#defiant of death/fate that has separated them

[creativesplat]

Defiance 

#miphlinkweek 2022 #miphlinkweek #can't believe it's the last day 😭 #defiance #defiant of death/fate that has separated them #because Link is still bringing Mipha flowers and they're still going on dates despite her death #because if link is able to be resurrected why can't mipha? that's their reasoning anyway wether or not it's feasible #so Link is bringing the ghost of his feancee swift violet blue nightshade and silent princesses #because that's the combination I always give the statue/ Ruta in the game #miphlink #botw #mipha #botw link #creativesplat draws

[shades-of-stony]

Royalty Stony AUs

A King for Christmas by iam93percentstardust

Summary: In 1867, Tony Stark flees New York after refusing to marry the alpha his parents chose for him. His money runs out in the small kingdom of Dacia, ruled over by King Steven of the Rogers line. Somehow, and he’s not entirely sure how, he ends up accepting the position of nanny to the king’s four children: Harley, Peter, Sarah, and Morgan.

Tony bonds with the children easily but their father is harder to get to know. Steve is still grieving his wife’s death four years earlier. His continued mourning has turned the once bright halls into dark and somber shadows of their former glory. Tony isn’t entirely certain what he can do but he knows that he has to do something or else the whole country, so attuned to their leader, will sink into despair. He begins by reconciling the king with his young children.

Meanwhile, the children have decided that it’s high time their father fall in love again—and Tony is the obvious choice. They concoct elaborate plans to force the two together, hardly realizing that Steve and Tony are falling in love, not through their shenanigans but through the quiet moments they share bonding over the love they have for the children.

A Higher Form of War by sabremc

Summary: Tony is a King with a surprising number of people out to kill him. Steve and the rest of the Avengers are fighting for Pierce's rebellion and end up with Tony as their prisoner. Oops.

Basically one of those bodice-ripping romance novels I don't read (ahem) but with far more gay.

rearrange my heart (to fit your smile) by starklystar

Summary: "You dare," Howard's chair makes an ugly noise as it scrapes against the stone floors, the chatter of the room shifting into hushed whispers and stolen glances. "I am your father and your King!"

"My King is my husband," Tony tips his chin up, defiant. "And I refuse to hear you suggest that my husband has been anything other than good to me."

Next to him, he feels Steve's shoulders stiffen in surprise.

Howard's fist slams loud on the table. "Your husband does not even love you!"

Tony jerks back, burned. He knows that. Knows that Steve did not marry him for love – does not need any reminder of the cold truth, of what he desperately yearns for and can't even hope to have – but the harshness of Howard's words was scalding, and Tony can't afford for this to go any further.

----------

Or, King Steven marries Prince Tony, Tony is pretty sure he shouldn't panic when he falls in love with his own husband, and Steve tries his very best not to cause diplomatic crises.

Keyword: try

Fealty by  Lasenby_Heathcote and Robin_tCJ

Summary: Steve Rogers is Lord of America, and was gifted his corner of the kingdom of Starkland after amazing acts of heroism in the war against Hydra. A long, brutal winter forces Steve to go to King Howard for aid, and Howard agrees – under the condition that Steve bond with his Omega son, Tony. Steve agrees, of course, for the good of his people. Prince Tony is a trained Omega Consort – an Omega of status sent to a prestigious academy to become the perfect Consort Mate to high-status Alphas throughout the kingdom. At this academy they learn diplomacy, negotiation, proper manners, and, of course, the various ways to pleasure their Alphas.

I will wait by Shellhead616

Summary: Prince Stark was to marry a Prince he never met, for money he never wanted, to reign over a realm his father didn’t care for. But the Prince did care for his people. So he ran away, accidentally joined a group of misfits calling themselves the “Avengers”, with their fierce leader “The Captain". Although, when he discovers the secret the Captain has been keeping, everything changes.

one day by mvrcredi

Summary: One day.

One day Prince Steven would be king. One day he would have all the qualities to be an even better king than his father.

And maybe, one day, Tony would be his husband.

(But maybe, before that one day, Steven should reveal his secret to the man.)

My Loyalty to You by Hazein, Shi_Toyu

Summary: The Israelite nation has gone to war, Howard is acting erratic, and it’s everything Tony can do to argue with the war council to find the most advantageous strategies for their men. Then Thanos strides out of the enemy ranks and issues a challenge unlike any Tony has ever heard. If an Israelite can defeat him in one-on-one combat, their entire army will surrender. Too bad Thanos is twice the size of any man they have. Enter Steve Rogers, local sheppard and the king’s newest harp player, who claims he can fell this giant with nothing but a sling and a stone.

Whether he can manage it or not, Tony is just trying to figure out how you get to looking like that by tending sheep...

Arranged by NotEvenCloseToStraight

Summary: Royalty AU-- Howard arranges a match between Tony and Steve, but when Tony tries to run away with Tiberius instead, Steve goes after his betrothed and brings him home. Things are difficult between the couple at first, but an impulsive kiss leads to softer moments, and finally the arranged pair find happiness together.

Knight of Wands by  Sineala

Summary: Steve has reigned as king for ten years, and in a few days peace will finally come to his kingdom. Representatives of the Kree Empire are soon to arrive for the negotiations that will end the war between them once and for all. Steve is looking forward to settling down, with his hand-picked Avengers at his side -- led, of course, by the masked knight Iron Man -- and also his trusted advisors, the most beloved of whom is Tony, his court magician, the most powerful mage in all the land.

But when Steve's life is endangered, Tony makes the greatest sacrifice of all to protect his king, a sacrifice far greater than his life. And when Tony disappears under mysterious circumstances, Steve learns that even his closest friends keep secrets that he could never have suspected.

Chasing Daydreams by comecatchmeifyoucan

Summary: “Promise you’ll be there?” He mumbled into Steve’s chest.

“Of course.”

“Good.” Tony separated from Steve but his hand was still gently gripping the blond’s wrist. “Because the party only starts when I arrive, and I’m obviously not going if you won’t be there.”

Steve felt the brunet’s hand slip down to graze his, and he let it linger there for a second before it was suddenly pulled away from him. He could only hope that he had hidden his disappointment well.

Fortunately, Tony didn’t seem to notice Steve’s abrupt drop in mood.

✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧

After years of pining for the brunet, Steve was finally going to get his chance to confess his feelings for Tony. If only he could find him in the crowd of masked-people first...

Luckily, when his hopeless crush is nowhere to be found, Steve meets a beautiful stranger to keep him company throughout the night.

heavy is the crown by theappleppielifestyle

Summary: “Why did you pick me? As a match. Howard forced you to marry, but you had - there were other options. Many of them.”

“Maybe I wanted to help you,” Tony says. “To help - anyone, for once. Your people needed it.”

Oh, Steve thinks dully. So it wasn’t about him at all. It’s - a comfort, in some ways. In others, it’s… less so.

“And-” Tony hesitates. "Everyone said you were kind. I thought… if I had to marry, I’d prefer to marry someone kind.”

(Or, Arranged Marriage AU.)

WIP:

The Crown- the stony au nobody asked for by Jo_StClaire

Summary: Tony is the sole Omega prince of Angsold, who falls in love with the Alpha Army Captain of a neighboring nation. When his father, King Howard, suddenly falls ill and passes, Tony's life is thrown out of wack when he becomes a reigning monarch at 25. Follow Tony through the struggles of being a newly-wedded Omega as well as a leader of a nation. He must learn to balance his love for his people with his love for his husband Steve. (Loosely Based off of the Netflix series The Crown)

No More, No Less by ABrighterDarkness

Summary: His father had been discussing it again, amongst his advisers. He was barely eighteen , what did he need of a wife at eighteen? Frankly, he was already tired of hearing about it. Tired of meeting the daughters of the various men that were deemed important enough. None of them had caught his attention in the least and he suspected that they never would. Not when his daydreams already consisted of intelligent brown eyes, rich brown curls and a wickedly charming grin.

Protea by Anonymous

Summary: After witnessing the injustice done onto his parents, Steve Rogers sneaks into the Ferrite Royal Palace to try and find answers. Fate decides to saddle him with solving shady scandals while unknowingly becoming involved with the nation’s omegan king, Anthony.

And deal with all the baggage and drama that comes along with it.

Or…

A Concubine!Steve AU

they're both princes in this one by vapaad

Summary: Steve Rogers is the first son of the United States The entire nation sees him as America’s golden boy. Handsome, smart, charming, and overall perfection– Steve is an icon to the youths of America. But Steve, well he has one little issue. He thinks Prince Anthony, yes the british prince, is a big jerk. Arrogant and an overall asshole.

So when an encounter between the two results in chaos, Steve and Anthony “call me Tony” are thrusted into a PR stint of being best friends. But soon enough, they both come to the realization that they want more, and there, bloomed a secret relationship between the first son of the united states, and the prince of England.

tell me i'm your national anthem by oopshidaisy for chasingconstellations

Summary: Red, White & Royal Blue AU. Tony Stark is the unwilling First Son of the United States, whose rivalry with beloved Prince Steve threatens UK/US relations. After an international incident involving a wedding cake, Steve and Tony are forced to fake a friendship for the public eye - a fake friendship that evolves into something real, and dangerous.

#stony #stony au #superhusbands #stevetony #stony fic #stony fic rec #stevetony fic rec

[sasorikigai]

No words would leave his mouth, but his expression is pretty telling of how worry had burden his mind and heart after being painfully separated from the other. Gripping Hanzo's shoulder, he places thus the forehead over his afterwards, eyes closing. Though his body still seems solid as the mountain he had been forced to be for so long, there's this slight, barely noticeable trembling in strong structure. ⠀»⠀ ❄

Reunion after (physical) trauma prompts || @indulgentia || accepting

[ TEARS ]  for receiver to find tears on sender’s face, when they’re finally reunited (either immediately after the trauma, or waking up in a hospital), because sender thought receiver was dead or dying + extra context

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || I have got to live, no matter what happens, I cannot ever die. Hanzo Hasashi had repeated this over and over again, like a mantra, as if he had been trying to hypnotize himself. With the quite flurry of the barest sound, he had realized that the tenebrous shadowy tendrils of absolute darkness had impaled his chest. Just a light ka-cha, amidst the swirling wreaths of flurrying inferno burning ablaze in the wake of his and Noob Saibot’s intense, unpredictable assaults intended to lacerate and incapacitate. All he recalls is his chiseled, glistening chest spreading stifling warmth. 

No pain, but just the sensation of sanguine fluid leaking from his body, and his hypervigilant vision blurring and fading rapidly. The mocking, deriding words of Grandmaster Hasashi’s mortal enemy failed to reach, as he felt something unyielding and immovable up against the back of his head. He must have collapsed even without realizing, lest a devastating thud had already impacted his right arm, which lay fractured under the weight of his hard muscles trained to endure and resiliently absorb even the most excruciating pain which begins to spread through his spine, then through his skull.

This absolutely powerless, humiliating sensation of falling into a deep sleep without expecting his consciousness dissolving into mist, to be scattered forever, and yet his mind still casting about is nothing new; Hanzo Hasashi has conquered and defeated even Death in order to fight his human fear and uncertainty, which tenaciously gripped the root of his heart and the core of his indomitable soul. His physical sense may have faded to linger in the abysmal quagmire, but his rampant subconscious fought through Noob Saibot’s torrential wind howling outside the nearly-dilapidated house of his consciousness. Hanzo Hasashi, you are dying. Are you sad? Scared? Even Netherrealm will not claim you this time. 

The unrelenting soul that still bears witness to the lasting fortitude of Hanzo Hasashi’s defiant, inextinguishable embers had exuded out from his eyes, even as his breath became a rattle. “Kuai Liang,” he mouthed, but he had been wrung dry, and his voice never sounded. “You have bestowed me such burning passion for life with persuasion of your exemplary life, for you wield courage calls to take risk, and empyrean compassion to extend mercy and wisdom to those who seek them. Know that no regret, no surrender is my plan. With perseverance and faith, I will defy death, for I take this conquest I fated to be.” 

His mind had been sleeping since longer than he could remember, set comatose in order to maintain itself. Hanzo Hasashi’s body seemed to eventually give in under the pressure of irreversible darkness, but the pyromancer had been pushed through too many wars and conflicts, too frequently, much too soon in the span of decades. Nothing, not even the necessary hell could pluck his unwavering spirit and body, as immolating pain hammered away his being even as he would, all of the sudden, regain consciousness. As if to symbolize rebuilding foundations of his being, an defunct kiln surging rapidfire warmth as his being would burn ablaze with effulgent life and dwelling strength within. 

“I have been replaying times we spent. From back when I would rest my ear on your chest, just to feel your heartbeat down to my toes, as the twin flames of our being burned with poetic fires of our rhymes and rhetorical desires of not only carnality, but beyond tangible manifestations,” seeped exhaustion leaves through his half-lidden gaze, as the deep gravel of his voice warms Liang’s face, as his constructed vision of wistful expression lingers long. “I always think of you even before I fell into a long sleep; all the words you said, the way you looked, the things we reminisced about, all the silent moments we shared just like this particular moment.” 

When I dream, I will always dream of you. Because it is about you. It has always been about you. Hanzo Hasashi never misses a beat to behold such beautiful, rare sight of his beloved expressing indescribably complex emotions, as his own lips become the rolling waves, surging and rising, filling Kuai Liang with bliss. Where he is, transfixed and ensorcelled, is where he belongs. Lest the weakened wind will whisper memories from long ago, Hanzo remains cradled, safe, and free - and he is a re-sprouted seed, waiting to become a vehement tree, waiting to show his true beauty, as the gleaming intensity of his polished gaze saturates with abundant, ignited love.  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion) #✗ seeking reconciliation with his own humanity (iii) #✗ endless persistent birdsongs of love (kuai liang || indulgentia) #(thermodynamic equilibrium) #(ANGST IS MY JAM and you shall get it) #(and hurt/comfort. HOW COULD WE NOT) #(I love them so much for what they have endured and will endure for the sake of not only their love) #(but of their passion and devotion) #indulgentia

[usergreenpixel]

Frev Prompts, Part 8! That’s right, I’m not done with these yet. 😏

71. Lycée Louis-le-Grand, Paris, France. The protagonist is one of its many students in the 18th century and, due to his family’s social standing and his own success in academics, this boy is considered a popular student.

Most other students want to be friends with the main character but he is too reserved and suspicious of their intentions to get attached to anyone. That is until he defends two younger students from bullies. The boys, whose names are Maximilien de Robespierre and Camille Desmoulins, are naturally grateful that the main character defended them, so the three grow extremely close.

But will they stay close when some unpleasant secrets about the main character suddenly surface and threaten to ruin himself and his family? Will the trio be able to solve mysteries that suddenly pop up in the school? And what will become of them in the end?

72. The protagonist has just inherited an estate from their parents, who are among the few residents of France who still possess their noble title and their wealth, both of which their ancestors had reclaimed after the revolution.

At first the protagonist doesn’t think much of it - they’re used to living a wealthy privileged life. That is until circumstances lead them to inspect a boarded up room in the estate, only to find a capsule with a prominent French revolutionary unconscious and trapped inside it, hooked up to multiple life support machines.

To the protagonist’s confusion and horror, opening the capsule reveals that the revolutionary is very much alive, unaware of what happened to him and more than furious upon finding out the protagonist’s name.

Confused, the protagonist attempts to try to both calm the revolutionary down and figure out the reason behind this rage, only to find out that their ancestors were far from innocent victims of Madame Guillotine like the protagonist believed them to be and that their wealth had not been obtained by lawful and honest means.

Perhaps this eye opening experience is exactly what the protagonist needed in order to realize that there’s more to life than being a privileged spoiled brat.

73. For as long as they remember, the protagonist, their parents and their younger sibling(s) have always had a habit of moving from place to place, almost like nomads from movies, even though they live in a van in the modern era and don’t quite fit the part.

As a result of this situation, the protagonist has issues with developing lasting relationships and suffers from the feelings of isolation from their peers and the resentment that their parents keep moving so often.

But eventually the protagonist finally gets a chance to find out the reason why their family lives this way when they get kidnapped by the government to be used as bait to lure in their father.

The protagonist is thoroughly confused as they hear the kidnappers talk about time travel, the French Revolution, a Thermidor survivor...and all of this in relation to the protagonist’s father (or rather, as they find out, their stepfather).

What’s going on? Will the protagonist be able to escape and reunite with their family?

74. Through what can only be described as a twist of fate, the main characters cross their paths once again.

They are identical triplets who were separated at birth and now belong to three different classes. One was adopted into nobility, another wants to take a vow of celibacy and devote their life to God, while the third one is a commoner.

But now that the protagonists have been reunited, their plans change since they have no intentions of letting life tear them apart again.

Together, they become masked avengers and make it their goal to oppose corruption plaguing the high society of France, all while the revolution begins to truly pick up the pace.

75. When the protagonist was merely eighteen years old, they got locked up in a reformatory facility where they are forced to deal with a rather unpleasant company of the mentally ill, petty thieves, prostitutes and other kinds of unpleasant characters.

Their only source of comfort is a peer named Antoine, locked up for having tried to run away from home and stealing silverware. Traumatized yet defiant, he strikes up a friendship with the protagonist and even shares his new writing, Organt, with them.

Now lovestruck by Antoine to the point of obsession, the protagonist is devastated when they part ways and keeps looking for him.

What’s worse, when they finally find Antoine in 1793, he has seemingly changed and not in a good way since he keeps pretending he doesn’t know the protagonist but they are determined to restore the old friendship at any cost.

76. The protagonist, a teenager, is sent to France by their scientist mother to spend the summer break with their maternal uncle and his family.

At first the youth is sure that this will be yet another summer in France and nothing unusual will happen, only to be proven wrong when their mother goes missing and they begin to get followed by suspicious people.

As if that wasn’t enough, the teenager soon finds out a few shocking things. Not only is their uncle not actually their mother’s half-brother but he is actually a man from the past and used to be one of Napoleon’s marshals. The protagonist’s aunt is also from the past and, as the teen finds out, so was their currently missing father who was actually a prominent participant of the French Revolution.

Hoping to find both their parents and thwart the plan of their stalkers to steal their mother’s time machine and travel to the French Revolution to change its course, the protagonist joins forces with their aunt, uncle and cousins in this dangerous situation.

77. After the end of the French Revolution Charlotte Robespierre, left with no family and fearing for her safety, moves in with a man and his daughter, the heroine of the story, essentially becoming the girl’s stepmother.

As the heroine matures, she and Charlotte develop a close bond and Charlotte develops maternal instincts towards this young girl, seeing her as the daughter she never had and planning to make her her heir.

So, when the heroine falls in love with an extremely suspicious man, Charlotte opposes the union and while everyone sees her as the jealous wicked stepmother, the girl herself realizes that she is doing it for a much more selfless reason and something is genuinely wrong with this guy.

Together, Charlotte and her stepdaughter decide to investigate the suspicious suitor…

78. The protagonist is excited.

After years of living with their adoptive family, they managed to locate their biological parents and are getting along pretty well with them without severing ties with their adoptive parents.

But when the revolution comes knocking, the protagonist is torn between their royalist adoptive parents and Jacobin-supporting birth parents.

The protagonist loves everyone in their family but, unfortunately, they will have to make a hard choice for the first time in their life.

79. When the protagonist, an orphaned street urchin, rescues Jean-Paul Marat from an assasination attempt, they don’t expect anything to come out of the situation and move on with their life.

But when Marat rescues the protagonist from bandits later on and recognizes them, he decides to take the youth under his wing. Thus the protagonist ends up in the care of Marat and his family and even becomes fascinated with science thanks to their guardian.

Marat, his wife and his sister slowly find themselves attached to the protagonist and become determined to raise the kid despite all the revolutionary madness and danger that surround them.

Perhaps, this is the protagonist’s chance to have a real family and a place to belong at long last.

