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klaineharmony · 3 months

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Why We Ship: Neo/Trinity (The Matrix)

I have not felt compelled to write one of these posts for a long time, but I watched The Matrix: Resurrections again while I was working this afternoon, and Goddess, I have so many feelings about these two.

I think it's hard to convey how utterly capitating the original Matrix was, back in 1999. And I could not have said, then, everything I can say about it now, because I didn't have the knowledge of myself, or the vocabulary, or simply the experience to be able to articulate why Neo and Trinity (and Trinity especially, but that's a separate post) felt like everything. Even apart from the incredible worldbuilding and commentary on society that was The Matrix itself, they were something special.

A lot of people got really salty and irritated with Resurrections because they felt like it was "less about the Matrix" and "more just about Neo and Trinity." And god damn, if that doesn't say everything about two different audiences who watched the original trilogy. If you didn't see that the whole trilogy was about Neo and Trinity's love from the beginning, then we were not watching the same films. Neo is The One because Trinity loves him; that is established in the first movie. He cannot be The One without her; he cannot believe in himself as The One without her and her love. "The Oracle told me that I would fall in love, and that the man I loved would be The One. So you see, Neo, you can't be dead. You can't be . . . because I love you." She literally brings him back from the dead with her love; she makes him The One because she loves him. She is the driving force behind all of it. And it's not a coincidence that Neo does the same for her in Reloaded; he catches her in midair, he pulls a bullet out of her body and keeps her from dying because she is everything to him.

And here I am, still writing a post that is more about Trinity than about Neo and Trinity together. But this is what still strikes me about them after all of these years: their love is complete and beautiful and all-consuming, but it is also grounded very firmly in the grim reality they are living. They are not blind about the fact that they could die; they know that every minute of every day, and every minute the spend in The Matrix, could be the last one. They do everything they can to keep that from happening, and they train with everything they have to try and prevent it, but they know, all the time, that one of them could lose the other. They cherish every moment they have, because they are living in this terrible world where another day is never a certainty. But even with all of that, and all that they feel, they are willing to fight, to do whatever needs to be done to try and bring down the machines and the Matrix. They do not shy away from what they see as their mission and their duty to others, even while they are so anchored in each other.

And it's part of what makes Revolutions so tortorous (I hated that movie when it came out; it broke my heart). They know. They've known it's coming; they've been waiting for it, and they go to die together. They still hope that somehow, they will make it, but if they don't, their entire intent is to die together. Because they love each other, they have literally saved each other's lives and brought each other back from the dead, and they have spent their entire time together trying to dismantle the Matrix. If they have to give up their lives to do it, then they will. And I think the thing that hurt so much, when I watched Revolutions as a much younger person (and who am I kidding, it still hurts) is that they still died apart. Trinity died first, and then Neo, and while Neo was with Trinity when she died, he had already been blinded and couldn't see her, and he died alone. And it felt like a betrayal of everything they were in the most gut-wrenching, soul-destroying way. Their love not only changed the world, it saved the world and destroyed the Matrix and altered the relationship between the machines and humans - and they still died apart.

I remember being emotionally devastated by that last film, so much so that I couldn't watch the trilogy again for years. I was so shattered by the ending, it hurt so much, that I couldn't bear to revisit it. And again, I don't know that I could have said that at the time, but I felt it.

When the trailer for Resurrections came out, I was so emotional the first time I watched it that I felt a little blindsided. I had packed away everything Neo and Trinity meant, because their ending hurt so much - and then there they were, on my screen again, getting another chance. Getting the second chance and the ending they should have had - defying the odds with their love one more time, and in an even more epic way. Neither of them is living, in the Matrix. As Thomas and Tiffany, they're existing. They're brainwashed. They barely remember who they used to be - Thomas is convinced it's all in his head, and Tiff is only Trinity when she's working on and riding her bikes. It's only when they find each other that they start to find themselves again. And even when Neo escapes and he's back in the real world, the hope of Trinity and his love for her is the only thing that keeps him strong enough to keep fighting, the only thing that allows him to access his former powers as The One.

They help each other survive. And it's complicated and difficult and not always pretty, and it's always in the midst of a world that is against them and trying to destroy them - but they survive because their love survives. They love together and fight together and survive together, always.

#The Matrix #The Matrix Resurrections #Neo #Trinity #Neotrin #otp: I'm never letting go #Why We Ship

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thedeviltohisangel · 2 months

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Spook and John have my 🫶🏼. Maybe for a prompt “who did this to you” John asking Spook? I just think with her background as a spy and his protective nature, it fits them!! Can’t wait for more 🙌🏻

All The Things I Did (Interlude): I'm Such a Fool

a/n: broke my own heart with this one. introduced a very curious dynamic with harding, a little bit of solo cass and a few little fluff crumbs so you all don't hate me too much. send romance/fluff/ post-war spook and bucky??? prompts to ease my soul. i'll be waiting to chat...

The moment Colonel Harding was the one behind her office door and there was no smile on his face or flirtatious joke on his tongue, Cass knew.

“Anyone?”

“Rosenthal’s crew just landed. I was on my way to interrogation.” Her heart was struggling to know what to do. Seize with sadness over the loss. Hammer in her chest to keep her mind moving. Slow down so she could have a moment to think.

“I’m coming with you.”

----

She sat silently while they went through each plane until they got to the one John had been on. The tapping of her toes only sped up when the navigator announced he saw ten chutes. “About where was that drop, Lieutenant?” The men looked over at her, Colonel Harding already gathering his breath to tell her to stand down.

“Somewhere over Westphalia, maybe, ma’am. It was…I’m sorry I don’t have anything more specific.”

“It will do just fine, Lieutenant. Thank you.” Cass tucked her notebook, she hadn’t even opened it, under her arm and barely made it out the door when Harding started calling after her.

“Cassandra! Lieutenant!” She kept walking, knowing exactly what he was going to say and knowing with certainty she was not going to listen. “Lieutenant Egan!” That made her pause.

“Who told you that?” She kept her back to him. She wasn’t sure quite yet what game he was playing.

“You don’t think your counterparts were keeping an eye on you over there?” She rolled her eyes. Men and their egos.

“Your feelings about the situation are irrelevant, Colonel. I have work to do.” Cass was going to grab her bag and go get John.

“You’re grounded, Lieutenant. You try to leave this base and I’ll have you shipped back to the States on the next available flight.”

“Then good thing the OSS answers directly to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Colonel.”

----

“You shouldn’t be here so soon, Ingrid.” Cass had spent the night in an emergency safe house close to her drop site before setting off to the nearest town where Peter lived, her contact she paid to help get around Germany. Ingrid was the name he knew her by.

“I wouldn’t if it wasn’t for a good reason.” She looked around the beer hall, empty at this time of day. “I’m looking for a pilot. American. Dropped over here a day or two ago.” Peter got quiet and stopped moving the rag over the bartop.

“Ingrid, asking about American pilots is very dangerous around here.” Her fingers flexed tightly around the glass of untouched beer she had politely paid him for. Tipped double.

“You don’t need to take me to him. I just need to know how to find him on the way to Stalag Luft.”

“Two men were here this morning on their way to pick up bodies.”

“Bodies?”

“They have a spot in the middle of the woods where they bury them.” Cass closed her eyes and fought to maintain composure. There was no chance John was dead. She would have felt it. She would know in her soul.

And when she rode the horse Peter lent her to that clearing and she saw a lifeless body lying directly in the sun like God himself wanted her to find it, she almost started to think he was gone.

“John?” She practically fell from the horse as she realized it was him. Dropping to her knees, she grunted as she rolled him over. Her breath stopped when she got a good look at his face. Cass felt around frantically for a pulse and almost cried when she felt one thrumming against her fingertips. “Baby, you got to wake up.” She deduced he had run away from the men that were here to bury a pile of American bodies. It meant that it was only a matter of time before they either found them or sent for German soldiers.

John thinks he heard her voice. Thinks he felt her presence above him. Thinks that meant he was dead.

“Cass,” he moaned. His head wasn’t supposed to hurt this bad if he was dead. “Please.” Please just take me away from here, he was asking. Take me somewhere where I can be with you again.

“It’s me. You’re going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of here.” There was no chance she was going to be able to get him on the horse without his help. She draped his arm over her shoulder, his head lolling weightlessly into the crook of her neck.

“You’re real.”

“We have to get you up, okay? Can you help me, Johnny?” Her arm wrapped securely around his waist, steadying herself to lift. With a grunt she pushed up but only made it a few steps before she collapsed under his dead weight and hit the forest floor. She rubbed her knuckles as hard as she could against his chest in an attempt to wake him back up. “Come on, come on.” He coughed a little and his eyes fluttered open completely.

“Cass…you can’t…be here.” She ignored him, propping him up into a sitting position and readying herself to lift him once again. “Cass, please. Go.”

“Not without you.” She had him. They were so close. She couldn’t go back now.

“I love you, Cassandra Ann Egan.” He was saying it like it was goodbye. She wanted to respond. She wanted to cry and scream. Wanted to burn the entire world down for getting her here but not letting her have it. Have him. But the sound of a gun cocking and a cold barrel placed to the back of her head made her freeze.

“Get away from the prisoner.” Cass willed herself to think of a way out of this. There was no way this could be the end.

“You want to point a gun at someone, point it at me.” John was sitting up straighter now. Adrenaline reaching all parts of his body. His instinct to protect simmering inside him. He reached for Cass’ arm in an attempt to drag her behind him.

“I found him bleeding while riding out to the market. Was only trying to help.” She slowly stood with her hands up, the gun lowered when the officer heard the German words coming out of her mouth. Keep talking, keep diffusing, keep distracting.

“He’s coming with us, no need for your help.” For his part, John was using the tree he had been leaning against to pull himself up. He got his wish, the guns right back up and in his direction.

“You get on that horse and you get somewhere safe.” He was pleading with her. Have never asked her for anything since he met her but was asking her for this. To give him the peace of mind that she was safe.

“Ingrid, there you are!” Cass looked in horror as Peter entered into the clearing. “You’ll have to pardon her, sirs. She gets lost sometimes.” The two men from the carriage had returned to the beer hall to radio the local security forces. Unable to stop his curiosity, he had followed them to make sure she was alright.

“Enough!” One of the soldiers drew back his gun and brought it down on John’s back, his legs giving out and causing him to drop to his knees. She lurched forward with a scream, Peter grabbing her and pulling her back.

“Stop! Let me go!”

“Get your hands off of her you son of a-” Another blow, the wind knocked out from him this time. She kicked at Peter’s legs but his grip only tightened as he began to drag her away.

