedly notices that the water felt warmer, and the shadows around him turned to a soft blue that was different from what he might see back at the city. It was a raw display of sunlight sifting through the shallows, something that he’s only seen a few times on special occasions with others.

Though Epel was alone here now, without a single purpose in mind. He was close enough to touch the surface - and driven by the thought he might be able to see clearer with his head above water, Epel stilled his resolve and propelled himself towards the open world.

His first thought, as he gasped in surprise, was that it truly did feel different… The shock of a different atmosphere woke him up a bit, though he didn’t feel as if he was in danger. He craned his head up to look at the sky, a canvas of endless clouds and blues.

It was like another ocean of its own, one that was bright and weightless, and so very out of reach.

-

Among the next times Epel found himself around the shallows, he’d followed the sight of birds that were returning to nest further inland; a part of the duchy that you served in as a knight.

Of course, even if he was reckless, he wasn't a total idiot. Epel caught the sound of metal on metal and hid beneath the water as he tried to find its source, which was your squadron on the training grounds. The seaside area was a place of open land, which meant that Epel didn't need much of an elevation point to watch as the humans sparred and ran drills in an impressive tempo. He started to visit every few weeks, finding a similar sight every time - though the groups that trained would change, some with more precision and strength than the others.

During his observations he was able to infer which items were weapons or tools, and which animals humans considered domesticated - it isn't as if Epel was overtly curious about land-life, but there was something about it that kept him intrigued enough to return.

(A little part of himself however is well aware he'd initially been netted by the scene of swordplay. It looked impressive, with fluid movements and strength behind every blow - though he expected that if submerged in water, even the most trained officer may find themselves at a loss with how to swing their sword. It was proven on a tale long ago, where a ship had sunken by the hands of a storm in the middle of the ocean...)

Stories aside, Epel should've known his encounter-less visits wouldn't last that way. With a populated area there was sure to be people that visited the beach every now and again. The first time he sees you, it'd been during your break where you'd found yourself drawn to the refreshing promise of the waves. You were to return to running drills again soon, but a quick moment with the breeze on your face wouldn't be too bad, right?

Epel slipped back into the water before you could notice him, but hesitated from turning away to swim home upon catching the sight of you; attire like the others that used the sword, weapon tucked out of sight, and a curious fruit in your hands that was as red as the richest coral.

It stayed like that for a while, with you sat on the sand and taking a breather as he hid. It'd probably been the longest ten minutes of his life, and even as you left, Epel counted another five before he dared to poke his head above the surface. Though by that time, any trace of you imprinted on the sand had been long washed off by the current.

-

The first time you noticed Epel, you’d thought he was a human boy - one that was too far out from land to be safe. And so, diligently even while you were off-duty, you’d discarded your heavier equipment to wade your way towards him.

...Unfortunately for him, he was too stupefied to come up with the easiest solution, which was to swim away like his life depended on it. Yet if he did, you may simply search for him further, as you weren’t one to give up on what you believed to be a duty; something he was able to gather from the times he’s seen you training and patrolling with more effort than the usual knight.

And that would mean that he could never show up here again, at the risk of being recognized and exposing himself more than he has. What if you’d described him to the authorities and told them to be on alert for a ‘missing boy’? Sure, it really shouldn’t be an issue for him to not be here anyways, but that wasn’t something that his panicked thoughts processed.

The idea of erasing your memory did cross his mind, but Epel then realised he didn’t know how to cast it well enough without you realizing something was up. Only his seniors might do so swiftly before diving into the water once more - for Epel, it may require a few moments of contact.

...A few moments he’d have to manage, somehow.

From his spot behind a stack, Epel calmed himself as much as he could before letting his form sink further into the water, hiding his tail and scales as much he could.

“Hey, are you alright?” Even in his muddled state he could tell you were fast on your feet. “It’s dangerous to be out this far, the current could sweep you in if you’re not careful.”

“I’m fine.” He manages to reply. “Thank you for worrying, but I’ll head home by myself later.”

You’d frowned, still concerned. “Maybe we should be back to shore together now. The wind is picking up... Whoa-!”

“What-” Epel snapped to attention, realizing that the water was pulling harder. “Ah, please be careful!”

“You’re telling me?!” Since when were the currents so aggressive?! Was it about to storm? “We need to head back, now!”

You were pulling Epel by the wrist, to which he’d flinched away by reflex but was still towed along by your grip. Figures the person that finds him was a knight… This level of righteousness was really screwing him over right now, coolness be damned!

“Let go!” He protested, yet before you could offer a response a strong wave swung the both of you off-balance, dragging you to and back - before he knew it, you were the one that was in need of rescuing. Epel steadies himself with a swish of his tail to cancel out the water’s, but you were nowhere to be seen.

Cursing, he submerged himself in an effort to spot you. Epel’s done a lot of things he likely shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t just let you drown. That might solve his problem of erasing your memories, but it wasn’t something he wanted to resort to.

As he secured a grip on your arm and dragged you back to the beach, Epel wasn’t sure what to do next - you were coughing and trying to steady your breathing, yet was able to roll onto your side to catch your breath once the sand cushioned you from beneath.

“Are ya alright?”

“You… You’re better at swimming than I thought.” You managed a wry smile. Some knight I am, getting rescued by a civilian.

Epel doesn’t have much to say to that, only a nervous chuckle. “I get that a lot... I guess.” He did, but not in this context exactly.

From the chaos, you were too focused on calming down to notice the elephant in the room. Or rather, the tail that grew from Epel’s hips and glistened with a lilac hue, clearly something out of a fairytale than the reality you knew.

He freezes when your eyes draw themselves to the sight, and it’s your turn to be rendered motionless.

“Is… Is that--”

Splash. He’s gone, with you left alone to process what happened for the rest of the day.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst epel #epel felmier #epel felmier x reader #twst epel x reader #twst x reader #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twst writing #twst reader insert #happy birthday epel #twst x you #storm writings #blooms #dtw imagines

[retroateez]

Prophecy - Chapter Sixteen

words; 2729

prophecy masterlist

tag list; @hewwo-from-the-other-side

"What are you doing?"

The book crashes heavily onto the stone floor, your arms darting out in a panicked effort to catch it.  Hopelessly, you watch as it clatters loudly, though as it hits the ground, it falls shut, not allowing the intruder to see the contents of the page.

"Iris? What are you doing down here?"

You peek upwards, and you see the confused figure of San standing before you, bewildered.

But you can't answer him, all too consumed by the fizzling feeling darting through your body. The burning from before simmering to a halt like a cauldron taken away from roaring flames. Your breathing becomes erratic and heavy, a weight pressing down on your chest rendering you in tears.

"Oh gods," San mumbles and rushes to your figure, mimicing your own position of sitting on your knees. "Oh gods, oh gods."

You kneel, trembling and yet somehow completely motionless opposite San.

"Iris?" he calls to you gently. "Can I touch you?"

You don't register the movement, but you assume you must've nodded, as San slowly reaches out and places both of his palms on your cheeks, lifting your head up and forcing your streaming eyes to look into the concerned, inky wells of his own.

"Breathe slowly, okay? Slowly... There you go." San slows his own breathing down, allowing you to match the rhythm and soothe the manic pace your lungs were working at.

A few minutes pass, and your breathing returns to it's original pace. San is still sat across from you, his hands in his lap as he waits for you to explain what on earth just happened.

"I'm so tired of feeling useless..." you frown, and pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly to your body.  "It's my fault everybody is involved in this mess, and they only let me help when they need it.

"I thought maybe... maybe if I learnt something useful and showed them that I am capable then they would be forced to listen to me." Sniffling, you wipe the tears from your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt.

"I know how you feel." San sighs, and you study his frown. His cold, defensive demeanour from the last few weeks melting away and being replaced with a sadder, vulnerable version of him.

"I know that I'm the court jester," he continues. "But I'm more than just jokes and silly costumes. I can do much more than that, and... and I wish people would let me prove that to them."

"It isn't fair." You whine.

"Life isn't fair." San agrees.

"You won't... tell anyone about this, will you?" You ask timidly after a few moments silence.

"Were you doing anything bad?" He asks.

You shake your head. "Just studying." You weren't technically lying. Just concealing the truth.

"Alright," San nods. "I won't say anything. But I better not catch you doing it again."

He stands up and brushes the dirt from his knees, then extends a rough palm out towards you. Gratefully, you take it, quickly bundling up Yunho's book and clutching it to your chest to conceal it from San's view.

"I hope you're prepared for the ball tomorrow," San says suddenly. "If your dancing is as shocking as it was the other day then there's zero hope for you."

"I'll be fine. Wooyoung'll teach me how to dance."

San rolls his eyes and shrugs, telling you that he'll see you around and that you should go to bed before somebody else catches you. You watch him leave, peering at his raven black hair bouncing as he walks until he was finally out of view.

It's not until you hear the distance clunk of the door closing that you release a breath you didn't know you were holding. You grip slackens on the book and your arm muscles sigh in relief. Letting go of the book, you study your right hand curiously, turning it over to examine your palm and fingers, trying to remember the fizzing feeling in your blood.

The tingling had stopped now, only the tiniest remnant of power was left in your body, slowly dissipating until it disappeared entirely. Never in your life had you expected to feel something like that, something so exciting and yet so dangerous. Staring down at your outstretched hand, you imagined red hot trails of angry, bubbling lava, slowly seeping into the crevices between your fingers and wrapping down your wrist, crawling down the expanse of your forearm.

It felt... good.

But nobody else can know, you remind yourself. If Yunho found out you stole his book, he'd kill you. If Yeosang found out you were learning magic, he'd kill you. You didn't want to think about what Wooyoung would do.

You figured that anybody detecting magic from the castle wouldn't be a problem, concluding that there's no way you'll be able to produce any substantial power that could be detected. Yeosang had told you that anybody could do magic, but only certain people could wield the chaos enough to do any damage. There was no way you would be able to do that. Besides, you were teaching yourself, so there's definitely no chance of anyone being able to rat you out.

You tuck the book under your arm, and start the quiet creeping back to your room.

Nobody will catch you. You won't let them.

-----

"I really don't- Ow! I really don't see why I have to wear this ghastly thing." You grunt in pain as the poor woman behind you tugs harshly at your outfit.

She's got a foot on your lower back and she yanks at the strings of the corset that is built into your - admittedly, very beautiful - dress. It is an incredibly elegant, sky blue silk gown that grazes the wooden floor beneath you. Complete with flowing sleeves that end past your fingertips, made of a crystal blue, sheer material that makes you feel like a princess of a fairy kingdom in a land very, very far from Ateez.

The sheer fabric also lays atop the baby blue silk of the skirt, with small, rose pink butterflies sewn into them at various points. The bodice is tightly laced both at the front and the back, luckily the neckline doesn't sweep too low, only showing your collarbones.

"Because, His Majesty says you have to." The woman, named Callonetta, tells you. "Besides, you look wonderful in this dress."

She's right too. You do look amazing in the gown, but you frown at yourself as you catch your own gaze in the mirror ahead of you. Inspecting your right arm, clad in ocean blue sleeve, and admiring how serene your blood feels compared to the way it was angrily boiling not even a whole day ago. Your gaze falls onto one of the light pink butterflies stitched to the bodice, the way it's wings have been poised make it look like its about to take flight, rip its tiny little legs free of its string prison and soar out the open window.

But of course, it can't. Because it isn't real, it's fake body pinned down to the bodice and you imagine it wriggling and writhing in pain as the seamstress pushes her needle into its frail wings. Such pain caused only to look beautiful. Totally restricted, unable to live life the way it was intended to be; free, happy, uncontrolled.

Another sharp jerk of the bodice strings from behind snaps your attention back to the mirror, allowing you to survey yourself properly.

Your hair, braided tightly and pinned back to form a crown around the base of your skull, with small curls pulled out to frame the sides of your face. Tied together with a sparkling silver circlet, the sides hidden under the expanse of hair, the metal twisting together to form a intricate design that presses against your forehead. In the center, encased in silver, is a single, circular sapphire that glitters in the candlelight everytime you move. Small, yet detailed silver leaves surround the gorgeous gem, and you even notice tiny, metal roses trailing up the sides of the circlet and disappearing underneath your hair.

You wonder if the late Queen had a tiara or crown as impressively beautiful as your circlet.

"The circlet belonged to Her Majesty," Callonetta informs you suddenly, as if she could read your thoughts. "This was the one she wore when she and the King announced the birth of King Hongjoong."

You could imagine how graceful Hongjoong's mother had looked. Radiant from the miracle of childbirth, tired yet still regal and proud of her newborn son. Sapphire circlet glistening in the rainbow coloured light of the main hall.

"What about this dress?" You whisper.

Somehow, you couldn't picture the Queen wearing a gown such as this. Sure, it was stunning, but for a Queen, much too simple. And yet you couldn't ignore the definitive lack of women in the castle, Callonetta and the cook being the only two you had met thus far.

"Heavens no," Callonetta scoffs, throwing her messy, ginger plait over her shoulder as she refocuses her attention on tying your bodice, "This dress was made for you specifcally. His Majesty has a personal tailor, he will refuse to wear anything made by anyone else."

Your face flushes at that, an embarrasing, startling shade of pink that puts the butterflies on your dress to shame.

"The tailor is renowned for his work," she continues, "All his garments have his printed emblem inside the back of the neckline, a small, roaring bear. Nobody knows why he chose a bear of all things, but it certainly is striking."

Your mind is cast back to the bear at the inn you and Yeosang stayed at on the journey to Wooyoung's. It all seemed so long ago now.

“Did you hear that?” you whisper to Yeosang.

“It’s just a bear.” He mumbles in response, making you jump slightly because you thought he was still asleep.

"A bear?” you hiss.

“I know,” he says sarcastically. “Un-bear-lieveable.”

You retrieve one of your pillows and launch it at his figure, smirking triumphantly when he grunts in surprise.

“That was a terrible joke.” you complain and bury yourself back into your improvised bed.

“Whatever,” Yeosang yawns. “just go to sleep, we’ll be meeting the astrologer tomorrow so you need to rest.”

Finally deciding to listen to the mage, you squeeze your eyes shut tightly in hopes you’ll fall asleep quickly. Luckily, you do just that, sleeping peacefully and dreaming about the bear in the forest outside. He’s wounded, bleeding heavily from a nasty gash on his neck and panting in pain. You reach out to help him, but of course it’s just a dream; he’ll be okay. You hope.

You think about that bear more often that you'd like to admit, imagining his large, brown eyes, watery with pain and the wounded yelping haunted your dreams.

A final, squeezing tug of the laces and Callonetta sighs in relief. She tells you that you're ready for the ball, and that you should wait in the dressing room until somebody comes to get you. Before you can ask who, or when, she hurries out of the door and you hear her shuffling quickly down the stone hallway.

Once again, you stare miserably at yourself in the mirror, wishing that you could attend the ball in your typical white shirt and plain black breeches.

Maybe Wooyoung is right though, perhaps the ball will bring some enjoyment into your life, away from all the secrets and worrying and death.

You suspect that nobody will be coming to get you for quite some time, so you perch yourself at the window seat opposite the mirror. Reaching under the cushions, you retrieve Yunho's book, which you expertly hid before Callonetta arrived.

Flicking through the pages, you spot the spell you learnt yesterday and your heart freezes between your ribs. Holding your breath, you decide to ignore that one, and flip the pages eagerly. Eventually, you come across a double page spread that piques your interest. You can't decipher  Yunho's messy drawing of the hand movements this time (perhaps for the best), but you can make out his scrawled handwriting of 'circular' just below it.

"Aevon bleidd." you whisper aloud, the language feeling foreign on your tongue.

After repeating the phrase multiple times, you realise you must have nailed the pronounciation as there's a dull pounding in your skull, and your fingertips are turning a concerning shade of blue. From your nails all the way down to the tip of your elbow, you feel a travelling freezing feeling flowing through your veins like a great and powerful river. Your veins pulsate a vivid blue, much like the way Yeosang's thundered with lightening the first time you met him.

“I’m a mage,” he had told you suddenly over porridge one morning. He clenched his large palms into equally large fists and laid his forearm upon the table, facing upwards towards the canopy of jade leaves above your heads. “You see those blue lines? They’re called veins, and our blood runs through these.”

You nodded silently, unsure of what his point was.

“In mine, flows blood as well as chaos,” he explained. “Almost anybody can do basic magic, provided you’re taught by the right people.”

Using his other hand, he ran a gentle finger down the stripe of his prominent veins, and the cerulean bumps bubbled and boiled into a startling shade of sunlight. You squinted in awe; you swore you could see a lightning storm rattling around inside of his arm.

“But only those born into chaos possess the abilities to truly wield it.” Yeosang snapped his fingers, and the bolts of lightning in his veins returned to the cool, sea blue they were before.

Snapping the book shut abruptly, you clutch your forearm to your chest and squeeze your eyes tightly shut. This is wrong, you think. Everything about this is wrong. Is magic supposed to feel this way? Make your insides wriggle and writhe and struggle in a desperate attempt to become your outsides? Yeosang had said only certain people had the ability to properly wield chaos into magic, did this mean that you were one of those people?

Ordinary peoples veins didn't stream like rivers.

Ordinary peoples blood didn't burn like fire.

Stuffing the book back between the cushions, you stare out of the window at the castle gardens below. Despite spending the majority of your time amoungst the flowers, it is only from up in the window you notice the penstemons - beardtongues, representative of bravery - arranged to spell 'HJ'.

It was surreal, your life, when you truly sat down to think about it. How barely a handful of months ago you were just a poor, lowly thief stealing bread to make it through the day, and now here you were, sitting in a dressing room within the castle of the most powerful kingdom on the planet, wearing a dress and jewels so expensive you felt dizzy at the thought.

Surrounded by elves, mages, kings, bards, magic and with all of those came danger.

A light tapping on the door, then the creaking of the door slowly opening catches your attention, and you look over to see a very proud looking kingsguard.

"I must say little thief," Seonghwa glides towards you with a small smile on his perfect face, watching you attentively through his narrow eye, the other eye obstructed by his hair. "You do scrub up incredibly well."

Hopping off the window seat, you offer Seonghwa a grin of your own. His hair, as always, is not a single bit out of place, shiny black and hanging over his left eye. Uniform pristine and blacker than the night sky, with various medals and badges pinned to each breast.

"I could say the same about you, sire." You mockingly sweep down into a curtsey, and Seonghwa scoffs.

"Enough joking around," he says seriously. "Are you ready to go? His Majesty is just finishing his preparations, you must take your seat at the head table before he arrives."

Your blood runs cold, sudden panic sprinting through your body, and you're not sure whether this feeling is worse than the spells or not.

You nod, ignoring the anxieties, trusting Wooyoung's words and making a silent pact with yourself to have a good time.

"Excellent." Seonghwa holds his arm out to you, and with a final smirk leads you towards the door.

"Your elven prince awaits, m'lady."

hi! sorry this took so long to get out, things have been very busy lately! thank u for reading and i hope u enjoyed! once again, the language for the spell is taken from the witcher 3′s elder speech!

#hongjoong #seonghwa #yeosang #san #wooyoung #mingi #jongho #yunho #retroateez #medieval!ateez #ateez #kpop #ateez au #ateez x reader

[karliahs]

for prompts um.. aizawa learning about ofa but in like a painful way? in a 'im telling you this because i have no choice/we're gonna die anyway so what does it matter' way? maybe? i also just want... people realizing that deku had a Hard Time and because of that its hard for him to really be like. thoroughly happy. he's so passively suicidal it hurts lol!

content warning for descriptions of serious injuries

Shouta is aware of how fast things can turn bad. USJ had gone from a training exercise to a desperate struggle to preserve 20 lives in a matter of seconds. 

