#and he’s now my mortal enemy on principal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loveindefinitely · 6 months

Text

༊*·˚ NEED TO LISTEN TO ME — price is disappointed in you and your other three lovers, and finds that some 'training' is in order

read on ao3.

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, poly tf141, ANGRY sex, mean dom price, angst, degradation, minor dom/sub, light humiliation, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, minor spit play, minor blood play (not really), rough sex, price orders EVERYONE around, price-centred, whiny johnny and gaz agenda

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

You weren't scared of many things at this point in your life.

Being a signal officer for the military certainly aided that statement, but it was more the fact that you had four guard dogs in the form of the most seasoned special forces operatives you've ever known. Four very large, very scary men that you'd somehow found yourself lucky enough to get to call your partners.

Both on, and off, the field.

That being said, there was one thing you were terrified of. Like, to your bones, petrified.

And that thing had a name.

John Price.

He was formally the captain of your force for a reason, but he was also informally the captain of your relationship, as well. The one you all looked to in the most difficult of moments, the one that held reason and guidance above all.

It's been that way since the five of you met, and remains the same to this day.

Nonetheless.

It was a known fact between you, Soap, Ghost and Gaz that none of you liked seeing the man mad. You four could count on one hand the amount of times you'd witnessed it, all of which having been directed at either his superiors or an enemy.

But. Right now, in this office, seated on the small couch between your three lovers?

Yeah. You don't fear many things.

But John Price's disappointment is quite easily in your top three, and this situation only cements it.

"He's probably ordering our caskets," Gaz murmurs wistfully, eyes wide as he stares at his foot, tap-tap-tapping against the wooden floor. It's a nervous tic that gives him away too easily, but even with your hand on his knee, it doesn't seem able to quit.

You exhale a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut. "I hope he gets me a cute one," you mumble back, tone matching the resignation that clouds your captain's office.

"You four. My office."

Those were the only words Price had spoken to you guys, before marching off to a meeting with Laswell.

To say that you and your lovers were mortified was the biggest understatement of the century.

Even Ghost, sat perfectly still, expression perfectly neutral beneath his mask, oozes trepidation like it's the carbon dioxide he exudes with every breath.

"I know 'm 'n tha military, but I still don't wanna die, ya know?" Soap whines, his head flung back and blue eyes glued to the roof as his hands shake in his lap.

You guys must look like unruly students sat outside of your principal's office to any onlookers, and it should be embarrassing.

It would be, if you could feel anything but mortal peril.

You're about to quip a reply to Soap, when the door clicks open, and the three of you sit ramrod straight, Ghost not moving from his already perfect posture.

Price steps in, the door shutting closed behind him.

The silence is a tangible force, and your mouth is so dry, you'd think you were in a desert, not in your lover's office.

His footfalls echo around the modest space, before he leans against his wooden desk, folding his arms over his chest, before directing his furious gaze to you four.

"When I give orders," he starts, and oh god, his tone, it's so unbelievably firm, "I expect my team to follow them."

There's no response, except for the overwhelming quiet coming from the usually passionate and comforting presence that underlies your entire dynamic.

Price clears his throat, meeting all of your eyes one by one. You wonder if you can see the glassiness of yours, the barely restrained tears.

"So why," he begins, before swallowing once more, determination settling in, "Did all four of my teammates rush into an unstable building after being ordered to keep out?"

You know it's not just the anger of a captain's orders being refused.

It's the anger of a lover having to watch all four of his partner's risk their death, while he can do nothing but watch from the scope of a sniper rifle.

The clock on the wall above the door ticks, and none of you make a sound.

Price grabs a pack of cigars from his pocket, quickly sliding one out, placing it between his lips, and shoving the pack back into his slacks. He then pulls out a lighter from his back pocket, lighting the tobacco, before exhaling his first breath of smoke.

In any other situation, you or Gaz would be chastising him, telling him to stop smoking, or to at least do it outside.

Neither of you say a word.

Rubbing at the furrow between his brows, Price then drifts his eyes to Ghost, the only one who hasn't said a word since the mission.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Price says on a deep exhale, shaking his head. There's hurt there, genuine pain, and your heart stutters in your chest at the sight. "You're my lieutenant, Simon. I thought you'd at least 'ave the brains to listen to me when I make an order."

Ghost's hand tightens where it sit on his cargos, and even with his mask on, you can tell that a disgruntled frown lays beneath it.

"And you, Soap," he looks at the man to your right, now, and you can physically see him deflate at the disappointment in his captain's eyes. "Disrespecting authority is cute 'nd all, until it's me, mate."

Those words feel like a physical wound, even to you, and judging my Soap's crestfallen expression, for him, it must hurt tenfold.

And, then, it's your turn.

His mouth is set in a grim line, and you hope that he can see the regret, the genuine sorrow you feel at disappointing and -- and scaring your captain. Your lover.

"What were you thinking?" He asks, and your mouth wants to open, but it's as if there's an invisible force pinning it shut. "You weren't even supposed to step foot on enemy grounds, and you knew that."

And it's true. Your role is mainly with communications and technical supplies, not actual combat. You were trained, yes, but it has never been your role.

But you'd seen Soap rush in, Ghost trailing after him, yelling, and then Gaz not long after, and it was like your mind shut out any rational lines of thinking. There was no rationale when it came to your partners.

That was a flaw. A genuine character fault, and Price was cementing that fact in this very room.

"Kyle," Price runs his hand down his face, cigar in between his middle and index fingers, "Kyle."

The pain, regret, the melancholy -- it's its own element in this room, its own being, and it feels as if it's choking you from the inside out. Like a gas leak, or a grenade stuck in your throat, about to go off.

Ghost, shockingly, is the first to speak.

"Captain," he grits out. Not 'old man'. Not 'love'.

Captain.

"We're aware of our... misgivings," he states, the words coming off of his tongue like hot coals he needs to rid off, lest his entire mouth burns.

Price nods, slowly, eyes narrowing at Ghost. It hits you, then, how your lover's just dug all of your graves in one sentence. Gaz seems to realise, too, his eyes going wide, exhaling a low, short breath in surprise.

"Sweetheart," he quips, standing up in the transition of one moment to the next, eyes snapping to your glassy ones. The endearment holds no warmth to it, for the first time, and your heart shatters where it beats in your chest, shards of glass embedding into the muscle surround it. "Get on the desk."

He says the words, and in the next movement, sweeps his arm over his desk, causing all of his papers, his pens, his folders, to go careening to the floor.

Soap mutters a curse under his breath, and Gaz winces.

On shaky legs, you stand, walking the short distance to the wooden surface and sitting on it with short pants of breath.

His large hand grips your chin in a tight grasp, tilting your head back and forcing the eye contact between you both.

He leans in, mouth mere millimetres away from your own, before speaking. You can taste the tobacco as he does. "I'm gonna let every single one of my subordinates fuck your disobedient cunt, and it's not gonna get any cum. Do you understand that order, sweetheart?"

It's cruel. Patronising, and so unbearably condescending, but you nod, a tear finally leaking down your cheek.

With a calloused thumb, he wipes it away in one stroke. "Save that for the actual punishment, operator."

And then, he steps back, and takes a seat in his chair, allowing him a full view of the other three still sat at the couch, and your position in his desk.

"This is a lesson on following your captain's orders," Price barks his order, like most other men of his rank would. It's a stone cold contrast to the gentle, comforting way he usual spoke to the four of you. His voice, now, holds no love, no underlying adoration lacing through his words. "You will follow every command I give you, and hopefully, this training will carry onto our future missions."

You're all aware that if it gets too much, one of you will utter the safeword you're all aware of -- the weight of it almost embedded into your beings.

Price knows it, too. And no matter how angry he is, he'll always put you all first, listen to you when you genuinely need to stop.

The feeling in the room has shifted from one of heavy disappointment, to an electrifying anger that has liquid heat melting to your core.

"Simon," Price snaps his fingers, and it's almost as if you're in a parallel universe, because the large man immediately stands. "Lay 'er down on the desk."

Ghost only needs to take two steps from the couch before he's standing in front of you, hand fisting into your hair, before somewhat gently pushing you to lay flat against the smooth surface. Your breathing is harsh, your chest moving in quick rises.

"Strip 'er down," Price orders, voice gravelly as he takes another deep inhale of his cigar, folding his leg so his left ankle rests on his right knee, legs spread wide. He fills out the chair with his frame, and it makes you shiver as Ghost gets to work peeling your clothes off of you.

When your heated skin feels the kiss of the cool air, you let out a haggard breath, head falling back to hit the wood as you clench your eyes shut.

Ghost goes to spread your thighs, before pausing, awaiting Price's directions like a dutiful dog.

You never thought you'd see the day.

"She's wet enough," Price shrugs, taking another drag of his cigar. "Fuck 'er."

Oh, fuck.

He wasn't lying, you were soaking, something about the fear unknowingly having your inner thighs sticky and core aching to be filled.

But... not getting prepped? At all?

Ghost makes a surprised grunt of a noise, pausing for a moment, before recollecting his senses and unbuckling his pants.

Oh. Fuck.

He's really, properly following Price's directions, like the man had demanded. The guilt was eating all of you alive, and that festered in Simon's actions.

His deep brown eyes flick to yours, before he unzips his fly with one hand, gaze not moving from yours. There's slight apology in them, only a hint, before he leans down to spit on your cunt.

You inhale a sharp breath at the act, squeezing your eyes shut as his dick presses against your heat, rubbing against it slightly.

Then, he pushes in -- it makes you cry out, breath hitching as the tip enters. It's a tight fit, but he continues to push in, and it's almost as if you can feel the intrusion, the pressure in your chest.

"So you can follow orders, huh?" Price quips, almost nastily, and it has you shuddering as Ghost's hips finally flush against your own. You don't think you've ever taken any of them without foreplay, and it's a special form of torture. The pressure is almost too much, his cock filling you up so much.

Simon's head hangs between his shoulders, muscles tense as he stares down at you, the epitome of self-restraint.

He always was the most controlling one, the most calculating.

Not today, however.

That title easily belongs to Price, who merely relaxes further into his seat, as if he wasn't just mere feet away from the two of you.

"I said fuck her, Riley. Not stand there and keep it warm."

He's so fucking. He's fucking cruel about this, fully willing and wanting to make this hurt. It's so completely unlike the man you love, and it's psychologically damning in a way nothing else could be.

But, like directed, Simon fucks you.

He stops trying to be kind about it, stops wallowing in guilt. It's rough, forceful, urgent, unlike the way he usually liked to savour your pleasure, your pain. He usually delighted in the smooth, deep strokes, prolonging the passionate act almost vindictively.

No. Now, it's quick, punishing thrusts, and your head falls back and little moans escape your throat.

It's like you've both forgotten that Soap and Gaz sit on the couch, watching, waiting. Price has likely made it that way on purpose, to make them envy the attention you and Ghost are getting.

"Fuck," you moan, tits bouncing as Simon continues to fuck you relentlessly, harsh in his movements.

"Does he feel good?" Price is standing, and when you open glassy eyes, it's to see his face looking down at you. If you had the mind to, you'd flinch under his criticizing expression. "Answer me."

You nod, shakily, and when his brows narrow, you rush out a verbal response. "Yes, yes, he does!"

Price hums a noncommittal sound, before his hand slides down your stomach, leaving your hairs to stand on end, before his fingers reach your clit. In tight circles, he has you on the edge almost immediately, and you cry out.

"Gonna fuckin' cum," Ghost grunts, voice low as his eyes clench tight.

"Aww, you two close?" Your captain's voice is gruff, all too condescending, and just before you can find your release, his hand leaves your clit, and wraps around Ghost's neck. He leans into his ear, and his whisper is loud enough for everyone to hear. "Pull out."

Simon makes a noise suspiciously close to a whimper, and it's so unlike him that it has your eyes opening wide, before he does just as Price ordered.

He pulls out.

"Seriously?" You groan, filter eviscerated like your high was. You lean up, using your elbows for leverage.

Price raises one brow, before scratching at his beard almost absent-mindedly. "Got a complaint, sergeant?"

You shake your head, lightning quick, like a puppet on a string.

That's what you were right now -- what all of you were. Just puppets in whatever acts Price wanted to see you all star in.

It's exhilarating in the worst of ways.

"Soap, Gaz," Price snaps once more, and Ghost is nothing more than a neglected mutt. Which, really, is almost funny considering the amount of times the man teases you, Soap and Gaz about such a comment. You couldn't count the amount of times he's compare you three to 'needy puppies'.

Now, he was nothing more than that, and you wish you could enjoy that fact more.

The two men adhere to the command, radiating nervous energy as they stand to attention, not unlike they would if they were in a standard military unit.

"Gaz, take her mouth," Price demands, before his hand buries in the short hair near the nape of Soap's head with a mean grip, meant to hurt. Soap barely hides a whine as Price tugs him, forcing the man to his knees as if he's nothing more than the mutt Ghost usually refers to him as. "You, lick 'er clean."

You realise, then, what exactly this is.

It's truly a display of power. Of control. Because you four took that away from him on the field, unrightfully so. There truly is thought behind his anger, his pain.

It only makes the ache in your heart burn, makes it bruise and bleed where the shattered pieces cut and embed into the innerworkings of your body.

This 'training' won't make up for what you four pulled. Not in the slightest.

But it's something to let John get some of his emotions out, in a somewhat healthier way than you lot usually resorted to.

You'd always offer your support, offer yourself, and he knows that.

He's deliberately taking away that option for you, taking control to comfort the side of him that is so deeply ingrained, so deeply relied on for him to live.

You love him. So effortlessly.

Those words remain accurate, even as Johnny first licks over your wet pussy, and Kyle's dick bumps against your lips.

Opening your mouth without a thought, Kyle's tip slips in, his pre-cum salty on your tongue as you flatten your tongue against it. Johnny's as enthusiastic as ever, maybe even more than usual, as he delegates all of his attention to your aching warmth.

John's grip doesn't release from Johnny's hair, shoving his closer against you, and the sight is so hot that you wish you could fully, properly enjoy it.

Another time, when you're all in better spots, happy and unapologetic, you'll ask them to re-enact the scene.

Johnny moans against your pussy, hands coming up to grip at your bare thighs, and you just know there'll be finger-shaped bruises come tomorrow morning. He's always been unaware of his strength, not understanding the proper damage he can inflict, especially in the bedroom. It's attractive as all hell.

"Yeah? She taste good, hm?" John nearly snarls, and you let out a drawn out moan at the pleasure and words. The sound is muffled by Kyle pushing in deeper, having you almost gagging on his length.

Your eyes flutter shut at the onslaught of feelings, but even with no sight, you can feel Simon's eyes on you like a physical weight.

You know what position he's in, without having to look. Leaning against the wall with a furious expression, large arms folded over his bulky chest. Maybe he's pulled off his mask, maybe it's just been hooked over his crooked nose.

"Fuck, cap," Kyle groans, bucking into your throat. "So fuckin' good--"

Johnny muffles a whine as his efforts nearly double, and you swear spots colour the darkness of your vision. You're already there, and it's not like you can say anything, with Kyle abusing your mouth like this.

"She's close, ain't she, Johnny? Feel her clenchin' on your tongue?" John taunts, and you can feel Johnny nod against your core, nose brushing your clit as he does.

John huffs a cruel laugh, before he abruptly pulls Johnny away by the scruff of his neck. You can't help by buck up, searching for touch, but none comes.

"Kyle," John's tone is one requiring no resistance, and with a shaky exhale, Kyle pulls out of your mouth, a string of spit clinging to his dick, before snapping and leaving your cheek covered with a line of it.

You shakily open your eyes, your pussy begging for a release, knowing that you won't get one. Not yet.

"You make a mess, you clean it up," John says.

So, Kyle leans down, his tongue licking over the spit trail, and really it should be disgusting.

Instead, it only makes you wetter.

Your thighs incessantly shake, no hint of stopping as your body aches. The emotional turmoil, mixed with the physical kind -- it's a concoction for torture.

With half-lidded eyes, you watch as John forces Johnny's head in between your breasts, pressing his face into them. It must be almost suffocating, but Johnny manages to whine as you feel John's hand wrap around Johnny's dick, positioning it against your twitching hole.

"Rut into her," John orders, before stepping back.

Johnny does just that -- he thrusts in, bottoming out with one push. Your moan sounds too alike to a squeal at the stretch, the sudden intrusion. Your arms wrap around his back, nails scratching lines down Johnny's back as he thrusts into you almost manically. You're sure that you're drawing blood, but it only seems to encourage the man rutting into you further, his thrusts urgent and feral.

"Jesus christ," someone -- you're sure it's Kyle -- murmurs, and you suddenly want to know what you must look like from a spectator. Ruined, probably.

Your breaths are harried as you feel yourself getting close once more, tears burning at the corner of your vision at the pure need coursing through your veins.

"Please," you whimper, squeezing like a vice around Johnny's dick. "Please, oh god."

"Now you want me to make decisions? Let you two cum?" There's a hand in your hair, and in any other situation, it'd be calming.

Currently, it feels like a thinly veiled threat.

"Please, John, 'm so sorry, please," you beg, eyes blurry as you look up into the man's stormy blue eyes.

Usually, they're comparable to a calm ocean, the beach mid-summer.

Now, they're akin to the darkest of storms, the ones sailors whisper about, the ones that haunt them while they're asleep at sea. Ones that cause shipwrecks to wash up on shores, ones that cause stories to be passed between campers on the scariest of nights.

"Now you're sorry, sweetheart?" And, oh, there's a sliver of the warmth you've come to crave, and it almost has you melting where you lay.

You're so close, you can taste it on your tongue, and your moans get louder, needier, more frantic --

"Stop, Johnny."

Tears fall, then. Hot and heavy down your cheeks, leaving sticky tracks in their wake. Hiccups fall from your lips as you sob from the deprevation.

Johnny whines, head drooped low as he stops, and you can feel him pulse inside of you, both of you at your wits' end.

