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tinysushimark · 2 years

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Strangers, Johnny Suh

maybe in the end, being a stranger is beautiful.

angst, 1.064k words, Tw: mentions of sex, toxic relationship, lovers to strangers

"I love you, but not so much that I would hurt myself." You mumbled at the man in front of you and a small smile took over his features, "I understand." Johnny smiled at you and got up.

"Do you wanna split the bill?" He asked and you smiled at him, knowing he respects you and your choices, you nodded softly and sat down. You smiled at him as he put in his share of the bill and handed it to you. When you were done paying Johnny smiled at you once again. "So this is it."

"This is it, thank you, Johnny Suh."

"Thank you, Y/n." Johnny said and got up, you watched as he gathered his things and slipped his phone in this pocket.

"See you then?"

"No Johnny, you won't see me."

"Yeah, that's there too." He chuckled dryly and walked away. Your hands were around your cup as you watched him walk away and grab a taxi.

You sipped on your coffee softly and watched him walk away, him who you had once thought would never let your hand go, someone you expected to be there for your entire life. You let a few of your tears slip because you still yearned for his touch sometimes, but you knew your heart didn't need him anymore.

Everytime when he had yelled at you for your foolish choices and all the times you had argued with him were forgotten by you, the moment the man had smiled and accepted that he'd like to leave you too, for both of yours sake. A woman stood by your side with a tissue in her hand to offer and you smiled at her and accepted it.

You told her your nerve wracking story with the taller male who had walked away, who had told you he'll always be there when you missed him, because he'll hold you, but you declined, because you didn't want more pain to seep in when you were closer to him. The moment he had walked away a part of your heart though broken, some of it healed because of the pressure that it didn't have to take anymore.

Loving Johnny Suh was difficult, his walls were open for you to come in, but his heart ran deep and his emotions were never known because of their depth. One moment you thought he was happy but he was angry, he loved you but pitied you at times and it drove you crazy.

Every time he made love to you, you felt like you were the only one who felt things, every time you had felt sparks, it was probably you alone. Even though he never cheated on you and promised his loyalty to you, he was the best yet the worst ever, because you couldn't stop thinking about him at all times, and he was driving you crazy little by little. When you knew for sure that Johnny was like a drug to you, you told him that you needed riddance from his enslaving heart.

He had smiled and agreed, because he knew that to him you were the same and anything which enslaves you isn't good for a long run.

Someone who's addicted to drugs goes to a rehabilitation center but what do you do with a person who's addicted to another person, there's no rehabilitation center for those people so you just try to get rid of that addiction on your own, but it has to be a mutual agreement to be free from each other.

So when you had told him you'd never see him again he had agreed, because it all worked in both of your favours. Both of you thought that you knew each other, but when you were supposed to formulate words it became difficult each day and it made you feel suffocated.

A few years down the line when you would bump into each other you would probably be more than strangers, probably someone who was once a lover but now, they're just someone who you knew among the crowd, and you wished it would be like that.

The both of you longed for each other, the ending seemed rather easy but it's after effects had adverse effects on both of you.

Humans develop habits, a kid develops the habit to cling onto their mother, an adult develops habits in their company. So when your house didn't have Johnny in it, it felt rather empty and you would cry for hours, because you were used to him. You were used to calling him out to get the coffee from the top shelf and you cried because he wasn't there to help you with the boxes or merely over the fact that his absence made you vulnerable and alone. He was hard to forget, because the memories he made with you were ever lasting.

But if you put your mind to it, you can forget anyone, and everyone, time heals everything. Even though that saying is a rather complicated one, you understood it after Johnny left you. Time simply erased his existence for you, but you knew that if you saw him, the pain in you would awaken again.

But that wasn't the case when you saw him standing at the end of the street, waiting for a taxi, his eyes had met yours, his smile had vanished in an instant. Someone you hadn't seen in years, someone who had been your lover, but when the taxi stopped in front of him, he didn't bother to look twice. He got into the taxi as it zoomed past you, you saw as Johnny smiled at his phone and you felt relieved.

Because you didn't feel the pain.

You didn't feel the pain that you had expected you'd feel when he came into your vision, as of now, he was just a random stranger. Him, who was once your lover, was now just a random stranger and while it wasn't a story to be told to people, you wished people knew about your passionate lover, the one who became a stranger in the crowd a few years later. A man who was in your bed a few years ago, you had been in his arms, was now just someone you didn't know and he had probably found his happiness in someone else, just like you had.

Networks: @superm-net @pretty-neos @knet-bakery @nct-frathouse

#johnny suh imagines #johnny suh #nct u x reader #nct 127 angst #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 scenarios #johnny imagines #kpop fic #kpop angst #nct fanfics #supermnet #knet bakery #nct frathouse #nctsfw #nct sfw

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asleepinawell · 3 years

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Book Recs

I was gonna do one of these at the end of the year, but I’ve somehow managed to read 26 books this year already (12 novellas, 14 novels), almost all featuring queer authors and/or characters so this is already a long list.

Note: There’s a few on here I was kind of meh about, but in most of those cases it was a ‘book might be good but it’s not for me so i’ll mention it to put it on people’s radar anyway’ type of thing. Insert the usual necessary tumblr disclaimer about all of this being only my opinion and your opinions are valid too etc etc.

In order of when I read them:

Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower by Tamsyn Muir - Fantasy novella from the author of gideon the ninth that’s a twist on the classic princess trapped in a tower waiting for a prince story. Quite fun. (novella)

The Monster of Elendhaven by Jennifer Giesbrecht - Dark fantasy about revenge and magic. m/m couple but like I said it’s pretty dark and twisted all around so definitely not a happy queer romantic story. My opinion was interesting premise that could have been executed better and probably should have been a full novel to embellish on the world building potential. (novella)

A Memory Called Empire & A Desolation Called Peace - Arkady Martine - Probably tied with murderbot as the best things I read this year. Scifi, f/f couple, wonderfully done exploration of what it means to fall in love with a culture that is destroying your own. More of the many queer anti-imperialist books that have come out recently and certainly some of the best. The second one is a direct continuation of the first. (2 novels)

The Tyrant Baru Cormorant - Seth Dickinson - This is the third in the Baru Cormorant series (The Masquerade) and was my favorite so far. The second and third book were originally one book that got split I believe and the second book didn’t stand alone as well (though was still great), but the third book really made up for that. Dark fantasy world starring a queer woc whose country and culture is destroyed by the imperial forces of that world colonizing and assimilating them. She vows revenge and decides to work her way up within her enemy’s ranks to enact it from within and bring an empire to ruins. Really really fascinating study of so many different aspects of our own world and the systems which enable and allow bigotry and how bigoted and violent narratives are used to control minorities. This is definitely a darker series and I was particularly impressed with some of the commentary on the racism prevalent in non-intersectional feminism as depicted through a fantasy world. Can’t wait for the last one to come out! (3 novels, 1 forthcoming)

The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells - There’s six of them--5 novella and a novel--and the first is All Systems Red. Told from the point of view of a self-aware droid/android that is rented out by a corporation to provide protection in a dystopian capitalist hellhole future that isn’t that unlike our current capitalist dystopia but is in space. Muderbot hacked the chip that controlled it and instead of going rogue just wants to be left alone to watch its favorite tv shows. Murderbot is painfully relatable and the books are both funny and poignant. Highly recommended. (5 novellas and a novel).

Winter’s Orbit - Everina Maxwell - This was a m/m romance novel with a scifi backdrop of royal intrigue. Generally I’m more into scifi with a queer relationship in the background than vice versa, so it wasn’t my favorite, BUT I think it was still well written and someone looking for more of the romance angle would enjoy it. Has all your favorite romance tropes in it, especially the yearning. (novel)

The Divine Cities - Robert Jackson Bennett - Three book series. I’m very conflicted about this one. Set in a fantasy world where an enslaved nation overthrew the country enslaving them and now rules over them. It’s a story of what happens after the triumphant victory and within that it’s also a murder mystery tied into the dying magic of the conquered nation. It also has a six foot something naked oily viking man fist fight a cthulhu in a frozen river. The second book was by far my favorite, mostly due to the main character being brilliant. My conflict comes from the fact I don’t feel like the story treated its women and queer characters well. Like it had really great characters but it didn’t do great by them overall. That and the third book didn’t live up to the first two. But still definitely worth a read, can’t stress enough how cool some of the world building was. (3 novels)

Into the Drowning Deep - Mira Grant - This might be the only one on here I disliked. It’s got a doomed boat voyage and creepy underwater terror and monsters and a super diverse cast of characters, but I just didn’t enjoy the writing style. While having a diverse cast is great, there were a lot of moments where it felt like characters were pausing to explain things about themselves that felt like a tumblr post rather than a normal conversation you might have while actively being hunted by monsters. I also bounced off all the characters. But a lot of people seem to have liked it so if you’re into horror and want a book with a f/f main couple then maybe you’ll enjoy it. (novel)

Dead Djinn Universe - P. Djèlí Clark - Around the early 1900′s, a man in Egypt discovers a way to access another world and bring Djinn and mysterious clockwork beings called Angels through. As a result, Egypt tells the British to get fucked and Cairo becomes one of the most powerful cities in the world. So Egypt, magic, djinn, a steampunk-ish vibe, oh and the main character is a butch queer woman who enjoys wearing dapper suits and looking fabulous while she investigates supernatural events. Her girlfriend is also mysterious and badass. And she has a cat. There’s three novella (one of which technically might be considered a short story) and then the first novel. You should absolutely read the novellas first (A Dead Djinn in Cairo, The Angel of Khan el-Khalili, The Haunting of Tram Car 015). Super fun and imaginative series. (3 novellas and a novel, more forthcoming)

River of Teeth & Taste of Marrow - Sarah Gailey - From the book description

“In the early 20th Century, the United States government concocted a plan to import hippopotamuses into the marshlands of Louisiana to be bred and slaughtered as an alternative meat source. This is true. Other true things about hippos: they are savage, they are fast, and their jaws can snap a man in two. This was a terrible plan.”