So, he isn’t exactly surprised when he wakes from unconsciousness chained to a wall, still-blurred vision scanning the room - some kind of basement, two masked men, Midoriya chained up on the same wall. That suggests a lack of knowledge, that maybe they’d expected Shouta to be alone and grabbed the kid as a bonus, because chains aren’t exactly-

As if he’s brought it into being with the thought, power crackles along his student’s arms and the chains holding Midoriya break with an oddly-muted crack. Midoriya jumps to his feet, spinning the momentum straight into a kick that launches one of the men across the room. The other, instead of backing away from the 16-year-old explosion of power they’ve clearly vastly underestimated, steps in closer, and Shouta activates erasure with a lurch of panic in his gut.

Then, everything goes oddly still. Midoriya and the captor still on his feet just stand there, at an angle where Shouta can’t see what’s happened to make them stop. The man takes one step back, and still Midoriya just stands there, suspended, angled too far away for Shouta to be able to see his expression.

What he can see is the man in the corner starting to recover from the blow, dragging himself up - then stopping with pure panic in his eyes when he sees Midoriya. He bolts for the stairs, the other man backs up another step, and finally Shouta can see the knife embedded in his student’s abdomen.

When things go bad, it happens fast. So fast it feels like time is slipping away, like he’s moving in slow motion compared to the rest of the world. Both men are bolting now, clearly in over their heads, leaving Shouta still chained up with a kid with a stab wound. 

“Leave the keys!” Shouta yells after them, venom mixing with pure panic. “Call for help!”

He activates erasure even though neither of them seem to be using quirks to escape, just trying to have any impact at all, take something away from them. If this is remorse, it’s worse than useless. Corrupt enough that cut holes in one of his kids, cowardly enough to run without letting them out first. 

Midoriya turns to face him, eyes wide. “Midoriya,” Shouta says, pieces clicking into place in his mind - his primary obstacle is a set of chains, and his only asset is a student who’s just proved he can break them without an issue. If only he weren’t hurt, bleeding and confused. “It’s going to be okay. You just have to-no, don’t.” Shouta interrupts himself as he sees one of Midoriya’s hands hover in the air by the knife. “Don’t take it out. It’s slowing the bleeding.”

Midoriya obeys all too easily, face unmarred by pain - just blank shock, and a hint of helplessness that looks strange on a student who so rarely asks for help with anything. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Shouta says again. “If you can break the chains, I can get you out of here and we can find help.”

“Okay,” Midoriya says, voice choked and young. He takes one step towards Shouta before collapsing, finally crying out as he goes, but thankfully the angle of his fall takes him close enough to Shouta.

“Alright,” Shouta says, trying to keep the anguish out of his voice. If time is going slowly for him, he can only imagine how it feels for Midoriya, drifting in that timeless haze of agony. He needs to be clear and calm. He wants to believe one of those terrified men called an ambulance, but he’s lived too long to have faith in that kind of mercy. Clear, calm and fast. 

Shouta wraps his hands around Midoriya’s, moves them to the chains on the wall and tries to help him get a grip. “Just one push, okay?” Shouta says. “Then we’ll get out of here.”

Midoriya shuts his eyes, and for an awful moment Shouta thinks he’s losing him - then his quirk comes to life, haltingly, the bright patterns on his skin skipping and lurching as if afraid. Usually, Midoriya’s control is such that his quirk seems to become active through his whole body at once, but now the glow starts at his chest and spirals out erratically - then it reaches his abdomen and he yelps, the light blinking out, hands falling to press down around the knife.

“Alright, alright,” Shouta murmurs. There’s blood spreading through the kid’s T-shirt. He’s taking short, stuttering breaths.

“Sorry,” Midoriya mumbles.

“Stay with me, kid,” Shouta says, taking his hand again. The chains clink as he moves, and god, Shouta would give every second he has left just to break that metal. “Try again.”

Midoriya obediently, painstakingly calls on his quirk again and gives a hard shove at the place where the chains meet the wall, but that little bit of movement causes him to let out a breathless scream and fall back. Shouta has to reach out his chained arms just to keep him from collapsing all the way down onto his back. Instantly, his hands are warm and wet; there’s blood at Midoriya’s back, too. 

This can’t be happening. His student can’t be about to die because of two inches of metal. This bright, wonderful person can’t be about to die in his arms.

“It- it hurts,” Midoriya murmurs, leaning on him. “I can- I can feel the knife moving.”

“I know, I know,” Shouta says. “But we need to get you help. It’s either you make it up the stairs-”

Midoriya gives a panicked groan, shaking his head frantically.

“Or you break the chains and I carry you out. You can do this. I promise you can do this.”

Midoriya nods, tears gathering in his eyes, but several panicked breaths later and he hasn’t moved. 

“Take a breath,” Shouta insists, quiet but firm, “then try again. Try to concentrate your quirk just where you need it.”

“It’s…it’s called One For All,” Midoriya says, tipping back a little in Shouta’s clumsy hold. “All Might gave it to me.”

Time slips away again, or something like it. There’s blood on the shackles on Shouta’s wrists. They look at each other, and even through the pain Midoriya seems to be searching his face for something.

“I wanted to tell you,” he adds, then slips back a little further and yelps in pain. Shouta is holding him up as best he can, but it still takes abdominal muscles to hold yourself in that kind of position - and every contraction of those muscles risks jostling the blade. He can’t die like this. He just can’t.

“Midoriya, please,” Shouta says. He doesn’t think his voice holds steady. Shouta has seen victims of stab wounds before, has been the victim of stab wounds before, and so he can’t avoid the knowledge that these minutes of coherency are numbered. As sure as up is up and down is down, soon enough shock and blood loss will render Midoriya unable to listen to what he’s saying, let alone use his quirk. If he hasn’t broken the chains by then - and if neither of those monsters called for an ambulance… “Please, kid. There isn’t anything else I can do. It has to be you, and it has to be now.”

“S-sorry,” Midoriya says, shutting his eyes for another heartstopping moment. He opens them and there’s a shred of his old determination shining there. “Sorry I caused you so much trouble.”

He moves his hands and before Shouta can register what he’s going to do, he’s clutching the hilt of the knife and pulling it out, activating his quirk in the next second and shoving forward to punch at the root of the chains. Finally, finally, they break, and Shouta is gathering Midoriya up in his arms and trying to put pressure on the wound at the same time, sprinting for the stairs.

“You did it, you did it, I’ve got you,” Shouta mutters, barely taking in his own words, and as he reaches the top of the stairs he hears the distant sound of sirens.

...

Hours later, in the grey light and never-quite-quiet of the hospital Shouta has refused to leave, he sits side by side with a silent Yagi, letting Inko Midoriya have some privacy with her son even if the doctors don’t think he’ll be waking up any time soon. 

Shouta has had a lot of time to think, and mostly hasn’t done so. He won’t really be able to think until he sees his student alive, moving, talking again. 

What few thoughts he has managed are shards of memory. A student who works harder than anyone, but came into high school with hardly any control over his quirk, the foundation most aspiring heroes start from. And Yagi, hiding off to the side, watching over his class’s first training session. Like he had a personal stake. 

Shouta doesn’t pry into students’ lives for the sake of it. He and Nedzu have disagreed a couple of times over the level of surveillance UA should aim for when it comes to students, especially now that the dorm system had been implemented. But he can’t help a kid he doesn’t understand. He can’t help Midoriya recover from anaesthesia any faster, but he can try and understand the missing piece connecting Midoriya to Yagi.

“So,” Shouta says, voice flat. “One For All.”

Yagi sits up straighter. “He told you?” 

“He was scared,” Shouta says. He was dying, he doesn’t say, because he isn’t, he didn’t. 

“It’s…his story to tell, now,” Yagi says, and there’s a discomfort there that almost makes Shouta smile.

“Sure,” he says. “Delay the inevitable.” Shouta shakes his head. “That kid’s braver than you.”

“I know,” Yagi says simply, and a quick scan of his expression shows Shouta that he isn’t joking. 

Shouta thinks they’re done, but Yagi turns to face him, solemn and sincere. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for getting him out of there alive.”

Shouta gives a short nod. “He did it himself.”

Yagi smiles. “You should get used to being thanked. I’m sure young Midoriya will be very grateful when he wakes.”

“Delaying the inevitable,” Shouta murmurs, slumping back in his chair, letting his eyes fall shut trying not to see echoes of the night’s horrors reflected in the dark.

#bnha fic #dadzawa #aizawa #midoriya #feel like my ~brand~ makes this kinda obvious but there's no major character death here!! #just big angst #thank you for the prompt!!! #gonna keep the second part of your ask in mind too bc that's exactly my kind of shit

[mrlnsfrt]

Use it or Lose it

This is my third post in the Waiting, Watching, Ready series. We began with Matthew 24:36-51 (The Faithful Servant), then we studied Matthew 25:1-13 (Character is not Transferrable) and have now arrived at Matthew 25:14. In this portion of the Bible Jesus is teaching His followers about His second coming. Here’s what we have learned so far:

The first parable taught us that the second coming of Jesus will be unexpected. Matthew 24:42-44 (The Faithful Servant)

The second parable taught us that we have to be more than merely passively waiting. We have responsibilities, things to do as we wait for Jesus to come again. Matthew 24:45-51

In the study of the third parable, we learned that we must be prepared for an unexpected delay. Matthew 25:1-13. (Character is not Transferrable)

The fourth parable goes beyond the first three (Matthew 24:42–25:13) in that “it expects the watchfulness of the servants to manifest itself during the master’s absence, not only in preparedness and performance of duty, even if there is a long delay, but in an improvement of the allotted “talents” till the day of reckoning.” (Carson, D. A. (1984). Matthew. In F. E. Gaebelein (Ed.), The Expositor’s Bible Commentary: Matthew, Mark, Luke (Vol. 8, p. 515). Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House.)

In the parable of the talents, Jesus showed us what it means to watch for His coming. “The time is to be spent, not in idle waiting, but in diligent working.” (White, E. G. (1900). Christ’s Object Lessons (p. 325). Review and Herald Publishing Association.)

The kingdom of heaven is like…

“For the kingdom of heaven is like a man traveling to a far country, who called his own servants and delivered his goods to them. And to one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one, to each according to his own ability; and immediately he went on a journey. - Matthew 25:14-15 NKJV

The man traveling into a far country represents Christ, who, when speaking this parable, was soon to depart from this earth to heaven. The “servants”, or slaves, of the parable, represent the followers of Christ.

As we get ready to dive into this parable, it is worth keeping in mind that according to 1 Corinthians 6:20, we are not our own, since we have been “bought with a price.” And 1 Peter 1:18, 19 adds that we were redeemed not “with corruptible things, as silver and gold, … but with the precious blood of Christ.” The conclusion then is that we who live, should live no longer for ourselves, but for Him who died for us and rose again. 2 Corinthians 5:15

All of humanity has been bought with this infinite price. We are also called to do service for Him who gave all for us. This parable teaches us that we will be required to render an account of how willing we are to do the work which Christ called us to do at the great judgment day. We have been redeemed for service, to live as Christ lived. Jesus showed us by how He lived His life that ministry is the true object of life. Just like Jesus, we are to live a life of service to God and our fellow human beings. As we minister to others we are brought into a closer connection to Christ, we better understand His heart. What an incredible privilege to co-operate with Jesus for the salvation of souls!

Talents

In New Testament times a talanton (“talent”) was a unit of exchange and estimates of its value very enormously for several reasons. A talent could be of gold, silver, or copper, and each has its own value. Also, the weight could vary from 58lbs to 80lbs (26Kg - 36Kg). You could try to calculate the value by weight and metallic value, but inflation makes this quite inaccurate. A talent could also be a unit of coinage, one common value assigned it being six thousand denarii. (The Expositor’s Bible Commentary: Matthew, Mark, Luke (Vol. 8, p. 516) Matthew 20:2, John 12:5 refer to a denarius as a day’s wage, so if we could say that one talent is roughly the equivalent of 6,000 days’ wages. There are 261 working days in 2021 and if I divide 6,000 by 261 I get roughly 23. So, one talent is about 23 years’ worth of income. If someone is making $7.25 an hour (federal minimum wage in the US) and working full time (40 hours per week) this person would make $15,080 per year. Multiply that by 23 and you get $346,840. If someone was to give you that much money, could you think of some ways to make that money work for you? What I want you to understand is that even one talent is worth quite a bit!

It is also worth noting that the Master is trusting his servants with a great deal of responsibility, essentially making them partners, giving them the opportunity to invest, grow, and develop. These servants are receiving capital and creative freedom.

In the parable, the master gives his servants an amount of money. But how can we make a practical application from that if Jesus never walked up to us and handed us a bag with hundreds of thousands of dollars? A traditional approach that I believe is very valid and works well is to look at what God gives us. Besides salvation and eternal life, God also gives us things that we can use in our lives here on earth. The Bible describes these as gifts of the Spirit.

To better understand this let’s take a look at 1 Corinthians 12 where Paul talks about the gifts and blessings given to us by the Holy Spirit.

for to one is given the word of wisdom through the Spirit, to another the word of knowledge through the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healings by the same Spirit, to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another discerning of spirits, to another different kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues. But one and the same Spirit works all these things, distributing to each one individually as He wills. - 1 Corinthians 12:8–11 NKJV

We do not all receive the same gifts, but to every servant of the Master some gift of the Spirit is promised.

Though Jesus had promised the outpouring of the Holy Spirit to His disciples (John 20:22, Luke 24:49), it was not until after His ascension was the gift received in its fullness. And it was not until the disciples had surrendered themselves fully through faith and prayer that they received the outpouring of the Spirit.

“When He ascended on high, He led captivity captive, And gave gifts to men.” - Ephesians 4:8b NKV

The gifts are already ours in Christ, but their actual possession depends upon our reception of the Spirit of God. God is willing to give us the gifts, are we willing to accept them? Do we surrender to Him and pray for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit?

“The promise of the Spirit is not appreciated as it should be. Its fulfillment is not realized as it might be. It is the absence of the Spirit that makes the gospel ministry so powerless. Learning, talents, eloquence, every natural or acquired endowment, may be possessed; but without the presence of the Spirit of God, no heart will be touched, no sinner be won to Christ. On the other hand, if they are connected with Christ, if the gifts of the Spirit are theirs, the poorest and most ignorant of His disciples will have a power that will tell upon hearts. God makes them the channel for the outworking of the highest influence in the universe.” - Christ’s Object Lessons p328

What are my talents?

At this point, you might be wondering what are your talents. I have often wondered what my talents are. I have taken many inventories to help me discover my talents or gifts. I have discovered that my talents or gifts tend to change with the stages of my life and the current needs, in other words, my talents seem to change depending on my environment. I have not experienced complete changes but rather shifts in how I apply what God has given me to help His kingdom grow.

I would like to encourage you to not only think about talents as special gifts given by the Holy Spirit. Many of you might be tempted to feel as I often have, that I don’t have any special gifts or talents. I would rather encourage you to think about your natural, acquired, or spiritual gifts and abilities. In other words, as we become disciples of Jesus we offer ourselves to Him and that includes all that we are and have. The way I imagine it in my head is that I give God all my abilities and He takes them, purifies them, multiplies them, and returns them to me ennobled so that they may be used for His glory in blessing people within my sphere of influence.

Stop comparing yourself with others.

Could it be that part of the reason that the servant buried his one talent is that he resented the others for receiving more talents? Maybe he thought it was not fair that the Master gave him only one talent. We don’t know the answer to this, but I have met people who refuse to do anything just because they do not have the talents that others around them have.

And to one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one, to each according to his own ability; and immediately he went on a journey. - Matthew 25:15 NKJV (bold mine)

Each man and woman receives from God according to their ability. If you struggle with using one talent for God, do you really think it would be easier if you had more talents? First, put to work what you have. In the parable, both the servant who received five and the one who received two talents receive the same words of affirmation. It is not a race or a comparison, rather each servant who puts what the master gave her to work receives a reward. All you have to do is use what you have for the honor and glory of God. Don’t worry about how many talents someone else has, or how gifted some people are, you just focus on being faithful with what God has given you, and He has given each of us something.

Instead of concerning yourself with how much you have received, it is far more beneficial to concern yourself with what you are doing with what you have.

Goal, Purpose, Meaning

2020 was a very challenging year, and 2021 will likely be full of changes and challenges. So what do we do? We can complain about how things are, how different life is, and all the new challenges we are facing. Suddenly we are having to learn new skills and adapt. I would say most of us have been thrust out of our comfort zones and had to re-analyze how we will go about life this year. I have a few notions that have helped center me whenever I feel the tendency to spin out of control, to get discouraged, or to lose sight of the main goal or purpose for living. So here are a few statements that help center me:

The development of all my abilities is the first duty I owe to God and to those around me.

If I am not growing daily in capability and usefulness then I am not fulfilling the purpose of my life.

I should cultivate every faculty to the highest degree of perfection, that I may do the greatest amount of good of which I am capable. 

I am not perfect, but perfection is my goal. I think this way because it keeps me humble, it keeps me relying on God, it keeps me hungry for opportunities to learn and grow in every area of life. The growth that I seek is not humanly attainable, so I have to rely on God, and God gets the glory for all the success in my life.

Never should we lower the standard of righteousness in order to accommodate inherited or cultivated tendencies to wrong-doing. - Christ’s Object Lessons p330

Another reason that I personally aim for perfection is that to lower the standard would mean there are some sins that I want to bring to heaven with me. I am not trying to save myself by good works or to become sinless through self-discipline. I simply confess and turn to Jesus for help as I become aware of things in my life that are not as they should be. I imagine I will be on this journey my whole life, and I am okay with that. I am saved by grace through faith. I aim for perfection so that I can better serve those around me. It is for the sake of the mission.

I find that my greatest struggle is to completely surrender my will to God. I am still practicing and learning how to do this. I find that I have the greatest victories and joy when I surrender to Christ, I have also discovered that I don’t always stay surrendered. It is a daily routine, and some days it feels more difficult than others.

Shoot for the moon!

According to this parable, it is possible to multiply that which God has given you. So think through this with me.

Do you think that God wants to use you to bless those around you (Genesis 12:2)?

Do you think that God wants to fill you with His Holy Spirit (Luke 11:13)?

Do you think that God wants to save others and is willing to use you in the process (Matthew 28:19-20)?

Now imagine yourself going through life accomplishing very little, and the only reason is that you only dared to try very few things. Imagine the only reason why you haven’t accomplished more being that you have not prayerfully tried to do more. You simply settled assuming this was all there was to life.

In the parable, the Master gives the talents, but the workers decide what they will do with their master’s resources. The way I see this is that God can give you all you need to succeed, but you can decide to just bury what He gave you.

How can you reach higher than what you aim for? You can’t. So aim high. You will find that in ministry, and oftentimes in life as well, barriers that you overcome give you the courage to keep going. They help you grow and develop and grow stronger. But you will never know that you are capable of doing for the honor and glory of God from your comfort zone. You have to step out and prayerfully move forward according to God’s plan for your life.

Choose Love over Fear

We have all made mistakes. I know I have made plenty. However, do not allow past mistakes to prevent you from trying new things. Look at past mistakes and regard them as warning signs. This way your previous mistakes and defeats pave the way for your future victories. This is how we disappoint Satan and honor Jesus. Instead of being afraid of making mistakes, decide to do what you love, what Love calls you to do. You will likely make more mistakes in your journey, but it is part of the journey, it keeps us humble and leaning on God.

