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vadersassistant · 8 months

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Hiiii

wo dering if you could do an enemies to lover anakin imagine. kind of like friends to enemies to lovers or something like that and it ends in them making out o whatever you are comfortable with.

Anyways thank youuu

Denial One Shot (Darth Vader x Reader)

Summary: After venturing into a Sith Temple to try and find an edge on the current war, (Y/N) meets her enemy, Lord Vader, the man who killed her best friend and secret lover. He has been hunting both her and her alias down for months, following her across the galaxy, but little does she know, he has no plans to kill her. Takes place in the temple seen in the Star Wars Rebels season two finale. Reader was previously a Jedi and is in hiding due to order 66.

Warnings: Make out session

A/N: (Y/N) does not know Vader is Anakin, and Vader does not know (Y/N) is the Fugitive he has been searching for. This is once again a mix of suited Vader and nightfall Vader. In which, Vader wears the suit and mask, but he can take it off and looks like the Anakin we know and love.

The temple was eerie, an odd feeling passing by with each step you took. It was the opposite of the one I grew up in, representing everything I was told to dislike, and yet I was here anyways. I had made up my mind to fight instead of continuing to run from the problem. I wasn’t a rebel, but I wasn’t an imperial either. I was the middle ground, a former Jedi with a new identity, a mask to shield my face so that I could live freely, but the saber still gave it away. I was good, too good to be a civilian having fun with an old relic, even though some still used them publicly. Some, as in him.

The Jedi fell and Lord Vader rose out of thin air. There was no preface, no foreshadowing, he just came, and everyone bowed their heads.

To outsiders he was a military leader trained in combat, who happened to use an imaginary power. To force users, like Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and I, he was a Sith. We all knew it the second he began hunting us down. He wanted the Jedi dead and made it clear when he began searching for my alias as well. Everyone knew who she was, I was put on every single imperial security watch available, but I evaded it all I could. I forged a new saber, so that they couldn’t track me that way, and told people about how the female jedi on the Holonets from the clone wars died. The only people who truly knew were Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, since they too had done something similar. He was Ben, she was Ashla, and I gained the name Fugitive, a mask being the only way to keep track of my identity.

I couldn’t count how many storm-troopers I had killed by now, just that I did. I was forced to, to keep myself alive, because he wanted me turned in. I was always told to run, to flee from Vader because of what he’s done, but all I wanted was for the man to wind up dead. A lust for revenge had developed ever since I learned what he did to my best friend, Anakin Skywalker.

I don’t even know how he could have killed a warrior like him, but he did and now he’s gone. Slaughtered like any other while trying to save people in the temple, something someone with his character would have done naturally. The worst part is that everyone he was trying to save is dead too, and that he could have escaped with us, had he not done what he did. He had a wife, Senator Amidala, a good friend of mine, who also died that night, although I wasn’t sure if they ended on good terms.

The two had been arguing for a while, he believed she was cheating on him with Obi Wan, although she continued to deny it along with everyone else. I was the only one who he talked to about his problems willingly, even Kenobi would have to go through reading his mind to talk about personal issues. It was only when Anakin died that the truth came out, that being that Anakin was right, and she was seeing Kenobi.

I hadn’t recognized him after that point. I knew he was afraid he would be kicked out of the Jedi order if we found out he was dating another woman. Even further, the fact he knowingly was allowing the affair to happen, but it occurred anyways, and he lost everything with it. That was consequence enough, he didn’t need me to yell at him any further for going that far.

Still, I was angry, because I cared about Anakin.

And also loved him.

I denied it for years, the helpless prodding’s from Ahsoka when the two of us would spend hours upon hours with each other. We carried out the entire war effort, working extremely close together on missions. It was no surprise that I liked him, he had even mentioned subtly what things would be like if he hadn’t met her. It sounded like he regretted it, but I had no clue, due to us being force users.

I now stood in front of the man who took him away, the one that gutted him in the chest like a fish with no care whatsoever. The man that had been hunting me down under both my names since the night of the fall, the one that was known for murdering everyone in his path. I don’t know how he found me, I had a feeling we were being followed, but I didn’t care. We needed the Holocron inside of the temple, and Ahsoka now had it in hand. I could sense their distraught, both behind me looking at the Sith in front of us. They didn’t want to fight him; they were afraid to fight him. I felt differently, looking at his mask through the visors of my own.

“It was foretold that you would be here, our long-awaited meeting has come at last."

“This meeting is over,” Ahsoka said.

“Are you so sure?” the Sith questioned through the modulated voice his mask provided him, as I stepped forward.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan asked me, his breath becoming short.

“Leave."

“No," he shook his head. "Don’t do this."

“Leave. Now.”

I looked up at the temple’s ceiling as the walls started to drop down. It was collapsing on itself, since the Holocron had been taken from the Obelisk. There wasn’t much to do, but I knew I didn’t want to pull them into this. I turned around and outstretched a hand.

Ahsoka screamed as I force pushed both her and Obi-Wan back while the temple’s walls crashed down. I saw her figure fly back just before the drop and felt her gently land. There was a ship, they could leave, I would worry about myself after I killed him.

“We’re finishing this here,” I said. "I know you've been hunting me for the past months."

“You are courageous, unlike your friends,” the Sith mused. “Hateful.”

“You killed my best friend," I pointed out. "I want you to experience that same pain."

“Revenge is not the Jedi way,” he reminded. "Your confidence dilutes your ability to make rational decisions."

“I am no Jedi.”

“Then who are you? Your saber is unlike any I have ever seen, an identity successfully hidden behind a helm.”

“That’s none of your business, why have you been hunting me?” I asked. I felt the pressure of the Dark Side creeping against my mind's barriers, he was trying to invade.

“You would make a wonderful apprentice in the dark side,” Vader said. "You have already abandoned your training as a Jedi."

“I don’t side with murderers.”

“And yet you are one. I have seen your way of fighting Fugitive; you have killed countless of our troops and inquisitors.”

“Your Inquisitorious is an embarrassment, and I will never join you, not after what you did,” I called my saber to my hand, igniting it.

“Then you will die.”

There was this feeling of fear that attempted to wash over me, like he was attempting to throw me off, but I wasn't thinking about it anymore.

I ran full speed at him, force pushing myself up off the ground and into the air to try and put myself on the offensive. My blade met his right over his helmet, as he angled me back and I landed behind him. My automatic response was to try and swing for his legs, a move he evaded but had been surprised by. I knew I needed to be careful with how I played things. He would try and tire me out by just playing the defensive, but I also didn’t get that tired frow much stamina I built up during the war. Vader was also bigger, and stronger, meaning I’d need to use his weight to my advantage. I was quick, less stable, and grounded, and more agile in my movements.

We continued to take shots at each other, as he seemingly began to test me. It was a constant switch from the right to the left, bashing at each other from different angles and walking along with it. It was something Anakin and I always did, and it almost felt familiar. For whatever reason, I could feel myself getting into the rhythm Skywalker and I got into when we would train every day. After a certain point I would always switch my grip and force him to back off, and I did it purely out of muscle memory, shoving the Sith back.

“Your anger focuses you,” he commented. “Join me and I can enhance that power.”

“You killed him, the man I loved, do you truly believe I would ever consider that?”

“He is gone for a reason,” Vader said.

“He was the chosen one!” I shouted, interlocking lightsabers in a pursuit for power over the other. "You know why he lost his life?! Because he was trying to save everyone else, instead of actually caring for himself for once."

“(Y/N)."

I stumbled back immediately, hearing that name leave his mouth,

"What?"

My eyes widened beneath the visors, letting my guard down for just a moment.

It was all he needed.

I felt his immense force break through my walls and invade my mind, clawing through my memories and thoughts like a file. Not only that, but he immediately took me to the ground. It was quick, as he now straddled me, muscular thighs resting over my lower waist. Both my arms were pinned to either side with by the force, my saber in his hand.

I grunted, struggling under him and thrusting against his cod piece hoping it would make him budge but it barely made a difference. I couldn’t do a thing, as the Sith reached for my mask and pressed down on the sides. I felt it depressurize, as his gloved digits lifted it off my head, and I looked into his mask with my own eyes.

"How do you know my name?" I asked angrily as I fought underneath him to free myself.

There was no way of telling what he truly felt in that moment, holding the helm silently, breathing being the only indication he was still alive. I continued to try and do everything to get out of his grasp, but the Sith only sat there and took me in, his body heat lingering over my own. I felt like a mess, wondering where Ahsoka and Obi-Wan might be right now, realizing why Anakin lost his life to this man. I didn’t know how he knew my name, my real name, the one that no one had called me in months. I was fully pinned down, not giving up until I saw him reach for his own helmet.

"What are you do—"

My throat ran dry, amber eyes piercing through my body like a blade.

"Anakin."

It was him, with brown hair that held golden streaks just above his armor.

"(Y/N)."

Hearing his voice sent a shiver down my entire back, as I shuddered underneath him.

“I thought you died—they said Vader killed you—" there were tears welling up in my eyes, looking up at him.

“I am alive."

“Why did you turn?"

“The Jedi council was using us, Obi-Wan lied to me about Padme (Y/N), they were having an affair. But you know that already.”

“Obi Wan told us,” I trailed off.

“I know.”

“Do you plan to kill me?”

“No, that was never my intent," he emphasized lowly.

“So, what will you do?” I questioned.

“After separating myself from the order, I reflected much upon it,” Anakin started. "And came to terms with several of my mistakes."

“What mistakes?”

Still straddling me Anakin leaned down, placing his hands by either sides of my head and lowering himself to my ear.

“I was blindly dating filthy senator, when I had the love of my life right next to me the entire time."

"What do you mean?" I emphasized each word, my abdomen tensing as he got so close to me.

"There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think of my future and imagine you by my side. I told myself it was our strong bond causing me to think of you constantly, due to the amount of time we spent together, but now, I feel completely different."

"Anakin," my heart was racing, as he continued to whisper into my ear.

"Maker, I missed you so much."

He was just trying to be friendly, that's all this was.

"Now, I know you are not that naive," he let out a deep chuckle, reading my mind.

"Is this your way of coercing me into joining the dark side?" I said softly, trying to play it off.

"There is no need to coerce you (Y/N), your heart is already doing all the work," Anakin told me. "All there is to do is to make up for lost time."

"No.."

"Continuing to deny it is only stalling the inevitable," he spoke in a playful way. "Your hatred towards the one you believed to be my killer only proves it more."

"I—" I cut myself off, as Anakin moved his head, now right over mine.

"What is it?" he asked me, his golden eyes flicking from my lips up to my eyes in quick fashion.

I gave in, nodding to his silent question and feeling the force lift off my hands.

Anakin pressed his lips to mine as I lifted my head up and met him midway. His robotic hand came down to my waist, the other combing through my hair as he helped hold my head steady. It was delicate and prepared, goosebumps crawling over my skin as his weight pressed me onto the cold temple floors. He was an expert in the way he worked around my mouth, the first time I had ever kissed anyone to begin with.