"You follow orders so well in this room, don't you?" John says. The voice of a captain.

It's almost your last straw. The devastation is too great, the mix of physical and emotion stress weighing on you heavily.

"'M so sorry, shoulda listened," you cry, body trembling.

"John, please, we're sorry," Kyle insists, a furrow between his dark brows where he takes a step closer to you and Johnny.

Simon, although silent, is also closer to you both now than he had been, no longer stood against the wall.

Your boys -- they're so inherently protective, and it's such a nice feeling. No matter how guilty they feel, how genuinely sorry, they can't stand to see you or Johnny so weak, so vulnerable.

Love. You love them, in a way words can never describe.

John exhales. A deep, thoughtful one.

"We're talking about this, after we're all cleaned up," he says. It's the first hint of himself that you've heard tonight, and the relief is like an intoxicating drug.

It's like even the room itself takes a deep breath, dispelling of some of the tension lining every inch of it.

"Off 'er," John snaps his fingers, and Johnny pulls out with a small whimper, head still hung low.

Grabbing your hips, John flips you over, making you bend so your face is to the desk and your ass is in the air. His large hand presses against your lower back, bending you into an arch.

He slides in, and it's an easy entry. You don't think you've been more wet in your life, and gods, you need it.

Setting a ruthless pace immediately, every thrust forces a whimper, a moan, a whine out of your mouth, eyes dazed as your cheek presses against the wood. His hand fists into your hair, forcing your head to face the three men stood side by side, watching you both with a flurry of emotions behind heavy stares.

"Feel so fuckin' good, christ," John seethes, his grip tightening in your hair, causing your moan to become louder as it leaves your lips.

It isn't long before you're at that cliff once more, begging for a final push, just so you can reach that finish you ache for.

"Gonna, fuck, please, let me cum, John, I love you, I'm so sorry," your words aren't fully your own, and they come out in a desperate plea.

"Yeah? My girl gonna cum for me? Needy slut."

Those words are your undoing, your nirvana.

You cum, body strung tight as tears fall down your cheeks once more, your vision nearly blacking out with the strength of your orgasm. It's almost painful, the stimulation altogether too much, and not enough.

John finishes not long after, his cum filling you up with a loud groan from him.

He releases his fist in your hair, and you head falls to the desk, body slumping with the final release of pleasure.

Stroking a smoothing hand down your back, he pulls out, and you can feel his seed leaking down your thighs. You must be a sight -- all worn out and dripping with the white liquid.

"We don't getta cum?" Johnny whines, and you can hear the roll of Simon's eyes.

There's a hand stroking stray hairs off of your face, and from the texture and size of the limb you can tell it's Kyle.

"You won't get to tomorrow, either, if you keep tha' up," Price mutters, and you let out a delusional giggle at his words. You're cum-drunk, almost, from how drawn out your orgasm had been.

"We really are sorry, Cap," Kyle murmurs genuinely, and the hurt is a sharp barb on his tongue. "You know we love you, didn't mean to hurt you."

John releases a long, worn-out breath. "I know that. I do. But you're a bunch of reckless muppets 'nd you fuckin' went too far today. I'm your captain, lover or not."

"We'll talk it over later," Simon states, and you can't help but agree with the sentiment.

You will. And it'll be a painful conversation, but one that you all owe to your captain.

Because, at the end of the day, you four would do anything for the man that you love. That includes the tough words, the difficult exchanges.

John presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, and with complete certainty, you're sure that you're all going to be okay.

a/n. the day that i stop loving poly 141 is the day that i die. price needs all the love omg this one kinda hurt to write cause oof angst but hopefully it was an enjoyable read!!!! thank you to everyone who comments on my fics, your notes etc make me do a lil happy dance ily all!!!!!!!!!!!!

2K notes · View notes

hlficlibrary · 4 months

Text

✤ Enemies to Lovers ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ Unbelievers by @isthatyoularry {E, 136k}

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

2️⃣ Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can't Lose by dolce_piccante / @haydolce {M, 112k}

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

3️⃣ Collision by itjustkindahappened / @tequiladimples {E, 226k}

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

(Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.)

4️⃣ Flightless Bird by audreyhheart {E, 97k}

AU where Louis Tomlinson is a principal dancer with The Royal Ballet. When his rival from ballet school, moody dance prodigy Harry Styles joins the company, old wounds are reopened and old passions reignited. During the company's production of Swan Lake the secret that doomed their love is finally revealed, but will it be too late?

5️�� don't make this easy (i want you to mean it) by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze {E, 24k}

“Harry’s a player. All he does is chat everyone up. And guys like him are just--so ugh. He’s got that arrogant, self-assured smirk plastered to his face all the time. Always smug and stupid, like he could get anyone he lays his eyes on. All he does is make me mad and laugh all the time like he knows something that I don’t. That is so annoying.”

“But that’s just Harry,” Niall shrugged at Louis. “He doesn’t even try to flirt or anything. He’s just naturally charming, but that doesn’t mean he’s a player nor that he’s trying to get into everyone's pants. He’s just friendly. And he likes you. He doesn’t usually fall for people, but he fell for you.”

“Oh, should I feel special then?” Louis asked, snorting and rolling his eyes.

or Harry’s a frat boy who is head over heels for Louis and Louis wants nothing to do with him.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 An Amazing Race Around the World (And to my Heart) by Thingssicant / @slowlyseducedbycurls {E, 89k}

“This year marks our thirtieth race around the world, thirty seasons of teams bound by friendship, family, and even some people who just band together for the chance at the prize. But this year, we want to remove that dynamic,” Phil said, rubbing his hands together gently.

The cameras were whirring around them, trying to get every shocked face and gasp from the teams. Louis could feel a ringing in his ears, a new nervousness he hadn’t felt during the entire journey to this competition.

He was sweating more now, more than he could blame on the California sun, as Phil started to read the names of the new teams, the members hugging their loved ones before joining a complete stranger in their new allotted spot.

Or an Amazing race Hate to Lovers au

💎 no heart for me like yours (no love for you like mine) by @phdmama {E, 46k}

When Harry Styles, wedding dress designer to the stars (sort of) and Louis Tomlinson, wedding planner and relationship expert (kind of) meet on the occasion of their sisters' engagement, sparks fly. But not the good kind. Louis thinks Harry is a dick and Harry thinks Louis is an asshole.

That doesn't last long.

The road to true love isn't always smooth or uncomplicated. Can two stubborn men find their way?

💎 an ocean in my veins (you'll be diving in) by me_her_themoon / @dreamersdivin-headfirst {E, 31k}

But, since Niall is so talkative to literally anyone with a working mouth, it means that when Louis Tomlinson started to take a shine to him, Harry started to hate him.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just Harry and Niall, and whoever else wanted to join their antics. It was Harry and Niall and Louis.

Did Harry mention that Louis is a stupid fucking prick? He wants to make sure that’s clear.

[or, harry and louis hate each other and niall just wants everyone to get along]

💎 Spinning Out Waiting for You by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose {M, 18k}

Harry Styles is a year and a half away from graduating with a masters in potions and he has one huge milestone to reach in his academy career: the Matching Ceremony.

From Halloween night until graduation, matched witches and familiars will have to create a talisman to be a physical representation of their bond. One for the witch and one for the familiar. Most pairings last an entire lifetime.

If only it were that simple.

💎 Can't Buy My Love, Can Buy Me Dinner by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13 {G, 9k}

Is it ethical to accept a dinner date for the free food? And will you hate me when I go anyway?

Fact 1: Louis hates Harry Styles. Fact 2: Louis is temporarily living off toast and spaghetti hoops. Fact 3: ...Louis may be semi-accidentally dating his worst enemy.

#ficrec #enemiestolovers #hlcreators #hljournal #trackinghome #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #ladyaj13 #amomentoflove #phdmama #thingssicant #isthatyoularry #dolcepiccante #itjustkindahappened #audreyhheart #wildestdreams #meherthemoon

96 notes · View notes

shewrites444 · 1 year

Text

competitive edge [xavier thorpe x reader smut]

[ like usual, written by me and only me. i figured an enemies to lovers trope would be an interesting one to write, so enjoy ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) ]

word count - 2k

[summary: the reader and xavier have never gotten along, but when they're unexpectly forced to be on the same team for the poe cup, the two learn they're more alike, sexually, than they think.]

[warnings: enemies to lover trope, teasing, quick sex, risky sex]

"are you fucking serious, ajax? you told me xavier wasn't going to participate this year." i roll my eyes in annoyance, walking down to hall with the boy as we turn into our biology class. "you know i wouldn't have agreed to any of this if i knew he was coming."

ajax signed, sitting down on the black stool before setting his backpack on the floor. "it's really not that big of a deal, [y/n]. it's not like you have to talk to him, you know." he opened his notebook and clicked his pen to begin taking notes. "and remind me again why you two are so called mortal enemies in the first place?"

"he humiliated the shit out of me freshman year, dude. remember?" i look up to ajax in confusion and a bit of frustration. "i don't know who could forget he was the one that started the rumor i brought that red paint to the rave'n because i had failed one of miss thornhill's exams and he didn't, which like, almost caused me to get expelled."

"well, if it makes you feel better, i did forget. but now you have reminded of that disaster of an event, so thanks for that." ajax jokes, winking at me playfully as i scoff, burying my head into my hands as i think about the events that were about to unfortunately unfold this weekend.

the reason i disliked xavier sounded kind of silly, but it really did take a toll on me. we had lightly competed a bit in terms of academics since we were freshman at nevermore, and when he scored better than me on that exam and i was going to take it to principal weems (since i never failed anything in my life), he like, flipped out on me and caused an entire scene that was a normie's fault in the first place. we had no previous grudge, but since that day, we've barely spoken, and when we did, it was because we were either in the same friend group, or in class for a project of some sort. this whole poe cup ordeal made me just wanted to drop out of our group, but it was too late now - the competition was literally in two days.

so the next 48 hours were pretty stressful for me in terms of how i'd be able to move past this and put on a fake smile for a few hours so that we were able to win this and have it be over with.

when the time finally rolled around, i sat in the brown boat with a cold expression and a stupid costume, grabbing the oar and feeling a familiar lanky presence sit behind me, squeezing my side as i winced with a heavy blush on my cheeks, turning around and punching no other than xavier thorpe in the arm.

"fuck off, thorpe." i say quietly, looking up to the boy as he laughed, shaking his head at my frustration.

"it's been almost two years, [y/n]. can't you loosen up? no one remembers anything that happened, like, ages ago." xavier justifies himself, grabbing an oar and holding it to his side. "can't we just get along for a few hours, at least? i don't bite, [y/n]."

i roll my eyes, looking up to him with a blank stare. "i don't think it's necessary for us to speak throughout this."

"i do." he grins, tilting his head to the side as he glanced down at my figure. "i can't not look at you dressed like an idiot."

"we are literally wearing the same thing." i snap, turning around and shaking my head. "asshole."

the sound of xavier's laughter taunted my ears as i glanced in front of me at the blue lake before us, anxiously awaiting our cue to go so that this could go any faster. time felt like it was on standby from how much i wished this was done with, so i knew this was the universe's way of just forcing me to go through an uncomfortable situation to maybe somehow bring peace to it. who the fucks know?

the sound of the whistle finally cues us to go. as each boat begins to rapidly row across the water, the sirens, like always, rigged the game by knocking over several boats with one of their teammates, but we were luckily not one of those boats. in a way, i obviously wished we were. this couldn't end any sooner.

as we reached land, ajax got out of the boat and looked to me while i set my oar down, helping me up and watching as xavier stepped out after me. he sighed, looking to the two of us. "both of you go ahead and find the flag, please. i can watch the boat so no one fucks it up."

my eyes widen and i shake my head frantically in rejection to his idea, looking to xavier who grabs my hand and immediately yanks me towards him as we run into the empty woods.

"seems that whenever i want to get away from you, this bullshit keeps us together!" i shout to him with annoyance as i yank my hand away, jogging behind him while i look around the forest.

he smirks, turning around to face me. "that should say something, hm?"

"shut up." i scoff, watching him laugh as his hat bounces with each step he took. he looked ridiculous, but no matter how much i wanted to not admit it, he oddly looked kind of.. cute. gross.

i stop in my tracks as we run into an abandoned white building, where our flag was stuck against the side of a nearby tree. i walk over to grab it, but upon turning around, i bump into xavier, who's now hovered above me.

"move." i say, looking up to him, my lips pursed together. "we need to get back to ajax. we have the flag."

xavier takes the flag from me, dropping it to the ground. he steps closer, forcing my back to hit the back of the tree while he moves one hand to cup the side of my painted face. "he can wait. these flags take forever to find anyway, we just happened to get lucky."

"no way, xavier. if you think i'd even do as much as kiss you, then you're fucking insane." i push my hands against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but he persists, moving his other hand to the top of my pants, sliding his fingers down to press against my warmth.

i rest my head against the tree, looking up to him and shake my head, sighing heavily through my nostrils. "no. this is wrong. you fucked me over."

he leans down to meet my height, opening his mouth and beginning to lick from the side of my cheek to my jawline, planting kisses to the left until he is now up to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss against my painted skin.

"your body doesn't think it's wrong."

he was right about that. damn it.

whatever - fuck it.

i reluctantly return the kiss that was probably a mistake, looking around us to make sure we were in the clear, before i unzip the front of his suit, my hand sliding down into his underwear as i grab his hardened length, beginning to pump him while he rubs his fingers against the outside of my costume, small grunts coming from his closed lips as he looks down to my hand on his dick.

"let me fuck you, [y/n]." xavier looks up to me, moving his hands to unzip my front, pushing it off my shoulders to expose my black bra. "and then we can hate each other again if you'd prefer it that way."

i smirk, moving my free hand to slide my bra straps down and expose my chest. "tell a soul and i'll kill you."

xavier grins, leaning down to slide his hand into my underwear and his mouth onto my chest, pressing kisses around my breasts before his lips attached to my nipple, sucking the bud aggressively as he slid one finger into my entrance, the two of us pleasuring each other into such a sensational edge that i really couldn't take not having him inside me right now already.

"fuckkkk..." i moan, looking down to him as he reached one hand over to pick me up, straddling my legs on each side of him while he kept one finger inside me, moving my hand to the bottom of his dick to position himself towards my entrance, looking up to me with nothing but lust in his face while he takes his finger out and slides his dick into my wet entrance.

he groans, his head falling back while he slowly begins to pump his length inside of me, my covered ass pressing against the tree behind me while he begins to pick up his pace rather quickly, so that within a matter of seconds, he was slamming himself inside of my walls, while my arms wrapped around his neck, and our lips crashed together, bodies in sync as we fucked so fast that almost everything in me was numb except the most indescribable, dirty feeling that i was fucking someone who nearly ruined my life because he couldn't admit i was smarter, and better.

"you gonna cum soon?" i say through shaking breath, breaking our kiss to meet our eyes instead.

xavier nods silently, his lips pressed together while he continues to pound me, looking down to watch as my tits bounced rapidly through his thrusts. "mhm.. are you?"

"you're not gonna make me cum." i tease, my voice smooth and seductive while i look up to him with a taunting smile. "you don't get to have that, xavier. i said you could fuck me, but i never said you could cum."

his eyes widen and he tilts his head to mock my actions, but a smirk grows on his face while he grabs my ass, holding my tightly while he pumps more and more harshly inside of me. "you're funny for that, [y/n]. i know you want me to cum from you. i know that when we pass each other in the halls, in the dorms, anywhere, that you're gonna wish i was fucking you all over again... you're gonna want me behind you, on top of you, you riding me.. you're gonna regret saying things would go back to the way they were, because they won't.. i won't let that happen, because i wanna fuck you sooo much more than just once.. i wanna fill your pussy over and over, because no matter how much you hate me.. you're gonna want me inside you again.."

my mouth hangs open as he speaks, my cheeks so heated that i can feel the burn while he finishes speaking and instead moans loudly, his cum filling my pussy and dripping into my underwear as he sets me down and zips his suit up, doing the same for me after adjusting my bra back into place.

i stand in disbelief, watching him grab the flag, and then my hand. he grins, leading my towards the boat.

"you're so fucking cocky." i mutter, looking down at the ground while we continue to walk.

"you're so fucking hot." he winks, reaching his hand over to lightly tap my ass.

"oh, shut the hell up." i roll my eyes, a small grin on my lips as i take his hand into mine again.

"never." xavier says as we reach ajax, and hand him the flag, getting back into the boat. he leans over to rest his head on my shoulder as we get back into place. "gotta say, i already love this new dynamic between us."

"fuck you."

"again already?" xavier gasps with a hint of sarcasm. "gosh, [y/n]. didn't know you wanted me that bad."

i smirk to myself, nudging his chest with my elbow. "i've never hated you more, thorpe."

#xavier thorpe #x yn #x reader #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe smut #wednesday fanfic #wednesday #netflix wednesday #wednesday series #smut writing #enemies to lovers #favorite trope

477 notes · View notes

saphhicwitchbitch · 10 months

Text

Imagine: if aziraphale had used the gun in the book.

Hi! I just copied my writing from a previous reblog so that i could have the scenario as mine on my blog.

The final encyclopaedia crashed down the stairs.

"What are you going to do now. You are surrounded. Your humans can no longer fight. Your dear, dear Crowley hasn't come back for his pet. You are alone. You are out of options. You are helpless angel". Shax smirked as the final word slithered out of her mouth. Her tone condescending and triumphant as she had seemingly won.

A smirk also glided onto Aziraphales face, "Actually, you are wrong"

Shax had not expected such confidence from her enemy. Sure, angels were known for their high and mighty cockiness but surely, surely they could recognize defeat?