The Secret to Success

“I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing. - John 15:5 NKJV

Imagine wanting to do something that God wants you to do. Something that God has called you to do. Do you think that God would enable you to accomplish it? Would you agree that God enables you to do that which He has called you to do?

And God is able to make all grace abound toward you, that you, always having all sufficiency in all things, may have an abundance for every good work. - 2 Corinthians 9:8 NKJV

Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen. - Ephesians 3:20-21 NKJV

Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Amen. - Matthew 28:19-20 NKJV

Jesus Himself is the answer to all our needs and to our success in ministry. When we turn to Him He supplies all our needs and enables us to do that which He has called us to do. It is Jesus who gives us success. I find that ministry keeps me dependent on Jesus, ministering to others reminds me of my great need of Jesus.

The Master Returns

After a long time the lord of those servants came and settled accounts with them. - Matthew 25:19 NKJV

One day we will face Jesus and give an account of how we lived our lives and how we used the His resources that he lent to us. I don’t mean to scare anyone, however, if it would be dishonest of me to skip over this portion of the story.

“So he who had received five talents came and brought five other talents, saying, ‘Lord, you delivered to me five talents; look, I have gained five more talents besides them.’ His lord said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant; you were faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord.’ - Matthew 25:20-21 NKJV

The servant with the most talents invested them and doubled what his master had originally given him. The master is happy and rewards him with more responsibilities and access to the joy of his lord.

He also who had received two talents came and said, ‘Lord, you delivered to me two talents; look, I have gained two more talents besides them.’ His lord said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord.’ - Matthew 25:22-23 NKJV

The servant who had two talents also doubled what his master had given him. Even though in the end he only had four talents, not even the same amount the first servant started off, he hears the same words of approval as the servant who had 10 talents for the master.

So far we have seen that the master has rewarded each servant for being faithful to what he was given. The servants were not compared to each other. Each servant worked with what he had received and gained more and the master was pleased with them. From this, we learn that any work done for God with a full surrender of self is as acceptable to Him as the highest service. No offering is small that is given from the bottom of our heart with honesty and joy.

The Wicked and Lazy Servant

“Then he who had received the one talent came and said, ‘Lord, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you have not sown, and gathering where you have not scattered seed. And I was afraid, and went and hid your talent in the ground. Look, there you have what is yours.’ - Matthew 25:24-25 NKJV

The servant who had received one talent did nothing with it and blamed his lord for his behavior. He viewed his lord as a hard man and he froze in fear, perhaps in fear of doing something wrong. Some people try to motivate others into involvement in ministry out of fear, but I do not think that is a healthy approach. I really hope this post does not have that effect. I want you to be excited about doing your best for your Master, and not terrified of His judgment.

Judgment

To be clear, all the servants had to face judgment. All servants were given resources and all servants had a say in what they would ultimately do with what they were given. Two servants invested what their lord gave them and one servant decided to bury what his lord had given him.

“But his lord answered and said to him, ‘You wicked and lazy servant, you knew that I reap where I have not sown, and gather where I have not scattered seed. So you ought to have deposited my money with the bankers, and at my coming I would have received back my own with interest. So take the talent from him, and give it to him who has ten talents.

‘For to everyone who has, more will be given, and he will have abundance; but from him who does not have, even what he has will be taken away. And cast the unprofitable servant into the outer darkness. There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ - Matthew 25:26-30 NKJV (bold mine)

The lord describes this servant as wicked, lazy, and unprofitable. Turns out the whole fear thing was an excuse for a servant who deep inside really was not interested in putting his talent to work for his lord. The servant was not only wicked, but he was also lazy and that made him unprofitable. This servant was not invited “into the joy of [his] lord.”

What this servant overlooks is his responsibility to his master and his obligation to discharge his assigned duties. His failure betrays his lack of love for his master, which he masks by blaming his master and excusing himself. Only the wicked servant blames his master. “The foolish virgins failed from thinking their part too easy; the wicked servant fails from thinking his too hard” (Alf). Grace never condones irresponsibility; even those given less are obligated to use and develop what they have. - Carson, D. A. (1984). Matthew. In F. E. Gaebelein (Ed.), The Expositor’s Bible Commentary: Matthew, Mark, Luke (Vol. 8, p. 517). Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House. (bold mine)

It is also interesting to note what Jesus said in Luke 16

He who is faithful in what is least is faithful also in much; and he who is unjust in what is least is unjust also in much. - Luke 16:10 NKJV

I believe it is safe to assume that the servant who received one talent, would also have failed to multiply five talents if he had received them. How we do small things is how we do everything. The importance of the little things is often underrated because they are small, but they supply much of the actual discipline of life. There are really no nonessentials in the Christian’s life. Our character building will be full of danger while we underrate the importance of the little things.

Conclusion

Studying the parable of the talents we have learned that talents used are talents multiplied. We also noticed that success is not the result of chance or of destiny; it is the outworking of God’s own providence, the reward of faith and responsibility, of character and persevering effort.

Jesus desires us to use every gift we have; and if we do this, we will have greater gifts to use. God does not supernaturally endow us with the qualifications we lack; but while we use that which we have, He will work with us to increase and strengthen every ability.

While we yield ourselves as instruments for the Holy Spirit’s working, the grace of God works in us to deny old inclinations, to overcome powerful propensities, and to form new habits. As we cherish and obey the promptings of the Spirit, our hearts are enlarged to receive more and more of His power, and to do more and better work. Dormant energies are aroused, and palsied faculties receive new life. - Christ’s Object Lessons (p. 354)

It does not matter how small you think your talent is, God has a place for it. Your one talent, wisely used, will accomplish its appointed work. By faithfulness in little duties, we can work on the plan of addition, and God will work for us on the plan of multiplication. These littles will become the most precious influences in His work. Stop waiting for some big work to satisfy your personal ambition, and start being faithful in the small things in your life. We do not get to choose our talents. God often uses the humblest instrument to do the greatest work, His power is revealed in human weakness.

But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to put to shame the things which are mighty; and the base things of the world and the things which are despised God has chosen, and the things which are not, to bring to nothing the things that are, - 1 Corinthians 1:27-28 NKJV

Whatever our work may be, we can honor God by doing it well, wholeheartedly, and cheerfully. However, when we fail to use our talents when we bury what God gave us, we lose it. Just like other things in our life, things that go neglected and unused for a long time weaken and decay. Idleness leads to death, not only physically but also spiritually.

When we employ the gifts God has given us to bless others, our gifts increase. However, when we shut up our gifts and only use them in a self-serving way, they diminish and are finally eliminated. 

God has given you gifts, and it is up to you whether you will use them to bless those around you and bring honor and glory to God, or whether you will busy the and lose them.

The choice is yours.

Choose wisely.

#talents #Parable #Matthew #New Testament

[beeblackburn]

Pretender Reads A Little Hatred, Part I, Chapter Four

For those keeping score, I’m clipping through a chapter-a-day! Goes without saying spoilers ahead for the entirety of The First Law works beyond the keep reading. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Title: Keeping Score Point-of-View: Savine dan Glokta

Glokta once thought this of Valint and Balk:

So this is what true wealth looks like. This is how true power appears. The austere temple of the golden goddess. He watched the clerks working at their neat stacks of documents, at their neat desks arranged in neat rows. There the acolytes, inducted into the lowest mysteries of the church. His eyes flickered to those waiting. Merchants and moneylenders, shopkeepers and shysters, traders and tricksters in long queues, or waiting nervously on hard chairs around the hard walls. Fine clothes, perhaps, but anxious manners. The fearful congregation, ready to cower should the deity of commerce show her vengeful streak. 

—Last Argument of Kings, Too Many Masters

I don’t think he ever anticipated said golden goddess to be walking in the flesh.

But she is no goddess, no. Not of the benevolent kind.

She is the Devil, kin to the devil-blood themselves.

Sparks showered into the night, the heat a constant pressure on Savine’s smiling face. Beyond the yawning doorway, straining bodies and straining machinery were rendered devilish by the glow of molten metal. Hammers clattered, chains rattled, steam hissed, labourers cursed. The music of money being made.

She is Kanedias, overseeing the workers, hot at the forges, seething with production and things that worked, just like him.

One-sixth of the Hill Street Foundry, after all, belonged to her.

Caring naught for humanity, this is another workshop set in Hell, full of Shanka, workers made to do the Master Maker’s bidding.

One of the six great sheds was her property. Two of the twelve looming chimneys. One in every six of the new machines spinning inside, of the coals in the great heaps shovelled in the yard, of the hundreds of twinkling panes of glass that faced the street. Not to mention one-sixth part of the ever-increasing profits. A flood of silver to put His Majesty’s mint to shame.

But, unlike Kanedias, this devil-blood cares more for money than weapons, the work leveraged to profit instead of done for the work itself. And, as the times go, smaller, meaner people walk beyond the shadows of greater people. 

And whose shadow better than the first to commit to the power of coin?

“It was money that bought victory in King Guslav’s half-baked Gurkish war,” said Bayaz. “It was money that united the Open Council behind their bastard king. It was money that brought Duke Orso rushing to the defence of his daughter and tipped the balance in our favour. All my money.”

—Last Argument of Kings, Answers

This devil-blood walks in the shadows of the First of the Magi himself, only further committed to the High Art of making money.

And, on a voice standpoint, just read how much Savine’s POV is precise in the details of her workshop, how much numbers and calculations factors into it. How many longer, lingering sentences and more complex vocabulary there is, compared to Rikke or Leo’s chapters. This is a thinking woman, full of ambition and comfortable in the Other Side.

But, what is a Kanedias without his Jaremias? Or, better yet...

“Best not to loiter, my lady,” murmured Zuri, fires gleaming in her eyes as she glanced about the darkened street.

A Bayaz without his Yoru Sulfur?

She was right, as always. Most young ladies of Savine’s acquaintance would have come over faint at the suggestion of visiting this part of Adua without a company of soldiers in attendance. But those who wish to occupy the heights of society must be willing to dredge the depths from time to time, when they see opportunities glitter in the filth.

“On we go,” said Savine, boot heels squelching as she followed their link-boy’s bobbing light into the maze of buildings. Narrow houses with whole families wedged into every room leaned together, a spider’s web of flapping washing strung between, laden carts rumbling beneath and showering filth to the rooftops. Where whole blocks had not been cleared to make way for the new mills and manufactories, the crooked lanes reeked of coal smoke and woodsmoke, blocked drains and no drains at all. It was a borough heaving with humanity. Seething with industry. And, most importantly, boiling over with money to be made.

Quite the ambitious woman, Savine is, and with the prerequisite lack of scruples that a child of Glokta would have. Yet, Glokta never had this sort of ambition to him, even before the Gurkhul Empire got to him. After, he was just trying to keep his head above water and do his best to win. If I had to put my finger on where Savine gets her ambitions from, first trilogy-wise? I’d say it’s West more than Glokta. Savine shares quite a few characteristics with Glokta, but it’s that need to rise that I feel she shares with her uncle Collem West.

And look at this dense microcosm of the peasantry! Full of squalor, wretched stenches, spaces full of cramped families, it’s a tapestry stitched full of misery, and all Savine sees is that very humanity being put to use for making money.

Savine was by no means the only one who saw it. It was payday, and impromptu merchants swarmed about the warehouses and forges, hoping to lighten the labourers’ purses as they spilled out after work, selling small pleasures and meagre necessities. Selling themselves, if they could only find a buyer.

There were others hoping to lighten purses by more direct means. Grubby little cutpurses weaving through the crowds. Footpads lurking in the darkness of the alleys. Thugs slouching on the corners, keen to collect on behalf of the district’s many moneylenders.

I once read about how the only differences between the great and small thieves is a matter of legality and scale. And it really shows here, how we’ll take advantage of the poor conditions that the working class must endure, only to fill our own pockets. It hardly matters whether we steal with a small pleasure given or a sharp knife at the back, it’s taking advantage of those without much to line our own bottom lines.

Risks, perhaps, and dangers, but Savine had always loved the thrill of a gamble, especially when the game was rigged in her favour. She had long ago learned that at least half of everything is presentation. Seem a victim, soon become one. Seem in charge, people fall over themselves to obey.

So she walked with a swagger, dressed in the dizzy height of fashion, lowering her eyes for no one. She walked painfully erect, although Zuri’s earlier heaving on the laces of her corset gave her little choice. She walked as if it was her street—and indeed she did own five decaying houses further down, packed to their rotten rafters with Gurkish refugees paying twice the going rent.

Then it’s not really a gamble, is it, Savine. That’s stacking the deck, reaping the rewards of it, and patting yourself on the back for being a daring risk-taker, you fool. If that’s the root of your arrogance, then, boy, is this world going to topple you sooner than later because it doesn’t treat the arrogant much better than the merciful. And, boy, is Savine not lacking in arrogance. She reminds me of a pre-bridge Glokta, in terms of how much she buys into her own hype.

An intriguing nugget, though, is her predisposition with presentation. That need to perform and look a certain part. It’s definitely something Glokta, back then, never felt like he had to. I get more shades of West here and his need to perform to a certain standard, but I also think the question of gender has to be considered with how Savine feels she has to perform. It’s an interesting wrinkle in how Savine zigs where Glokta zagged in terms of their respective youths.

Also, Gurkish refugees? (arches a brow) What the hell happened to the Gurkish Empire? Or, are these just people who got tired of the cannibalistic slavery? I can’t really blame them, but is the Union really that much better, guys? Hmmm. Either way, way to take advantage of marginalized people in a racist society, Savine. You’re a class act, m’am, truly.

Zuri was a great reassurance on one side, Savine’s beautifully wrought short steel a great reassurance on the other. Many young ladies had been affecting swords since Finree dan Brock caused a sensation by wearing one to court. Savine found that nothing lent one confidence like a length of sharpened metal close to hand.

Whoa, whoa. Finree wears a sword nowadays? ... Actually, given how Hal’s dead, I can definitely see this as a way to establish authority and put herself on the same level of respect as a man in the Union. And, given how much there’s institutional sexism in that society, I can’t really blame her. Though, given the round of PTSD she got last handling a blade... I’m sure she doesn’t want to actually kill anyone with it now. 

Honestly, though, good for Savine and those women of the Union. Better weigh your hopes of safety on a sword than the mercies of your men or enemies.

Savine gathered her skirts so she could squat beside him and look in his dirt-smeared face. She wondered if he sponged the muck on as artfully as her maids did her powder, to arouse just the right amount of sympathy. Clean children need no charity, after all.

Wow, Savine, has it ever occurred to you that the conditions you benefit off of aren’t as pristine as you make it out to be? Have you considered that maybe the world isn’t a projection of your own inclinations to performance? 

Just no empathy here, none at all.

She was not at all above sentimental displays of generosity. The whole point of squeezing one’s partners in private was so they could do the squeezing in public. Savine, meanwhile, could smile ever so sweetly, and toss coins to an urchin or two, and appear virtuous without the slightest damage to her bottom line. When it comes to virtue, after all, appearances are everything.

The boy stared at the silver as though it was some legendary beast he had heard of but never hoped to see. “For me?”

She knew that in her button and buckle manufactory in Holsthorm, smaller and probably dirtier children were paid a fraction as much for a long day’s hard labour. The manager insisted little fingers were best suited to little tasks, and cost only little wages, too. But Holsthorm was far away, and things in the distance seem very small. Even the sufferings of children.

“For you.” She did not go as far as ruffling his hair, of course. Who knew what might be living in it?

I’m very reminded of capitalists donating to particular charities while turning a blind eye to the very real exploitation and labor abuse they perpetuate and are supported by. They can afford to look virtuous and get ass-pats for giving what’s effectively their pocket change, but god forbid they do things like get taxed heavier or give enough to put a good dent in most cases of institutional poverty. It’s all about appearances, and so long as you close your mind to the golden pillars, stained with blood, your entire enterprise is supported on, you can justify any means for profit.

And what frightens me about this is... this isn’t some relic from the past. Child labor is still a thing world-wide! And plenty of capitalists rely on them, plenty of our industries rely on them, just to squeeze out extra money to gild their bottom line. And we turn a blind eye on them and ignore the moral horrors of them out of convenience, because to look those children in the eye would make us monsters. And Savine prefers not to feel like a monster, but is more than willing to keep up the hellish circumstances that churn out her money.

“None more blessed, my scripture-teacher once declared, than those who light the way for others.”

“Was that the one who fathered a child on one of his other pupils?”

“That’s him.” Zuri’s black brows thoughtfully rose. “So much for spiritual instruction.”

Zuri’s certainly got a character, being a more cynical follower of religion, huh. I wonder if she’s been disillusioned by her faith, just like Temple was. And why she went to the atheist arms of the Union. I also wonder if this isn’t a commentary on how our religious leaders end up falling short of the actual beliefs and commit to the obscene and awful while papering it over with their high position.

Zuri whipped out a cloth and wiped down a vacant section of the counter, then, as Savine sat, she slipped out the pin and whisked away her hat without disturbing a hair. She kept it close to her chest, which was prudent. Savine’s hat was probably worth more than this entire building, including the clientele. At a brief assay, they only reduced its value.

And who’s partly responsible for that discrepancy of worth, huh, Savine?

She planted one elbow on the stretch of counter Zuri had wiped so she could lean closer and draw out both syllables. “Savine.”

“That’s a lovely name.”

“Oh, if you enjoy the tip, you’ll go mad for the whole thing.”

“That so?” he purred at her. “How does it go?”

“Savine… dan…” And she leaned even closer to deliver the punchline. “Glokta.”

If a name had been a knife and she had cut his throat with hers, the blood could not have drained more quickly from his face. He gave a strangled cough, took a step back and nearly fell over one of his own barrels.

Well, well, well! Glokta’s gotten quite the name for himself, it seems! Can’t exactly be surprised, given he’s the effective ruler of the Union and the Arch Lector of the Inquisition, but it’s a far cry from the simple Inquisitor he started off as, way back at the first trilogy’s start. He’s riding high at the top and Savine gets to use his name to put the screws on random dumbfucks.

Quite theatrical with her words, Savine is! She knows when to let her opponent in, so she can skewer him. Her fencing is such that she knows how to leverage her father’s name to a fine emotional stab to the throat once her opponent dips in and she lunges for the kill. Say one thing about Savine dan Glokta, say she knows how to fence, just like her father.

“If I spent all my time shut up with Mother, we would kill each other,” said Savine. “And I feel that business should be conducted, whenever possible, in person. Otherwise one’s partners can convince themselves that one’s eyes are not on the details. My eyes are always on the details, Majir.”

Oh, dang. Is that exaggeration or do Savine and Ardee not have a good relationship? Also, dang, is Ardee still alone in her home? That’s... actually really sad, given how lonely she was at the first trilogy’s start. She deserves better. 

Also, Savine’s not wrong, but at the same time, I can’t read this as anything other than Savine not wanting her partners to fuck her over somewhere. Which, I can’t quite blame her for, but when she’s as rich as she’s implied to be...

My understanding runs thinner. Though, I suppose she wouldn’t have gotten the wealth she did by being a passive business partner that way.

“A promissory note from the banking house of Valint and Balk.”

“Really?” Valint and Balk had a dark reputation, even for a bank. Savine’s father had often warned her never to deal with them, because once you owe Valint and Balk, the debt is never done. But a promissory note was just money, and money can never be a bad thing. She tossed the pouch to Zuri, who peered inside and gave the smallest nod. “It’s coming to something when even the bandits are using the bank.”