To think such a sacred place would be ruined due to our own shenanigans.

A Jedi and a Sith, making out in a temple with no care for sentiment.

His lips were chapped yet soft, and the more breaths we took between kissing the more swollen they became. Anakin didn’t seem to care though, continuing to go down on my neck allowing me to breath. He wasn’t going too far, but it was enough for the occasion, leaving marks I that wouldn’t leave for days.

It was madness.

Everything around us screamed in pleasure, the force happily chiming along with the two sides agreeing on something, even if it wasn’t an argument. Anakin had changed, and I couldn’t decide if it was for better or for worse.

If only those two could see me now, making love to the man that we had been running from for months. The copious amounts of rage had turned to attraction in a blink of an eye, rejoicing in his presence as my hand pressed against his tunic and I felt his abdomen underneath the fabric. He was such light and yet the darkness itself, drowning me in it as we sunk into a pool of ecstasy.

The cold stone floors were soon heated, as the temple grew humid and we both simultaneously agreed to take our tops off. It was the definition of multitasking, as I took off his armor and tunic, leaving behind a black pair of pants, and his boots. With the force he slipped my top off, gaining access to my collar bone and gracing it with his mouth. There was a possessive feeling in the air, as he took in my body for the first time with his own eyes as I did to him.

"You are so beautiful, it is intoxicating."

I felt myself smiling, sitting up and wrapping my arms around his neck, the both of us kissing deeply. This was it, holding our breath as we enjoyed one another, but the force was warning the both of us.

The temple shook, I almost forgot it was collapsing.

"We need to escape before we become trapped inside," Anakin said. "My ship is outside."

"And you assume I'm coming?"

"I know you are."

I laughed, acknowledging his foresight. We put on our clothes hurriedly yet thoroughly, as someone trained to handle life or death would. In truth, that was what we stood for, as Jedi and Sith both came together as one, in ways that would be frowned upon.

Except we didn't care.

We weren't denying it any longer.

Back in business since the recent Ahsoka episode. Hope you all enjoyed!

#darth vader x reader #darth vader imagine #darth vader x y/n #darth vader x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin x reader #suitless darth vader x reader

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liesmyth · 25 days

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Do you think the Nine Houses follow a Marxist, Keynsian, or Austrians economic model

this ask made me SO happy you have no idea! some vague thoughts

The Houses obviously have to do careful resource allocation. I doubt they have a free market economy, at least not on a system-wide scale. I could see some of the Houses — like the Third or Fifth Houses, which are by all accounts wealthy and with a very large population — develop some kind of internal capitalist economy within the House itself. Namely, private actors who control and own properties, wealth accumulation, competitive markets etc. But ultimately I think even those are subject to strong (local) governmental oversight because, again, they live on space installations in a situation of constant resource constraint. I bet there are quotas for everything.

However! No way ALL the Houses have a market economy. I'm thinking especially those Houses that are very small and/or have a "mission" which means that societal development is carefully planned, and probably the economy is also centrally planned. (Ninth, Eight, Sixth, maybe Second and/or Fourth).

On an overreaching scale (within the Home System) I don't think "the Empire" (as in, John) is overly concerned with the yearly economic development of the Houses, partly because he's been historically absent for decades or even centuries at a time. Verging sharply into headcanon territory, I think the closest thing the Houses have to a real centralised government is military leadership (High Command or the Fleet Admiral, who's the head of the Second House) and when it comes to issues that concern multiple Houses but are more "civilian" in nature, is kind of a free-for-all. I'm thinking about how Harrow thought that writing to ask for help would result in the Fifth or maybe the Third cannibalising the Ninth House — it looks like there's an informal council of House leaders, but no properly organised central government.

Trade: travel and commerce between the Houses is regulated. You can't just take a spaceship and move from the Eight to the Second, for example — movement of people as well as goods depends on a ship schedule that runs on "routes" and I'd bet there's an immigration/emigration quota that's maybe decided between specific House leaders, or maybe a third party. My best bet is that one of the Houses (possibly the Third or Fifth) OR an ad-hoc organisation (which includes multiple higher-ups from said well-off Houses) are the ones who regulate shipping and travel, and either have an ownership stake in the shipping system or administrate it in the name of the Emperor.

The shepherded planets: putting the "imperialism" in "Empire". The Houses definitely exploit their colony planet for resources, as per AYU (talking about the "contracts" that the Empire signs with the occupied planets). However, it's also worth noting that 1) for at least 5000 years, the House system was self-sustaining and hadn't made contact with any other population; and 2) stele travel is kind of a hassle, and only seems to be limited to Cohort ships that we know of.

What I'm getting at is that I think the economy of the Houses is not dependent on their war of conquest — imo it's more of a mission of conquest for conquest's sake, see Corona thinking that the economy of the Houses doesn't quite add up, and Augustine talking like the ongoing expansion of the Houses is a whim of John's and little else. Basically, it seems to be a way to oppress the occupied planet for occupation's sake, and I wouldn't be surprised if the resources the Houses extract from the conquered planets go straight into financing yet more war and occupation and very little (if any) of any wealth they may accumulate makes it back to the Houses.

It COULD be that there's a necromantic equivalent of the East India Company, and my bet would be on the Second administrating it — Harrow doesn't seem to rate them at all, which tracks because Harrow's primary concern is Houses that could be a threat to the Ninth, and the Second being focused on exploitation that's external to the Home System could be an explanation for that. I've also seen speculation that making money from colonialism is the Fifth House's purview (*) but EYE think it makes more sense if the House that are more strongly associated with running the war effort are also the ones making money from it. Or it could be a joint operation.

(*) never forget the iconic tag #we regret to inform you that spreadsheets dad is maybe running the necromantic East India Company @katakaluptastrophy here)

Anyway. Sorry I haven't answered your actual question! GUN TO MY HEAD, if I had to pick ONE economic model to map the Houses onto, I wanna say soviet type economy (think: centralised planning, no inflation, little to no unemployment, tendency towards black market, little to no innovation). I have thoughts about what the consumer needs market looks like in the Houses but nobody needs to hear that. Also, it's def very limited

If anyone has thoughts PLEASE feel free to jump in, I'm always thinking about the logistical side of space imperialism in the necro empire!

#Anonymous #ask #tlt thoughts #tlt meta #tlt worldbuilding #this is 80% headcanon and fried air #tlt

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tizeline · 3 months

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What is Draxum's relationships with each of his kids?

I'd assume he's closest to Mikey due to their shared interest in the mystic arts, as well as Mikey's emotional attachment to anyone he considers family 🥰

I find it funny how similar Donnie and Draxum are in cannon and I wonder how that will play out in this AU

The same thing with Leo and Splinter were very similar to each other despite being on opposing sides.

Yeah, I'd say Draxum and Mikey are the closest with each other. Draxum loves all his sons, but he really has a soft spot for Mikey. Mikey in turn is very devoted to Draxum, I've mentioned it before but Mikey's strong desire to do the right thing paired up with a lifetime of his father convincing him that destroying humanity is the right thing has led to Mikey being very determined to fulfill Draxum's plan. Also him being a prodigy with mystic powers leads to him spending a lot of time training his abilites with Draxum.

Raph is basically Draxum's second in command, as the oldest of his brothers he of course is the leader of the team when Draxum isn't the one issuing out orders. Draxum puts a lot of responsibility on Raph, responsibility that Raph very much takes seriously so Draxum as a result also has a lot of trust in him.

Poor Leo is still very much dealing with some intense Middle Child Syndrome here lol. To be clear, Draxum still loves Leo, and vice versa, but Draxum's role as a parent has a tendency to clash with his role as a... what, a military commander? Something along those lines. Listen, he's preparing to lead the yokai into war against the humans, and with his sons on the frontlines he needs to quickly figure out their individual strengths so that can help them evolve their specific skillsets. Mikey has his mystic abilities, Raph has his physical power and Leo.... Well, we know that Leo's expertise lies in his strategic thinking, except neither he nor Draxum has figured that out yet lol. Draxum is the leader, he comes up with the plans, and Raph's in charge otherwise. He doesn't notice Leo's leadership capabilities because he doesn't even think to look for them.

Leo's situation is kinda similar in this AU to what is in canon, where his self-esteem issues caused by him not feeling like he's bringing enough to the team paired up with him being a total Daddy's Boy and craving parental validation that he doesn't feel like he's getting because Draxum is more focused on Leo's brothers so he acts out to get attention and again Draxum's parental duties clashes with his WAR LORD duties or whatever because dammit son I love you but you need to quit goofing off you're a soldier and uh.... yeah...... Leo feeling a bit like the black sheep of his family (hah, sheep, cuz Draxum's a... hah) is another contributing factor to him being the first to turn sides.

And yeah, you make a good point, Donnie being so similar to Draxum vs Leo being so similar to Splinter is.... ooooooo, that's fun, there's so much potential there. Draxum's definitely dissapointed that Donnie's so gifted when it comes to the sciences only for him to be all like "Alchemy??🤨🤨🤨 Mystic science??🤨🤨🤨 That's not scientifically accurate!🤨🤨🤨" and just rejecting almost anything yokai-related.

Actually, Leo reminding Draxum of Splinter has a lot of fun possibilites too. Draxum being all like "Ah, he's just like Lou Jitsu!🤩" while simultaniously being all like "Ugh, he's just like Lou Jitsu...😒"

#Tiz Sep AU #tizel talk #tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt au #rottmnt seperated au

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mrsparrasblog · 26 days

Text

Mission save the human race Pt1.

Pt2

2090 Days since it happened since your life changed completely. You can still remember the day of the outburst like it was yesterday. You were stuck performing an appendectomy on a five-year-old, and then there were shots – the military evacuating us. You didn't take it seriously at that time; thought it would be like every pandemic, and there would be a cure soon. But after weeks spent with your family in a military camp, you knew it was nothing like this. You remembered how the military shot women who even got near to a zombie – too much of a risk that they could get infected. The irony of the whole thing was that women were the carriers of this unknown virus, while men only turned when they got bitten. Women turned by a simple scratch of a zombie, or when they died of any cause, they would turn in a glimpse of a second into these brainless creatures.

After it went completely downhill and more healthy people got shot without any remorse, your dad, brother, and you tried to flee out of the military base, resulting in your dad and brother getting shot, screaming you should just take their gun and leave as fast as possible. You never felt more remorse than leaving their corpses behind, but you had more than enough years to mourn them and pray for forgiveness. On the way to a safe place, you noticed small details, weird details. You got scratched, even bitten on the way, expecting to fully turn into a brainless monster – but you didn't, and to this date, you didn't know why. Well, there wouldn't be a lab anymore to find out anyway, so you just accepted it as a blessing first. But after a while, you learned the true curse of living in this shithole.