80. 1812. The Patriotic War against Napoleon’s army is in full swing on the territory of the Russian empire. On the side of the French emperor is the protagonist, Brutus, a 19-year old nephew of Louis Antoine de Saint-Just himself.

Severely wounded in a battle, Brutus ends up being rescued from certain death by a surprisingly sympathetic “enemy” who nurses the young man back to health and hides him.

Having recovered from his wounds, Brutus decides it’s high time to return to his family as they probably think he was killed.

Now that the war is over, returning seems like an easy task but the young man’s rescuer warns him that his journey won’t be easy and gives him a small cross as a memento so God can protect Brutus on his journey.

And so, with said cross on his neck, meager possessions and some food, Brutus embarks on a long and challenging journey home. Along the way, he will face plenty of trials and tribulations, make new connections and maybe even find love.

But will he make it back to his family safe and sound?

#french revolution #frev #louis antoine de saint just #saint-just #antoine saint just #jean paul marat #charlotte robespierre #maximilien robespierre #robespierre #frev writing prompts #camille desmoulins

[amymel86]

WIP Wednesday!

hey-hey! It’s WIP Wednesday and as usual, I am unable to keep my writing to myself  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ so here I am, here to foist my offering of more of my Zokla fic onto you good ppl. Part 1 here

I have a lot planned for this fic so lets see how much of it I manage to keep to myself, huh?

Beautiful graphic by the lovely @sanzuh​ <3

*elements of the story may change by the time I post on AO3, it’s still a WIP*

Which was worse? Gripping onto the hot, thorny scales even tighter as the monster screeches and beats its wings, carrying her away from the falling ground as they rise higher and higher or the approach of King’s Landing and the looming spectre of The Red Keep?

Air of the city sky whipped passed her face before they began to slow and descend. Her cousin’s arm tightened around her and she felt utterly helpless during her deliverance into enemy hands. The den may have been ripped from the jaws of lions and now lays in the clutch on dragons, but these walls are the same, they’ve witnessed the same sins, Sansa thought as Jon alights his Zokla and turns to help her down from the monster’s neck.

He says something to her but she is not listening. Long buried echoes of her girlhood rear their ghastly heads – of a golden prince and poison-smiled queen, of the flat edge of blades and gauntleted backhands swiping across her tender childish cheeks and the tears she would swallow down in public but later let wet her soft silk pillow.

There was a noise like the cracking of a dry branch. A sting bloomed fiercely across her palm before she truly realised what she had done. Her Targaryen cousin’s cheek was beginning to stain with a pink glow.

Dark-clothed guards rush forward, the movement making the grey dragon lower her huge head and growl defensively. Jon raises one hand, commanding his men to halt. There were already seven spears pointing in Sansa’s direction. Zokla growls again. “Shhh, bump. It’s alright girl,” he murmurs before turning back to his prisoner and the soldiers. Sansa stands defiantly, with weapons drawn upon her. She was ready for whatever punishment he might unleash upon her. She struck him across the face – an act most hostile and un-lady-like. And she would repeat it too, given half the chance. Pulling her spine straight Sansa wills her lip not to tremble as her cousin silently appraises her with his one good eye, the sting of his cheek burning beneath it.

How dare he? How dare he take her captive? Hasn’t she experienced enough of this? Hasn’t she been used? Hasn’t she been beaten? They can beat her again – he can beat her if he should wish to – she will show them that she is made of steel and ice – and stone. Stone that no dragon flame could melt. She will show him that the North does not kneel. Not truly.

Jon continues to make a map of her with his grey eye that flashes violet when the light catches it just so. One side of his lips lifts faintly. She is to try and win over this man – this Targaryen. She will have to reign in her temper to do it, but for now she will bathe in the satisfaction of having struck him. His gaze is torn away when one of the soldiers asks something in a foreign tongue, a spear jabbing in Sansa’s direction.

“Kesā daor ōdrikagon zirȳla!” Jon barks. You will not harm her!

“Ziry pryjatan ao, Morghe Vala.”  Sansa struggles a little with accent but she thinks she grasps it fairly faithfully. She struck you, Dead Man.

Sansa’s Valyrian ear will have be tuned if she’s to catch everything that’s being said.

“Lo nyke hen bony ōghar va zirȳla bartos ēza issare ōdrikagon kesīr, kessa sagon ao sīkuda bona kessa sagon morghe vali,” Jon hisses and all weapons are lowered. It took Sansa a moment to translate. If I find out that one hair on her head has been harmed while here, it will be you that are the Dead Men.

“Ñuha dārilaros!” Comes the call from across the huge courtyard. My Prince. Jon grunts. He winces as he hobbles a little on his injured leg and Sansa wonders if the annoyance is at the pain or the silver haired woman now approaching them. With one word barked at his men, they leave.

“No doubt you have heard of our Queen Daenerys,” Jon tells her in a low murmur so as to inform her of the woman approaching. He turns to greet her – his aunt. “Gaomagon emā naejot yne brōzā bona?” Must you have to call me that?  He does not take kindly to the lofty title of prince, then.

The woman smiles, ignoring his irritation. “Nyke zūgagon ao would daor sagon māzis arlī.” I feared you would not be coming back to us. Her silver-white hair was swept away from her beautiful face and held with pins that glittered with rubies like droplets of spilled blood on snow. Her black leather armoured dress was split-skirted and revealed deep crimson riding breeches that looked tough in material, like some sort of hide. The bodice of her dress seemed to be made of some kind of reptilian skin, with scales that crept around her small frame. She looked every inch the Targaryen and Sansa only just now realises that she must have been the rider on the red dragon, not Viserys as Lord Royce had summised.

Just then, Zokla caught Sansa completely off guard by swishing her great, muscular tail and almost wrapping it around her, as if to separate her from the two Targaryens. The move felt a little...  protective? Sansa held her breath, unsure of what to make of it.

Jon chuckles darkly and gives his monster’s huge shoulder a shove. “Bump! Tepagon zirȳla arlī.” Give her back. “Ziry's ñuhon, daor aōhon.” She’s mine, not yours. There was a remorseful rumble from deep within the dragon’s chest before her tail slithered away allowing Sansa to step forward, out from within the dragon’s embrace.

“Qilōni iksis ziry?” The silver queen glances her way before making the demand of her War General. Who is she? She did not seem pleased to see her nephew return with a prisoner.

“This-“ Jon says, holding out his hand for Sansa to take while she curtseys as though he were presenting her like a gift. Sansa did not accept his offer and instead bowed her head at the beauty. “-is Lady Sansa Stark,” he finishes with a slight smirk upon his lips as he watches her.

“Hardyng,” Sansa corrects with a sniff, noting the quirk of Jon’s brow before turning back to the dragon queen. Her heart had stumbled at hearing her Stark name once more but Harry is barely cold and not yet buried – Sansa has hardly had time to properly come to terms with his fate – she won’t be giving up his name just yet.  “Your Grace,” she acknowledges the silver-haired queen.

Startling violet eyes swept up and down her frame. “Skoro syt iksis ziry kesīr?” Why is she here? The queen looks to her nephew with demand and suspicion in her eyes. She did not seem pleased to find a Stark (Hardyng though she may be) within their midst.

“I invited her.” Sansa almost snorts at his reply. If this was an invitation, she wouldn’t like to witness his command. She had certainly been issued with no indication that she could refuse his ‘invitation’.  “And as our guest favours the common tongue, I should think it more polite that we use it.” He seems unaware that she is able to follow Valyrian if she concentrates enough. That is fine, Sansa thinks. It may be to her advantage for him to believe her ignorant of his words.

The queen presses her lips tightly together. “Dārys se Bloodwing issi ōdrikagon.  Dārys's tīkun iksis olvie quba,” she says, ignoring her general’s request for the common tongue. Dārys and Bloodwing are both injured. Dārys’s wing is badly ripped. Jon sighs and rubs at his forehead, his inaction seeming to frustrate his aunt. “Zirȳla people gōntan bisa naejot īlva zaldrīzes's!” she spits, giving Sansa a look of dark fire. Her people did this to our dragon's!

At that, Jon took it upon himself to shift – step between Sansa and his queen as he stares his silver-haired aunt down. The intent seemed clear though no words, neither Valyrian, nor common were spoken. Sansa could see his shoulders rise and fall with each steady breath. Peering over them, the dragon queen seems to be even more frustrated.

“Visērȳs kessa daor sagon biare naejot gūrēñagon zȳhon zaldrīzes daor sōvegon,” Daenerys ground out between clenched teeth. Viserys will not be happy to learn his dragon can no longer fly.

“Bisa iksis vīlībāzma, Daenērys,” This is war, Daenerys, Jon rumbles, his voice low and calm. “Gōntan ao pendagon konīr daorys jiōragon ōdrikagon?” Did you think there would be no casualties?

“Not our dragons,” Daenerys answers, violet eyes flashing over Jon’s shoulder to pierce Sansa. “Never our dragons,” she hisses, spinning to stride away, taking her queenly venom with her.

Jon takes in a large lungful and reaches out to pat at his Zokla. “Tolī, riña.  Nyke'll māzigon naejot ūndegon ao tolī.” Later, girl. I’ll come to see you later. He turns to face Sansa and offers his arm again only to drop it back to his side when he notes the defiant expression she grants him. “Come, Jaesa,” he says gruffly, calling her Goddess again and starting to stalk toward the keep while expecting her to follow. “Let’s get you washed up before we present you to the King.”

***

Her cousin escorts Sansa to rooms larger than those she had been imprisoned in before. If her memory serves her well, these had been poor little Prince Tommen’s when last she had been here at King’s Landing. Rumour has it that the little prince who had been a short-lived king grew so scared at the sight of the dragons coming for him, that he jumped from his window. Sansa glances at the shuttered windows now, shaking the awful rumour from her head. Besides, he was king at the time of the Targaryen invasion, he would not have still resided in these rooms, he would not have jumped from these windows, his plummeted death was not below her new prison’s views. Sansa cannot seem to think of Tommen as anything other than the chubby-cheeked boy who loved his cat. She knows it has been a few years since, and likely the roundness of youth had slipped from his face and hardened under the crown they put upon him, but Sansa will not try to amend her memories.

Arya loved to chase the cats here too.

That memory is sharp and stinging – just as biting as her strike to Jon’s face would’ve been for him. Sansa rubs a thumb into her palm as she tucks the memory of her sister away, wraps it in soft knitted fabrics and tells herself not to think that the last place she saw her alive was this wretched castle.

Her eye casts around. The rooms are fairly bare; looking positively naked without the swaths of crimson velvets with golden trims and emblems of lions – all the things she’d come to expect of Red Keep chambers from her time here under Lannister rule. They were meant to be stags, she thinks to herself, turning to see her cousin stood behind her with his ever-watching eye. And you are meant to be a dragon though you call your beast a wolf. Can you be swayed?

“Satin!”  he barks, though his eye never strays from her as he stands there, hands behind his back, observing her like she were a curious new species of creature. A comely young man with ink-dark ringlets appears as if he had been hiding within the very walls awaiting his master’s summons.

The servant’s dark eyes quickly take in the General’s injured leg. “Aōha kris!” Your leg!

“The common tongue, please Satin,” her cousin says, ignoring the young man’s concern. “We have a guest.” He nods his head in her direction.

‘Satin’, gives her a smile. “Apologies, my lady,” he says before sweeping into a low bow.

“Fetch Lady Sansa some water to bathe,” Jon commands.

“But... your leg-“

The manservant is cut off by a sharp turn of his masters head accompanied by a searing glare.

Satin sniffs and straightens, holding his poise perfectly. “Here? In your rooms?” To which, her cousin gives a stiff nod. Satin scurries off to do as he is bid.

That catches Sansa off guard. His rooms? What on earth does he mean by bringing her here.

Something twitches in her belly – a horrid spark of a thought.

He wouldn’t violate her, would he? She knows nothing of the Targaryens and even less of the particular one standing in front of her.

Her cousin approaches and Sansa stands strong with steel in her spine. If she is afraid, she will be damned if he’s to know about it. He’s standing close now, his skin and armour still coated in battle-grime; dirt, blood and sweat. His eye roams her face as Satin scurries back in, directing his under-servants with the bath tub and buckets. Jon does not move and Sansa wonders if he’ll ever look his fill of her. “You need not be afraid of me, cousin,” he murmurs low for only her ears. Sansa peers over his shoulder at the way the servants (save for Satin) skitter around like mice trying desperately to fulfil their master’s wish before they can flee again. They seemed afraid.

Swallowing, Sansa forces a smile. The worst kind of beasts can smell fear – it excites them. She does not know what sort of beast stands before her yet but she won’t let him get her scent. “Why have you brought me to your chambers, General?” she asks calmly as hot steaming water splashes into the tub by the hearth.

“They are yours now,” he says, “while you stay with us.”

“And where will you sleep?”

Satin makes an odd, amused snorting noise. Jon ignores it. “It is a big castle, my lady. I’m sure I will find somewhere to lay my head.”

That did not assuage her thoughts. She’s been in the position of prisoner before, she knows of many different ways captors treat their captives. Robb will gut you if you hurt me, she thinks, hoping it to be true. “I am well aware of how large the castle is,” she tells him dismissively, looking around, feigning disinterest. “There are far less golden lions than last I was a ‘guest’ here.”

Jon leans forward and tilts his head as he asks, “An improvement?”

Sansa catches sight of a new little serving mouse scurrying in and frantically whispering into Satin’s ear. Whatever he was told, it made his pleasant complexion turn pallid. She will have relearn all there is to know about the servants and the guards while she is here. To be informed is to be forearmed after all. There is just enough time for her answer before Satin approaches them. “An improvement? Perhaps. Though there may be a few too many dragons for my liking. I am yet to decide.”

Her answer earns a wry smile from her cousin before his manservant comes up to whisper in his ear, causing that smile to slide right off. “Ziry iksos rhēdan? Sir?” he asks, finally tearing his gaze away from Sansa. It’s started? Now?

“Kessa, istiti jikagon naejot zirȳla.” Yes, we must go to her.

Jon offers her quick glace before taking Satin by the arm and hauling him away, hissing, “Se skoros gaomagon īlon gīmigon hen ra? īlon daor dohaeragon zirȳla!” And what do we know of these things? We cannot help her. Satin shrugs out of Jon’s grip. There is a fury in his eyes when he squares up to his master with his reply. Sansa did not catch the words but she had never before seen a servant react in such a manner towards their lord. For half a moment, she believes she is about to witness a beating. Instead, she watches as her cousin growls some response and fishes out a small bag of coins. “Jurnegon syt dohaeragon.  Sindigon pōja lykemagon,” he murmurs, handing the coin to Satin. Find someone to help. Buy their silence. “Jikagon.” Go.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #zokla #jon was raised in essos au

[agentrouka-blog]

When Jon think about wanting winterfell and it's Lord he felt hunger which he later connect with ghost's hunger. Do you think that passage is implying something?

Hi anon!

I think the passage has many layers when it comes to symbolism and foreshadowing.

ASOS, Jon XII is a fun chapter. Jon’s been through a lot. His trip North of the wall left him traumatized and disillusioned in a way that’s hard to sum up. Anything he had hoped to be proud of in life was obliterated, he suffered serious injury, has been separated from ghost, learned that all his family are dead or missing, fought a viciously cruel battle, feels responsible for the death of his stockholm-syndromy abuser, was stripped of all respect and honor by his superiors, and he got to see a woman die in childbirth. Now Stannis and Mel are squatting at Castle Black, and the threat to the North keeps looming.

Life sucks. 

We’d been introduced to some options that were denied to him in life:

His lord father had once talked about raising new lords and settling them in the abandoned holdfasts as a shield against wildlings. The plan would have required the Watch to yield back a large part of the Gift, but his uncle Benjen believed the Lord Commander could be won around, so long as the new lordlings paid taxes to Castle Black rather than Winterfell. "It is a dream for spring, though," Lord Eddard had said. "Even the promise of land will not lure men north with a winter coming on."

If winter had come and gone more quickly and spring had followed in its turn, I might have been chosen to hold one of these towers in my father's name. Lord Eddard was dead, however, his brother Benjen lost; the shield they dreamt together would never be forged. (ASOS, Jon V)

or

“If the boy shows any skill with sword or lance, he should have a place with your father’s household guard at the least,” Jon said. “It’s not unknown for bastards to be trained as squires and raised to knighthood. But you’d best be sure Gilly can play this game convincingly. From what you’ve told me of Lord Randyll, I doubt he would take kindly to being deceived.” (ASOS, Samwell IV)

One fails because of the seasons, the other was prevented by Catelyn. The Watch has been a soul-destroying nightmare, Ygritte’s offer of taking over a Tower “after” is not even worth a moment’s consideration to him. Every hope he ever had about his life has been disappointed. 

Jon’s just about sixteen and is completely done. Sam notes how much time Jon spends in the training yard, even though he’s injured and off-duty for the title of turncloak. He does not bother voting in the Lord Commander election. A maligned outcast again. Forever. 

The warg, I’ve heard them call me. How can I be a warg without a wolf, I ask you?” His mouth twisted. “I don’t even dream of Ghost anymore. All my dreams are of the crypts, of the stone kings on their thrones. Sometimes I hear Robb’s voice, and my father’s, as if they were at a feast. But there’s a wall between us, and I know that no place has been set for me.” (ASOS, Samwell IV

He is lonely. Even Ghost is gone, his one proof that he belongs to something.

Stannis alienates Jon by talking ill of Robb, but he offers Jon recognition for the things he did right, a rare thing, and then he offers him legitimization. Basically, “You proved your worth and you have the Right blood. All you ever wanted can be yours. For the small price of breaking your oaths for real and of your own volition and forsaking your gods.” Downright mephistophelian.

Jon is torn, can’t sleep, fights. For the first time he has a real choice. He remembers the traumatic incident where his bastardy became a true concept to him.

That morning he called it first. “I’m Lord of Winterfell!” he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, “You can’t be Lord of Winterfell, you’re bastard-born. My lady mother says you can’t ever be the Lord of Winterfell.”

I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he’d taken. (ASOS, Jon XII)

And Jon’s response is a near black-out rage against his sparring partner. All his suppressed feelings of grief and anger and longing and loneliness are just broiling inside him.

Why am I so angry? he asked himself, but it was a stupid question. Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father’s heir.

Jon soaks in the hot tub and thinks of Winterfell, mulls restoring it versus not belonging and destroying its soul in the process

When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said … but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman’s hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods

The tree is almost described like a person. A person with Tully coloring, like all his siblings save Arya. Like Sansa. The hot springs in Winterfell have a potential link to his decision to join the Watch, or at the very least to his siblings in general. The castle of Winterfell is juxtaposed with the heart, with the purpose and point of it all. Save a structure by destroying what made it a meaningful place? Betray his family in his heart, the person whose castle is truly is, betray all his values and his gods?

He takes a walk past sites of all his recent experiences and North the Wall over the recent battle field and just sits to think. 

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. Jon watched as that towering expanse of ice took on the reds and pinks of sunset. 

There’s an essay I could write about walls, Tyrion, Jon and Sansa (the sun to Arya’s moon) and how they all interact in the books, but let’s say just like this word play, the fact that Jon answers his own question is not an accident:

"Close your beak, crow. Spin yourself around, might be you'd find who you're looking for."

Jon turned.

The singer rose to his feet. (ASOS, Jon I)

The singer rose. Lyanna, his mother, the riddle. But also Sansa, who unwittingly took up her mantle. One unlocks his path to the other and everything that follows in his imagination:

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We’d find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger … he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought.

Jon paints a picture of recreating his own childhood with his wolf pack at Winterfell, only this time there are no outcasts, and he is the Father. He gets to be Ned. The Lord of Winterfell with a lady’s love. And a son, something he had, apparently, dreamed of until he stoppped. 