Queer hippo riders!!!! Very much a western but with hippos. Main couple included a non-binary character. Loved the first one. The second one I was more meh about due to one of the characters I was supposed to like having obnoxious man pain that a woman had to take the brunt of the whole time. Also there were less hippos. But queer hippo riders! Definitely read the first one, and they’re both novellas so no reason not to read the second as well. (2 novellas)

A Psalm for the Wild-Built - Becky Chambers - I may be the only person who hasn’t read the long way to a small angry planet at this point, but I did grab her new novella and I loved it. It made me want to go sit out in the woods and feel peaceful. The world it’s set in feels like a peaceful post-apocalypse...or diverted apocalypse maybe. Humans built robots and robots gained sentience, but instead of rebelling they just up and left and went into the wilderness with a promise that the humans wouldn’t follow them.The remaining human society reshaped itself into something new and peaceful. It’s the story of a monk who leaves their habitual monking duties to go be a tea monk and then later wanders into the wilderness and becomes the first human in ages to meet a robot. Very sad there’s no fan art yet. (novella, more forthcoming)

The March North - Graydon Saunders - This was such a weird book that I’m not sure how to explain it. The prose style is hard to get used to and I suspect a lot of people will bounce off it in the first chapter. There’s no third person pronouns used at all and important events get mentioned once in passing and if you blink you’ll miss them. Set on a world where magic is extremely common to the point that rivers sometimes run with blood or fire and the local weeds are something out of a horror movie and most of the world is run by powerful sorcerer dictators, one country banded together (with the help of a few powerful sorcerers who were tired of all the bullshit) to form a free country where powerful sorcerers wouldn’t rule and the small magics of every day folks could be combined to work together. The story revolves around a Captain of the military force on the border who one day has three very powerful sorcerers sent to them by the main government with the hint that just maybe there’s about to be a big invasion (there is) with the implication of take these guys and go deal with this. The world building is extremely complex and very cool...when you can actually understand what the fuck is going on. There is also a murder sheep named Eustace who breathes fire and eats just about everything and is a Very Good Boy and belongs to the most terrifying sorcerer in the world who appears as a little old grandma with knitting. It had one of the most epic badass and wonderfully grotesque battles I’ve ever read. But yeah, it is not what I would call easy reading. Opinions may vary wildly. I did also read the second one (A Succession of Bad Days) in the series which was easier to follow and had a lot more details about the world, but overall I was more meh about it despite some cool aspects. The chapters and chapters of the extreme details of building a house that made up half the novel just weren’t my thing. (novels).

The Space Between Worlds - Micaiah Johnson - In this world parallels universes exist and we’ve discovered how to travel between them, but the catch is you can only go to worlds where the ‘you’ there is already dead. This turns into an uncomfortable look at who would be the people most likely to have died on many worlds and how things like class and race would fit into that and what we would actually use this ability for (if you guessed stealing resources and the stock market you’d be correct). The main character is a queer woc who travels between worlds with the assistance of her handler (another queer woc) who she has the hots for. She accidentally stumbles on a whole lot of mess and conspiracy and gets swept up in that. Really enjoyed it. (novel)

Witchmark - C.L. Polk - Fantasy world reminiscent of Victorian England (I think?) where a young man with magical gifts runs away from his powerful family to avoid being exploited by them. He joins the army and fights in a war and comes home to try and live a quiet life as a doctor, but a murder pulls him into a larger mystery that upturns his life. Also he’s extremely gay and there’s a prevalent m/m romance. This one was a fun-but-not-mind-blowing one for me. (novel, 2 more in the series I haven’t read)

The Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon - This was one of those that everyone loved but I couldn’t get into for some reason. I tried twice and only got about halfway through the second time. It’s got dragons and queer ladies and fantasy world and all the things I like, but I wasn’t that invested in the main story (which included the f/f couple) and was more interested in the smaller story about a woman trying to become a dragon rider. There are few things that beat out a lady and her dragon friend story for me and that was the storyline that felt neglected and took a different turn right when we got to the part I’d been waiting for. But, I know a lot of people whose reading opinions I respect who loved it, and if you like epic fantasy with dragons and queens and treachery and pirates and queer characters then I’d say you should definitely give it a try. (novel)

Bonus: I didn’t read these series this year, but if you haven’t read them yet, you should.

Imperial Radch (Ancillary Justice) - Ann Leckie - Spaceship AI stuck in a human body out for revenge for their former captain, but that summary does not come close to doing it justice. Another one examining imperialism and also gender and race.(3 novels)

Kushiel's Legacy Series - Jacqueline Carey - This is two series, six books total, and starts with Kushiel's Dart. Alternate universe Renaissance-y Europe in a fantastical world where sex isn't shameful and sex workers are respected and prized. Lots of political intrigue and mystery. A lot of BDSM and kinky stuff too (the main character is a sexual masochist, oh and also bi!). I first read this series when I was fifteen or sixteen and it definitely made a big impression on me. Same author also wrote the Santa Olivia series which I’d also recommend. (6 novels)

The Locked Tomb (Gideon the Ninth) - Tamsyn Muir - I mean, if you follow me, you know. If you don’t follow me you still probably know. I’d have felt remiss to have left them off though. Lesbian Necormancers in Space. Memes! Skeletons! Biceps! Go read them. (2 novels, 2 forthcoming, 1 short story)

Books On My To Read List:

Fireheart Tiger - Aliette de Bodard

The Order of the Pure Moon Reflected in Water - Zen Cho

Black Sun - Rebecca Roanhorse

This Is How You Lose the TIme War - Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Ninefox Gambit - Yoon Ha Lee

Also, if anyone has any recs for scifi/fantasy books starring queer men (not necessarily having to do with a queer relationship) and written by queer men I’d love them. There’s a lot written by women, and some of them are great, but I’d love to read a story about queer men from their own perspective.

#book recs #books #mp

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extemely-thoughtful-person · 3 years

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50 followers special theory!!! (Prepare for a brain rot!!!)

Even MORE Chapter 6 Predictions: the Olympus Tech Company, RSA vs NRC details, and mini theory regarding the release date.

Now, your probably all getting impatient about Chapter six's release date. The events are something to look forward to, but it just doesn't answer what happens next in the main story line. But because of impatience, I would like to say something: it could be worse.

Seriously, I was (and still am) a fan of RWBY, and let me tell you. Their yearly hiatus is pure torture. Their release dates are in late October to early November, with their volumes ending anywhere around the end of February to early April. This leaves a time span of anywhere from 8 to 10 months between each volume. And the writing for that show isn't even close to as good as Twisted Wonderland's.

So I'm taking a second to appreciate not just the quality, but the speed of the writing and development of each chapter. Along with the effort that goes into each event, repair and update. Your doing great TWST crew! Keep up the good work!💕♥️

So, with that said, let's get to a few issues I've been thinking about for a while now.

The Olympus Tech Company

What We Know So Far

The Olympus Tech Company is one of the best tech companies in Twisted Wonderland. They sponsored the VDC voting system, and are a pretty big deal in the world. Upon receiving an invitation for an internship from the company, we learn from Ortho's reaction that getting something like this is a huge deal. It's probably a very rare occurrence for the company to undertake interns.

Idia got the intern easley enough, most likely due to his skill, and not social status. But, instead of accepting the invitation, he tossed it in the trash. Along with the rest of his invitations to work for other smaller companies.

Many people have been asking the very fair questions: Why would you throw away a great opportunity like that? What kind of past events would lead a person to toss away something that thousands of people would jump at the chance to do?

These kinds of questions are good, but this is the questions I've been asking: Did Idia make the right choice by throwing a valuable invite in the trash? Will his choice come back to bite him in the rear later on?

The reason why I ask these kinds of questions is because we don't know anything else about the Olympus Tech Company (OTC). For all we know they could premote enslavement there. (They obviously don't, but we don't really know that)

So because we know so little about the company, I decided to consult the next most accurate source besides the game, the Hercules movie. More specifically, mount Olympus, and it's residents. And I gotta say, some of the stuff I found at the beginning of the film was more than enough to make an educated guess as to what kind of company the OTC is really like.

And it's not as good as the universe makes it out to be.

My Research and Opinions regarding Olympus

Before I formally begin, allow me to cast some light on a very important factor that will change your whole output on the movie. Remember the first song that's preformed by the Muses, the Gospel truth right? This song is preformed throughout the film in smaller parts, but the whole concept of the song is very disturbing if you think about it like this. Although the title Gospel refers to the type of music used in the song, it is also a reference to something else: the perspective of the whole story. Gospel means "good message" or " good word" but it is also referred to as "the word of God".

And in this case, the word of the gods of Olympus. Or even Zeus himself. But do you realize what that means? This story is told from the perspective of the Olympians. But what about any input from a neutral party? Or even a question or two from Hades himself about the situation from his point of view?

Nope. It's just the Olympian's perspective. That's probably why Hades is depicted with more monstrous features, because they saw him as the villain.

Keep this Gospel detail in mind, because it comes in as a very important factor later on.

Now, where to begin?

The Titans

From what I could gather the titans are the primal monsters of this whole movie. They're mindless powerhouses that walk the face of the earth until Zeus comes along and traps them under the ocean. The only way to free them is to wait for the planets in the solar system to align perfectly, which in turn should cut a path through the waters and, with the help of a god, free them.

And right off the bat, there are several things that I'm questioning. Like, If Zeus put them down there in the first place, then what's to stop him from doing it again? Why is Hercules the only one who can beat the titans in round two? And despite the almighty power of the Olympian counsel, how did dozens, if not hundreds of gods lose to the titans when Zeus defeated them by himself in the first place? And how in Hade's name did Hercules beat them all? And he's lesser than all the gods at this point! How?! HOW?!??!!!

Besides that, there's not to much else to say about them. But they could be important...

Olympus

Okay, there's a lot of things I've noticed about Olympus itself. Btw, I'm not talking about the gods of Olympus, just the place itself.

Firstly, everything is made of clouds. If something gets destroyed, then it automatically repairs itself. But I think that the cloud structures of the buildings isn't just a callback to the heavens, but it reminds me of a place that seems unreal. Like, something like this isn't supposed to exist. "It's too good to be true" kinda place. It looks like a paradise, like a perfect place to live, like a place everyone would want to live.

Which brings me to my next observation: the gates to Olympus are closed. I feel like this detail is more important than you may realize. It could mean that only the gods and goddesses are allowed up here, it could mean that you need to earn your ticket there as well. One things for sure, not just anyone can waltz up there like they own the place, there's a certain type of person that's allowed up here. If you don't fit the status quo, then you aren't welcome.

Besides the gates being closed, anyone who can go over or are authorized can and do go in. But don't expect to get there without a ticket.

The gods

This is where things get dark.

The gods and goddesses of Olympus are very chill up close the first time we see them. They seem like nice people, just hanging out in heaven enjoying a paradise. They got invited to a party to celebrate a reasonable event that anyone should enjoy. Nothing seems to be wrong about this, right?