The survivors were scarier than the zombies and almost as inhuman as them – while most didn't try to hurt you since a surgeon always could get handsy in a zombie apocalypse, you still saw the horrors of self-proclaimed "Leaders" who killed in the most inhumane way just to prove their dominance. They weren't better than animals. You saw how different groups tried to start wars with each other to win resources and territory. There was still enough place and enough resources in the world for both of them to survive, so it was just a power play. If you had had a say in this, you would have tried everything to start a civilization with many people trying to rebuild humanity with strong people as guards, people farming, and people working in the infirmary, but no one ever listened to you. Why should they, as the Apocalypse proceeded, the hatred of women got only worse – "The reason for the apocalypse," resulting in women getting used, tortured, and raped if they weren't useful in other ways, and you thanked every day your mother who practically forced you to study medicine instead of law.

After months, you finally had enough and ran away from the camp – not tolerating the inhumane ways. You wondered if you were the inhuman one for leaving people there who you could have healed if you had stayed, but sometimes you needed to be egoistical, and you at least tried to stay as innocent as possible through the apocalypse. You lost everything but not your good heart which made you incredibly proud of yourself.

You didn't know how you survived this. You didn't have a particular skill set; sure, you were a pediatric surgeon before all of this, you were capable, you were smart, which probably led you to survive. But you weren't something that was of use like a soldier or police officer. God, before this Apocalypse, you didn't even carry your groceries to your apartment. You were screwed but somehow you still survived, with your one handgun that you nicked off the corpse of your dead dad. The irony was you didn't even use it in three years; you never used your gun – god, did you even know how to use it? You highly doubted it.

You claimed yourself a small cottage in the forest. It wasn't much but pretty well-hidden, and you built-in safety measurements so no walker could surprise you by night. You lived in a shithole but at least in a comfortable manner. The house had three small bedrooms, a kitchen with a tiled stove, a fireplace, a water source, and enough space outside so you could grow all sorts of vegetables and fruits. Pumpkins, potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes, strawberries, and raspberries highlight your perfect garden. You even had some apple and cherry trees you took great pride in. Before all started, you couldn't say you were good at gardening; even your cactus didn't survive the neglect you put them through – but you used all your remaining time learning about farming and providing for yourself, growing plants you can use as medication. In your imagination, you would somehow manage to have some chickens and cows, but you knew it would draw way too much attention, and you liked your hidden lifestyle way too much for this to happen. You were quite naive; you thought this would stay this way until-.

You heard sounds from your garden – nothing unusual since some local animals came and tried to steal a carrot or two, but then the sounds of multiple men echoed.

"Fuck."

They blundered in weird ways, talking about finding a safe place and raiding something. You ran upstairs, grabbed your handgun, and hid in the closet.

"Fuck, here isn't anything useful," a man with a hoarse voice and a British accent cursed all my cabins violently.

"Johnny, you will get through this; you won't die on me," a man said with a worried voice.

"He has a fucking bullet in his shoulder; how can he fucking survive this?" A bullet in his shoulder, probably not gone through. If it didn't hit anything major, his survival rate would be 80% in a normal world, depending on the material of the bullet; he could survive or die. If it's lead and stays inside his body, he will be dead in at least 4 days from lead poisoning. If the wound isn't properly cleaned – blood poisoning. If they take it out of him and don't properly sew him – death. This man hasn't a high chance of surviving. You could at least triple the chance of his survival, but if you get out there, you would probably lose the chance of survival by several digits. Your morale was high; you swore an oath to help every human you were capable of saving, but was it worth more than your own life?

"Shut the fuck up," the worried man screamed at the other.

You decided to stay in the closet, a choice you'd later regret, your lack of courage weighing on you as survival seemed uncertain. Tears slowly started to fall from your eyes, running against your soft rosy cheeks. Your handgun was clutched tightly in your sweaty palms, your breath trembling from pure horror, convinced that today might be your last.

With a sudden grunt, the closet door swung open. Before you stood four imposing men, each holding big machine guns, and a fifth man, held by another, similarly armed.

In front of you was a middle-aged man with brown hair, a fishing hat atop his head, and the most amazing blue eyes you had ever seen. He was tall and muscular, with a well-groomed beard for an apocalypse. Handsome and scary simultaneously.

The second man was one of the most attractive individuals you'd ever laid eyes on. He had brown-golden skin, trusting brown eyes, and a cap perched on his head. His gaze held a mix of awe and confusion as he looked at you.

The third man was colossal, ripped with muscles, and possibly the tallest person you'd encountered. He sported a blonde buzz cut and blue eyes that glowed red, giving him an intimidating aura. With an unhealed scar across his eyes and some stubles, he probably was incapable of growing a beard because of the scar tissue.

The fourth man looked similar to the one with the fishing hat; the only difference was his dirty blonde hair and tattoo sleeves. You noticed the prosthetic leg and wondered whether it had been dealt with properly – you sure as hell could help him too.

The last one was the man who got shot, and held by the scary men. He was the shortest of the group but still taller than you by several inches. His hair was in a funny mohawk, and he was ripped – not a bit; he was built like a fucking powerhouse. You couldn't shake the thought away that if you had known him through med school, learning anatomy would have been different – all those muscles – focus.

You thought that your potential killers were all good-looking, each in different ways. Despite this, you still pointed your gun at them, and they held their machine guns at you.

"A woman – I thought they were all dead," the man with the cap said, making you curious. All dead? When you last left your forest two years ago, there weren't many women, but there were still some out there.

You gathered all your remaining courage, shaking as you said, "Leave me alone, or I shoot." They laughed at you. Okay, they had more people and bigger guns, but you could still harm at least one of them.

"Oh, dove, your gun is still secured," the man with the fishing hat said, trying to hold out a laugh.

You tried to fidget with your gun, but you didn't know how to unsecure it. So, you just lowered it and held your hands up in the air.

"We don't have time for this shit. Knock her out or something; we need to fucking save Johnny," the scary man said, sending shivers down your spine out of fear.

"If you don't kill me, I'll save your friend." Win-win situation; you'll survive, and your morals are saved.

"Shut the fuck up. How could a stupid girl who can't even use a gun save him?" the scary man screamed. You were sure that he had a special bond with this Johnny, sure as hell best friends or lovers by how he acted.

"I'm a surgeon; I can remove the bullet," you said.

"You're a surgeon?" the tattoo man asked in disbelief at your claim.

"Which field?" the scary man asked you.

"Uhm, I was a pediatric surgeon."

"Does he look like a fucking child to you?"

"Simon, we don't have much choice. It's better than nothing; he will die if we don't do anything," Fisher hat man tried to convince Simon.

Simon agreed. "What do you need?"

You were afraid to be a bit rusty, but you'll make it. "Okay, one of you will bring me as much water as he can gather, one needs to guard the door. I don't need any interruptions in my surgery. One needs to stay in the room; this will hurt as hell without proper numbing. My surgical equipment is in the closet by the bathroom, as well as the medication I produced. You need to tie him to the bed; I don't know how, and I don't care, as long as he doesn't try to kill me while I try to fix his shoulder, and I need a promise that I won't be killed if he doesn't survive."

"Yes, ma'am," the tattoo guy said and was on his way. All the men worked efficiently, making you wonder if they had some military background since they listened better than my old residents, at least.

The man who introduced himself as Kyle - by the way, the only one who introduced himself to you - tied Johnny to the bed. Everything was now prepared, and you tried to make this place as sterile as possible.

You sat down on Johnny since you couldn't stand properly by the bed for the surgery and had the advantage of holding him down with your body weight.

"Hey Johnny, this will hurt a bit, okay, but you need to be strong, okay?" You talked to him like with your child patients, but that didn't matter right now. Right now, it mattered to save him.

Johnny spoke completely drowsy from the pain, "Am I deid, Lt? Or how come dae I see an angel oan tap o' me?" You chuckled; even in pain, you noticed that that man was a total flirt.

"Shut up, Johnny, and survive," Simon said.

"Love ya, Lt."

"I love you too, idiot." You were right in your thoughts; they were indeed a couple and a handsome one. You couldn't shake the feeling away, though, that he probably would kill you in the most vicious way if Johnny didn't survive.

You slid your scalpel through him and started the surgery after at least six terrible hours of fear and exhaustion; you were finished; you saved him. You were a bit envious of Johnny; Simon stayed the whole time by his side without being grossed out or yawning for a second; they loved each other. You never experienced that kind of love and never will...

Now he only needs to survive the aftermath of the surgery, which will be harder for his body than the actual surgery since the adrenaline wore off. You were glad that you were able to nick some antibiotics and real medication from a nearby emergency station. You were always better safe than sorry.

You removed the blood from yourself and washed yourself with cold water, which felt like an eternity till you pronounced yourself clean enough. You put on some cozy clothing and walked to the living room where three men sat sandwiched on the small couch. Simon stayed by Johnny.

You planted yourself across from them and looked at them until Fisher Man Hat spoke.

"Thank you for saving our man; I'm John, by the way."

"Alex."

"Well, you already know my name; how can we call you?" Kyle asked you.

"Uhm, everyone always called me Dr. Angel, since the kiddies compared me to one," you replied, telling them the truth.

"Beautiful nickname for a beautiful woman," John said.

You couldn't hide a blush, and Kyle asked you how it came that you lived alone. You explained your life story without boring them for one second.

"Tell me something about the six of you."

"Uhm, we were special forces back in the days before everything went downhill. We protected some scientists who worked on a cure, but they didn't make it and died in one of their experiments. We are originally seven, but the other two are on a raid right now for our camp. I know we probably scare you, but if you want to, you can stay with us, no strings attached. We know how humanity changed, and being the only woman alive makes it even scarier, but we will protect you since you saved one of our own," John explained. You were still confused, only woman alive? How is this possible? Well, you were immune to the virus, but you didn't need to tell them right now since this would make you even more vulnerable.

"Only woman alive?"

"Yes, dove, the woman's got instinct with them, the human race." You gulped; your moral codex spoke to you again. Shouldn't you prevent that from happening? Or is this nature's plan? You didn't want to think about it further.

"Does anyone of you want to eat something? I'm starving," you exclaimed, trying to change the subject to something less uncomfortable.

"You don't have to feed us; you already did enough," Kyle said.

"Nonsense! I'm hungry, and I have more than enough vegetables to feed a whole army," you protested and walked towards your kitchen. You took out the preserved tomatoes and potatoes and wanted to slice them, but a tall figure already removed your knife from your hands.

"Let me help; it's the least thing I can do after you did so much for us," Alex said and started to slice the vegetables while you tried to heat your pot. The other two put plates on your small kitchen table, making it feel incredibly domestic for you. They looked like husbands caring for their wives, and you wanted to shake out the thoughts in your head. You were just underfucked from the whole apocalypse, but deep down, you knew they did something to you, made you feel a tight knot in your stomach.

You took one portion up to Simon, who still gathered around Johnny's bed. With a sudden movement, the tall man hugged you tight, almost crushing you with his sheer strength.