What shax had not realized, firstly, is that Aziraphale had not once utilised any of his angelic powers or training. He had once been the protector of the eastern gate, and that job was not given to any lightweights, it was the same reason why he was supposed to lead a batallion if Armageddon hadn't been thwarted by him and Crowley. Secondly, and this relates to the failure of the end of times, Aziraphale doesn't do well taking instructions and doing what he is told. It's how he has fumbled his way through the millenia he has been on the surface. Sure, he followed heavenly orders when he wanted to, but as soon as they wanted him to do something he didn't necessarily agree with, all bets were off the table. He didn't ask, he just did and it was heavens poor monitoring of this principality that allowed his nature in the way he does things to be a bit more frivolous. Thirdly, and this is one of the most important bits, you don't get through centuries in London without picking up a few bits here and there, going a bit native as the heavenly order might say.

"What-What do you mean 'actually you are wrong'? You are helpless to my legion! You have no help! Crowley and heaven have left you behind! You are nothing in comparison to me!"

"Again, you are wrong" gently spoke Aziraphale, a polite smile now occupying his face as he gently reached to grab a copy of 'The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde (and other stories)'. Gently he glided his fingers over the leather cover, he first got this book a few years after it's release in 1886. It has caught his eye in around 1893 when publishers decided to compile this story and the works of others in one book. And while he would have like to have individual copies of each story, he couldn't resist the beautiful binding of the book at that time. Of course, this didn't matter too much in the long run as by 1927 he had come into possession of hand binded copies of each story. Which is why he felt no particular remorse when....editing this version.

"What are you doing, now is not the time to be caressing a dusty book Mr Fell," whispered Nina in a hushed but agitated voice. The demons were starting to slowly move in again after being at ease for the few seconds in which Shax had been talking and Nina would quite like to make her way out of this alive thank you very much.

"Listen to the human,"Shax spoke." Stop delaying and plead for forgiveness at the ruthless claws of my demons!"

" Oh you are still quite incorrect i'm afraid. You see, it will be your army that will need to be asking her grace for forgiveness soon enough."

With a rapid movement Aziraphale had flipped open the book, pulled out a small hand gun and lifted it to eye level, finger resting in the trigger.

Shax laughed, "A gun! You couldn't possibly dream of harming us with that human contraption!"

"Incorrect once again I'm afraid. You see your mortal bodies are susceptible to human wounds, a bullet in the right place would discorporate you. However, as precaution this gun has been consecrated and each bullet blessed using holy water. Forget inconveniently discorporated, you will be permanently gone. I didn't want to use this, violence has never really been my fortitude but i have warned you many times and asked you politely to leave a plethora more. Now I'm fed up and just want to keep Nina and Maggie safe. Get out of my book shop!"

His index finger squeezed the trigger and a bullet flew straight though a demons head. Immediately discorporating them and leaving their body to slowly break down on the floor at Shax's feet.

#out of character i know #and im sorry #but i couldnt resist #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #aziraphale #crowley #good omens spoilers #short scenario #good omens season 2 imagine #ive never touched a gun so ignore that probably inacturate writing of it #mini fanfic #kinda #neil gaiman #ineffable husbands

8 notes · View notes

skxrbrand · 5 months

Text

The Border Principalities, Realm of Mortals

Truth be told, Va'rrick had lost sight of the mission amid the bounty of battle on offer within the Borderlands. And if anyone under his banner had the mind to remember, they certaintly didn't have the courage to remind their Lord. The men of the Princes were more sparse than the Empiremen, but they were meaner and leagues more dangerous owing to the cut-throat nature of their society.

And there were much more than men-- pockets of Skaven, sounders of Ogres, and war parties of Orcs. Even the odd pocket of Malalians. Though squabblesome, all saw the wisdom in putting aside petty grievances in order to deal with the Khorne Lord hacking a bloody red path through their home.

Indeed, the skull tally would be handsome by mission's end. It was only by chance they stumbled across the first Cult of Khade, bearing the strange cross-crown mark of the Red God, and with that stroke of luck the Bloodthirster of Khorne Va'rrick directed his killing frenzy to find more and more.

The Sage of Khade, he figured, would be here, trying to hide amidst it's own. The Ascended Godling himself might be stalking about, a prospect that filled the feline Bloodthirster with equal parts anticipation and trepidation. He was weaker than Khorne, obviously, but still a god, if a minor one. And thus, dangerous to Va'rrick...but imagine the glory! How Khorne would bless him and his legions for delivering the Skull of a God to his throne and the ichor of the divine to fill the Chalice of Wrath!

It was these thoughts Va'rrick focused on, not allowing fear to take root and taint the purity of Khorne's gifts.

---

The Blood God was still predictable as ever.

Halle-Khade, looming large over his congregation of kneeling cultists, paid the bodies before him no heed. Instead, he quietly considered the message he had been brought. A Bloodthirster of Khorne raging it's way across the land, first indiscriminately, now with an obvious target in mind: his followers. He casts his multiple eyes over the prostrating assembly. Though humans were by far the most common, dwarves, ogres, and even the odd Skaven could be seen among the hunkering figures.

₪ SO KHARNETH HAS COME TO BATTLE. Khade was giddy. It reminded him of old times. He hummed.

₪ SOME WEEKS AGO, YOU SPOKE OF A DAEMON OF MALAL AND CULTISTS LURKING ABOUT THE LAND. He began. A GREATER DAEMON, I BELIEVE IT WAS? FIND HER AND SEEK AUDIENCE. THE SHADOWBROOD HOLDS MORE HATRED FOR KHORNE'S KIND THAN IT DOES MY OWN. AND WHAT IS THE ENEMY OF YOUR ENEMY BUT A FRIEND TO BE?

The Cult Magus, his sigil branded proudly in their forehead, bowed and scraped.

" As the Blood Lord wills it." They said, the mortals behind them repeating the sentiment in one voice.

#GUEST MUSE; HALLE-KHADE #guest muse; Va'rrick #plot point

3 notes · View notes

albertfinch · 1 year

Text

RELEASING OF HOLY SPIRIT POWER -- THE POWER OF RESURRECTION

The main idea for breakthrough comes from the breakthrough of water from 2 Samuel 5:20: "So David went to Baal Perazim (which means "possessor of the breaches"), and David defeated them there; and he said, "The LORD has broken through my enemies before me, like a breakthrough of water."

We always need breakthrough. If we don’t realize that , then we begin to settle for less. There is always more ground to take, more minds to be changed, and promises to be fulfilled. Because of this, we are always in need of more breakthrough.

Whether it's breakthrough in physical healing, financial provision, relationship issues, ministry or any number of areas, God's desire is to bring manifested breakthrough.

THE BATTLE OF JERICO:

The victory in Jericho was not the result of an advancing army breaking into the gates of the city. It was as God's people obeyed and followed His strategy that breakthrough came and the victory was won. Jericho had two walls, an inner and outer, with a combined thickness of 18 feet. Surely the inhabitants of Jericho never imagined that these walls would be breached, let alone be destroyed altogether in a moment of time. Our God is well able to bring breakthrough in the midst of impossible situations.

THE MANIFESTED POWER OF THE HOLY SPIRIT:

Romans 8:11 is this: "But if the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, He who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through His Spirit who dwells in you."

We need to believe God for the release of Holy Spirit power – the power of the resurrection in our lives.

Scripture also says that the anointing BREAKS the yoke. Many Believers these days are walking around with heavy yolks of everything from religious expectations to orphaned thinking and condemnation. God's desire is to manifest BREAKTHROUGH to obliterate yolks by the anointing (Isaiah 10:27).

NEW BEGINNINGS

Isaiah 43:19 - "Nothing compares to what I'm going to do with you says the Lord! Behold, I am going to do a brand new thing with you personally. See, I've already begun to do it. Don't you see it?"

In the land of New Beginnings, you must remove the masks and veils that have formed in the past season so you can lay hold of God’s purpose for your life for the future. Isaiah 41:15:

("Behold, I will make you to be a new, sharp, threshing instrument which has teeth; you shall thresh the mountains and beat them small, and shall make the hills like chaff") has become a key word for us. When you come to understand your God’ given authority and dominion that are yours in Christ -- this will allow you to display the wisdom of God to the powers and principalities that have blocked you in past seasons from advancing in your Christ calling.

Jesus says: 'You shall see the Heaven OPENED, and a way between Heaven and earth, between God and man, made clear. I am that way. I will open Heaven by My own blood.'

"Then He added, 'In truth, in very truth I tell you all, you shall see heaven wide open.....'" - John 1:51

Your time in communion with the Lord will raise you to that "Come up here, let me show you something you didn't know before" place for substantial breakthrough.

"I saw a door open in heaven and heard the same voice speaking to me, the voice like a trumpet, saying 'Come up here: I will show you what is to come in the future.'" - Revelation 4:1

PRAYER:

Lord, I ask you now to pour out the Spirit of the Overcomer. I lift up my head and receive the King of Glory to breakthrough so that I can breakout. Lord, stir me out of the wilderness and grip me with a holy violence and jealousy to lay hold of my Christ identity and DESTINY in Christ. May I be strong and do great exploits in Your Name! - Amen

ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY

6 notes · View notes

leclerc-s · 7 months

Text

paint the town red - part two

PRESEASON TESTING + EMOTIONAL SUPPORT DOGS

series masterlist

AN INTERVIEW WITH FERRARI'S NEW TEAM

scuderiaferrari posted a new story

i don't think bahrain is ready for the new and improved ferarri. let's get pre-season testing over with to show people what we're made of!

liked by arthur_leclerc, sebastianvettel, tonystark and others

scuderiaferrari preseason testing has got charlos feeling like a couple, our engineers super sleepy, and seb stressed over driver/engineer shenanigans. also featuring our emotional support dog enzo woofstappen and our emotional support ferrari academy drivers. not pictured is tony and seb cuddling as christian horner watches with longing in his eyes (you wish that was you huh?)

tagged: carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, biancastark_potts, harleykeener, arthur_leclerc, sebastianvettel, olliebearman

view all comments

username why do you guys have an emotional support dog?

↳ scuderiaferrari the previous owners had these drivers traumatized. now the drivers are traumatizing seb. yes, the dog is named after enzo ferrari and max verstappen, we blame scott.

username enzo woofstappen is such an iconic name

maxverstappen1 i can't believe you people named a dog after me

danielricciardo I CALL GODFATHER!

↳ harleykeener YES! 100% TAKE HIM WITH YOU!

↳ biancastark_potts STOP GIVING MY DOG AWAY! I'M TELLING STEVE!

↳ scuderiaferrari WHO'S AMERICA'S ASS NOW? STEVE ROGERS OR LOGAN SARGEANT?

↳ username STEVE ROGERS, FORMER CAPTAIN AMERICA, IS CALLED AMERICA'S ASS?

↳ logansargeant i got nothing on steve rogers, i will gladly give up the title to him.

username POST MORE ENZO WOOFSTAPPEN CONTENT! HE'S OUR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT DOG NOW!

↳ scuderiaferrari i'm not allowed to spam post enzo pictures on here, go to my account!

carlossainz55 charles and i look like a couple of besties!

↳ landonorris you two are in love

↳ charles_leclerc you said you loved me? was it all a lie?

↳ carlossainz55 amor no. i love you.

↳ username loving this new ferrari. carlos and charles' friendship seems better now.

↳ harleykeener carlos calls charles honey 24/7. it's sickening.

christianhorner it was not longing. seb is still our golden boy, you people have chuck leclerc.

↳ scuderiaferrari you snooze you lose old man. he’s ours now.

↳ maxverstappen1 wow, your current world champion sure feels loved

liked by biancastark_potts, natasharomanoff, michellejones and others

peterbparker as demanded by one person, here's enzo woofstappen. he's never done a thing wrong in his life except that time he pissed on bucky and when he chased alpine, the cat, up a tree.

view all comments

samwilson he fucking chewed on my wings one time

↳ biancastark_potts maybe you shouldn't have left your wings out in the common area

clintbarton he shit in my shoes

↳ peterbparker you threatened to shave him. it was deserved.

steverogers he chewed my shoes. all of them.

↳ harleykeener he was bitter about the avengers civil war

alexalbon it seems roscoe has competition for cutest paddock pet

↳ lewishamilton roscoe wins. no doubt

↳ biancastark_potts i doubt it, enzo's clearly cuter.

↳ lewishamilton i bet no one's ever told a stark they were wrong, but you're wrong

username who's enzo favorite ferrari team member?

↳ peterbparker charles, but only because he gives him extra treats!

↳ charles_leclerc I DO NOT!

↳ biancastark_potts that's something a guilty man would argue.

username who's alpine the cat?

↳ peterbparker enzo's mortal enemy and bucky's adopted cat. REMEMBER ADOPT DON'T SHOP!

↳ username was enzo adopted?

↳ biancastark_potts he was a gift from a friend. his dog had puppies and he gave me one

bianca stark-potts posted a new story

team bonding but everyone seems to be on their phones???

the new ferrari team sat in a meeting room, both drivers feeling like they were about to be scolded. peter felt like he had been called into the principal's office, which was a feeling he hated.

"why are we here?" harley questioned tony. both drivers turned to look at the younger boy, if he didn't know why they were here then bianca didn't either, meaning they could be getting in trouble.

noticing their tense faces tony chuckled, "you're not in trouble, all of you can calm down."

"oh thank god," peter whispered, "i thought i was in trouble for that america's ass comment."

"oh, you are," tony replied, "but that's for a different day. we're here for a completely different reason."

"and that is?" sebastian questioned, "don't tell me you're firing us already."

"you're kidding," tony muttered, "this is the best performance i've seen from a ferrari in years, the car that is, not the drivers. i'm making a few changes," tony gestured to his daughter, "bianca, if you would please."

"he's being lazy," bianca joked as she stood up, "he wants to throw the 1st and 2nd driver rule out the window. the first race is coming up in less than a week, so what we propose is letting you two battle it out until miami, by that point whoever has the most points will lead in the championship and the other will defend. the next year we rotate and so forth. questions?"

"would it be before or after the miami grand prix?" charles questioned.

"after," bianca answered, "it gives us enough time to gather data and study it. the rule is only implemented if you two agree, otherwise we keep going as is."

"i think it works," sebastian said, breaking the silence, "it also guarantees both of you on the podium or at least one of you every race."

“and if we don’t agree?” carlos questioned.

“then we continue as is, charles as 1st and you as 2nd,” bianca answered, “we know it’s asking for a lot, one of you has to give up the championship for the other. the car is good, we know it can beat red bull, you both have a contract extension until 2025, by that time both of you could be world champions.”

“it is a good offer,” charles reasoned with carlos, “the car is good for both of us, it gives us equal opportunity.”

“and if we are tied when we get to miami?” carlos asked, clearly the spaniard would be the harder one of duo to convince.

“we push it until one of you gets ahead,” tony answered, “however long it takes, but mark my words, one of you will be world champion by the end of the season.”

“i will do it,” charles agreed. everyone turned to look at carlos and the spaniard nodded, “me too.”

tony clapped his hands, “well boys, let’s get that championship back to maranello, one way or another.”

taglist: @celesteblack08 @be-your-coffee-pot

¡leclerc-s speaks! would this strategy ever work out irl? no fucking way but that's the beauty of fanfiction anything and everything can work out as long as you write it the right way. so, the question is, who should get the championship first charles or carlos? i'm leaning towards charles because he won monza in 2019, and carlos hasn't achieved that yet. i also am a charles girl, incase that wasn't yet obvious. so, answer the poll below and tell me who you guys think should win the championship first. let me know if you guys want to be added to the taglist.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #paint the town red series #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #f1 x female oc #charles leclerc x female oc #marvel social media au #f1 x marvel crossover

264 notes · View notes

lipglosscherrybomb · 2 years

Text

Hate me ~ P.P

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

warnings: harsh language, degrading, almost-smut but not totally.

Summary: after being paired with the person you hate the most for a project, heat and tension end up taking over.

Comment if u want a second part? :)

“Are you sure there’s no way i can just change partners?” You asked, hanging on to the slightest chance that you could somehow avoid having to sit in a room alone with Peter Parker for an extended period of time. The teacher paired you up for a project which unfortunately was half of your grade. There was absolutely no way you were going to do it with Peter.

“No, y/n. You can’t change partners. I’ve told you 6 times already.” The teacher glared at you, going back to grading papers as you rolled your eyes when you knew she couldn’t see you. “Well, you know 7th time’s the charm.” You retorted, only annoyance could be heard in your voice. Something that definitely wasn’t doing you any favors but you didn’t care.

“Look, kid. I gave you a partner, I’m not changing my mind. Suck it up and get lost.” You forced a smile at her. Picking up your book bag and heading towards the door. “Yeah, well fuck you too.” You murmured under your breath. Convinced your voice was only loud enough for you to hear.

“What was that?” She shouted from behind you. Your heart dropping as your eyes widened. There’s no way she heard that. “Nothing.” You replied. Slamming the door on your way out. That was definitely gonna get you detention, if not, a visit to the principal. You’ve wondered a few times if maybe your attitude was the reason so many people didn’t like you or found you hard to approach, but you’d learnt to live with it.

The hallway was all cleared out, it being the end of the day. You took out your phone, plugging in your headphones and putting your playlist on shuffle. It was full volume, that was a habit of yours for when something bothered you, playing music as loud as you could and get rid of the outside world for a while.

Unfortunately, your daydreaming was cut short by first hands pulling on your body. You didn’t even get a chance to react let alone scream before realizing you were pulled into the janitor’s closet. Then a very familiar smell reached you. Peter fucking Parker.

“Really Parker? The janitor’s closet? So unoriginal.” You spoke up, the sarcasm basically radiating off of you. “You’re extra bratty today.” He says in the darkness. You know he’s there in front of you since the space is so confined thanks to all the equipment stores inside it. But you can’t see him, the lights aren’t on.

You roll your eyes, reaching for the light switch. The bright light making you close your eyes immediately.

“What do you want, Parker? I have places to be.” You lied. But anywhere was better than here. You finally open your eyes and get adjusted to the light, only to find out his gaze was fixed on you. He did not look very happy.