“John! John!” she screamed as tears flowed down her face.

“Let her go! Don’t fucking touch her-Cass!” He crawled a few feet in the direction she was being dragged, kicking and screaming and writhing with the pain of leaving him behind. The next blow knocked him out cold.

----

He was certain she was dead. Certain that that was the last he would ever see of her. John had wanted to ask the interrogator. He had shown a grainy image of Cass, called her The Little Sparrow, and asked if he knew her. Knew her real name. Location. He had only smirked. That was his girl. John knows she would have been all too happy to know just how far under their skin she was. He had half a mind to ask the guards to kill him too on his way to the cell. What was the point if she wasn’t there to get home to? To fulfill the life they were foolish enough to let themselves dream about.

Seeing Buck and the boys numbed him for a little bit. But then Buck asked about London. Asked if John had finally told Cass he loved her. If they had made plans for when this was all over. The words were lodged in John’s throat. He wanted to tell Buck he had told her he loved her over and over again. That she had finally said she loved him back. Endlessly. That they had felt in their guts they were running out of time so they had found their way to a bombed out Abbey and made it all official. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk about the good times.

“Major John Egan.” A guard appeared in the doorway. “You’ve been called back to interrogation.” He had been here a couple of days but knew enough it didn’t sound like a positive. Cass had told him of her encounters with the Gestapo. Maybe they had learned of his connection to her. Maybe that were going to try and torture the truth out of him.

The guard led him out into the yard, passed the nicer huts where the Germans stayed and toward the remote corner where more housing was being built. It was starting to look more like a good spot for an execution. At least he would see her again.

“Do I get my last rites?” he asked as he was ordered to stop. There was not a single other soul in sight.

“Five minutes.” The guard walked away and John looked around in confusion. Maybe he could try and climb the fence. Maybe he could-

“Excuse me, but I’m looking for my husband.” Oh.

“What kind of husband leaves a wife as ethereal as you all by her lonesome?” There was a chain link fence separating them but she was there. She was alive and she was there. “I thought I’d lost you.” Cass’ fingers curled into the fence and resting her head on the cool metal, his skin finding hers in one of the openings.

“Me too. But we’ve been fucking with all plans the Germans have for us, haven’t we?” He smiled and wished he could touch her more fully. Wished he could kiss her and twirl her hair around his finger and feel the rise and fall of her breath against his chest.

“We should never have left London,” he whispered.

“We’ll get back there-” Her words paused as she sucked in a breath of pain. John gripped the fence tighter. She lifted her shirt and John noticed a deep purple bruise along her ribcage. “Definitely broken,” she wheezed.

“Someone do that to you?”

“You’re not supposed to be worrying about me, John.”

“Who did this to you?”

“I had a run in with a guard on my way in. He propositioned me and didn’t like that I turned him down.”

“Would you be mad if I killed him?” There was no humor in his tone. His request for her permission was actual.

“I don’t want you in here any longer than you already are. We made a lot of plans we have to follow through on.” Cass couldn’t help the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes.

“I owe you a real wedding,” she hummed in agreement, “some little Bucky’s and little Spook’s,” she leaned in as close as she could, “and that house by the ocean.” She had talked about a house she walked by every summer as a little girl. Thought it was a castle and dreamt of living there with her books and her farm dogs and her own family. Bucky was going to buy it for her if it was the last thing he ever did.

“I’m going to visit as much as I can. I’ll write to you everyday.” She had noticed the guard approaching again. Their time together was coming to a close. “I love you more than anything else in the entire world,” she said the words as if they were the most sacred. After John had jumped the gun with his feelings weeks ago, she had made him work for the words to be echoed back. He was more addicted to her love than cigarettes.

“I love you, too, Cass. Promise me you’ll always know that. No matter how long it takes for me to get back to you.”

“I’ll be right here waiting for you. I promise.” Their lips met in one of the diamond gaps, both of them trying to portray everything they felt in the soul.

“Time’s up.”

“Let me look at you. Just one more minute.” He wanted to be sure he was able to commit her to memory. Every little detail. Didn’t want to forget a single beauty mark. A single scar. The curve of her top lip or the way her eyelashes looked when they fluttered closed.

“Now, Major.” The grip on his arm was firm, John practically being dragged away as Cass just pressed herself closer and closer into the fence. He never took his eyes off of her, silently mouthing his love for her one last time before he was around the corner and she was out of his sight.

“Do me a favor, sir?” The guard stopped and looked at him. “Point me in the direction of the guard that put his hands on my wife.”

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfiction #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner fanfic

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yaut-jaknowit · 7 months

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Before A Throne

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3225

Summary: We'ar-ow takes you to a new spot on the ship. New for you. Her throne room. As the Monarch of this clan, she must delegate tasks and ensure her clan thrives. It's a perfect time to show you off. As her pet, you are sat upon the steps of her throne and forced to stay. Like a good pet.

Author Note: Uh-oh… that anger is rising!

Masterlist

Ao3

A black, leather-style collar was hanging from We’ar-ow’s pointer finger. An offer, but more of a demand. It was for you. A collar. For you. To wear. Your body shook with rage that somehow didn’t pelt her in the face with swinging fists or venom-filled words. This was beyond anything you could handle.

“Why?” you grounded out through clenched teeth. The last two days have been calm. She lets you stay in your room the entire time as you wasted away from boredness. But it was better than facing the damn dragon that has you as her pet. Oh, that really grinded your gears truly right now. How dare she?! You’re a person! With thoughts, with feelings, with emotions. She thinks it normal to chain you up with a collar. You’re not a dog or some Houdini child. You’ve been good around her, for the most part.

Her piercing gaze was kept on you as she peered over her mandibles to look down at you. God, she was massive. At least two feet taller. Probably closer to three feet taller. You don’t even reach her midriff while standing in front of her.

The two bottom mandibles flutter mindlessly. “Pets wear collars.” She was completely pushing your buttons. Your nails bit harshly into the pads of flesh that made up your hands. “Pets wear their collars proudly,” she continued.

Your teeth grinded against each other as you gazed up at her. Anger had to be rolling off of you in waves. Deadly, fatal waves that if it was any other Yautja, you would be dead in a heart beat.

A deep breath cycled through your lungs. “I’m not a pet,” you argued, finally putting your foot down. You were done playing this game.

Wow, it took four days to break you.

We’ar-ow leaned down, invading your personal space, and wrapped a hand around your neck. Instantly, you freaked and kicked out your legs to fight for life. Her hold wasn’t vicious or hurting. Just something to keep you there, before her. “But, you are. Your skin is marred with my symbol as Monarch. And your previous failed to protect you, his pet. Why resist? I can give you life worry-free and relaxing on furs I’ve hunted myself,” she explained and slowly blinked at you.

At her words, your eyes narrowed. Dwainet had hunted furs for you, as a mate. From experience, that was a mate thing to gather survival items for the other. But, you did only had one life experience. So maybe she was just doing what an owner does with a pet.

“You forcefully put that mark on my skin! And as a pet. I won’t lower myself to that standard just because it’s an easy life. I’d rather live a hard life than be humiliated as a pet,” you spat out the last words as if it was vile. Truly it was. “I wasn’t a pet to Dwainet. He was my mate.” You finally let the cat out of the bag.

And she didn’t react in a negative way. Just ‘hmpf’ed and slightly grinned. Her face was still close, breath baring down on you. “You think I didn’t know that. You reeked of his mating scent. What I don’t understand is why? You would let a low ranking, barely blooded male to mate with you?” she questioned as if it was the more absurd thing to ever do.

Now she was questioning your love life! God, save your soul. “Because humans don’t care about that! I fell in love with him.” Her hand tightened for a second, your body freezing when you remembered how easily it would be snap your neck.

Then, she took a step forward, forcing you backwards. All the way until your back met the cool wall of your new room. It felt like she grew an extra foot or two as she completely towered over your trembling form. You had made a fatal error, you felt it in your bones as she studied you. “Young and dumb. The two of you are. How was this lesson learned? Well? I hope.”

You wanted to shy away from her intense stare down, but the Yautja refused to let up for a moment. As if she wanted to get it through your thick skull. “What do you think would’ve happened if I had not found you? Unclaimed physically by another Yautja. You were just a plaything to anyone who came along your path. You are ooman. You would not survive out there,” she stated. Her hot, thick body pressed against yours, trapped between her and the wall. Not an inch of relief to escape.

That boiling rage just came back in full force. Fire flickering mightily in your eyes. “You think I’m just some weak human that needed saving? You think you are doing me favor?!” you scoffed and wiggled a little. It just further increased your worries. She wasn’t letting you go or move.

Plainly, frankly, she stated: “yes.” Her thumb stroked along the ridge of your cheek bone. If it wasn’t for the sharp talon at the end so close to your eye, you would’ve been possibly distracted. It was soothing, almost. “So, either make a choice now. Make this easier on yourself and I or I will show you why I was made Monarch.”

The translator even carried over the dreadful threat in her voice and words. You didn’t have much of choice besides pain and suffering. You let your head loll back and thunk against the wall. “It’s a lose-lose situation, anyhow.” You paused and stared blankly up at the grey ceiling. “Just get it over with.” You were not winning this argument. You would never win one with her. You were done.

Her hand slipped away, leaving behind goosebumps. You heard the clinking of metal before the warm leather embraced from the back of your neck and locked together on your throat. You swallowed and felt the way it effected the bobbing of your throat.

“Ruach finished your clothing as well. Pick what you want. I’m taking you out.” Your body froze at her words. You knew she wasn’t about to kill you. She was hauling you back into the public of her kind. Somewhere you didn’t want to be. The last place you wanted to be. It’s only been two days… can’t you get like two years to recuperate after that traumatic episode.

Like you learned earlier… there was no winning an argument with her. It’s best to just shut up and sit along for the ride. Until an exit becomes clear. That was your new goal. Going home.

We’ar-ow turned around then and walked out of the room. At least she’ll give you some privacy to change. The least she could give after humiliating you lately. You knew nakedness was fine when it came to their species. It was the norm. To you, however, was the complete opposite.

How will you ever survive in this new world.

Up against the wall was a newly placed box. You stomped over to it and ripped open the lid. Just like how We’ar-ow had stated, Ruach had finished your clothing. Your jaw dropped at the first one on top. It wasn’t anything revealing or anything but it was strictly formal. Well, shit. Formal meant parties or gatherings of the sort. Such things you will most likely be forced to join.

A grumbled groan passed through your nose. You dug through the box to find something that could be considered for your kind. Please have a T-shirt and short or pants. Something close to it, please!