"Thank you for saving him and sorry for being mean to you."

"I understand; I'd do the same if someone I dearly loved would be injured in this hell of a life," he tried to pull a smile at my words. "Here's some hot food, and give Johnny his antibiotics in an hour, okay?"

"Hot food? I haven't had that since forever."

I laughed, "Get used to it, big boy." He raised a brow but didn't question it.

You went downstairs and saw the men laughing while waiting for you like true gentlemen. Kyle blushed a bit when you came down, and they instantly stopped their talk. You asked yourself what they talked about, maybe something that would be dangerous. They ate like starved men and told you how long they didn't have anything warm in their bellies, making you realize how lucky you were in your cottage with your grown food. The only thing you were missing was someone to warm your bed—stop it, you said to your inner thoughts.

You gave the remaining boys some blankets and showed them enough places to sleep, and as they didn't mind sharing, everything went perfectly. Alex took the patrol for the night, telling you it needed to be done even if you never patrolled for the last two years. The other men called you naive for it. You checked one time on Johnny if he had a fever or anything like that, but to your luck, he was fine, still asleep and high on medication. Simon slept beside him, and you couldn't stop yourself from putting a blanket on top of him. He deserved the comfort after taking care of his boyfriend that way.

John walked you down to your room, talking a bit to you, which gave you more comfort than you wanted to admit. You were a human after all, and humans missed humans when they lived two years in isolation to survive.

"Did you ever think about what it means for you to be the only woman alive?" he asked you.

"It's pretty weird to think about it."

"Kinda."

"I guess the human race will go extinct then."

"There are ways if you decide to—you know, save the planet and everything. You seem like a girl who always wants to do the right thing."

"You mean getting pregnant?"

"Exactly, saving the human race and everything."

"Would it be selfish if I let it die?"

"A bit, but it's your choice. I will always protect you from everyone who wants to take advantage of you. You're part of the team now."

"And what if I decide to want to save it?"

His eyes lit up. "Then, of course, I'd support you, like every man on this team. I think most of my boys wouldn't be repulsed by helping you to reach this goal." You blushed hard. Did he just tell you—shit.

"And what about you, John?"

"I'd be more than willing to participate. You're incredibly looking, dove, and I'm just a man behind all this."

"I'll think about it," but you couldn't shake away the feeling of them—you could have all of them.

"Take your time, dove." He kissed you on your rosy cheek and left you completely crazy alone with your thoughts. It was too long ago, and you felt the familiar feeling building up inside of you. Fuck it, you thought and decided to speak with them about it tomorrow. You're a good person after all, right? And that's what a good person does?

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crownofgildedlilies · 18 days

Text

wishin' you were kind enough to be cruel about it -> cool about it [2]

in which: a son of Jupiter can't remember the life he lost to time and circumstance. or the daughter of mercury he lost, too.

pairing: jason grace x daughter of mercury!roman!reader

warnings: you guessed it! more angst and cursing!

word count: 6.4k

a/n: did not mean for it to be this long but, im obsessed.... no like u don't understand. so much to be said! inbox/comment to be added to the taglist!

one [two] three four

At least you had the comfort of preparing for war to distract you.

Armor polished to perfection, swords sharpened, denarii in your pocket to pay for passage to the Underworld, should you meet your end facing an endless army of monsters that couldn't die.

Really, how Roman of you to seek the blissful nothingness at the start of battle.

You knew the exact number, down to the minute, of how long it had been since you had last seen Jason. But if someone were to ask you how many days Percy, Frank, and Hazel had been off on their quest, you would have stared at them blankly.

And even as you readied for war, your eyes had a glossy look to them, pinned on a fixed point just above the horizon.

"Don't let the legionnaires see you like this," Dakota had murmured in your ear as he adjusted the straps of your armor. You knew he had a point, but hated him for saying it, anyways.

What did it matter? The legionnaires had already seen you in hysterics in the camp center, tearing through the place in search of Jason. They wouldn't be surprised to see you were still not right, even with the promise of military glory.

But it didn’t change the fact that he had a point.

You were a centurion for a reason, and not just because the great Jason Grace followed you like a shadow. You needed to be strong and brave and ruthless, because that was what a Roman leader should be.

And the reason you became a centurion was apparent the moment you stepped onto the battlefield, New Rome at your back and your brothers-in-arms at your side.

See, the giants hadn't taken into account how much anger and fear you had bottled up inside you, uncorked with the first swing of your sword and spilling out over their armies.

Violence untethered, one of the now-retired centurions from the First Cohort had once described the way you fought. Brutal. Efficient. Roman.

And if you had been untethered before, when you still had Jason at your side—

The casualties on the Roman side were few.

You had taken a couple of big hits, but you welcomed the pain. The first actual bite of something other than heartache felt almost like a relief, like a promise that you were not trapped in a body that could only grieve.

The rest of camp may have been rejuvenated by Percy's retrieval of hundreds of Imperial Gold weapons, but all you could do was grit your teeth and limp back into the city.

The cries of 'Praetor!' that echoed after you, announcing Percy as Camp Jupiter's second leader, felt like they were twisting a knife in a wound long infected and left to rot.

Jason was praetor. Jason.

You liked Percy, you really did. He was funny—or at least, you would have thought so, if you weren't constantly looking for the next excuse to leave camp and search for Jason—and kind. He had Roman bravery, if not a little rebellious, which the Mercury in your blood seemed to enjoy.

Percy might have even been your friend, in another life. One when you had met him with your hand tucked in Jason’s, the son of Jupiter the levelheaded side to your double edged sword.

And at least you trusted Percy a whole lot more than Octavian.

"These... Greeks," Octavian hissed the word, lips curling in distaste. The day after the battle, still bruised and wounds leaking blood, you found yourself in the forum, dressed in a toga wrapped over your armor. You still couldn’t put too much weight on your ankle, and the shoulder on your shield arm was swollen. "You're an even bigger fool than I thought if you trust them."

You rolled your eyes, but bit down the dramatic gag. If Jason had been there, he would have been very pointedly ignoring you—because you had been guilty on more than one occasion of making more and more ridiculous faces in an attempt to make him laugh.

And after the third time you had gotten him to break his stony facade, Jason had implemented a 'no looking at you during meetings' rule, which he more or less succeeded in executing.

Or less, being the key words.

"Talking about fools," You murmured, and from beside you, Dakota jammed his elbow into your side so harshly, you almost yelped. In his defense, you hadn’t told him about the Cyclops that had probably broken your ribs, but you wished he hadn't hit you where you were so sore.

"Look, they're my friends up there." Percy gestured widely towards the open air roof as he spoke. You found yourself studying the skies, as if the flying Greek trireme Percy claimed would be arriving might suddenly appear out of thin air. "I trust them, and you voted me praetor. Doesn't that count for something?"

"It's something, alright." Octavian scoffed. You rolled your eyes again, almost growing dizzy with the movement.

A bad habit during meetings, Centurion, Jason had chastised you, once, with a smile so warm it didn't feel like a punishment. The two of you had just left the forum, still wrapped in your togas, your hand curled around his forearm as he led you through New Rome and towards a bakery you favored.

Wouldn't happen if you let me challenge Octavian to combat, Praetor, you had fired back, and in a moment of weakness, pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw before darting off ahead of him, giddy.

Soldiers, not lovers, you had to remind yourself. No matter how much you wanted, you couldn't force Jason to be anything he wasn't ready to be—or maybe what he just wasn't.

Octavian's watery stare landed on you, snapping you back to the moment like a rubber band pulled taut.

"I can hardly imagine you support this, Centurion? With Jason Grace gone—"

"Do not," You snapped, breath coming out in short, labored spurts. Violence untethered, indeed. "Neither I nor you get to decide who is praetor, and the spot was open—"

Your voice cracked. It tasted like a lie. The spot wasn't open. It belonged to Jason, just as your heart and tears and smiles did.

"—and Percy Jackson was raised to the rank after receiving glory in battle." You recited. You hoped it didn't sound like you had practiced in the bathroom mirror that morning, trying to make it seem like you believed it, even if you had. "I seem to recall a certain Apollo legacy cowering beneath my shield during the second Cyclops onslaught, don't you, Augur?"

And maybe it was a low blow, calling a Roman's battle bravery into question, but Jason had always been your bridge to your self-control.

"I—no—it—!" Octavian stammered, flustered, and Percy laughed. Dakota and several of the other centurions Octavian hadn't managed to blackmail or brainwash to follow him pressed their palms over their mouths to suppress their own chuckles, and even Reyna was struggling to bite back a grin. "You think you'll still hold rank as centurion, come the next election?"

He was threatening you, you realized, and you would have hauled off and socked him in the mouth, consequences be damned, if a shadow hadn't crossed over Octavian's head, darkening the whole of the forum.

Twisting your gaze up, heart hammering, you found a flying Greek trireme.

Percy was right.

And maybe he had been right about something else, too. Something you hadn’t dared to consider.

While Percy was dropped at Camp Jupiter, Jason might have been carted off to Camp Half-Blood.

Mercury swiftness blessed you once more as you took off, darting out of the forum before Reyna could finish saying dismissed.

There wasn’t much that could have stopped you, not even the bitter cold of crashing through the middle of a Lar.

You didn’t even bother pausing to shout an apology to Cassius, glowing purple and claiming to curse your bloodline for such an insult.

If you have been able to breathe, you would have told him your bloodline already felt a little cursed.

There was shouting, but you barely could hear it over the buzzing in your mind. You felt like you were going to vibrate out of your skin, eyes squinted, head tilted up, and fighting against the sun for even a glimpse of your missing half.

“Helmet on, fall in line,” Dakota tugged your arm, pulling you back to his side. You felt a little, a lot, frantic—felt desperate—but Reyna was already struggling to get everyone to fall in line, and she had given you so much leeway in the past months, that you stepped beside your fellow Fifth Cohort centurion.

“I left my—“ Left my helmet behind, you would have said, but Dakota shoved the metal piece into your hands. With buzzing fingertips, you placed on your helmet, adjusted the straps of your armor that were already perfectly done up.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Seconds ticked by like hours, limbs swimming through thick air like you were in a dream. From your spot nestled between Dakota and Paulette from Fourth Cohort, tucked under the hull of the flying trireme, standing behind Percy and Reyna, you couldn't see any of the ship's occupants.

But then they dropped a rope ladder, and your heart stuttered in your chest. Nails bit into your palms, your own fingers the culprit, and you forced yourself to stretch out your hands in an attempt to keep the bleeding to a minimum.

Jason, please, Jason, I need you, oh, gods, please—

It was like a mantra, repeating on a loop in your head. Tears stung at your eyes, overwhelmed by just the sheer possibility that your golden haired love could be so, so close to returning to you.

The first body began to climb down the ladder. A girl, with yellow hair dragged into a ponytail. In front of you, somehow, you heard Percy inhale sharply and you realized it must have been Annabeth.