“Yikes, lighten up Patrick Bateman.” You joke. Accompanied with a dry laugh coming from you. “Alright. Tough crowd.” You spoke up again, the silence making you uncomfortable.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He says, getting closer to your face. His tone is a little louder than usual, and he is definitely pissed off. You’re surprised he hasn’t punched you in the face or something.

“What’s got you in this charming little mood?” You retort. Adjusting the strap of your backpack on your shoulder. You figured you’d be here a while.

“You. Why do you keep on trying to change partners? I’ve done nothing to you.” He finally admits. You are pretty taken aback by his behavior and his reason for being pissed off. You really didn’t think he’d be mad about this specifically considering you two have never gotten along at all. In fact, you were utterly convinced you were destined to be mortal enemies.

“That’s what you’re upset about? Because I don’t particularly wish to work with you? There’s a shock be sure to alert the media.” You shot back. Now you’re starting to match his level of annoyance and pissed-off-ness. Why go through all this trouble for something so stupid?

“Well i was initially pulling you in here because of the basketball incident-“

“I hit you in the face with a basketball and you cried like a little girl. Go ahead.” You interrupted him, correcting the wording he chose. Earlier in the day Peter was getting especially annoying. Chasing you around the school simply to bother you, purposely bumping into you to make you drop anything you had in your hands at that time. So when gym hit, you decided to get a little revenge. Grabbing a basketball and throwing it at his face when he wasn’t looking. Cheap shot, but whatever. He didn’t cry, he just left the room huffing and puffing. But in your mind he definitely cried.

He glared at your interruption. Simply clicking his tongue and smiling as if he was losing his patience. You stared at him, a triumphant smile on your face. “You know, you can be a bit of a bitch sometimes.” He continues.

“Oh, don’t look so down. I bet you like the challenge.” You say, faking sympathy and crossings your arms over your chest. You don’t miss the way his eyes shift from your chest to your eyes.

“Enjoying the view, Parker?” You ask, teasing him a little. “Don’t flatter yourself, y/n.” He retorts, getting closer to you. “You’re really not that special.” He whispers, backing away from the proximity he was now previously in. You didn’t understand how or why but somehow that made you want him in ways you’d never thought of before. With his being so dangerously close to you, you couldn’t help but think of a few other things that were very far off from the current subject.

No matter how much you wrecked your brain on the matter. There really was no apparent or obvious reason for you and Peter to hate each-other. It had been like that for as long as you could remember. It was a mutual agreement almost.

“What do you care if i change partners anyway Maybe you’re getting a little too obsessed.” You get closer to his face, he wasn’t that much taller than you. Just a couple of inches. Not very significant, anyway. He imitates your actions, shortening the distance between you two. You wanted to back away but you didn’t want to look weak. You stood your ground.

“Oh trust me, princess, there’s no one who wants that more than i do. But unfortunately I’m concerned your little attitude might damage our grade. I’m not about to tank that stupid class because your pretentious and bitchy ass can’t take a little pressure.” You rolled your eyes. An entirely new wave of hatred and passion flows through your entire being. Many different thoughts flooding your brain.

“Fuck. You.” You say. These aren’t new words between the two of you. Basically any conversation you’ve ever had started or ended with these two words, but something about the lack of air in this closet gave those words a whole new meaning.

“I bet you want to.” He smirks. You back away, your back hitting the wall behind you as Peter refused to put any more distance between you two. He follows you back until you’re against the wall and he’s right in front of you, his arms resting at both sides of you. Suddenly you realize how your backpack was now on the ground, effect of your back hitting the wall so abruptly.

“You wish, Parker.” You said. Holding back the consuming urge to surrender yourself to him. You could never come back from that. He would never let you live it down. But as he stood in front of you filled with rage and passion and desire, all you wanted to do was let him do anything he wanted to you. All you wanted was him.

“Oh i do, now i know you do too.” He says, his head tilting slightly to the left as he maintains a certain distance between you two. Not distant enough, unfortunately.

“I 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 want you peter. Get away from me.” You shoved at his chest to get away from him, but when you tried, he trapped you in. “Okay this is seriously getting a little too ‘American Psycho’ for me.” You say, defeated. Throwing your head against the wall.

“I’m gonna take a not-so-wild guess here, y/n. You clearly want me.” He says, cocky as ever. He isn’t wrong in the slightest. In fact every single one of your thoughts consisted of him doing ungodly things to you in this very closet. But you weren’t gonna give him the satisfaction.

“That was extremely humble of you.” You reply, the sarcasm basically dripping from your voice. So turned on by this moment you had to fight the urge to rearrange your underwear, but he would notice. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was totally hard right now, you’d noticed, yet, tried your best to ignore it.

“Your heart is beating unreasonably fast for you to deny it.” He whispers, somehow he’d gotten even closer. There being barely any space between you two, his lips hovering over yours as if he was waiting for the okay. “Just give me the word and I’ll take care of you.” You’re basically squirming under him. Holding out isn’t gonna help you much longer.

“Yes.” You say simply. Not specifying, as if that would help you regain some of your dignity.

“Yes what?” His hand starts to slide up your thigh. You’re just about ready to give him anything he wants. You just need him to touch you. “Please just fuck me.” You reply. Same snotty attitude as before, covering up the fact that you were ready to fully submit yourself to him.

“So needy…” he teases, his hand now slipping under your skirt. You aren’t wearing any underwear today, you felt more comfortable that way. Even if you were wearing a mini skirt, you just had to be very mindful and strategic of how you sat during the day. It was a jean skirt, so you wore a black oversized sweater over the entire thing. His hand reaches your bare ass, becoming aware of the fact that you didn’t wear anything under the skirt. He’d fantasized about this moment for years, and in each scenario this was exactly what happened. He just didn’t think it would be so accurate.

A dry laugh escaped his lips. Your lustful eyes locking with his in confusion. He ignored the emotion. “Looks like you forgot something today.” His hand wonders around your upper thigh, teasing you purposely as he refuses to touch you where you really need him to.

“That was on purpose.” You reply smugly, knowing how much he’s enjoying this moment. You throw your head back as your mouth gapes.

“Such a whore. Was it me you were thinking about?” Your brain basically blocked his voice out. Even though his words are like kryptonite to you, you refuse to let Peter Parker gain more power than he already holds. So you focus on his movements. That is until his motions cease. “Are you gonna answer me?” He speaks up once more, you’d heard him before but pretended not to. Refusing to answer his questions. “Or are you finally gonna shut the fuck up like the slut we all know you are?” You roll your eyes. No matter what he said you knew he wouldn’t keep going until you answered him, you knew what he wanted to hear, but you decide to take a riskier route.

“Nah. There’s this really hot guy who sits next to me in chemistry. I just get so wet thinking about him.” You lie, there really is a guy that sits next to you in chemistry. And you must admit he’s pretty attractive. He’s just incredibly dull. Peter was all you thought about, this moment, similar to him, this moment was all you ever thought about when you saw him. Peter was attractive and he was actually interesting.

“You’re lying.” Peter smirks, getting possessive over you. You must admit this side of him drove you insane. “Who’s to say?” You reply simply, giving him no actual answer, you knew that kinda of shit pissed him off, especially coming from you.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll never be able to think about another guy again.” His whisper in your ear sends your head spinning. “I’ll hold you up to that.”

You’re cut short by his fingers running up and down your slit, you were practically begging for him at this point which would explain why you were so wet. He inserts his fingers, giving you no warning as his fingers curl inside you in a rapid motion. You drop your head on his shoulder not being able to comprehend how the hell he was so good at this.

Suddenly his actions come to a stop. You knew why. You could hear the footsteps approaching now as you came down from the unexplainable high you’d just experienced. What was it about Peter Parker?

He steps away from you to try and hide his boner then rushes back to you to fix your skirt while he held you up considering you were still recovering from everything he’d done to you even if it wasn’t much.

“We’ll finish this later.” He says. Stepping out of the closet, leaving you in shock.

You’d hold him to that promise.

#andrew garfield #peter parker #peter parker andrew garfield #peter parker x reader #spiderman #marvel #mcu #the amazing spider man #peter parker smut #tasm #mcu smut #tasm smut

744 notes · View notes

ivynotpoisonous · 3 years

Text

Sharing my favorite Larry fics

Tired Tired Sea by @MediaWhore on ao3

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

The Nightsky Is Changing Overhead by @orphan_account on ao3

“Um, sorry, but I believe that’s actually mine,” Harry said a bit awkwardly, pointing at the cup.

The man huffed, slightly narrowing his blue eyes, “Nope, large Americano, dash of cream.” He held the coffee up closer to Harry and honestly, Harry knew exactly what was in the cup because it was his coffee.

“Right,” Harry slowly drawled out as if he was talking to a toddler, “Which would make that mine.”

“Look, I really don’t have time for this, I’m running late. And this,” he said before he took a sip from the cup, “Is mine.”

Harry’s jaw dropped and he held his hands out, failing them slightly, “Wha-you can’t just drink it!”

“Well I did, so, do you still want it or can I be on my way?” The man challenged.

Harry shook his head disbelievingly, “Take it, but for the record, it says Harry on it.”

The man turned the cup around and a sharp laugh came out of his mouth, “Well, shit.” He looked at Harry, a smile stretched across his face as crinkles formed next to his eyes. “Thanks, Harry.”

Unbelievers by @isthatyoularry on ao3

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

Young & Beautiful by @velvetoscar on ao3

Louis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name Zayn Malik means something, Niall Horan doesn't stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and Harry Styles, only son of a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile and empty eyes.

Guns & Roses by @British-1D-Irish on wattpad

Louis has always lived a dangerous life. Now he's trying to lay low, but he has to admit that being alone is a struggle. He never wants to get attached to anyone because it would risk their life as well, but he just can't help feeling something for the boy next door. The boy that loves flowers. The boy with all the roses. Someone so innocent, it would absolutely kill him to ever put him in danger, but love is a dangerous game.

Wanted Most by @LarryWriting on wattpad

Louis Tomlinson is a thief, and a damn good one at that. Most have heard of him. Most don't understand him. And Harry Styles is the FBI agent who can never seem to catch him.

Bring your body baby (I could bring you fame) by @smileyourepretty on wattpad

Eighteen year old Harry Styles just graduated high school and landed a summer job as a waterboy for his favorite football team. His job description is simple: be ready to hand water and towels to players if needed. That didn’t seem to include Louis Tomlinson though, a twenty-three year old, recently transferred Paris Saint-German player, who seems to like making Harry’s job much more difficult than it has to be.

A self-indulgent AU that takes place over the summer of 2015. 18 year old Harry hates pining after people he can't have, and 23 year old footballer Louis loves flirting with people even though it never means anything.

Baby Heaven's in your eyes by @smileyourepretty on wattpad

They couldn’t be more different if they tried. Louis Tomlinson is 17 years old and in his last year of the most prestigious private school in Doncaster. If there’s one thing that completely annoys him, it’s that there is a poor community college right across the street.

Harry Styles is 19 years old, and (once again) in his last year of college. He goes to community college in Doncaster. He never shows up to classes and if he actually bothers to, he’s either high or drunk; sometimes both. His skin is littered with tattoos and if there’s one thing he absolutely hates, it’s the snobby students attending the private school right across from his.

Or a sixth form!AU where Harry is the fucked up bad boy with too many problems, Louis is the perfect rich boy with too much money and their schools are right across from each other. They meet at a party and that’s the last (and maybe the only) thing they need.

I'll throw away my faith (Just to keep you safe) by @smileyourepretty on wattpad

AU. Harry Styles is an MI6 agent on a mission to find out who’s planning on killing the Prime Minister. Louis Tomlinson is a wanted professional assassin, hired by the MI6 to kill whoever wants to kill the Prime Minister. Louis doesn’t do relationships but he does Harry. Featuring Niall as their handler, Liam as Harry’s boss and Zayn as his sidekick.

Flightless Bird by @AudreyHornesHeart on wattpad

154 notes · View notes

elsdaydreams · 2 years

Text

Safety Scissors

Altair x Gender-Neutral Reader (platonic)

Warnings - Scissors, hitting

Word Count - 543 words.

Description - Altair and yourself have been friends for a long time. The story of how you met is quite charming, and you tell it as often as you can.

Authors Notes - Hi friends! A few notes, I know it's been a very long time and I know I've written this before. Truthfully, I didn't think I'd ever come back to writing for Assassin's Creed. My interests have changed, and I just don't love it the way that I did. And that's totally okay, things happen. I started this account when I was fifteen. I'm twenty-one now. One thing that hasn't changed was my love for writing. I feel that I've improved drastically (and hopefully I actually have). I was just going to fix the masterlist, make it look pretty, and leave the page alone besides that. But then I read some of what I wrote. I decided I couldn't just leave y'all with this mess of writing that's incredibly out of character (seriously, it's shameful). I don't know if I'll write anything new for this page (maybe just refinishing the works I have on here will rekindle my love for the fandom), but for now I'm just fixing what's here. When all of the old works are more to my satisfaction, I'll finish updating the masterlist. I love y'all, and appreciate those who continue to like and reblog my works.

Love, Ella <3

Altair and yourself have been friends for a long time. Some friendships, you can hardly remember a time before you were close. With Altair, it had been completely different. Whenever you're feeling particularly teasing, or wished to embarrass him, you'd retell the story.

The first day of school was eventful, to say the least. It had earned you a lifelong friend, even if at the time you thought he was a mortal enemy. Your parents had told you fondly that you'd walked into the school, head held high, not for a second looking back.

Distinctly, you remember the nametag that was taped onto your desk, your name written in sharpie. Piecing the memory together as an adult, you can see Altair's name next to yours. At that age, you couldn't know the difference.

"Two words," you'd say, to anyone who would listen.

"Safety. Scissors."

People would gasp in horror, reflecting the memory of both your teacher, and yourself doing the same. The teacher at that point, stormed over, all but ripping the scissors out of his hands before he could do any more damage.

It was too late, and your eyes watered. You'd sat so still while your mother worked on your hair. Hands moving faster than the teachers, you'd smacked him as hard as you could.

Altair, in an attempt to defend himself, at this point in the story would add, "two more words. Black eye."

Much like you did as a child, because not much had changed since then, you would cry out, "yeah, but you deserved it. Took me like two years to get my hair back."

The true bonding moment was when the two of you sat across from each other just outside the principal's office. Both his father, and your mother waited - both staring anxiously at the other.

"Do you have anything to say, Altair," his father, a stern looking man that you decided looked like a wizard.

You remember your mother running her hands over the patch of hair missing from your head.

Altair had the slightest bruise on his cheek, but you couldn't feel a tinge bad about it. At this point in the story, he'll mention how he thinks you'd rock the look now. It earns him a dirty look every time, and he shoots you a look akin to the one he did that very day.

His voice, void of any sincere apology, would speak up at his fathers behest, "I'm very sorry I cut your hair."

At that point, your mother nudged you. Your guess was she had finally noticed you'd left some damage with him as well.

"And you," she'd said, voice nowhere near as commanding as Altair's father.

"Do you have something you'd like to say," she said, and then whispering to you, "you know we don't hit."

"I'm sorry," you'd mumbled, quietly and fast.

"Louder," she encouraged, trying hard to be stern.

"I'm sorry," you'd sighed, exasperated.

Depending on who you were telling the story to, you'd get different reactions. Some asked how you'd managed to become friends, and others would guffaw at the idea of the two of you causing a scene at such a young age. For those that knew you, however, it made perfect sense.

#so this is how you make friends huh #this is just what u do #altair ibn la'ahad #altair #altair imagines #assassins creed imagines #assassins creed fanfic #altair x reader #malik sitting there like #this is just what altair does ig #renaissance era

24 notes · View notes

st-just · 3 years

Text

A Setting: The City of Sethennai

Because I’ve spent long enough tinkering on this that I might as well share it with a population of more than a half-dozen potential players. Also it could almost certainly use an editing pass, and I don’t want to lose it all next time my computer dies.

So, a collection of densely packed plot hooks in the shape of a city

City History

The City of Sethennai is quite possibly the oldest city in the world, or at least the oldest still inhabited. When the first Dwarfs and Goliaths fled the Titans for the coast, they found ziggurats already rising from the water and tunnels dug beneath their feet, ruined by some already ancient cataclysm. Supported by fertile soil and full waters, they built their own city over it, and welcomed their own gods to it, a center of resistance to the Titanomarchy that became an empire in its own right.

Centuries passed and power drifted inland, to the mountain palaces of the Titans’ Giant heirs and the divinely appointed heroes who sometimes overthrew them. The City was rich, but peaceful, its soldiers only raised when one princess or another took it as a capital during a civil war. Such was the case when the first ships appeared from the East.

The adventurers from the League of Free Cities had been spurred across the sea by visions of fortune and glory, overwhelming the defenders with armies of goblin slaves and the ability to evoke demons far beyond what they could deal with. Their leader Sethennai proclaimed himself Emperor and renamed the city in his honour, taking it as his capital. After his assassination some years later the ‘empire’ fell into an anarchy it has never quite recovered from, but the name has stuck, and for the two hundred years since wonders and riches have flowed across the eastern ocean while mercenaries and adventurers have poured west in ever greater numbers.

The city’s ruler for the last fifteen years has been Prince Cael, an adventurer universally believed to be supported by the League’s political rivals back East. If so, they got what they paid for – experts and financiers have been imported and sponsored, and trade opened to anyone capable of paying the reasonable import duties.

Until two years ago, he had been the picture of brutal decadence, rousing himself from luxurious hedonism only to brutally deal with any threats to his power. Recently though, he changed – sponsoring vast expeditions into the ancient palaces of the interior and the ruins buried on the city’s outskirts, and installing a self-proclaimed Hierophant whose heresies had earned her a death warrant back East in the city’s grandest temples (violently banishing the cults which had held them since the Conquest in the process).

One week ago, at exactly noon, the sun vanished from the sky for one minute, and the entire city was filled with a deafening scream. Since then, the Prince’s grand palace has been sealed tight, with ingeniously horrifying magical defences ensuring that anyone who tries to force a door or window isn’t around to try again. Everything’s very rapidly falling apart, and the city’s traditional power brokers are reacting like so many rabid weasels in too small a cage.