Well, when Hades enters the picture for the first time the atmosphere gets dark. It's because it's a very rare occurrence for the god of the underworld to be in Paradise. Even the other gods are wary of his presence. But Zeus did invite him because they're brothers, right? Family inviting family for a nice reunion? Hades is just being ungrateful, he's killing the mood and it's his fault, right?

No. It isn't Hades fault for anything. Mostly.

Remember what I said about the Gospel truth? How the story it told from the prospective of the Olympians? This is where that prospective comes into play.

Hades is just terrible from the olympian point of view. Is he actually bad though? No. I think that Hades is better than all the gods on Olympus combined. And the interactions tell us a lot, and give us information to back this up.

For one Hades says that most of what the gods actually do is just...well... nothing. They just hang out on Olympus partying and enacted what they call "divine justice" on the mortals. They just cash royalty sacrifices from their temples on earth, get human worship, and laze around while they do next to nothing. We even see this later in the movie.

Hades on the other hand has the full time job of ruling the underworld, which I might add is a huge responsibility. You gotta make sure that the dead come to the underworld, make sure they get the proper judgement, and you need to make sure they don't try to escape into the living world. This job takes up most of Hade's time, but like I mentioned in a previous post about Ignihyde being about adapting, Hades manages to make the job doable by only one person keeping the underworld in order. But even with the shortcuts involved, it's still a pretty hard job.

And get this, Zeus gave...no forced this job on to Hades. The poor guy didn't even get a say in the matter. He didn't get to choose, but instead a cosmic rando of a brother just walked up to him and said " Hey, bro! Imma gonna give you a job away from home that's gonna be a bit tough, but don't worry! All you gotta do is keep an entire realm that is just as big if not bigger than Olympus under control. Make sure the dead don't come up to the surface to start a zombie apocalypse! Okay? Okay! Love ya! Thanks!"

And Zeus doesn't even bother to help Hades in anyway. So basically, while the gods just sit on cloud cushions doing next to nothing, Hades is down in the underworld doing an important, thankless job just because his younger brother gave him that responsibility without his input.

I did say Olympus was full of nice people, I never said they were good.

And what Zeus did to Hades? It's disgusting because Hades did nothing to deserve this treatment. And wanna know something else? Inviting Hades to a party on Olympus is just a huge insult rather than a nice reunion. Because Zeus is basically saying, " Hey bro! Welcome back to the paradise we practically kicked you out of! It's such a nice party we're having, reminding you of everything your missing out on! Isn't my son adorable? It's so nice that he was born into a place like this, and loved by everyone just because his father is the king. Btw, no one finds your jokes funny because, if we're being honest, you don't really belong here!" And Zeus even has the audacity to tell Hades to stay longer. Wanna know why he does that? It's because if Zeus just told Hades to leave then it would make Zeus look bad, telling his own brother to go. In reality, it would be nicer to Hades to just tell him he's not wanted than making yourself look better by keeping him in a place that's out of his league.

So I'm asking the question, is Hades right to try and take Olympus?

In many cases, yes. However the way he goes about it isn't that great. But honestly, I don't blame him for wanting to tear his deadbeat family apart.

Another question that I ask myself: If Hades was allowed to stay in and rule Olympus, would he do a better job?

Actually, yes. I believe he would, because even though Hades would enjoy himself up there, he has a productive personality. He managed to make running the underworld easier for himself, so it would be cake for Hades to be in charge of Olympus. Not only that, but he could do so much better because he would not just find ways to cut corners with quality work, his presence would make things farer for everyone else.

Remember what I said earlier about the status quo? That only the gods are allowed on Olympus? Hades may be a god, but it's made clear from his first appearance and the Olympian's reactions that he doesn't fit the status quo. Monsters, and other creatures don't fit the mold either, and are gazed upon as, well, monsters. But, if Hades was in charge, then I'm willing to bet he would try and find a use for the cast outs. After all, in the underworld, he has Cerberus guarding the dead, Pain and Panic working as minions carrying out smaller jobs for the god, and the Fates, who are informants giving Hades accurate information. All of the characters above don't fit the status quo, and yet, Hades still relies on them to lend a hand and trusts they'll do their jobs. (They don't always, but at least they try.)

If I'm being honest here, I don't think that Hades isn't worthy of Olympus, I think Olympus isn't worthy of Hades. Because as far as we've seen, none of the gods even come close to doing something as important or as difficult as Hades.

The Olympus Tech Company And what it might be like

So, taken all this information about Olympus, what do we think the OTC is like?

The answer is a garbage company.

Its probably just like any mega corporation that hires underpaid workers who work in poor conditions while the higher-ups do next to nothing, living a life of luxury while certain people below them are working hard to earn a living.

That's the basic gist of the company. They probably don't let anyone move up the ranks unless that person is appealing in some way. Basically if you fit their status quo, then you get a raise, maybe a better position. Who knows? Maybe they steal ideas from their lower employees. They don't actually care about any of them though.

And the stuff they program and produce is probably something like today's corporations would be able to produce. Their company is modern, but not advanced, though they probably think it's advanced compared to lesser companies. The type of technology their company produces is most likely the equivalent to our modern day tablets, phones, and computers. Just stamp a brand on it and OMG you've got the latest tech from the OTC. They probably also care about quantity over quality, meaning that they're willing to sell more of their products rather than products of good condition. Unless you wanna pay more for quality.

What about interns? What sort of treatment do they get?

Idia got an invitation to become an intern during his fourth year, and that's supposed to be a big deal, given how rare they are. But if we're right about the company being garbage, would they show that to interns? Probably not because that could cause a dent in their reputation. As for treatment of the interns, they would get treated well enough, definitely better than the factory workers who have been in the company way longer.

So comparing the OTC to Ignihyde, The OTC would definitely have more respect (which they do not deserve) and Ignihyde would be more advanced (but they're not too big on credit).

Olympus and OTC comparison

What do both places and people have in common?

Both have Lazy higher-ups who take all the credit

Both have a class in the company who don't fit the status quo

While the Olympians do nothing, the OTC's technology refects the higher-ups lazy attitudes

Both the highest don't care about the people below them

Both will use whatever means necessary to secure their reputation, wealthe, and possition

Hades and Idia comparison

Both do important jobs that they had no say in getting ( they didn't ask for this, guys)

Both feel left out, but have gotten used to it overtime

Both are good at finding shortcuts and making good use of resources

Both can change their strategy when the situation calls for it

Both don't fit the status quo

Both disapprove of the normal people ( Idia thinks they're just NPCs while Hades thinks the dead are boring)

Both hate people, and they both probably have bad blood within their families

So basically Idia's reaction if he ever got to see the OTC up close? He'd either nope the heck outa there, or if he ever took the opportunity and made it big in the company, he'd turn it on it's head and completely reform it.

OTC vs Ignihyde

So what kinda conflict is gonna strike between these two very different places?

Well, to start off, I wasn't sure what kind of conflict would strike out between an NRC dorm and an entire company. So, again I looked at Hercules and picked out the first big enemy. So, let's look at the threat at the beginning of the movie, the Titans.

I said they would be important somehow, and at first, I wasn't sure. I tried thinking of something that could fit as a titanic threat. Maybe an unstable invention, a nuclear weapon, or perhaps a powerful discovered Magical artifact? All things considered, no matter what is was, it was going to be imprisoned by the CEO of the Olympus Tech Company for not just safety reasons, but for research purposes. The problem was coming up with what exactly.

And then, the realization hit me with the force of Ares's chariot.

Ortho Shroud is based off of the Titans from the movie.

Yes, yes, I know. Outrageous claim. But there is a lot of evidence to support this Theory.

Firstly, the Titans were seen as huge primal monsters causing endless natural disasters such as hurricanes, volcanoes, and earthquakes. They were left unchecked until Zeus imprisoned them all.

Taking a look at Ortho, we've seen time and time again that he's capable of causing mass destruction as well. His archetype gear fired a powerful beam of magic that destroyed a tree, his star gazer gear is capable of punching through storm clouds (which, btw are huge) tearing up the sports field in the process, and he almost leveled the entire college during the Ghost marriage event. And these are only a handful of times we've seen him ready to use violence and destruction as the solution to the problems at hand. Basically, Idia is good at designing destructive weapons, and Ortho's outfits are perfect examples of this. Not to mention there was more than one Titan and Ortho has several different outfits each one capable of causing a different kind of mass destruction.

The next, and probably the most important tie these two groups have in common is this: lightning.

Zeus imprisoned the Titans with his thunderbolts, and they hold a grudge against him because of it. They don't like lightning.

Well, guess what? Ortho doesn't like lightning either. Now, we don't know exactly why. There a number of different reasons, and here are a few guesses:

Lightning killed the original Ortho

He can malfunction due to a lightning strike

It's a part of the Shroud family curse

He thinks its annoying

We still don't know exactly why, but a distaste for lighting is a definite connection.

And what happened to the Titans? They were imprisoned by Zeus.

And what do you think's gonna happen to Ortho in the next chapter?

Once the OTC finds out the truth about Ortho, and that he's actually a robot, they're gonna want answers. Why is your brother a robot? How did he manage to build something like this? It's just an AI, right?

And when they see how much damage Ortho can cause, the head of the company is going to want him contained. So the base of conflict between dorm and company? It's not just Ortho that's at stake, but the entire dorm. The OTC may be a bigger deal than Ignihyde, but the dorm is probably centuries ahead of any tech company. In a previous post, I listed off a few things I wanted to see as Ignihyde's unique feature. One of the things that I mentioned is a data archive. If the dorm has a library for all their knowledge, which probably contains lots of info for magical technically, then who wouldn't say that could be of some value to the Olympus Tech Company?

I wouldn't be surprised if the OTC took some of it's inspiration from the actual disney company in america because those guys are basically known for taking something, rewriting and rebranding it, then claiming all the credit for whatever they did. It would make perfect sense to have the company based off of the real life company who it's owned by. The whole Hercules movie was written by two people who highlighted disney's flaws of merchandising and branding and threw those into the movie. A subtle but realistic joke about Hercules's popularity and how it's used by the company.

The OTC and their possible ties to RSA

Now, it's not just going to be The Olympus Tech Company vs Ignihyde this chapter, we've still got RSA to worry about. Throwing an entire school towards an entire dorm would be a little unfair, so the rest of NRC would definitely be involved with the annual school vs school Magift tournament.