He has always wanted this thing that he has no right to and it filled him with a guilt strong enough to concern the gods. But he admits it to himself, lets himself truly feel it. The feeling flows through him the same way the rage did earlier. powerful and all encompassing. 

Like a dragonglass blade. There we have some lovely foreshadowing for a) potentiall the origin of the Others, b) Jon’s paternity, and c) his own death when his desire to abandon his vows and head to Winterfell is met with, you know, some blades. Not to mention d) his desire to have these things.

Each of these is answered by his primal hunger response. Which is of course, his connection to Ghost. The wolf he has so woefully said goodbye to, that he missed deeply and bitterly, chooses this moment to reappear. This moment where Jon returns to his own feelings, his true self.

a) the answer to the Others are the direwolves, the Starks, their magical connection to Winterfell and what happened way back when.

b) the answer to Jon’s paternity is a violent embrace of his mother’s side.

c) the answer to his own stabbing will be warging into Ghost and biding his time in there, becoming more wolf than he ever anticipated.

d) the answer to his heart’s desire...

It was a long moment before he understood what was happening. When he did, he bolted to his feet. “Ghost?” He turned toward the wood, and there he came, padding silently out of the green dusk, the breath coming warm and white from his open jaws. “Ghost!” he shouted, and the direwolf broke into a run. He was leaner than he had been, but bigger as well, and the only sound he made was the soft crunch of dead leaves beneath his paws. When he reached Jon he leapt, and they wrestled amidst brown grass and long shadows as the stars came out above them. “Gods, wolf, where have you been?” Jon said when Ghost stopped worrying at his forearm. “I thought you’d died on me, like Robb and Ygritte and all the rest. I’ve had no sense of you, not since I climbed the Wall, not even in dreams.” The direwolf had no answer, but he licked Jon’s face with a tongue like a wet rasp, and his eyes caught the last light and shone like two great red suns.

Red suns. Arya’s wolf has golden coins (haggling for death, faceless men coins, spinning fates), Grey Wind has molten gold (like a crown that kills you). 

Jon’s wolf has red suns. Like the colors that the sun painted on the Wall. The direwolf in heart tree colors, inverted bastard colors of house Stark, Tully colors, Sansa colors. 

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they’d found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

He had his answer then.

Not the red gods, not fire. The old gods. the heart tree, the wolves. He may be a Snow, but the old gods gave him Ghost. His own wolf. His white wolf. His place was made by their will. 

There is honor in that choice. No matter what anyone else says, Jon knows who he is and he has that power: to reject betraying his heart. 

How does this choice led by Ghost fit the layers?

a) The answer to the Others: don’t steal, don’t trick. Be honest. Accept what was painful. Not the Wall matters, the answer is in the heart tree.

b) The Dragon father does not Need to guide his decisions. He can let that go. He is a Snow.

c) Being in Ghost will lead him back to himself. Not fire, not Melisandre. The old gods.

d) Well... What does Jon want? What IS his answer?

Jon is filled with sudden energy. He strides back, rejects Val in his mind, stalks dramatically into the dining hall and is suddenly voted Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. We close on this:

So Jon Snow took the wineskin from his hand and had a swallow. But only one. The Wall was his, the night was dark, and he had a king to face.

Jon’s answer? We never hear it in this chapter. 

We hear it in ADWD, Jon I:

"By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa." 

And ADWD, Jon IV:

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa." 

The chapter is followed by? Sansa. Rebuilding Winterfell out of snow. 

When Jon lets go of pretense, honestly asks himself what he wants, shame or not, his wolf takes over and helps him find the answer and the path. The answer is not in taking the Castle and creating a mimicry of what it was, it is in honoring what it truly was and truly means. The heart over the structure. 

And in giving supremacy to the heart, to the red-white heart, he unknowingly paves the way for his own place: Winterfell built of Snow. He doesn’t have to steal the castle, he will be invited to belong.

That’s my own humble interpretation, anyway.

#asoiaf #jon snow #ASOS #Ghost the direwolf #asoiaf speculation #layered symbolism #foreshadowing #jonsa #Starklings

[spirit-of-vengeance]

After MONTHS, I was finally hit by something that made me completely piece together Rozália's story of what she is and why and I'm HYPER. Aka: here it comes the usual tragedy

Origins:

Attila Véghváry was a descendant of warriors whom protected Hungary throughout the Ottoman period of history, to be able to live up to his ancestors he joined to serve the Vatican as a Hunter. He had fallen in love with a half Italian, half Hungarian woman named Liliána, charmed by her ethereal beauty and kindness. His desire to have children, to continue his name bathed in blood was grand, after wedding they tried, struggled with the task; without success. Liliána was terrified upon her husband's devastation, fearing he will throw her away, back into the clutches of her father and that was a fate she desperately wanted to avoid. So she prayed, begged for a miracle, yet still nothing happened. In her despair and distress, she turned to a darker force; she had made a deal with the devil: she will be able to successfully bear a child, but the child will serve hell after his or her death.

Rozália was born in 1823 and Liliána was gnawed by guilt from her first cry for air; yet she found herself unable to tell anyone in fear of harm. Even though she couldn't give him a boy, Attila was thrilled to have her and began teaching, treating her as a son as soon as possible. He was a harsh teacher with little to no reward to pay off the hard work and Rozália soon learned she has to fight for her father's love and praise.

The Hunter:

It was no question that she will join her father in the quest of banishing evil, Attila couldn't bear to give his only offspring in the hands of Nuns. To everyone's greatest surprise, the young girl proved to be more capable than most of the men, including her own father: fast, fearless, fatal, brutal yet still a tactician. Despite the available arsenal of weapons she favored hussar swords above everything (+ a few must have religious symbols) with her unique twist: she wielded twin blades, instead of the traditional one, earning the title of Doom Duelist.

Rozália only saw the creatures as obstacles between her father's love and well deserved recognition. She never really believed the preachings, she hasn't came to do God's work but to seek her own glory, to carve her own path.

When she could visit her mother, Liliána started to worry upon listening Attila's tales of how efficient their daughter was, instead she saw it as a sign that the devil already begun his work with her violent personality. As a solution when she was home, she turned her attention towards arts and found out her thirst, passion and talent for dancing. Liliána had given her all the love she could in hope it would provide a tiny compensation for Attila's harsh ways. She didn't condemn nor stood in way of her hunt for the so called satanic creatures in hope of that will somehow lessen or even lift the curse she had bestowed on her before she was born.

The General:

The 1848 revolutionary war swept through the country like a wildfire, both father and daughter felt their obligation to protect their country, just like their ancestors did. Her talents shone brilliantly on the battlefields and despite being a woman, she climbed ranks in lightning speed. Eventually, Attila had fallen in a battle and the title General was given to her along with a legion of hussars, the Főnix Légió (Phoenix Legion). Her horse, Vihar (Thunder) was a wild, aggressive mare from the Herd Lipica, since they couldn't get her to accept any of the stallions, they wanted to get rid of the nuisance but Rozália has had other plans.

They understood each other from the very beginning, they moved together as one. Vihar was as quick and strong as if she was a stallion along with her rider. The name General Véghváry was associated with bravery, power and true Hungarian virtue. She often utilized the tactics of ancient battles like barrage of arrows when they were 'fleeing', used the environment to her advantage, quick, devastating strikes usually at the enemy flanks then disappearing into the thin air. She knew her army well, keeping many personal relations since most of the soldiers were almost still children. Strangely, no one ever questioned her command and the legion moved, fought as one.

Birth of the Demon:

The greatest heroes are designated to fall. Her mistake was that she believed fighting for their country, defending it from the Habsburg's rule unified everyone and didn't take betrayal into consideration. The legion was crossing the mountains of Vértes, advancing into uncertain territory when the ambush happened. Rozália knew they are all going to perish, they were in a valley, no space to utilize the hussar tactic, so she set Vihar free and issued one last command: die as heroes. So they fought like caged wild animals but the Habsburg army had the numerical superiority along with the element of surprise. Rozália watched her men, her friends slaughtered, executed the remaining survivors. Even at the door of death, bleeding from numerous wounds she stood defiant and unmoving, refusing to beg or kneel in front of the enemy general. Swords pierced her body, more than she can or want to remember, pinned standing like a grotesque sculpture of glory. Life left her body and sealed the deal. The ground cracked beneath her body, the flames of Hell itself soaring into the woman, resurrecting and possessing her at the same time. The first gasp for breath was ragged, she was confused, furious and lost. So she did what most children would do, immediately returned to her mother's house, only to find her dead with unmistakable evidence of her falling victim to a vampire. Unbeknownst to her, Liliána had written a diary she kept locked away, detailing why she accepted such offer, her sincere apologies and asking for forgiveness for bringing a cursed child to life.

Szerte nézett s nem lelé Honját a hazában*:

Even though she had no idea what she had became, Rozália knew she can't return to the Holy Order, but she no longer fit among humans and due to her Hunter past she wasn't welcome among other creatures. She lost her identity, the war, her home and her beloved mother. She did what she could: survive. Learn what she is and trying to control it. She soon realized her human face is only a mask, when the pendant is separated from her, her appearance shifts: skin cracks until it looks like ash, her veins are glowing orange in contrast, clawed hands, feet, wide jaw filled with razor fangs, crimson eyes with slit pupils and ink black wings curling from her back, almost impossible to tell when the flames morph into feathers.

Rozália is restlessly searching for her mother's killer while trying to figure out what and who is she, struggling to decide between warrior, demon or dancer.

After finishing off all the Habsburg officials (except for the general whom was nowhere to be found even though she tore through the whole country in her fury), she turned her special attention towards vampires in hope of finding her mom's killer. These encounters often ended with death even though the said creature wasn't the cause of her loss. Soon she learned the Holy Order wants to eradicate her from existence, without regard for her outstanding service; she understood she is truly torn between two words and she could never belong to any of them.

Rozália took part in both World Wars, the Korean war, the Vietnam War, numerous crisises throughout Africa and Middle East; to keep herself occupied, to not let the memories of the war pass even though she suffers from minor PTSD from it. When not occupied with bloodshed, she restlessly learned new styles of martial arts and dance styles, throughout the century she has lived many lives in many places: cage fighter, dancer, racer, pole dancer, acrobat, fitness model; anywhere she can get her rush of adrenaline and spotlight. Rozy can't nor want to slow down, she blazes to the utmost, running from melancholy and loneliness.

To save herself from the heartbreak, the must have 'why do you still look 25 even though we've been together for 10 years' talk, and the danger of being hunted by everyone, Rozy doesn't really date. If she feels a mutual spark between her and an another, she is totally down for a one night stand then disappear, leaving only the traces of overwhelming heat and pleasant memories behind.

Power & curse of the Hellfire:

Rozália needs to consume souls to survive. If she refuses, can't find someone unworthy of life, her 'gift' starts to turn against her. The pendant unable to keep up the false facade of a human, the insatiable demon clawing through the surface and ultimately, the Hellfire would consume her, resulting in a second death which would be hell of a record to beat but Rozy is not interested in that.

With the pendant on, the signs of what is she truly are subtle: Her teeth a little too sharp, dagger like stiletto nails as if she just had a manicure, her body heat feverish, candles leaning towards her or burning more eagerly in her presence. The most notable traits her almost overwhelming, smoldering aura and behind her emerald eyes occasionally a glimpse of Hell itself flash, brief enough to make humans believe their mind is only playing tricks.

She has fire under her control, high temperature cause no harm; her cursed flames able to burn through everything and destroy anything in their path including supernatural creatures for whom normal fire isn't fatal. Being destruction itself makes her unable to bear children, not like she would've wanted in the first place.

If she has the mortal remains, she can raise that being back into life for a few hours as an infernal creature, and at full power she can open a portal directly to Hell and reap all the souls nearby though she isn't aware of this ability yet watch her raise her dead army in heartbeat if needed. Both of these actions leave her drained for weeks, unable even to transform so she will only use these as last resort.

@count-v-dracula you might like this :D

@thxwxlf ...you said I am allowed to throw stuff at you😅

#👹 blazing through history au🔥| heavenborn; hellraised #with this done she is 'officially' separated from Cindy and should have her own blog :`) #* Looking everywhere she could not find home in her homeland; line from the Hungarian hymn because I find this incredibly fitting #🔥headcanons🔥 | secrets of the fire #might update with the powers & their explainations #spoiler: she can raise her army from the dead as infernal soldiers for a few hours #this actually collides with heavenborn because sure af heaven had nothing to do with that; but I love the tag too much to change

[mvssmallow]

Blood and Dust: Prologue

Whoever controls the Water, controls everyone. 

My name is Chan. In a former life I was the son of a farmer and soldier. After the World fell, the War for Dust and Water began, claiming every weak scavenger without loyalties and eliminating those without the right ones. There was no room for autonomous thought, only universal law enforced by Haelend and his anaemic army of psychopathic War Dogs. 

After they claimed the Eastern Oil mines, they came for the Northern Greenlands that my Grandfather protected. Few of us were spared in the war, they killed the men and mothers and branded all the children, the ones they didn’t kidnap and torture. They took whatever viable seedlings there was and only fled when a resistance led by my father staged a stealth attack at the last minute. But we were not a district of War, not back then anyway, and there was no victory march in the aftermath. There was only death and loss. 

Those who were left behind were driven mad by either grief or anger. Many left for other territories, trekking across the Dustbowl like lost immigrants, but I stayed behind, vowing to rebuild and replant on the Earth where my ancestor’s blood and ashes had fallen.

That was 8 years ago. Not much has changed. It’s hard to grow much when there’s only dirt and sun. 

Whoever controls the Water, controls everyone. 

And right now, Haelend still controls the water. 

But he doesn’t control everyone. Not yet. 

****

“Chan! Visitor at the gates.”

“How many?”

“Just one. I disarmed him already. Don’t know how the hell he got past the spikes but he’s covered in whole lot of blood.”

Chan looks up from the radio transmitter he’s been trying to fix for the last 2 weeks and sighs wearily in Changbin’s direction. “Aren’t they all?”

“Not all of them.” Changbin shrugs with a smirk, “The last stray we took in was covered in fur.”

“That mutt better not have chewed the cables again.” 

At the mention of his (alleged) crimes, a black Akita-Wolf huffs indignantly but tries to push his nose against Chan’s fingers as he follows them dutifully down the corridor. 

He’d been against taking it home but Chan had seen how dangerously closed off Changbin had gotten over the years and before Felix had collapsed at their gates last winter, he admits it had been a lonely existence with the two of them. Loneliness was so deeply an ingrained and accepted normalcy for Chan that sometimes it’s easy to forget that not everyone could survive like that. Not even grumpy guarded ones like Changbin. 

“Bear doesn’t do that anymore.”

“He did it last week.”

“He was bored.” Changbin says dismissively, reaching down to scratch behind Bear’s soft furry ears. “He thought he saw a rat.”

Chan looks over quizzically, about to ask his best friend when he started talking to animals, but decided this probably wasn’t the time to hear about ridiculous anecdotes. 

Felix is already waiting for them, crouched in his bird box look-out with one hand on the scanner and one on the trigger of his sniper rifle, poised for orders like the loyal kid he’s always been. He eyes Chan and gives the ‘ok’ signal to move ahead. 

Before any further words are uttered, a wet cough draws their attention to the stirring bloodied figure Changbin had tied to the weathered stone pillars by the gates. 

“You disarmed him before he passed out?”

“Yes.” Changbin replies, “A few knives hidden in his boots and an old rusty shooter. Magazine was empty.”

“How’d he get past the spikes?”

“Felix is trying to figure that out. Sandstorm last night might have jammed the cogs?”

“Fuck.” Chan mutters in frustration. It’s always the sandstorms. “What else?”

“Young. Male. Early twenties maybe. Too bloody to see any markings or inkwork. Defensive wounds all down his arms though.”

Unarmed, bleeding, injured or not, all visitors are treated with the same level of caution Chan reserves for War Dogs. Though, this one wasn’t nearly pale enough to be one, which meant that the majority of the blood on him wasn’t actually his own. The fact that their visitor was even alive means one of two things: he’s one hell of a fighter (there’s no such thing as luck in the Dustbowl) or he’s bait. 

The thought prickles the skin across Chan’s neck and as he tightens his grip on his double-barrel shotgun and pulls up the scarf covering the lower half of his face he can hear the tense heavy loading of Changbin’s crossbow as he does the same. Bear is, as always, hovering behind them, his menacing rumbling growl is enough to stir the visitor back into consciousness. 

Chan takes a step forward and nudges a bare bloodied foot. 

“Wake up sunshine.”

There’s a heavy pause before the visitor rolls over with a pained groan before gasping for breath like all his ribs were broken and he was suddenly hungry for air. 

“What’s your name?” Chan asks, his shoulders are aching from the anxious tension he always gets every time they have to do this.

There’s a wet splutter in reply and the visitor blinks blearily at them for a few slow seconds before the realisation of his precarious situation suddenly dawns on him all at once. “Are they gone?”

They? 

They means plural.

Nausea churns in Chan’s gut as he straightens to take in their surroundings. Looking up at the Bird Box, Felix is already scanning the perimeters with hurried efficiency, it isn’t until there’s a thumbs-up thrown in their direction that Chan breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Who is they?”

“East Block. War Dogs. Desert Snakes. Take your pick.” 

Chan looks down at their visitor with a mix of disbelief and awe. “They were all hunting you? Why?”

“They don’t need a reason.”

There’s truth in that statement. There might be Haelend’s universal law but outside the central citadels, in the vast expanse of the Dustbowl, it’s a lawless state. Few reasons are needed to justify kill. Sometimes no reason at all. 

That being said, to piss off three separate factions is a rare unenviable feat that Chan wants no association with. That fact alone sets off alarms bells and the only logical decision here is to cut their visitor loose and send him back into the desert. 

Changbin hasn’t moved or taken his eyes off the bloody mess on the ground, his crossbow remains loaded and aimed at the visitor’s head. Subtlety was never his strong suit. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Trying not to die for a few hours?”

“How’d you get past the spikes?”

“What spikes?”

Chan can feel the frustration creeping into his head and when he looks across, he can tell by Changbin’s tense jaw that his patience is also fading by the second. They don’t kill unnecessarily and Chan doesn’t want the bad karma on his territory but there are exceptions to every rule.

“Listen mate, unless you’re gonna answer the questions, you’re welcome to spend the next week back out in the Dustbowl.”

That seems to shake their visitor out of his stupor. Chan knows all too well that the only fate as bad as captivity in a citadel is to be let loose in the desert with no water or supplies. Death is all but inevitable. 

“No! Wait. Don’t send me back out there by myself again. I swear, I didn’t mean to do it!”

“Do what?”

The visitor pulls himself to sit down against a pillar and when he looks at Chan in the eyes, there’s a hard defiant glare there that is completely unexpected for someone with three weapons aimed at their head. 

“I tried to take an oil rig over in the East Block.”

There’s an uncharacteristic snort of disbelief to his right and Chan isn’t even sure how to respond himself. 

“You and what army?”

“Just me.”

“Are you crazy in the head or you just got a deathwish?”

“It was mine! I won it fair and square!”

“You won an oil rig?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty good at Desert Poker.”

He blames it on being around each other for far too long but Chan can tell the exact moment when Changbin has heard enough and is ready to kick the visitor back into the desert and bolt the gates behind him. 

But Chan also knows that Changbin is nothing if not a pack animal.

And pack animals always wait for the pack alpha, so Chan presses on.

“You can drive a rig?”

“Of course, I’m not stupid.” Comes the snotty reply and Chan has got to hand it to their visitor, this kid has balls of steel. 

“How many kill switches are there?”

“Six. But the newer models can go up to eight, if you got the money for it.”

“What are you, some kind of annoying mechanic?”

“Yeah.” The visitor grins at him, black eye, split lip and all. His outward cockiness cracking for a moment to reveal the uncertain smile of a lost kid. 

“Cut him.” Changbin whispers beside him. “This isn’t worth it.”