Majir mildly raised one brow. “Honest women have the law to protect them. Bandits must take more care with their earnings.”

!!!!! WHOA, WHOA, WHOA. Is that a smart call, Majir? Glokta’s not wrong there!!! There’s half a trilogy detailing how awful that bank is! 

Savine, what are you doing. For such a ruthless and to-the-point woman, that’s pretty naive to assume money is money when your father himself warned you against it! Banks have ruined better people than you, and it’s indebted your father! How can you say something like that and think it smart?

(Bangs head against desk)

“True.” Majir watched her turn away, big fists pressed into the counter. “Do pass my regards to your father.”

Savine laughed. “Let’s not demean ourselves by pretending my father gives a dry fuck for your regards.” And she blew a kiss at the terrified barman on her way out.

This, along with her pinching Majir’s cheek earlier, makes me think Savine just gets off on punching down and patronizing people lower than her. Makes for a killer ending line, but it doesn’t suggest any good things about Savine as a person at all.

Dietam dan Kort, famed architect, was a man who gave every appearance of being in control. His desk, scattered with maps, surveys and draughtsman’s drawings, was certainly a wonder of engineering. Savine had moved among the most powerful men in the realm and still doubted she had ever seen a larger. It filled his office so completely, there was only the narrowest of passages around the edges to reach his chair. He must have needed help to squeeze himself through every morning. She wondered if she should recommend her corset-maker.

“Lady Savine,” he intoned. “What an honour.”

“Isn’t it, though?” She made him lean dangerously far across the desk in order to kiss her hand. Savine studied his, meanwhile, big and broad with fingers scarred from hard work. A self-made man. His greying hair was painstakingly scraped across a pate quite obviously bald. A proud and a vain man. She noticed a slight fraying of the cuffs on his once-splendid coat. A man in straitened circumstances, intent on appearing otherwise.

In short, a man Savine will take pleasure in wringing. And I must take note of the passages here, how much Savine’s POV attends to the details of her surroundings, of the appearance and small notes that others would miss. In a lot of ways, she’s the opposite of Leo, someone who takes pains to note the presentation of another because she’s very driven to it herself and thinks to leverage that knowledge to squeeze those who can be.

Also, I kind of wonder if noble titles can be bought in this world, given this assumption of Dietam dan Kort as a self-made man. Either that or Kort’s just a son from a smaller family who managed to get a good opportunity through this new age. Either way, given the way Savine’s accumulated her wealth, despite her noble title of Glokta, I imagine he’s similar to her, if only not as successful.

Zuri placed Majir’s pouch on the desk as delicately as if it had been deposited by a summer breeze. It looked very small on that immense expanse of green leather. But that was the magic of banks. They could render the priceless tiny, the immense worthless.

I’m reminded of Daniel Abraham’s The Dagger and the Coin and how the big twist was this dawn of paper money about to circulate throughout the world. And how it’s a sort of magic in its own right... but it’s always a blessing and curse, just like magic in the Circle of the World. 

“Of course!” He was unable to disguise a note of eager greed as he reached across the desk. “I believe we agreed a twentieth share—”

Savine placed one fingertip on the corner of the pouch. “You mentioned a twentieth. I remained silent.”

His hand froze. “Then…?”

“A fifth.”

There was a pause. While he decided how outraged he could afford to be, and Savine decided how little to appear to care.

Eager greed, huh? Me thinks, the raven call the crow black here. And there’s another note of projection in Savine’s POV, it’s a consistent note of Savine seeing intent where there might not be. She does it with the link-boy about how dirty he was, and now, she does it with Kort’s outrage. She just can’t seem to think that these reactions and people are genuine. Her head’s full of presentation and performance, and she just seems to internalize that there’s always a double-meaning to everything and everyone.

It’s honestly a really fascinating note about how unreliable Savine might be, how much her predilection with appearances bleeds into how much she reads into the world.

“When I confide, in strictest confidence, that you are short of investment, lacking the necessary permissions and troubled by restless workmen, it will be all over town before sunup.”

“Sure as printing it in a pamphlet,” said Zuri, sadly.

“Good luck finding an investor then, reasonable or otherwise.”

It had only taken a moment for Kort to go from bright red to deathly pale, and Savine burst out laughing. “Don’t be silly, I won’t do that!” She stopped laughing. “Because you are going to sign one-fifth of your enterprise over to me. Now. Then I can confide in Tilde that I just made the investment of a lifetime, and she won’t be able to resist investing herself. She’s not only loose-lipped, you see, but tight-fisted, too.”

Oh, very hard power here, Savine. Corporate blackmail and underhanded threats, I very well see. It must do your black heart a bundle of joy to punch down on fellow nobles. There’s barely any carrot here, mostly the stick.

“Greed is a quality the priests abhor.” Zuri sighed. “Especially the rich ones.”

“But so widespread these days,” lamented Savine. “If Lady Rucksted sees some gain in it, I daresay she can persuade her husband to make a breach in Casamir’s Wall so you can extend your canal into the Three Farms.” And Savine could sell the worthless slum buildings she had bought on the canal’s likely route back to herself at an immense profit. ���The marshal’s notoriously stubborn for most of us but to his wife he’s a pussycat. You know how it is with old men and their young brides.”

In a lot of ways, this feels like a statement of the new generation, the new wave of greed that Sult disdained way back at the trilogy’s start is in full swing now. Now, Sult was a classist bigot who wanted the peasantry to knuckle down to nobility like old times, but at the same time, we see how much this attitude of greed has bled into the nobility themselves now, far beyond the realms of the merchants Sult once held in contempt. And Savine plays to get ahead of the others, already thinking reaches ahead of her competition here. Profit’s the name of the game, and she’s a natural hand at it...

“The first to do so.” Where it could service Savine’s three textile mills and the Hill Street Foundry, incidentally, and sharply raise their productivity. “I daresay—for a friend—I could even arrange a visit of His Majesty’s Inquisitors to a labour meeting. I imagine your troublesome workers will be far more pliable after a few stern examples are made.”

“Stern examples,” threw in Zuri, “are something the priests are always in favour of.”

... Though it doesn’t hurt to have father’s institutions as muscle to sweeten the pot, huh. Really, Savine, this is embarrassing if you think this is a fair game between you and Kort. You stacked the deck and have the dealer on your side and I imagine this wasn’t the first time you’ve leveraged the Inquisition in your business deals. (snorts)

Kort sagged, his chin settling into the roll of fat beneath it, his eyes fixed resentfully upon her. Clearly, he was not a man who liked to lose. But where would be the fun in beating men who did?

Savine really gets her kicks off punching down people lower than her. That’s like, an inherent part of her psychology, huh.

“A notary from the firm of Temple and Kahdia is already drawing up the papers. He will be in touch.” She turned towards the door.

Hey! Temple’s business! Sounds like he’s done well for himself since Red Country, I hope he’s doing well with Shy, Pit, and Ro! Though, dang, Temple, could your business not help out a woman like Savine?

“They warned me,” Kort grunted as he slid Valint and Balk’s note from the pouch. “That you care about nothing but money.”

“Why, what a pompous crowd they are. Beyond a point I passed long ago, I don’t even care about money.” Savine flicked the brim of her hat in farewell. “But how else is one to keep score?”

Oh, oh my. I know I’ve mentioned Kanedias, Bayaz, and West, but this part? This part? All Sand dan Glokta, down on a bone-deep level. This is the part of Glokta that just loved to lord his dominance over those who couldn’t punch back. The part that just loved to feel superior to everyone else, way back back at that bridge when he thrashed those fencers and wanted to wound West when his own blood was drawn. The part of him that can’t stand to lose, the need to win at all cost.

It’s all about the conquest with her and her father. There’s no higher-minded purpose behind it, it’s just the winning.

As a chapter, Keeping Score, is a microcosm of Savine’s character. There’s an arc in it, but not as strong as one as Where the Fight’s Hottest, nor is it quite as impactful as Blessings and Curses. But it has plenty of Abercrombie snark and some great starting fencing, though, with opponents that Savine can easily take down without much effort. But it sets up a great industrial age sweeping over Adua and how much that change’s going to affect the world going forward... and how Savine’s going to take that change by the tails. 

As a character... Savine’s 100% more interesting than Leo in a lot of ways, but at the same time, wow, is she just a spectacularly scummy person in most ways Leo just isn’t (aside from him being a oblivious musclehead). A capitalist who leverages her father in power plays and corporate blackmail, just to gain even more wealth that she doesn’t need out of a need to win. There are definitely interesting aspects to how Savine differs from her father and her historical DNAs, but in a lot of ways? She feels very reminiscent of pre-bridge Glokta in a way that makes me realize that man would’ve been downright insufferable as a POV. 

I can take Savine, because I definitely think she’s got a ton of potential and, you know, there’s no way Abercrombie would let her stay the same the entire book. Though, a curious thought is that Savine strikes me less a fantasy archetype than a modern archetype in a fantasy world. Hm. That’s an interesting thought, especially considering how much Temple was a modern character dropped in a fantasy western world.

PART I

Chapter One: Blessings and Curses Chapter Two: Where the Fight’s Hottest Chapter Three: Guilt Is a Luxury Chapter Four: Keeping Score Chapter Five:  A Little Public Hanging Chapter Six: The Breakers Chapter Seven: The Answer to Your Tears Chapter Eight: Young Heroes Chapter Nine: The Moment

#a little hatred #a little hatred spoilers #the age of madness #the first law #joe abercrombie #savine dan glokta #a little hatred part I

[tanadrin]

Reordberend

(part 20 of ?; first; previous; next)

The entire process of breaking down the shattered machine took three days. Katherine was impressed with the methodical approach the salvagers took. Under Andrac’s direction, everything was sorted: useful metal here, pieces too big to transport for now over there, tools in another pile, parts of tools in another. Using rope they had brought, and cables from the salvage, they began lashing together sleds from some of the spars, which they would have to drag over the rough slopes of the mountain pass, until they came to flat ground--it meant a lot of labor in the short term, but once they were back on the ice, it would mean they could bring back far more salvage than merely what could be carried on their backs. Though they would load up their packs and bags, too. The return journey would be considerably slower, but the reward for all this work, Eadwig said, was a bounty that would last them for many years. The most precious thing they found were the solar panels and some self-contained energy cells that still had considerable charge. The nuclear power plant was too heavy and too dangerous to remove--apparently some salvagers had tried that once, on a different beast, and poisoned their whole village. But the energy cells could be safely distributed among the different valleys, to power essential things like forges and the underground moss farms. At least for a little while, life in the Valleys would be somewhat easier, the threat of some sudden disaster a little more distant.

Katherine supposed that this was, in a way, what all human life had been like until not too long ago--you were one bad growing season, one bad drought or some other natural disaster away from ruin. To say nothing of more human disasters: war or tyrants or some plague brought by traders from a distant land. It was hard for her to believe that the ancestors of the People had really understood what they were signing up for. Who would intentionally condemn their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren to a life of difficult labor and privation, even in the name of lofty ideals? But if any of the Dry Valleys People resented their ancestors’ choice, or thought it had been unwise, they didn’t show it. This was simply, for them, the Way Things Were, and there was a safety in that. The eternal, conservative urge of the human heart--and of societies schooled by scarcity--that says, we’ve got a tolerable thing going here. Let’s not upset the apple cart. It was a sentiment Katherine hardly shared, though she could appreciate the place it came from.

When they had finished with the first dragon, Andrac, Katherine, and a few others went to inspect the second. It was deeply buried; only part of its flank stuck out from beneath the ice and rubble that covered it, though the part that they could see didn’t look to be too badly damaged. A furious debate between Andrac and the others ensued, about whether they should attempt to salvage anything from this one, too. The party seemed to be of two minds: it would be dangerous, if the ground proved unstable or the repair and defense systems were still active. On the other hand, the reward was potentially greater. Even in the dry Antarctic air, which preserved much, wind and weather had rendered some of the most sensitive tools on the other platform useless. If this one had been buried not too long after it had ceased to function, it was possible it would yield even more valuable salvage.

“What do you think, Outlander?” Beonna asked.

Katherine was startled by the question. “Does it matter what I think?” she said.

“Sure it does. You’re in this same as us.”

Katherine shrugged. “I don’t know if it would be worth it or not, but even if it is, I don’t think we’re getting in to this one anytime soon. None of the hatches are exposed. There’s no interface for me to try like there was on the other one. You might be able to cut through the side there--but I don’t know how far you’d get.”

“It’s true,” Andrac said. “We can always mark the spot--come back later, with more men and tools.”

Beonna seemed to agree, and the decision was made. The haul they had was enough for the time being. The others went back to help load the sleds, but Katherine lingered for a little while, exploring the back of the great beast.

Dragon, dragon, she thought. From the Latin word, if she remembered correctly. When she was a kid she had been fascinated by old words, the way they reached out of the past and seemed to carry immense secrets within them. She had thought, when she was a teenager, that maybe languages or history would have been the thing to study--but there was nothing in that anymore, her teachers had told her. You had cybernetics and modules now. You didn’t have to spend years of your life in school, and years more of immersion in a foreign country to learn to communicate with people. The old grief of Babel had been reversed, and whether that was a good thing or a bad thing depended on who you asked, but it meant that the study of languages was as dead as the Romans. With it, too, had gone the study of ancient languages. Oh, sure, there might be modules out there for Latin or Greek, the really popular ones. But the world was no longer very much interested in the minutiae of its own history. It contended itself with the outlines. And it surely had no space for scholars to sit in dim offices in the corner of some university humanities department, poring over the work of long-dead philologists. Go into the sciences. Learn something useful! her teachers had told her. Well, maybe she hadn’t done exactly that. But she was still a scientist of a kind.

Something caught Katherine’s eye--a hatch or a compartment, a small one, just by her feet. She squatted down, and carefully pried the outer cover off, then popped off the access panel. Inside was a mess of electronic components. She poked around for a little bit, but she couldn’t make heads or tails, and there was no terminal or anything here. Something was still functioning inside this thing--there were a couple of indicator lights slowly blinking--but none of these seemed to be critical components. She poked around a bit more, then found something of interest.

It was a little black cylinder, about the size of her palm, with big block letters on it that said BACKUP DATA RECORDER - DO NOT REMOVE. Naturally, she removed it. She held it up; on the other side, it said PROPERTY OF ANTECO MINING INC - IF FOUND PLEASE RETURN - REWARD OFFERED. Some kind of retrievable storage? The equivalent of an airplane’s black box, maybe. It was a curious object, anyway, and Katherine liked curious. She slipped it into a pocket.

Underneath, in the spot where it had been seated, there was something that shined beautifully. Katherine reached in and pulled, and it came free--what looked to all the world like a dazzling, clear gemstone, set in silver. It was clearly some kind of electronic component, but despite its mundane nature, it looked like something out of a fairy tale. Perhaps she would find someone back in the Valleys who would enjoy something like this. That, too, she stuck in her pocket.

“Hey, Outlander!” someone called out. She stood and turned around; it was Andrac. “We’re almost ready to go.”

“Coming!” Katherine shouted back. She stumbled her way back down the side of the platform, and jogged over to help the others finish packing.

* * *

The first day of the return journey was brutal--a lot of pulling sleds up steep slopes, a lot of almost losing her footing and sprawling onto the stony ground, and a lot of cussing (on her part) and shouting (on others’). Mostly words of encouragement, but also some words Leofe definitely had not taught her. It took the whole expedition to get the heaviest sleds up the top of the ridge, and they could only be brought down the mountainside a couple at a time. If they lost control of one, it was likely to go careening down a slope or over a boulder--crash, bang, a god-awful mess, and, in the darkness, probably no way to recover the lost cargo. So they went slowly and carefully. But once they were on the ice again, they moved much more quickly. They all took turns helping to pull the sleds, even Katherine, though she didn’t feel like she was contributing much. Her time in Antarctica had definitely toughened her up a bit--she had muscles now in places she didn’t know you could have them before--but she still felt a little like the expedition mascot.

They didn’t head back to Leofe’s village--High Settlement, the one Katherine thought of as her home base--since that was pretty far up the Middle Valley. Instead, they made for one of the smaller outlying villages, which was barely more than a few cottages, less than half a kilometer from the edge of the glacier. They left the sleds below and staggered up the hill to the nearest house; despite the fact that nearly twenty exhausted, hungry people had just showed up, the villagers seemed happy enough to see them. They were even happier when they learned they had just come back from a salvage expedition. They began talking with the salvagers excitedly, then a few of them rushed off to their own houses.

“What’s that all about?” Katherine asked Andrac.

“They’re going to get ready.”

“Get ready for what?”

“To send word to the other villages. To bring more here. To help distribute the salvage. What, you didn’t think we were going to go around to every village ourselves, did you?”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t going to.”

Andrac laughed. “No, people will come here to get the things they need.”

“Who decides how everything is distributed?”

Andrac looked confused. “People will take what they need.”

“What if more than one person needs the same thing?”

“They’ll figure something out. Or they’ll share. Do they not having sharing where you come from?”

“Is there some kind of system of barter? Or trade? Money?”

“Money? Why would we need money?”

“Uhh--” Katherine didn’t know the word for ‘economics’ in the Dry Valleys tongue. “Your system, your system of, ah, distributing scarce resources. Some societies use money. Some exchange favors and gifts. Some rely on, er, relationships of kindred and friendship. I am curious about your people. What they use.”

Andrac raised an eyebrow. “We talk to each other. We make sure everybody has the things they need.”

Katherine suspected he was being deliberately unhelpful, but she didn’t press the question. Instead she thanked the villager who handed her a bowl of something hot and meaty, and settled herself down by the fire to rest. Every muscle in her body ached; she hoped they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Within six hours, the first people from other villages began to arrive. Katherine watched as they did; everyone went up to Andrac and Eadwig first, greeting them by name, complimenting them on the success of their expedition. There was a little ritual to it, even if it wasn’t a formal one. Only then did they go down to inspect the haul, looking over it all very carefully, talking to the salvagers about what they’d found. When they came back, they made pleasant small talk about the journey, the weather, how each other’s relatives were doing--but they did not discuss the salvage itself, and this surprised Katherine a little. When one of the men sat down near her, she spoke to him.

“I have a question,” she said.

“You’re the outlander, aren’t you?”

“My name is Katherine.”

“Mine is Gar.”

“So what do you want from the salvage, Gar?”

Gar shifted in his seat uneasily.

“This and that,” he said. “Some of it could be very useful.”

“Like what?”

Gar looked uncomfortable, and Katherine wondered why. Andrac, noticing from across the room, came over and cut in.

“Now’s not the time to discuss that sort of thing,” he said. “We’ll all talk about it once everyone is here.”

Ah, thought Katherine. Maybe they want to give everybody a look first. No dibs, no deals worked out beforehand.

Over the next two days, as more people arrived, her suspicions were confirmed. The same pattern held; and only when there were men and women from just about every village in the Dry Valleys present, did they all gather in the largest house in the village; and then a great discussion began. It was like the longest, most agonizing committee meeting of any bureaucracy anywhere. First, every single item salvaged, from the smallest piece of metal to the most sophisticated laser cutter, was enumerated. Then, starting all over again, they went through every piece in order, and talked about who had a use for what. Then the competing claims had to be worked out.