I've already covered the possibility of RSA cheating for a century in a row. I'm holding on to that theory because if these bozos win without some kinda godly trump card or rule violation and just because they're the perfect players from the perfect hero school, I'm gonna burn that prep academy to the ground, sow the ground with salt, and throw the ashes of the school into a volcano! I'll take great pleasure watching that volcano erupt, destroying the remains of that blasted, stupid institution once and for all!

Alright, you get the point. Making a perfect academy would be the worst thing you can do.

But what if it's not just the Magift tournament? What if they were cheating at the VDC as well?

How could they though? It's decided by a majority vote which is done in real time by the people. How could they tamper with the people's votes?

They messed with the voting system. And the OTC were sponsoring that, right? The Olympus tech company is responsible for NRC losing again. Now, I'm not saying that they convinced more people to vote for RSA, I'm saying they actually messed with the numbers. And since they sponsored the system, all those votes were completely at their mercy. They could've made some invalid, deleted a few, and in the end the results were the same. RSA came out on top.

But do you notice how close the match was? By just one vote. I think that originally, NRC was ahead by a few, so the OTC cut some votes off from the original winners to make it look like it was a close game, but RSA was victorious.

I think Neige's supporters were in on the secret. They knew the game was rigged in their favor, and they knew they would win. Did you really think that they were just reassuring Neige just to make him feel more confident? They were stating the fact. They were definitely in on it.

Now the question: why would the OTC go up against NRC? Why help RSA win?

There are at least two possibilities as to why. But both depends on a certain factor, the character based off of Hercules himself.

Possiblity #1: Vil Schoenheit is also based off of Hercules

Both have a similar pasts (minus the godly background) but both do have a father in a higher possition.

Vil is going up against Idia in the next chapter. The chapter might have an important element of heros and villains. And we may see where Vil tries to play the role of the hero.

So, what does this have to do with the OTC?

The Olympus tech company's reason for cheating would be in this case that they were bribed by RSA. They tampered with the voting for money.

Very dirty of them, but because of corporate greed? Why not?

Possiblity#2: there is a new character who fills the base and the role of Hercules

This one is probably the more likely one, as it would not only give us a chance to meet more RSA students, but also the head CEO of the OTC.

In this case, the CEO would be based off of Zeus, and he would have a son based off of Hercules. The Hercules character would attend RSA, and maybe have a few friends who are based off of Hercules's friends (Random thing where he's gay for Twisted!Megera, but that's just a joke.) Basically, it would follow the equivalence rule about the hero and villain counterparts. After all, Hades went up against Hercules, not Zeus. Having Idia and Twisted!Hercules competing in Magift against each other would make the most sense.

Now this would be where the OTC motive for rigging the voting system come in. Twisted!Zeus is the head of the OTC, and his son attends one of the academies with a representative from that same academy. It would make RSA look bad for losing, the same academy his son attends. Why not push the votes in RSA'a favor to ensure that the students of the academy keep their flawless reputations?

Of course, it's possible for it to be a combination of both possibilities.

And if the OTC is sponsoring the score boards for the Magift tournament, who's to say they won't do the same thing again?

But, there's something they never considered about this year's Magift tournament.

Tipping the scales

RSA students most likely have been taught to work together. This is a good thing for them. They've been taught how to function as a unit, how to help each other through hardships, and to come out victorious together. This is all fine, and I'm willing to bet that the teachers at RSA have taught this lesson to the students as a traditional one. It's always been there. And it's known for this tradition

NRC students have always been asked the question: what do you want? They persue their own goals and dreams, rarely working with others to come out on top. And when they do work together, it's usually on conditions. Crowley's probably been at the college since the start, and has not just taught the students to not rely on anyone but themselves, but also the harsh cruel reality of the world: Happy endings don't just happen on their own. You need to work for them. The students don't rely on each other, and never have.

Both academies's greatest strengths is the others greatest weakness. RSA's weakness is it's students falling apart and being separated. NRC's weakness is the students working together with no motivation, because they aren't used to working with people they hate, it's constant fighting among themselves.

But that system is about to be broken by one person: MC

MC has been teaching the students to work together and establish friendships with each other. Through the NRC students misadventures, MC has been teaching them to overcome hatred and ban together. So now, not only are the NRC students capable of working as strong individuals, but they can now function as a unit as well.

This eliminates the system of strength and weakness because now, RSA has the weakness of not being able to function as individuals. Not all students suffer from this, but most would. But the ability to work with others as well as by yourself would give NRC the advantage in a fair game. But if we count the fact that RSA has the cheats and support, this game was never ment to be fair.

So to sum it all up:

The OTC is a company full of jerks

Ortho is based off of the Titans and needs to be protected at all costs

Ignihyde must protect their entire dorm from the dark crime of plagiarism

The OTC may be helping RSA cheat due to bribery and/or family connections

We can't trust anything sponsored by the OTC

And MC is going to help our bois destroy the competition

Or, again I could be horribly wrong.

Thanks for reading!!! And....

Before i official end the post, I'd like to say two quick things. The first is a mini Theory regarding the release date for Chapter 6. It could either be with the chapters story line time in late May, or the sixth chapter is released on the sixth day of the sixth month, or more specifically, June 6.

Secondly, thank you for 50 followers!!! Even though I don't spend all of my time on tumblr, it's a great comfort to me knowing someone does read what I write ( even though most of it seems outrageous and incredibly farfetched.) You all mean the world to me! Thanks!!!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland theory #i did a thing #twst #ignihyde #Olympus Tech Company #ortho shroud #twisted wonderland idia #rsa we're doomed #rook i swear if you know what's going on but don't tell us i give you a taste of my shoe #vil schoenheit #MC #Crowley #we're doomed #disney twisted wonderland

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anarchy-and-piglins · 3 years

Text

Somehow Technoblade had managed the spectacular achievement of becoming the odd one out in an entire community made up of rare and strange beings.

The fact that all the other residents were non-humans happened to be what made him different though. Wilbur had told him the history of the commune, how their town was founded with the direct purpose of being a safe place for mobs and hybrids to live in peace, secluded from the humans who hunted them, enslaved them, or would otherwise harm them. Their location was kept secret, hidden from most by enchantments, and they were almost completely self-sufficient in the way they were run in terms of food and stuff.

Only occasionally would somebody wander out to another village, to trade or just to seek a little adventure for themselves. Phil especially was prone to do this – a traveler at heart, his Elytrian nature – and he was the one who had found Technoblade in a rather... compromising position.

If by compromising you could mean having an arrow sticking out your back.

People didn't like Technoblade. And Technoblade generally didn't like people, but he liked it even less when they chased him out of their villages with their bows drawn. Phil had been kind enough to remove the projectile. Technoblade had bravely said it didn't hurt but then secretly dug his blunt nails into the palms of his hands hard enough to leave white indents. Then Phil had insisted on taking him home to get a proper look at the wound and clean it up.

Not all of the other residents were thrilled with Technoblade's presence at first, scared it could compromise their location. A lot of their tunes had changed when they found out other humans were the cause of his injury, even more so when Techno revealed this was hardly an isolated incident. People didn't like Technoblade at all.

(Most humans had little tolerance for that which they did not understand. And according to them, Technoblade was weird and very hard to understand. Techno understood himself perfectly fine, he always thought they were the weird ones.)

So he stayed and overall things worked out great. There were only minor issues caused by the 'only human around' thing. Their pub was a good example. A few of the others in the commune could simply fly or teleport, and those that couldn't had no problems either since they could rely on inhuman stamina to make the climb tolerable. Techno had a hundred rungs of a ladder he needed to brave with his pitiful human physique if he wanted to get up there. Same thing for Phil's ridiculously high-up birdhouse.

And then one day he got sick.

It was probably his own fault. Last night when it was storming he'd been coming home from mining and gotten completely soaked out in the rain. A small voice in the back of his mind told him he should probably take his drenched clothes off and get warm and comfortable as soon as he got home – the voice sounded suspiciously like Phil when he lectured Techno about fixing his terrible sleeping schedule and eating more regularly. But he had gotten distracted by putting away the materials he'd mined into his chests and starting to smelt the ore and by the time he noticed he was shivering at how cold it was, his clothes were damp more than wet. He lighted the fire and felt too exhausted to bother getting changed, crawling under the covers as he was - though it didn't completely ward away further trembling.

When he woke up his head hurt and there was this annoying tickle in his chest, feather-light touches against his lungs. The clothes had become sticky and uncomfortable, peeling off his skin. Techno coughed into a fist and set out as normal, intent on resuming his tasks where he left off yesterday.

It would probably go away on its own.

Except the coughing didn't stop. Small bursts of it kept coming up when he needed them least. He was in the middle of one when a voice rang out behind him.

"Techno, are you okay dude?" He must have jumped a solid three feet into the air and for a moment Wilbur only chuckled at his reaction.

"I told you to stop doing that," Techno grumbled, a little too sharply. Just because Wilbur could literally appear out of nowhere didn't mean he had to use that ability to sneak up on him for no reason. Techno coughed again, hiding it in his elbow.

"You did," Wilbur acknowledged with a smirk, but didn't apologize. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look I'm doing, I'm headed to the mines." Techno swung his pickaxe up on his shoulder, kind of almost nearly dropping it in the process with how clumsy his hands were being. Stupid.

"It looks like you were hacking up a lung, really." Wilbur's features softened. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Techno responded. He started walking again, knowing Wilbur would have a hard time following him while in corporeal form. Especially in the daytime.

"Are you coming to the pub later? I've got some new plans to unveil, think they'll be sick." Wilbur did make a valiant attempt at following him, though he quickly started falling behind, floating inches above the ground and unable to keep up with Techno's human strides.

"Uh, I'll think about it?" Techno answered evasively. He wasn't looking forward to braving that ladder in his current state. His arms hurt just thinking about it.

Wilbur stopped to call after him. "What do you mean you'll think about it?"

But Techno was far enough gone to be able to pretend not to hear him as he descended down his mineshaft.

Techno liked Niki's hair a lot. He'd even told her so not long after meeting her.

It was long and wavy and a nice shade of pastel pink that reminded him of the sunset. Technoblade would consider growing out his own hair that long if he didn't know it was way too unruly to keep in shape and stay untangled. And if dyeing it wasn't such a chore – one he knew he'd be too lazy to undertake as regularly as he should – he might have dyed it from its boring brown shade into something more interesting.