Maybe god had mercy on your poor soul. A semi-normal looking T-shirt with off-setting pants sat in the box. You pulled those out with a smile and pumped your fists above your head in victory. “Yes!” you cheered, ready to strip when chittering laughter met your ears. You froze then whipped your head over in the noise’s direction.

Of course, it couldn’t be anyone else. You shied away from her amused gaze and stood normally. There goes your privacy.

“I did not know it takes clothes to please my pet,” she purred. There she goes, ruining the moment. Your shoulders slumped, teeth grinding against one another.

It was worth a shot. “Gonna give me privacy to change?” you questioned and did your best to hold back the anger in your voice. An emotion she chittered her amusement once more.

“No.”

If only you could throttle her. You sighed in defeat before swiftly stripping down to your underwear and pulling on the new clothing. They fit… perfectly, as much as you hated to admit it. They weren’t snug in any place. The fabric didn’t rub. In all honesty, the fabric felt like heaven against your skin. Not too soft that it felt like nothing was there, but was smooth to your skin. If the situation was different, you would be thanking Ruach for the clothing. Instead, you just cursed at him less in your mind.

The Yautja strutted over to you and lightly grasped your chin to bring it up. There was a softness you’ve only seen in the privacy of her space. “They are to liking?” she asked, voice softened close to a whisper.

Your throat bobbed, head unable to nod. “Y-yeah,” you stuttered, feeling how your heart pounded in your chest. So hard, it felt like it was about to jump out into her hands.

She hummed, other hand coming up and stroking the like-leather collar around your throat. “You may not like it now. Once your emotions clear, you will see how being a Monarch’s pet will be a great life.” The moment was crushed. You turned your head out of her hold and took two massive steps away from her. She continued to stand before you, hand falling back to her side.

“We head out now,” she demanded then spun on her heel and marched out of the door. In the whirlwind of emotions flying in your head, you timidly follow after her, like a shadow. Your new clothing swaying with each step as the two of you left her room and into the elevator.

Yautja filled the halls, conversing or going their own ways. Just like before, all of them spilt, leaving a wide, respectful berth to their Monarch. You just went along with everything, feeling the way the new collar burned against your skin. A reminder in the back of your mind, a sight that everyone could see. You seethed quietly.

After a couple of minutes, you realized you didn’t know where she was taking you. These halls weren’t familiar, even after half a year being on the ship. Dwainet never took you out of his room often. Something you didn’t mind too much. Away from danger, away from prying eyes.

A simple door slid back to reveal a massive room with a towering ceiling. Your jaw dropped. You’ve never been here before, let alone heard about it. Your steps slowed to a stop as you took in the room. We’ar-ow took notice and looked over her shoulder. “Come,” she stated and gestured with her head to keep up. Which, you did to the best of your ability as you admired the place.

This was no simple room compared to the door, something you realized. It was highly decorated, like a throne room for a king or queen.

That’s when it hit you. It was a throne room for We’ar-ow. She’s the Monarch. The highest standing power within her clan. Why has she brought you here?

Mentioned Yautja gracefully took the steps up a throne designed for her size. She sat down then crossed a leg over the other and leaned on an elbow. With her other hand, she motioned with a finger to come towards. Like a lost dog, you did so, eyes flickering around the place. You still couldn’t believe the size of this place and the way it was filled. It was definitely different compared to anywhere else on the ship.

The steps were taller than back on earth but you still climbed and stood before the Monarch on her throne. With no one in here, she let a small smirk grace her lips. We’ar-ow pointed to a spot next to her throne, still on the steps. “Sit, I have a few issues to resolve,” she said and let her arm rest in her lap.

Whatever magic gripped you was broken at her words. Sitting at her feet like a peasant! You wanted to scream at her. Instead, you hesitantly plopped harshly on the steps next to her throne and crossed your arms. To be honest, that hurt you more than you expected. You glared at the floor.

A hand petted the top of your head. “Calm, pet. This will be over shortly.” Yeah, when I find a way to escape from this hell hole and go back home.

It wasn’t until now that you realized how homesick you were. Away from your friends, you family. God, you left them without much of a notice. Gone, just like that. They probably think you’re dead or something like that. You shake your head to get her hand off. She pulled away without complaint.

Then, the real fun began.

Just sitting there while she talked with other Yautjas. For hours. For literal hours. Your butt on the metal covered in what felt like carpet wasn’t nice. It ruined your back, made your buttock muscles beyond sore. Worse of all, you felt yourself going crazy! What did she expect you to do for hours and blankly staring at the ground?! You needed something to toy with, something to fidget with. This couldn’t be a daily thing.

Thankfully, you had the translator, so you had one thing to entertain yourself with. Listening to the talk of everyday life of a Yautja and the clan. An idea came to mind as you observed. Maybe you could find out a way to escape by listening. Learn their patterns, learn the place from the inside out. A sly smile graced your face but was quickly wiped off. You couldn’t have anyone getting any hints of your thoughts.

This is how the day went on. You, a pet, sitting at their master’s feet as she discussed with her people about issues among the clan. During the entire time, you kept a passive look on your face as you rested your chin on your hand. How long will this go on?

Yet, this time gave you a chance to think so more. That’s all you could do whole you waited, impatiently, mind you.

To We’ar-ow’s room has a keypad that she inputted a code to entire. A code you didn’t know was strictly for her room or her own code to have access to the entire ship. You’ll have to pay closer attention to when she puts it in to learn what it is. Hopefully, it was the latter to help you get out of here. If she had a keycode to access the place, you’ll have unlimited access everywhere.

Perfect. At least, you have an idea on where to start.

“Pet.” As much as you hated to admit it, you turned your head in We’ar-ow’s call. Immediately, you scowled and rolled your eyes. How stupid of you.

We’ar-ow had stood up sometime during your inner monologue. You also stood up as well, considerably short than her hulking form. Her eyes met yours for a short second before she began to walk down the steps. You stayed for an extra moment and admired the throne room one more time. It was different to any other place you’ve seen on the ship. It was nice to see something fresh here.

Not another words was spoke to you. It was back to her room once more. You didn’t mind it one bit. Away from prying eyes and able to find something to fidget with, at least.

After passing the threshold of her quarters, a hand landed on your chest and pushed you flush with wall next to the door. You couldn’t help the gasp that pierced the quiet air. Your hand coming up to wrap around her thick wrist, as if you could pull it off. “We’ar-ow?” you questioned, the first time you’ve uttered her name.

You saw the sharp rise of her chest the second after the name left your lips. The hand added a hair of weight, enough to be noticed. We’ar-ow leaned in, further crowding you to the wall. Her limb slid up to wrap around your neck, thumb forcefully tilting your head up more. She bent at the waist, knees bending to help her get to your shorter height.

With trembling rapture, you watched as she brought her massive head to your neck. You felt her hot breath fan over the fragile skin there. You whimpered in terror and clenched your eyes closed.

Then, she rubbed her head against your throat. The entirety of your body tensed painfully, ready for a killing blow to happen. But nothing besides the confusion on what she was doing. She changed sides of your neck, continuously rubbing against you like a cat. Your voice was lodged in your esophagus, stuck behind a lump of fright.

The terror that controlled your body had you froze like a deer in headlights. You didn’t know what to do or act in this situation. Dwainet has never done something like before.

Finally, you were able to swallow. “W-what are, are you doing?” you asked, voice trembling. All you could do was stare up at the ceiling as she kept rubbing herself on your neck.

“Scent marking you,” she explained, free hand pinning your hip to the wall as well. You were completely stuck, no room to escape from her clutches. You gritted your teeth painfully, chest taking shaky breaths.

So, she was doing what cats do, or dogs as well. Rubbing her scent on you, further claiming you as her pet. You slowly untensed your muscles to relax against the wall and let her do her thing. The day had been long and drawn out. The quicker she gets this done, the quicker you get to be in the safety of your room.

It was just the neck she went for. The hand on your hip slid up, underneath your shirt and palmed at your stomach. “Hey!” you snapped, without meaning to. That was too far though, more than something you were willing to let go.

We’ar-ow’s scent marking stilled, releasing a short trill in question; a sound you haven’t heard before from her. You reached for the limb on your stomach and tugged on it. “That’s too far.” But, the hand didn’t budge. “Don’t, don’t touch me.”

“I must scent mark you. You still have that male’s scent lingering on you.” Her hand, thankfully, slid back down to rest on your hip.

“Just stay to my neck, okay?” Your voice continued to tremble the entire time. And, We’ar-ow took you seriously. She pulled away from your neck and stared down at you. Not a word was said as she walked off like nothing happened. On the other hand, you stayed glued to the wall, life partially flashing before my eyes.

The Yautja left you there, to your own devices.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #We'ar-ow #monarch

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clonefandomevents · 9 months

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Haunted Clone Week Prompts!

Here are the prompts for the Haunted Clone Week! There were so many good options and ideas, that we decided to give a total of nine prompts a day! As well as two Free Days, and a little surprise Bonus as well! Can't wait to see what they inspire!

Day 1- October 23rd

-Folklore, Mysteries and Regional Gothic of South America; Haunted Kamino

-Ghost Ships

-Time Loops

-Space Bermuda Triangle

-Dark Between the Stars

NSFW Prompt- Battlefield Sex

-"You said I killed you- haunt me then!" from Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

Day 2-October 24th

-Folklore, Mysteries and Regional Gothic of Africa; Haunted Christophsis

-Force Ghosts

-Left Behind

-Not Quite Human

-Bloody Hands

-NSFW Prompt- Blood Kink

-"Ghosts are guilt, ghosts are secrets, ghosts are regrets and failings. But most times, most times a ghost is a wish." (The Haunting of Hill House)

Day 3- October 25th

-Folklore, Mysteries and Regional Gothic of Europe; Haunted Umbara

-They Don't Know They're Dead

-Marching Far Away (But Still Beside Me)

-Body Horror -Please Not Again

-NSFW Prompt-Ghost Sex

-“I’m scared to close my eyes, I’m scared to open them. We’re gonna die out here.” — Heather Donahue, “The Blair Witch Project”

Day 4- October 26th

-Folklore, Mysteries and Regional Gothic of Australia; Haunted Felucia

-Ghost Stories

-Trapped and Not Alone

-Eldritch Horror

-Moonlight

-NSFW Prompt-Knife Play

-"Dozens of eyes looked out from the trees"

Day 5- October 27th

-Folklore, Mysteries and Regional Gothic of North America; Haunted Dothomir

-Mistaking a Ghost for a Living Person

-Marching Back (Dead Clones Coming Back)

-The Witching Hour

-Accidentally Cursed

-NSFW Prompt-Ritual Sex

-"Soldier keep on marching on/Head down till the work is done" - "Soldier" by Fleurie

Day 6- October 28th

-Folklore, Mysteries and Regional Gothic of Asia; Haunted Coruscant

-Haunted Space Ships

-Their Armor Holds Thier Souls

-Glowing Eyes in the Dark

-Fog

-NSFW Prompt-Possession

-"It seems to me that the dead only return for love or for revenge. Who did you come back for?" from White is For Witching by Helen Oyeyemi

Days 7 &8- October 29th-30th

Free Days! Have a prompt you liked, but wasn't included? Have a spooky idea that doesn't quite fit one of the other days? These are the days designed specifically for you!