There seemed to be a rough logic to this part. First, anybody who had claimed too much was pressured to pick only the things he or she really needed. Oh, Eadgifu, you don’t need the wrench, and the three loops of cable, and the plastic sheeting, do you? That’s quite a lot, don’t you think? All Thorgar here needs is a little of the plastic, surely you can give that up? And where there was really steep competition, for things like the laser drills, the expedition leaders got called in to mediate. Here, Andrac, what do you think? Eadwig, weren’t you saying the other day that our village really needs one of those? And whenever the bargaining got a little too heated--what do you mean, you need all that metal? Hasn’t your village taken more than enough already?--someone would step in, always a scrupulously neutral party, and say, wait, I’ve got something I need, shut up for a second and we’ll come back to you.

It was tedious in the extreme, but there was a ballet to it: nobody’s feelings were hurt, everybody’s opinion was taken into consideration, and everybody was set to go home with something. A few of the really big ticket items--the power cells were one--were divided up according to preexisting rules. Nobody got to claim those. But anything else, anyone in the room was entitled to make a claim on. And a particular phrase was repeated more than once--everything’s up for grabs. Nothing is to be held back.

Only as this process was winding up did Katherine think of the two little objects she held in her pocket; she had been fingering them absentmindedly, turning them over out of sight, when she realized one might very well consider them part of the salvage, too. And might consider that at least one of them might have non-trivial value. She began to worry more, as she saw the intense discussion over the last few items, which very nearly broke out into an actual argument more than once.

“Hey, hey. Enough!” Andrac finally said. “We’ll all sleep on it, okay? No use in getting mad, there’s enough to go around. Here, shake his hand, Alfstan.” He pushed one surly-looking man toward another. They shook, and the room relaxed a little; after that people began filing out, heading over to the other houses or to tents they’d brought along. “Back here in the morning!” Andrac called out. “Eadwig and I are heading home after breakfast. So let’s get the last of the business done early!”

Katherine had been watching this from the back of the room; she slipped through the thick knot of people over to Andrac, and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Can I talk to you? Outside?”

“Sure, outlander.”

She took him around the side of the house to a quiet spot.

“I have a question about the salvage.”

“Go ahead.”

“If someone held something back from the salvage, what would happen? How would people react?”

“I don’t know. Nobody would do that.”

“Nobody?”

“It would be… strange. Selfish. Really wrong. I’ve never heard of it happening.”

“Is there a law against it?”

“There doesn’t need to be. It just wouldn’t happen. Why? You’re not accusing somebody of something, are you?”

“No, not at all. I was just curious. You know me. Nosy outlander.”

“Hm.” Andrac didn’t seem convinced by this. “You sure everything is all right?”

Katherine winced. “I’m sorry. It was me.”

“What?”

“I took something. Just before we left. I didn’t think about it until just now. It didn’t seem important. But I think I violated one of your customs by accident. I didn’t mean to cause offense.”

She took the data module and the jewel out of her pocket, and held them out to Andrac.

“You should take them. Tell the others--I don’t know, tell them you found them in one of the sleds or something. Or tell them I didn’t know your rules, and I didn’t mean to steal.”

Andrac took the objects from her, and turned them over in his hand.

“They say a thief brings a great curse down on themselves when they steal,” he said. He tapped the data module with one finger. Then he handed both objects back to Katherine. “But you’re right. You didn’t know. You’re not a thief, just a stranger to our ways.”

“You should still take them.”

“We don’t buy and sell among ourselves--but we’re familiar with the concept. Consider these your payment for your help. Honestly, I don’t think anybody here has a use for these trinkets. If for some reason someone does give you trouble about them, just tell them to speak to me.”

“You think it’s really okay?”

Andrac nodded seriously. “Yes. It would be different if you had not spoken to me--but you have shown understanding and sympathy to our customs. I respect that.”

“Thanks.”

“Now go get some rest, Katherine. We’re heading home early tomorrow.”

#tanadrin's fiction

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 40: Take an Aspirin and Call Me in the Morning

Chapters: 40/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor(Marvel) Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), The Devil Went Down To Jotunheim, Disturbing Practicality, The Culture Of Jotunheim Must Be Fascinating, I Wish We’d Gotten Even A Single Real Glimpse Summary: Another mysterious dream journey takes Reader and Loki to the last place he wants to be, that he may look upon his handiwork. Meanwhile, Reader fights back to wakefulness. 

You spun through space, wrapped in Loki's arms. He seemed happier than usual, softer somehow, as the stars whizzed by. A small, icy planet loomed close, and Loki's smile faltered when you noticed and recognized the great, dark canyon along the equator.

This was Jotunheim.

Loki shook his head, and held you tighter: He did not want to go there, but there was where you were going, pulled along by the sparkling blue light that transported you safely throughout the universe. You realized by now that you didn't really have any control over your movement; it seemed to you that the light itself was in charge.

It placed you down on the rough snow near the great canyon, and you couldn't really help but to look over the edge.

The ice cliffs plunged down miles and miles, a dark line of open water at the bottom, appearing no wider than a hair at that depth. The sheer height made you dizzy; in fact, just standing up made you dizzy. Your vision began to spin, and you wobbled. The next instant, you were in Loki's arms.

He pulled you away from the edge of the canyon, wrapping you urgently in his cloak and holding you close to the radiating warmth of his body. The legendary cold of the frozen realm hadn't touched you, however. The blue glow still surrounded you, seeming to keep the frigid danger at bay.

Loki stared around you, head whipping this way and that, still dragging you away from the canyon. He froze in place, lips pulling back in a wide-eyed grimace-and then he disappeared.

You gasped, but felt a hand cover your mouth. You could still feel Loki's cloak around you, his warm body pressed close to yours, you just couldn't see him. When it occurred to you to look, you found that you couldn't see yourself either. Loki had rendered you both invisible.

Moments later, a procession of giants appeared out of the blowing, snowy fog, solemn and silent. There were many of them, ranging from children to the elderly, showing several blue skin tones, and either black or white hair. Men and women were not that different in appearance; both wore kilts, loincloths, or briefs, with bared chests, and intricate braids. Children and the elderly wore mantles or long tunics, and all were barefoot. Most were decked in ornamentation, strings of beads made of dyed ice, pendants of claws and teeth, leather fringe, carved bone, shining fish scales, shells, and even pearls. Some were layered on so thickly that they might as well have been shirts

Leading the procession was a wizened old giant in a cloak and hood, leaning on a staff of bone, and surrounded by what you assumed were body guards of some kind. They weren't armed that you could see, but carried drums instead. They were huge, even bigger than the other giants, who towered over you: Their heads were mostly shaved, a few retaining a knotted side lock, and many had bits of metal-the only you had seen-embedded into their skin like studs on armor.

They began pounding out a slow rhythm as they approached the head of the canyon, and the old giant begin to sing in a thin voice. The giants all waited silently until the song had faded away on the wind, then, one by one, filed down a stairway that had been chiseled into the canyon way. You hadn't even noticed it, so cleverly it had been carved. Down they went in a long line, the drummers keeping their steady pace.

“What's happening?” You whispered. You were getting the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that you were not meant to witness this.

“I have no idea.” He whispered back, barely audible. “Please be silent, my darling.”

You clammed up. Did he hate the giants so much that he didn't know anything about them? Or was this something new? Giants began climbing back up the stairs, their arms laden with lichens and fungus, eye-catchingly bright colors in the overall surroundings of blue, white, and gray.

As the giants carted these treasures away, you noticed that many of them were crying, tears like crystals on their cheeks. The drummers and elderly giant followed them back the way they had come. Now that you were looking, you could just barely make out the shape of ruined buildings in the fog.

“Is that normal?” You asked, after they were long gone. You had a terrible headache, and still felt dizzy, but also terribly curious. “They have a mushroom farm down there?”

“It must be a midden.” Loki guessed. “Flora is nearly nonexistent here, but if they were cultivating it on their own waste...”

“I'm gonna check it out.” You declared, extricating yourself from his cloak and arms, and heading toward the cliffs. Loki hounded your footsteps, keeping a hand on your shoulder.

“Wait, wait, wait, _____! You cannot climb down there, it's much too dangerous! And you're still...”

“Still what?” You demanded. “What is it? Something's wrong, I know it. Why does my head hurt so much?”

He hesitated.

“Whatever, you can tell me later. For now, I wanna learn as much as I can about this place. I know you'll never bring me back here, so I might never get the chance!”

You rushed to the edge of the canyon, peering over again. The sheer height made you woozy, or maybe it was whatever was wrong with your head. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But you would never get another opportunity, not while Loki clearly still hated everything about the place. For some reason, his aversion pushed you to know more. Someone had to know something about these people. They had children, and music, and fashion. They sang and cried.

You clambered precariously down the steps, Loki worriedly following. The stairs were still made of ice, and you slipped once. The sound that caught in Loki's throat grabbed your heart and drew out your pity. You reached your had out to him.

“Help me down.” You said. “Come with me. You said you wouldn't let me fall.”

He took you hand, hoisting you up into his arms, then carried you down the stairs. Part of the way down there were platforms and niches carved into the cliffs, caves that would be small by giant standards, but that the two of you fitted into comfortably. Inside, more niches were carved, huge basins of ice, overflowing with colorful growth. You climbed up the side of one, to prod a large mushroom.

It smelled terrible, but the mushrooms were strangely beautiful, overflowing their basins. If the giants really were using waste and refuse to farm food, you couldn't help but feel like that was terribly clever. Not only did they get rid of waste, but they also got food out of it.

But why all the ceremony? Why the crying? Perhaps flora was very sacred?

“Loki, this is pretty smart.” You said, glancing over your shoulder at him. “It's a great way to recycle...Loki?”

He was pale, almost as blue as the ice walls, and staring at a carving on the side of the basin. You slid back down to the floor.

“What does it say?” You asked. Frost Giant writing was very different from the runes you'd seen.

“Geirrod.” He said hoarsely. “We need to leave. Right now.”

His nervousness curled its way inside you, drawing you close to his side.

“What's wrong Loki?”

“This is more than a farm.” He said. “This is a tomb. They are eating what grows on the corpses of the dead.”

“Okay, I'm ready to go.” You said swiftly. He scooped you back up, and ascended the stairs.

What measures had to be taken, to survive in this harsh land? What extremes had to be gone to? The thought of farming on your own relatives bodies was horrifying, almost akin to cannibalism...to you. But you didn't live here. You didn't know this culture, you didn't know what they had to do to survive.

You were still going to steer clear of mushrooms for a little while.

Your head was pounding by the time he got you back to the surface, the dizziness overcoming you.

“Please.” You gasped. “Please set me down. I need to lie down.”

Very, very carefully, he set you down in the snow, cocooned in his cloak, and propped you up against a chunk of ice. He sat down next to you, huddling close. His breath didn't fog like yours did.

“Loki, do you know what's wrong with me?” Was your speech slurring now?

Loki nodded.

“Will you tell me?”

“When you wake up.” He said. “You just have to promise you will.”

He looked so worried. You nodded, another wave of dizziness washing over you.

“Go to sleep now.” He suggested. You closed your eyes against the twilight of Jotunheim and drifted away.

    *****

Loki lifted his head from your belly, yawning wide. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, discreetly arranged the blankets to hide the drool stain he had left, and took your hand once again.

His hair was damp, probably from melted snow. He had been there, on the Frozen Realm, and you had been there with him. How? How were the two of you being transported like that? How could you be there in a dream, and yet also physically?

Well, partially physically. You had been suffering under your injuries, yet unaware of them. At least he knew now, that your mind had not been damaged. You still showed the potent, explosive combination of fire and curiosity; so very human, and so very you.

Bjarkhild opened the door.

“Out, your Highness. We must change her dressings and bedding. You should go get something to eat.”

He left without arguing; it was pointless with Bjarkhild anyway. She had been doing this long before Loki had been born, and would continue.

He arranged for breakfast, then hunted down his brother.

“Ah, is she awake?” Thor asked upon seeing him.

“No, not yet.” Loki said. “Not for a few more days at least. But she will wake up. She has promised me.”

Thor raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, he handed Loki a sheaf of papers. Loki tucked it under his arm. He'd do his work at your bedside.

“How did you know?” He asked. “I didn't even know.”

“You knew.” Thor scoffed. “You are a very good liar, Loki, even to yourself. You've doted on her almost since the beginning. You were instantly attached. And you also made up every possible excuse, every other thing that it could be. Meanwhile, it grew and grew, and now you can't imagine being without her, can you?”

“Is that how it happened for you?

“No.” Thor shook his head. “No, I fell hard and fast as well, but I was fully aware of what was happening. At first I thought it was because I had been stripped of my power by father's curse. If I had been reduced to practically a mortal, then of course I would find comfort with, and attraction to mortals. But that wasn't the case at all. Jane stands all on her own merit. So too do Banner, and Natasha, and Stark, and so, so many others.

You and I were taught so many wrong things. Humanity may still be primitive in many ways, but they are so much greater than we were lead to believe. You and I both know that now.”

“_____ is not primitive!” Loki protested. “She just doesn't know everything that we do yet.” Thor pointed at him.

“Precisely! And you'll find that there are easily millions of humans who are worthy of our time, just like her.”

“There is no one like her.” Loki insisted, drawing a smile from his brother.

“Precisely.”

 *****

You drifted dreamily, wrapped in cotton and velvet, dusted with perfume, lulled by a smooth, familiar voice whose words you couldn't quite make out.

Oh, it was Loki. Of course it was. For someone who was described as being so chaotic and unpredictable, he was remarkably steadfast. You kind of admired that. You expected him to be impulsive and impetuous, but the thought that you could count on him was such an unexpected bonus. You supposed that was part of the whole 'unpredictable' shtick.

Certainly, it made any of his good qualities come as pleasant surprises. You were rapidly coming to the conclusion that 'chaotic' didn't necessarily mean 'evil' or 'uncaring'.

You floated along on the back of his voice. The cadence suggested poetry. You knew you weren't quite awake, and not quite asleep either, not fully aware. But the more awake you became, the more clear it was that something was wrong.

Waking up was a struggle, as if something was trying to keep you asleep. Even as your consciousness surfaced, the feeling of being wrapped in gauze did not fade. The scent of sweet perfume lingered, the sound of Loki's voice sharpened, and a terrible pain consolidated in your head, but you still could not seem to fully wake.

Why couldn't you open your eyes? You could feel Loki's hand around yours, but you couldn't really move, couldn't open your eyes.

He must have noticed that your breathing changed, or the minute squeezing of his fingers, because you heard him stand, felt his presence hover of you, his breath on your cheek.

“____, are you awake?” He whispered. “Can you hear me? Are you there?”

You groaned, the sound coming out weak and thin.

He began almost babbling in Asgardian. You groaned again, struggling to move.

“No! No, you must stay still. Don't move, _____, I'll be right back. I must tell Bjarkhild that you are awake. Stay still, fleiri halfr minn hjarta, I will return with all speed.”

His fingers slipped away from yours as you still fought to open your eyes. Had he just pressed a kiss to your knuckles?

What had happened to you? You couldn't remember. You were somewhat aware that you must have been hurt somehow, but you just couldn't dredge up the memory. And now Loki was acting tender again, so it must have been bad.

He returned very shortly, and you could hear others with him.

“_____, his Highness tells me you have awakened.” Bjarkhild said. “Are you still awake? Can you speak?”

You tried, but all that came out was a stifled whine. Your head hurt so much; a throbbing ache worse than any headache you'd ever had. Even your teeth hurt.

“_____, if you are responding to me, try to make a sound again.” She said, and you did. The sound was no stronger this time; it hurt to do, and it felt as if your jaw was tied shut.

“And again.” She commanded. You complied. “Good, very good. In case you do not know, you recently suffered an injury to your head. You are in the healing wing, and we have you hooked up to a few machines that are gently speeding your recovery, but you will still need to stay for a while longer. I am going to remove some of your bandages now, but I must stress the importance of not moving your head around.”

So that was what was going on. You'd been hurt. Again. This was getting to be a bad habit.

Bjarkhild's hands were refreshingly cool, helping you to wake up further. However, the sharpening of your consciousness also sharpened the pain in your head, and you couldn't help but to try to move your hand, to push hers away.

You didn't make it: Loki snatched your hand up in his as soon as he noticed you trying to move it.

“Just hold still, my dear.” He encouraged. “Bjarkhild knows her craft. She was second only to Eir, may Valhalla embrace her.”

“Your praise is appreciated, your Highness.” Bjarkhild said. You felt the warmth and tightness of  bandages loosening from around your jaw, your face, your ears and eyes. No wonder everything had felt so stiff and tight. Your whole head must have been wrapped up, like a mummy.

Soft gauze was removed from your cheeks, and you heard Loki gasp, ever so quietly. That didn't sound like a good sign. What had happened to your face to get that reaction? Was there something they weren't telling you?

You whined again.

As if sensing that he had worried you, Loki stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

“You have extensive bruising on your face. It looks very uncomfortable, and I hope it is not too unbearable. It will heal though, it's just bruises.” He sounded a little like he was trying to convince himself.

You breathed out a little sigh. That explained the swollen eyes and lips.

“I am going to increase the power on one of these machines.” Bjarkhild said. “It will not speed the healing of your bones, but will hopefully take care of your more superficial hurts.”

Hopefully? Your first time seeing the prototype Soul Forge, you had been informed that there was only a single human record in the system, which you assumed had to be the king's ex. Now there were two human records, but that wasn't really enough for a full healing algorithm, was it? You were still physiologically different from Asgardians, and their medicine didn't have much experience with humans.

Maybe you could take a little pride in the advances you were providing to Asgardian medical science, with how often you were finding yourself injured.

By the time Bjarkhild was done and had left, you were almost ready to go back to sleep. The discomfort in your body and downright pain in your head kept you on the edge of wakefulness though, and Loki...well, Loki hovered.

He was very attentive, but he kept asking you questions that you couldn't answer. Were you comfortable? Did it hurt? Were you thirsty? Were you too hot? Too cold? Did you want to sleep?

The best communication you could come up with between you was hand squeezing; one for yes, two for no.

It did hurt. He apologized very sincerely, and promised that it would never happen again, but you couldn't ask him how he planned to make that come about. You weren't thirsty, or hungry for that matter, but you chalked it up to the machines you were hooked up to. You were a little hot as well, but you thought the machines must be responsible for that also. After Bjarkhild had adjusted them, you'd begun to feel a slight buzz, both on your skin and in your mind. It was starting to overcome the pain with it's soft warmth. You did want to go to sleep.

As the pain and discomfort receded, your hand relaxed in his. When Loki asked you if you were still awake, you couldn't squeeze an answer.

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel) #thor (marvel)

[ceffythesquirrel]

Post Apocalyptic Sander's Sides AU

Hello! This is inspired off of @sidespart amazing art of Logan and Robot!Roman. Check notes for navigation (Poor princey.) I'm sure @sidespart had a completely different idea when they were creating that art piece, so this is just my take. If they ever do anything more with that universe, just know that this is completely separate and...yeah. XD

Warnings: Lots of death mention (nothing graphic), minor character death, explosions, terrorist attacks, let me know if theres anything else!

Roman - Backstory

M29-Ro-man was created a couple years before the apocalypse by a robotics genius. The dude just took a bunch of parts from the scrap yard, cleaned them up, put him together, and programmed him to be Roman.

He was just sitting in his garage lifeless for the longest time because he was one of the few robots with emotions that existed and the creator didn't really want him stolen or known about yet. Also he was solar powered and any contact with the sun would bring him to life.

Decided to give him as a gift to a friend/Broadway star who needed a personal companion to rehearse lines with on a daily basis. Thus the robotics genius programmed Roman with everything a robot should probably not be programmed with. He had emotions, the ability to learn and gather information, and the ability to adapt through different situations and circumstances.