9 out of 10 times Chan would agree. 9 out of 10 times they think alike and execute the same plan. It’s how they’ve been able to survive and maintain their meagre territory. It’s not very much, and probably deemed worthless by the bigger factions, but 9 out of 10 times their teamwork and partnership is how they’ve managed to have anything at all.

But this is that 1 out of 10. 

There’s something different Chan sees in the visitor’s eyes but more than that, there’s something very familiar. He saw it in Changbin then Felix. He’s seen it in himself. It’s not desperation, he sees that all the time, everyone is desperate in the Dustbowl. This is longing. For safety. For protection. For peace. For belonging. 

“Which district has your loyalty?”

“The one that doesn’t take a pint of my blood every 3 weeks.” The visitor pulls up his shirt and scrubs at his skin to reveal a dark black “B” inked onto this chest.

A phantom ache surfaces along Chan’s forearms. “You’re a War Dog Bio-Donor.”

“Ah, so you heard of us. You gonna try and blood bag me? Because I gotta tell you, they kinda bled me dry last time.”

“No, we don’t do that here. Whose blood is on you?”

“My sister’s.” The visitor says too quietly. “I buried her yesterday.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Changbin curses beside him, taking a step back and lowering his crossbow a fraction before signalling Bear to heel.

Chan pulls the scarf off his face and has to agree with the sentiment. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, his mind already made up now. “You got a name?”

“Does it matter if you’re going to kill me anyway?”

Chan smirks for some reason, maybe there’s something in him that enjoys collecting broken strays like this and seeing them learn to become human again. He’s down it twice now. He can do it again. 

“No name, no entrance mate.”

There’s shock in the visitor’s eyes, followed by confusion, conflict, trust and anti-trust. But in the end, shelter from the Dustbowl is too powerful a hope. 

“It’s...Han.”

#Stray Kids #Stray Kids fic #well this is a Mad Max AU #kinda sort of #the terminology and politics are from the movie Fury Road #which i totally reccomend #Bang Chan #Chan #Changbin #Han Jisung #Han #Seo Changbin #I'm just trying ideas out

[danwhobrowses]

Are AEW Planning a Second Show?

Today, fan demand was answered with the announcement that Eddie Kingston - followintg his great TNT title match and pre-match promo with Cody - has been signed to AEW. Between this, Matt Cardona’s signing and the Deadly Draw inviting more women, AEW’s roster is getting big, even in the time of COVID. But it’s getting a little crowded now, so are AEW planning a second show already?

Roster Bloat or a Bigger Crowd? AEW already sported some fantastic roster members, sadly COVID had prevented travel for many such as Bea Priestley, Yuka Sakazaki, CIMA, Riho, PAC and more, we’ve also had QT Marshall sidelined by COVID. But even then AEW have had some struggles with utilizing all their roster, the tag teams particularly. Lucha Bros, Santana and Ortiz and TH2 are all wildly talented tag teams that sadly have had less exposure as of recent, the latter barely any TV time in almost a year. The same can be said for Luther, the Gunn Club, Sonny Kiss, Preston Vance and Joey Janela who struggle to make it on the card, and Sadie Gibbs whose ill-fated debut had led her to disappear entirely. Suffice to say, AEW’s roster is getting too big for Dynamite to cater them alone, but yet AEW still sign more people, and are encouraged to sign others still (I for one think they cannot pass up Will Hobbs, Shawn Dean, Serpentico, Ivelisse, Jamie Hayter, Pillman Jr and Pineapple Pete), especially for the Women’s division, so with that in mind it would make sense for AEW to expand their roster and perform a show Mitosis, either that or two things is happening: AEW is expecting departures or they’re losing their minds a little with the recruitment. Of the three I doubt the latter is the case. Light in the Dark A while back it was reported that AEW were prepping Youtube show’s Dark to be a televised show, which could also be a part of the splitting, being able to throw in title matches to draw while also expanding the undercard. But then that leads to the worry of what the Independent Wrestlers who AEW have done well to expose and finance during COVID would stand, the likes of Serpentico, Hobbs and Pineapple Pete if unsigned will sadly not show up on AEW either. This is all of course speculation, unless AEW move their ‘TV Dark’ to be a separate show and keep the Youtube show for the Indy talent and undercard, similar to how NJPW is currently using the show Lion’s Break Collision to expose their Young Lions (btw Gabriel Kidd is great you should check out his WCPW/Defiant work, of course Filthy Tom Lawlor, Jeff Cobb, Clark Connors and Karl Fredricks are fantastic too). This would be a decent move, but then you’d have to rename one of the shows, there also lies another struggle. Building a Glass Cannon While at the Roster AEW are bulking up, they are still missing the bulking in some other areas if they’re gonna expand to 2 shows. The Women’s Division of course needs more, the Deadly Draw will hopefully aid to that with hopeful additions of NWA’s Thunder Rosa, Ivelisse and Diamante being official, Jamie Hayter, TJPW’s Maki Itoh (and by extension her tag partner DDT Universal Champion Chris Brookes), Lana Austin, Laura Di Matteo, Millie McKenzie, Cris Cyborg (she has been teasing a Wrestling career for a while), Session Moth Martina, Taya Valkyrie and Priscilla Kelly to really stack the division for the return of Bea, Britt, Statlander, Kong, Sakura and Yuka. The other department AEW need to focus a little on though is management; as documented on BTE, tapings for Dark go beyond midnight, there’s definite risk of burnout from the EVPs so it will be important to not thin them any further and have people who can share the load, for commentary that can involve using Goldenboy a lot more and giving Brandon (and Leva, she seems to be doing a fair bit behind the scenes) a bit of help. Opportunity Calling? AEW seem to hybrid their product on sticking with some traditional NWA-esque formats in shows combined with modernized layered storytelling, the former can be seen in its ‘Big Four’ PPV system (All Out, Double or Nothing, Revolution and Full Gear?) with other named shows being specials like Fyter Fest, Fight for the Fallen and Bash at the Beach. With a 2 TV show format though there bodes the question if the Championship hierarchy will expand. WWE of course have a lot of titles, but due to little attention to storyline sometimes the titles become less prestigious over time like a rollercoaster, which is something AEW could easily fall into too. That being said, AEW have flirted with the ideas of Mixed Tag and 6-Man titles, especially with the latter given the expansion of trio stables before COVID (Jurassic Express, Dark Order, Death Triangle, Inner Circle, the Elite, FTR & Hangman, Best Friends, SCU, Nightmare Family etc.). AEW seem to have the same track as NXT and NJPW when it comes to stables, and a 2-show format can easily open the door to these kind of titles while giving more room for the TNT and Women’s title to surface as well - as well as Women’s tag if the Deadly Draw is leading to it, though I would prefer the tag division to simply be mixed...I can see why Brandi and Khan has some reservations over that though.This may also expand the platform for the FTW title, if AEW officialize it, build other challengers for the TNT, Tag and World title, and do some more promos, frankly I feel like AEW’s missing a beat by leaving out all its package promos it used to do in the build to dynamite, even the Road to series have gotten shorter mainly out of time constraints. A Ratings Arms Race Should AEW decide to do 2 shows and successfully hold it down, it would be interesting to see how their rivals respond. WWE have not been subtle about throwing together special shows and throwing some Main Roster fan-favourites on NXT to compete with AEW. I do not mind this of course, the Wednesday Night Wars has invited both brands to up their game, thanks to that we have great wrestling and stars like Dexter Lumis who have gotten over because they were allowed to reach for the brass ring. I only mention this because if AEW gets 2 shows it can be seen as AEW stepping up, which’ll have to cause NXT to deliberate if they can do the same and potentially expand their focus on other wrestlers or do a better job with NXT UK. Conclusion Of course, I don’t have answers, but with the men’s midcard being stacked and talent at risk of squandering, many arrows point towards AEW possibly pushing for another show by next year. Through the analysis I’ve given if this is done well, this could be very good for wrestling as a whole, more good wrestlers getting good wrestling platforms without being squandered, but there is still a lot of work to do and AEW need to keep a level head about this - which is hard when you’re on a high, the alternative is to finally wear down NJPW and possibly break bread with ROH or Impact like they seem to have done with NWA to spread their roster when they’re not being used. Or we can have a bit of both, in the end COVID has left the indy market sparse and AEW have done their best to provide a platform for others, and that has pushed them to expand, once COVID has subsided and more people adhere to the common practice of wearing masks and basic levels of hygiene, it’ll be down to AEW to see what steps they take when their roster is fully accessible to them.

#aew #all elite wrestling #wrestling #pro wrestling #aew dynamite #aew dark #eddie kingston #the elite #cody #cody rhodes #the young bucks #matt jackson #nick jackson #kenny omega #brandon cutler #leva bates #tony khan #nxt #matt cardona #zack ryder #deadly draw #guys I really miss Yuka #plus Fenix and Penta could be killing it in singles if tag hasn't anything for them #ftr #hangman page #Jack Evans as well is too talented for the benches #if it happens though be sure to pick up the phone

[tentoriwrites]

Lunar Eclipse: Chapter One

Chapter One: The Betrayer’s Cage

AO3 Link

7490 words. 

After thousands of years of playing warden, Maiev and Illidan come to know each other in a particular way. But what is the feeling between them and is it strong enough to overcome their circumstances and their fate? Who will break first if either of them breaks at all? How will Maiev fare after her time with the Betrayer? How will his time with the Warden change Illidan?

Notes:

This was inspired by a piece of art by AlexaelArtworks on Twitter and Instagram. It's amazing. 10/10. Highly encourage you to check them out!

I thought it would be interesting to approach this from the angle of Maiev once being a priestess and how that would still have lingering influence over her. I also thought it would be interesting if Illidan at least knew of her from her time in the Sisterhood with Tyrande. This explores Illidan's motives a bit in an attempt to reconcile his two seemingly incongruent lines of lore and how they wrapped things up in WoW.

This may get more spicy in the future so additional tags may be added.

Playlist

A single drop of water fell from a gap between two stone blocks in the ceiling. The room was small, wide enough for an average sized Night Elf to barely miss the walls if they reached wide. It was slightly deeper from the barred door to the back wall. A single torch crackled to the left of the door, but it did little to illuminate the dark space. A ragged breath followed the drop, almost a growl from a feral animal. Maiev’s eyes burned with anger as she stared at the hunkered form before her. Leather bound fingers curled tighter around the leather binding of her chakram handle. “You feel nothing for what you did…” She hissed under her breath before backhanding the prisoner with her free hand.

“With your narrow sense of virtue and justice you could never hope to understand…” The prisoner answered in a mocking tone even as blood trickled from his busted lip.

“Do not speak to me of justice,” she yelled losing her last bit of composure. The chakram blade flashed to his exposed neck. “You killed so many innocent lives in your pursuit of power! Then endangered us all with your recklessness!”

“Lives that would have been lost to the Legion. I did them a… service,” he answered nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders as best he could.

“Or they may not have died at all,” she seethed as she pressed the blade just a bit harder into his flesh. “But do go on about how our brethren sing the praises of Illidan the Merciful.” Her voice lowered to a growl as she leaned in just a little closer, put just a bit more weight on her blade.

“Does anyone truly survive a war like that? Clearly you came out the other side unscathed, Priestess. A model of the goddess herself.” A cocky smirk quirked one side of his lips up as a small trickle of blood seeped from the wound on his neck.

“Elune forgives all for those who seek it. She’ll forgive me leaving her temple to protect her people.”

“Do you really think such things as gods exist and they care about us?” His voice drawled on sarcastically to the sound of leather clenching around leather filled the room. “If they do exist, surely they abandoned us. Why else would this have happened?”

“Perhaps because the foolish abandoned them first.”

“And yet the faithful suffered in measure with the faithless.”

“The faithful retained their original forms. That is more than I can say for the faithless.” She grabbed one of the horns at his forehead and pulled his face to meet her gaze head on.

“I really thought too highly of you, Priestess. Blinded by the radiance of your baseless faith you cannot see the darkness of this world. All you “Sisters” are alike in that…” He maintained eye contact and every part of his cockiness as he spoke.

“Do not confuse me with HER.” Maiev’s voice took a much more even tone of hate as the blade drew a long, thin cut across his neck. Deep enough to be noticeable but shallow enough not to kill him. “Tyrande isn’t coming to see you, to tell you all the pretty words you want to hear.”

“Do you think bringing HER up will give you any sort of advantage?” For the first time his façade cracked in the form of some disdain in his voice.

“No… just reminding you how alone you are. How no one thinks you a hero, a savior, or whatever it is your delusions would lead you to believe. All you have left to look forward to is me. For… a… very… long… time…” She gently tapped each side of his face. Then, with a smirk of her own she healed the wound on his neck, but still left him weak enough to remain restrained. There she left him on his knees cocky smile still on his face.

“You think to comprehend what I’ve seen. What I’ve come to know. There is nothing you can do to me worse than the Legion.”

“Perhaps not.” The cell door closed with a dull thump before a magical barrier surrounded him. “But I have far more time with you than they did.”

 Days passed and ran together in darkness and quiet. The only light the faint glow from the fel-scar tattoos covering his body and the light of his eyes. It had been so long since he had anything to eat or drink and weakness was starting to dull his senses. He pulled on the blessed chains that secured his arms. They rattled dully but did not budge. His reward for his efforts a burning sensation on his skin. Though, he had to admit, the burning had lessened recently. He couldn’t be sure if that’s because he had become numb to the feeling or the blessing was weakening.

The chains on his ankles and wrists were the same. The chains on his wrists running through a massive ring anchored deep in the wall before wrapping around his ankles. The more he tried pull the more he only hurt himself. Standing was impossible. So there he kneeled, for so long her had lost any sense of time.

“I wonder why they didn’t just kill me.” He said it a loud but he didn’t expect an answer.

“The High Priestess and your brother thought it in ill taste to kill you.”

He looked up to the bars only to “see” Maiev there in no armor and apparently weaponless. The hubris to presume she could enter the cell of the Betrayer as if he were nothing more than a saber kit. He kind of like that bold confidence. Perhaps he could use it against her.

“I thought it foolish myself. But I do not lead the Kaldorei. So here we are.” She sat a wooden tray with bread and water in front of him just far enough away that he couldn’t reach it for the chains.

“Something we can agree on. No robes today? No sacred armor to mark your false righteousness, Priestess?” Illidan scoffed at her turning his head away from the sustenance his body clearly craved.

“I’ll give you a little lesson.” Maiev sat a stool down inside the cell before closing the door and the barrier came back up. “Perhaps the hardest lesson to accept as a priestess or druid is that life and death are not separate entities. One cannot exist without the other.”

“Then we agree some must die in order for others to live.” He interrupted her with an air of vindication in his voice and that same smirk on his face.

“Likewise, there are two sides to the moon. The bright side we see and the dark side we cannot.” She sat down on the stool and leaned against the bars completely ignoring his statement. “Up until now all we have ever seen, all we have ever known, is the bright side of the moon. The side that promises life and hope. But the old texts speak of a way to invoke the dark side of the goddess. A warrior cloaked in shadows and driven by vengeance. Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

“Because you want me to know you still prescribe to bedtime stories told to children?”

“Tyrande is the light side of the moon. The side that believes in life and hope. But someone has to be the dark side of the moon and do that which the light side cannot.”

“And that’s you. The lapdog doing the dirty work so she can keep her righteous hands clean.” The words tumbled from his mouth as if he had been given poisoned food by a trusted friend. The betrayed and not the betrayer.

“As you said, no one truly survives a war the likes of which we’ve seen.”

A long silence settled between them. Illidan finally glanced at the tray but quickly looked away.

“Answer my questions truthfully and I’ll give you some food and drink.”

“We could do this for a thousand years and you’ll never understand my motives.” He scoffed and looked her in the eyes.

“I don’t give a shit about your motives. I want answers.”

“What good are answers now? Answers won’t change anything.” Defiant even now, he challenged her. “Why don’t you just kill me and tell them I starved to death?”

“Shall I give you the same mercy you gave the innocents you killed?” Maiev donned her own cocky smile. “Sorry, I’m not feeling very merciful today.” She got up only to crouch in front of him. “I have a different kind of mercy in mind.” She grabbed his dirty ponytail and yanked his head back.

“I had no idea you harbored such proclivities, Priestess.”

“Disappointed you outlived my chastity, Betrayer?” She didn’t give him the opportunity to answer. Instead she poured the water down his throat as soon as he opened his mouth again.

He only managed to swallow part of it, the rest falling down his dirt caked face and chest. He choked and coughed causing some of the water to spit back in her face.

“The bread won’t go down as easily, but I’m willing to try if you are.” She forced his head to one side.

“I’m not hungry.” He managed as defiantly as he could through continued coughing.

“Funny your stomach growling earlier would suggest otherwise. Luckily for you, I thought this might happen so I took the liberty of liquifying the bread for you. She reached to the tray for the other wooden cup.

“I won’t fall for the same trick twice…”

“I counted on that…” She smirked as she released the matted strands of hair from her hand. A balled fist struck him in the side. He gasped just enough for her to force the cup to his lips and force the contents down his throat.

After another coughing fit that left him covered in bits of bread she leaned in close and whispered an incantation he didn’t recognize. The chains around his wrists, neck and ankles felt burning hot against his skin eliciting a muffled scream.

“This is your idea of mercy?” He attempted to mock her through grit teeth.

“I never said it was a mercy for you.” She took up the tray as the bars opened for her and the barrier fell. “Until next time, Betrayer.” She kicked the stool out the opening and the bars swung shut behind her.

“I look forward to it.”

 Days bled together once again until Maiev finally returned. Dim eyes met her as the blessed shackles drained more of his strength each day. No greetings were exchanged as a group of wardens came in and cleaned up the cell. Once it had a modicum of cleanliness, they left Maiev and Illidan alone with a tray of food and a stool. After a long silence Maiev forwarded an ultimatum.

“Food or a bath?”

“Is this some kind of joke?” He couldn’t hold back the indignation in his voice.

“Both it is.” She moved to take up the liquified bread.

“There will be no need for your previous tactics.” Illidan’s voice was weak but still maintained a certain level of cockiness despite it all. “Just do what you came here to do and…” His voice trailed off as his brow furrowed in anger, nostrils flaring. “Satyrs. The true betrayers of our people.”

“The Watchers and I cleaned up a group of them several days ago. I bathed since then…” She sounded almost impressed.

“It is a stench I will never forget. The smell of cowardice and shamelessness.” More and more disdain seeped into his voice. Despite his long imprisonment, speaking of it seemed to give him strength. Or his rage did, eyes flaring brightly to emphasize it. He pulled against his restraints in a show of his desire to be free to fight the demons he once hunted.

Maiev plunked the stool down in front of him and pressed a cup of water to his lips. “What makes you any better than a satyr? You sold yourself to demons to become stronger.”

“But I did not become one, contrary to what you may believe.” Illidan answered her only after he had drunk all the water she offered him. “I pretended to serve them only long enough to understand them. Understand how to use their own weaknesses against them.”

“What did you really accomplish in doing that? Who did you save?” Maiev’s voice was tired, there was no hiding it. It lacked all the usual bite from the previous times she had come to see him.

“If the Sundering had not happened it would have saved many more. That blood is not on my hands.”

“No… I suppose it isn’t. But we are also assuming the Highborne could have abided by not continuing their ridiculous machinations that started all of this in the first place.” She sighed outwardly as she tore a piece of bread off and offered it to him.

“It’s more than just satyrs you’ve been fighting.” He almost sounded thoughtful before taking the bread in his mouth.

“It is none of your concern.” She tried to sound more awake and sharp but it came off as forced.

“I can help you.”

“You’re not leaving this cell.”

“I can help you from this cell.” He smirked just a little bit.

“I’m not some naïve fool as to trust you.”

“Then I’ll answer one question as a show of faith.” The smirk got just a little bigger, hidden only by chewing the next piece of bread she offered him.