BONUS!- October 31st

So, I apparently am not good at counting. Which gave us an extra day to the week on accident! So, we decided to do something a little different for the accidental bonus day.

Twist An Episode Day!

-Basically, it's take any episode of Clone Wars, Bad Batch, anything the clones are in and twist it so the CLONES are the ones coming out on top. Do something to an episode so that it's the soldiers fighting, not the corrupt leadership, who benefit. Preferably something a little out there, a lil spooky, but it can be whatever you want. Use the extra day so that for once, it's the clones winning.

-Links to Photo Prompts origins below

#haunted clone week #clone wars events #clone wars week #clone centric #clone troopers #spooky season #prompts

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clover-blossom · 3 months

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ANIDALA FIC RECOMMENDATIONS- Part 1*

Realized I inadvertently left off several great fics. Stay tuned for Part 2!

Snowbaird has inspired me to revisit a favorite ship from my younger years. Inspired by @burntblueberrywaffles list, I put together one of my favorites. The vast majority of these are on ff.net BUT BUT BUT remember you can convert them here for download to your Kindle.

The Anakin Saga by geo3

A five part series published before all the prequels were released (so this is an OG). The first two are one shots. The last three are multi-chapter.

The Hour of Souls

The padawan and the Senator find that it is very difficult to be in love when everyone is watching and a shadowy figure is pulling strings....

Step into My Parlor

At the end of Episode II, why, oh why did they let Anakin travel back to Naboo with Padme? It turns out that a certain Dark Lord had something to do with it...

Children of Circumstance

A story about Anakin, his love and his path.

Winds of Change

Early days of the fall... Anakin's path after he is secretly married and returns to the Temple.

Ring of Fire

The final story in the Anakin Saga Series.

Living a Lie by Leah Naberrie

After the forbidden wedding, the reality of living a lie hits the Skywalkers.

Slight of Hand and Twist of Fate by irnan

"I suppose we should just be grateful they're not planning to televise the investigations," Anakin grouses. "Hmm," Obi-Wan says, too busy playing with Leia to answer him

Purgatory by HelenT

As if the comment Obi-Wan had made to Luke about Anakin ‘dying’ when he became Darth Vader was literally true, a newly dead Vader wakes in a strange world—as a twenty-three year old again. Post ROTJ

Kratisto by Irnan

Collection of ficlets about Anakin Skywalker

Pulse by froovygirl

AU for ROTS. As Padme's life hangs in the balance on Mustafar, a stream of brilliant light causes Anakin to reconsider his choices.

Into the Archives by skygawker

After hearing the legend of Darth Plagueis the Wise from Palpatine, Anakin decides that his best chance to save Padme is to break into the restricted Holocron Vault of the Temple Archives to search for information about Plagueis. Predictably, all does not go according to plan. Revenge of the Sith AU.

No Real Affection by Meredith Bronwen Mallory

After the second attempt on Padme's life, the young senator and Anakin find themselves getting to know each other again.

Underneath by CrazyAni

After feroscious duel on Mustafar, ObiWan Kenobi and Darth Vader are given a chance to go back and save Anakin. The Force sends them back to the past, but they wake up in each other's bodies...RotS AU*

*unfinished but worth a read

Part 2

#anidala #anakin and padme #anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #padme amidala #padme skywalker #anidala fic #anakin x padme

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theelderhazelnut · 8 months

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Date Night

A sketchy, colored not-so-clean line art.

Two lovers with a long list of crimes are having a day all to themselves. Ombra is actually wearing a dress here, and Quan Chi just can’t believe how much kissing her tastes lovely.

#ombra the ironhead #quan chi #mk quan chi #mk oc #mortal kombat oc #my art #mortal kombat #deadlyiron #ship: the living soul to my dead body #oc x canon #rise of the villains: darker than black

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birchbow · 1 year

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CLOWN CHURCH THE COLLECTION

For the me and my readers both; my reference document for Clown Church nonsense. Compiled character ref, clown scriptures, fleet ships, saints, schoolfeeder names and specialties, etc. Subject to change and additions.

EDIT: nice lmao

Griefing Specializations

Subjugglator – frontline barbarian/tank, high damage low defense. Not much concerned with stealth, not worried about taking hits. Ex: Feeder Rissan, Sungazer, Cisine, Khalse, Travye.

Laughsassin – stealth and assassination, not good at taking hits but very good at infiltration. Quieter/subtler weapons, or the strength and size to make one hit count. Mime-inspired paint. Ex: Rishet, Kurloz, Untoxxic, Hurrel

Contorturenist – field interrogation experts, armored, usually with long-distance weapons. Clean-up crew for missions where information will need to be extracted during the process of the mission. Ex: Ianche and Verato Uderak, Yettah

Acrobatterer – frontline opportunist, experts in speed and evasion. Many lighter, faster hits instead of one heavy one. Better at taking prisoners. Friendly rivalry with the subjugglators, because they’ll often use a noisy, head-on assault as a distraction to opportunistically whack their target on the head—sound tactics or cowardly cull-stealing depending on who you ask. Ex: Ravell and Raywar Olemma. If asked, some of the younger clowns would probably group Karkat here.

Gymnabsolutionist – On missions, a form of field chaplain, praying for fallen faithful to make sure the messiahs took note of their sick-ass sacrifice. On-fleet, spiritual council and advisors. The oldest is expected to lay to rest the soul of the previous Grand Highblood and help the new one through their prayers/vows, although this role hasn’t come into play in a very, very long time.

Joker – Not technically a position you can train for, but colloquially a highblood who multi-classes or whose style and focus doesn’t fit neatly into a category. Gamzee is technically a subjugglator (very big, doesn’t give a shit if he gets hit) but can rapidly flip to acrobatterer tactics. Travye's bonekind uses subjugglator style, but his bookkind doesn't fall into a category.

Saints And Martyrs

Saint Mortor the Defender — Burned alive to protect other purplebloods from lowbloods; like his giant salamander lusus, he proved incredibly hard to burn, and his execution pyre burned for a night and a day. Saint of aspiring martyrs.

Saint Trasti — Prayed to the messiahs for vengeance as she was cut apart by lowbloods; when they burned her corpse, the messiahs listened and brought up a plague from her ashes. Prayers to bring a plague on your enemies or for sick/poisoned faithful

Saint Ekorot — Patron saint of pupation and cocoons, and especially the faithful who die during pupation. One of the oldest saints, said to have hatched with the lower half of her body deformed/largely missing and survived a perigee before being found by the church, surrounded by dead lowbloods and wild animals she'd killed. She was sanctified on the spot because lo, it was fucking dope as hell.

Her bladekind became the Knife of Messiahs' Mercy, the weapon the Grand Highblood uses for ceremonial culling of the faithful (By the new Grand Highblood to finish off their predecessor after the fight is won, when church kin pupate too malformed to live or are so deeply wounded in battle they won't survive, etc).

Saint Jakill — Fought an entire army despite being ripped to increasingly brutal pieces. Refused to go down, until his skull was finally split with his own hatchet. Patron saint of berserkers, death-rages and suicide missions.

Schoolfeeders Of The Flagship Dark Carnival

Halore Travye — The Stædfast, advanced scripture and exegesis.

Separates his letters with an extra space, capitalizes nouns and the letter I. Square bracket smiles/frowns.

"sacredDidaction: T h e q u I c k b r o w n F o x j u m p e d o v e r t h e l a z y D o g . : o ["

Veneno Krelle — The Untoxxic, advanced mediculling, poisons/antidotes.

Doubles Xs and inserts them in place of similar sounds. X-eyed smiles/frowns. When speaking they tend to have difficulty finding and forming words due to a long, long career being exposed to all sorts of neurotoxins and poisons.

"abstersiveDetoxifier: If you axx me, the foxx has better things to be doing. X...X" (=uX, XnX XsX)

Ianche Uderak — The Inquirer, advanced information management/propaganda.

Hisses on S, ends all sentences as questions except the occasional Shocking Headline. Snake-tongued faces.

"mortalRigor: Sssso why wasss the fox with the dog at all? >:oY Ssscandal!! Quick Brown Fox Hass Torrid Pitch Affair With Ssslothful Barkbeasst?"

Arelux Stelos — The Sungazer, schoolfeeder of galactic navigation, omens and starcraft.

Starts and ends with ~* and *~, replaces I and O with 1 and 0. Tends to trail out words and emphasize with capitals and multiple asterisks/punctuation when worked up, which is often. Smiles/ frowns have starry eyes.

"grandlyCosmic: ~*000h mess1ahs you w1ll **never** bel1eve what the STARS told me today about the fox's dest1ny!!!!*~ *u*

Belico Rissan — Warmaker, Combat/griefing, avid collector of various strife specibi

Largely normal clown syntax but will frequently phrase things with all-caps over-the-top violent language. Doesn't bother to capitalize or use periods but an avid user of exclamation points.

"sanguineEclectica: the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy barkbeast and landed in THE PIT OF A SPIKED AND BLOOD-PUTRID CULL-TRAP as a lesson to complacent wrigglers everywhere! :o)"

Karkat Vantas — Schoolfeeder of quadrantcraft, originally as a joke, but unfortunately for all the elder members of the church the new baby clowns don't know that and he's increasingly accepted and legitimized with every class he teaches.

Minera Tresor — Scriptural basics (deceased)

The Holy Holidays

TURNING NIGHT/DAY

The troll equivalent on New Years Night/Day; for most of the population it's a raucous all-caste night of celebrating that they've made it another sweep without dying. For the church it's their most sober holiday, a reminder that another sweep came and went without the promised Vast Honk and Dark Carnival. Faces are painted white (funeral paint) during the night, and in the morning everyone takes off their paint entirely until the new sweep is rung in at noon.