The only person he remembered from his past life, until he had drank the gorgon's blood and gotten his memories restored. Unease trickled through you. There wouldn't be such a quick fix for Jason.

A second girl descended the ladder after Annabeth, with choppy brown hair, baggy clothes, and a wicked dagger at her hip.

You started to doubt Percy's theory. Maybe Jason hadn't been taken by Juno or Hera or whichever deity you felt like blaming. Maybe he was stuck somewhere else, alone, and hurting, and you were—

A purple shirt appeared over the side of the ship, atop a set of broad shoulders you could have recognized blind.

Jason.

Your Jason.

Home, to you, at last.

A gasp shuddered through you as he started to climb down the rope ladder and into New Rome. You started to step forward, but Roman training froze you to your spot as Reyna pinned you with a look that screamed 'don't break rank, not in front of Octavian,' which would never be enough to keep you from reaching Jason.

But still, you stalled.

It didn't mean you stopped staring, your eyes tracing his form from head to toe, trying to see what changed about him, what was still the same.

The scar on his lip, the sky blue eyes, the golden rays of his hair. It was exactly as you remembered, except for the hair, which had grown out just slightly. You liked it better, but you would never tell him. You knew how much he liked to keep it short, in regulation.

Look at me, please, you begged him in your mind, because you were forbidden to say the words. Another boy scaled down the rope ladder, but you paid him no attention. Jason, Jason, Jason.

It was dizzying. In all the years you had loved him, never had it felt so much like a compactor was pressing in on your chest.

Their group approached, four rag-tag demigods, three Greeks and a Roman. It sounded like the set-up to one of the awful jokes you used to tell Jason when you were stationed on guard duty together, just to pass the time and see him shake his head with a smile.

Reyna stood tall before you, strong and powerful and part of you wanted to push her to the side and race into the arms of your lost soldier.

Why hadn't he looked at you yet?

This was it, the moment you had been dying for, for months. When Jason finally came back to you, his eyes locking with yours, rules and regulations tossed aside as he wrapped you in his arms so tight your toes left the ground and his mouth slotted over yours, a kiss nearly a decade in the making.

Fear and emotion clogged your throat, and you had trouble swallowing around it. Didn't he see you? He knew you always stood between Dakota and Paulette, just to the right of the second praetor—his rank, formerly, now given to Percy Jackson.

But, there—his blue eyes scanned the row of centurions lined behind Reyna and Percy, starting with the First Cohort and making his way to you. Oh, how you were going to scream and cry and hold him later, all as punishment for making you worry—

Jason's eyes passed over you, carrying on towards Dakota like you were nothing more than another face in the crowd.

Fear and routine and fear of your routine were the only things stopping you from tearing off your helmet and slamming it into his chest, demanding to know who the hell he thought he was, scaring you so thoroughly for months and then acting like he didn’t know you.

But then you remembered Percy, and how he hadn’t been able to remember anything.

That couldn’t be right, no, Jason loved you. And maybe it wasn’t in the way you loved him, but hadn’t Hadlee, the daughter of Venus, gone on and on the other night about different types of love? You knew with a certainty you had never felt before that Jason loved you, even if it was only in the sense of friends.

The way fellow soldiers would die and bleed and get torn to shreds for each other.

You had gotten upset when he asked what else was there for the two of you to be. Now, you would trade every scrap of pleasure and freedom for the chance to be only soldiers with Jason Grace for the rest of time.

You pressed your arm tight against your side, elbow pointed in and poking at the unhealed, unchecked injury from the Cyclops. At first, you had refused to go to the medics because they were still all cheering for Percy to take place at praetor.

Then the pain just became a good enough distraction from losing Jason, even if it didn't really work.

These thoughts and more swirled in your mind as Jason introduced himself and the Greeks he had arrived with. Annabeth, Piper, Leo, Coach Hedge. The names meant nothing to you, but still you memorized them, because they were important to Jason.

He and Annabeth took turns explaining the quest they were on. You only understood half of what they were talking about, because every time someone other than Jason even attempted to speak, their voice was drowned out by the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Gaea is rising. Giants trying to wake the earth mother. Need to go to the Ancient Lands to stop them.

You gathered enough to know that whatever was happening was bad. They needed Jason, your Jason, and the fate of the world was more important than the heartbeat pulsing in the tips of your fingers.

Wasn't it?

Miles and miles away, maybe already in the Ancient Lands, you heard Reyna's voice cut through the static.

Let's discuss over a meal, she had said, your stare watching the relief wash over Jason's face. You were certain no one but yourself noticed the minute reaction on his behalf. At least, you had hoped. We reconvene in the city proper for a lunch. Centurions, dismissed.

There it was, that permission you had been waiting for.

Your helmet was torn from your head before Dakota even had time to slouch, shoulders dropping from the stiff way he held them while in formation.

It clattered to the ground beneath you, and you might have even stubbed your toe on it as you stepped forward, desperate for proof that you weren't imagining things. Your soldier was home, gods praise, he was home and within arms reach.

The rank of centurions behind you remained still, anticipating the long awaited and bitterly fought for reunion between two of New Rome's finest, the two soldiers that rarely ever separated, but spent six and a half months apart.

You surged forward. Jason stayed still. You understood what was happening, but you wanted to pretend for a moment longer.

"Hey, soldier," You breathed, voice tight and eyes burning. You clenched your hands into fists, then splayed your fingers wide, stretching, desperate to reach out and touch.

But you were on very uncertain ground. You had to wait for him to make the first move, even if it killed you.

"If the legion weren't here, I'd kick your ass for making me cry." You settled on saying, knowing that he would understand just how much you missed him.

Once, during a particularly violent round of training, Jason had caught the underside of your jaw with the blunt end of his lance. Nothing had broken, which considering Jason's strength, had been both a shock and a blessing, but you hadn't been able to control the tears that sprung to your eyes and raced down your cheeks in pain.

I did this to you, he had lamented, torn between anger at himself and grief for having hurt you. His aching in his words had been nearly enough to get you to resent yourself for feeling pain. I should have been more careful. Next time, I will.

His hands had been cradling your face, turning in it ever so gently to the side to inspect the bruise already forming on your jaw. His touch on your skin had felt like too much, but now you were realizing it had never been enough.

Next time, I'll be faster, you had promised hooking your leg around the back of his and shoving into his chest, sending him sprawling backwards and landing square on his ass in a move that never would have been possible if he hadn't been distracted by your tears at his hand.

You had barely cried then. What would he say, now, learning of the hysterics you had been reduced to?

“Er, do I know you?” Jason asked, stammering, flush coating pale cheeks you could have drawn from memory.

The simple question felt like being dunked in an ice bath, then held under while your lungs filled with water. It had to be some cruel joke, some wicked nightmare you would surely wake from any minute.

Know you? Did Jason Grace know you?

The question was almost unnecessary. Laughable, even. Seven months earlier, if someone had asked that question, you would have cracked a grin. Jason would have been by your side, naturally, and been offended by the insinuation that he didn't.

And then he would have proceeded to list off all of your favorite things, in alphabetical order, organized by category.

The idea was laughable. He knew you. He had to know you.

“Jase?” It was pathetic, really, that that was all you could muster. A breathy, pained whisper of the nickname you’d given him when he was being stubborn about taking care of himself and you poked out your bottom lip to try and convince him to rest.

Most times, it worked.

Now it just hurt.

“Sorry,” He shook his head, darting a glance to the curly haired Latino boy wincing at his side, your stomach dropping to somewhere around Pluto’s palace. “I don’t remember, well, anything, really.”

How foolish had you been? Percy had remembered Annabeth, sure, but Annabeth was his girlfriend. What were you to Jason?

Just another soldier, like he had claimed the day he went missing.

Just another soldier. Only ever soldiers.

And the worst part was he looked genuinely apologetic. You wished he could have scoffed and waved you off, like some prissy, no-good asshole that turned up his nose simply because he was the savior of the world and had earned so much battlefield glory he practically reeked of it.

But that wasn't like Jason. No, not only did the jerk have to be the strongest, most strategic soldier you had ever had the pleasure of fighting alongside, he was also one of the nicest.

Holding open doors, comforting the new, young, arrivals, braiding your hair for you to keep it out of your face that one time the stomach bug had torn its way through the Fifth Cohort. You had spent thirty-six straight hours bent over a toilet, and Jason had been there through all of it.

I don't remember, well, anything, really.

But you had never just been anything to Jason. Sometimes, he looked at you and you could almost convince yourself that you were his everything.

Dakota, of all people, a little hopped up on kool-aid, came to your rescue. Knotting his red-stained fist in the back of your toga, he tugged you back into the line of centurions, using his body to block Jason from your line of sight.

And you would have expressed your thanks, if you had been able to express anything beyond total heartache.

“No one would blame you if you snuck out,” Dakota lowered his voice, ducked his head close to your ear, and that snapped you out of your stupor.

“And leave my legion?” You glared sharply at him, glad for an excuse to funnel out some of your anger, though you felt a little bad that Dakota had been your punching bag the last six months. Really, you owed him. “I don’t think so. I’m fine. Just… shocked. I’m good.”

Dakota winced. Usually, you were ace at lying.

Who tied Octavian’s shoelaces together?

Not me, you’d dutifully shake your head.

Who broke curfew and snuck into the city to retrieve little Julia’s stuffed teddy from Octavian’s sacrifice pile?

I’d never, you’d claim, aghast.

Who’s head over fucking heels, dizzyingly in love with Jason Grace?

Not my type, you’d hold a hand over your heart, scouts honor.

But a simple I’m fine?

Even Frank Zhang couldn’t pretend to not know you were lying through your clenched teeth, and he pretended like he had never found you sobbing outside bunkhouse after curfew one night, a few days following his arrival at camp.

How had Jason forgotten you? It didn’t feel real, but everything felt like too much.

Maybe Dakota had a point. Maybe you needed to get out.

"Come," Reyna ordered, breaking the silent tension that had been building as Greeks and Romans alike stopped to gawk at your conversation with Dakota. "Let's eat."

You picked your helmet up out of the dirt, a dutiful little soldier with lungs full of glass shards.

You were supposed to be strong.

You were supposed to be strong, but you were just a kid.

Ten years old to be exact. Tears stung at your eyes, burned their way up your throat. You could have vomited. You might have already.

You're a thief and a monster, the other kids at school had claimed, words like bullets as they lobbed pencils and crumbled paper and anything they could get away with at you.

A thief, you would admit to being. You couldn't help it, fingers moving almost of their own accord, always finding the easiest target, the shiniest reward. It didn't matter that you always returned everything you took. No one wanted to be friends with the freak that managed to lift the teacher's wedding band off her finger in kindergarten.

A thief, you were.

But a monster? Monsters were the creatures that clawed at your window at night. Monsters were the odd shapes in the grass your mother never managed to see. You weren't a monster. You were ten.

"Hey, we're not supposed to be back here."