When the Broadway star received Roman he acted like a human with a metallic body and an off switch. He couldnt physically feel since he had no skin. The creator also mentioned to the Broadway star that he was a little too boisterous and wasnt sure how to fix it, but once meeting Roman, he didnt mind at all.

Roman instantly took to the theatre atmosphere. He was told what to do, how to help his human companion, and practice with him.

When Roman was not on duty, he was constantly watching Broadway show after Broadway show, acting them out on his own. He would always study the one his human was performing in to the T so he could help him get his lines accurate.

So they were both pretty good friends. Roman had never experienced that robots under humans rascism until way later. He experienced it when he got fitted for a prince outfit, because the Broadway star thought he'd like it, (which Roman very much did.)

Roman can also sword fight he found out. Not because he taught himself, but part of a fencing bot's mainframe was welded inside of him.

Roman believes all other robots are stupid after seeing none that act like him. He knew he was special and had a tendency to act like it.

It all changed when the first terrorist attack of WWIII happened. Of course it happened at Broadway. There was a bombing causing most of the building to collapse.

Lots of people died including his human Broadway star friend. But, Roman would never know what had happened to him. When the bomb exploded, the roof of the room he was in collapsed and debris switched Roman off rendering him useless for a couple of hours.

This is where he meets Logan.

Logan - Backstory

He was an average kid with an average family. He had no siblings and was often left to his own devices. Its not that he didn't try to make friends, its just he wasn't that good with social cues. Some say he may have been autistic, but no one knows for certain.

He has always loved robots growing up, and wanted to be someone who worked with robots. Unfortunately, the robot industry was already deep into the golden age and it was a very competitive field.

Giving up on that dream, he went with chemical engineering instead. He still had a heart for robots though, and would always watch them work whenever he could.

He was under the belief that robots should stay machines and not advance into anything else. So when he saw the world's first emotion robot he voted and protested against it with every fibre of his being.

He read the book "I am, Robot" (book about Robots taking over the world) so it makes sense why he didn't like the idea.

He graduated as valedictorian of his class and went on to become a theoretical chemist. Not what he had planned to do, but it was interesting nevertheless.

He was in a research group of 11 other scientists who were working to develop the world's first force field. It was when they succeeded that it all went to hell.

They were presenting their work at the world fair in New York when the bombing on broadway happened. It was utter chaos as other attacks ripped through the city and people ran for their lives.

Logan acted on impulse rushing people to safety while staying a safe distance with his colleagues, until an explosion split them apart.

Because one of the scientists had a feeling this was going to happen she made the other 11 make a plan b so their work wouldn't be stolen. Of the twelve, six split up the force field plans.

Logan was one of those six and was running with the three hard drives that contained all the equations for it. In his lab coat mind you, that he forgot would make him a target. So he was running from chopper fire and was able to hide behind a building and dive under rubble.

He had no idea where anyone was or if anyone was still alive since it seemed WI-Fi and internet was down all across the world. Even television was having problems.

He was shaking with fear as chaos continued to reign outside so he went further deep into the rubble to seek some sort of shelter if he could and wait out the storm.

He took a wrong step and fell a story into the exact room Roman was in.

He saw the unique looking robot, covered in debris and was more scared of it than anything. Maybe it was another trap or a bomb, but after it didnt move for awhile Logan's curiousity got the better of him and moved it out from under the pile and get a better look at it.

It was dressed like a prince, and had a sword. Some robot.

When Logan switched it on his life changed.

Hardship to Friendship

Basically the exchange went like this: Roman sprung to action with his sword. Logan shrieked and fell over from surprise. He was already scared of what was going on outside and this did not help. Roman called out Logan on his nerdy appearance and his so-called want to steal an amazing robot like him. "Over my dead body Isaac Snoopin'!" And Logan is just too terrified for any of this so he just faints.

Roman is more confused than anything, but the impact of a bomb over head tells him something is definitely wrong. His eyes widen as he remembers his human friend and is about to go find him, when the conscious he had developed told him he shouldn't leave the scientist behind no matter how much he wanted to. Especially if he was an enemy, and in sword fighting you never take your eyes off your enemy.

So he picked up Logan like a rag doll and began searching through the ruined structure for the stage.

It was a tragic scene when he got there however. No one was alive and he couldn't tell anyone apart it was that bad. Another bomb could be heard hitting the ground nearby. Roman had never felt this amount of sorrow before so he just kind of sat on the ground rocking with his knees to his chest with sadness not exactly sure how to process the emotion, since he couldn't cry.

Logan came around about an hour later and Roman was still repeatedly doing the same movements. When the prince-robot saw Logan begin to wake up he drew his sword at him.

"YOU DID THIS!" "Wh-what?! Me!?"

"Who else could have accomplished this feat but a scientist?! You murderer!" Logan began trying to explain that he's just one person and could never pull off something this massive.

As they argued, the ceiling of the room they were in began to collapse and they dove for cover in the nick of time.

Just cue the whole scene where they are running together for their lives through the crumbling hallways somewhat screaming, somewhat Roman yelling at Logan, and somewhat Logan getting frustrated at this almost human who is blaming him for the ruining of his theatre and death of his beloved friend. Logan was in the same predicament since he didnt know if anyone he knew was alive.

Logan does take it too far when he says "This is why your kind should never have emotions!"

Roman had a temper so he wasn't thinking when he took his sword and swiped it across Logan's face. Cue Roman realizing he is capable of hurting others and shrinking back. This is not the robot he wanted to be.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." Logan was more suprised that the sword had only nicked him in the cheek and not got him in the throat or anything.

The place they are in begins to collapse right after that too and Logan shoves Roman out of the way with a "You're forgiven!" when the floor begins to crumble underneath them.

The rest of it is just them talking/ introducing themselves with just a little more civility and trying to find a way out of the building. They finally do, but it caves in. Roman helps push with Logan and finds out he is soooooo much stronger than a regular human. He clears the way so easily that Logan's actually jealous of the robot.

So now they are running through the city above ground away from the commotion and start their journey as fugitives in an apocalyptic world. Logan doesn't know why Roman is sticking with him and frankly Roman doesn't either, but the robot has no other place to go. Also Logan is a scientist and Roman is still suspicious that he wants to take him apart and study him. Which isn't completely wrong but Logan is more preoccupied with running for his life right now.

They first run to Logan's apartment a couple blocks down while the chaos is still happening around them. He grabs items from his house like he's evacuating and changes from his lab coat into more casual clothes, still keeping the hard drives with him.

Logan and Roman barely escape from the place before a bomb destroys the complex behind them. Logan gets tired quickly as they run through the traffic, since he didnt really work out. So Roman just picks him and his bags up with ease and sprints off with the speed of two cheetahs combined.

That was the story of how the two unlikely friends met. Logan eventually tries to contact his other colleagues only to find out that only three of them were left, not including himself. Each of them held a piece to the force field, but the blueprints of the actual structure were lost somewhere. Roman and Logan had parted ways for a little while so Logan could go meet up with the other scientists, but found out it was a trap just to get the three hard drives he had. His other colleagues were dead when he got there.

Roman had went to find his orginal creator, but there was no sign of him anywhere. So he returned to Logan and busted him out of the trap and they went on the run again.

From there on, the duo became inseparable even if they did seem like they were at odds half the time. They were soon joined by others who found sanctity and friendship within their tribe of misfits.

Emile Picani: The Ex Vice President of the fallen United States that everyone loved more than the actual president. He had signed a secret deal with the illuminati but when New York got attacked he said "Screw it" and ran.

Virgil: A 21-year-old boy with unexplainable psychic powers the government had locked up for experimentation. He's a techie and is good at technology and hacking stuff.

Patton: An alien disguised as a human who might have accidently contributed to Virgil's psychic powers. He loves everything about Earth, except the violence and bad stuff.

Remy: A defective clone who knew he was more than just a science experiment.

Nathaniel: An ex-security officer who just wants to survive the apocalypse and the people he's with sure seem to know what they are doing.

Thomas: An old friend of Logan's with the safe house they all camp out at sometimes. He is the one with all the money and supplies they need to stock up on.

There is so much more I could do for this AU. If you want me to do Patton and Virgil's meeting or backstories let me know. I'm sorry this got so long. I just love this AU now. Again credit to the artist who made that amazing piece sidespart and hope you all enjoy!

#logan sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #thomas sanders #platonic logince #thatsthat24 #long post #tw death #tw lots of death #terrorist attacks #explosions #no deceit #for right now at least #we shall see

[lady-charinette]

Can you do a marichat kidnap fic where hawkmoth/akuma notices their friendship and hold Marinette hostage

I hope it turned out alright, thanks for the request anon! :3 Enjoy!

Rated: K+ - T

In A Cage Part 1

Chat Noir smiled afterbidding goodbye to an exhausted Ladybug, waving at her until she was no longerin sight.

He sighed, feeling oddlyhappy despite the harsh battle they’ve had today. 

Hawkmoth seemed to be gettingrestless lately, usually one akuma attack occurred once a day, but for the pastfew weeks there have been more and more, usually two, at most three, buttoday’s two akuma’s came at the sametime and had proven challenging. 

Hawkmoth must’ve been usingMayura’s help to aid him in these latest akuma attacks, since Hawkmoth’s limitwas one akumatization per transformation. It had left both him and his ladyexhausted.  

Kaleido and Spotlight hadunique abilities they haven’t been faced with before. Kaleido’s abilitiesemployed the use of mirrors, she was even capable of creating prison-like cellswith them, rendering whoever entered into them immobile to escape. Spotlight’sabilities included creating bright flashes of light with the help of hisreflecting suit, which was made of thousands of small pearl-like glasslittering his suit like scales over a snake.  

Their powers were formidablewhen used together, especially once they’d cornered and trapped them within themirror prison. 

Kaleido’s disembodied voicehad rang loudly in their ears and the bright flashes from Spotlight forced themto close their eyes and cover their ears, unable to orientate themselves orattempt to break free. Ladybug couldn’t even call for her lucky charm withoutbeing nearly blinded by the bright flashes and the screeching sounds Keleidomade. 

Weirdly enough, it had beenChat Noir’s sensitive hands and legs that had busted them out. He had sensedtheir movements through subtle vibrations in the ground and by following theorigins of those vibrations, he’d stumbled upon one of the mirrors and hadquickly used Cataclysm to destroy them, finally freeing them. 

Ladybug had used her LuckyCharm and they managed to finish them quickly afterward. 

Chat Noir wouldn’t forgetjust how useful duct tape could be, especially when it means covering themirrors Kaleido wore as a straight dress and the glittery suit Spotlight wore,along with the small headlights  on hisshoulders that had caused and reflected the light off Kaleido’s mirror dressand his own suit. 

He was used to mirrors andflashlights, but he would see them in a bit of a different light now. 

Chat Noir’s face brightenedup instantly, “That was a good pun! I have to tell Marinette that one!” hegrinned like the sun, until a warning beep from his Miraculous reminded him torecharge, “….Right after Plagg eats…” Chat sighed, making a detour and hidingbehind a building to detransform and feed Plagg before making his way over toMarinette.  

Adrien stood in place of ChatNoir,impatiently tapping his foot as he watched the ancient creature stuff hismouth full of wedges of camembert, “Come on Plagg.” 

The black cat god shot him alook, “Excuse you loverboy, but some people have to eat to replenishtheir strength!” Adrien rolled his eyes at his kwami’s knack for exaggerating andleaned against the wall. 

“You ate a whole cheese wheelbefore I transformed, how can you possibly have burned all of that up already?”  

Plagg floated up to Adrien’sface, munching on the last bits of cheese, “Hey! Those akumas today were toughto deal with! And all that screaming from that mirror lady made me hungrysooner!” Adrien still didn’t quite understand the logic behind it, but hewouldn’t complain, his kwami did have to eat after all. 

If he wanted to go toMarinette sooner. 

Plagg noted his charge’sanxious fidgeting, smirking wickedly, “Ohh, excited to see your princess again, are you?” there wassomething positively crazy in Plagg’s eyes and Adrien cleared his throat.

“Marinette is my friendPlagg, of course I’m excited to see her. Besides, she did invite me to croissantstoday.” A bright smile enveloped Adrien’s face and Plagg’s demeanor softened abit at the happy expression on the boy’s face. 

Plagg sighed heavily, “Oh,alright, alright. Just don’t get all sappy with me, loverboy.” With a look ofdisapproval from Adrien and a cheeky grin from Plagg, Chat Noir stood again inthe alley. 

He gripped his baton andsailed high over the building, jumping over onto the rooftops until he stoppedwhen a small flower shop caught his eye. 

Maybe he should do a quick stopbefore going to Marinette’s…

—–

“Kaleido! Have you regained sight of him?!” Hawkmoth growled infrustration, calming down slightly when Mayura placed a calming hand on hisshoulder and offered an encouraging smile. 

“No need to worry, I believehe’ll show up again soon.” Mayura’s words reassured him if only slightly. 

It was his luck that theconflict between the two akumatized people hadn’t been resolved, the breaking ofa precious, old mirror by the clumsy man who’d worked on the headlights of thetheater the mirror was supposed to be delivered to had again enraged the woman who’dpersonally owned mirror, a family heirloom she’d decided to donate to thetheater. 

Until it got shattered, likeher hopes. 

With Mayura’s help, Hawkmothwas able to akumatized her again. 

My name is Mayura, you’re overwhelmed by despair and hopelessnessfor the precious artifact that had belonged to your family for generations, nowlaying in broken shards. Let me help you, let your despair be embodied in the formof a helper!

With Hawkmoth’s aid, he wasable to akumatized her again into Kaleidoscope and have her accompanied by alarge chameleon. 

They’d been tailing ChatNoir, until they’ve lost sight of him suddenly. 

Kaleido’s eyes narrowed, “There!” the hero had jumped from somealleyway, back onto the rooftops, until after crossing several buildings, he’djumped back down onto the road and entered a- 

Hawkmoth grew confused, “…Aflower shop?” 

Mayura observed the scenequietly, wondering why on earth someone like Chat Noir could possibly need flowersfor, she quietly voiced her opinions, “Perhaps the cat has a significant otherto visit?” 

Hawkmoth snorted, “Really? Itappears to me that Ladybug has already left, unless he plans on contacting heragain.” A slow grin spread over his lips, “Kaleido,be on the lookout for any sightings of Ladybug!” 

Kaleido crouched down low onher perch from a skyscraper, watching Chat Noir walk back out of the flower shopand jump back onto roofs, “Yes, Hawkmoth.” She jumped after the hero.

——-

Chat Noir anxiously held the smallbouquet of flowers carefully in his hand, mindful not to squeeze too tight. Itwasn’t anything over the top, he’d learned a bit from last time, just a few whitelilies, deep pink roses and purple geraniums. Chat Noir smiled down at them,hoping things wouldn’t be awkward between Marinette and him if he showed upwith the flowers. 

They were friends, after all. 

Chat Noir landed gracefullyon the familiar balcony and strapped his baton to his back, clearing his throatand straightening his bell, before cautiously stepping toward the hatch doorand gently knocking on it, waiting patiently for his classmate to open it. 

There were soft butthunderous footsteps, they sounded as if Marinette were running around, perhapsin panic as to who was on her balcony, or in hurry to open the door for him, hedidn’t know, all he knew was the grin slowly growing on his lips when the doordid finally open. 

“C-ChatNoir?” Marinette blinked up at thehero and at the sudden colorful, nice smelling flowers in front of her face. 

Chat Noir had leaned down onhis haunches, extending the flowers to the stunned girl, “Good day princess! I’vebeen passing by this little flower shop and the flowers reminded me of yourbalcony, I thought these would look nice here too.” He gestured toward theplants that were already on her balcony and Marinette seemed to take a fewseconds to process his words and his intentions before she sprung into action,nearly colliding with him if his quick reflexes didn’t kick in and step back toallow her space. 

“R-right, you’re right!”Marinette took the small bouquet from his hands, her nervousness fading slowlywhen she sniffed at them, “They…they’re lovely Chat Noir, thank you.” She smiledup at him and Chat Noir beamed a smile down at her, ears moving lightly atophis head. 

Marinette resisted the urgeto giggle, instead she walked toward one of her small empty flower pots andgingerly placed the flowers inside, grabbing a bit of earth from the opened bagand placing a generous amount of it in the pot, patting the soil down slightlyto ensure the flowers were firmly inside. 

Chat Noir observed her work,her actions a stark contrast to her giddy demeanor a second ago, her fingersworked calmly and methodically, with practiced ease and he was reminded how shemust have acquired such calmness through her working on designs and gettinglost in them. 

He quietly approached her,not daring to disturb her, instead, he crouched down beside her and watched thesmall pot closely, until Marinette suddenly bobbed his bell playfully. 

His heart stopped, “Youspaced out kitty.” Marinette giggled, standing up to place the pot in one ofthe metallic holders of her balcony fence, resting her hands on her hips andproudly mustering at her and Chat Noir’s work, “Thank you for the gift, itlooks great out here.” She turned her head towards him again and directed thatbeaming smile at him again. 

Chat Noir felt all his defensesshatter at her disarming look and he suddenly felt vulnerable, almost like withhis lady, “Uhm, you-you’re welcome princess.” A small smile curved his lips ashe scratched his head, trying to curb the sudden burst of feelings deep withinhis chest. 

Marinette smiled, “To what doI owe the honor of this visit, hm? I didn’t know Paris’ superhero also works asa delivery florist.” She crossed her arms, trying to hide her amusement at hispanic-stricken look. She’d imagined him to be too exhausted to do anything elsebut rest, especially after today’s akuma fight, but she felt oddly touched thathe decided to visit her despite the exhaustion she was sure he must feel. 

Chat Noir regained hisearlier bravado, confidently resting his hands on his hips, “Well, you seeprincess, while I have thought of a change in profession, I also found the prospectof croissants with my princess simply too purrfectof an opurrtunity to paws!” he grinned widely, proud at hisuse of three puns in a row. 

Marinette sighed, a smallsmile still on her lips, “I was wondering where the puns were,” she smileddespite herself, “Well, maman just finished baking the last batch, why don’tyou wait inside and I’ll be right back. Then I can show you how to lose atUltimate Mecha Strike III!”  

Chat Noir followed herinside, grinning at Marinette’s suddenly more relaxed, competitive nature, “Oh,you’re on, princess! I’ll show you whatdefeat tastes like!” he stretched his arms above his head, sharing achallenging look with Marinette before she disappeared downstairs.

——

Kaleido smirked from herhiding spot just opposite of the building with the balcony where the herodisappeared to. She glanced at her chameleon and waited, hearing Hawkmoth’svoice in her head, “Excellent workKaleido, now we wait for the time Chat Noir leaves. It seems like we found his significant other.” Hawkmoth’s laughter resonated within her head like amantra.

Part 2 will follow soon! :) I hope it’s okay so far!

#marichat #anon #anon message #anon asks #fanfic request #miraculous ladybug #marinette gets kidnapped #chat noir to the rescue #chat noir brings flowers #protective chat noir #chat noir #marinette dupaincheng #miraculous fanfic #fanfic

[eggoreviews]

20 Dream Games for the Playstation Classic!

The PS1 Classic came out last year. Everyone got excited for a minute, but then we found out it was missing almost everything! Here’s my personal list of the 20 games I reckon should’ve been included. I’ll stick to one per franchise to keep it fair, but I might have to break that rule once. Hope you enjoy/agree!