In the meantime, it's expected everyone will spend the night/day fasting from food and drinks, and tempting themselves with things they want or enjoy, whether that's making your favorite food and not eating it, or hooking up with a quadrant and then breaking off before either of you are satisfied.

Then at noon everybody goes buckwild and indulges until they're sick.

ALL COLORS WEEK

A very rowdy church-wide holiday. Work forbidden, only fun and capricious impulse. Copious colored clothes and decorations, painting, and powder dye are rampant. It’s traditional to stash little brightly-colored objects (and vials of blood) throughout the rest of the sweep and then hang them out a day at a time through the week so that the decorations get slowly more colorful and vivid. They lump the seadwellers in with the rustbloods and the last colors to get hung up on the last day are the colors of the church.

There’s also a different major saint for each day, which some people remember to pray to and some people don’t. There’s a lot less quiet internal prayer at this point too--if you have something for a saint or messiah to hear, you probably shout it.

Also; massive games of--essentially--capture the flag. Teams are assigned according to age group, with the youngest/most numerous cohort starting on the first day. They’re split in half into a team with a seadweller-color flag and rustblood-color flag, which they play for for the first day. After that the next age-group comes in with their color, and all three teams try to collect the flags, and onward and upward until the schoolfeeders and generals come in to play, each with an incredibly high-point-value purple flag. You have to challenge them to a duel to win one, in whatever area they teach/specialize in. It’s pretty widely assumed that you won’t actually beat them, they just respect your attempt enough to hand it over, but if you do everybody is like !!!!!!! WOW HOLY SHIT DUDE and you’re a hero to the rest of your team. The points system is pretty unofficial but the more flags you have, and the higher the blood color of those flags, the more you “score”. Winner gets preferential treatment for the next two weeks.

Ships Of The Holy Fleet

Names of ships are subject to change when a new captain takes over, although they aren’t always changed—when Kurloz joined the fleet, the flagship was the Painted Disciple, and Kurloz changed the name to the Dark Carnival after he successfully challenged the previous Grand Highblood.

The Blessed is intensely focused on prayer and meditation and prophesy—much less in the way of combat training etc. You can get religious training anywhere on the fleet, esp. the flagship, but if you want to basically focus your life on spirituality the Blessed is full of like-minded trolls.

The Orisoner is Just Straight Up Vibing to an extent that many trolls find unnerving, but the crew of the Blessed are absolutely ride or die with her/him/them/etc. His powers are 100% min-maxed into sucking hate/rage/fear out of people, and the resulting good vibes and soft euphoria are a powerful (and borderline addictive) combination. Secretly terrifying, because nobody wins fights against her--because very few people can even bring themselves to lift a hand against them in the first place.

irenicDevotion: no caps, sooo many smilies :o) and just like... emphasis extensions my duuude :oD copafuckincetic

The Sinner is a party boat, which is considered an act of worship in and of itself. People just get rowdy and wild and live it up at all times. If there was air in space, you would be able to hear it as you approached to board—when it’s landed, you can hear it, and it’s super eerie. Lots of trolls whooping and honking and shouting in a big metal box.

The Libation's powers are addictive in a different way; he's physically intoxicating to be around. If he focuses, he can easily have most people, especially people who aren't used to being drunk/high, blacked out and pretty much incapacitated.

ecstaticEroticism: 8RO h'es. straiht up nightdrinking rn. look hers his 8onkinggourd. all teh 8s their 8s its little drinking gurds. motherfuckr this paryts LIT roflmao

The Joker is a pretty standard barrack ship, although it has the notable reputation that under the current captain if you’re cheeky enough to do something and do it well, you should be allowed to get away with it even if it’s against the rules. It takes the majority of mediocre-to-fair trainees every generation, and compared to the Dark Carnival, a much higher percentage of its graduates go on to live off-fleet on shuttles or colonies.

Sister Waspclaw is a walking test of everyone who meets her's ability to read a passive level of threat and calculate accordingly. Very talkative, encouraging and pleasant, with an extremely dangerous and unhinged core. Her whole philosophy is that you can get far in life by figuring out what the most daring trick you could pull and get away with is--but it's very important you don't try to take even an inch with her. She's tiny, but her claws are incredibly venomous and very few trolls in the entire church fleet can match her for speed.

toxicAudacity: wazpclaw'z zo excited to talk zhe can't even bother with the zentencez and ztuff like that and it all flowz together but if you pizz her off you're DEAD MEAT and you can tell if you've pizzed her off becauze when zhe's angry zzzzzhe zzZZTARTZ GETTING A LITTLE UNHINGED AZZZZZHOLE!!! >:o[

Elixir and Stardust are commercial centers; the two ships used to be separate, but the people living there had so much reason to cross between the two, they put boarding passages up and welded them in place, fusing them together. People who handle the dark, mysterious and miraculous arts of financial management and resource acquisition work here. It’s also the most common place for the few cult members who aren’t purple-blooded, one of the few places they’re comparatively safe. Some non-church quadrants of purplebloods will also set up hive here.

The Abattoir is canny, sober, and calculating, a loyal ally until slighted and then a bitter enemy. The nature of her identity is a topic of fierce public debate, and he's certainly not giving out answers. Whether her consciousness is originally one of his bodies now inhabiting two, an amalgam of two minds indistinguishably linked, or some completely external force puppeting two bodies, everybody can agree she's damn good to have on your side, and that crossing him is a fatal mistake.

duelReactor: II speak clearly and concisely because II respect your time, motherfucker, and forsooth you will respect me similarly. II am busy today: I am on-ship and I am travelling to the flagship for work. II will be back in office by sunrise.

The Freakshow is a cesspit of violence and bloodshed. A very dangerous place, but also prime picking ground if you have strong conciliatory urges and are looking for your One True Diamond. People who want to settle shit once and for all can come here, and the winner will probably get a cut of the pot from the people betting on their death-match. The bloodshed and rage are technically holy and irreproachable but most fleet faithful tend to give this ship a wide berth.

The Behemoth is the epitome of Alternian culture: take what you want through force of bloodcolor and unmitigated violence, and maintain it through merciless supremacy. Sharper than it likes to act, and with a blatant disregard for any power except its own monstrous strength, it's been butting heads with the Grand Highblood ever since it came to power, and only a surprisingly canny ability to judge the rare occasions it's outmatched has kept it from marching on the Big Top and trying to take the throne by force.

brutishAnnihilation: O- BIG MOTHERFUCKER, BIG LETTERS, ONLY LITTLE BITCHES BOTHER WITH PUNCTUATION -O

The Penitent is essentially church jail, for sinners and troubled faithful, especially/specifically those who don’t have any close mentors or quadrants to help rehabilitate them. It’s also where prisoners under suspicion of church-related crimes are kept to wait for inquisition, as well as non-urgent/non-imperial messengers from outside the church who are waiting to be heard by the Highblood.

The Judgment is both incredibly stern and strict, and also surprisingly forgiving--her job isn't to decide who to cull, it's to decide which sinful highbloods can make their way back into the church, through a lot of prayer and ritualized punishment. In person, though, she's a terrifying battle-ax of a troll with zero patience for dilly-dallying or lollygagging or talking back or not talking back enough or failing to use her title or answering clearly and concisely!!! She has shit to do!

consecratedCourtroom: Very rarely embellishes. Very rarely ends sentences with anything but a period. Speaks CONCISELY to get her point across. Uses emphasis scaling that always seems a LITTLE passive aggressive and sarcastic. Occasional interjections of OVERRULED. GUILTY. DISMISSED. IRRELEVANT. Etc etc.

The Dark Carnival is a little bit of everything, but the clowns who work there are generally the best of the best in at least one area, or extremely promising. Intensely-devoted cultists, genii of violence and/or interrogation, artists, artisans, the rare mechanics, geeks and scientists, navigators, or just trolls who show a lot of ambition and leadership, all get funneled into the Dark Carnival to be trained up as heads of their respective fields.

Trolls are always coming and going from ship to ship for whatever they need or to visit other faithful, and there’s always the constant low level of kinship between any members of the church, but there is also a certain amount of distance between the microcultures of each different ship.

Outfitting is pretty consistent ship to ship, with exceptions; on the Penitent nobody but the sufferingmasters and the captain are allowed weapons, armor, or decoration. On the Blessed clothes tend to be plain and austere by cult standard, but they are allowed to wear armor and carry weapons.

Scriptures (to date)

Beginnings - a clown book of Genesis, of sorts. Creation myths and ancient church history.

“When it started we had fuck-all but dark. And so it stayed until Messiahs pulled back the curtain and said ‘let’s get this motherfucking party started’. And they threw stardust down and it hit mud and it made dirtbloods, baked all dry enough like they could crumble if you breathed wrong. And it hit water and it made waders; wet, cold, mirthless salty motherfuckers with too much eye for their own motherfucking sparkle. But where it hit oceanside it made trolls out of sand, all capricious as fuck and changing with the water. Trolls who could go hard or give when they had to. All balanced on the universe high wire and not ever falling sea-side or ground-side but right there on their line like the acrobatterers they were. From the sand were made the faithful; from the beachwood their horns, their goddamn bone snapped off from sea-floor stones on mountains under the water. And what they made was Troll. Only that. Just that and no motherfucking more. And when the last world was all fit together, messiahs looked on it and said ‘motherfucking money’.

“Remember this story, faithful, and remember its lesson. Change yourself always like sand in the water, you motherfuckers hand-shaped of surf and whimsy.”

“Urge of chaos and whim of change be ever on your skin like paint, in your pusher like blood, on your horns like a crown. Mirthful, faithful. Kickass and giving no shits.”

(Book of) Colors - church policy on lowbloods, seadwellers, social order and painting, as well as the meat of the “Dark Carnival” scriptures/afterlife mythology.

“You’re next. You’re motherfucking next, give no mercy because the mercy of the messiahs is only as much as fits in their hands and what’s poured out on shitblooded scum will not be given you in the dark carnival gates and—”

“The Vast Honk will deafen and take from us, and all together we’ll head on up and get our dance on through fire and over skulls and horns—”

“No fear, brothers and sisters, no fear of the waders, the brine-drinkers. There's no mirth in the sea and no painting the water doesn't wash off and you've got your hands on the righteous shit they won't ever know. No fear of the waders, for you're higher than them. You're higher than anybody.”

“I fucked up, I fucked up, the fault's mine and there's no motherfucker I can share it with, I fucked up, forgive me.”

Sacrament - ceremonies, specifically related to new initiates and promotions within the church. Naming ceremonies, promotions, priesthood bestowal, etc.

Suffering - Stories of martyr deaths and heretic executions. Unique in that it is occasionally edited or added to if the church believes a story has been included in error or that a modern event needs to be added to the record.