“Why did you take water from the Well of Eternity?”

“The Well of Eternity was the most powerful weapon we could have wielded against the Legion going forward. The power it contained would have been more than enough to help us destroy them.”

“Destroy them going forward?”

“That’s a second question for another day.” His cockiness turned grim signaling something unsettling.

Maiev sighed again, with frustration this time. “That isn’t enough for me to trust you.” She pushed his cheeks together forcing his lips to part for the last piece of bread.

He smiled as he chewed it. “Never let your guard down, do you?”

“I can no longer afford to be complacent.” She offered him one last drink before getting up.

“Heavy is the burden of the strong to protect the weak.”

“How very ignoble of you,” she mocked as she cleaned up the tray. She muttered the same incantation again before turning to leave the cell and Illidan’s pained groans behind her.

“You need a bath and you’re getting it next time whether you want it or not.”

“Does the smell offend your delicate senses, Priestess?”

“I haven’t been able to smell anything but death in weeks.”

Illidan didn’t have a comeback for that. Instead he looked thoughtful a moment through his pain. “The Well was our greatest weapon against the Legion going forward.” He repeated what he had said earlier. “You possess something those foolish Highborne do not.”

“Oh? What might that be?” She leaned lazily against the bars while she waited for him to answer.

“A noble purpose.” There was no sarcasm in his voice. No cocky attitude. Just sincerity for the first time.

Her brows furrowed harshly and she pushed off the cell bars. “There’s nothing noble in bathing in the blood of demons and traitors every day. It’s a job that needs to be done. That’s all.” With nothing left to say that day, she left him.

After she left, he shook his head. “It is not what you do, but why you do it that is noble…” He let out a long, frustrated growl accompanying a stiff tug on the chains. “I should be the one out there fighting them… not you…” One more strong, but futile, pull and every muscle in his body relaxed on a ragged breath.

 It took much less time for her to return again. As promised, she came with buckets of water and other various bathing supplies. Once they were all arranged, she sat down on the stool and got to work on his hair.

“I fail to see the point in this,” he muttered as she sat behind him cutting the binding from his ponytail.

“It’s psychological.” Maiev was clinical in her response, tiredness still creeping in her voice.

“I fail to see how making me look and smell pretty will change my attitude,” he scoffed with the same damnable smirk.

“I know. I know. You cannot fathom the horrors I have seen. I am not so easily broken,” she mocked him as she worked a brush through the ends of his hair giving it a solid yank in a particularly nasty knot. “I never said it was for you.”

“I overestimated you, priestess, to have been so easily swayed by my charms.” A teasing swagger filled his voice now but it was quickly replaced by a grunt of pain.

“I am well and truly aware of your status as Azeroth’s biggest ass,” Maiev hissed as she lodged the comb in his hair and pulled with a great deal of force. His head tilted back as a result to meet her sharp gaze. “But the others will start to doubt the threat you pose if they continue to see you in this decrepit state.” The knot untangled and his head shot forward again. “You deserve no sympathy and so you shall receive none.”

“A poor excuse.” There was something in Illidan’s voice that she had never heard before and couldn’t quite place. It was cocky as ever, and yet there seemed to be something else there.

“I told you before, didn’t I? You have no one to look forward to but me.” Her subtle way of telling him no one put her up to this was not lost on him.

Silence fell between them again as she continued to work the comb through his hair until all the knots were gone. She set to work wetting and cleaning his hair next.

“Do you have a family?” Illidan finally broke the silence as she blocked the soap and water from getting in his eyes with a hand to his forehead. He went on when she didn’t answer. “Besides your Brother.”

“No.” She ran her fingers through his hair making sure all the soap was out of it.

“Yet another thing your faith denied you.”

The cynicism in his voice elicited a sigh. “It was not forbidden, clearly. But my duties kept me too busy to pursue such frivolities.”

“Duties such as washing the hair of prisoner of war?”

“The sick and injured.” He was starting to raise her ire despite all her best efforts to not let him get to her.

“Ah yes… the grace and mercy of Elune bestown upon the faithful through the hard work of her devout priestess.”

“You would mock such experience even when it benefits you?” She grasped one of his horns and gave his head a yank to one side.

“I… did not… ask for you to do this.” Defiant as ever, he gritted his teeth to speak through the pain. The pleasantly scented soap did nothing to hide the smell of searing flesh filling the cell.

She finally released him and went back to the task at hand. She braided his hair to keep it out of the way so she could wash the rest of his body. When she stood and released the shackles on his ankles he gave her a momentary, questioning look over his shoulder. “I can leave your ankles restrained and cut those filthy rags off but then you’ll get to sit here naked for the rest of your miserable existence.”

“Is that the only reason?” Cocky Illidan was back again.

Maiev started to close the shackle around his ankle again.

“I don’t think I can stand on my own.” Illidan pointed out more seriously this time. “It has been too long.”

“Then sit on the stool.” She pulled him back on to the stool with seemingly no effort at all. As she handed him a tray of food and water, he could appreciate for the first time her physique.

“You’ve been training.” He grabbed her wrist and held her fast.

“Of course I have. You didn’t think I could wield a blade so well from lifting sacred tomes, did you?” She snapped trying to yank her arm free.

He held fast to her arm and traced one of the scars with his thumb. He seemed fixated on it for some reason. “You could have healed this easily, yet you still have it and others.”

She finally wrested her arm free and rubbed her wrist with her free hand. “They are a part of my past and so a part of me. These scars are a reminder of what is required of me. A reminder of the sacrifices I made so they will not be forgotten. A reminder of what will happen if I fail.” She turned away from him after she explained this.

Illidan touched a glowing scar on his chest lightly. “You are your scars and your scars are you.” He seemed thoughtful as he said this. His hand came back to the edge of the tray he was no staring at. “Perhaps we are not so different in that regard.”

“Perhaps not.” Maiev went back to work cleaning up her prisoner. "I suggest you eat quickly." Maiev's skilled hands cut a swath down the middle of his back. She didn't seem the least bit put off negotiating around his slumped wings. In fact, she picked one up and made quick work of cleaning it. "In a hurry to be rid of me? Where is your virtue of patience?" Though he teased her, he couldn’t deny he felt the slightest bit touch starved after so much time feeling nothing but decaying clothes, burning irons, and cold darkness. "I'm in a hurry to get you locked back up again. Besides, it'll be difficult to clean everything with a tray in your lap." She was completely nonplussed as she said it, not even hesitating as her hands wiped the last diaphanous pane of a wing. "You were serious?" "Have you known me to be anything but serious?" She moved on to the other wing. In another time, he did. Back when she was a priestess. There was a time when she could even laugh. Now he wondered if she even knew how. "I had no idea you harbored such proclivities, Priestess." Illidan cocked his head to the side as a wash cloth slid across it. The wet cloth wrapped tightly across his throat. Maiev leaned in close to one ear. "Let's be clear on one point. If I wanted to have my way with you, I could have at any time. All your suggestive comments would lead one to believe you would like me to have my way with you." "Only someone denser than a moon festival cake would assume that from my comments." He sounded almost offended as he scoffed at her assertion. "Besides... you are far too refined to handle the beast inside me." "Big talk for the chained tiger." She stood and glanced down at the tray in his lap. "And coming from the man who seems hell bent on keeping his pants on."

Illidan looked down at the tray of uneaten food. He huffed out a chuckle in the face of her challenge. “I’ve underestimated you in more ways than one, Priestess.” He took his time eating and drinking while she finished washing his other wing. Staring at her every move intently in an effort to throw her off. Without saying a word, he sat the tray aside and waited for her to crumble.

“Lean back.” It was an authoritative command.

“As you wish, priestess.” He lounged back on the stool casually, invitingly.

Maiev rolled her eyes momentarily but didn’t break eye contact for a single moment. She stared directly into the burning green lights as she bent down next to him and worked off his dirty pants and underwear. Not once did she look away while she washed his waist and legs. Especially not when she finally got around to cleaning THAT. All with an expression of absolute seriousness. When it was all said and done, she got up and dumped a whole bucket of now ice-cold water all over him.

“You almost made it.” He teased with a smirk. “You almost convinced me you could keep this professional.”

“If I didn’t think you needed to cool down, I wouldn’t have a reason to do that.” She crossed her arms over her chest in triumph as the bucket dangled suspiciously over his crotch.

“A physical reaction to stimuli is hardly cause for celebration.” He picked the bucket up and sat it aside leaving no further way for her to avoid seeing him in all his glory, or lack thereof, as the case may be.

Her eyebrow quirked momentarily, but otherwise she bore no outward reaction to the sight. Instead she looked away quickly to pick up the change of clothes she brought. A strange noise behind her made her turn quickly. Illidan had managed to stand and was using his wings to maintain balance on unsteady legs. But he had his back turned to her.

“Suddenly feeling embarrassed?” It was a tease more than anything.

“You said you had no family. Not that you didn’t want one.” He was uncharacteristically serious. “One day you may have one and I wouldn’t want to ruin that for you…”

For a moment she thought he was trying to say something, trying to make her understand something more. Then she remembered this was the Betrayer and he was trying to play mind games with her. Every word carefully crafted and deliberate to get her to let her guard down. After realizing that, she started to laugh. It wasn’t the same laugh he remembered, but it was a laugh nonetheless. It sent a wave over his very being almost like happiness.

“One steamy night of passion with the Betrayer and I’ll be ruined for life? Is that what you’re getting at? The evidence would suggest you are in far more need of me than I am of you.” She threw a long tunic over his head, one that laced together at the sides to accommodate his wings.

He grabbed her wrist again when she came to the side to tie one set of laces. He looked down at the scars that riddled her arm again. “You deserve to be someone’s first thought, not enjoyed for a moment then lost to eternity.” He slowly released her arm. “I haven’t been capable of giving anyone my first thought in a very long time.”

“What are you trying to say?” She cocked an eyebrow at him suspiciously.

“Nothing… nevermind…” He let go of her arm completely and stared straight ahead. “I grow tired of this game, Warden. And time is not on our side. Do what it is you came here to do and leave.”

Maiev was thrown by this sudden change in attitude but didn’t let it deter her from the task at hand. Without any further distractions, she was able to reclothe Illidan quickly. He kneeled down again and allowed her to clasp the shackles without a struggle. Before leaving, Maiev uttered a different incantation this time. The chains rattled violently as they changed configuration to force Illidan to stand. Chains crisscrossed his torso, arms and legs. Now chained to the wall he had to use his legs or face the burning blessings cutting into his whole body. He growled louder than usual to suppress his pain this time. It wasn’t clear if it was from his unused legs revolting or the new blessing.

 This was the rhythm of Illidan’s life in the Warden’s prison. Long periods of darkness punctuated by Maiev’s succinct deliveries and reinforcing the bindings on him. More often than not, they said nothing. Every once in a while, she would be in a mood to talk about things other than extracting a confession from him.

On one such occasion, his hands were shaking from atrophy as they had been secured behind his back for some time. The bowl of soup slipped from his hands and splashed all over his face and hair. Something about the scene caused Maiev to crack just a fraction. She couldn’t help the slight smile on her face. Seeing it made Illidan smile a bit.

“Is my plight amusing to you, Warden?” There was a playfulness to his voice where there would have been harshness otherwise.

“I suppose it…” A piece of potato that had been stuck in his hair suddenly dropped back into the bowl sending more soup flying into the air. Maiev tried to hide her smile and laughter behind her hand.

“Yes, take joy in the suffering of your prisoner. You will pay for this transgression in time, Warden.” Though Illidan made a big show of the threat, it felt more than somewhat hollow.

Maiev cleared her throat and tried to put her serious mask back on. It was still smiling a just a little. “I’ll bring something to clean that up.” She left the cell and Illidan could hear laughter echoing off the stone halls just before the barrier closed.

If it had been anyone else seeing him like this, let alone laughing at him over it, he would have been mad. “It’s your fault I have grown incapable of even the most childish of tasks as feeding myself!” He would growl at them with fierce eyes. But for some reason, he was rather pleased to have seen that smile for the first time in so many years.

“I had forgotten how beautiful she is when she smiles.” He muttered a loud to him himself. “She always did rival Tyrande in her own way… To see her like this now.” He lifted his face towards the ceiling. “I had hoped to save more…” His fingers wrapped around the chains at his wrists until his knuckles turned white. He yanked at them as hard as he could, arms trembling under the force he was suddenly exerting on them. His efforts yielded no results. “I will escape this accursed prison and I will finish what I started. Complacency is no longer an option…” He brought his head down and stared at his reddened wrists.

The bars opening again did not draw his attention. He didn’t stir as Maiev started to clean the soup off his face until she reached for the tie to his blindfold. “Do not touch it.” He grabbed her wrists as he growled out the warning.

“It’s disgusting. Thousands of years with the same piece of cloth over your eyes.”

“It is for your protection.” His hands tightened around her wrists.

“Then close your eyes.” She started working the blindfold again. “I… I can’t kill you, you know. Tyrande and Malfurion would likely remove me as leader of the Watchers if I did.” The last bit felt like it had been added as an afterthought.

He heaved out a sigh as his hands slowly, hesitantly slackened. Eventually, he let out another tight breath before his shoulders relaxed. The green light that once seeped through the blindfold disappeared and she knew it was safe to proceed.

“I have seen everything more times than I can count and the one thing you can’t stand for me to see is your eyes. Is that because of the abomination you’ve become?” She removed the blindfold and tossed it aside. She ran the wash cloth over his face and into his hair gently.

“All power comes at a price. One I have paid is to see many things you could not even begin to fathom. Things that would drive weaker beings mad.”

“Are you suggesting I’m weak?” She couldn’t help but challenge him at the merest suggestion he was stronger than her.

“You would survive the visions of that I have no doubt.” He took her hand when she got too close to his eyes. “But you have already lost enough in this life. I would not presume to take more from you.”

“How very noble…” She scoffed as she turned for a new piece of cloth to put over his eyes.

“This is…”

“It was a scrap the tailor had left over. Don’t think too much of it. Silk is more durable anyways and will stand up better to the conditions in here.” She retreated after the explanation so she could hand him another bowl of soup. “Try not to wear it this time.”

He chuckled and smirked as he pondered how much of her explanation was truth and how much was a cover. He didn’t say anything though. Once he finished eating, she took everything aside and prepared to leave.

“This cell cannot hold me forever. I will escape and continue my work.” It was a declaration, gravity etched into every word.

“If that ever happens, I will hunt you down and bring you back here. As many times as it takes for you to see justice for what you have done.” Also a declaration.

“It is unwise to make promises you cannot keep.” A ghost of a smirk.

“How many times have you said you’ve underestimated me?”

Illidan’s smirk grew a fraction wider. “Thank you for the bath.”

 He couldn’t deny he looked forward to her irregular visits. Especially taunting her during bath days. But she became increasingly less fun as the years wore on. He watched as her once vibrantly colored hair and bright eyes faded. A tinge of regret wheedled into the back of his mind that she had to keep fighting and caring for him. She could just as easily torture him for the information she wanted. Yet, she had not. That was the puzzle he kept coming back to over and over again. If she truly was the dark side of the moon, to Tyrande’s brilliance, surely she would not be above torture. Had she been forbidden from its use?

He had plenty of time to think about that later. It was time to focus on his mission and how to escape the prison again. One thing at a time. First the blessing, then the chains, then the magic barrier. Then… her. He surmised Maiev would be the most powerful deterrent of them all. As well she should be. Death wasn’t an option, but perhaps he could fight his way out. The sense of urgency within him grew stronger each day as he felt tendrils of darkness seep into the very earth beneath him. He started to formulate the thousandth plan, the millionth contingency, when Maiev appeared before him. She stood tall as ever, but there was no hiding the blood-soaked bandages all over her body.

“You are… injured…” He sounded genuinely surprised. It was clear she had just freshly bathed. Hair loosely tied and still dripping onto the linen shirt made the many bandages underneath even more apparent.

“It is no concern to you.”

“You wreak of demons.” He growled.

“All your friends are dead.” She replied flatly as she sat the tray down. Today he had his hands bound behind his back as he sat crossed legged on the floor. She released his hands so he could feed himself and made to retreat to her stool by the door.

“I would not starve to death in a day or two.” He grabbed her arm before she could leave and pressed his other hand to a seeping wound on her arm. Felfire danced from his fingers incinerating the bandage and cauterizing the wound.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Maiev growled painfully between clenched teeth as she wrenched her arm away. The act a painful reminder that he was dangerous and she always needed to be on guard. Her hand reached instinctively to the dagger she always wore hidden on her person. For a moment she chastised herself for being so foolish as to come here in her current state.

“An open wound is apt to fester.” Illidan’s flippant response was accompanied by a slight shrug before he started eating.

“How long has it been now?” She sighed as she stared up at the ceiling while clutching her burnt arm. “Still you refuse to answer any real questions.” Maiev tiredly let her inward thoughts spill from her lips. Feeble rays of light radiated from her palm to heal the wound.

“You would have a much better idea of that than I. There are no days or nights down here.” A casual enough response but the bitterness couldn’t be ignored.

“Several thousand years of this same song and dance has grown quite bothersome.” The bars rattled gently as she settled against them.

“Then change the cadence.” Illidan smirked up at her for the first time in centuries.

It was more attitude than the weary warden could handle. She vaulted from the stool and threw a fist into the stone wall right next to his head. The impact splintered off a piece of rock and sent it shearing into the hair that exploded from its binding. A few cut strands wafted slowly on to Illidan’s hand.

“JUST TELL ME WHY YOU DID IT! Why did you steal water from the Well and open up the possibility of them coming back?! Just what did you hope to do?!” There was a wild desperation in her voice as if the last strands of her patience, or sanity, were about to snap.

Though she had nearly hit him and screamed in his face, Illidan looked completely unfazed. But the smirk on his face drifted to something listless.

“Have you ever loved something so much you would give up everything, even your very soul, to protect it?” Illidan’s question was sincere in tone, his face a vision of seriousness.

Maiev’s eyes shifted back and forth rapidly as they searched his face for the meaning behind the question. Unable to determine it, she answered truthfully. “I would die to protect my people.”

“That’s not the same.” The chains rattled softly as he pushed a hand against her cheek. “You have given so much of yourself to everyone else are you even capable of loving as deeply as…?”

Maiev’s eyes narrowed as Illidan trailed off. She wrenched his hand away and slammed it into the wall. “You cannot hide what is already well known. And your pretty lies won’t work on me. You said it yourself centuries ago, you haven’t been able to give someone your first thought in a very long time.” She pushed herself back and slowly stepped away, never taking her eyes off him.

He just shook his head and looked back to the tray. “I also seem to remember telling you your narrow sense of virtue and justice could never hope to understand my motives.”

“I can’t even begin to understand them if you never tell me!” She roared with her whole body before grabbing the now loose hair at her temples. “All you seem to allude to is that you did it for love. I call saber shit on that.” She pulled on the hair for a moment then abruptly pulled her fingers free of the strands.

“Even though it’s been thousands of years, you still don’t seem to realize we are two sides of the same coin.” Illidan’s low voice harbored no cockiness. Only straight forward truth.

“I AM NOTHING LIKE YOU!” Maiev roared with her whole body again this time punching the wall adjacent to the one Illidan was chained.

“We both gave up all the comfortable and good things in our lives to fight an endless war.” He gestured to the cell. “We sacrificed our bodies, a very piece of ourselves.” He gestured to his eyes. “We gave up on old paths to pursue ones that would better serve us in our battles ahead.” He tapped his arm where the wound he cauterized on her sat. An indication that he understood she was growing incapable of using the Light to heal herself. To say he knew she had been away from the Sisterhood too long to remember its lessons. “We both chase after an illusory dream to lengths others cannot understand. But we do so with complete conviction in ourselves.” He pulled the blindfold from his eyes of his own accord for the first time since he had been imprisoned though he kept his eyes closed to shield Maiev from the dangers that lurked in their depths. “And it would seem... we both gave up any hope of happiness in this life.”