It is, then, a perfect opportunity for people with the will to seize it.

Districts

The Palantine

If Sethennai is the oldest continually inhabited city in the world, the vast palace complex which crowns its central hill is probably likewise the oldest building still in use. Its foundation is burrowed deep into the hill on which it stands, to the point that some delvers and historians have theorized that it was once a truly massive pyramid now mostly buried by the ages. Rising out of it are two great peaks - impressive ziggurats in their own right - of obvious dwarven make, fashioned to house their ancient Ancestors-Kings and gods in suitable splendor, and since renovated and built over to house the city’s rulers and most favored priesthoods. Surrounding them are a dozen smaller peaks, each the estate of one of the city’s foremost patrician families, teeming with retainers and servants. The land around them is pristine and perfectly manicured, full of wondrous botanical gardens and menageries for the amusement of Sethennai’s greatest citizens.

Location of Interest: The Throne

A palace built on the ruins of a palace built on the ruins of a palace. The grand ziggurat which the city’s rulers have called home since time immemorial is built into and sits at the peak of its highest hill, the highest point in the sky for dozens of miles in every direction. Its labyrinthine apartments, kitchens, vaults, galleries and corridors house the Prince and his family, dozens of favorites and notables, and hundreds of guards, servants, retainers and entertainers.

Or, well, housed.

One week ago, the sun vanished from the sky, and a scream echoed through the city. Since then, the palace complex has proven impenetrable. Every door and window is closed, and attempts to open them by force have fared...poorly. In a ‘never going to walk again’ sort of way. Scrying and other means of magical surveillance so far attempted have simply failed. No one has tried to escape, and no noises have been heard - the whole complex is simply silent.

Of course, that means that all its secrets and riches are there for the taking. Or that’s the growing consensus - at least three separate groups have camped out near various gates and major entrances, each preparing their own scheme to break in and seize everything within. There’s no fighting between them. Yet.

Faction of Note: The Hierophant

Yri Cenred is many things. A self-proclaimed ‘experimental theologian’. One of shockingly few mortal humans to piss off the Illyrin clergy enough to be specifically declared Anathema. A member of the Commonwealth’s very exclusive list of ‘Enemies of Reason’. Empirically immune to thunderbolts from cloudless skies and most other signs of divine disfavor. Easily one of the most powerful mages in the city. And, for most of the last two years, its High Priestess and Hierophant.

No one knows quite how her first meeting with Prince Cael went, and whether she was responsible for her change in personality or if he sought her out because of it. All anyone knows is that shortly after she arrived in the city a few days ahead of Imperial Witch-Hunters looking for her head on a pike, Cael forcibly expelled the Khasali cults which had occupied the Palantine’s grand temples since the Conquest, and installed her in their place with the newly minted title of Hierophant for the city. Since then she and her growing coterie of acolytes (bright-eyed, motivated and young, though you can flip a coin as to whether their hands are stained with ink or blood) have been extremely busy, though no one can say exactly what with. Certainly they haven’t held any public rituals or services. Despite the costs - both political and monetary - in protecting and sponsoring her, Cael never seemed to question whether it was worthwhile.

The general opinion on the streets is that she’s probably to blame for anything and everything worth complaining about. The only real divide is between those who think she bewitched the Prince and turned him into her puppet, those who think she’s the one who killed him, and the moderates who think the correct answer is probably ‘both’.

Foundrytown

The New World is absolutely full of exotic reagents, fuel sources, and materials to craft and invent with. It is also absolutely full of people who will pay in your currency of choice for finished goods, armor, weaponry, and whatever nasty alchemical tricks you can keep from blowing up in their face until they want them to. Foundrytown is the sprawling mass of smokestacks, workshops, factories and markets that has spilled to the north of Sethennai’s walls, exploiting both opportunities to the fullest while limiting the chance that some idiot will burn half the city down (again). Robber barons, militant workers, loose fraternities of tinkerers and half-trainer artificers, and the occasional rogue clockwork or alchemical monstrosity all jostle for space and control of the beating heart of Sethennai’s economy.

Faction of Note: The Grand Bazaar

Official Imperial theology accords true dragons a place of honour - the Princes of the Earth, entrusted by Heaven with containing the fury of the elements within themselves so as to render the world peaceful enough for cultivation by the younger races - and forbids very few things to wyrms willing to play the part. (Principally, do not become undead, a god in your own right, or an archdemon of the elements. Though some justification can usually be found for how any sufficiently problematic dragon is actually doing one of those).

And Tyramara the Magnificent, the Fire of the Deeps has not technically done any of those things. Still, the ancient wyrm has little interest in allowing the wasting disease which has crippled her continue to spread, and her solution is unorthodox enough that she thought it prudent to abandon her palace-lair in Imir and relocate to the New World, six treasure galleons worth of her hoard in tow.

One of the city’s wealthiest residents from the moment she landed, she has bought a plaza in Foundrytown and offered her sponsorship to nearly every tinker and engineer who cares to set up shop there, provided they help sustain and improve the mechanical and hydraulic prosthetics that supplement and replace her dying organs. She has promised a full half of her hoard to any who can permanently deal with her condition, a fortune men have killed for in the past, and certainly will again.

Faction of Note: The Hellworks

They’re not officially called the Hellworks - there are, in fact, absolutely no devils involved. Still, between the billowing clouds of soot and steam pouring from their chimneys at all hours of the day, the severe architecture, and the bound spirits who keep the looms running at all hours of the day and eagerly take any opportunity to leave anyone who gets too close crippled or maimed to vent their anger - well, the name stuck.

One of the most obvious consequences of Prince Cael’s turn towards the esoteric these last years, the ' ‘Royal Sethennai Weaver’s Trust” is the brainchild and absolute domain of the Lady Binder Katerine sol Dalme sol Telrin ir’Paimon. An Illyrin magister with heterodox opinions on the proper uses of magic, popular opinion is divided on whether it’s more accurate to say Cael invited her to reside in the city, or just offered her asylum before her elders had a chance to properly condemn her.

Regardless, after six months of operation she - and her half-dozen strictly bound and extremely unhappy ifrit, and several hundred eminently replaceable more mundane workers - are already well on their way to supplying all the clothing and textiles Sethennai’s teeming masses require single-handedly, produced at a scale and speed far beyond what any traditional artisans guild could hope to compete with.

Crossroads

Dominating the Old City - synonymous with it, really - that the district is called the ‘Crossroads’ is often considered something of a cruel joke by new arrivals. The ‘Labyrinth’ is usually offered instead. Ancient stone tenements and storehouses are basic facts of geography, surviving through conquest and fire, and over and around and through them are generations of newer building - mansions of imported oak and marble, shantytowns of cannibalized carts and derelict ships built on rooftops, and nondescript inns and stores conveniently built on top of trap doors and tunnels leading to much more exciting locales. Natives of a neighborhood who know all the secret passages and blind alleys can quickly get to anywhere they like. New arrivals are strongly advised to pay well for a reliable guide.

Faction of Note: The Dreamers

There’s something under the harbor. There always has been. There probably always will be. Most people can go their whole lives without noticing it, but a certain few find living in the Old City a haunting experience, their nights spent dreaming of drowned palaces and impossible angles, their days spent lost in alleys and markets that have never existed. Inevitably, they come out of a daze and find themselves perched on the waters edge, staring into the filthy, polluted depths with an intense sense of longing.

Called the Dreamers, they’re an eclectic and informal fraternity, living in makeshift houseboats or the cheapest tenements that press against the water. Quite a few simply sleep on the streets. They’re something like a religion, and something like a guild - the most personable and talkative are merchants, selling the fish that others catch, the strange relics and minor treasures that their divers retrieve from the harbor, and the often beautiful - if always uncanny - art they produce. They take care of each other and, though no one has ever seen a dreamer raise a hand in anger, every attempt by syndicates or rival cults to extort or expel them has ended with their opponents going mad, screaming and clawing at their flesh in the middle of the night, or found poised in some elaborate and improbable suicide. After the third time, everyone more or less got the idea.

No one knows who leads them - if anyone does. Insofar as they have a public face, Zoe Alvane is it - a street urchin who ‘found the sea’ before she had hit puberty, for the last few years she has been the one who spends seemingly every hour of the day ensuring her ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’ have food and shelter, and looking after the other beggars and poor in the neighborhood while she can as well. She’s also the one outsiders deal with when they come looking to buy information - it’s a disquieting fact of life in Sethennai that the Dreamers’ know almost everything there is to know about almost everyone. They are generally content to be left alone, and Zoe is very sympathetic and willing to offer personal advice and play the part of fortune teller to anyone desperate and willing to trade or do a favor - but it’s generally agreed that trying to force information from them is a bad idea.

Faction of Note: Ironfang Mercenary Company

When Prince Cael seized the throne, he didn’t do so single handedly. He needed trained, disciplined soldiers to seize the Palantine and coastal forts, ensure no one escaped the palace, and keep order on the streets while the messy business of extinguishing the previous dynasty was carried out. For all this and more, he relied on the professional expertise of the Ironfang Company.

Formed around a core of hardened hobgoblin veterans of various border wars and colonial filibusters in the Free Cities, the Company has for the last fifteen years been the Prince’s favorite tool for securing his interests, keeping order, and bloodily making examples of any threats to his rule. For their trouble, they’ve grown fat and happy - a steady paycheck and yearly bonuses have left every officer with a townhouse, and most common soldiers with coin for families and apartments for them to live in.

Despite the lack of real combat - and the need to take on locals as new recruits, as more and more soldiers retire or die over the years - Captain Azaersi is a leathery old warehouse who has never let her troops grow soft. Even week the grand parade ground in Crossroads echoes with screaming drill sergeants and the crack of muskets, and it’s an open secret that the Prince paid to import stocks of grenades and munitions from Quepta for her arsenal. No one knows quite how she plans to deal with the sudden disappearance of her patron and employer, but for the moment the Ironfang seem content to keep order in the corner of Crossroads around the arsenal and parade ground that they call home.

The Ruins

The ruins are not, legally, part of Sethanni, and absolutely no one with anything resembling sense would ever actually choose to live there. No one actually knows where the eponymous ruins come from - or at least, no one can agree which section is from where. Shantytowns of the most despised and desperate and built on top of their predecessors, which are built on top of battered and broken pre-Conquest ziggurats and homes, which are built on top of - well, some of it is just a natural cave system, and no one is sure about the rest. Or ever found just how deep it goes. Aside from the casualties of the Prince’s attempts to map it, the Ruins are inhabited exclusively by those that would be strung up or burned alive if they tried to live anywhere else, or those sufficiently dedicated to their greed or ambition that they’re absolutely certain they alone can unlock the secrets and find whatever wonders are buried beneath all the traps and monsters. Not great company, either way.

Faction of Note: The Weavers’ Masquerade

Sethennai never really followed its ‘sister cities’ in the League in religion, with a sort of tolerant anarchy of different gods and sects almost always predominating over the gleefully blasphemously sublime demon-cults that the conquerors originally brought with them. But the small cultists that did exist at least enjoyed a luxurious, privileged irrelevance, with sanctums in the city’s grand temple. That finally changed when Cael seized the temples for his new Hierophant - and every relic and sacred text in them, as bloodily as necessary. Which with demon worshippers meant a massacre - letting one escape and beseech their patron for aid in crafting some horrible vengeance being generally agreed to be a terrible idea.

Not that that actually worked, of course. One acolyte managed to escape - no one’s quite sure how, but then, probably best not to ask unless you’ve got a particularly strong stomach. Well, that’s one of her stories, anyway - she goes by Maia Dayal, Beloved of the Architect, Wearer of Ten Thousand Faces, and sometimes she prefers to say she’s a recently arrived priestess from Celmy, or a street urchin who found enlightenment entirely on her own. As might be expected by the self-proclaimed title, she also changes her face (and build, age, species…) about as often as everyone else bathes.

While she has shown no interest in actually taking bloody revenge on the Prince, Dayal has done plenty to earn the price on her head. The Masquerade that has grown around her is a carnival of wonders and horrors, where all manner of temptations are offered to the truly desperate, debauched and vile. Skinweavers and facetakers always need raw material, and secrets and deaths can both be easily bought for the right price - though in keeping with their patron, the Masquerade is hardly a safe or stable place to do business, and offending the wrong cultist can easily lead to a shift from ‘visitor’ to ‘canvas for artistic expression’.

Faction of Note: The Keendream Expedition

Over the last two centuries, the actual facts about the pre-Conquest city has (with few exceptions) been buried under the weight of legends, rumors and (when necessary) several tons of rock. Despite this (or because of it) whenever things get bad (...worse) for the original population of goliaths and dwarves who can trace their lineage back to that time, stories about some hidden savior or buried relic that will free them spread like wildfire. This is just such a time.

Ilidak Keendream Kathu-Viano is an explorer from a family with some grounds for its claim of being pre-conquest nobility. For the last year he has worked on commission for the Prince, leading a large and incredibly well-armed expedition into the ruins across the water from the Old City, digging into them in search of..something. No one who knows the goal has been willing to talk, but certainly it has involved hiring every historian and scholar with anything like knowledge of the city before it was Sethennai (not to mention half the charlatans and rumor mongers who might know something).

Once news of the Prince’s disappearance reached Kathu-Viano, work shifted from its previous sedate pace to something much more determined. Certain paranoid minds have said it’s almost like he was waiting for this. Other, moderately less paranoid ones have pointed out it’s a bit odd that the government-sponsored expedition is so short on patricians and city notables and so high on mercenaries form the interior and goliath clans with far more reason to listen to Kathu-Viano than the Prince, should some conflict break out.

The Stacks

Museums, exhibitions, satellite campuses, mystical archives, storehouses of eldritch knowledge, and one actual wizard tower - if the faint taste of ozone in the air doesn’t warn you what you’re getting in for leaving the city’s eastern gates, then the architecture certainly will. Wedged between variously reputable bookstores and inquisitives, different formalized and longstanding campuses are dedicated to the arts of conjuration, enchantment, sparkcraft, and practical cosmology. Competition for new discoveries and to fully unlock ancient secrets are good natured and nonviolent - at least, that’s all you can get out of anyone left standing once the smoke clears.

Faction of Note: The Bookhounds

The Bookhounds aren’t any sort of formal organization - and at least half of them would roll their eyes at the name - but rather a loose network of gutter mages, disreputable academics, private inquisitives and researchers for hire, and people with a little talent or cash to burn and far too much curiosity for their own good. They act as a sort of volunteer police force in the Stacks, passing each other clues and leads and doing each other favors to track down stolen (or escaped) relics and curses, stop idiots from unleashing anything really dramatic, and generally help people and save the day. Not to mention accumulate really impressive bags of tricks and rare books themselves in the process.

While they don’t have anything like a real leader, the group’s beating heart is Nikos Roth, an Esheri academic who arrived in the city as a fresh-faced student on a three month expedition a decade back and who never intends to leave. Running a small, incredibly ramshackle-looking secondhand book store wedged between two tenements, he nonetheless has one of the more impressive collections of occult lore in the city, and is more than happy to trade for more of it, or connect anyone in need with a specialist who can help them. As more than one would-be thief has discovered, he’s also a fairly talented mage, and for all that being entirely self-taught has left him with some obvious holes in his training, it’s also left him with some tricks that basically no one comes prepared to counter.

Redgate

Once, Redgate Prison stood alone, a fearsome warning of the Prince’s power to anyone looking south from the city center. Eighty-some years of steady urban sprawl later, most of its inmates would probably just need a running start from the prison walls to land back home. Filled mostly with those whose dreams of a new world fell flat, but with too little cash or too many enemies to get home, the slums of Redgate are a natural habitat for street gangs, drug peddlers, flesh traders, and everyone else looking to take advantage of the desperate and vulnerable. The prison itself - and its infamous and heavily armed wardens - has stumbled into being the center of law writ large, dealing out summary justice for criminals that are (correctly) assumed to be beneath the Prince’s notice.

Faction of Note: Regate Prison

Sitting on a steep hill across the water from the Old City, Redgate prison was at one point a fortress, but for generations has been put to use housing the city’s worst, most dangerous, and most profitable criminals. Given the sprawling, crime-ridden slums that now surround it, its wardens also work as a sort of brutal police force, keeping the pretence of order on the street and preserving the Prince’s Peace. Usually.

The problems with discipline start at the top, really. The Prison’s infamously brutal First Warden is also its oldest and most dangerous prisoner. Before the Conquest, Vrocdruk was one of the city’s lesser gods, enthroned in one of the Palantine’s grand temples. When Sethennai - the man - defeated him, he chose to pull his demons away before they could tear the god into so much bloody aether. Instead he was crippled, lessened, and bound to a new home in the fortress and a new purpose; defending the city and its rulers. Later, less skillful, princes altered the binding, making him responsible for most crime and punishment and hoping that his sacred nature would make the native dwarves and goliaths more obedient.

Vrocdruk is still crippled, still bound to the prison, still forced to obey the orders of the city’s acclaimed ruler, and still extremely unhappy about it. He takes any excuse to work out his unhappiness on criminals or troublemakers with the incredible bad luck to catch his direct attention. His wardens largely follow his example, often acting less like agents of justice and more like a particularly well armed gang - to the point of semi-officially collecting fees for ‘security’ from nearby businesses, supplementing the cash extorted from prisoners and their families for both necessities and luxuries while incarcerated.

Sootcliff

Trailing south of Foundrytown, on and under the steep slope beneath the city’s western walls, the densely packed tenements of Sootcliff are certainly stained grey enough to earn the name. Existing primarily as a source of blood and sweat to feed into the ever-hungry foundries and assembly lines to the north, The buildings are cheap, massive, and constructed at the lowest possible cost, with all the consequences you would expect from that. With easy access to weapons and alchemical supplies from Foundrytown and (literally) beneath the notice of the Old City, Sootcliff is famous as the home of militant bands, revolutionary conspiracies, disgraced artificers, and generally anyone who has a dream for a new world and a plan that will require a lot of explosions to get there.