“…I am lost, kin. My eyes see no colors I know.”

The Cult of Flesh were a heretic movement deemed too dangerous to the faith of the readers to be included in the book of Suffering. Their belief that the Messiahs came to Alternia and were raised in flesh bodies by a troll acting as a lusus has been stricken from this record; their attempt to win over the current Grand Highblood, who they consider the descendant/reincarnation of the holy troll-lusus Brother Immortal, caused a schism and internal inquisition violent enough to be purged from the accepted imperial history.

Hilarities - Platitudes and words of wisdom, including the rules of comedy, the Great Unfunny Jokes, and some really quite good dating tips.

“It’s not a wise one who leaves the place of their motherfucking heart untimely. No laughter in the suffering of those early lost of their quadrants so rest you with heart and spade and club and diamond and speak of the fucking Hilarity to each other.”

“Fill the night enough full of holy deed and you’ll have no need of sopor to bless you with dreaming.”

“Ha ha, you salty motherfucker.”

“Let your spade burn hot, drive you up and make you great. In this motherfucking way your kin will increase you and I’m not just talking about your bulge, LOL.”

“The wage of weakness is death; fear the only edge sharpened by waiting.”

“Take all you can grasp in your greed and your lust. If something you want comes to your fronds, motherfucker, take it and run like it’s yours.”

Hot Shit – Letters from a historical Grand Highblood to his matesprit. Considered by some to be a holy template of pity and matespritship, and to others a hot piece of smut that has been hilariously canonized.

(Hot Shit 1:1) "My sister in mirth, blessed in hilarity, peerless in holy rage; u up girl? :o?"

“Only let me hear you want me! Hold me down and devour me, my love.”

“When my feet touch soil again I’ll make my way to you. Take me as you like, heart of my heart; throw me down and fuck me under night sky and the Messiahs will only hear me sing praise out louder. I’m hollow as a thunderstruck tree for you, sister. I need you like starving needs food, like rage needs mercy, like sin needs forgiveness, like pain needs pleasure.”

"In grandest tradition of hot motherfuckers at the prime of their lives, fuck if I don't get mad stupid when I'm horny, sister. :o("

"Well the fuck I will reward you when you come back to hive. So well will I show my love for your thicc motherfucking ass, not for a night and a day and a night will you get feeling back in your motherfucking legs."

Revelries - Praises and adulation to the messiahs.

"I'll sing out my praises with wicked flow to the messiahs who saw fit to smile on me. I'll praise and shout how I'm greatly blessed, I'll cry and weep how I'm not fucking worthy; their claws are in my soul, in the shape of my body, in the beat of my pusher. Oh, my holy kin, we are color and light inside. We are stardust. Hands raised and faces laughing, spitting sick and delirious, together in glory.”

“…the halls around you will be painted bright and all the glitter and shine you’d want; get ye lit as fuck, brothers and sisters, let the beauty of their holy color and noise spin your pan like a motherfucking top.”

“Oh that I’m of use to you, all times and ways and places, my idle rest is to watch your show and my dreaming to hear the holy motherfucking noise."

“For not a troll was ever made, who didn’t fuck up nightly; never a faithful hatched who deserved their seat at the show.”

“Never will we be anything but loud, nitty-gritty dirty little freaks. Lo, pour elixir and raise a glass.”

Conviction - The duties and trials of the church

“…leave ye not the dirtbound warm of blood to crawl and scrape, and waste offerings in vain. They owe you penance and awe and what they give you are owed to take. A good ruler does the mercy of taking.”

“When your feet are unsure and what comes on you is un-fucking-funny, seek you holy suffering in penance.”

“Dumbass, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“If fool-ass jokers fail to learn from looking, let their bodies learn it for them; scars teach best what a motherfucker’s too deaf to hear.”

“If your kin gets you sinning, cut them away, no true fucking family can they be. If the noise from your flap be blasphemous, carve it from you and stitch shut your filthy mouth, motherfucker. If your flesh leads to sin scourge it clean, washed in blood; cut away rot, and leave only what’s holy. Repentance by mouth never saved a soul; spill blood and flesh in price of forgiveness.”

Angels - Death, last rites, damnation/double death, hell, etc.

“[death] itself is not a glory; more glorious far to walk on and trail paint where you walk.”

‘I suffer pain, and want become need…I am allowed no motherfucking means to make resistance. I wait for death, brothers. Pour one out for remembrance of my soul’.”

“Why seek martyrdom when you could bring a hundred down with you? Turn martyrdom to murderdom. Paint the way; make them pay. Shit, kin, let’s be destroyers.”

Devotions - Prayers, repentances and rituals. (”Leader.” “Congregation/faithful.”)

Repentance of sin (ending) - “Hail messiahs both.” “Their works, their great motherfucking joke in the pits of the worlds they left and in the space in between.” “Hail messiahs both.” “Your penance is paid.”

Reaffirmation of faith - “If I go false on promised devotions let messiahs grind stardust out my bones.” “If you’d paint the face of flawed unholy troll with the shades of our holy messiahs, answer yes brother I will.” “Yes brother, I will.”“If you believe truly in what holy mess and bloody riot will come at end of worlds, if you plan on being full and motherfucking ready, make some motherfuckin’ noise.” “(Response, freeform).”“Have your ticket ready when you kick it, give me an amen brothers and sisters.” “Amen.” “No mercy, faithful one.” “Amen.” “No fear.”

The Dark Scriptures - only shown to religious sacrifices before their deaths. Readers must subsequently die. Contents are a mystery.

His/Her/Their Mirthful Majesty

King/Queen/Crown of Colors

His/Her/Their Holy Hilarity

Biggest brother/sister

The Ringmaster

#Homestuck #CLOWN CHURCH BAYBEEEEE #anyway I have always had trouble finding my much older (now outdated) post of scriptures so this one's getting pinned lol #Hopefully this helps the people who have had to scroll through my whole-ass blog in the past trying to find ref #I keep this plus story notes at the bottom of the document because there is SO much lore and bullshit I have to remember #and my memory is NOT that good lol #art time!

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lady-ashfade · 1 year

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Dark!Yandere Aegon II Targaryen.

Dark!Yandere Aegon Targaryen x Bastard Fem Reader.

This is a scenario HC’s.

Plot: Being the bastard of Daemon Targaryen had its perks, like getting his traits of chaos and the love for mischief. A certain prince loves to be your puppet.

Notes: You are willing in this, this is more darker then most of my other fics. Your appearance doesn’t match daemons. I’m going to make general yandere Aegon because this is different and I kinda love how dark he is. <3

Taglist: @whatafreakingloser @have-a-good-day-x1000 @second-try-stevie @prettyinblack231

Warnings: Dark yandere tendencies, this is much darker then most of my other fics, suggestions themes. Writing mistakes.

If you are sensitive to hard topics don’t go one.

Being the famous bastard of your father was always a amusement to live through. People always looking down on you for being born, saying you're a disgrace to the Targaryen house and you should be thankful your father took you in.

You always loved the way they shouted at you. You took pleasure in making people angry, but for just breathing? That has to be Accomplishment.

Your mother- You were told, was in love with the prince. Saying he always sent her gifts and did sweet things for her, they seemed to love each other. Then they had you out of wedlock and he didn't know about you until years passed when he returned with his wife Laena.

Your mother had passed and you lived with your aunt working for her as a servant, scrounging for anything you could get. Your family saw you as the downfall of their house but decided to at least give you a roof to sleep under for the memory of your mother.

That's when daemon and his family showed up. As soon as he saw you he knew you were his, the hint of mischief in your eyes he knew to well. He then took you away and promised you'd live with your new family, his. Laena took you in and treated you well and you grew to love your younger sisters.

No one could tell if you were targaryen or not, not having white hair and having similar features to your mothers. But daemon gave you a egg to catch and to your surprise it did. You named her Zammory.

Now everyone knew you were a targaryen, and close to your father. You were often caught in fights and showed no respect for anyone but your close family, something daemon taught you. You did what you felt was best at times and took no one’s bull and you enjoyed it. You always had a fire burning in your soul and it could never be put out.

You trained alongside your dragon and train with a sword, bow and anything you can use to kill. You studied poison and could make remedies to heal. You stayed being the shadow and that’s how you liked it: Free to do what you pleased.

When you where old enough you traveled to kingslanding in secret to see what all the fuss was about. You didn’t bring Zammory with you so you traveled by bouts, you were good at hiding. The crew on the ship could all be dead if you wanted to because no one knew of your presences.

As you walked around the streets you took time to notice everything. The way you could easyly spot the poor form the rich, the whores from the ladies and you’re favorite was the thieves But you stayed to looking at the carts full of merchandise, it seemed over crowded and you wandered why they haven’t done anything about it.

Just then while moving through the alleyway you’re chest was hit by something hard and you moved to catch your balance. “Watch here your going.” You yelled and glared at the cloaked boy. He smelled of alcohol and his face red and black, dark circles under his eyes that said that he hasn’t gotten a good nights sleep in years.

“Oh, fuck off.” He slurred and shoved you weakly and continued to walk away while you watched. He pissed you off, you could gut him like a fish and no one would know it was you. His body wobbled as he tried to lean on the walls to help him stand up but his body gave out and he fell to the ground.

You heard him whimper and you always enjoyed watching people in pain but for some reason this felt different. You felt a slight guilt for the boy being in such a sorry state, what has he been through to make him such a pathetic human?

“Where do you need to go?” You ask wrapping his arm around yours and lifting him up. “Sh- I need to get-” he hiccuped, “Castle.” You looked down at him to see his eyes trying to focus on your face from being so close to passing out.

His eyes only could see so much but what he saw he would never forget. Such a beautiful face: One of his salvation. Had the gods finally blessed him with happiness? It must be because he was going to make you his.

“ Son of a bitch.” You groans and slapped his face as he went back and his body weight dipped. His hood moved and you could see the white shiny hair poking out. “Fuck.” He was one of them. The real Royal Targaryens. You wanted to drop him right there and steal his shit, but maybe you could gain something from this.

You could finally met the people you’ve been hearing so much about, this one seemed to be young just like you but you wondered if he was Aegon or aemond. Either way, you wanted to get your hands in a challenge and this seemed like a good place to do it.

You took him to the castle walls and men opened the gates and pointed their swords at you. “I’m just here to drop off something I think the king and queen are missing.” You dropped him on the ground and put your hands up smirking.

They grabbed him and began to pull him away but he muttered, “She comes…Need her to come.” As much as they didn’t want to they brought you in and you followed proudly that your plan as worked.