The voice of another child cut through your misery, and you sharpened your glare to pin the intruder to his spot. You recognized him, because he was the type of guy that had called you names in school. Tall—for a kid—and built like an athlete. Tan skin, blond hair, blue eyes.

You were pretty sure his name was Jake Greene, or something.

"You're back here," You reasoned, waving a hand littered with scabbed knuckles around for emphasis. Here being the stretch of unwatched grass behind the Mess Hall, a little place you had discovered on your second day and realized it was secluded enough that no one could see you cry.

Now, a week in, you discovered that it was secluded enough that no one could see you cry, but Jake Greene.

He looked around uncomfortably, like he was just then realizing that he, too, was breaking the rules. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, as if checking for witnesses, before trodding through the plush grass to sit beside you, legs stretched out in front of him while yours were pulled tight to your chest.

You checked the ground quickly, relieved to find you hadn't actually vomited.

"I'm Jason. Jason Grace." He introduced himself, as if your eyes weren't bloodshot and face blotchy and cheeks wet with tears.

Not Jake. Noted. Now that you thought about it, you didn't think there was a Jake at Camp Jupiter. Not one that you had met, yet, at least.

You nodded, hoping Jason, Jason Grace would get the hint that you wanted absolutely no fucking part of whatever nice guy routine he was putting on. Even if he was one of the few to approach you since you had arrived, bloody and starved, at the camp's borders, Lupa and her pack deciding you worthy.

This one is feisty, you could have sworn the alpha wolf had snarled a grin at the older centurion who found you. Young, but strong willed.

You didn't feel strong willed. You felt like you missed your own home.

You had to remind yourself that your own home hadn't wanted you and your new home was a Roman military camp.

"Your father is Mercury, right?" Jason tried again, this time earning a sharp glare.

It was easier to be angry than it was to be vulnerable, wasn't it? Wasn't that why you always bit the hand that fed you, got sent to the literal fucking wolves at ten years old?

Jason Grace didn't flinch at your hatred. Hatred? That wasn't the right word. You didn't hate anything or anyone but the schools and teachers that had convinced your mother that you were too difficult to deal with, that you needed to be sent away.

Can I come back for Christmas, Mom?, you had naively asked, not understanding why your mother was crying as you rolled to a stop outside a crumbling, wooden house in Sonoma.

A week later, you wondered if your mother was still crying. Or maybe she was enjoying the peace of no longer getting calls from schools or policemen about you.

You wished you could wipe your hands clean of yourself, like Mom had. Maybe you would understand why everyone in your life always seemed happier after they had gotten rid of you.

"It's not so bad here, I promise," He tried, again, and part of you had to congratulate him for not giving up. You would have. "I cried, a lot, when I first got here."

"You?" The exclamation fell past your lips before you could help it, and Jason's own twisted into a victorious grin. He had a scar, on the side of his lips, shining pearly white in the sun, set against his skin.

"Me," He confirmed. Sure, you had just met the guy, had been calling him the wrong name for a week, but he didn't seem like the type to cry. "I did come here when I was two, though."

You didn't know whether to gasp or swat his arm in retaliation, so you did both, finally uncurling from the ball of fear and hatred you had woven yourself into.

"You're really good in training," Jason complimented, taking your childlike assault in stride. You nodded, picking a few blades of grass out of the ground, right at the roots.

"I used to fight in school," You offered, if it was that simple. But punching your bullies was a whole lot different than locking sword and shield.

In the bunkhouse, the boy in the bed across from you was a son of Ceres, the goddess of the harvest. Your first night, in an effort to make you stop crying, rambled on and on about plants. How to properly care for different crops, what too little sunlight did to a flower, and how a tree could be dug up from the ground, roots and all, and planted somewhere else to live a perfectly normal, perfectly long life.

You stared at the blade of grass in your hand, feeling very much like the plant, your roots floating in the middle of nowhere by the hand of some unseen, unforgiving god.

But maybe you could plant your roots, too.

"If I don't make it here," You whispered, little kid voice hoarse. "Then that's it for me. I don't have anywhere else. I'll have to live on the streets. I've done it, once. Made it a whole week before Mom found me."

Part of you regretted the words as soon as they left your lips. What had Lupa shown you about weakness? It got you killed. It got you punished.

But Jason didn't sneer. He pursed his lips in a thin line, scar shining even brighter with the movement.

"I don't know my mom," He confessed, suddenly just as weak as you. Frowning, you tried to figure out why he was saying it. Big, strong—at least to ten year old you—Jason Grace should not have been any kind of weak.

Nodding, you didn’t have anything to say. But you felt the connection build, just two weak children, forgotten by their mothers.

“But I know you,” Jason offered, the admission warming something in your chest involuntarily. And you knew in that moment that maybe you were scared, but you weren’t alone.

At least Jason Grace knew you.

You grinned, then. A far cry from the glares and snarls everyone else you had come across had received. The ones that even he had been victim to, at the start of the conversation.

"Well, Jason Grace," You stuck out your hand, and he clasped your forearm like a good little Roman. "You're never getting rid of me, now."

The smile he gave you in return was a little lopsided, and when he dropped your arm and glanced over his shoulder, you remembered that your not-so secret hiding spot was off limits.

"Just don’t tell anyone we were back here, please.”

If you had thought your mood was bitter before the trireme arrived, it was nothing compared to the sulking, sorrowful mess you currently were.

For starters, you had somehow been shoved and duped into the seat beside Octavian and across from Jason. You didn't really want to see either of them, at all, at the moment.

Secondly, and you may have been reading far too much into things, but the second girl the Greeks arrived with, Piper, was sitting entirely too close to Jason. You wished that you had a good enough reason to not like her, but with your rotten luck, Piper McLean had been an absolute sweetheart despite your best efforts to act like a dickhead.

And it wasn't like Jason had ever actually been yours, ever.

Third. The plate the sprites dropped in front of you was filled with all of Jason's favorite foods. You weren't sure if it was your will or the sprites that made it happen, but you felt like tossing it all away.

Maybe you would dump it in Octavian's lap. It might make you feel better. It certainly was worth a try.

Finally, there was one aching thought echoing inside your mind relentlessly. The last conversation you ever had with your Jason had been an argument. You had walked away from him, a little petulant, entirely unnecessarily. And you had lost your soldier boy.

Because the Jason seated across from you at the Dining Hall in New Rome was not the same one that wrote out your to-do lists for you on neatly lined paper, offering to tag along with you while you checked them off.

He was just Jason, not yours.

And that hurt far more than you cared to admit.

“Centurion, you must be ecstatic,” Octavian crooned, his sickly smirk pinned on you. You felt a whole lot of things, but ecstatic wasn’t one of them.

“How so, Augur?” You huffed, even though you knew it only invited trouble. Across from you, Jason and Piper clearly had one ear on the conversation.

"Well, you have been inconsolable with our dear Jason Grace missing," Octavian said, as if he really cared about you. More heads started turning in your direction, and you found your fingertips inching to do something that would really get you in trouble. "You were a mess, honestly. Looking like—"

"That's enough," Jason interrupted, even though he didn't have any memories of you.

At least he was still the same horribly perfect sweetheart he had been before he left. His months with the Greeks—all of them watching you with mixed emotions—hadn't turned him sour.

"Oh, you should have seen her, Jason!" Octavian was going now, flourishing in the attention and you hated him, hated him so much your cheeks burned as bright a red as the kool-aid trapped perpetually in Dakota's hip flask. "Crying, every night. She even has—"

"I said, enough, Octavian,"

"—has a key to your bunkroom!" The augur finished, and if you had been able to think of anything beyond your embarrassment or frustration or fear that you were totally, irrevocably erased from Jason's mind, you would have remembered Octavian's threat, earlier, before the trireme arrived. He was just exacting his twisted form of justice.

Embarrass me in front of the Senate, and I will destroy you in front of Jason Grace, you could practically hear him sneer.

"Wait," The Greek named Leo narrowed his eyes at Jason before darting them to you, a grin on his lips that screamed trouble. "Did you two use to date?"

"I don't know," Was Jason's clipped, short reply, his cheeks dusting pink as he fixed his attention on your face. He studied you like he didn't understand you, which was ridiculous, because sometimes it felt like you and Jason shared a heart.

"No," You grunted, shoving your plate forwards, glare fixed on the stupid cherry tomatoes rolling atop the porcelain that you despised and Jason adored.

"We never could figure out if that was the truth," Octavian slanted a look to you, smirking. "But I guess we don't have to worry about that now, do we Centurion? Since he has no memory of you, of—"

Faster than what would have been possible, if your father had been anyone different, you lifted the knife set beside your plate and slammed the tip into the wooden table, between two of his fingers. He screamed, and the plates on the table rattled.

Weapons were forbidden inside the Pomerian Line, but dinner knives were only utensils.

The whole table fell silent. And maybe the whole Dining Hall, had, beyond Octavian's spluttering and cursing and calling for your trial before the Senate for attacking an Augur.

And maybe if Percy wasn't glaring at Octavian, and Reyna hadn't been the one to slip you Jason's key, he might have had a case against you.

"Praetors," Standing, you bowed your head to Reyna and Percy, and though every muscle in your body screamed to pay the same respects to Jason, you couldn’t get yourself together enough to meet his eye. How could he not know you? "I request to be dismissed."

"I will come find you later." Reyna nodded, intelligent eyes shimmering with understanding, and you never realized just how much it hurt to be pitied by her. "We’ve got much to discuss."

"Yeah. Uh, lots." Percy nodded, looking between you and Reyna like he couldn’t quite figure out what he was missing. But then his attention snagged on Jason, seated across the table, and you saw it all—the understanding, the pity, the sorrow—pass over his face. "Wait—"

Annabeth jammed her elbow into his side, and you met her eye briefly. She might have been the only one who understood even a fraction of what you were going through.

But at least Percy remembered her, and he had loved her freely, before.

“Later.” You confirmed through clenched teeth, turning swiftly to try and find a spot far enough from Jason Grace so that his lack of memories didn’t hurt.

You weren’t sure such a spot existed.

Your feet carried you deeper into the city, walking past store after store. You couldn't stomach going into much of them, every bakery and café and bookstore holding some memory of Jason. Far more memories than he held, of you.

You weren't sure how much time had passed before you heard the first explosion.

And Roman training kicked in, instantly, as you raced towards the forum, where the Greek trireme was firing on your city, the one you had only just saved from and army led by a giant.

Fall in! You shouted, organizing legionnaires, your mind and your instincts at war. And you knew Greeks and Romans were at war, too. Protect the city!

You barely were able to glimpse the dark haired boy, Leo, manning the ballistae attached to the side of the ship before it took off, rocketing through the skies, even with Roman firepower slamming into the hull.

And as the trireme disappeared into the distance, fear tore through you.

Because you knew Jason. You knew he was on that ship, with his new friends. You knew he was sailing off with them, bound to a quest that meant saving the world, if what they said was to be trusted.

And you knew what came next.

Jason Grace, loyal to the end.