Maiev’s hands fell heavily at her side. Her weight grew too much for her tired legs to hold. She sank slowly down with her forehead to the rock wall she had just maimed. She breathed in the stagnant air of the cell on heaving breaths.

“You wasted so much time and strength running from this truth. But the moment you stepped into the shadows you stepped closer and closer to it.” There was a soothing quality to his voice as the chains rattled gently. “But there is one crucial thing that separates us.”

Maiev twisted her head to look at him from behind a veil of hair. Her heavy breaths caused one section to move in and out in time. “I can think of plenty, but what did you have in mind, Betrayer?”

“The only person you were willing to sacrifice for your noble cause was yourself.” Illidan gave her a pressed smile as his head tilted to look at her better.

Maiev’s eyes narrowed slightly as the acknowledgement of his confession settled over her slowly. “Then you admit your sin of using the lives of innocents to further your goal?”

“I will not apologize for what I did.”

She rolled her eyes at the expected response. “Why are you suddenly so forthcoming with information?”

“Because I have been thinking about you a great deal lately, Maiev. Let me go so I can help you put an end to all of this.” Illidan reached out and brushed the hair out of her face.

For a moment the way he said her name and not some teasing title made her feel… something. But it was short lived as the voice in the back of her mind screamed danger. “Do not toy with me, Betrayer.” The dagger she kept hidden found its way to his throat. She muttered an incantation and Illidan’s body was sucked back against the wall. It sent the tray clattering leaving the remaining contents splattered on the floor. “I know… I know the only thought on your mind is how to escape this place.” She approached him on slow, purposeful steps. “And the only name in your heart is Tyrande Whisperwind.”

“It is true, I will never love someone else as much as I love Tyrande. But…” He pulled against the chains with all his strength. They seared into his flesh twisting his face in pain but he still didn’t relent.

“There are no buts with you, Betrayer. You lost the right for me to trust you millennia ago and I will not ever trust you again.” She shook her head as if she was trying to convince herself of the words. “Struggle all you want, all you’ll do is hurt yourself.” She set out about cleaning up the dishes off the floor.

“Your hair at least…” Illidan finally relented and stopped pulling again the restraints. “Let me fix it for you.”

“You?” Her eyebrow quirked up slowly. “You know how?”

“I do not profess to have the skills of Azshara’s handmaidens but I can braid hair.” He dangled the blindfold in one hand.

“The what about your eyes?” She sounded unsure, but not unwilling.

“You can bring it back to me next time.” He drew a sly smile, despite the burns on his body.

Maiev let out a long sigh. “It would do me no favors for my subordinates to see me like this.”

“As a leader you should inspire confidence. An unkempt appearance would sow doubts,” he offered encouragingly as he swayed the blindfold again. When Maiev didn’t answer or make any move he frowned and sighed. “You let yourself very open multiple times. Did I ever make a move to hurt you?”

“Yes. Just a few minutes ago.”

“That wound was bleeding far too much.” That was true at least.

Maiev sighed again and walked over to him, dagger in hand. “I will know if you try anything suspicious.” She gave a word and the chains loosened. “Can you stand?”

“So considerate. Yes, I can stand.” He gave her a coy smile.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” Finally, she turned around. “You can open your eyes.”

#world of warcraft #warcraft fanfic #maiev shadowsong #illidan stormrage #enemies to lovers #slow burn #denial of feelings #angst #solitary confinement #nudity #bathing/washing #hand feeding #power dynamics #emotional hurt/comfort

[thedailypersian]

إِنَّا لِلّهِ وَإِنَّـا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعُونَ

My condolences to Iran and Iranians all around the world who have lost a great general. Whatever your political beliefs, this man brought ISIS to its knees and has defended our borders from foreign enemies who have been wanting to tear up and divide Iran between them like a lion attacking its prey for decades. Iran has always been a coveted land, desired for its vast expanses of oil and natural gases and perfect location in the Middle East. The defiant and self determined attitude of Iranians and independence from US reliance and slavery has only angered those arrogant government officials who believe we all have to kneel to the American government to exist peacefully in this world. Foreign intervention is never the solution to changing a country’s internal affairs. Iranian people must decide their own fate. This man was a hero and my heart for one, is so heavy today.

Trump and his so called advisors have triggered the start of the war to end all wars and for what? To satisfy their fragile egos. To force a nation into submission. The US is the biggest terrorist state in the world and we are all expected to be at their mercy. Wake up. The only nation to ever use a nuclear bomb. Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan. There are too many atrocities to mention. Look at the way they treat their own citizens? Families separated at borders and caged. Black people killed and incarcerated for no reason, the very people whose backs they built their country off. They should be sacrosanct. Not STILL treated as second class citizens. Sick people with no health insurance are just left to die. People can’t afford their insulin injections to live. This country was founded off the massacaring of millions of native Americans, what more can you expect from a country that has been blood thirsty since its inception? And now as always, young, impressionable American men and women brainwashed with years of poisonous propaganda and lies will be sent to their death to fight an immoral cause for men in suits who will laugh and rake up the money from their booming arms trade deals, sitting safely in their own homes. They won’t even know or remember their names. All humans are fodder to the American government to be used to saisfy their own ends however they please.

Funding and giving Saddam Hussein chemical weapons to invade us did not work. Those very chemical weapons they used as an excuse to invade Syria. Years of inhumane economic sanctions where sick children are dying in hospitals from lack of medicines have not worked. Years of taunting, bullying and berating our nation in public statements has not worked. They have tried to provoke Iran into war again and again. Then they went for our beloved Qassem Soleimani and murdered him. Well congratulations, you got your wish, welcome to the mother of all wars.

All we ever wanted was for us all on this planet to live in peace. YOU didn’t allow it.

[kitsoa]

“There is no Traitor”

My Complete Speculation on the Happenings of KHUX

There is no traitor.

The thing we were thinking throughout all of Back Cover. It’s obvious. The Master made-up the Traitor in the book so that the Foretellers would go on a witch hunt and stumble into a civil war. It’s why he made arbitrary secrets and rules. Roles that the Foretellers were tasked to complete without a necessary rhyme or reason. Divided factions that the didn’t really have a purpose in separation. A breeding ground for power plays, competition, and tension. The War was inevitable because the blind faith in the Master wouldn’t allow anything else. It’s the one thing they all agreed on. The Master’s word is law. 

The War happens, everything is destroyed-- and the remaining Light escapes to form the inevitable rebirth. But by sowing the seeds of tension, the Master creates a traitor. He lays the pieces in such a way that someone learns the truth of his manipulation and tries to counter it. And the Master knows this will happen. He wants this to happen. 

That’s the premise of Ava’s betrayal. I believe that Luxu simply tells Ava the truth. “There is no Traitor.” The Master set everything up. The Master has been manipulating them the entire time. She responds with denial. Ava’s loyalty to the Master is palpable. She doesn’t want to believe that he would do this. 

But that leads to her striking Luxu’s blade. And the Prophecy comes true. The bell tolls and the War begins. 

(long post)

The prophecy is real and set in stone and everything is going to end and it will be Ava’s fault. But she doesn’t know this part of the prophecy. All she knows is that the Master has betrayed them. She misreads this truth, unable to tell that she herself is playing right into fate. Gula’s Lost Page narrates her following actions.

Because understanding the Master’s scheme, Ava realizes that the Foretellers weren’t the only pawns the Master orchestrated. Her Dandelions have all the makings of the Master’s design. He dictated the rules. He decreed the arbitrary Unions. He selected the union leaders. He scripted their meeting. He appoints the Book of Prophecies to one of them in the same fashion as the Lost Page. He promotes PvP for recreation. He removes the traumatic memories of the war to prevent them from learning anything. And he traps them in a confined, set, data-world. He sets the Dandelions up for another war so obviously that Ava had to see it. It had to hit her in the face hard that the Master made this War happen and he was going to make it happen again. 

But her Dandelions. This was wrong. The Master turned her into him. Made her an accomplice to an avoidable, endless tragedy. 

So... she plans a coup. A sabotage. It’s too late to stop the war and it’s too late to stop the retreat into the data world  but she can attempt to see if this inevitable fate can be change for her Dandelions. She can plant a virus in the Master’s program.

She already appointed the Union Leaders of the Master’s choosing. Ephemer, Skuld, Ventus, Lauriam, and Strelitzia. They are lying in wait for the war to finally ignite. The Master’s script has them unable to meet until after the war so she is the only one who knows all of the leaders. Just like how she never suspected the Master, her Dandelion leaders would never suspect her. 

And she takes her disguise and ventures forth in secrecy. (as the Lost Page decrees). Darkness is a fitting scapegoat for the actions she is about to do.

Because if she doesn’t do anything, her Dandelion’s will be walking right back into a doomed fate. And as such she is forced to create a vacancy in her Union Leaders. After the bell has tolled, the overwhelmed Strelitzia, frantically looking for the Player, is ambushed by the Darkness. Her rulebook is stolen and she is killed by the very person who entrusted her to live on.

And Ava moves to plant her virus. She chooses one of her Dandelions, the lazy but brilliant Brain. She knows he is smart enough to fight the program the Master created. She approaches him to tell him of this appoint, lying to him and saying he was chosen by the Master. This keeps him innocent of her deeds and only hints at her defiant conspiracy by gifting him the Book of Prophecies.

Brain is now a two-fold act of defiance. Not only was he not chosen to possess the book but he wasn’t chosen at all. When he is ready he will become wise to this and continue his fate defying mission but until then he is ignorant. The switcharoo is done and none of the Union Leaders are any wiser. They play along with the script the Master designed.

Ava follows them into the data world and, knowing of Maleficent’s arrival from the future, she intercepts the sorceress. She gives her the secret on how to return to her time, which happens to be the same method necessary in escaping the data world. She conditions this information on Maleficent’s cooperation, designing for her to give this information to Brain so they can leave the Master’s cage for good. 

----

But this is when things get complicated. Because... all up to this point, the Master knew that Ava would behave this way. He knew that she would misread the truth and venture forth in secrecy. He wrote it that way. 

He knew that she’d be driven to creating a vacancy and attempting to defy the book. None of this has actually worked thus far. 

And as it would happen, the death of Strelitzia lingers through the Union Leaders. Lauriam’s frantic search for his sister has him asking around until it reaches Brain’s ears. He doesn’t know that he’s a fraud but the circumstances don’t add up and he’s going to finally check the book and receive Ava’s message he thought he heard loud and clear. 

When he does read the note he’ll realize that he was the one that replaced her. That Strel was the Master’s intended Union Leader. 

In fact the Master saw this coming that he probably chose Strelitzia as a Union Leader to play the part of the perfect victim. The soft spoken, beloved sister of another leader-- a more surprising choice than the pacifistic Ventus. He probably circled her name for the Bop to ensure that Ava had to kill her out of the five. 

(For the record, There is an assumption that Ava would deliver the BoP to the chosen leader at the same time they were selected, but this isn’t necessarily true. Ava could have just as easily given the rulebooks out and refrained from giving the book for logistical reason or personal hesitation. This logic is what I’m following, meaning that at the time of her murder Strel was the circled recipient but had not yet received the BoP. But she was the targeted kill because whoever replaced her might misinterpret the note seeing neither their name on it and another alive leader graced with permission to read the BoP. They may see that skipped person as a part of the virus as well.) 

That the only person who could have killed her was Ava herself. But he’s got no way of defending himself. He appears as a perfect accomplice. He cannot tell Lauriam for his own sake, and for the sake of the mission. The mission he still probably believes in despite the methods. But even should he revolt against Ava, following the Master’s design would have him expose the book’s presence to unchosen Union Leaders. 

So he doesn’t. He hides the fact that he has the book and that he knows what happened. And Lauriam, who was consulting with Brain until now is left with a suspiciously unsatisfactory nonanswer to Brain’s efforts to help him. Lauriam probably doesn’t forget this and the suspicions rise. The tension grows. 

Eventually, this tension will spread. And the truth may come out. The Union Leaders will take their sides and the War will start again.

...at least. That’s what it looks like they are walking into. That’s what it looks like the Master is orchestrating. Ava’s act of defiance inadvertently causing the war again. 

In the recent update Ava wonders if giving the BoP to Brain will change what’s been written, if it’s possible. But I think she will be defeated by the idea that she is yet again, just a pawn in the Master’s game.

Conclusion

Now this is speculation based on the theory that Ava is Darkness, with the added theory that the BoP is not a book of prophecy but a hard script of things the Master plans to happen. This means that the Gazing Eye is not a tool to ensure the Book is written but a scope for the present MoM to witness his plan unfold. 

I do think there is more to the final unfolding of khux. I think the forces of darkness have a role to play in triggering and initiating the 2nd war (and that actually has something to do with Ventus). I think there will have to be some sort of understanding or united front with the union leaders and their ally’s to abandon to data world via the method Maleficent will relay. I also think that in this chaos, Luxu will chose to pass on the Gazing Eye to Brain who will form Scala ad Caelum. In this transpiring conflict, Ephemer is going to either get left behind, get killed, or sacrifice himself to achieve that escape. And of course, in that escape the Union Leaders will be scattered through time due to the nature of the technique.

Though it’s worth noting that a part of me see’s the scattering of the Union Leaders and friends through time to be an intentional move. Something either Brain or Ava designs so that there is only one single leader of Scala. To assure that the Unions are no more and the knowledge they harbor is not used against the Dandelion’s. A war preventative.

That’s what I think is going down folks. 

#kingdom hearts #khux #khux spoilers #kh speculation #this is pure speculation cause i present no evidence #but i think its pretty solid #the BoP logistics and the timing with Ava's convo with Brain works but isn't perfect #this just makes me realize that khux has a long way to go

[pasteljeon]

Requiem

Summary: You break him, in every way possible. She tries to remake him, only to realize just how much you’ve ruined him.

Pairing: Yoongi/Reader

Set in The Eve universe, Hades!Yoongi, Persephone & Hades!AU, Greek Gods!AU, soulmates!AU

Warnings: angst city returns for another round in the ring, non-explicit descriptions of sex

Length: 0.9k

Notes: due to popular request, i’m gonna be releasing some easter eggs from ‘the eve’!! blood bound will also be posted this saturday. please lmk what you thought of this, and please enjoyyy <3

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Death is a friend. It is his companion, shadows his every step, every breath he takes in the immortality he did not want. Death comforts him, gives a purpose in every life he takes away. Death is his realm, it is what he wields, and it is the power that courses through his veins. Once, he was close with his brothers, still loves them but hates them, for all that they’ve done, all that they’re doing. Now, he can barely look at them during council meetings; the only time he is required to make an appearance above ground. Now, he rarely sees light beyond the fire that illuminates his marble corridors.

He doesn’t want to. He wants to stay here, wants to stay kneeling at the River Styx, its garish glow throwing his pale complexion in sharp relief. He stays because he remembers, and it is his memories that provide the cruelest of torment. It is not the pits of Tartarus he fears, but the heart that beats within. The curse of the undying.

And it is your death that haunts him.

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He marries another god. One with doe eyes and long, ebony-coloured hair. Soft lips and golden heart. Jin tells him it’s time to move on, offers her up on a silver platter, and when Yoongi looks over, she smiles shyly at him, blushing at his intense gaze. He must admit he is inquisitive, finding it highly unlikely for the goddess of spring to be willingly caged in shadows, though the feeling remains oddly void of anything but sheer curiosity.

She is enamoured with him. He can see this. He knows this.

He tries. He really does. He tries to give her his heart, give her his devotion, but he is blank. He has nothing to offer her but empty spaces where their fingers should touch, half-smiles with no meaning. Still, she wakes next to him despite his suggestion they remain in separate rooms. She sits on a throne carved for another, dutifully overseeing the dead as he does.

He orders it to be burned to the ground, but finds his shades work too slow for his liking. They dispel on his command, and seconds later his scythe clatters loudly as his knees crack against the granite flooring.

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She eats the pomegranate seeds. To stay with him. Choosing death, above all else.

“Why?” He whirls around, fury in every hackle raised, daggers piercing her skin with every word spat between gritted teeth.

She’s defiant, stands her ground unflinchingly even as he swells in size, the darkness growing in his clenched palms restless as they swirl around his wrist.

“Why is it,” she whispers, “That moons pass and yet you are determined to grieve for this one soul? A mortal woman.”

“Don’t. Talk. About. Her,” he snarls. His power is barely leashed. Wild. Violent. Bursting at its seams.

“She’s gone. She’s gone, and she’s not coming back,” she says, even as goosebumps raise and fear sparks through her. “But I’m not. I’m still here. Alive. Right in front of you.”

He says nothing, irises dilating and lips pulled back into a scowl.

“Do you hear me?” She presses. “She’s gone.”

With an inhuman howl, he snaps, lunging at her to pin her against the column.

And he kisses her. All tongue and teeth, blood and death. So messy.

He gives her fire, gives her his anger and anguish, drowns his pain and misery between creamy skin and parted legs.

“You deserve so much better than this. Than me,” he whispers when the heat dissipates and all that is left are the ashes of yesterday’s regrets.

She watches him sleep, the black silk sheets held over bare chest, observing the dark bags under those cat-shaped eyes, the sunken cheeks and the gaunt jaw line, he is ethereal, a dreamy kind of surrealism that lies heavy in his bones.

“I know,” she says. “But all I want is you.” She reminds him of her, and that doubles his anguish, a sorrow that settles in his stomach like lead, poisons his every touch and taste until all he can smell and feel when he is with her is someone else’s kisses.

“I’ll never love you.” He’s staring out the window, listening the screams of the sinned, and she touches his back, wraps her arms around him, rests her head against his shoulder blades.

His hands are cold as they curl around hers.

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“Deathbringer.”

He hardly spares them a glance as he twirls the star-forged weapon in his hand.

“You mourn.” Their voices are shallow hisses, snake bites in the dark that threatens to consume him.

“Death is inevitable,” he says faintly. “The great equalizer, and I am merely its puppet. I do naught but execute its will.”

“It is for the greater good. Humanity will thrive with her sacrifice. It is time the gods should learn not to play with fate. The love of one mortal will fail to plunge the world into chaos.”

“No,” he agrees, digging the blade against his open palm. “But losing her might.”

#hyunglinenetwork #networkbangtan #btsguild #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi imagine #bts #bts fanfic #bts imagines #yoongi

[lokikingofasgardslover713]

Havoc’s Worship 6: Raison D'être

Masterlist

Havoc’s Worship Masterlist

Loki is chaos, chaos is havoc & havoc has found a treasure, a jewel, a new being to worship other than himself!

Pairing: Dragon!Loki Laufeyson X OFC Reader

Warnings: Hints of past torture, Mind games, Fluff, hints at miscarriage but no details

Summary: New truths are brought to light. Can the reader find it in her heart to start over or will Loki be left alone to deal with the havoc he caused in efforts to keep everyone safe?

A/N: Sorry this took so long to update! So, this is the final chapter! I took this in a completely different direction, hope you enjoy.

Words:+5,100

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The desperate crying echoing down the narrow way made her heart race and had her jerking harder against the dark elf guards leading her in chains. All her aches forgotten along with the recent throbbing headache and possible broken ribs at the desperation in her daughters cry.

The tent they were kept in on Svartalfheim did little to mask the tiny princess's cries when they came for the ulfhednar. Two guards had jerked her from the tiny cell in which she had assured to pass Ember to Jane to keep safe, their confines separated by bars far enough apart to allow Ember through. Drug before Malekith for what she wasn't sure other than to beat her around some more before they sent a message to Loki.

Jerking desperately to pull free and rush down the way, the woman spun facing the masked elves, their eyes staring her down. They chuckled as she jerked to the end of the chains, trying to tug them along in a rush to get to the cell. Before they reached said confines they jerked harshly to force her to the ground inches from the cage she had been kept in the past 2 days next to Jane. 