You came to learn that he was 13 and only a year young then you, he was prince Aegon the oldest son of the king. Your Cousin.

They lead you to the queens chamber and they took Aegon away but he didn’t complain because he was fully knocked out. As soon as you entered the room you’re spine was sent a shiver and the atmosphere.

“Come,” Queen Alicent said from her place on the couched. You moved closer and sat in the side in front of her but not next to her where she patted. “You brung the prince back. If you care explaining what happened I’d like to hear the details.”

“I was roaming the streets until your son dumped into me and decided to be a cunt, you should teach him not to be arrogant because I was close to killing him. But then I realized it was the prince.” You put on a fake smile but showing you that you were also being sarcastic. “Then I took him back where he asked, because he is a prince.”

She started at you for a moment. “Have we met before?” The smile on your face turned into a smirk to answer her question, “No but you have met my father. It seems he have started a family Reunion.” You slid down your hood removing its pins to keep it in the place and showed your face fully.

She looked down at the necklace hanging above your clothes, but her eyes went down when you moved to show your swords handle. “You’re Y/n?”

“The famous Bastard in the flesh.” You clapped your hands together watching her head turn. Her face was showing signs of being afraid, discussed and discomfort but with a lot of confusion. “You’re probably wondering what I am planning, why I returned your son without killing him.” Her small head tilt confirmed that you were right.

“I want to make my own destiny, as much as I love my father I know he did the same. You will have to repay me for returning him, I don’t want gold or pretty little gift baskets.” You lean forward and her eyes narrowed at you.

“Then what do you want?” You loved making people feel uneasy, it was fun to get under her skin and it was so easy. “I want a place in court. I want to be a protector, yours or your daughter’s, Aegons or even the kings. For who, I do not care. I just want a place here.”

She wanted to turn you away but if daemon or even Viserys heard that she killed you or even tried she’d be in hell. She agreed to your terms and made you her daughters protector. You sent letters to your father saying you had gained a spot at court. He was angry and annoyed but you left one detail in your letters showing him that what you planned was devious.

All Aegon could do was remember your face. When he hears you stayed in court he was relieved. He couldn’t understand it but he felt like he needed you to breathe and he couldn’t bare you being away from him.

He tried and tried to get close to you but you made it a game. Never caring for his words of taking you to bed and you always laughed and picked on him.

He loves the way you glared at people or the smirk you get when you angered anyone. A beautiful woman that was made just for him. He knew you wouldn’t love anyone but him and him you, but that never stopped him from taking the whores in the streets. But he only pictured you..

He was always chasing after you, trying so hard to get your attention. You would smack him for anything wrong he would say but he loved the sting. Making sure you knew of his feelings each day, but you only smiled and walked away each time.

Then came the day at your stepmother’s mothers funeral. You didn’t look at him once and rushed off on your dragon. It was a sad day but no one saw you shed a tear but you looked terrifying, your face in a straight line and eyes filled with anger.

You stood with your father and sister most of the time to reconnect, you held their hands and let the cry on you but you still showing no sigh of grief. When your father laughed at the speech vaemond gave you smirked along beside him.

Aegon drank his way into his cups and watched you all night. He wanted to hold you close and tell you it was okay to feel emotional but you would just push him away. So he got so drunk and laid at the bottom of the stairs.

The last person he expected to come be with him was you. You took the ale from his hands and sat down next to him with a huff, “It seems your the only one here that isn’t throwing a sob story.” He smiled and sat straight up looking at you staring at the wall.

“I throw a sob story every day. Might as well give you a chance.” His heart tightness as you laughed. He had made you laugh. That captivating laugh. “Aegon, will you promise me something?” You turned to look at him.

“Anything.” He stared right into your eyes with honesty. You took his chin into your fingers and he lost his breath. “I know how you feel about me, never change that. I’ll reward you someday. But I am going to leave with my father so I have to leave you but I will come back to you in the dead of night.” Inching close to his face.

“You will only love me. Do you understand?” The grip on his chin tightened and your tone demanding. He gulped and moves his head and he agreed to do anything for you. “That’s a good prince.” You finally praised him and he felt like the world had gone away and it was just you.

You kissed his lips and he whimpered at the feeling. He tried to put his hand on your waist but you slapped it away and connected your fingers with his. You were so dominating and had full Control over him…He loved it.

You pulled back and got up while he tried to follow you his head was pounding and he fell back down. “You’ll be good for me Aegon wouldn’t you?“ you looked like a goddess standing above him. “Yes my love.” You hummed and walked away and that’s the last thing he remembered before blacking out.

The last time he saw you was in the main hall later that night, you held your sister behind your back and glared at his younger brother. He didn’t care, if he could he would be over there with you.

After everything that went down you found it amusing but he could see your anger at your sisters being hurt. You both shared a look before you left. It was a look to remind him of your words and his promises.

He’d always remember.

Aegon was torture with life and the fact he did not have you by his side anymore. But that didn’t stop him from his love getting worse. He found a away to send assassins to kill anyone who got close to you, they watched over you everyday. You being skilled knew that they were his but let them stay because it was just another part of your game.

Years went by and you grew into a young woman, body finally taking its form. And you used that against him at night. He would have to get on his knees and beg for you, saying the things he felt for you. “I belong to you.” He would always say. You treated him roughly, punishing him, making him cry and begging.

But he loves any attention you gave him and would do anything for it. He even swear if you wanted his brothers head on a spike he would give it to you. He meant it. Deep in the night you stripped him of his dignity and made him work for it.

He was going crazy without you being with him, drinking himself to doom each night you weren’t there and going to be with as many whores that looked like you in any resemblance. He kept a pillow you had laid on and threaten to kill anyone who washed it.

He stole plans from his mother and otto and reported them to you, anything he remembered and heard he told you. I see Aegon being so obsessed he saw his family as just place holders until he has you.

Aegon was disappointed when you didn’t show up with your family at lukes hearing, had you not wish to see him? Had he done something to upset you. He thought he was doing a good job.

Later that morning he was hidden, kidnapped, tried to run away and sail to you, lost his father, and then crowned king.

Where the fuck were you?

Where had you been in all of this, why can’t he just do one normal thing and keep you happy. He didn’t want to become king, he just wanted to be with you. Until the crown was placed on his head and all we wanted was to be with you. How could he use this to get you to love him?

When you heard the news of everything that had happened you weren’t surprised. When they planned the war you just looked around at them waiting for the best moment to chime in.

It wasn’t until later when Jace volunteer for him and Luke to go get support. You stood up, “Send me to kingslanding. You will have the thrown and kingdom by the end of the day.”

The way you said it make daemon realize this is what you had been working on your entire life. You had a puppet and you were going to pull its strings. He was so very proud of you.

Needless to say you went to aegons chambers that night. The next morning you had taken the crown and his love. He swore in front of thousand of people that he stepped down as king and placed Rhaenrya as heir. He was to cut of his marriage with his sister a wed you.

He threatened his family that if they tried to stop him and saying anything against his words he’d have then killed.

Yandere Aegon is only alive to serve you.

#yandere Aegon targaryen x reader #yandere aegon targaryen #yandere house of the dragon #yandere house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #Aegon targaryen x reader #Aegon targaryen

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anonymousewrites · 15 days

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Burden of Truth (Book 1) Chapter Twelve

Father Figure! Marc Spector x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Steven Grant x Teen! Reader

Mother Figure! Layla El-Faouly x Teen! Reader

Chapter Twelve: During the Ritual

Summary: (Y/N) has to handle losing Marc and Steven, but their troubles aren't over. Harrow wants to release Ammit.

(Y/N) sobbed as Harrow’s guards pulled Marc’s body from the water, checking to make he was dead. They knew he was. He was gone. That was the truth.

Harrow knelt next to the body and glanced at his men. They shook their heads. The ushabti wasn’t on him. Wordlessly, Harrow turned back to the bag abandoned behind Marc. (Y/N) was too exhausted to even be disappointed as he pulled the ushabti out of the backpack.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, Marc Spector…Steven Grant…whoever else might be in there.” Harrow had the audacity to place the scarab on Marc’s chest as a gift. He rose. “Sometimes we need the cold light of death before we can see reality.”

Harrow turned away and raised the ushabti above his head. His men gazed reverently at it. They knelt and bowed, in awe of the mere presence of the statue holding Ammit.

Harrow smiled. “Who wants to heal the world?”

In his other hand, he lifted his cane. Sensing the proximity of Ammit, it glowed purple. One of the heads opened its maw and flipped over. Now it was a staff, not a cane, taller than Harrow, with a single menacing crocodile head. The power of Ammit was growing.

Harrow walked towards the passage out, and his men followed. Helplessly, (Y/N) was dragged away after him.

Numb, (Y/N) just let themself be pulled through the tunnels and be thrown into a jeep. They lay lifelessly as Harrow and his men drove towards Cairo and the pyramids and all the lives to be judged.

(Y/N) stared out the window blankly. They knew it stopped periodically, and screams echoed into their mind. Squeezing their eyes shut, they tried to block out the world. They couldn’t fight. (Y/N) had no strength of their own. They were useless, hopeless, purposeless.

Marc and Steven stumbled out of their memories and back onto Taweret’s ship.

“Taweret, what’s going on?” asked Steven.

“Fear is spreading in the upper world,” said Taweret. Streaks of purple light fell through the air, landing in the sand around the ship. “Unbalanced souls are being judged and condemned to the sands before their time. Oh, this is bad. This is evil.”

“This is Harrow,” said Steven, eyes widening. “Oh, god, he’s using Ammit to condemn souls.”

“(Y/N). Layla.” Marc’s jaw clenched. “They’re in danger.”

“You see why we have to go back?” said Steven, looking desperately at Taweret.

“Even if I could send you back up there, you’d just be returning to a body with a bullet in it,” said Taweret ruefully. “You wouldn’t be able to heal.”

Steven swallowed and looked down. “Harrow’s going to make (Y/N) read the rites to free gods from ushabti to free Ammit. Could it do the same for Khonshu or Ma’at’s ushabtis?”

Taweret paused. “Well, yes, if the magic was in the same area. But are you sure you want to be with Khonshu again? Seems like you really want to get away from him.”

Steven looked back at Marc.

“I did,” admitted Marc. “But this is our only shot to stop Ammit. To save Layla. To protect (Y/N). It’s the way it’s gotta be.”

Taweret smiled. “You both seem to care about them. Layla and (Y/N).”

Steven and Marc exchanged a look.

“Layla’s my wife,” said Marc.