Niki was glad he was keeping her company while she tended to it, combing through it with what he presumed was a comb made of a seashell. Techno didn't tell her he had only really left the mines early because his lungs were starting to strain from the dust down there, the coughing fits getting closer together with less time in between to let him breathe. He sat on the sandy shore and traced patterns into the sand with one finger while they talked.

Niki was telling him about her builds, and expressing her disappointment over how she couldn't easily show them to her friends. None of them could breathe underwater or deal with the pressure common at the depths Niki lived. But she loved describing them in detail.

She was just explaining the sea glass she was intending to use when Technoblade started coughing again. His lungs expressed their displeasure through a series of sharp pangs that shot up into his neck. The sound he made was wet and disgusting, like there was something liquid rattling around inside his chest. Niki stopped talking to look at him worriedly.

"Are you alright? Techno, what happened?"

He tried to wave her away but it was kind of hard with his body still intent on making it impossible for him to get oxygen. Techno closed his eyes against the blurriness of his vision to concentrate on inhaling slower instead. "M'fine." He could feel the phlegm in his throat.

Niki was pulling herself onto the beach a little, trying to get a closer look at him. "Are you sick?"

"No." Getting up so fast was a bad idea. His head spun and he felt incredibly shaky. Techno ignored it. "No, I'm not. It's fine. I think I'll just head home now."

He started walking away quickly. The afternoon sun felt unbearable suddenly, scorching. Or maybe that was the beginning of a fever.

Niki called after him to wait but confined to the water as she was, it wasn't like she could do anything to stop him. Technoblade walked until he crested the hill, already seeing the shape of the other buildings in the distance. He made it halfway through the grass field and then he felt too drained to continue. Deciding to sit down for a bit, he lay back and closed his eyes.

"Do you think he's dead?"

"I dunno, we should poke him with a stick to find out."

Techno groaned at the sound of loud voices, ringing painfully around his aching head. He cracked his eyes open – not sure when he had even fallen asleep - and tried to blink the three faces hovering above him into focus.

"Oh, I think he's alive. Kind of." That was Ranboo.

"We could still poke him, just to make sure." Tommy.

Which meant the third person had to be Tubbo.

Techno pushed up on his elbows to get into a seated position, hating how difficult it was. His limbs were weak, as if they were made of jelly or some shit. The light fever had escalated into him feeling like his entire body was on fire.

This was not good.

"-chno? Hey, anybody home?" Tubbo was talking to him, waving one hand in front of his face. If his frown was any indication, Techno had been spacing out for a while.

"Hm?" he asked.

"I think there's something wrong with him," Tubbo said to the others.

"I'm fine." Techno tried standing up but fell back onto his ass a moment later when dizziness plowed into him with the force of a boulder. Tommy snorted.

"Yeah, we can tell." He reached out but pulled his hand back as soon as it came into contact with Techno's skin. "Fuck you're almost the same temperature as Jack Manifold. Pretty sure humans aren't supposed to run that hot."

"I'll get Phil," Ranboo offered, teleporting before Techno had a chance to object.

He covered his face with his hands and sighed. This was going to be a thing now and that happened to be the exact opposite of what Technoblade wanted it to be. He just wanted to go home and sleep this off.

"You're not..." Tubbo broke through his thoughts. The boy hesitated, wings vibrating a bit with nervous energy. "You're not like... actually dying are you?"

Techno tried to answer but was interrupted by another coughing fit first. When he was done Tubbo looked even more anxious than before. "Probably not. It's just a cold."

It was definitely not a simple cold. Pneumonia, more likely.

"Oh good."

Techno agreed. Not dying would probably be good, even if he currently felt like death warmed over.

Philza took him to the pub, much to Technoblade's horror.

All his protests and insistence he'd be fine if he was just taken to his house were brushed off easily, especially when Phil took flight with Techno barely able to keep from falling off his back when dark spots took over his vision. If it weren't for Phil's supporting hands keeping him steady he's probably have fallen off.

Normally Techno didn't dislike flying with Phil – despite the other always making some quip about how little Techno weighed for his height. But this time the vertigo was horrible and made him want to puke. Maybe it was fortunate he had skipped breakfast this morning.

They landed on the wooden porch softly, Phil keeping Techno's arm around his shoulder as he put him down to make sure he wouldn't collapse. Techno wasn't about to admit he probably needed that, though he muttered a quick thanks under his breath, which was starting to get more wheezing by the minute. There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't ache.

There were a few beds in the backrooms of the pub, sometimes used for newcomers to temporarily reside. Techno found himself dumped into one, not really caring where Phil went when he left the room. Not when the sheets were so blessedly cool and comfortable. He could have probably fallen back asleep soon if Phil hadn't returned almost instantly.

"I checked with Sneeg, he said this should help a little." Phil sat down on the bed, holding up a cup with the nastiest-looking brown tea inside it Technoblade ever did see. "I'm sorry we don't have any real potions to give you, but he's closest to you in physiology, so I'm hoping this will be enough. We don't exactly have a lot of experience with human illness."

"Did you ask him if it was poisonous?" Techno asked, eyeing the steaming liquid.

"Don't be dramatic." Phil handed him the cup. Techno sighed and downed the herbal tea in one go, suppressing his gag reflex. Medicinal and earthy, it somehow tasted worse than it looked. He didn't think that was possible.

"Great, can I go home now?"

Phil shook his head as he got up again, taking the cup from him. "You're not going anywhere until your fever breaks. You think I flew you all the way up here for fun?"

"Possibly."

Rolling his eyes as he leaves the room, Phil once again came back only a moment later. This time he was holding a bowl of what Techno could only presume was water going by the cloth that was soaking in it. Phil gestured for him to lie down properly and this time Techno obeyed without complaint.

"I think it's best if you stay here for a while," he said while folding the cloth and putting it on Techno's forehead. The coldness of it did feel nice against his pounding headache. "The pub is the best place for us to take turns keeping an eye on you."

"I don't need you guys to keep an eye on me, though. I'm not a child."

"No, you're just a stubborn asshole with pneumonia." Phil drew back a bit, smile faltering. "And also the only human currently living in the commune. We don't have the needed supplies to treat you should this get worse, so I'd rather not take the risk."

And while he did a fair job hiding it, it was undeniably clear Phil was worried.

"Fine, I'll stay." Techno made an effort of showing how annoyed he was by huffing and pulling the blankets over himself. "But can you at least get me a book or something? Won't help much keeping me here if I'll be bored to death."

Phil laughed – light and teasing. Techno liked that a lot more than he did the worry.

"I'll see what I can do."

He spent a solid week in bed.

Much to Phil's relief, Techno's sickness did not get worse. But without proper medicine, it didn't improve as quickly as they would have liked either. He had to get better the old-fashioned way: waiting for his body to fight off the infection on its own.

Most of his time was spent sleeping. Whenever he woke up somebody else was at his bedside, to make sure he could eat and drink. Phil hadn't been kidding when he said they'd take turns. It was almost comforting to know there was always someone watching over him while he slept, though Techno didn't feel the need to say that out loud.

After that first week, he was recovered enough to at least limp out of his room and around the pub. He was too weak to attempt the ladder and any sudden moves were still likely to throw him into a coughing fit that could last several minutes. But he could sit at one of the tables and talk to Niki when she visited.

Or to the others, who all seemed to be coming by a lot more often than was usual.

Wilbur unveiled his plans and talked Techno's ear off about what he was working on. Fundy came all the way to the pub to try and sell him stolen trinkets. Ranboo was always coming around with some new book for him to read, asking him if he liked his previous recommendation.

(None of them visited as often as Tommy though, who always complained about having to be there while fluffing up his wings, yet always stuck around the longest even when Techno told him he'd be fine on his own.)

And with them around, Techno realized that despite being the only human, he had never felt less alone.

#technoblade #origin smp #mcyt #shara writes #human techno my beloved <3 #also sickfic mY BELOVED

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sleepymccoy · 4 years

Text

This isn’t exactly what you asked for. By chance, last night my housemate asked me what my favourite human discovery through history was, so I used that brainstorming session as a launching pad for this fic cos otherwise i had like no ideas. So it’s more of a debate than you asked for, but I think it’s a fun read. And the ending is unbelievably sweet. I don’t think I’ve every written something that sweet without referencing trauma in some way, but this is just sweet sweet fluffiness. @megers67 hope you enjoy it mate

Crowley stared out at the lake, mulling over Aziraphale's question. The angel had gotten bored of waiting for a response and had pottered off to get a closer look at a baby swan. Crowley laughed as the mother swan squawked, startling Aziraphale.

A few seconds later found Crowley speed walking alongside a harried Aziraphale as they stalked away from the angrily squawking mother, Aziraphale pulling Crowley along behind him by his hand.

"Well," Aziraphale said haughtily, "I never."

Crowley laughed again, keeping pace with Aziraphale more so their hands wouldn't become detached than out of any concern over a pursuant swan.

They crossed a bridge, Aziraphale's footfalls heavy and swift, Crowley's just swift, and heard one last distant squawk as the swan fare welled them.

Crowley didn't laugh, Aziraphale was still holding his hand and he didn't want to push his luck and be dropped.

Instead, he answered the asked question.

"The typewriter was pretty good."

Aziraphale glanced at him, the slight gleam of madness leaving his eyes. "You surprise me," he said.

Their pace slowed, Aziraphale's grip on Crowley's hand slackened, still holding him but less of a vice.

"But why not go a step back to the printing press?" Aziraphale asked.

"Oh yeah, that's a point," Crowley admitted. Was the typewriter really an invention if you had printing presses? And what about writing before that, does the printing press count if you already have ink? "Why not go another step back to all those enslaved monks?"

"Why must they be enslaved monks?"

"You know," Crowley waved his other hand, not really proving that Aziraphale knew. "Monks were the only literate folk for ages. All those illuminated manuscripts."

Aziraphale squeezed his hand for a memento and Crowley felt very fond. "But, enslaved?"

"I guess they weren't enslaved. Indentured?"

"You just dislike organised religion."

"Guilty." Crowley squeezed Aziraphale's hand back, eliciting a quiet chuckle. "But typewriters, you know. In terms of ticking boxes, they've got sound. Good sound, they sound good."

"Sound?"

Crowley nodded. "Sound," he said certainly.

"Is that important in an invention?"

Crowley could feel Aziraphale's gaze on him and turned to meet his eyes. Aziraphale's thumb ran gently across Crowley's first knuckle.

"Well," Crowley said. "What about you, then?"

Aziraphale hummed and went back to looking at the path. Crowley let him lead and kept staring at his face, enjoying the wrinkle that appeared on his forehead as he thought.