Faction of Note: The Painted Doctors

Less a single organization and more an extraordinarily loose confederation of - often feuding - crimelords, the Painted Doctors are a fraternity of (largely half- or self-) taught alchemists who have over the last year grown to be the dominant criminal guild in Sootcliff. The name sometimes refers to the incredibly distinctive tattoos each ‘Doctor’ has covering much of their body, universally agreed to be somehow enchanted or cursed. Otherwise it refers to the incredibly alien and vibrant skin tones that their test subjects and muscle develop after repeatedly ingesting their ‘miraculous’ potions and tonics.

While possessing remarkably little actual magical talent among them, the Doctors have perfected the recipes for several extremely useful potions - several incredibly addictive drugs, a half dozen forms of acids and grenades, and a dizzying variety of enhancing tonics to improve themselves and distribute to their thugs - and have managed to keep both the recipes and their sources for the necessary reagents entirely secret. This has left them in the enviable position of being able to promise anyone signing on with them that they’ll be able to more or less become a regenerating ogre for an hour whenever they need to fight, while their opposition has had to settle with advising their men to stock up on fire and acid.

The leading light of the Doctors is one ‘Dr’ Fadre - almost certainly not his real name - an alchemical savant whose ‘miracle cures’ are bought and resold across the city. A flashy and well dressed sort whose patronage has turned several of Sootcliff’s most prominent dens of vice into something close to palaces for those who can afford it, he’s said to be far less interested in the nuts and bolts of running a criminal empire than enjoying its fruits and indulging his passion for the Sciences. It doesn’t hurt his reputation that he doesn’t look a day over thirty, and has for as long as anyone has known him.

Chance

Facing Oldport from across the river’s mouth, the docks of Chance are significantly new, cheaper, and altogether more ramshackle. Not really a part of any conscious design, Chance grew organically as the city sprawled beyond its original walls, essentially smuggling docks so successful it was easier to legitimize and start taxing them than it was to hang everyone involved. They now provide the city with a constant infusion of nerdowells and fortune seekers, and the district around them takes great pride in fleecing new arrivals of every penny to their name by the end of their first night on land. Hostels and boarding houses are usually safe, traditional vice dealers less so, and anyone selling treasure maps or magical amulets not at all. Still, they’re probably more harmless than the various mercenary recruiters and ‘exiled princes’ promising to give new arrivals exactly the thrill and fortune they came searching for.

Faction of Note: The Red Ocean Trading Company

What is now the Red Ocean Trading Company has gone through several dramatic changes over it’s eighty years of existence. First a privateer fleet hired by the Free City of Celmy during the First Armada War. Then eventually growing strong enough to seize several islands as an independent pirate state, before being crushed by the Esheri Navy during the Second Armada War. It’s remnants learned a bit of humility from that, and it is now seemingly content with its existence as either (depending on who you ask) a obscenely profitable shipping firm, or one of the most widespread criminal syndicates in the world.

The Company’s significant interests in Sethennai - nearly half the docks in Chance, guides and guards for anyone heading into the Interior, and fingers in quite a few less legitimate pies as well - are ably represented by Captain Arun Prem, a(n in)famous adventurer and scoundrel in his own right, apparently enjoying his semi-retirement behind a desk by getting outrageously drunk with his favorite mercenaries and criminals every night and swapping incredible (and implausible) old war stories.

There’s plenty of rumors, of course - that he’s here in de facto exile after angering the Company’s mysterious senior leadership. That he’s a thousand-year-old vampire and is the Company’s mysterious senior leadership. That he ate a kraken’s heart, and is immortal as long as he doesn’t lose sight of the water. That he’s biding his time to prepare an army before heading inland to carve a new kingdom for himself. That he’s only in the city for as long as it takes to carry out some truly spectacular heist. That he killed Prince Cael in a secret duel and trapped his soul in the pocketwatch he wears at all times. And so on. Of course, other rumours say that he started all of those himself to preserve his mystique as he grows fat in his old age.

Oldport

Facing out to the harbour but safely ensconced within the city walls, Oldpot is, as the name implies, one of the oldest ports in the new world - and certainly one of the busiest. Fully loaded merchant ships arrive daily, their cargoes emptied and replaced with the plunder of the New World almost overnight so they can return home on the next turn of the wind. Beyond the grand ports themselves, this district is home to all the most respectable shipping companies, merchant banks, hotels, and townhouses and apartments, as well as all the official consulates and embassies that Sethennai plays host to.

Faction of Note: First Bank of Sethennai

Despite only being as old as Prince Cael’s reign, the Bank already feels like an eternal and irreplaceable part of Sethennai. This isn’t something people are necessarily happy about, but its leadership had done a truly amazing job at keeping dissent to grumbling and resentment of the inevitable, and not actual resistance. They’re good at that sort of thing, even when they used Prince Cael’s (and, thus, the City’s) massive debts to his foreign benefactors as justification for taking control of the city’s tariffs and tolls, and began rigorously enforcing them, possibly for the first time ever.

Combined with a legal monopoly on the ability to mint coins, this has of course made the Bank incredibly wealthy. But not to the degree that might be assumed - the riches collected are to a large degree shipped back east to foreign creditors. Of the remaining, quite a bit is invested with as much an eye for politics as strict profit.

Executive Director Salman Ticaret, like most of his staff, is a Sethennai native who sought education in the Commonwealth (like most, he took a new name on gaining citizenship). Along with modern accounting and investing techniques, he came home with a firm grasp of political economy - and so for the last decade and a half has been more than happy to offer favorable rates to well positioned patrician and merchant houses, in exchange for their own favors and consideration in turn. The result is that the bank’s marble halls and adamant vaults house information as much as money. And Ticaret is perfectly willing to invest both, if the opportunity is promising enough.

Foreign Interests

The League of Free Cities

The League of Free Cities is not so much a single power as a collection of fiercely independent deomcratic city-states held together by the intertwined private empires of their leading citizens, deep and interdependent trading relationships, and a common religion that the rest of the world calls demon-worship - they view this as deeply offensive. Also they’ve been doing it for hundreds of years and they’re not all dead yet, so clearly everyone else is just doing demonology wrong. Politics are a mess of knives in the dark and openly bribing the voting populace with feasts and spectacles, with glory and riches to anyone who can hold the mob’s favor for long.

Demonic evocation - and the arts learned as a result of it, like fleshweaving, orienomarchy , breaking reality down into elemental chaos and shaping it to your whims, and so on - are in the rest of the world generally met with very thorough execution, making the freethinkers of the League the world’s bleeding edge in magical innovation. The entire culture of the League is also nearly custom-made to produce bold idiots willing to do what it takes to get rich or die trying, and the various Free City’s Adventurers Guilds are (in)famous the world over.

Until recently, the Free Cities considered Sethennai, if not one of them, then at least a younger sibling or benevolent dependency. Prince Cael’s coup has been taken as something of a wound, and the merchant interests who have lost out as he opened trade have made sure that in the decades since his name has become synonymous with bloody-handed tyranny. The first broadsheets celebrating his death will sell out in moments, and the acclaimed merchant adventurer Vyas Asraya, said to be en route to the city, is said to be very optimistic about future trading opportunities.

Holy Illyric Empire

Technically speaking a vast and sprawling feudal state unified only in the person of the Sovereign (Empress of Illyrin, Queen of Belthaya, Defender of the Hierophant of Imir, Grand Duchess of Abhari, etc, and so on, and so forth), the Empire dominates the better part of two continents, and in terms of size and prestige is unquestionably the foremost state on the globe. It is also a bureaucrat’s nightmare, its aristocracy distracted from their internal feuds only when they need to defend their ancestral rights from central overreach.

Ancient controls and long established relationships make Imperial binders the most fearsome conjurers and thaumaturges in the known world, a process not at all hurt by the wholesale incorporation of any powerful spirits or terrestrial god who will sign on the dotted line into the official pantheon. Illyrin Paladins are also easily the most storied heavy cavalry the world has ever seen, and Abharic necromancers are generally held to be the heirs (or direct pupils) of the inventors of the craft.

Illyric interests have prospered under Prince Cael’s reign, but the last years have seen Sethennai become a haven for heretical priests and radical binders, something Ambassador Konrad Reingard has been rumored to be increasingly frustrated with, though no one heard a word from his Oldport estate since the chaos began.

The Sublime Esheri Commonwealth

A thoroughly modern and enlightened state, the Commonwealth is history’s gift to the cartographer, an empire with firmly delineated borders and clear, rationally determined administrative divisions. Governed by a Janissary Corps educated and conditioned from childhood to put principle above self interest and the good of the Commonwealth above friends or (nonexistent) family, the Esheri control far less land than the Illyrin Empire, but has been able to fight it to a standstill and even force it to abandon certain far flung dependencies over a series of wars across the last century.

Beyond a ruthlessly efficient system for taxation and conscription, the Commonwealth’s military might is credited to two sources - on the one hand, its marines are the finest and most disciplined line infantry anyone is likely to ever see, experts in the use of gas and artillery and famously cool under fire. One the other, their heavy automata are an answer to any conjured devil or bound beast, enlightened clockwork providing enough force to cleave through scales and enchanted plate without missing a beat. But the Janissaries are as happy as their enemies to admit that they prefer unfair fights - though they credit their infamous spy network to the fruits of their scientific studies of society and history, while their enemies instead blame the corrupting effects of gold, blackmail, and a complete indifference to the morals of those they work with.

While the Commonwealth does have an embassy in the city, it mostly exists as an appendage of the First Sethennai Bank, the private institution responsible for printing and guarding the solvency of the city’s currency, its entire upper rung staffed by experts trained in the Commonwealth and generally considered Prince Cael’s way of paying back their support for his coup. More recently, it has been rumored that the Secretariat has taken an interest in the struggles in the interior. Coincidentally, an ‘Academic’ has been seen floating around various less than reputable bars in Chance, ostensibly as part of a project to record the city’s myths and folklore.

The Warlord States

For the last two hundred years, the interior has been an evershifting patchwork of successor kingdoms, native revolts, monstrous empires, released horrors, and stranger things besides, the unending tide of weapons and adventurers ensuring that no single player was ever able to secure dominance (and the various rulers of Sethennai have certainly played their part in keeping things that way). At the moment the foremost powers are a giantblooded kingdom led by a messaniac priest-king claiming to be the reincarnation of a Titan, a personal union enforced at sword point between a Khasli pirate queen and a goliath ‘emperor’, a red dragon who has claimed an old giant palace and forced the dwarves living in the mountains around it to provide tribute and worship, and several dozen more minor principalities. It should go without saying that war is the natural state of being, and soldiers are sucked up like ships in a whirlpool.

Adventurers are the lifeblood of Sethennai, and they don’t only flow one way. A constant stream of veterans - either enriched or embittered - skulk, limp or run back once they’ve had their fill of the wonders of the new world, usually missing something important or carrying something priceless - sometimes both. The courts and inner circles of every powerful warlord are composed exclusively of this sort of hard, tricky and generally insufferable type of rogue, and they’re often the only agents trusted enough to be dispatched on delicate missions. The line between warlord and criminal kingpin or pirate magnate is also extremely thin - sometimes nonexistent - as smuggling, sabotage and assassinations are simply basic tools of statecraft in the ruthless arena of the interior. More than once, an ambitious Prince of Sethennai has attempted to recreate their ancestor’s short lived empire, only to be found butchered in their bed but the agents of one warlord or another.

The Warlord States view Sethennai as a vital artery for supplies and funding, and for manpower to refill their armies with disposable bodies for their constant border wars. On a grander scale, those with ambition view it as either a crown jewel and future capital, or a bleeding ulcer on the land which needs to be razed to its foundations. In either case, few are interested in a strong, stable government for it. Regardless of their opinions, sending emissaries and embassies to the city is the first (and often only) diplomatic initiative of every new warlord state - though in truth their role is often closer to mercenary recruiter and fundraiser.

#this is theoretically a writing blog #D&D #abhari #well D&Dified but mostly #worlbuilding

45 notes · View notes

thecagedsong · 3 years

Text

Forgotten Light Chapter 13: Tunnels

A/N: Hey there, long time no see. Left to hyperfixate on Doctor Who for a while, but I’m back on my Fablehaven business. This is a long chapter, it probably should be two chapters in the final version, but I really wanted to get the tunnels part out. Also, let me know if Kendra’s crafting is making sense and if the dialog for this chapter is working out. Very important chapter.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13

Chapter 13: Tunnels

When Kendra woke up the next morning, she knew Ronodin had left. The night before they had eaten dinner separately, and while Kendra focused on reading or staring at the library wall, Ronodin hadn’t come out of his room. She saw him for a moment as she went to bed, but he turned away from her.

It was confirmed by a note on the countertop.

Love,

I hate to leave while we’re fighting, but I have to go handle another errand for our host. Despite your doubts in me and what I implied, I will be back for you, and we’ll go on another little adventure. This is what we have to do until we can go on the bigger adventures together in the sunlight. At the bottom of this note is another design for an amulet you might try, and we’ll both be working to shorten your quarantine.

Ronodin

And Kendra was back to feeling bad all over again! She went back and forth all yesterday afternoon about apologizing again, promising that Mendigo wouldn’t stop him if he tried to leave, or holding to her words. It was dangerous. He was trying. She was being difficult. She had a right to be difficult.

Sketched at the bottom of the note was a triangle amulet, with crescents open to the left. Inside the triangle was a circle inside an oval with an ‘x’ through it, bisecting in the center of the circle. Because you have to carve intent into every craft, Kendra had to go look up what the symbol meant in the dictionary he gave her.

The triangle was a curse, and the eye a symbol for blindness. Putting it within a circle, she should be able to direct it only at certain people, namely enemies. Did she want to blind her enemies? On the one hand, it was the same principal as her weakness charm. No harm, unless they intended to harm her first. On the other…

As someone who can count on her hands the number of rooms she’s seen, as someone who is alienating the single relationship she has to get a glimpse of sunlight, and as someone whose most prized possession is a landscape painting of the outside, could she take away someone else’s sight?

Maybe she could limit it to cursing people not to see her. An invisibility charm was a lot less problematic than a blinding curse. Combing through the books didn’t give her any insight on how to limit the blindness. In fact, applying Ronodin’s charm as is to a circular amulet wouldn’t even limit duration. It would blind any enemy that looked at her once, permanently.

It would take good craft and magic application to create, and a single mistake would make the magic run out halfway through the first use of the amulet, leaving a person…partially blinded? Blinded in one eye? Temporarily blinded? It didn’t say, so Kendra had to put a couple of concepts together to make a guess. Magic based on gaze was actually the most magic consuming type of enchantment. That was all it said, so Kendra went looking through her little library for more of an explanation.

She managed to clobber together answers from five different books:

All magic is reactionary, a person must interact with the spell caster or the enchanted object for the magic to be applied. The safest place from magic is away from it. Simply seeing something only activates extremely rare curses and enchantments, usually crafted from Dragon parts, because it just required that much magic. Touch is the most common type of curse conduit, and came in the variations. Presence within an enchanted area or physical contact with the item or caster were the most common. Proximity casting is rare, but technically falls between touch and sight in terms of magic usage. There was also gaseous spells, which technically also operated based on touch, but the enchanted matter expanded, so that’s also deserved a special mention.

Kendra was a limitless supply of magic. If she wore a sight-based curse, well crafted to actually create an effect, it would never run out of juice. It would fully infect others every time. It also couldn’t be used against her to the same potential.

If she made that work, there was no way Ronodin could justify keeping her locked up.

But what if…what if her brother felt like he had to harm her in order to get her to go with him? She could blind him, and not even know it. Is that what old Kendra would have wanted, after giving up her memory for him? No. Temporarily feeling too weak to chase her? Fine. Permanently blinding someone with good intentions? Not fine.

Kendra left the books open and went into the hallway.

“Mendigo?” she asked, and the puppet walked in front of her. “How many hours ago did Ronodin leave?”

Mendigo held up two fingers.

“Did he say words as he left out the front door?” she checked.

Mendigo shook his head. Ha. She knew that he had made that up to keep her from stealing the key.

“You have to follow all my orders, correct?” Kendra checked. And the puppet nodded.

“Are there things I can’t tell you to do?”

Mendigo hesitated, then nodded his head.

“Are the things you won’t do if I tell you impossible because Ronodin ordered you not to do them?”

Head shaking no. She couldn’t ask him about the things he couldn’t do, Mendigo couldn’t handle questions more complicated than yes and no.

“If I gave you a paintbrush, would you be able to write out explanations to longer questions?”

Mendigo shook his head no. Drat. Complicated magic, but not an intelligence behind it.

Could she craft a puppet like Mendigo? Probably not, not unless there was some kind of wood that wanted to become a limberjack. None of her books said anything about creating a little bit of intelligence, enough to answer questions and have memory. But maybe if she got good enough. Though why she’d want another when she already had Mendigo made it a moot question. It was probably impossible anyway.

“Mendigo, the things I could ask you to do and you wouldn’t,” she asked, “is that because they would be impossible for you to do?”

He nodded, and pointed at the front doorknob. Right, she had told him to open the door, and he couldn’t.

“Would you be able to tell me if Ronodin is the one really giving you orders?” Kendra tried.

More hesitation, then slow nodding.

“Has Ronodin ever given you any orders that you followed?”

More nodding. That didn’t actually tell her much. Ronodin was her secret boyfriend, if she had ever once said ‘Mendigo, do what Ronodin says,’ then the answer to this question would be yes.

“Are you currently following any of Ronodin’s orders?” she said. Vigorous no.

“Right,” Kendra said, feeling a little better. “From now on, you are not to follow anyone’s orders but my own, under any circumstance. Will you be able to follow that order?”

Here came the longest pause. Was it because she was asking him a question about the future? Maybe the enchantment didn’t allow for questions like that.