You were going to have to kill him.

a/n: did not mean to give reader such a tragic backstory but I kinda love it... im so curious to know what ur fav part is, bc I cannot decide. ty for reading this much and plz let me know what you think!

tag, you're it: @aezuria @tayswiftlovebot @bonnie-tz @folklorefantasies14 @sunshine-of-ur-life @irwinchester@bellamysnatblida @saph-nic @auroraofthesun1 @helloimamistake

#jason grace #jason grace fanfic #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x you #jason grace x reader #heroes of olympus #pjo #rays of sun #Jason Grace fanfiction #Jason Grace reader insert

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zvaigzdelasas · 2 months

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Officials from the UK Foreign Office and the business department held an online meeting with British business leaders in November to encourage companies to take advantage of the “great opportunity” to support Azerbaijan president Ilham Aliyev’s rebuilding agenda.[...]

In the days after Baku’s military operations the UK government publicly condemned the Aliyev regime’s “unacceptable use of force” in Nagorno-Karabakh and warned that it had “put at risk efforts to find a lasting peaceful settlement” in the region.

But a recording of the online meeting, shared with the Guardian by campaigners at Global Witness, includes one senior UK government official encouraging business leaders to take advantage of the financial opportunities in the “huge western chunk of the country that needs to be rebuilt from the ground up”.

“The Azerbaijan government is supporting what it calls ‘the great return’, which is essentially providing the opportunity for the 700,000 [internally displaced people], these refugees, to basically return to Karabakh. So you have this great opportunity here actually,” the official said.

It is not clear whether the official was referring to Nagorno-Karabakh specifically, part of the far larger Karabakh region. Aliyev set out plans in 2020 to rebuild the “liberated districts” of the Karabakh region in western Azerbaijan, which includes Nagorno-Karabakh. The president said it was important that all displaced Azerbaijan citizens return to Nagorno-Karabakh and adjacent districts where they used to live.

A second government official told business leaders: “[There’s] a great opportunity here actually. [It was] just an empty land that was ready to be built over from scratch.”

Jonathan Noronha-Gant, a senior campaigner at Global Witness, said: “Behind closed doors, the UK government is calling Azerbaijan’s ethnic cleansing of Nagorno-Karabakh a ‘great opportunity’. What century are these officials living in? It’s not a great opportunity for the UK, nor for the people who were displaced.”

In the recording the first official said UK companies were “well-placed” to collaborate with the Azerbaijan government to provide infrastructure advice to “a government which has financial means given that it has very large energy resources”. Azerbaijan owns one of the world’s largest gasfields, Shah Deniz in the Caspian Sea, and is a growing exporter of gas to Europe.[...]

A UK government spokesperson said: “These comments from UK officials have been misrepresented. Discussions of reconstruction referred to the UK government’s public work to assist with possible future development in the new towns being built for those displaced by decades of conflict.

“The UK is not involved in commercial activity or reconstruction efforts in the area of Nagorno-Karabakh region recovered by Azerbaijan through its September 2023 military operation.[...]

The Guardian revealed last year that Azerbaijan’s share of two large oil and gas projects operated by British oil company BP had earned its government almost $35bn (£28.6bn), or more than four times its military spending since 2020 when war broke out in the disputed territory of Nagorno-Karabakh.[...]

BP also plans to build a 240MW solar farm in Azerbaijan’s “liberated lands”, according to Azerbaijan’s deputy energy minister. The Azerbaijani prime minister, Ali Asadov, met with the BP head of production, Gordon Birrell, recently to discuss the Sunrise solar project, which is planned for an area near the ghost city of Jabrayil, which was left in ruin after the 2020 Nagorno-Karabakh war.

22 Feb 24

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niqhtlord01 · 3 months

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Humans are weird: When there is no honor to be had

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The Vindi War had been the first intergalactic war humanity had faced while fighting alongside alien allies. Up until then humanity had chosen that while it had made several defensive pacts and alliances over the last several decades with other great powers they would not allow their military forces to be placed under the command of foreign powers. Yet the conflict with the Vindi had escalated to such an extent that human military might was no longer capable of winning the war alone.

So one by one several treaties were called up and the allies humanity had cultivated added their own forces to the progressing war. Things finally seemed to be turning around when the Vindi carried out an assassination against the Cargav leader Tul. The assassin had stowed aboard a Cargav transport as it docked with the flagship of the Cargav contingent and slit Tul’s throat while he was sleeping in his quarters. No one realized the commander was dead until long after the act had been carried out and the assassin had snuck back off the ship.

In the human mindset while the assassination of a leader could cripple a war there were procedures in place to limit the extent of the damage. The chain of command existed so that responsibilities would pass on to the next in command ensure that the human military was never without a leader. Tactics and strategies were taught to all commanders instead of being shared with only the top leaders. Even the diversifying of military branches made it so no one single leader was in command of all forces to allow for flexible reactions to situations.

The Cargav did not have any of this.

In their culture when a war leader was chosen they would be the sole voice of the war until the conflict ended. Their authority was unquestionable and every Cargavan who joined the campaign under their leader swore a blood oath to follow them into the jaws of hell itself if needed.

They had no concept of betrayal or power grabs; no dreams of launching violent coups or misusing military might for personal gain. To the Cargavan’s war was a sacred passage that one would follow for the betterment of all their people. So when Tul died every Cargavan, from lowest orderly to fleet captain felt an overwhelming sense of shame and failure. The death of their leader was seen as the darkest mark of shame their people could obtain and the only way they could undo it was by mass ritual suicide. In that way they would indeed follow their commander into the depths of hell were they could command them once more.

When the human commander Jarvis Lee heard of this he at first did not believe it was a real tradition. He had not done extensive background research on his allies aside from military tactics and could not believe that of the 300,000 Cargavan’s deployed to the campaign all of them would kill themselves.

This reality was finally accepted however when Lee was informed that all Cargavan forces had withdrawn from frontline activities and began donning ceremonial robes. A coalition broadcast soon went out not long after with the Cargavan second in command beginning a death chant of his people.

Realizing that the sudden loss of three hundred thousand allied combatants would cripple the war effort; Lee got on the fastest shuttle and flew directly to the Cargavan flagship after every transmission he sent was blocked.

With every Cargavan in the process of the death ritual Lee met no resistance with boarding the flagship. It took several minutes for Lee to orient himself with the ship’s layout and find the hold the death rite was being carried out in. He sprinted down the winding corridors hoping he would reach there before it was too late. ------------------------------

“Zem zull na, brea ka lu mo. Dea fra muz tah, sen bou nei ru.”

The rhythmic chanting was getting louder as Lee pounded through the alien corridors. His breathing was beyond labored and with each frantic sprint the grey shrouds circling his vision grew thicker; but he could not stop.

He did not care what significance a death ritual held for the Cargavan’s; only that with the sudden loss of the entire Cargavan contingent would mean for the campaign.

After what felt like an eternity Lee stumbled upon the central chamber the rite was being broadcast from. He swiped his access key across the nearby panel but the device merely blinked red and denied him entry. Through the thick metal doors Lee could hear the chanting growing louder and knew he had mere minutes to stop the ceremony but was powerless to get through the doors.

Just as he was about to give up hope he heard the sound of terran boots on deck plates and turned to see his honor guard finally catching up to him.

“Breaching charge, now!” Lee shouted at them.

“Sir?” the leader spoke as he caught his breath, but nonetheless reached down and pulled a small circular device from his belt before handing it to Lee.

Lee snatched the charge from the guard and slapped it on the door as his honor guard slowly began backing away. He spun the activation dial for ten seconds before activating the timer and running back down the corridor. The charge went off just as he turned the corner sending a shower of broken metal, fire, and smoke back after him missing him by mere inches.

Before the smoke had cleared Lee was storming back down the ruined corridor and leaping through the wreckage of what once was the door. Inside he was greeted by the heavy glares of some thousand or so Cargavan’s who had ceased chanting.

They stood gathered in ordered rows like a funeral and at the head of them lay their fallen leader and his second in command standing watch over his corpse with holy blade still in hand.

“YOU DARE!”

The second shouted as he stepped down from his platform and approached Lee. It was only now that it dawned on Lee that he did not actually have a plan on how to stop the ceremony itself. He’d been so focused on just reaching here before it completed that the plan had not fully formed; and now seeing the second in command now coming towards him with eyes full of murderous intent did he push his mind to the limit to concoct a plan. He was just about to open his mouth to address the second when he realized he had never learned their name to begin with. His dealings had always been through Tul and Tul had never introduced his second in command.

Pulling himself up and dusting off his uniform, Lee calmly addressed the gathered Cargavan’s with a voice that filled the entire chamber.

“I came here today to pay my respects to a fallen hero the likes of which will not shine again for generations.” Lee began as he decided to make his gamble. “Yet I am shocked to see his funeral attended by the likes of such cowards.”

The second in command stopped his approach and Lee could see the veins beneath his skin bulging. Lee pressed on knowing he only had one chance to stop the death rite and save his own skin.

“You’re commander is slain from right under your noses, and rather than hunting down the assassin down you all put the blade to your throats.”

Lee walked forward until he was standing before the second in command and looked up at them. They snarled through clenched teeth as they spoke.

“You know nothing of our ways.”

Lee frowned and looked around at the other gathered Cargavan’s.

“I know lazy soldiers when I see them.” Lee remarked. “Has the knife of one assassin cast such fear into you all!?”

He felt hands grabbing his uniform before he saw them and was hoisted into the air like a doll. The second gave an angry roar and threw him down towards the alter where their fallen leader lay. Lee landed heavily, a loud crunching sound informing him of his now broken shoulder, but rallied to his feet quickly.

“And you believe your soldiers would do any differently?” the second challenged as he resumed his death like pace towards Lee, “That they would suffer this injustice to their honor!?”

Lee spat out a glob of blood and looked at the alien, matching his death glare with one of his own. “They would morn my passing and then they would choose a new leader to take my place.” Lee admitted, “But before they did they would scour the worlds of the universe for my killer and bring him before my grave. They would boil the flesh from his body and grind his bones to fertilize the fields of my home, and then cast what remained into the void of oblivion!”

The words stopped the second in his place. No doubt he had not imagined humans capable of such a martial code and this was confirmed by the now interested looks of the surrounding warriors.

“Your leader is dead.” Lee continued as he pointed to Tul, “Yet you would meet him in the after without avenging his death? Did he mean so little to you all?!”

“We die today because he meant everything!” a random Cargavan shouted from the crowd and was met with supportive cheers.

“Then prove it!” Lee countered. “Tul’s enemies still yet live and his killer walks free thinking he has not only slain your leader but all of you as well!”

Lee stepped up on to the platform so everyone gathered could see him. “I ask you now to continue this war until it is won. And when the blood of Tul’s enemies has finally dried upon your blades you may then seek him in the after and present to him the monument of those you have killed in his name and proven your loyalty to him now, and forever!”