Crowley tripped on a rock and as he stumbled (kept standing by Aziraphale's suddenly appropriate firm grip on his hand) and wrenched his attention back to the path. He realised just how sickeningly in love he must've looked, gazing at Aziraphale like a desperate dog. He glanced around self-consciously and noticed an ice-cream stand. He quickly forgot his worries.

"Ice-cream?" Crowley offered.

Aziraphale turned to him, so bemused it bordered on anger. "You think ice-cream is the best invention? What kind of lack-luster suggestion-"

"Shut up, no," Crowley groaned. He threw his body around in exasperation, holding on tightly to Aziraphale's hand, still talking. "There's a blessed ice-cream stand, d'you want one?"

"Oh, certainly," Aziraphale said without a touch of humility from his misunderstanding.

Crowley realised too late that he'd have to let go of Aziraphale's hand to complete his task. He steeled himself for a moment, then did so.

He returned quickly with an icy-pole for Aziraphale and a cone for himself.

"Democracy?" Aziraphale asked as he accepted his icy-pole.

"Fuck off," Crowley groaned, "pick something proper."

Aziraphale began to walk. Crowley followed, regretting the ice-cream as he couldn't hold Aziraphale's hand any longer.

Then, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, Aziraphale swapped which hand was holding his icy-pole and reached out to Crowley.

Crowley took his hand and grinned, remembering about seven second too late that he was meant to look cool. But Aziraphale's returning smile was so nice he couldn't force nonchalance into his features.

"Fabric was a pretty good one," Aziraphale said as they walked, fingers quickly entwining.

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"Well, it got them warm. Far more versatile than those hides they wore early on." He gesticulated with his icy-pole, waving it in circles as he discussed hides.

"And look at where it's gone," Aziraphale said cheerfully, "my pants are marvelous."

"They are," Crowley agreed "But fabric's hardly a make or break kind of thing. It's nice, yeah, but it doesn't do anything a big ol' leaf wouldn't."

"What about in summer," Aziraphale argued. "How else would you avoid sunburn than a light linen shawl?"

A good point. But Crowley wasn't ready to give up the goat just yet.

Aziraphale waited patiently, licking his icy-pole in a manner that delayed Crowley's memory.

"Clay!" Crowley finally said, a lot more triumphantly than their peaceful stroll through the park should've allowed.

"Oh, I forgot about clay," Aziraphale hummed.

Crowley preened.

"Does clay count as an invention?" Aziraphale asked.

"Nah," Crowley said. "'s'in the dirt already."

Aziraphale made a wordless agreement. His thumb began to run across Crowley's knuckles again.

They walked quietly. The pressure of Aziraphale thumb picked up, feeling the bones of Crowley's hand confidently. Crowley walked and enjoyed it.

They finished their ice-creams. Crowley took Aziraphale's stick from him and threw it out.

"Oh, I might have it," Aziraphale said as they approached the edge of the park, meandering back towards the Bentley.

"Go on," Crowley invited.

Aziraphale paused, then, with all the confidence in the world, said, "Glass."

Crowley cocked his head to the side. "Wine glasses," he said slowly.

"Yes."

"Sunglasses."

*Lovely," Aziraphale told the birds.

Crowley thought. Then, "Windows."

Aziraphale's hand in his jiggled as the angel nodded. "Those are good," Aziraphale agreed.

"Computers-" Crowley interrupted himself and palmed his mobile out of his back pocket to illustrate his point. "Even phones have glass now."

Aziraphale dutifully looked at the displayed phone. "So they do," he said.

"I mean, it is a bit clay though," Crowley said. "I mean, it is made naturally."

Aziraphale frowned. "Not often," he said widely.

"'s'just hot sand, innit?"

"Very hot," Aziraphale said. "It can't be easy."

"I s'pose," Crowley agreed reluctantly.

"And glass blowing is definitely creation," Aziraphale continued, sensing Crowley's reticence. "That's discovery. That's man made, that is."

"I'll give you that."

"Bottles don't form naturally."

"Love a good bottle," Crowley said. "Could've said the same for clay, you could've."

"But I didn't," Aziraphale grinned, "I saved it for this."

They reached the Bentley and Crowley slowed, coming to a stop before they had to let go of their hands to climb into the car.

"And that kind of forward thinking should be rewarded," Crowley said.

"Were we playing for a prize?" Aziraphale asked with a delighted laugh in his voice.

Crowley spun to lean against the door of the Bentley, facing Aziraphale. He quickly took Aziraphale's hand in both of his. "Sure," he said.

"Well," Aziraphale said. He stepped closer to Crowley, crowding him against the car. "You listed all those good glass things, perhaps you've earnt the reward."

"Nah," Crowley said broadly. "Your idea." He tugged on Aziraphale's hand to punctuate his argument. "Your reward. Go on, what d'you want?"

Aziraphale's smile softened. His eyes fluttered down to Crowley lips and back to his eyes. "I would like a kiss," he whispered.

Crowley leaned in and kissed him.

It was brief and tasted faintly of artificially sweet red flavouring. Crowley leaned away with a smile.

"And another kiss," Aziraphale said without opening his eyes, for he had closed them when Crowley had been too close to notice. "Please," he added.

Crowley raised one hand to cup around Aziraphale's jaw and kissed him for longer.

He leaned away again, just as Aziraphale began to press into it with sincerity. Aziraphale gasped quietly as Crowley settled back into place against the car door.

His insides writhed in joy and want, but externally he kept his smile warm and simple. He watched Aziraphale and waited for the actual prize to be asked for.

"And-" Aziraphale said, eyes just barely beginning to flutter open.

Crowley chuckled and interrupted. "You can't just keep asking for kisses, that's not a real reward."

Aziraphale met his gaze and smiled. His blush, born of being kissed, deepened. "Whatever not?" he asked, so sweetly.

Crowley grinned. "Because I give you those anyway."

Aziraphale shuffled in half a step, his belly pressing against Crowley in an intimacy Crowley relished. "What do you think I would possibly ask for that you don't give me regardless?" Aziraphale asked. "Besides, I wasn't going to ask for another kiss."

"No?"

"No," Aziraphale said with certainty while watching Crowley's lips. "I want-"

Crowley licked his lips and enjoyed how Aziraphale's eyes followed it. Aziraphale did not finish his sentence.

"Um," Aziraphale squeaked, "what's the word for a really long kiss?"

Crowley laughed and slid his hand from Aziraphale's jaw to around the back of his neck and pulled him in close, kissing him full and open on the mouth.

Aziraphale dropped Crowley's other hand and balled his fists into Crowley's jacket. He pressed forward and Crowley found himself joyfully pinned between the hard, cold car door and something the opposite in every way.

He fought every instinct to raise his legs and wrap around Aziraphale's waist, they were still in public after all.

Aziraphale broke away with a grin and cried out, "And an almond croissant!"

Crowley laughed, delighted, and found himself being kissed as he laughed.

He wrestled Aziraphale away, although no effort was really kept up, and said something about scandalised middle aged women and a promise to pick up croissants later tonight if they went home right now.

Aziraphale got the gist of what Crowley was quietly sure had been almost incomprehensible vowel sounds, and practically skipped across the road to get in the car.

#good omens #sleepy writes #good omens fic #good omens ficlet #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fluff #aziraphale #crowley

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sebastianshaw · 3 years

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@sammysdewysensitiveeyes So, you asked me not long ago, how I’d feel about Haven as a mutant on Krakoa. As it happens, I’m on an RP Discord where I write her as such, since they allow characters there to be mutants who aren’t mutants in canon, in order to join the RP, since it’s set on Krakoa. I made her a healer, able to heal herself and others. Super on the nose, but it’s what she would want, and it also fulfills *my* desire for her not to be hurt anymore (I mean, she still can be, she’ll just recover) Anyway, in March I wrote this for her in that setting. Featuring Shaw as usual since he’s one of my other muses there and, well, you know I love writing my faves together and their conversations because self-indulgence. No obligation to read, just I remembered I had written it and was like “Oh that’s like what Sammy asked about”

Shaw’s latest job was to spread the Krakoan medicine throughout the country of India. A considerable task; India was made up of no less than 28 states and 8 union territories, with an immense and diverse population. There were the dilapidated slums and rural villages that Westerners most often imagined, but there were also bustling cosmopolitan cities, centers of business and technology and commerce to rival New York, and it was in the biggest of these that Shaw was starting---

Mumbai.