Slowly, Mendigo nodded his head. That was good.

For the rest of the morning, she settled on making a stronger version of her first amulet, temporary weakening based on intent and proximity. Maybe if she made that good enough, she wouldn’t have to permanently blind someone just to be free.

Ronodin showed up in the late afternoon, but didn’t fully enter the apartment, instead choosing to stand in the doorway.

“I see you didn’t take my suggestion,” Ronodin said, nodding at the newly carved amulet in her hand. She had taken a break to grab a snack from the kitchen, and found him there.

“Is this your way of checking in on me without having to let me out?” Kendra asked, rolling her eyes.

“Well, I ran into a snag when arranging your fake death,” Ronodin explained, “A quick video of you telling the person to help me will fix all my problems. I need to go back out again right away —”

Kendra sighed, “You can come in Ronodin, Mendigo won’t stop you from leaving.” Because it felt like the properly dramatic thing to do, she leaned against the hallway wall and slid down until she was sitting. It took a small adjustment, but her current red dress was stretchy, and she managed to do it modestly.

Ronodin came and slid down beside her, and the door swung shut.

“I’m sorry for acting like a brat,” Kendra said. “it’s not fair, and there’s no excuse, but it’s just so frustrating being locked up like this.”

Ronodin smiled, “Believe me, I know more than you can guess at what that’s like. Think you’re ready to hear why my family hates me?”

Kendra nodded, sitting up straighter.

“Forever ago, I started to question why the Fairy Queen was the ultimate authority on what was good and what was bad in the world. There were five other thrones, and they all play important roles in keeping the world functioning, and they all had different ideas of what was good and right than the Fairy Queen. But mortal wizards sided with her, as did human adventurers, and every kind of mortal agreed: the Fairy kingdom is the brightest light, and we should all strive to their ideals.

“Never mind the naiads and great fairies who kill because mortality is funny. Never mind the imps and the abandoned nipsies. Never mind the philosophies of balance that demand that destruction is just as important as creation to the continuation of the world. Never mind the strength of not picking a side and acting according to your own will and conscious. It sickened me to be part of such an oppressive kingdom that claims the moral right in everything.”

Ronodin drifted into a memory. “What did you do?” Kendra asked, bringing him back.

“I corrupted my horns,” Ronodin said simply, “It took a bit of time and a lot of favors, but I was able to break myself from the Fairy Kingdom. The Queen doesn’t command me anymore. I owe allegiance only to myself, and that’s how I want it to be. Some of those favors contributed to people getting hurt, but I can’t regret it. When I saw you going through something similar, I knew I had to talk to you. And now, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Kendra echoed. Sitting in the depths of some underground labyrinth, fighting over prison keys and the greater good, Kendra with no memory of who she was, and Ronodin fighting the same battles he’s fought his entire life over freedom.

Kendra leaned over and touched Ronodin of her own volition. Nothing romantic, not really, just her head resting on his shoulder. A silent show of support.

She sat up after just a minute, because she liked sincere Ronodin much better than flirty or angry Ronodin. (Flabberghasted Ronodin still held top spot).

“Let’s get that video for you,” Kendra said, then paused. “Wait, no one is going to get hurt when faking my death, right?”

Ronodin shook his head and took out his cell phone, “I promise, no humans are going to be harmed in the faking of your death. I just need some help creating a believable fake body.”

Kendra gave a little smile, “Doesn’t it ruin my fake death if someone knows about it and is helping you set it up?”

“Be very vague,” he advised, “The vaguer the better, so that when we do fake your death, even they will be convinced.”

“Okay then, what should I say?” she asked. “Am I talking to someone specific?”

Ronodin pointed the phone camera at her, “No, I’ll probably need to use it on a couple of people. Just tell the viewer to help me. Don’t mention my name directly, if you can help it. The less they know about who you’re with, the safer you’ll be. Ready…three, two one.”

"Oh, um, hi,” Kendra waved at the camera sheepishly, “I’m not sure who is going to have see this, but this guy is actually helping me. If you could lend him a hand, that would be great and I could get out of here much faster. Thank you!”

Ronodin then changed the view of the camera so that they were both in the picture, and gave a little wave. “Anything for Kendra.” He placed a quick kiss on her cheek and caught the start of her blush before he stopped recording.

“There, that should be convincing enough,” he said, pocketing his phone.

“I assure you, that kiss was unnecessary,” she said, folding her arms, still red.

He grinned back, “And I assure you, my caterpillar, that it was completely necessary. Another one for the road?”

Kendra stood up rather than let him take another kiss. They had had a good moment, she wasn’t going to let him ruin it. He stood up as well.

“I’ll probably arrive back while you’re asleep,” he said. “Can I see how you’re doing with that amulet? You chose another weakening one?”

“I’m not ready to permanently blind my misguided family,” Kendra said, handing over the amulet.

Ronodin nodded, “Well, you’re progressing. A lot more magic took in this one than your first try. It’s well on the way to making fatigue hit anyone who lays a hand on you.”

Kendra frowned, “I was going for proximity, still not enough focus?”

Ronodin nodded, “The applied magic isn’t strong enough, nor is the craftsmanship. You accidentally cut all the way through one broken link, making one of your four chains whole, and you really oversanded the top. Don’t worry, we’ll work on it some more when I get back. This is a skill like any other, it’s going to take time. You’ll get better at this, I promise.”

Kendra nodded, sighing over the flaws he pointed out. “Is ‘have fun’ the wrong response for the task of faking my death?”

“Oh,” he said grinning, “After the stunts you pulled, I’ll be having lots of fun. Don’t go crazy.”

“You’ll be the first to know if I do.”

Mendigo stepped out of the shadow of the doorway as Ronodin approached, “It’s fine Mendigo. Ronodin can come and go as he pleases.” Kendra said.

Mendigo stepped back and Ronodin stepped past and closed the door without a backward glance.

Knowing she lost the fight, Kendra returned to the craft room. She took that feeling, and turned it into the desire to weaken those that would make her lose with every paint brush stroke.

The second medallion was certainly more than just wood and paint when Kendra was done with it. It felt…expectant. Waiting to fulfill its purpose. A spiked trap, waiting to fall. It was kind of exhilarating, knowing what she had created had force and abilities beyond her.

Kendra had wielded magic.

Kendra looked back over the amulet that Ronodin has suggested she make, then ran to one of the books she had referenced that morning about how to build in a command. A dual check, the person had to want to harm her, and she had to want to curse them. She could make that curse.

All it needed was a second circular border with a notch, and Kendra would have to hold it and intend to activate it before it would blind someone. The pattern was more complex than what she had attempted before, but after all her reading, she felt ready. She switched to a block of wood called stiltseia, because the description indicated that it’s flowers alternatively flashed darkness or bright light each time the flowers bloomed. It felt right for this project.

Kendra worked though lunch, snacking on the bread and cheese that populated their kitchen. This time she made sure that if her carving tool was touching wood, she had her magic gathered and turned towards blinding enemies. The emotions feeding this purpose were vengeance, ambition, and desire to lash out. She didn’t have strong vengeance on her own, but Lady Kuychia wrote the book on vengeance, and Kendra had read it. Towards the end of Lady Kuychia’s life, when her husband found out about her shadow charmer abilities, he accused her of being pure evil, stole their children, and put a ‘kill the witch’ order throughout the entire countryside surrounding them. Vicariously, Lady Kuychia’s burning vengeance took shape in the amulet, to permanently blind those that would harm her.

Lady Kuychia had never gotten vengeance herself, if the handwritten note in the back indicating that the conquistadors pillaging the area around her village had hung her, after she kept putting out the fires meant to burn her. They caught her when she had sacrificed herself in a distraction to give her children a chance to run away from the Portuguese raid. Her husband had spat at her on his way out with their children. The children were captured and killed the day after their mother had died by hanging. Those emotions fueled the carving.

Except the outer notched circle. Following instructions, she focused on her need for control. The battle to control her negative emotions took place outside her body for the first time, as she ordered the power of the amulet into the circle, and into where she said they should stay. There were two different types of magic under her hands, the negative emotions of the amulet and the unyielding neutral control being pushed through her tool. Building a wall around the fire pit.

Kendra added a coat of paint right away, it didn’t feel bound tightly enough without it. This time she selected a dark purple paint, phantom tears and harpy blood. She was going by instinct, but tears also came from the eyes, and harpies seemed like the kind of creature more than happy to take out your eye for taking their blood.

It came out a color so deep, it was almost black, but the purple seemed to highlight around the cuts of her design. She hung it on a hook over the fire, next to the one she had made that morning. Three amulets down. No way to safely test them.

Crafting two amulets was exhausting enough that she wanted to take a nap. First, she had to clean up the mess she had made in the library.

Unfortunately, she had to guess at the places she had taken the books from. She had a vague idea of the organization: magic books left of the fire, histories and biographies on the right, and close to the door were the reference books, but without being able to read all the languages, she was mostly guessing.

Kendra scooted a space a little wider to make room for where she thought a book was supposed to go, and a yellowed piece of paper fell from between the spines. Kendra put the book away and picked up the paper.

To the current occupant,

You’re probably like me, someone whose abilities can only be used voluntarily, so they are keeping you locked up here until they can convince you to do what they want. I have no hope for rescue, and I refuse to do what they ask. I expect to die here, but I have hidden notes written in Silvian, and hidden them around the library to pass the time. If there is nothing else to my life, maybe these notes will make the duration easier for the next occupant.

So far I have discovered a single secret tunnel going out of here. Twist the head of the goblin statue and the wall will become permeable. I won’t survive outside this room, but maybe a prisoner better suited for this environment could use it to their advantage.

Peace,

Maykrill of Anksonling

Not what she expected to find, but she was wide awake now. It took a little bit of digging, but the goblin statue was directly diagonal behind her favorite reading chair. What kind of prison cell has a tunnel in it?

The tunnel probably didn’t lead outside, there was no way she was that lucky, but ‘anywhere else’ still ranked pretty high on the places she wanted to be.

The statue was a little taller than her palm, and currently being used as a bookend. The goblin made an icky sound when she twisted the head, like she was killing a living thing, and the small stretch of wall between bookcases became hazy. More gas than solid, and while she had to turn sideways to fit, she made it through just fine.

Unfortunately, she could barely see in front of her face. With how good she’s gotten at hiding her light, there was practically nothing. Should she un-dim herself? It would let things know where she was when she probably didn’t want them to, but she was probably already glowing a little anyway.

Kendra reached out and touched a wall, which immediately lit torches filled with the same blue fire that haunted her own apartment. Hiding wasn’t an option. Should she go back? But what was she waiting for? Ronodin wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours yet, it was mid-afternoon. She might not get a better chance to figure out more about where she was.

If someone asked her what she was doing, she would just head back. And she’d stay out of the dragon invested grotto. A quick check showed that the wall was completely permeable from this side, meaning she wasn’t going to be locked out. Unless the twisted head operated on a timer. But she wouldn’t be able to test that theory without it being too late to do anything about it. Her best bet would be to make the most of this current foray, but if she didn’t leave for long periods of time and she didn’t get locked out, she might be able to keep this secret until they were cleared to leave this place. She grabbed her second amulet on her way towards the tunnel.

So much for Ronodin winning their battle of wills. Ha.

Kendra crept along the corridor, her bare feet quiet along the ground. It sloped downward, and she thought there was a very subtle switchback before it opened another fuzzy wall. Fuzzy on her side, hopefully solid on the opposite side. Stepping closer, she tried to get a good view of the room before she set foot.

The room seemed large, enormous even. It was dimly lit with sporadic torches, the stone darker than in her hallway. A neutral jean blue darkened into marbled navy, made to look even colder by blue flame. Kendra glanced down at her bare feet, and really hoped the ruby necklace actually warmed her up and didn’t just shut off her perception of cold.

There were large structures scattered about the room, and Kendra narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out the nearest one through the wall.

“I know your mother taught you better manners than to skulk when you know people can sense you, Ronodin. Please do leave me be, I’m not telling you anything else, and this constant taunting is rather irritating, even for you.”

Her eyes adjusted as the boy spoke. Because he was a boy, and based on his voice, couldn’t be much older than her, probably Ronodin’s age. She could catch the outline of bars, bent in around a circle, like a bird cage. Almost appropriate, given that this boy’s voice was the most melodic she had ever heard. Beautiful as Ronodin’s, but in a different way. Clearer, somehow.

“Fine, I will simply annoy you in return. I don’t think High Sylvian has ever graced these halls, join in if you remember the words:

Follow the wind,

The one that blows of honey and rose

A caress, a brush, steady and slow

Follow the wind to Asamelle

Trail the stream,

Of cerulean and lily pads green

It bubbles laughter and splashes song

Trail the stream to Asamelle

Chase the light,

It hovers and flickers at the edge of sight

Whiter than ever beheld, brighter than ever-ever lived,”

The boy’s voice cracked here, and the imperfection in the perfect song made her throat grow tight. When he started singing again, it was just a little more raw, and Kendra had to cover her mouth.

“Chase the light to Asamelle

Chase the light home.

You followed the wind, and trailed the stream,

chased the light, found the dream,

Home, to Asamelle.

Moonlight blossoms, viridian forest,

Wave to the naiad, dance to the Djini lyre

Unicorns race and run through the mire

You have come home to Asamelle

Beneath the tiger sky, follow softly,

Pass tree-grown houses, and beds of petals new

The final rise gives way to Heartsworn

The crowning jewel of Asamelle

There’s so much light, it’s too bright,

Push forward; the sun was brought to house,

The virtuous beings of Asamelle

An orchestra of birds, winds, and strings

Elf and Phoenix dance with the grace of falling leaves,

Step forward, part of the dance, the moment, the chance

Asamelle sings you home.”

A tear slid down her cheek. An honest tear, her payment for the song. It was so full of love and longing; it would have been a sin to not be affected.

“Hang on, Ronodin would never have listened to me sing that,” the boy said, “Who are you?”

Kendra fled back to the library. She banged her hip on her way through the secret passage, and curled up in her armchair.

Her heart was thumping, pounding, her face hot. What was wrong with her? She just…all she needed was a moment to calm down and collect herself. That prisoner revealed a lot, she just needed some space and time from his voice to be able to process it.

The prisoner was so sad. How could anyone keep him jailed away like that? Was Asamelle his home? Why did he ever leave? It sounded beautiful, in a way that looks fragile but is more solid than anything else. A sculpture that appears to be made of glass, but is actually of ice or diamond.

And the part she didn’t want to think about: Ronodin is his jailor. He seemed to know Ronodin quite well, well enough think he could tick Ronodin off. And considering Ronodin’s relationship with his home, that song probably would. The boy thought she was Ronodin, there to question him some more. What could Ronodin want with him? How many more of her schemes would Ronodin tolerate until Kendra was in a cage next to the boy?

If she was trapped down there, would he sing for her if she asked?

No. The goal was to get out to the sunlight, not end up another bird in a cage, one much more unpleasant than her current residence. Why was he in a cage? Ronodin was all about freedom, and making sure people had the space to make their choices. He seemed to hate that Kendra was in a cage, Ronodin wouldn’t imprison someone else without reason.

Things weren’t adding up. Should she wait to confront Ronodin about it? Should she go talk to the trapped boy? Kendra thought she could make another trip before Ronodin came back tonight. Who would be more likely to lie? The boy or Ronodin?

Kendra needed facts. Evidence. Mendigo was under her full control. She had a brother named Seth. She chose to give up her memory. Ronodin loved her. She was fairykind and could use magic to make enchanted objects and see in the dark. Everything else she knew came from Ronodin’s story.

Kendra wanted to talk to the boy. And when Ronodin came back, she didn’t know when he’d leave again. This could be her only chance.

The goblin’s head was back to normal, and she broke the neck again. Kendra also took her second amulet, to weaken those who would harm her, not the blinding one. If the boy had the intention of harming her while she was down there, her curse would strike. Possibly. Not that he could do much from inside a birdcage.

The hallway had darkened, but lit once again as she touched the wall. Surer than the first time, Kendra hurried down the secret tunnel to the half-there wall. Once again, Kendra stopped.

“I know you’re there,” the boy called, much softer this time.

Gathering her courage, Kendra passed through the wall, halfway. She spotted an identical goblin statue, this time part of the brace holding up a torch, and went through all the way.

She walked forward, and a light sprung from inside the cage, small and dim, it illuminated the boy.

He was handsome. Unbelievably handsome. Kendra couldn’t remember seeing the cover of a magazine, and only knew that they depicted pretty people. She felt like she wouldn’t ever need to see a magazine; the boy in front of her screamed that kind of impossible perfection. White hair, blue eyes, unblemished pale skin, cupid’s bow lips that had fallen open at the sight of her.

Too late she remembered that she was currently wearing the stretchy red dress, a ruby medallion, a white cursed amulet (luckily that eyesore was tucked under her neckline), and her hideous orange cardigan. Her hair had been brushed and tied back before she started crafting, and she certainly wasn’t wearing the makeup in her bathroom. She felt a thousand times grungier than she had before.

The boy’s face changed, hardening, and he turned to speak to the general space around them, “Nice try Ronodin. I’m not going to lie and say I expected you to send a fake Kendra,” she jumped when he said her name, “but she really needs some work. This one barely glows, much less radiates like the sun. I’m honestly more surprised you let through such a bad copy.”

“Oh, um, Ronodin didn’t send me, I’m kind of here without him knowing, so I’d appreciate it if we could keep this a secret,” Kendra said nervously, tugging at her cardigan, hoping to turn it into something less ridiculous. “And I can shine brighter, but it seems to bother people, so I dim it.”

The boy raised his eyebrows in disbelief, “Kendra could never be dim.”

She unclenched the mental fist halfway, removing part of the block on her light, and immediately things became easier to see. One of the nearby cages started grumbling, so she dimmed it again.

He stared at her, and Kendra blushed and shifted under his gaze.