Raising his clenched fist high Lee shouted “Who will be Tul’s vengeance!?”

For a death breaking moment there was not a single sound; one could hear a pin drop from across the room. Lee looked over the crowd and debated if he had overplayed his hand when he saw the second raise his hand.

“Vengeance!” they shouted.

One by one the surrounding Cargavan’s began raising their hands as well and shouting the word. Over and over they shouted until the noise deafened Lee and he breathed a sigh of relief. In his eyes the crisis had been averted and the war could continue; little knowing the bloodbath of butchery he had stirred in the hearts of every Cargavan that would push them from noble warriors to genocidal war criminals.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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fkapommel · 5 months

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Etymology of TLT Character Names

Wanted to provide a fandom resource for analysis and theorizing. Since House names are explained in GTN, this list will just focus on first names. DM me for sources. Enjoy <3

Gideon

Biblical prophet, military leader, and judge, meaning "feeler," "hewer," or "one who cuts down." According to narrative, the Israelites had forgotten their god for 40 years and were punished by assaults from enemy tribes. After Israel turned back to God for aid, Gideon, an unnoteworthy Israelite, was delivered the message by an angel that he should lead Israel against its enemies. Gideon requested three miracles be done by God to prove his and God's ability to do this task, which God then performed. Gideon then completes God's tasks, including destroying an idol of Baal in the Israelite camp and displacing a much larger enemy encampment. Gideon delivered 40 years of peace for Israel during his lifetime and refused kinghood and dynasty when offered by his people. However, upon his death, the Israelites returned to worshipping Baal. A "Gideonic victory" can mean winning a battle against the odds.

Harrowhark

Harrowing - to use a piece of farming equipment to level soil, break rocks, and kill weeds to ready the dirt for seed growth. Also refers to the Harrowing of Hell, a non-Biblical, early to middle English traditional episode in which Jesus, upon death by crucifixtion, enters the Underworld to preach salvation to souls interned there before his birth, thus allowing them to enter Heaven. This tradition has been canonized by Catholic theology.

Hark - the first word of many ancient texts or announcements, meaning "listen." Biblical angelic speeches often begin with "hark."

Judith

The feminine of Judah, a Biblical Hebrew name meaning "praised," "woman of Judea/Jewess." The name Judith appears twice in the deuterocanonical Bible: once as one of Esau's wives and seperately as the titular character in the Book of Judith (a book not part of the canonized Bible). In the Book of Judith, Judith is described as a widow who uses her wit, charm, and skills of seduction to be invited to the private tent of Holofernes, the general of the enemy Assyrian army who had laid siege to her city. Judith is able to get Holofernes drunk and overpowers him, decapitates him, and steals his head to show to her city. She is of the few illustrations of the "ideal Jewish woman."

Marta

Derived from Aramaic, meaning "the daughter," "the lady," and "dedicated to Mars"

Isaac

Meaning "he laughs," referring to the father of the Biblical character's laugh of disbelief when God told him, Abraham, that his nonogenarian wife would conceive his child. Isaac is one of the three patriarchs of Israel, grandfather to the 12 tribes. When Isaac was a child, God commanded Abraham to take him up a mountain and sacrifice his child in His name. When Abraham proved his obedience, God provided a ram to sacrifice instead of Isaac. Isaac went on to marry Rebekah; though they eventually believed her to be barren, after Isaac prayed to God, Rebekah concieved twin boys, Esau and Jacob, at an old age, just as his mother did. Rebekah grew to prefer Jacob. Later, due to Sarah and Jacob's scheming, Isaac gave Esau's birthright to his second-born son, Jacob. Jacob would live on to father the twelve tribes of Israel.

Jeannemary

This specific spelling seems to be an invention of Tazmuir, but the duel components of the name are significant. Firstly, "Jean-Marie" is a French masculine name. Jeanne is the feminine form of the English "John." "Jeanne" can be traced to a Biblical Hebrew name, meaning "God is gracious." The most notable historical character of the same name is Jeanne d'Arc, a young female military leader who acted under divine guidance. Upon instruction of archangels and saints, Jeanne fought in pursuit of the coronation of Charless VII during the 100 Years War. Her leadership led to multiple military victories but was punctuated by multiple failures. The unsuccessful relief of a besieged city led to her capture and deliverance to the English, who tried her for blasphemy by wearing men's clothes and refusing submission to Church authority. Found guilty, Jeanne was burned at the stake at 19.

Mary is the most notable feminine name of the Christian Bible, referring predominately to Mary, mother of Jesus Christ, Mary Bethany, and Mary Magdalene, a female disciple of Jesus. Mary was born immaculately - without sin - so that she would be a pure vessel to carry Jesus, who she concieved as a virgin. Mary Bethany was a friend of Jesus and sister to Lazarus. She was deeply emotional about her brother's passing, which persuaded Jesus to resurrect her brother from the grave. Mary Magdalene was a probably wealthy Jewish woman who aided Jesus' teachings. As a loyal apostle, she was a witness at both His crucifixtion and resurrection.

Coronabeth

"Coronabeth," like "Jeannemary," is an obvious Tazmuir invention. "Corona" refers to both the part of the body that resembles a crown and to a colored circular frame around a stellar body, usually caused by its atmosphere.

"Beth" is derived from both "Elizabeth" ("God is my oath") and "Bethany" ("House of Figs"). The suffix -beth comes from Hebrew origins, meaning "house."

Ianthe

From the Ancient Greek, meaning "violet flower" or "she who delights." She was one of the 3,000 water-nymphs called Oceanides, daughters of the Titans. Ianthe and her sisters served as a companion to Persephone when she was in Hades. She is also a character in Ovid's Metamorphosis as the beautiful fiancé to Iphis, a character who has her/his gender changed by the goddess Isis.

Note on the Tridentarii: Coronabeth was almost called "Cainabeth" and Ianthe "Abella" after the two Biblical brother characters, Cain and Abel. In the narrative, God preferred Abel's divine sacrifices and loved him more than his brother. In a jealous rage, Cain killed Abel and hid from his crime, his family, and his God. When God asked him, "Where is your brother?" Cain returned, "I am not my brother's keeper." Angered, He cursed Cain with the Mark of Cain. Separately, the first fratricide cursed the Earth to never turn over its vegetation to Cain, the first murderer. His Mark symbolizes him as a wanderer, a person who belongs nowhere; however, it also protects him from the curses and abuse of others, returning scorned words and abuses back to the harasser seven-fold. Though Coronabeth and Ianthe received their names elsewhere, the lusty, jealous, murderous themes of Cain and Abel's narrative were present at the time of their creation and thus should not be dismissed.

Naberius

Though I can't find the meaning of the name, "Naberius" is rooted in Latin. It first appears in Johann Weyer's 1583 manuscript, "The Deceptions of Demons." Naberius, or "Cerberus" - relation to the same named three-headed dog of Ancient Greek theology unknown - is a Marquess of Hell, directing 19 legions of demons. He provides cunningness of the arts, sciences, and rhetoric in man through vocal instruction and can restore lost honors and dignities. His semblance is of a man with three dog heads or a raven.

Abigail

Biblical Hebrew name meaning "my father's joy," "my father is exalted." Abigail is a Biblical figure, being the third wife of King David and mother to one of his sons. She is a strong believer in the prophecy of David's ascension and his great dynasty. Abigail is considered to be one of the seven Jewish woman prophets and, in the Talmud, of the four women "surpassing beauty in this world." The word "Abigail" can refer nonspecifically to a waiting woman or handmaiden.

Palamedes

There are two notable historical fiction characters that share the name "Palamedes." Palamades was an ancient Grecian prince who joined the battle of Troy, according to the Aenid. After Paris had taken Helen to Troy, Palamedes was sent as envoy from Agamemnon to Odysseus because the latter man had previously vowed to defend Helen's marriage. Odysseus, however, did not want to attend the war, but Palamedes was successful in proving his fitness for war and ultimately delivering Odysseus to Troy. According to some traditions, Odysseus never forgave Palamedes for this and eventually killed him. In the Apology, Plato characterizes Socrates as looking forward to death in order to speak with Palamedes.

Secondly, Sir Palamedes is a knight of the round-table, a Saracen pagan (or probable Muslim) who converted to Christiantiy later in life. He is introduced dueling another knight, Sir Tristan, for a lady's hand, which he loses; these two fight several more times but with unclear victories, leading to a hate-love relationship deepened by their love for the same woman (the woman of their first duel). Many stories have Palamedes as the hunter of the Questing Beast, a fearsome animal the target of many a fruitless hunt. After years of pursuit, it is ultimately his freedom from wordly material granted by his Christian conversion that allows him to slaughter the beast. He remains loyal to Sir Lancelot after his affair with Queen Guinevere is revealed and follows Lancelot to France. Sir Palamedes is later killed by Sir Gawain. Except in matters concerning his love and Sir Tristan, where he often lost control of his anger, he was one of the most chivalrous and honorable knights.

Note: The story of Sir Palamedes, as a product of Arthurian legend, is nearly impossible to summarize properly due to its expansiveness and document fragmentation. If interested in the topic (such as the wink wink homo-erotic love-hate relationship he has with Sir Tristan,) i encourage futher research.

Camilla

"Camilla" is the feminine of "Camillus," a Latin term meaning acolyte, a helper of the Priest during religious processionals and ceremonies. In the Aeneid, Camilla is a queen gifted to the goddess Diana as a handmaiden who became a virginal Amazon warrior.

Dulcinea

"Dulcinea" is a name created by Don Quixote for his character, derivative of the Spanish word "dulce" meaning "sweetness." Princess Dulcinea was invented in the titular character's mind to be the most perfect, beautiful, and regal woman since he believes chivalry requires such a lady of him. To refer to a loved one as like Dulcinea is to express your idealistic devotion and love to her.

Protesilaus

"Protesilaus" may come from the Ancient Greek "protus" for "first." Protesilaus was a hero in the Iliad. According to an oracle, the first Greek to set foot on land after sailing to fight the Trojan War would die. Protesilaus was the first to dare step off ship; he sealed his fate then, later dying in combat. His widow was so devoted to his memory that she built a bronze statue with his likeness. She later self-emulated when the statue was burned and destroyed.

Silas

Latin in origin, "Silas" means "of the forest." Notable figures named "Silas" include first century St. Silas, who accompanied St. Paul on his second mission. He is credited as co-author of the two letters to Thessalonians and the Book of Hebrews; however, authoriship is disputed. St. Silas is sometimes depicted with broken chains due to an episode in which an earthquake freed him and St. Paul from imprisonment.

Colum

From the Gaelic word for "dove"

#tlt #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #judith deuteros #marta dyas #isaac deuteros #jeannemary chatur #abigail pent #magnus quinn #dulcinea septimus #protesilaus ebdoma #silas octakiseron #colum asht #ianthe tridentarius #coronabeth tridentarius #naberius tern #palamedes sextus #camilla hect #mine

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