Accompanying him on the recommendation of Charles Xavier was Radha Dastoor---Haven of the healing gardens, whom he had previously met when she had helped with his back. At first Shaw had thought this was a bit racist of Charles, but it turned out not only was Haven from Mumbai specifically herself, she had wonderful connections for the tasks. Her philanthropy had connected her with doctors, hospitals, shelters, and its hidden communities of those suffering afflictions such as the oft-claimed-eradicated leprosy. But, Shaw could have done most of that himself, aside from the hidden colonies. No, where Haven came in most handy was, shockingly, her knowledge of Mumbai’s criminal underworld. Not because she had ever been involved with it, but because she had done so much work getting people out of it---the women and children she had worked to get out of human trafficking rings, the survival sex workers rescued from abusive pimps, the children enticed away from little “found families” of criminals who used them for their dirty work. . .the list went on. And of course she hadn’t been able to do all that alone, she had been funding an entire network of people to get this done, to keep the rescued parties safe and help them in getting to a new life, to block off or arrest those who tried to take them back or attack the rescuers themselves (Haven had been a target MANY times, but those had been in the days when she’d been kept safe by The Adversary’s powers. . . ) and thus she had an abundance of detectives and double agents on the inside. And because they were on the inside, they could bring in the medicine. . . and bring out the mutants being sold, enslaved, and Heaven wept at what else. Mutants that, for the moment, were staying with them in The Rajmani. Haven’s wealth was originally inherited, but she’d kept it coming---so that she could keep giving it away---through The Rajmani, a luxury heritage hotel on par with the likes of New York’s Ritz or Plaza. In income, anyway. In beauty, it surpassed them both. Well, perhaps that was subjective, but it was built within a restored Mughal Palace, and Shaw had to admit he was impressed with the great domes and slender minarets, the massive vaulted gateways and delicate ornamentation, the elegant water gardens and charbagh walkways through the carefully cultivated yet lush tropical greenery. Most of all, though, he liked learning the fact that the woman earned at least a little of her own money in some kind of sense, even if by her own admission she only owned it, not managed it. Shaw looked down on those who only inherited wealth, just as they had often looked down on him for earning his. Haven, though, did not seem to look down on him. She didn’t seem to have the proverbial stones to look down on anybody, and she certainly was around people who actually deserved it. She seemed to love being around that type, in fact, went out of her way to benefit them, centered her entire life around it. Some people, Shaw had found, were just mad like that. He suspected that it had something to do with growing up with money, taking it front granted and thus not comprehending its worse. But at least she didn’t dare think she was better than him, so she was that sensible at least. Although it was the last word he’d describe her with. No, if he were to describe Radha “Haven” Dastoor, he’d probably start with insipid, senseless, and downright delusional. But she was also. . .not an unengaging conversationalist. The reverse, actually. “The Mughals were constantly trying to invade Mumbai,” Haven explained, while Shaw nodded along. He was interested in architecture, and in martial history. “But as much of India as they had conquered, the native Marathis were just as constantly pushing them back. It was touch and go for decades. It surprises me that a Mughal structure remained without being torn down, though it was taken over.” “The native Marathis, you say---are Mughals not native? Or merely from another part of India?” “Well, that’s a complicated question, and the answer is a controversial one, so I till try to explain it as neutrally as I can,” Haven replied, and she indeed sounded neutral. They were standing together on the jharoka, an elaborately carved balcony with a roof, each with a glass of nimbu pani, though Shaw would have preferred a good Scotch. “The Mughal Empire in South Asia was begun by Babur, who came from Central Asia, specifically what is today Uzbekistan. His tribe was of Mongol origin, and the word Mughal is itself derived from “Mongol”. He actually came to South Asia to escape his fellow Uzbeks---it’s a very long story--but instead of being a refugee, he became a conqueror, starting by burning Lahore for two days and killing the last Sultan of the Lodi dynasty in Delhi, and the Lodi dynasty itself was not Indian, but Afghan. India was colonized by the Middle East long before Europe decided to try its hand. But to answer your question. . .they did not begin as Indian, no, but they were a part of our country for two hundred years and left a deep mark in our culture---clothing, food, language, art, and, of course, the buildings. But, the same could also be said of the British, and you would be hard-pressed to find anyone, including myself, who considers the British Raj to have been “Indian” simply because they were there for a long time and forced their ways upon us. At the same time, my mother is a Parsi, a people who originate from Iran, thousands of years ago---Parsi comes from “Persian”. And how can one tell me my mother, who was born and raised here, whose mother’s mothers and father’s fathers were born and raised here, that she was not Indian? And though Babur came from elsewhere, his sons and successors were born and raised here, and often to Indian mothers, and their descendants dwell here still, with no other homeland, so are they not Indian? Because if they were not, then perhaps I am not either, at least by half. Ultimately. . . it depends which Mughals, at what time period, and whom you ask, I suppose.” “And I suppose there’s also a difference between ethnicity and nationality to be considered,” Shaw said, though Haven was now losing his interest with this topic. He’d been more interest in the invasions and warring. “Ethnically, one can be anything, and still nationally be American if you were born there or otherwise have citizenship. But, I suppose you need not contemplate such matters anymore--” He cracked a wry smile as she, with a questioning look, awaited the rest of his sentence. “---after all, we are all Krakoan now, are we not? We’re all mutants, and that’s the only thing that matters.” Haven smiled back, not wryly but sincerely, “Oh, I am now, yes. But I am also still everything I was before. I have been balancing multiple identities my entire life Mr. Shaw, I believe I shall be able to continue to do so. But I must confess--” A moment of hesitation. “--I do not truly think of myself as a mutant yet.” She was not sure what reaction that she had expected to this confession, but it was not what Shaw said next. “I don’t either, Ms. Dastoor.” She looked at him in surprise. “Or rather,” he elaborated, “I do not consider myself a mutant in any sense other than in the way I consider myself to have black hair. It’s a physical fact, but nothing else. It is not a “culture” or “identity” to me, and in truth I find such attitudes to be foolish and even dangerous, not to mention a sign that an individual lacks their own personality and convictions and thus must merely default to group identity politics. Being a mutant tells you nothing about me, Ms. Dastoor, and so if I were to talk about who I am, that’s not something I’d include any more than my eye color.” “That’s an especially interesting perspective from someone on Krakoa’s Council,” said Haven, sounding very curious, “Could I ask you---” But her voice was cut off by the unmistakable sound of gunshots---and from INSIDE the building. “The children!” Haven exclaimed. It was not just her and Shaw that were lodged at The Rajmani tonight; it was where the mutants they had rescued were staying before the journey to the nearest portal tomorrow. And most were, indeed, children. As quickly as she spoke, she was moving back inside from the jharoka, but Shaw grabbed her by the elbow, easily holding her back despite her not being a small or weak woman despite her gentle demeanor. Haven was large, and could carry a grown man. But Shaw didn’t even need to be rough to halt her. “You stay put,” he said sternly, “The guards will handle this.” “Mr. Shaw---” “They are better equipped than you, Ms. Dastoor, you will only interfere--” Shaw and Haven had, of course, not come alone. Shaw had brought several trained mutants on his own payroll---not everyone needed to be one of the X-Men to be capable of handling a few humans and their toys--and they had been tasked with keeping watch over, as Shaw had earlier referred to them as, the latest flock of Krakoa’s little sheep. A statement Haven had also wondered about, though it was far from her mind now. Haven might have been about to argue with him. She might have been about to admit he was right, and she should hang back. But as with her question, she was cut off by a gunshot as she turned her face back to him and started to speak. A gunshot, and bullet through the back of her head. It exited through her right eye, and bounced off Shaw’s face and fell to the floor. She would have as well, had he not caught her as she crumpled. When her healing factor had repaired her enough that she regained consciousness, she was on Krakoa again, as were all the refugees, safe and sound. And so was Shaw. “Well, Ms. Dastoor,” he said, “You’ve been murdered---or rather, nearly so--by perfect strangers for a quirk of your genetics. Nothing can make you more of a mutant than that, wouldn’t you agree?” Haven smiled slightly, “I feel as much a mutant as perhaps a Mughal might feel Indian, Mr. Shaw. Take that as you will.” He took it ambiguously. Which was indeed how she had meant it. == END==

#fic #writing #out of shirt

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capri-ramblings · 4 years

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Idk if anyone still remembers this but I actually forgot I finished chapter 3 about a week ago and didn't even posted it 🙂 still kinda confusing I think? But I promise, It'll come together soon 😤💖

[ R a p t u r e d ]

Chapter Three

The walls encasing your freedom began to simmer your frustration, and when a spiral staircase immerged from the wooden floorboards right across the room, your hands reflexively balled into fists.

Though when an unfamiliar face greeted you, they uncurled and from where you sat on the chaise beside your only window, your figure hunched over to pull your knees closer to your body. You'd been reacting so defensively lately, it almost felt natural now.

"Did they send you up to finally get rid of me?" Your words were harsh, a deep grating rage lacing each enunciation you spat out and yet the girl seemed unfazed as her lips curled into a small smile.

"I don't think they're that merciful, but Prince Leona has stated multiple times he'd rather you be dead."

"Who are you then?"

"An ally" She answered then rather hastily added, "If you'd allow it."

You scoffed,bitter and dry you almost sounded gruff and nasally.

"Like I allowed to be imprisoned and kept like an animal?"

The girl's expression softened and she gave what seemed to be an understanding nod before she placed both hands behind her back and stood poised before you.

"Boe" She said, "My name is Boe. As in the kind you'd use to hunt with but with an 'E' at the end because my nan felt it was creative." She sounded pleasant, to be honest,she looked decent as well, like a very familiar face you'd seen somewhere and yet nowhere at the same time. She wore her hair in two loose twin braids,her simple beige coloured tunic and short khakis gave her overall soft, feminine looks a rather boyish touch. And when she smiled it was genuinely given.

Despite yourself, Boe's appearance had you feeling a little less hostile and perhaps even a bit more hopeful.

"I made them an offer" You told her and again she nodded her head.

"To kill your brother in exchange for your freedom. Why?"

"Isn't that what they wanted? That bastard killed their beast and the only reason I'm here is because he's traded me off for his glory."

Boe seemed surprised at how you caught onto the situation at hand but you could see how calculative her eyes were. She may have looked pleasant but you weren't foolish enough to trust her, and if she knew your captives then chances are she wasn't just some typical servant running errands. They sent her up to you to talk, which meant they trusted her. And they didn't look like the trusting type.

"He and I aren't related by blood" You told her, scornfully. "It doesn't take much to piece up my being here, and I'll tell you now that he's not coming to save me. Not when he has every village folk singing his glory and the King welcoming him in his halls."

You sounded so dejected, Boe practically felt the heat of rage circulating through the room, but she also sensed sorrow. A sort of grief from the way you hunched yourself over. You've been through a lot, she could see that much.

"Tell me, did you ever believe the story your land has? It's history with the Faefolk and magic?"

You knew little. Simply enough to have your mind wander, but every child was like that, and when it was time to face the world and grow up, the stories you used to cling to before sleeping became just that; Stories.

So, you told Boe you didn't. You told her you knew the land has always been lavish, that it had always been easy to farm and make produce because it's forests were endless and green. It was because it was placed right in the centre of a growing land, wasn't it? Magic felt too foreign to have been a part of it all.

But then she told you of the story of a man planting a seed given to him by a generous Fae, and that the seed grew into a tree and another and another, until it formed a forest so lush and rich with life, people came to the land as a place of salvation. She told you that the Fae was the Mother Goddess Gaia and that she had made a pact with the humans who stayed in her grounds. They were allowed to grow and live as they wanted as long as her generosity was remembered. Thus the human built shrine after shrine in her name, and the land never once withered. Until weeks after your brother slayed the beast.

You sat there facing her,baffled and refused to believe in such a tale so easily, told yourself that no such thing could be possible...

Yet, the tower that kept you had nothing but a single window and a door that only seemed to appear when called. You remember how you tried climbing down through the window and how your makeshift rope snapped and you thought you'd fall to your death but instead you stayed in the air. Frozen.

As your hardened gaze looked to Boe and the faint light of the sun peeked through the window and into the room, you noticed the slight point of her ears and how in that specific lighting her features looked ethereal,as if she was carved out from a completely different mold.

You've seen those features before. A long,long time ago. The brief memory tucked behind the grains of your mind.

You must've laughed because Boe's expression shifted into confusion, and you ran your hands through your hair as a slight colour flickered to life in your eyes.