“Layla’s special,” said Steven. “And (Y/N)…”

“They deserve so much more than what they had,” said Marc. “I don’t—We don’t want them to suffer any more.”

“We want to give them the care they deserve,” said Steven, smiling.

It was true. Throughout their time together, Steven and Marc had both come to care for (Y/N). In different ways they were alike.

Steven and (Y/N) were both awkward with others, underestimated and made to feel small. Steven wanted to make sure they saw they were worth more. He wanted them to feel like they were more.

Marc saw a reflection of his younger self in (Y/N)’s desperation for direction. He had been hurt growing up, lost himself, and gone down a dark path. He didn’t want that to happen to (Y/N).

Steven and Marc saw their own pain in (Y/N), in the teenager fighting to survive, so alone. They refused to let history repeat itself. They would make sure (Y/N) was protected and supported. They wouldn’t leave them to feel alone and lost.

Layla sat in the back of the jeep with Harrow’s men. Keeping her face covered, she looked around herself warily. She’d gotten a message from Taweret that Marc could try (somehow) to return to life, but she wasn’t sure what to believe when it came to the gods. It seemed so far-fetched.

But what Taweret had said about breaking Khonshu and/or Ma’at’s ushabtis if the ritual rites were read seemed true. Then Marc could fight with his suit, and he had a chance against Harrow like that. (Y/N) had a chance of being safe with their suit, too, and that’s what counted to Layla.

She squared her shoulders. She’d do what was necessary to defeat Harrow and Ammit. Her eyes flicked to the jeep (Y/N) was in. She also needed to save them. She couldn’t leave them with Harrow.

Don’t worry, (Y/N). We’re coming.

Dragging (Y/N) up the stones that made up the great pyramids, Harrow’s disciples dutifully followed him and Ammit’s growing power. They stopped only when he did, and they bowed as he raised Ammit’s staff. Slamming it on the ground, the pyramid opened up to the goddess’s power to allow her and her people entry. The pathway to the other gods and their Avatars was clear.

(Y/N) was pulled inside no matter how much they tried to pull against the guards. Seeing the familiar face of Yatzil and the other Avatars, they tried to fight again, but their strength was too little.

“Come. You won’t believe what the gods have hidden from mankind,” said Harrow to his followers.

“Run!” shouted (Y/N) to the other Avatars.

Their eyes went to the teenager, and the shock was clear. Everything they and Marc and Khonshu and Ma’at had said was true. Harrow was there to release Ammit. And these gods and Avatars had done nothing to prevent it.

Harrow lifted a hand, and the guard holding (Y/N) clamped a hand over their mouth to stifle their shouts. He looked evenly at the Avatars. “You’re judges, not warriors. This doesn’t need to happen.”

Selim summoned Osiris’s power, and the other Avatars collected their power to assist him. Harrow held up Ammit’s staff. Purple light exploded towards the Avatars. Letting out a pained cry, (Y/N) watched as they fell to the attack.

Behind Harrow’s men, Layla slipped away from the group. She had to find Khonshu’s ushabti for when the ritual rites were read. She paused as she found it. In the space beside it stood Ma’at’s ushabti. Layla was torn. Yes, breaking it would free Ma’at, who had fought to keep Ammit from returning, and (Y/N) would be given a suit by Ma’at that would protect them. But it could also tie (Y/N) to a god again, a clearly painful experience that had interrupted their life. Layla touched the ushabti. She needed to make the right choice, but for who? The world or (Y/N)?

“This was all so avoidable,” sighed Harrow as he looked at the bodies of the fallen Avatars. Then, he turned away and faced (Y/N). “It is time.”

(Y/N) shook their head furiously, but they were roughly pushed forward to their knees. Fitzgerald handed Harrow Ammit’s ushabti, and he held it in front of himself, over (Y/N)’s head.

“Read the rites,” said Harrow.

(Y/N) shook their head. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I don’t want to.” They wished they could say “can’t.” But they remembered the ritual. They knew it. The words were swirling in their mind, ready to be spoken, but (Y/N) didn’t want to let that magic into the air for Harrow to use.

“You’ll be safe after,” said Harrow, as terribly benevolent as ever. “Your life will be full of peace.”

“You’re going to hurt people,” said (Y/N), eyes blazing as they looked at him. “You’re going to hurt more people.”

Harrow sighed and shook his head in disappointment. “I really hate to do it this way. Truly, I do.” He raised the staff, and it glowed purple.

The scales tattoo on (Y/N)’s arm burned. They screamed, grabbing it tightly. Flames seemed to light inside their skin, punishing them for going against Harrow and Ammit’s wishes.

“I don’t want to continue this,” said Harrow sorrowfully, watching (Y/N) curl in on themself and cry out. “Just read the rites.”

(Y/N) sobbed and tried to squeeze their eyes shut and block out the pain. Behind the columns, Layla watched in horror with her hand over her mouth. Harrow truly was a monster.

“Read the rites, child,” said Harrow.

What else could (Y/N) do? As fire burned them from within, the words fell from them unbidden. The Coptic chant mixed with the natural magic of the temple of the gods, and the buzz of energy filled the air, making every mortal’s hair stand on end. (Y/N) sobbed, cried out, and the final words fell from their mind.

The burning pain left them, and (Y/N) caught themself on their hands. Pushing themself up, they tried to stand and do something, but it was too late.

Raising the ushabti above his head, Harrow smashed it into the ground. With a rumble equal to that of a thousand thunderstorms, billowing smoke flashing with purple magic exploded from the ushabti, rising to the ceiling of the chamber.

Harrow watched in awe, and his followers in not a little fear, as Ammit returned to the world. She stood tall and intimidating, towering over the mortals below. Her crocodile scales shone in the pale torchlight, glinting off the golden jewelry across her neck and in the beads of her black hair. Her long snout and maw instantly pulled back in a satisfied sneer, and her tail lashed in the open air.

Harrow and his disciples fell to their knees, reverent of their goddess. (Y/N) alone remained standing, staring up at Ammit with wide eyes.

Ammit gazed down at the gathered group, and her golden eyes landed on (Y/N). “To whom do I owe my gratitude? You, young one?”

(Y/N) blinked and stepped back, pulling the sleeves of their hoodie. Panic gripped them, and words refused to form in their throat.

“Yes, the language of magic rests heavy around you,” said Ammit, nodding approvingly. She continued her appraising look, and (Y/N) wanted to disappear. “As does truth. It is carved into your very heart. I look for such souls to guide, for who else can speak for my ways but those with truth?”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. Did Ammit want them as an Avatar because the truth was strong around them? Is that why Ma’at had chosen them? “I—” (Y/N)’s voice failed them, still constricted.

“My goddess,” said Harrow, raising his head. “The child was Ma’at’s Avatar. They fought against freeing you. They are not a suitable choice for you, despite their heart. I brought them merely to read the ritual rites.”

Ammit tsked. “Ah, Ma’at. We worked together once. A pity she could not see we both wish for the same thing—justice. Truth.” Her eyes landed on Harrow. “But if you brought the child here, then you are to whom I owe gratitude.”

Harrow shook his head. “I am but a humble disciple to whom you owe nothing.”

“Your scales lack balance,” noted Ammit appraisingly.

“I understand,” said Harrow, bowing his head. “I had hoped my penance might correct my imbalance, but I see now that’s impossible. I accept the scales regardless of the outcome.”

(Y/N) felt a fury build inside them. Harrow had given himself a second chance but refused it to anyone else. Once again, his teachings and Ammit’s work were nothing more than inconsistent fallacies that hurt so much more than they could ever possibly help.

“They lack balance because of what lies ahead of you,” said Ammit.

“Then we must spare the world the pain I will cause,” said Harrow. “I willingly submit.”

Harrow disgusted (Y/N). Only now that Ammit spoke was he willing to say he had done wrong? That he had hurt people?

“What lies ahead of you is your service to me,” said Ammit.

“How may I serve you in death?” said Harrow.

“Your death is delayed,” said Ammit. “I once relayed on a servant whose scales balanced perfectly. In exchange, I was bound to stone for two thousand years.” She cast a look to (Y/N), who had backed up to the stone wall in an attempt to disappear. “Perhaps the same would happen if I chose another balanced heart, even if the truth is so natural to them.”

“But I have disciples all over the world whose scales balance perfectly, awaiting your command,” said Harrow, still the ever-reverent, humble man. “They are worthy, my goddess.”

“But you worked to set me free. That is the loyalty I need of an Avatar,” said Ammit. “You are the Avatar that I need. Serve me, and you will find peace.” She put her hand on Harrow’s head. “Do not let the past control you.”

But you will judge others on their past, thought (Y/N).

“As you wish.” Harrow’s eyes glowed purple as he accepted the Avatarhood.

In the smaller corridors, Layla took a deep breath and stomped on Khonshu’s ushabti. In a swirl of sand and white smoke, Khonshu appeared, and Layla gasped. She had never actually seen one of the gods.

“I do not sense Marc Spector in this world,” said Khonshu, looking about. “He died fighting, no doubt.”

“Fighting your war,” said Layla angrily.

“And it’s far from over,” said Khonshu. “If Marc is truly gone, then I am in need of an Avatar. Would you, Layla El-Faouly, protect the travelers of the night—”

“Are you joking?” Layla cut him off. “You turned Marc’s life into a waking nightmare. Why would I ever sign up for that?”

“Because you won’t win against Ammit and Harrow alone,” said Khonshu.

“I’ll take my chances,” said Layla, narrowing her eyes.

“Nor can you protect (Y/N) against them,” said Khonshu.

“I said I’ll take my chances,” repeated Layla.

“You need a plan, little bug. What I offer—”

“I don’t care what you offer,” said Layla. “(Y/N) warned me about being an Avatar. Marc didn’t trust you. I don’t trust you. We’ll work together without my enslaving myself.”

“To rebind Ammit, we’ll need Ma’at’s knowledge of rituals,” said Khonshu, bitter but going along with Layla (he needed Ammit gone. That was his first priority).

Layla turned and picked up the ushabti. Silently apologizing to (Y/N) since she couldn’t be sure how (Y/N) felt about Ma’at returning, Layla smashed it. Blue smoked and sand condensed into Ma’at’s form.

“Ammit has returned,” said Ma’at, instantly strategizing. “I know the binding ritual. (Y/N) can read it. It will work if they become my Avatar again.”

“Good, they can repay releasing her,” said Khonshu.

“That wasn’t their fault,” snapped Layla.

�� Khonshu didn’t have the grace to respond and disappeared into sand.

“Remain watchful, Layla El-Faouly,” said Ma’at. “There is still a battle to come.” She disappeared.

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