Letting out a weak growl, she tussled with the two, clothing ripped and stained from the mistreatment of the past few days. The black earth of Svartalfheim sticking to new wounds as Jane yelled out to the guard to stop. 

One banged a weapon on the bars of Jane's cage to shut her up, but that only made the tiny princess scream louder. A gloved hand wrapping in the collar of the ulfhednar's ruined tunic to choke while lifting the defiant creature to dead feet and flung into the cell. 

“Quiet the welp or we will,” one snarled as the door slammed shut.

Hastily the disheveled queen scrambled to reach the bundle of dirty fur and cloth that kicked and screamed. Pulling the wailing bundle tight, she sunk to a corner with Jane who hurried to join her in her own cell. Deftly the mortal helped what she could through the bars to aid the weak warrior in getting the child fed and quieted. 

“I’m sorry. When they left with you they took her from me,” Jane apologized, careful of fresh bruises littering the others collar bone. It appeared the mortal was sporting a bruised cheek for her efforts. 

“It’s ok Jane. There isn’t much to control here,” she sighed looking down at the babe as she latched onto a nipple, instantly quieting to feed. Noting her daughter's red cheeks, stained with tears and this cursed black earth they all had come to hate.

“I know. But I have to tell you something,” Jane spoke gently, the warrior turning to look at the brunet. “I’m pregnant.”

That took more time than it should have to register to the queen. Chartreuse orbs searching over the mortals dirtied face, holding the princess tight. “Oh gods,” she finally sighed, reaching a free hand out to place it to Jane's head, resting her forehead on hers. “We will get out. Your baby is safe.”

Jane gave a weak smile, pulling away slightly as she began to fidget before producing clean cloth appearing to be from the lining of the mortals own dress. “Here, I salvaged some things, so Ember had a few more diapers.”

Nodding, the warrior graciously took the kind gesture. The babe and area quieting for the three to relax if only it was for a few unknown moments. Eyes heavy as she relaxed against the painful bars, but what else was there? The ulfhednar’s body ached from all of it, the beating, the recent birth and the weight of returned memories.

"Get some sleep," Jane's voice drifted through her ears as if in a fog, the quiet suckling of Ember beginning to fade out when the warriors eyes fluttered closed.

The queens worries dancing around with the latest development between she and Loki before all this.  

It was the day she returned with Loki; Ember asleep in a bundle of furs in the nest as she slept. Carefully Frigga guided the warrior through dark memories Loki had placed. Each one unraveling to show a kind, gentle lover who done nothing but dote over his wife, his mate. It was intoxicating but angering as Frigga gently guided her through the literal chaos the god had created. The question on her lips though was-.

“Why,” slipping past dry lips, eyes still closed to watch and feel what the old monarch was showing her.

An excited version of herself stepping off of the plane the moment all this began. Loki was surrounded by his own guard as was she, but she strode happily towards him, the god gracing her with a cheerful smile, wings unfolded. A cheer went up from the crowd as he took her hand gently and knelt before her, Thor smirking like the idiot he was. 

This wasn't their first meeting by no means as the memory slipped in the two of them had been meeting for several years. Possibly longer?  

“He felt you were ruining yourself by deftly agreeing to wed without question. Regardless of fate,” the older monarchs voice spoke to her, the woman watching the beautifully haunting memory.

Thoughts crossing this was another way to break her, maybe this wasn't real. An excited Loki standing to lift her from the ground, arms wrapped around her knees to lift her over him. Like two idiots they smiled at each other, her hands wrapping his face to take a kiss, wings folding protectively around them. 

This had a different feel, one stating this was an all too real memory hidden in darkness. She could literally taste the acrid seidr placed over the memory to hide it, this was heartbreaking. Would he rather her believe whatever dark things were placed over this instead of how he truly loved her?

“I wasn’t,” this wasn’t a dream any longer. The all-mother lifting the veil the god of mischief placed over her mind's eye. 

“Loki still believes even after he was given the crown by Odin, even after all the blame was lifted off of his shoulders of Sigyn's death; he still thinks himself unworthy to possess you. More so now that you have given him Ember. Loki fears he will have to hide you away to keep you safe and felt these memories would help him do so. 

He was wrong, had I known the real reason he told me he sent you back to Midgard I would have never allowed it. It made me wonder why he stole you in the night a few months ago, he finally admitted it, and when he returned to fetch you he found you were pregnant and had run in fear. I was afraid the illusion he placed when you were sent to the small village was too much. I found you, told him where to retrieve you,” the queen explained in the darkness, joyous memories of their wedding day, her own people present in the meadow that was supposedly a battleground.  

“So, all the hell he supposedly put me through was an illusion?”

“Yes,” Frigga admitted halfheartedly.

“Then this explains when I was on Midgard, -before I had Ember-, I found no scorched earth where we battled, no rebuilding. This is why the Avengers are so kind to us, why Thor is so gentle with Jane, why she returns his love," her own thoughts echoed around as they viewed the memory of their wedding night, how gently he carried her into the chamber.

“You remember all Loki has done for you? How kind be truly was,” Frigga spoke, the haze clearing for them to return to the chamber, sitting in the nest with Ember resting quietly. 

“Yes. But it makes me want to chew his ass for thinking he is less worthy than Thor or anyone else. It breaks my heart, I understand it, and he still has my heart, but I need to speak with him,” the warrior spoke up, a great weight lifted off of her shoulders as the dark memories where truly gone. There was still the acrid taste but thankfully she could recall none of the horrors, just good ones in their place. 

Frigga gave her a knowing smile, hugging the tired younger monarch tight for a moment. It was no secret the older woman doted over her replacement, she loved her fighting spirit, possibly loved her more so than Sigyn. “Then I will let him know you need to see him when he finishes with the dark elves.” 

Later that night, Ember resting once more after a feeding, the warrior was quick to corner Loki at the fireplace. The god fixing her with a worried glare at the fire in her eyes. It may be less than 24 hours since she gave birth, but the hybrid knew she could bring him to his knees, and he didn’t have the heart to stop her. 

“Your mother showed me Loki,” she echoed hotly trying to keep quiet to not wake Ember. Slapping the hand away the god attempted to lace into loose locks. “No. That’s how you do it. But Frigga charmed me, so you can’t anymore.”

The god pursed his lips, long coat unfolding to large wings. The meeting with the dark elf leader, Malekith, went in no way as planned. The dark elf storming out when neither hybrid would bargain. He knew she had heard, seen the ache in her bones when stepping flush to him. 

She felt his weariness at having to deal with the dark elf. Word came he had threatened the city, it’s people, her and the day-old princess for good measure as well. She knew his ache, reaching up to take his face in her hands, glad she couldn’t remember the nightmares he made her believe. 

“Please quit assuming you are a monster and that I am ruining my life by loving you. We are twin flames,” she echoed lovingly, stroking over his cheeks with calloused thumbs and tears rimming her eyes. 

“You fell into me so blindly when we first met, I just-. You left your people without looking back. You-. Norns my treasure,” he echoed laying his forehead to hers before his knees buckled and he fell before her. 

Tenderly he placed his head to soft belly, he knew she was sore, tired and now having to deal with this. This creature before him, this ulfhednar, his promised, mate, mother to his child birthed a little over 24 hours ago. 

“Can you forgive me treasure,” he echoed against soft belly, feeling her lean and lace fingers into his hair, wings folding around her. 

“Maybe-,” she hesitated, feeling him tense, leather clad arms wrapping around lightly covered legs. “We should start over.”

“We can,” he breathed, hopeful she wasn’t about to push him away. Though he gave her every right to do so. He could have ruined them both, stupid pride and self-loathing.  

She should hate him, should scream and kick him away. It was a dirty way to have done them, though, truth be told, Loki was just as messed up as she. Like she was one to know of love. Her parents were arranged, no love between them, they were married just to produce her, an heir to a throne. 

“Loki,” she breathed, soothing over the gods head and shoulders. “We both know nothing of what we are meant to be. My parents never showed any sort of affection, they were all business. And what happened during your lifetime was a travesty. I will gladly try once more; what about you?”

Slowly Loki got to his feet, reaching down to her thighs to place them around his waist. It was in no way sexual; it was to comfort as he placed an arm under her buttocks and the other around the nape of her neck. 

Gingerly the hybrid stroked over the soft flesh, “I was worried the last illusion had broken you when you weren’t at the settlement on Midgard. You were to have stayed at the shore, but you fled to the island. I thought I lost you, forgive me, I didn’t realize you were carrying until my last visit to find you gone. I’m sorry my treasure.” Gingerly he tugged her to him, nuzzling at her nose, kissing her lips tenderly. 

“Our first night together was so beautiful Loki. How could you bury it,” she whispered over his lips when the kiss broke for a moment. 

“I was foolish. I may have been called a monster my entire life, but it gave me no right,” he breathed, surprised when her lips pressed to his, arms wrapping around his shoulders while wings wrapped around her back to pull tight. 

“Take me to bed, I’m tired,” she echoed, Loki nodding in agreement. The god starting to the nest, the little bundle nestled in the furs and linens squeaking as he got his mate settled next to her. 

Slowly Loki laid at her back, a wing protectively draping over the queen and princess. Loki tenderly moved his mates loose hair to nuzzle at the nape of soft neck. “Rest mate, I will tend to her when she wakes,” his voice rasped as she leaned back into him to shut her eyes. 

A harsh jab to her ribs had her clinging to the quiet bundle in her arms. Jane hurriedly assuring she was covered as the guard entered. It still appeared as if it was night and hadn’t napped long. 

“Up,” the guard snarled from behind his mask, mind still hazed in sleep as a hand wrapped in the shackle chain to jerk her up drunkenly and still holding the infant. 

“What did he say,” Jane asked getting up as well, a guard coming to her own cell to retrieve the mortal. 

The warrior forgotten Jane didn’t possess all speak. “They want us up,” she spoke, the guards tugging them both out and down narrow walk to the entrance. 

Jane called out to her when they threw the ulfhednar out of the tent like structure to the black dirt. Protectively the warrior curled around the infant to keep her from being slung to the ground. Landing hard on her shoulder to cushion the fall with Jane falling over her to stop anyone from hitting the two. 

“As you can see, they are alive,” Malekith spoke to someone making the women look up to spot several Avengers. There was no way the leader would allow Loki or Thor close unless it was to get what he wanted. 

“You’ve beat them,” Steve spat in disgust, one of the others starting forward, it looked to be Sam, but the captain stopped him. 

“Just the one; she is a handful,” Malekith spoke with a laugh, a move of his hand and the guards were grabbing them up once more to haul back to their cages. 

Led back to their holding cells, the two guards toyed with them, mocking the women and using their strength to shove them around since it sounded as if the group had left. This was their chance. If she remembers right there was a way off Svartalfheim. 

Faining hurt, the ulfhednar fell to the dirt, cradling Ember tight the princess squeaking out. It was an excellent distraction, no one ever said a dark elf was intelligent. Creating a diversion for the two women to break free, Ember safely strapped to her mother as she wrapped the chains around the ones neck as Jane done the other. Managing to free themselves before running out the back of the tent and across the open ground. 

Thankfully they had set up camp several yards from the craggy cliffs. Spotting the cavern, she sensed held a portal, the women ran blindly into the darkness to emerge in freezing cold. Nowhere to go but forward, hurrying to seek shelter while it appeared they didn't go unnoticed, large ice dragons descending on the elves that were stupid enough to follow. 

Not looking back they continued until a large ice dragon dropped before them. Hastily she placed Ember in Jane's hands. A fire flashed in her eyes, calling seidr to muster enough strength to fight. The three of them coated in a spray of ice and blue blood as the warrior downed the dragon. Several more landing only to pause as she stood, donning a wolfish look and dazzling tattoos. 

They stopped, shifting to giants with great leather wings and kneeled to her. That wasn’t expected, turning to look at Jane and Ember before darkness crept in, collapsing in a heap of tattered flesh. 

A gentle calling of her name had her waking to look up at a leather draped ceiling. A quiet coo getting her attention to someone next to her. Looking over to find Jane, clean, covered in dark furs, and a tiny bundle strapped to her front with leather and fur. 

“Thank god,” Jane breathed moving to help her set up against more furs and cloth rolled like pillows. A quick look around revealed they were actually under a massive wing. One that moved slightly so the bearer could look at the two. 

It appeared to be a very tall, gruff looking frost giant with once curled horns, but one was broken and the other wrapped in straps of leather. With a grunt the giant got up and left the room. One that was large but at least had a fireplace with true fire radiating heat not far from them.

Moving to place more furs around the warrior, Jane finally un-tied the small infant to place in her mother's arms. “They brought milk for Ember. I’m not sure from where but she took it each time. They told me it came from another. I'm sorry, I hope I did right, she was crying so much, she was hungry and I didn't know what else to do," Jane worried as the warrior waived the brunet off, tugging the fur from around Ember's small and dipping to scent the sleeping babes lips.

"It's ok Jane, you did the right thing. It smells like what Loki and Frigga-," she paused, swallowing hard. Gods, Frigga, meeting Jane's gaze, tears burned in her eyes and a lump threatened to choke her. Cuddling the sleeping infant close, feeling the little ones full belly through the furs, they should take comfort they hadn't lost more.

"You've been out for several days," Jane spoke up, changing the subject neither women wanted brought up at the moment. "The ones that brought us here said they couldn't risk taking us through Jotunheim."

"Who are they," the warrior asked, letting the brunet help her settle. "Gods I should have known when you told me you came willing with Thor something was up." It was obvious from the queens tone she was trying to take her mind off of the pain shooting across her features before relaxing on the pillows. Dawning on the ulfhednar these were expensive furs, clean, nothing a commoner would possess.

"The guards, the healer, none of them would tell me who they answer to," Jane admitted, settling close so they could share body heat. 

"How do you feel," the warrior spoke up, hinting to the discovery from a few days ago. 

"Fine, I feel nauseous sometimes but nothing that doesn't ease."

"Good," she smiled, the two women settling in tight, or that was until the door opened to reveal a dragon winged giant decked out in gold adornment flanked by several guards.

"You slaughtered my best guard. I take it you must be Loki's queen; are you not? The Queen of the ulfhednar and Asgard," the one in gold asserted to the warrior holding to the small bundle, it appeared as though he was being gruff, but was sure to keep it quite due to the sleeping child.

"Yes, what of it," she breathed, trying to sound gruff herself, shifting to place Ember in Jane's arms as she forced herself to sore feet. 

Jane calling out to her to stop, but she didn't listen as she stepped through the nest to the giant, a fur wrapped around her shoulders, bare feet padding across the cold stone to pause before him. 

"Should have known my brother would be tethered to a brave creature such as yourself," he snarled, taking a knee to look her over more closely.

Brother? That meant he was either Helblendi or Blyster. Wearily she looked up to the massive hybrid wondering why of all in the 9 realms the Jotunar and Aesir had to be descended from dragons. Keeping calm as he smirked, flexing out massive pale blue leather wings as if to show power, but she was descended from wolves and dragon slayers. Keeping head high, she eyed the giant who seemed amused by her stubbornness to not back down.

"Fearless creature," his voice rumbled as he reached out to touch the exposed tattoo on her arm, running a calloused finger over it. Defiantly she held his gaze, knowing he was trying to provoke her. 

"Loki will not like it when he finds out his brother tried to intimidate his queen," she was quick to point out as he pulled away. 

The giant let out dark chuckle, she knew this could go one of two ways and wasn't sure which at the moment. Right now, it looked bleak, what of Ember? Her guts twisted at the thoughts of keeping the small infant protected, she didn't ask for any of this, and what of returning to Loki for the two of them to attempt to make it right?

"Defiant ulfhednar. It may keep you alive so you can return to Asgard. I want no war with the throne, our people have suffered enough at the hands of Odin; no need to repeat the same with Loki or Thor. But I'm afraid there is no way to get word to anyone at the moment. The dark elves are scouring the realm and have blocked the entrance into their own. There is another but it will take time for my messenger to reach. I sent him several days ago, but he must pass through wilderness and Utgard itself," he spoke quietly.

The giant noted the woman visibly let out a breath. "Until now you three remain here, in my chamber. You will be safe here, but I can't say much else for the outside of my encampment due to the dark elves. You, the princess and the blood dragons mate are under my protection. I will be sure the healer visits to assure you both are in good health; I don't need you three dying under my watch. I can only imagine the Hel it will bring on my head."

Giving a nod she understood, the warrior took a step back when he stood. The giant even going as far as to usher her back to the nest and assure she didn't fall. Gingerly she settled next to Jane who placed the infant in her arms and made sure they were covered well.

"I will send for your meal and better clothing," Blyster grunted out before leaving with his guard in tow.

It had been 3 months since a messenger had been sent, well now she had been told 4 had been sent with no word of what happened to the others. The movement of Jane to her left made the warrior wake, the two women having taken to keeping Ember between them when they rested. She watched as Jane sat up as if in pain, noting the look on her face, knowing what it was.

"Jane, lay back," she ordered quietly, getting to her feet to move the mortal around as she grabbed at her lower belly, holding tight to it.

"It hurts," Jane spoke, taking the warriors hand to hold.

"Let me call the healer, I have no herbs, nothing to work with," she spoke the brunet nodding and allowing her to the door, calling to the guard to fetch the healer.

In moments an elderly frost giant female ambled in, -the one ensuring they stayed healthy-, going to Jane with the warrior falling to the mortals head to keep her calm. Pushing the furs away they seen the faint stain of blood, there was nothing to be done but to soothe the panicking mortal. The healer and ulfhednar working together seamlessly to take care of the lost child. 

"I'm sorry Jane," the warrior cooed as the giantess grunted when laying her hand over the brunets lower abdomen. 

"Hand," the gruff creature snarled to the warrior who allowed it to the giantess, their kind had no bedside manner. 

Placing her smaller hand where the others was, she felt thrumming, very strong one and a flutter. Looking back up to Jane, the moment the giant uttered, "there is another. This one wasn't strong enough, but the one in your womb will survive."

The two looking at the giantess as she gathered the soiled things to leave out of the room. The brunette gripped tightly to the warrior, sobbing her heart out. 

"Then, I'm still-," Jane began, preparing to say pregnant but she couldn't at the moment.

"They must have been twins. It's not uncommon, I know that gives you little comfort but-," the warrior began as the mortal grabbed her to hug tight.

"Then we will celebrate the one I carry. Try not to dwell on the other. We have lost too much to not find joy in what we still have," Jane breathed, the warrior knew it was the scientist speaking but she sought comfort in it as well.

Quietly they heard Ember shuffle, a quiet coo and she was looking around in the dim room. The little girl smiling when she spotted the two women. 

"Would you like to hold her? Feed her," the child's mother spoke, moving to lift the growing 4-month-old from the furs. 

Jane opened her arms as she was handed the child and the ulfhednar helped to prop the mortal on pillows. Quietly she padded to the storage by the fire, it housed many things for the three of them as well as milk. It had been placed there should she be unable to feed Ember, which thankfully she could still do but was glad to allow another to share in the responsibly.

As she handed the milk to Jane the door to the room slung open and made the women pause. Blyster stormed in, looking at the two worriedly, the healer must have told.

"How is she," the giant spoke hinting to Jane who placed the bottle to Embers lips, the babe not hesitating to latch on.

"She is fine," the warrior spoke, moving protectively next to them. 

"Good. Word has reached that Malekith was defeated. The portal I sent my messengers to, was heavily guarded but the last was able to make it. I'm not sure when they will be here," he admitted, the two women visibly relaxing.

Several days later, late in the night, there was a knock on the door, Blyster having taken to laying on the opposite side of the nest to assure the three were kept safe. The pale blue hybrid going as far as to drape a wing over them. Keeping the wing in place he called out to the one who knocked.

"They are here for the women," the one on the other side spoke up. They could hear someone on the other side, and they sounded a lot like-.