Note: This is just my opinion. There might be some ones you don’t agree with, and I might have cut some ones from the original lineup you liked. Sorry in advance lol

Before I kick off the list, thought I’d briefly list off the games I cut from the Classic’s actual lineup:

Battle Arena Toshinden

Cool Boarders 2

Destruction Derby

Intelligent Qube

Jumping Flash

Mr. Driller

Oddworld: Abe’s Oddysee

Resident Evil (you’ll see why)

Ridge Racer Type 4

Super Puzzle Fighter II Turbo

Syphon Filter

Tom Clancy’s Rainbow Six

Twisted Metal

Wild Arms

Aight, let’s go.

1. Final Fantasy VII

The quintessential PS1 JRPG, of course FF7 had to stick around from the original lineup. Like it or loathe it, FF7 defined its console and is still highly regarded as one of the best JRPGs of all time. Playstation wouldn’t really be Playstation without this game. This was the game that pushed Final Fantasy into 3D, and firmly into the hearts and minds of players everywhere. There’s little else to say, other than that you kind of already know how iconic this one is.

2. Grand Theft Auto

The humble beginnings of a now mammoth franchise, the first entry in the now legendary GTA series was a top down weird thing that let you explore three separate cities in whatever cars you can find. While this doesn’t hold up especially well today admittedly, GTA was an important milestone, not just for its series but for its console generation and has certainly earned its iconic status to belong on the PS Classic. This one was a good choice.

3. Metal Gear Solid

Another obvious choice, MGS is where Metal Gear really became Metal Gear. Brilliantly cheesy voice acting, awesome stealth gameplay, suitably weird story and the birth of the now iconic codex screen, MGS is like the archetypal cold war film wrapped in a supremely fun package on the PS1. If this wasn’t here, there is no PS Classic and that’s just the tea.

4. Revelations: Persona

This was one I wasn’t expecting an appearance from on the PS Classic, but I’m glad it did. In my head, the beginnings of this extremely weird spin-off JRPG series is an essential piece of kit on a classic compilation. Everyone hoping to experience the best of what PS1 had to offer should probably try this one out and while it certainly isn’t for everyone, it’s certainly unforgettable and deserves its place among the rest of this lot. But hey, maybe I’m biased because I’m obsessed with Persona 5.

5. Rayman

The first in the franchise that spawned my favourite 2D platformer of all time, Rayman made his glorious start on the PS1. While some may argue that the second entry in this colourful, creative platformer series deserves the spot, I’m with Sony in giving the spot to the first instead. Despite the cringey, cliche villain name they went for, this game was innovative for its time and had its own unique art style that still holds up remarkably well today. This limbless boy has earned his place.

6. Tekken 3

The final game from the original 20 I’m carrying over into my list, my thoughts are that this compilation was in need of a traditional fighting game and Tekken 3 perfectly fits the bill. This acts as one of the most iconic fighters on the PS1, and is pretty much superior in every way to the previous two entries, bringing with it more characters, more moves to pull off and a better, smoother combat system in general. This is the perfect fighter for fans of retro and takes its place rather nicely on the classic console.

7. Oddworld: Abe’s Exoddus

Here’s the reason why I cut Abe’s Oddysee, to replace it with what is arguably its vastly superior sequel! Oddysee is still good, but for newcomers to this extremely odd platformer, the larger variety of power-ups and potential strategies is a much better pick for those unfamiliar with the franchise. To put it simply, Exoddus just holds up better today than its predecessor. Get ready for what is kind of nightmare fuel though, as the slightly unsettling imagery and character designs are bound to make you feel a little uneasy as you traverse dystopian, industrial environments as a weird amphibian thing.

8. Resident Evil 2

And, predictably, here’s why I cut the first RE, because there was no way I was leaving this franchise off my list. It was a tough one, but the second just won out. In my mind, RE2 just improved upon the first one in so many ways. While the first was a horrifying, strategic blast through an infested mansion that became one of the PS1′s defining games, RE2 took what the first one did well and built on it immeasurably. More developed characters, a fleshed out story, more unique environments to explore. Even though the map got exponentially bigger, that feeling of claustrophobia never went away and it was awesome the level of horror they could achieve with 90s graphics. As a legendary horror game, RE2′s the one I would go with.

9. Bishi Bashi Special

I know what you’re probably thinking, ‘this arsehole cut Ridge Racer but they’re making room for Uncle Bean?’ Well, hear me out. A lot of you may not have heard of Bishi Bashi Special. It’s a little known Japanese party game that is the maddest thing you will ever play. And in a classic compilation filled with iconic RPGs and the like, I felt that injecting a little chaotic madness into the mix was never gonna be a bad thing. There’s nothing on the PS1 that even comes close to the level of chaotic fun this gives you and shows the pure variety of the console’s back catalog. I’m very firm on this game’s place. Fight me about it.

10. Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver

A hack-and-slash game with fully rendered 3D open environments, starring a kickarse silent vampire with glowy eyes. It’s a real wonder they didn’t put this on the starting lineup. For real though, Soul Reaver was ahead of its time in a lot of ways, really testing the PS1 to the limit with its graphics and control scheme. An awesome tech demo for the time that still holds up well today, but is also a solid game in general. Very worthy of this list.

11. Castlevania: Symphony of the Night

As pretty much any PS fan will tell you, this game kind of has to be here. And everyone won’t shut up about it for good reason. While Castlevania made its start on Nintendo systems with the original trilogy, it really made its mark on the industry when Symphony of the Night dropped onto the PS1 in 1997. It took what made the other games so great and built on it all, providing a sprawling platforming epic filled with collectible power-ups, hidden places to explore and a story that, at the time, defined the franchise. Many would argue that the series still hasn’t topped this entry, and as such is an essential addition that is sorely missing from the real thing.

12. Tomb Raider II

Tomb Raider is, well, iconic. I’ve used that word a lot but it’s true. Lara Croft and the franchise she belongs to are iconic, especially to the Playstation. And like Castlevania, the lack of any Tomb Raider on the Classic is almost criminal. This title encompassed everything that makes the original Tomb Raider trilogy so great, interesting puzzles and areas that require a lot of strategic thought to traverse, a decent selection of weapons and vehicles and a sense of genuine fun and adventure that runs through the whole thing. Tomb Raider is cool, and it doesn’t need much introduction. And for me, this was the most glaring omission of them all.

13. Crash Bandicoot 2: Cortex Strikes Back

While we’re on the subject of glaring omissions, here’s what was basically the PS1′s answer to Mario and Sonic, Crash Bandicoot. In particular, I’ve chosen Crash 2 because I feel it’s the best experience for new players. Crash 1, while it’s the original, is full of a load of fuckery that may put newcomers off altogether if they can’t master the jolty controls and the slightly unfair life system. Not a bad game, just not great for those new to the franchise. Crash 2 just sort of lends itself better to the classic, challenging but not too much 2D platforming the series is known for. Well-designed, aesthetically pleasing levels, consistently fun mechanics and even a story you can sort of follow. This was Crash at his best, and it needed to be here.

14. Spyro 3: Year of the Dragon

Yet another PS Classic omission that made people sad, Spyro acted as the lesser known, but still suitably iconic second mascot for the PS1. Unlike his orange counterpart, Spyro’s levels felt much less linear and were more of an explorative collectathon rather than a straight platformer. And of the original trilogy, it’s pretty safe to say that number 3 consolidated everything the first two nailed and made it as perfect as it could be. Year of the Dragon defined the series at the time, and it needed to be onboard as much as Crash.

15. Crash Team Racing

Look at me go, I’ve finally broken my franchise rule. But in this one instance, considering how wildly different the 2 Crash games are, I think we can let it slide. CTR was never really meant to happen, it was mostly just a side project for the guys at Naughty Dog to do while they still had the rights. And the result was an awesome, fast-paced and crazy experience to rival Mario Kart. Unlike Nintendo’s equivalent at the time, CTR had much heavier, clunkier feels to the karts you drove, which really made you feel like you were driving this hunk of metal. You had power-ups that kept everything interesting, shortcuts to learn and even a full-on Diddy Kong Racing style adventure mode. Guess we’ll just have to wait for the remaster to relive this one.

16. MediEvil

I’ll be honest, this was the one I was most disappointed to have missing from the Classic. I absolutely adore this game. I love the story, the concept of Sir Dan as a character, the combat and the lovely gothic areas you encounter from a mausoleum to ghost pirate ship. But most of all, the cheeky, totally stupid British humour running through the whole thing, particularly through the game’s archetypal villain Zarok, makes the whole game as funny as it is epic, with a suitably rousing soundtrack following you on your journey to prove you’re not the zero everyone thinks you are. Classic game, desperately needed a place on the lineup.

17. Gran Turismo 2

I’m going to preface this by saying that I don’t care much for realistic racing games, I don’t derive a lot of joy out of them and they aren’t really my cup of tea. But in my efforts to keep this lineup as diverse as possible, I thought I’d include the game that really pushed the PS1′s graphical capabilities to its limits and almost created a game that surpassed its console generation in its looks. There’s a whole wealth of content here; a whole bunch of cars to unlock and a beefy career mode to keep you busy for a fair while. And this game differs from other racing games on the system by rewarding strategic thought and encouraging players to think through every action they take on the race track, which for me makes this the most immersive racer on the system.

18. PaRappa the Rapper

Okay, I know. I really did just put this here. But come on, PaRappa ended up in PS All Stars, so he’s gotta mean something to someone, right? It doesn’t matter how you slice it, this paper dog properly revolutionised rhythm games at the time, creating a fun and responsive, if a little short, experience that was certainly unique for the time. This is another that would definitely fall under the weird category, but it’s a bit of Playstation that doesn’t get mentioned nearly enough and it’s worth a spot on pure fun factor alone.

19. Ape Escape

As one of the first games to rely entirely on the Dualshock analog sticks, Ape Escape is another that falls into the ‘must mean something to someone’ category, as Ape Escape also ended up with a character in PS All Stars. This one is a fairly simple foray, but it was met with a lot of love from fans, as you play as a tiny, chibi version of the dude from Yu Gi Oh (tell me I’m wrong) and round up a bunch of escaped apes in varying platforming levels with a cool selection of gadgets. It’s here because it’s here, let it be.

20. Silent Hill

Silent Hill is pretty much as iconic as horror games get, and yet I somehow managed to forget about it until I got the 20th and final game on my list. It was claustrophobic, gory, full of metaphors you really don’t want to dig into and, most of all, it was terrifying. The constant fog, while it was mostly implemented to account for lack of draw distance, worked in the game’s favour and became a staple in the series. For the PS1 era, this game and the series it belongs to properly nailed the scare factor and left everyone who went near it feeling at least a bit uneasy. Saying this belongs here is an understatement.

Cool, there’s my list. My probably quite badly justified list clouded by pure fan-ness. But anyway, hope you agreed with some of my picks and let me know what games you would’ve liked to see on the otherwise questionable PS Classic lineup below. Thank for reading !

#Crash Bandicoot #Spyro #silent hill #resident evil #persona #tomb raider #castlevania #tekken #final fantasy #medievil #ps #ps classic #playstation #playstation classic #metal gear solid #grand theft auto

[rekarra]

Breaking Through Shadows | Chapter 1

Plot: What has started as just a dream would end up changing the course of my life. But what else could I have expected when vampires get involved.

Genre: Fluff, angst, eventual smut.

Word Count: 3.2k+

Pairing: Leaving this blank for now, for plot reasons, or something.

Point of View: First person oc

Warnings: Language, medical talk, nothing too intense

Rating: Teen but eventually 18+

Author’s Note: Well, here’s my first chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. I’m not sure when chapter two will be up as I have some real world stuff going on in the next week, but I’m hopeful I’ll have it up by the middle of next week. A quick shout out to my beta reader, best friend, and my own personal Bunny, @xxfxckitxx, who is also my number one hype woman and my constant support. Thank you for pushing me to do this, even if I drag my feet on occasion.

| Prologue |

Reaching over to my phone, fingertips just brushing the thin piece of glass, circuitry, and metal. I silenced the obnoxious blast of my alarm with a slight thought. I knew what the time was, what the weather was going to be, how a friend from high school had posted a picture of her newborn baby to social media, and several other things from just that one brief touch of the phone. Being a technomage did have its advantages sometimes.

Technomages were the natural evolution of witches. It seemed that as technology advanced in the mundane world, magic needed to keep up. We were no longer bound to the stereotypes of having to brew potions. I still did, though, as a matter of practice. Most everything a magic user needed to be able to do is done through the ever-growing world of cell phones and computers. Most every human interaction, magical or not, had an element of technology to it. Everyone in the modern world either always had a cell phone on them or they are attached to their computer, both for work and pleasure. Magic had to adapt. So here I was, hand hovering over my phone as the dream I had just woken up from streamed on to my private server, just like uploading a YouTube video. It had only taken a small thought for it to happen, but I wanted to be able to reexamine this dream, just like I had the past three nights. Always the same dream. Always ending before I could see their faces. There was a reason I kept dreaming about this, and I was going to figure it out. It had that feeling of a life-changing event, like the way a major thunderstorm can be felt in the air. An almost electric feeling that set my teeth on edge and put a small buzz just behind my eyes. As if on cue, my phone rang just as the stream of my subconscious events ended. I would have known who it was in an instant, even if my magical abilities had rendered caller ID useless, just like if Chyler was not psychic, the fact that she was my soulmate would have let her know that I was awake and slightly on edge. With nothing more than a thought, I answered the phone. “You had the dream again, Mallory.” It was a statement, not a question, as Chyler’s voice drifted from the speaker. I sighed loudly. “Yeah, for the third night in a row. I just got done pushing it to online storage, but I don't have the time to go back over it now. It feels weird though, doesn't it?” I paused, considering why it felt odd. “Like, I should know who they are or something. We are never that hyped for that kind of show. Hell, we don’t even go to shows like that! When was the last time you saw that many preteens with their parents at Slipknot? We’re usually dodging guys wearing too much black leather and metal.” I racked my fingers through my hair, getting out of bed to get myself a cup of coffee, leaving my phone where it was, knowing I’d still be able to hear Chyler, and her, me, from anywhere in my apartment. I pulled a cup from the dishwasher and turned on the coffee maker, not wanting to waste the small amount of energy it would take to turn it on with my magic. “Have you been able to catch anything from it, Bunny?” I asked the girl on the other end of my phone. She didn’t have to see what I had uploaded to my private server to know what I had dreamed about. The bond between our souls and her abilities meant that she didn’t even need to be in the same room with me, let alone touch me the way she had to with others, for her to “see” my dreams. She only had to send out the conscious thought to pick out the dream. Her breathing increases for a few seconds before she let out a shuddering exhale. “No, Mal. Nothing that you haven’t already felt. But it does have a flavor of something familiar. If you could get a look at their faces....” She trails off her sentence. That is how Chyler’s powers work. She either needs to be touching someone, or she must see their face, and with a bit of concentration, she is able to know everything about them. I was the exception to those rules. We had discovered it not long after we had met. We had become friends so fast, feeling like we had known each other forever. Chyler had confessed to being a psychic and had requested to read me, wanting to know herself why we had this instant connection. Agreeing, she took both of my hands into hers and looked up at me, her normally brown eyes turned a breath-stopping shade of blue as she saw my past. And not just my past in this life because when her eyes turned back to their rightful color, she blinked back tears, asking me if I wanted to see too. I had quirked an eyebrow at her but nodded anyway. She had settled her hands in a slightly different place, her middle and ring fingers placed on the pulse points on my wrists. I had just been able to ask her what she was getting at when her eye changed again, and suddenly I was seeing what she had seen. It felt like an eternity, but it was only a few seconds. I relived my life in reverse. From sitting down in the little mom-and-pop cafe we were in, to meeting Chyler for the first time, back to high school and the insignificance it was to my life. Back to when I had learned about my abilities and I had accidentally blown up the T.V. in a fit of puberty induced anger. Back to being a small child and not having a care in the world, back to my first breath. But it did not stop there. I saw my death in my most previous past life, all the things I had carried out then. Seeing all those events, up to the first breath. Then, again, seeing my death in the life before that one, and the one before that, and before that. All of them. And in each one of them, there was one defining spark in each one. Chyler had always been with me. Always there. We had been everything to each other over our lifetimes. Friends, sisters, mother and daughter, lovers. From the moment our souls sparked into existence, the link between them became iron-bound. With tears streaming down my face, I came out of the trance and just stared at the woman sitting across from me, her hands still in mine. She searched my eyes, her own the size of dinner plates. “Well, I guess this explains why we’re so close.” I had laughed as I gently removed my hands from hers to wipe away the remaining streaks of moisture from my face, hearing her own laughter on the heels of mine. “And now you know what I am now and why I’m always so good with electronics, huh?” I had asked her while still laughing. “I’ve actually always known, Mallory. I was just waiting for you to tell me.” She smiled softly at me. “But we know why it seemed like we have known each other forever. We have. Literally! And I think that’s the first time in my life I’ve been able to use that word properly.” She was in full-out belly laughs now, doubling over on herself as she laughed with her whole body. “Mallory!” The voice over my phone snapped at me, snapping me back into the present. “Mal, your focus back with me again? Unless you can get a look at their faces, I can’t do anything other than say it tastes like something I know but can’t put my finger on what it is.” That is how she would describe it when she couldn’t see everything. It “tasted” in some way. “Well, fuck, Bunny....” I whined slightly out of frustration and the need for caffeine. “What if this is something really big? You’ve always been able to see what comes our way. Why is there a block on this?” “I don’t know, Mal, but I’ll keep going back on it and see if I can figure anything out. Also, your coffee is done, you addict,” she chuckled. “Go get ready for work and I’ll come over once you get off, okay? I know I don’t need to touch you to pick everything up, but maybe I’m missing something for some reason” I nodded before remembering that she couldn’t see me. “Sure Chyler, I’ll see you when you get here. Love you, Bun.” “Love you too, Firefly.” And with that, she hung up. I smiled softly at her pet name for me as I finished pouring my coffee, leaving just enough room for the vanilla creamer. This will be the only good cup of sweet, glorious caffeine I will get before getting to the hospital, and I intend to enjoy for as long as I can. As soon as the first sip passes my lips, I felt the buzz of the brew on my tongue, just sweet enough to cut the underlying bite of the bean’s bitterness. I took a few more sips, humming softly to myself before taking my cup with me into my bedroom. Setting the mug down on my dresser, I walked into my modest closet and set about readying for the day, picking out a scrub top that had all the Marvel comic book characters on it and matching teal scrub pants. This was the part that was so off-putting about the dream. There were aspects of it that were real to my life. I was a first-year nursing student when I had first met Chyler, and we both had received outstanding job offers when we had graduated. Outside of the concert and the seven mystery figures that were on stage, that was my life. Rolling my shoulders back, I left the closet, clothes in hand, and reached for my cup. I drained the contents before tugging my scrubs on. Another 15 minutes of getting my hair to look suitable and putting on light makeup, I was out the door. My drive to work was always a curious one, the 7pm to 7am shift means that I leave for when most people are just getting home, their workday ending as mine begins. I had just finished locking my door when my neighbor came walking up the pathway, her 2 kids in tow. She smiled at me as her little boy, who couldn’t have been any older and 6, looked at my shirt and started excited babbling over all the superheroes on my shirt. Bending down to his level, I asked him if he could name them all off, which he did with unexpected speed. I laughed as he started talking about who was his favorite and why. His mom smiled at the exchange before softly telling her son that I needed to get to work, so I could help save people who were hurt, just like all the characters on my top. She picked the small child up while he stared at me in wonder, wishing me a safe and uneventful night. I said my goodbyes and headed towards my car. The freeways heading into downtown were clear, just like they always are for me when I headed into work. It was moving out of downtown that the traffic was bad at this time of day. It would take me an hour or more to get to work if I had the normal 8-to-5 schedule that most people stuck to. As it was, I pulled into my parking stop at the hospital a mere 30 minutes after I had left my apartment complex. I walked into the building, heading to the emergency room staff locker room. As I was putting my backpack and lunch in my locker, the charge nurse for the ER, Mark, approached me. “Ms. Adams.” I cringed slightly at his use of my last name, knowing he was about to stick me with something I probably wasn’t going to like. “I hope you’re ready for this evening. We have a VIP coming in and while I normally wouldn’t assign anyone to it and let whoever gets it, take it, but you are the only nurse I have who knows multiple languages and it seems our patient and his manager only speak Korean. We won’t be able to get a translator here for some time. You don’t happen to know Korean, do you?” I didn’t actually, right now anyway. A simple touch of the phone in my pocket and a muttering of the Romanian word “Traducere” under my breath and I was a fluent as a native-born immigrant. I nod as I look up at my head nurse, confirming to him that I was able to communicate with whoever it is that will be coming in. “Who’s coming in, Mark?” I asked the middle-aged man in front of me. “I really don’t know, Mallory.” He answered. “He’s supposedly come famous rock star or something, on tour with the rest of his group. The whole thing is being treated as quiet as we can. These guys are important enough to garner full security measures. They contacted the hospital director to make sure there were enough guards in place to keep anyone who isn’t supposed to be here out.” The tension in my shoulders pulled them back a little straighter as Mark filled me in, my nerves getting to me slightly as I began to feel the weight of the situation that was about to be placed on me. Trying to relax them, I asked, “What is he coming in for, Mark? What should I be expecting and what all do I need to get prepped?” “It seems he fell off the stage during rehearsals and might have a concussion as well as potential broken bones. He’ll need x-rays as well as a CT scan and a full blood workup. We should also check for any internal bleeding, potentially broken ribs, and if there are, a scan of the lungs just to make sure there’s nothing that’s going to hinder his breathing.” My eyes widen slightly at everything Mark was telling me as we walked on the emergency room floor. “Shit, Mark. How big was this stage he fell from?” Mark sighed. “I don’t know, but the hospital administrators want everything on this guy checked. If everything goes well, this will be an amazing boost of publicity for the hospital. And I don’t even want to think about what would happen if something went wrong while this guy is under our care.” I could understand Mark’s worry. It wasn’t that long ago that an actor had died in a hospital in California and the hospital had taken a serious hit in benefactors for it. I took a deep breath, holding it for a moment in hopes it would help me calm down. Letting it out, I slipped into “work mode” where anything that was not an immediate concern about the patients who would be under my care faded away. “How long before he gets here?” My voice has gone a bit softer with a calming cadence to it. “He should be here in the next….” Mark was interrupted as an ambulance pulled up, the paramedics getting the occupied stretcher from the back, rushing inside. I glanced at Mark with a slight smirk. “You were saying?” Turning to the paramedics, I told them to take the patient into room 7 quickly, a tall man who was wearing a breathing mask following close behind them. I nodded my head slightly in his direction, hoping he would take it as a sign that I was to be the one taking care of his talent. “Well, I guess it’s time to get to work.” I said in Mark’s general direction before heading off after the group that had just passed me. The paramedics had just finished moving my patient on to the examination bed as I approached the door to the room, two security guards heading towards me. Smiling slightly, I showed the guards my badge before they had a chance to even question me. I was waiting for the paramedics to leave, with the stretcher before entering the room. Walking in, I smiled warmly at the two men who were left. “Hi there. My name is Mallory and I’ll be your nurse this evening.” I said in nearly flawless Korean, intentionally making a mistake or two to keep suspicions down. I walked over to the man lying in the bed, my calm and professional demeanor taking over me, pushing the last bits of nerves from me. “What would like for me to call you?” “You can call me Taehyung.” My patient told me in a muffled but surprisingly deep voice. I couldn’t see much of his features as he, and the man behind me, both had on masks that covered the lower half of their faces, but Taehyung’s eyes were among the most striking I’d ever seen. The mop of obviously dyed blonde hair was tousled in such a way that, even with the intensity of his eyes, he had boyish quality to him. Nodding, I quickly reached for the in-room computer so I could start filling in his information. “Okay, Taehyung. Tell me about what happened and why you came in to see me tonight.” I smiled brighter, trying to make him feel at ease so he’d tell me everything I needed to know. He started to recount the fall from the stage, looking at the man behind me as if for confirmation of the events. I turned and addressed him. “Were you present when Taehyung here fell, Mr….?” I trailed my sentence off, waiting for him to fill the bank in. “Mr. Sejin. And yes, I was there. I’m the boys' manager.” He said. “Okay Mr. Sejin, how about you tell me what happened while I start getting Taehyung’s vital signs?” I asked of the man.