“Um…, I came to ask you some things,” Kendra tried, eyes drawn to the floor. This was not how she expected this to go. “But mostly, I really liked your song. Is Asamelle your home?” That was not what Kendra meant to ask him about, and blushed. Hopefully he couldn’t see in the dim light the way she could.

“Asamelle was the capital city of the old Fairy Realm,” he said, with disbelief. “Kendra, look at me.”

It clicked in her head, “Oh, you know me, don’t you?” she said, doing as he asked and looking at him. “I’m sorry, but I’m having some trouble remembering you at the moment.”

“And I’m still having trouble believing you’re the real Kendra,” he said. “Not knowing who I am isn’t doing you any favors.”

Kendra shrugged, “Don’t take it personally, I don’t know who anyone is. My oldest memory is turning a key that made me lose my memory. My brother Seth was there, and Ronodin, also an angry guy that claimed to be the King of the Dragons, and a magical dwarf. We were all fighting over a stone and my brother kind of won, I think, then I faked my own kidnapping and brought myself here. I really am sorry I don’t remember you.”

He was shaking his head slowly.

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said, but I’m still having some trouble believing you’re Kendra and not some Ronodin knock off sent here to torture me,” he said, “Do you mind letting me confirm your story?”

“How?” she asked cautiously.

He held out a hand through the bars, “It’s not bad, just touch my hand, and give me permission to see if you are telling the truth. I can’t see anything you don’t want me to, and you won’t feel a thing.”

Kendra pulled back a little. “I don’t know your name, and I don’t know who or what you are. I’m sorry, I really don’t feel comfortable doing that.” Could all unicorns do what he said? She might be in a lot more trouble with Ronodin than she thought.

“I’m Bracken,” he said, retracting his hand and backing away, “We’ve done this before, if you really are Kendra. I’m a unicorn, and the Fairy Queen herself vouched for me.” His eyes softened, looking over her again, “I’m sorry, whatever is going on, I don’t mean to frighten you. I won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with, though it will make trusting you a little more difficult. Please don’t be afraid of me.”

Oh, he was kind. Why would Ronodin imprison someone like him? Being a unicorn the same age as Ronodin explained the comments about Ronodin’s mother and the polite dislike. The name Bracken also sounded familiar…

“Oh no,” Kendra said, covering her mouth. It all came together. Bracken was Ronodin’s cousin, the one she was engaged to while secretly seeing Ronodin.

Bracken’s eyebrows raised, “I will admit that’s the first time my name has evoked that reaction. You remember something about me around your mysterious bout of amnesias?”

Kendra wanted to run away again. No wonder Ronodin knew it wasn’t safe for her to leave yet; people from her old life were already tracking her here. Why hadn’t Ronodin told her? Of course, he didn’t tell her, she spent so much time fighting him. Was Ronodin worried she would leave, or demand to leave until she hated him? This was all wrong and not fair, and Kendra didn’t know what to do.

“I’m so sorry for what old me did to you,” Kendra said. “I don’t know why I led you on, I’m sorry.” Kendra put her hand over his, which was suddenly gripping the bars of his cage. “I give you permission to see the truth of my words.”

Bracken closed his eyes, and his forehead creased, “It’s…blank. I can sense your memories for a time, then its just gone. You gave them up, but it is your mind,” he said with disbelief. “You are really Kendra.”

Bracken frowned, “There’s something awful here, dark, but nowhere near strong enough to block your memories. Do you remember any other curses? Or maybe you have a cursed item?”

“Oh, um, I made it today, to protect myself from people who would do me harm? It’s a little new, but it might be what you’re talking about,” Kendra said, pulling out the medallion.

“You did what? Kendra, you don’t make curses. That’s dark magic,” Bracken said, clutching the bars of his cell, “Listen to me closely, whatever you do, stay away from crafting curses. How can you even do that?” Which verified Ronodin’s words. Her crafting had been a secret, he did think she was evil, as was her art. There was just one more thing to check.

“Are you familiar with Mendigo?” Kendra asked.

“Your puppet? Kendra, I feel like you’re not listening to me. Whatever Ronodin said —”

“Does Mendigo only do what I say or not?”

“Well, yes, Mendigo, as I understand it, is keyed into the commands of you and your brother, and whoever you tell him to listen to.” Bracken said. “I don’t see why that’s important. Look, Ronodin is evil, you can’t trust anything he says —”

“What about my family?” Kendra asked, “Do they really imprison dark creatures against their will?”

Bracken’s eyebrows rose, “What? In a manner of speaking they do, because nothing else would have the chance to grow and flourish if we let them out. Demons, the unbound undead, dragons, they would destroy everyone and everything if given a single chance. You helped put so many of them away. They’ve killed your friends and family. It isn’t an unjust prison sentence if that’s what Ronodin told you. They all chose darkness and destruction, or it’s their nature and life sentences over huge tracks of land to roam seem more humane than killing everyone in an effort not to die ourselves. You and your family are the best people I know. Good people. Ronodin is twisting the truth for his own ends if he says differently. You are a good person Kendra, you don’t craft curses. You don’t chose evil, you can’t. It isn’t who you are. Don’t listen to Ronodin’s lies.”

“Ronodin said the exact same thing,” Kendra said sadly, and Bracken went quiet, “Except, he knows something you don’t, something we couldn’t share with either of our families because yours hates him and mine wouldn’t understand. I’ve been enchanting magic objects for a while now. I met up with Ronodin in secret, and fell in love with him. I ordered Mendigo to kidnap me from my home so that we could be together.”

“Wha-no, no, no. That doesn’t make sense,” Bracken said, hurt crashing through those beautiful blue eyes as he drew back. “That can’t be true…I…you let me into your mind a week ago. Please believe me. You met Ronodin for the first time this past week.”

“He’s a little rough,” she defended quietly, looking away, “We’re learning our way around each other again over my memory loss. He hates that we have to stay cooped up, but he knows who I was better than anyone else.”

“That’s a lie,” Bracken insisted, “He doesn’t know anything about you. He doesn’t know that falling rain makes you think of your friend Lena. He doesn’t know that your favorite way to travel through the air is being held by the Dragon Raxtus. He doesn’t know that your cousin Warren would die for you, after seeing you die once already and being unable to stop it. Ronodin knows you less than you know yourself right now. I get that you-you might not be able to believe me right now, but find Seth, find your grandparents, they’ll be scouring the earth for you. They love you so much, and you love them more than anything in return.”

Bracken’s voice was low and sincere. His voice had cracked again, like it had during his song, his tell that the emotion was just too much. So utterly certain he was right. But Kendra didn’t know a Lena or a Raxtus or a Warren. And she couldn’t ask Ronodin about them, because then he would know she went wandering.

Why couldn’t the old Kendra have fallen in love with Bracken instead?

“Why did Ronodin imprison you?” she asked. “Was it…was it because of me? He and Seth mentioned that we were…intended.”

“Oh, um…I mean…That’s not...we’re, um,” Bracken said, flustered. He wasn’t blushing, but unicorn blood was silver, could he blush? Did he sparkle more in the light when blushing? Pooling silver instead of red? “I would have come for you, I swear, but uh, Ronodin got to me first. I’ve been here a week-ish. Hard to tell the days, the guards aren’t regular on feeding us. I’m not sure what he wants to do with me. He was helping overthrow preserves and trying to set dragons on the world to massacre humans, so I was sent to stop him, but he got the jump on me.”

Ronodin would try to negotiate better circumstances for the dragons, and starting them from a place of freedom is something he would do. Keeping Bracken for no reason? That didn’t sound like something he would do. Bracken being sent off to stop his cousin? Bracken looked fit, but she would probably bet on Ronodin in a fight.

What was the truth in all of this? Where was it? Except she knew where it was, locked away with her memories. This was the first time she felt like she needed her memories. Kendra had missed them before, but if what Bracken said was true, then Ronodin was brainwashing her. If what Ronodin said was true, she had purposefully led Bracken to believe the way he did, and she had escaped from the consequences of the harm she caused someone who seemed so honest and sincere. Why couldn’t she just know. Like a normal person.

“Would I give up my memory so my brother wouldn’t have to?” Kendra asked.

His eyes were soft, awkwardness leaving, “In a heartbeat. Seth has suffered much, often by his own folly, much because he was a child in a world too dangerous for someone with his curiosity and kindness. He has trouble knowing who to trust. You supported him, gave him strength, pulled him out of his misery, helped clean up his mistakes, but you wished you could bear some of the burden for him. If given the chance to spare him pain, to keep him from messing up without his memory and creating new guilt, Kendra Sorenson wouldn’t hesitate to give up her memories.”

His hand raised, and she noticed a piece of hair falling in her face, he hesitated just short of her, and then pulled his hand back to the bars.

“Sorenson,” she said, fixing the loose hair on her own, because she’d start crying if she didn’t speak, “Is that my name?”

Bracken nodded, smiling, “Kendra Marie Sorenson. Your first name came from a book your father loved, your middle name is the same as your maternal Grandmother’s middle name.”

“I want to believe you,” Kendra admitted. “But from the things I know for certain, you’re probably a victim of my own lies.”

“You are goodness,” Bracken said simply, “Goodness and light. Ask yourself if what you’re doing feels right, feels good. If it makes you a better person who helps people and creates good things. Don’t listen to Ronodin, don’t craft curses. If you find a moment to escape, take it. Take it and don’t look back. Head to upstate Connecticut, ask for the Sorensons. You’ll find people who can help you.” Bracken tensed, “My jailor is coming, hurry away, don’t stop.”

Kendra rushed to the goblin statue, twisted the head, and hurried back up the hall.

Back in her little apartment, she took off the amulet and held it up. It had felt good crafting it. Honest. Part of who she was before that she had reclaimed. What was true and what was false?

#Forgotten Light #Bracken #Kendra Sorenson #Brackendra #I love this chapter so much you have no idea #Thanks for being patient #The hyperfixation choses you #Fablehaven #Dragonwatch

18 notes · View notes

17tetsuro · 3 years

Note

semi eita x reader where y/n is a vb player too, they dislike each other but are usually civil til one day one of them get jealous and they start insulting each other badly but then they make up and realize they actually might like each other

semi x gn!reader enemies to lovers

warnings: swearing

requests are open!

oh god- this one was so fun to write, thank you for requesting!! i kind of altered your request (just a teeny tiny bit), i hope you don’t mind !! i also didn’t specify if reader is on the boys’ team or not, so the story stays gender neutral <3 i couldnt come up w a title to save my life so- but i still hope you like it !!!

* you seriously have no idea why you and semi hate each other

* like ?? objectively theres nothing wrong with him but if you look at him you kinda wanna punch him

* like ,, no hate involved?? he just has a v punchable face

* both of u being volleyball players at the same school you’d think you’d get along

* but nope

* whenever he gets the chance, semi just starts relentlessly dissing you and your plays and thats another thing u wanna punch him for

* “your posture was off and the way you attempted to spike that ball was terrible”

* you always have a comeback that includes at least one profanity and (only, if hes lucky) one attempt to knock him out

* everyone involved in volleyball at shiratorizawa tried to get you to get along but it never worked

* one time tendou locked you in the storage room and you had to climb out the window and endure semi’s constant commentary on how the way you’re climbing is inefficient

* so, you were both pretty fed up with each other

* it was no surprise the whole thing exploded in your faces

* it was after a match that semi started talking about your mistakes again and oh boy

“seriously, if you just paid attention in practice, you’d know how to hit a damn line shot, but no,” semi said, and you finally had enough.

“why would i take advice from a replaced setter? go back to practicing pinch serves, maybe you’ll actually be useful to the team.”

okay, well, that might have been too low of a blow, because you actually thought (though it was hard to admit it to yourself) semi was a decent player and reliable teammate. even as a pinch server, he always did the best he possibly could. but he was not going to hear about these thoughts of yours. ever.

you took in his appearance and duly noted the traces of hurt that were visible in his eyes for a split second.

“you’re a bitch. whoever thought you playing volleyball was a good idea, was clearly a fucking dumbass. you could not get a single point if it weren’t for everyone else dragging you along,” he spat back, arms crossing as he spoke. you tried to not be visibly surprised at the way he just pulled up a facade from out of the blue. his words, though harsh, didn’t sting as much as they should have; he clearly just said these things out of pure anger.

“fuck you, semi,” you replied, fully ready to leave the conversation, when you were suddenly grabbed by tendou, and taken to the locker room.

“tendou, if you don’t put me down i will set your fucking house on fire,” you said, struggling against his grip.

before he could reply, ushijima showed up, with semi dragging behind him. who’s the dog now?, you couldn’t help but think.

“you are going to figure out why the hell you can’t even be in the same room together. now. knock three times when you finally decided that you were going to be civil with each other. if either of you tries to escape, i will personally report it to the principal. toodles,” tendou said, while ushijima nodded along. seemingly satisfied with themselves, the two men left the room and you hear the faint sound of the lock turning. great.

you heard semi huff, and undoubtedly he had that stupid pout on his face that irked you so much. you just rolled your eyes.

“what, no comment about my posture?” you mocked, unable to stop yourself from picking a fight.

you did not expect semi to stay quiet; he always bit back when you attempted to pick on him. the only thing you could think of that could have fucked him up was your comment, but there was no way he was so affected by it, right?

“whatever,” you mumbled, crossing your arms and fixing your gaze from the wall in front of you to your shoes.

the silence was practically eating you alive. you were not used to just being in semi’s company without bickering, and it felt horribly wrong that you were both quiet.

you just opened your mouth to make a comment about how much tendou and ushijima suck, when he spoke up, finally: “you’re a bitch, you know that?”

oh, now that you could deal with. “and you’re a dick. what’s your point? you thought you could constantly pick on me and i would just take it? think again,” you spat, glancing at him.

he was hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, hands supporting his chin as le leaned forward. he did have the pout on his face.

“you’re so fucking dense,” he settled on saying, and you just rolled your eyes. before you could form a comeback, he continued: “tell me, did i ever pick on you, as you put it, without commenting on a mistake of yours?” he tilted his head to look at you and there was something unfamiliar in his gaze.

you thought hard about his question; thinking back, he never did anything but point out mistakes you made that you were not always aware of. he must have seen your answer on your face.

“exactly. did you manage to work on your posture while spiking? did your line shot improve?” and you hated that he kind of had a point; you did spend hours perfecting your form and your line shot after he commented on them. “i was trying to help you,” he added, seemingly as an afterthought.

now that just made you confused; helping you? why? “and why would you help me? aren’t i your mortal enemy or something?” you mumbled.

“where did you get that from?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “i just wanted you to improve because i think you have a bright future ahead of you if you continue to play volleyball.”

“what?” you deadpanned. “you’re just pranking me. you’re gonna make fun of me for believing you.”

“yeah, sure. this is all a ploy, i want you to know you’re a wonderful player all your faults aside just so i can go and laugh behind your back that you believed me,” he said, rolling his eyes.

you firmly nodded and he sighed.

“you know what, whatever. i thought you’d understand, clearly, i was mistaken.”

you just stayed quiet and tried to think of why he would lie to you about it, but no matter how hard you thought about it, he wouldn’t benefit from telling you you’re a good player. so you decided to believe him.

“i- i don’t actually think you’re a useless player, either. the team wouldn’t have made it as far as it dd without you,” you confessed, fiddling with your fingers.

“yeah?” and oh, he sounded genuinely surprised and his face kind of brightened and oh.

“yeah, i just... i never knew why you would comment only on my plays and not the others’ and i kind of thought hurting you back would be a good way to deflect,” you said quietly, rubbing the back of your neck and avoiding his gaze.

“yeah, i admit, i could have been nicer about it but... i didn’t want to seem soft, you know. that’s not very impressive now, is it? and also, maybe i was kind of jealous of how talented you are,” he replied, smiling slightly. and- impress and be jealous of? impress who and why? you?

“i personally would have been more impressed, to be honest,” you said, finally meeting his eyes. “and the jealousy i can maybe understand, but why would you want to impress me?” you asked, confused.

“god, you’re lucky you’re so talented at volleyball, cause you can be a real dumbass sometimes,” he said, straightening up and turning his body towards you. “i wanted to impress you because you’re cute and delightfully annoying and i think the moment i first saw you i almost fainted and every goddamn thing nowadays reminds me of you and i wanted to get closer to you and kind of wanted you to see me in the same light i see you in.” everything kind of fell into place after he finished his speech; you finally could place why his pout irked you (it didn’t, what irked you was how cute you thought it was), why you wanted to cause him bodily harm (because, again, you were attracted to him and you subconsciously buried that deep down and thought instead of kissing him, punching would do more good) and why you worked on your mistakes after he pointed them out (it wasn’t spite, it was because you valued his opinion).

“and what light is that?” you asked, smiling widely.

“i- you’re really gonna make me say it?” you just nodded, trying to bite back a laugh. “i like you. there, happy?” he grumbled and you finally let the laugh bubble out of you. “what’s so funny?”

“we could have been dating for the past three years if you could have just chosen a different tone to call me out,” you replied, grinning.

“wait- you like me too?” he asked in disbelief.

“i’m like 99% sure i do,” you said.

“what about the remaining 1%?”

“well, i might need some confirmation. maybe a kiss? we’ll see if i can make it a hundred,” you replied cheekily and semi finally let out a laugh himself.

“don’t mind if i do,” he mumbled, taking your face into his hands and pulling you in for a kiss.

you have just closed your eyes and could feel his breath on your lips, when the door burst open. you tried to lean back, but semi held your face in place.

“uh- i-“ a very flustered ushijima started, “tendou asked me to check up on you two and i- i think i need to get back to- to practice. good day,” and with that, he closed the door again. both you and semi burst out laughing.

as your laughs dissolved into giggles, semi glanced down on your lips and you took a sharp breath. you were getting impatient.

taking matters into your own hands, you crashed your lips to his. you felt him smile into the kiss and you knew that the missing 1% has been added to the 99%.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #semi x reader #semi eita #semi eita x reader #tendou #ushijima

61 notes · View notes