"Loki," the queen breathed, the giant getting to his feet to hurry from the nest leaving the women nested close to one another. 

In a rush of leather clad wings, Loki burst in ahead of the others, Thor and Blyster not far behind with the door slamming shut. The ulfhednar scooped Ember up to rush to the god who gladly took them into his arms. Thor hurrying worriedly to Jane, the warrior looking back as Loki nuzzled at her neck. She was sure Thor was easy with Jane, the crimson winged hybrid scooping his mate up easily. 

“Thank the Norns treasure,” Loki spoke, nuzzling hard under her ear before kissing over Ember's head. 

Finally, she turned back to Loki, the god quick to seize her lips. A cool hand going to the nape of her neck while her own wrapped around his face, ebony wings draping tight around them. 

Oh, how she loved this part of him. Slowly ebony wings moved to look to Thor who nodded he had Jane. 

“Ready to go home pet,” he whispered, nuzzling at the two females in his arms. 

“Yes,” she smiled, Ember letting out a squeak herself, but only because they had woken her. 

Loki turned to Blyster, eyeing his giant brother close, “we are even then?”

“Aye,” Loki spoke cautiously holding tight to his mate. 

“Then, by all means,” Blyster spoke, stepping to the side to allow the five to leave. 

Upon arrival a healer was called to check the three, their mates worriedly waiting to assure the women and babies were healthy. A celebration called after the healer checked the women over. It was found out that Jane still carried twins. 

There was a feast called to honor the two women, to celebrate the children and the late queen. Little Ember held tight in her father's arms who refused to allow anyone to take the bundle from him, save for his mate who sat in the same chair as he.  

The entire evening Loki wouldn’t allow them from his side. Thankfully that worked in the ulfhednar's favor when Ember had taken all she could of the festivities and became cranky. The hybrid directing his mate and child down the quiet corridor to their brightly decorated room but thankful it was lit dimly. 

Getting the infant settled, Loki placed a protection over the child to keep her safe while stealing away with her mother to the baths. In seconds Loki tugged his mates legs around his waist, taking their clothes as he stepped into the warm water. 

Lovingly he nipped at her jaw, making her shiver in his arms. This was how he treated her from the beginning, never had he tortured her as she was led to believe. Loki was no monster. 

“You are far from any monster I have met thus far Loki,” she breathed over his lips as he let her to her feet. 

“I-,” Loki began to protest but he stopped, her hands lacing into his hair the water licking at her hips. 

“Please, focus on us now. Not the past, not the Hel inflicted on you. Us Loki. It’s Ember, you and myself. We were told what you done to find us, that you turned over the cask for us. That is not the actions of a monster but a loving mate and father,” she echoed, tears rimming her eyes. 

“Aye treasure,” he smiled, bowing to take her lips tenderly and holding her bare torso flush to his own. 

Tags are OPEN! REBLOGS ALWAYS WELCOMED!

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#Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki god of mischief #loki fanfic #dragon!loki #loki x reader #loki x plus size reader

[gadgetgirl71]

Amazon First Reads for May 2020

It’s that time yet again, to choose one of eight books that Amazon First Reads lets Amazon Prime Members download for free. I always look forward to the beginning of each month to see what is on offer.

This months books are:

Contemporary Fiction

If You Must Know by Jamie Beck  Pages: 362, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: Life turns upside down for two sisters in Wall Street Journal bestselling author Jamie Beck’s emotional novel about how secrets and differences can break—or bind—a family.

Sisters Amanda Foster and Erin Turner have little in common except the childhood bedroom they once shared and the certainty each feels that her way of life is best. Amanda follows the rules—at the school where she works; in her community; and as a picture-perfect daughter, wife, and mother-to-be. Erin follows her heart—in love and otherwise—living a bohemian lifestyle on a shoestring budget and honouring her late father’s memory with a passion for music and her fledgling bath-products business.

The sisters are content leading separate but happy lives in their hometown of Potomac Point until everything is upended by lies that force them to confront unsettling truths about their family, themselves, and each other. For sisters as different as these two, building trust doesn’t come easily—especially with one secret still between them—but it may be the only way to save their family.

Thriller

Don’t Make a Sound by T R Ragan, Pages: 285, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: Her own past could be a reporter’s biggest story in this twisting thriller about murder and family secrets by the New York Times bestselling author T.R. Ragan.

Plagued by traumatic childhood memories, crime reporter Sawyer Brooks still struggles to gain control of her rage, her paranoia, and her life. Now, after finally getting promoted at work, she is forced to return home and face her past.

River Rock is where she’d been abandoned by her two older sisters to suffer alone, and in silence, the unspeakable abuses of her family. It’s also where Sawyer’s best friend disappeared and two teenage girls were murdered. Three cold cases dead and buried with the rest of the town’s secrets.

When another girl is slain in a familiar grisly fashion, Sawyer is determined to put an end to the crimes. Pulled back into the horrors of her family history, Sawyer must reconcile with her estranged sisters, who both have shattering memories of their own. As Sawyer’s investigation leads to River Rock’s darkest corners, what will prove more dangerous—what she knows of the past or what she has yet to discover?

Biography

Gender Rebels by Anneka Harry, Pages: 277, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: Meet the unsung sheroes of history: the diverse, defiant and daring (wo)men who changed the rules, and their identities, to get sh*t done.

You’ll encounter Kit Cavanagh, the swaggering Irish dragoon who was the first woman to be buried in London with full military honours; marauding eighteenth-century pirates Mary Read and Anne Bonny, who collided on the high seas after swapping their petticoats for pantaloons; Ellen Craft, an escaped slave who masqueraded as a white master to spirit her husband-to-be to freedom; and Billy Tipton, the swinging jazz musician, who led a double life as an adult, taking five wives along the way. Then there are the women who still have to dress like men to live their best lives, like the inspirational football-lovers in Iran, who risk everything to take their place in the stands.

A call to action for the modern world, this book celebrates the #GenderRebels who paved the way for women everywhere to be soldiers and spies; kings and queens; firefighters, doctors, pilots; and a Swiss Army knife’s-worth more. These superbly spirited (wo)men all had one thing in common: they defied the rules to progress in a man’s world.

Book Club Fiction

Sorry I Missed You by Suzy Krause, Pages: 315, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: A poignant and heartwarming novel about friendship, ghosting, and searching for answers to life’s mysteries.

When Mackenzie, Sunna, and Maude move into a converted rental house, they are strangers with only one thing in common—important people in their lives have “ghosted” them. Mackenzie’s sister, Sunna’s best friend, and Maude’s fiancé—all gone with no explanation.

So when a mangled, near-indecipherable letter arrives in their shared mailbox—hinting at long-awaited answers—each tenant assumes it’s for her. The mismatched trio decides to stake out the coffee shop named in the letter—the only clue they have—and in the process, a bizarre kinship forms. But the more they learn about each other, the more questions (and suspicions) they begin to have. All the while, creepy sounds and strange happenings around the property suggest that the ghosts from their pasts might not be all that’s haunting them…

Will any of the housemates find the closure they are looking for? Or are some doors meant to remain closed?

Quirky, humorous, and utterly original, Sorry I Missed You is the perfect read for anyone who has ever felt haunted by their past (or by anything else).

Historical Fiction

Golden Poppies by Laila Ibrahim, Pages: 297, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: From the bestselling author of Yellow Crocus and Mustard Seed comes the empowering novel of two generations of American women connected by the past and fighting for a brighter future.

It’s 1894. Jordan Wallace and Sadie Wagner appear to have little in common. Jordan, a middle-aged black teacher, lives in segregated Chicago. Two thousand miles away, Sadie, the white wife of an ambitious German businessman, lives in more tolerant Oakland, California. But years ago, their families intertwined on a plantation in Virginia. There, Jordan’s and Sadie’s mothers developed a bond stronger than blood, despite the fact that one was enslaved and the other was the privileged daughter of the plantation’s owner.

With Jordan’s mother on her deathbed, Sadie leaves her disapproving husband to make the arduous train journey with her mother to Chicago. But the reunion between two families is soon fraught with personal and political challenges.

As the harsh realities of racial divides and the injustices of the Gilded Age conspire to hold them back, the women find they need each other more than ever. Their courage, their loyalty, and the ties that bind their families will be tested. Amid the tumult of a quickly changing nation, their destiny depends on what they’re willing to risk for liberation.

Legal Thriller

Legacy of Lies by Robert Bailey, Pages: 329, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: A small-town attorney takes on prejudice and corruption in this powerful legal thriller.

Small-town lawyer Bocephus Haynes comes home late one night to find District Attorney General Helen Lewis waiting for him. Her ex-husband has just been killed. She’s about to be arrested for his murder. And she wants Bo to represent her.

There’s a lot working against them. Just before his death, Helen’s ex-husband threatened to reveal a dark secret from her past. Bo has been in a tailspin since his wife’s death. What’s more, his whole life has been defined by a crime committed against his family, and he continues to face prejudice as the only African American litigator in Pulaski, Tennessee.

Bo’s back is against the wall, and Helen resigns herself to a dismal fate—but a stunning discovery throws everything into chaos. There’s a chance for justice, but to achieve it, the cost might be too much for Bo to bear.

Family Saga

A Decent Family by Rosa Ventrella, Pages: 251, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: For fans of Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan series comes a captivating family saga focused on a willful young woman’s struggles against her oppressive small town by acclaimed Italian author Rosa Ventrella.

In old Bari, everyone knows Maria De Santis as “Malacarne,” the bad seed. Nicknamed for her dark features, volcanic temperament, and resistance to rules, the headstrong girl can only imagine the possibilities that lie outside her poverty-stricken neighborhood.

Growing up with her mother, two brothers, and a tyrannical father, Maria must abide. She does—amid the squalid life to which she was born, the cruelties of her small-minded neighbors, and violence in a constant threat of eruption. As she reconciles her need for escape with the allegiance she feels toward her family, Maria has her salvations: her secret friend, Michele, son of a rival family and every bit the outsider she is, and her passion for books, which may someday take her far, far away.

In this exquisitely rendered and sensory-rich novel, Rosa Ventrella explores the limits of loyalty, the redeeming power of friendship and love, and the fire in the soul of one woman who was born to break free.

Literary Fiction

A Man by Keiichiro Hirano, Pages: 295, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: A man follows another man’s trail of lies in a compelling psychological story about the search for identity, by Japan’s award-winning literary sensation Keiichiro Hirano in his first novel to be translated into English.

Akira Kido is a divorce attorney whose own marriage is in danger of being destroyed by emotional disconnect. With a midlife crisis looming, Kido’s life is upended by the reemergence of a former client, Rié Takemoto. She wants Kido to investigate a dead man—her recently deceased husband, Daisuké. Upon his death she discovered that he’d been living a lie. His name, his past, his entire identity belonged to someone else, a total stranger. The investigation draws Kido into two intriguing mysteries: finding out who Rié’s husband really was and discovering more about the man he pretended to be. Soon, with each new revelation, Kido will come to share the obsession with—and the lure of—erasing one life to create a new one.

In A Man, winner of Japan’s prestigious Yomiuri Prize for Literature, Keiichiro Hirano explores the search for identity, the ambiguity of memory, the legacies with which we live and die, and the reconciliation of who you hoped to be with who you’ve actually become.

***Which book will you choose? I can’t make up my mind between: “If You Must Know and Sorry I Missed You”. Let me know which book you think I should choose.***

#amazonfirstreads #amazonkindle #amazonprimemembers #literary fiction #familysaga #legal thriller #HistoricalFiction #bookclubfiction #biography #thriller #contemporary fiction

[gungambled]

drabble: separation

@the-taboo-king

     thick tendrils of smoke fill the air -- that smell to MASK the death in the room, the death that has invaded the underworld in a far more prominent manner in the time since she left it. UNPREDICTABLE, if it were not for the gun in her hand and the fact that it REFUSES to go off when pale finger pulls the trigger, she would not BELIEVE she was still capable of her title. celestia passes the gun around to the person beside her -- inherently SHIVERING at the look of madness in her eyes. the SANE and those steeped in despair, it seems they co-mingle here more than in other places, where people come to have everything taken or everything gained. beside her the gun goes off and she feels WARM liquid on her cheek. she does not need to see it to know what it is -- nor is there any DOUBT what the thudding sound beside her is.

       situated in her seat, she LOUNGES as if she has no worries in the world. taeko yasuhiro in the gambling underworld once again, there was no need to keep her identity hidden. they all KNEW. and if she were to lower herself to these games again, she knew she needed to use it to get her emotions out in the best way she knows HOW: that faceless aggression of the plain. arms cross before her chest a look of indifference upon her features as her arms untangle to swipe away that blood on her cheek with a swift motion.

       time has not TREATED her well in her loneliness. drawn in again, when she IS on the island she does her rounds with a certain lack of care -- unwilling to talk to anyone for long because she knows the questions that bubble beneath the surface. she has REFUSED to talk about what happened to cause this, to stay in place and talk for long even with her OWN classmates. she has no DOUBT that the whispers of taeko yasuhiro have reached their ears even in the fact that media is near non existent. or maybe she just WANTS them to know, a vindictive part of her hoping that words of his recklessness might cause them to MAKE her stop. maybe she NEEDS them to stop her because she ends up dead.

        because as she sits here, scarlet hues watching as the gun is reloaded -- a hole in her chest, celestia KNOWS she needs someone to stop her. addiction born anew, there are new games these days. far more DANGEROUS than russian roulette. without a doubt her odds were not good, and she often finds herself WONDERING once again if the only way it will stop is if the odds fall unfavorably on her side. she NEVER expected to break so spectacularly, to need THIS again to feel whole, or at least to convince herself as such.

     another gunshot rings out and suddenly it is only she and one of the FEW people here she had been familiar with before this all went to hell. an old rival she had continually destroyed. she watches as he fills the chamber -- a smirk on his lips that she DOES NOT like. celestia has seen it on him, the despair that clings to his skin. in a WAY is she not doing the world a SERVICE? helping to remove these people that taint the world even with enoshima gone. legs move from where they are propped up on the table and she leans in with her OWN grin -- a twisted thing of confidence on black lips, when she feels NONE of it.

      and then she feels SOMETHING unexpected -- a smoking barrel aimed at her instead of him followed by a FLASH of pain in her arm. she can feel the blood running before it completely registers what has happened. a gasp of pain leaves her lips as the other man throws the gun to the side and steps around the table a fist aimed to her face. another blinding pain and she falls out of the chair pale hand lifting to cover place where she has felt her lip split with the strike. seeing stars it takes a moment for her to pick herself up. a bloody scowl directed him to combat the MALICE in his gaze.

            “ fuck you, yasuhiro -- you don’t control this world anymore. you and your pretty rules and dresses and acting like you OWN us all. you’re done. “

        growled with unrestrained hatred she reaches downward to try to get her knife before another fist is thrown at her -- and she finds herself suddenly held against the wall. a reminder of her weakness, of the FACT that this was how she was always supposed to end. always something she had expected -- she spits in his FACE, blood upon his skin as she tries to IGNORE the feeling of tightness upon her cheek and lips -- the burning pain of the bullet wound. his hand finds her throat and that defiant expression DIES on her face, that expression of porcelain turning more into something of panic. is she ready to die?

       one hand reaches up to try to CLAW his hand away from her throat to no avail. his body crushing her own she finds herself giving into the feeling of breathlessness that takes over -- almost resigned to her silent fate: to die as NOTHING as she had expected so long ago. tears fill her eyes -- and the man takes no heed. there is a TWISTED pleasure in watching her crumble in his hands. his grip TIGHTENS. it is as her vision swims that her fighting spirit ignites again -- the ANGER filling her at the thought of going like this. she always wanted it to be by her own hand. not some DESPAIR infused freak. flight or fight instincts kick in and suddenly a KNEE is brought up to his groin and his grip loosens just enough for her to drop to the ground with a GASP.

      she manages to bring a hand down to grasp that trusty knife flashing out to CUT the achilles tendon without a second thought. her gaze is BLANK as he falls before her. hand lifts to bring the knife down upon him again before there is ANOTHER flash of pain that makes her cry out -- she pushes through it and slams it down upon him again and AGAIN. she has no idea of the extent of her own injuries but she can feel each slice of his flesh and the precise moment he stops moving but she doesn’t STOP -- feeling that swirl of despair flickering before she finds herself PUSHING herself away, eyes wide. she does not get far, a pain in her leg drawing her gaze to reveal that a knife had been lodged in her thigh.

      everything seems too CLEAR. she knows she is losing blood, that she might have a concussion. but at least she is ALONE in this room now. she was ALIVE. trembling hands grab her phone and send a message to naegi requesting immediate help -- knowing if she did not receive it she would never make it back, even if she did not KNOW if she wanted to make it back. the deed done she curls in on herself, trembling and in SHOCK. fingers find their way to her hair despite the pain in her arm in the reach. she is tempted to SCREAM but she does not because she knows the people in the other room. survival of the fittest.

      how lucky ( or unlucky ) it is that the pain manages to keep her conscious despite a swimming mind. knife is lifted as she hears approaches footsteps and an opening door. she only drops it into her lap when she recognizes who it is. she sees naegi’s expression and she KNOWS what she probably looks like. covered in blood, a split lip -- a black eye forming. but at least he doesn’t overreact. instead he comes up to her, kneeling in the blood that pools around her. instinctively she dips her gaze away, expecting him to reprimand her -- to tell her how DUMB her actions were. there were other people there too but she isn’t paying attention to them.

    “ celeste… we thought this might be what you were doing. but why? everyone has been so worried.“

     maybe he shouldn’t be asking these things when she’s bleeding in front of him, but she doesn’t mind. it’s better than him lecturing her for her stupidity. she feels vulnerable and she HATES it but after all of this it is what she deserves. she shakes her head, so light in the absence of her extensions and she still refuses to look up at him.

“ they didn’t need me there -- you know it as well as i. i had to find SOMETHING, somewhere i could feel whole. guess i chose wrong. it is… my bad. “

       unbidden, a tear falls from her eye and she leans forward to hide it. she WONDERS if gundham has been doing such dangerous things like her. if anyone has heard anything new since she had been gone left. everyone MUST know her reason for aimlessness -- as silly as it may seem. one person should never define a person that much and yet he did. suddenly she finds gentle arms around her and she leans into the touch -- the MOST open thing she has done with naegi outside of the very thing that started this all. the moment everything shattered. he remains silent and she takes a deep breath. finally she mumbles a question:

           “ any news on him… any a-at all? “

       a sigh from naegi before she feels him shake his head.

  “ no, but they’re looking for him. everyone’s been worried about you two and your disappearing acts. you’d think you thought no one liked you, even after all this time. “

       celestia knows this is PRECISELY how she has been feeling, no matter how illogical a thought it was. there were certain bonds formed even when things are strained. her classmates would always defend each other. it was simply difficult to comprehend sometimes. she winces in the pain and naegi moves away from her. finally she lifts her head to him. everything is so PAINFUL.

           “  i should have thought th-this through… my… apologies. “

      she can feel herself growing weaker in the moment her thoughts fluttering more as she looks at neagi with those tear streaks on her cheek, cutting through the blood. they need to get out of her and FAST. she watches as naegi gestures for one of the men with him to step forward, and she feels his arms beneath her. so she is to be CARRIED? nothing too difficult given her slight stature and lack of grandeur. still, as she is lifted naegi gives her a sad smile.

“ apology accepted. just stop scaring us. that’s really all we ask. “

       a small nod from celestia before she speaks again, softer than before -- as if it is a secret, even if the whole world KNOWS the truth already.

      “ …. i miss him. “

                                                            “ i know. “

     and then the world fades into a weird GRAYNESS, where she is aware of being carried but not much else. she was going HOME.

#long post #hoo sorry this is so long yall #&& a SURVIVOR of killing games ( survival. ) #blood tw #choking tw #guns tw #cuts tw #bullets tw #russian roulette tw