Mr. Sejin began to tell the exact same story that Taehyung had started telling me as I turned away from them both to grab the cart that housed the blood pressure monitor. I closed my eyes to keep from rolling them while taking in a deep breath. They were hiding something and I wouldn’t be able to do my job unless I knew everything.

I turned back to Taehyung, reaching out to grab his arm. As soon as I made contact with his skin, I knew what it was they were hiding. My eyes widened as my fingertip touched skin that was much too cold for the ambient room temperature and as I watched, Taehyung’s eyes flashed the pure and blinding green that could only mean he was one thing. Vampire. I sucked in a sharp breath at the realization, knowing my heart rate had increased as a small pang of fear cut through me. Taehyung, however, seemed to be mesmerized by me, grabbing on to my hand with a gentleness that would only be reserved for you had spent a lifetime caring for and loving. I quickly leaned in, whispering, "I know what you are and I know you're not hurt. Why are you here?" When he spoke, it was but a breath and it held the same respect and softness with which he was holding my hand. “I found you again.”

| Chapter 2 |

#bangtanarmynet #bts #bts vampire!au #bts smut #vampire!bts #bts idol!au #kim taehyung #bts x oc #ot7 x oc #paranormal #breaking through shadows

[thosewhoruleegypt]

The Pharaoh’s Lotus Garden (1 - 10)

The Pharaoh’s Lotus Garden is a collection of oneshots and drabbles within the TwRE-verse; Ancient Egypt AU. Each can be read separately, but they’ll make more sense with context~ Part I happens between For Love of Pharaoh and King and What Followed the High Priest Home.

Main Story Begins Here! Also available on AO3~ Previous Chapter - Next Chapter 

Part I; Chapter 10 In which Ryou plays dress-up, at Yugi's insistence; also in which Atem and Bakura are the luckiest men in Egypt  2300 words; rated M; warnings for sexual content 

note: This one takes place the day before the Thief King and Ryou are wed floating timeline shenanigans, yay!  Also please know that this one almost got away from me. Ryou!muse is super comfortable with the fade-to-blacks, but Yugi!muse absolutely doesn't know when to stop. x'D

"Lord Yugi, this is embarrassing!" Ryou Bakura stood in front of Yugi's wardrobe, all but naked save for chains and a skirt that was even shorter on him than it was on Yugi. It was the outfit Yugi had worn on the day of the Shadow Realm duel—selected solely for its shock value, at the banquet that said duel had interrupted—and Ryou had donned it at the insistent request of the Pharaoh's betrothed. "This is too much...! I'm so sorry I suggested this...!" 

"Not exactly your style, sure," Yugi admitted, pacing around his friend, "but I still think Bakura would like it." 

"Yugi, please...!" Ryou held up his hands with a rattle of chains, pale skin reddening. "Help me take this off!" 

"Okay, okay," Yugi relented, coming around to undo the shackle around Ryou's neck. Ryou struggled to unhook the ones around his wrists, relieved when Yugi lent a hand with those, as well. The pharaoh's betrothed was careful to keep the outfit from falling to the ground, saying, "If these get tangled, it'll take days to sort them back out." 

"S-Sorry!" 

"No worries." Yugi hung the chains back up, glancing at where Bakura still stood, clinging to the small black skirt. He looked appraisingly up and down his friend's form—soft-edged, supple, his exotically white skin flushed pink with embarrassment. Yugi rustled around in his closet. "Let's try this..." 

Ryou accepted the golden silks that Yugi held out; slipped them over his head, and handed Yugi the black skirt to hang up. The dress was adorned with golden patterns of feathers and birds, and when Ryou twisted he revealed a deep slit down the back, elaborately stitched black wings on either side of the opening. 

"That's cute!" Yugi exclaimed, circling his friend. Ryou shook his head. 

"Th-This is more your type of thing, Lord Yugi..." 

"I'm not 'Lord.' And maybe you're right... lighter, cool colors might suit you better? But I like the cut..." He trailed two exploratory fingers down Ryou's exposed spine, and the other boy bristled. 

"Yugi, please!" 

"You have a cute body!" Yugi said. "Doesn't Bakura tell you that, often enough?" 

"Bakura is an extremely good liar," Ryou retorted. 

"He is, but he's not lying when he says that..." Yugi pulled the shoulders of the dress down, and Ryou squeaked as his shoulders were exposed. Yugi peered past him into the full-length mirror, seeing them both reflected in the polished metal. "You're very cute." 

"Yugi, please..." 

"Let's try one of these..." Yugi said, leaving Ryou to finish undressing and diving back into his closet. He lifted one leg for balance as he leaned precariously into the shelves. When he emerged, he held out a silver outfit with black trim. "Try this." 

Ryou, with an uncertain grimace, swapped the outfits out. He held the new one up before putting it on, though he realized too late to object that it left his midsection completely exposed. 

"I'm not sure about this..." 

"I think we're getting closer, color-wise," Yugi murmured, again coming up behind Ryou in the mirror. He played with Ryou's long white hair, noting with satisfaction how soft and lush it had become. "We should tie your hair up... with something silver, definitely... maybe some lapis lazuli..." 

Ryou fidgeted. "But... this is too revealing..." he whispered, hands still over his middle as if to hide the pale expanse of skin. 

Yugi let Ryou's hair drop; patiently placed his hands over Ryou's and pulled them back. "You have a very nice figure," he said, and meant it. Ryou's stomach was more or less flat, but without any clear definition of muscles, and the sides of his hips had a noticeable curve to them. Yugi though they must be pleasant for a lover to grip and grope. "No need to hide it completely." 

"I don't understand how you can go out wearing something embarrassing like this..." Ryou mumbled, looking a bit dizzy. 

"It's way more uncomfortable for other people than it is for me. And it's fun to watch some of these higher-ups squirm," Yugi said cheerfully. "Besides, I'm supposed to be something for Pharaoh to show off—I know that, and I'm more than okay with it." 

"I'm no pharaoh's husband, Yugi..." 

"You're going to be a King’s husband, though." 

Ryou considered that, then retorted, "King of Thieves." 

"Right. And what good is a thief without his stolen wears to show off?" Yugi asked. "Bakura says he's lost all his gems except for you, right? So you've got to shine brighter than everything he's lost. Having you, that's enough for him. Don't be afraid to show everyone else that you alone, the sum of his treasure, make him worthy of the title of King." 

Again Ryou considered that, then sighed. "... Alright, let's try another, then." 

Yugi beamed. "Perfect! And if we can't find a suitable wedding dress for you here, we'll raid the dancers' costumes, right?" 

Ryou only laughed; Yugi scampered back to the wardrobe and all but disappeared inside. He gave a triumphant yelp a moment later, coming out with a bundle of blue and silver just as Ryou stepped out of the other dress. 

"I think this one'll be it!" 

"Let's give it a try..."

... ... ... 

"We found the perfect outfit, for tomorrow."

Thief King Bakura gave a sleepy rumble as Ryou climbed up onto his chest. When he lifted a hand to stroke Ryou's back, however, his eyes snapped open. 

"Yugi let me borrow another one, though, for tonight." 

"Oh did he, now?" Bakura growled, hands taking in the feel of silk like a blind man reading symbols carved into stone. The fabric was intentionally in tatters, leaving strips of warm, supple skin exposed. "That crafty bastard. Is he really trying to kill me?" 

"You should have seen some of the things he had me put on. Remember those ridiculous chains he was wearing, that day in the Shadow Realm?" 

"Gods, Ryou, seeing that would've stopped my heart for sure." 

"Are you going to take a proper look at what I'm wearing now?" 

Bakura sat up with a grunt, letting Ryou slide off him. In the darkness, he could make out the contrast of strips of dark fabric against pale skin; saw Ryou's light hair and shining eyes. When Ryou leaned over the edge of the bed to fetch the lamp, Bakura could tell that his back was almost completely bare. 

A small fire flared to life, bathing Ryou's face in warm light. Bakura's breath caught as his eyes traced the dark blue strings draped over Ryou's body, a tangle of ephemeral, almost see-through silk. His hair was tied partially back, revealing slim neck and smooth shoulders. He wore no jewelry, but subtle swipes of glittery makeup decorated his eyes and lips. A swath of silk above his hips marked the beginning of a long skirt, but the fabric was split on both sides—torn, intentionally—all the way past the hip to the sash at his waist, rendering it virtually useless as a piece of clothing. Bakura placed large hands tenderly on those exposed hips while his eyes ravished the rest of the Ryou's form. Ryou's cheeks were as bright as his eyes, the former flushed red with embarrassment and the later glimmering with something like thirst. 

"Truly a treasure of unparalleled beauty and value," the Thief King breathed, brushing aside blue fabric as he began to stoke Ryou's thighs slowly. Before he could continue, though, the smaller male leaned in and kissed him. Bakura growled in surprise, his grip tightening. 

"Your tongue is known for brilliant lies, my King..." Ryou breathed. "Tell me what you really feel. With your body." 

The Thief King grinned. "Oh you little monster..." His hands slid back and he leaned forward, and together they crashed onto the plush bed. "I'll show you..." he whispered, his nose brushing Ryou's neck as he kissed Ryou's collar bone. Ryou lifted his head obligingly, wrapping his arms around Bakura's shoulders and arching his back. "I love you. I'll show you that, my treasure, my love... I love you."

... ... ... 

"How'd it go with Ryou, today?" Atem asked, mentally, as he made it way up toward their room. He was weary from the day's work, but in a good mood; looking forward to reuniting with Yugi.

"It went well! We found a nice dress. He'll look lovely, tomorrow."

"Not as good as you'll look, when we wed. No one could ever look as beautiful as you will, on that day. As you look every day."

"Pharaoh... don't say over-the-top things..."

"It's not over-the-top if it's true, Partner."

Atem had arrived at the door, then, and slipped inside without hesitation; sighed in relief, and pulled off his heavy gold collar. When he looked toward the bed, though, he froze; dropped the collar with a splitting clatter. 

“I lent Ryou another outfit, for tonight," Yugi said. "But I figured the Thief King shouldn't be any happier than the Pharaoh himself." 

Yugi stepped gingerly down from the bed, naked save for gossamer silks strung between a collar about his neck and cuffs on his wrists. He wore a golden belt, too, of thin, interwoven chains slung low across his hips. His hair, combed up in its usual spiky style, was devoid of any ornaments, and he wore no visible makeup. His body, tiny and lithe, moved with a measured grace—learned, in his time at the palace; royal and dignified. Though slim, surreally small by nature, he glowed with health and sultry confidence—the regal self-assurance of a pharaoh's betrothed. In the firelight of the room's various lamps, his skin shone like dark, brushed gold. Atem knew each mark on his skin, each scar and birthmark, by memory; knew each and loved each. The Pharaoh's heart lifted and skipped a frantic beat as Yugi approached him.

"I borrowed this one from the dancers." Yugi reached him; began to pace in slow circles around him. "Ryou showed me a few dancers' tricks, in return for the wardrobe help." 

"D-Dancers' tricks...?" 

"You know that Ryou trained with the dancers for a while, hmm?" 

"... I suppose I knew that..." 

Yugi took hold of Atem's wrist as he passed. "Come sit down, Pharaoh. Let me show you."

Atem let himself be led to the bed, a bit dazedly. The way that Yugi twisted his hips was hypnotic, rattling the chains about his waist just faintly. After a moment, he crawled up onto the bed, straddling Atem's lap and beginning to slowly, languidly undress the Pharaoh, hips still rotating in an entirely maddening way. He didn't grind harshly, but lightly; almost teasingly, never letting the friction grow too intense. Atem, understanding that he wasn't necessarily supposed to move, resisted the urge to rip off his own very troublesome clothes; let Yugi do it, for him, and then laid back when Yugi pressed lightly down on his shoulders. 

"I love you, Pharaoh..." Again, Yugi didn't speak it, his hot mouth too busy decorating Atem's bare chest with love marks. His hands, too, were occupied, playing with the skirts he still hadn't seen fit to completely remove. 

"Love you... so much..." Atem gasped out, trying to wrap his arms around Yugi; Yugi straightened, for a moment, and pinned them above his head. The silks fastened to Yugi's wrists obscured Atem's vision, in such a position. 

"You're not allowed to touch a dancer when they're performing..." Yugi whispered, then dipped his head so his breath bathed Atem's ear. "You should know that, Pharaoh..." 

Atem groaned in frustration, but let his arms go limp above his head; Yugi released them, his hands returning to their own erotic dances. Atem closed his eyes at some point, giving himself over to the maddening, rhythmic waves of pleasure that Yugi was setting off. Their minds pressed closer even than their bodies, with the tantalizing distance Yugi maintained between them; each shared in the other's pleasure and so doubled their own, an exponential cycle that lifted them both higher and higher until it was near intolerable. Only then did Yugi abandon his act, and Atem, freed from restraint, all but leaped up to merge their bodies as their minds. Within heated moments they were both overtaken by an ecstatic force like a desert storm, and road it together until the winds died down. Then, both spent, they collapsed, Yugi still sprawled atop Atem and the Pharaoh gasping raggedly for breath beneath him. 

"Cancel..." Atem muttered, and Yugi made a questioning sound. 

"Cancel?" he asked, too weary to speak aloud. "Cancel what?" 

"Cancel tomorrow... I'm not getting up... ever again..." 

"We have a wedding to attend tomorrow, Pharaoh." 

"You should have thought about that before you killed me."

Yugi chuckled, twisting to kiss Atem's cheek. "You'll be fine, by tomorrow."

But the Pharaoh was falling asleep, his drowsy mind nearly dragging Yugi's into unconsciousness along with it. Yugi pulled mentally back, just slightly, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He gazed down at Atem's peaceful face, still flushed from passion, and smiled. 

"You shouldn't run yourself so ragged, Pharaoh..." he breathed, brushing Atem's hair out of his sweaty face. Then he slithered backwards, from the bed, and gingerly unhooked what little clothing he wore. He tugged Atem's robes gently out from under him; straightened the blankets as best he could; blew out the lamps about the room so that only the moonlight filtering in through the window remained. 

Only then did Yugi crawl up into the bed once again and cuddle in beside Atem. The Pharaoh, though still asleep, rolled automatically to curl around Yugi's smaller form, and Yugi smiled. 

"I love you, Pharaoh..."

Though the Pharaoh didn't wake to reply, Yugi felt the tender nudge of his mind; a soft good-night kiss. He snuggled into Atem, then, and eased their minds together; followed the Pharaoh into peaceful, loving sleep.

#gemshipping #puzzleshipping #blindshipping #thief king bakura #pharaoh atem #yugi mutou #ryou bakura #TwRE #those who rule egypt #TPLG #TPLG PI #the pharaoh's lotus garden #the pharaoh's lotus garden part I