"You must think I've gone crazy. Wanting to kill my own brother but I've never seen him as family, and I'm sure he feels the same. It's the only thing we have in common."

"You'd really kill him for your freedom?" Boe asked, almost quietly.

You lifted your gaze,heavy and dark but driven with determination.

"Wouldn't you? It sounds selfish and maybe it is but hasn't he done the same to me? Ever since mother died, I was left under his care which meant he'd been shackled to me against his will and now I'm here and he's drinking in the castle." Your voice shifted, breathless and worn. You wanted to stand, to show to her that you weren't as weak as your captives had force you to be. That you meant what you said.

"I don't care about being kind and understanding anymore. I want to be released. I want to take back what I've lost and if that means killing Cyril and appeasing your Princes, so be it."

***

"You could be their Champion" Boe said as she stared you up and down,her gaze flickering with something you couldn't quite put a finger on. But she smiled when her eyes landed on your face, and a slight shade of pink dusted your cheeks. Though you felt it was because she had been nothing but open in her discussion and all you ever did was scowl and kept your distance.

And perhaps,you couldn't really be blamed for any of it given your own situation, but maybe it wasn't too harmful to act a bit more cooperative...

"A champion?" You repeated the words with your brows furrowed and lips down-curled.

Boe nodded her head.

"Faes often keep champions in order to settle certain affairs,like a representative or a tribute on their part without having to physically attend said affairs themselves, and unlike most dealings, this one has the exceptional perk of not being entirely enslaved by the Fae you serve under"

"...You mean if I agreed to being their... Champion? I wouldn't owe them anything?"

You know the tales of giving your thanks to the Gentry, and how such unfortunate humans fell to the mercy of the cunning creatures. A slight shiver ran up the length of your arm, but you fought the urge to look disgruntled, and simply crossed your arms.

Boe's smile widened a fraction.

"Yes, and I can't tell you why such a thing is possible in the first place, not because I don't want to but because I also do not know the reason behind it. It's said that this pact Faes have created with humans is a rare thing and a ritual they hold with great respect. If you so desire to kill your brother and gain your freedom, being the Princes' Champion is perhaps the best and only way."

"But how can I trust them to hold onto their end of the bargain? I might not have full belief in all your fae nonsense, but I know that whatever you are, your kind are known to be cunning and slippery!"

You felt like jabbing an accusing finger to her chest then,but you bit back the venom on your tongue and swallowed your carousing temper from erupting. Anger did no good in discussions after all. You learned that from years living with your step brother.

Despite it all however,Boe didn't seem to mind your frustration or hostility. In fact, she remained informative and calm, you began understanding why she had been sent up in the first place.

Unlike the Princes themselves, Boe didn't have any intimidation oozing from her demeanor. She came as a neutral party, neither to nurse nor make you submit.

Perhaps her words were the most trustworthy you'd have here.

Perhaps being a Champion was your only way out.

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marydublinauthor · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas and happy Holidays from my co-author @smol-smoggie and I! Here’s a festive except from our revision of “Valour and Blood”, soon to be dubbed just “Valour” :)

(Warning for ideologically senstive material, human enslavement, human incapcitation)

———————

Every year in the first week of autumn, anyone living in Kier could see the sprawling Aarlith territory turn ablaze with pinpricks of light. Every massive window was aglow with firelight until dawn. No place shone brighter than Phillip's stone fortress, with its dozens of colored glass windows sparkling like jewels. She would sit on the roof with Roman with a bottle of ale to watch the distant spectacle of the Aarlith palace-- one of the few times she had admired the giant kingdom. It was a harmless celebration, apart from the few drunk Juren that would wander too close to the border and frighten the grazing cattle.

Now, living among them, the celebration was so much more dazzling.

Evander explained in the approaching days that the Midnight Jubilee was a celebration of the moon's gift of light in the darkness. To ease the moon goddess' nightly burden, they filled darkness with light, turning the evening bright as day for a few glorious hours. It was so much more than she'd expected-- the care that everyone seemed to place on this day.

From early hours in the morning, Grey watched the excitement in the castle bloom. Even the most surly of castle staff seemed to walk light as air, their beautiful faces filled with light. Servants toiled cheerily to hang candles from the ceiling, each in a small glass jar of a different color. Lanterns were strung from every tree surrounding the courtyard, casting warmth on the foliage as the sun sank lower and lower. Grey's mouth watered at the tantalizing smells that slowly but surely filled every room in the castle.

Paramount of all the celebrations to be observed this day was the feast at nightfall. Having been fasting and making preparations all day, the Jürens’ anticipation was entirely palpable. There was no grander, larger, finer feast than this in the whole calendar -- even Phillip’s coronation ball paled in comparison, he had freely admitted to her. Grey, too, could not help but look forward to the evening ahead; though not without a good deal of trepidation.

She watched from the window as the fledgling dragons soared and gambolled in the air, silhouetted against the dusky sky. From their necks glimmered chains of precious stones. Their flames, like the candles, were to feature in the grand display, refracted dozens of times by the jewels.

The Jüren, to a man, had dressed each in their finest. Servants swept through the halls in silken gowns with silver threads, beaded circlets cresting their heads. Grey, too, had been given her lot. It was a velvet dress dripping with infinitesimal stars, cinched at the waist with a fine belt, upon which hung -- to her initial enthusiasm -- a ceremonial sword. Closer inspection, however, showed her it was made not of steel and iron, but of blown glass.

The insults never ceased. In such a ridiculous costume, she was little more than a polished toy.

Still, she found herself unwittingly grateful as she was herded together with the other five humans kept captive. The two other women-- sisters-- were clothed in shimmering fabric so sheer, nothing was left to the imagination. They had scarcely said a word in all her weeks in the palace, and Grey found herself wondering what crime they could have possibly committed to warrant this cruel fate, as well.

The man who had been brought in for thieving, along with the other who had been here long before any of them, were fitted in armor tonight. They each eyed up the other uncomfortably as they stood there, waiting. Hoping the obvious would be proven wrong.

It was almost a relief when their anxious waiting in the dim hallway was cut short. A servant came in and announced that guests were arriving and the lot of humans were swept up by two pairs of hands. The grand hall was breaktaking tonight, transformed into a paradise of color and warm light. Wine and fruits of every color were laid upon polished silver platters. Grey felt her heart begin to hammer however, when she saw how many giants were milling in. Her eyes skated the crowd as she was carried towards the center of the grand centerpiece. Where was Evander?

Guests entered first, accompanied by well-dressed servants who guided them to their seats around the vast table. Conversations overheard told Grey that they were visitors from a region somewhere to the North of the Snowcaps. Their garb differed slightly from that of the local Juren, favouring shades of maroon and copper along with thick trims of sable -- yet neither the clothing nor the giants themselves were any less beautiful. They chattered excitedly amongst themselves, many not even noticing the living adornments being carefully displayed on the table before them.

The centerpiece was a great, tiered creation of gold. The servant placed them at varying levels, frowning with the concentration of somebody arranging a vase of flowers. Grey found herself jostling for room at the top with the two men in armor, until said servant jabbed her with a finger and administered a warning glare.

“Good goddess,” boomed one of the guests as he lowered himself into his chair. “What are these?”

Turning, Grey found herself the object of his gaze.

“What are what?” Another Juren across the table was peering over, eyes wide, and, before long, the others were noticing too.

At that moment, the rest of the festival-goers entered; musicians, servants bearing platters and jugs, members of the king’s guard in their finery, and finally, the monarchs themselves. Grey could feel the rumbling disturbance of their many strides all the way from the flagstones to her perch.

The chatter died down as the king and queen took their seats at the head of the table, but resumed at a single smile and nod from Queen Fira, looking more elegant than ever in an amber dress that had whispered across the stones when she walked.

“I say, Phillip,” the guest who had spoken before piped up. He sat two seats down from the king himself. If their society operated in any way like Grey’s own in Kier, this meant he must have been of some status. “You have some very strange vermin scurrying around among the strawberries.”

Grey snapped her cold gaze onto the man, drinking him in fully. It was no surprise he was handsome, but there was something genuine in those features that made her falter. His crooked smile was unassuming, not mocking. She decided whatever place he came from was warmer than Aarlith. She could practically see the balmy weather and lush grounds reflected in his mossy green eyes. A paradise that humans could only dream of.

He caught her staring. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. “Do you have a name?”

Grey scowled. “Of course I have a… It’s Grey, sir.”

“Brandt,” the giant replied with a little bow of his head. “That’s a very pretty name. It suits you.”

The expression of dumb intrigue on his face irritated Grey for some reason. She considered giving him a piece of her mind, but one glance at King Phillip told her this would not be wise. Instead, she stared back at Brandt, unwavering.

This seemed to have the very same effect as hurling curses his way. Clearly, he was not used to seeing humans at all, let alone having one confront his wandering stare. He almost looked embarrassed as he swiveled his gaze to and from her flightily, pink collecting in his cheeks. Bewildered at this reaction though she was, it didn't trump her irritation.

“Relax,” Grey called to him, shifting her place atop the metal tier. “Ogle if you must. One might think you'd never seen a human before.”

He cleared his throat softly, exchanging a self-conscious glance with the Juren beside him. "I haven't. Not this close."

Grey cocked her head at him. “Surely you’re not so displaced from Kier, sir? It’s only a few days' ride by horse, even from here.”

“I’m afraid so. My estate is several days north of the Snowcaps. The only humans I’ve seen are in books and letters.”

Not warm then, Grey remarked to herself. “So, how does the real thing compare?” She lifted her brows and motioned one hand at herself, a silent challenge.

“I’m not sure it’s proper to say so,” Brandt said, stealing a look towards his host, “but you’re quite amazing to look at really. All of you.”

She opened and closed her mouth, defensive retorts dying on her tongue. There was no doubting his sincerity. “T-thank you. I think.”

Brandt grinned boyishly. “It is meant to be a compliment, Miss Grey.”

Much of the table was quiet, enjoying the curious exchange. Phillip’s expression was unreadable. There seemed to be a general amusement, and Grey fancied she could read their thoughts; their confusion at a human being addressed almost as an equal.

“Where did you procure such treasures, your Majesty?” Brandt asked, not taking his eyes off her.

“Here and there,” he answered, motioning for a servant to fill his and his wife’s goblets. “Many are convicted criminals, caught trespassing in our land and making mischief.”

“Not this little one, surely?” Brandt reached out a hand to Grey.

Phillip smirked, appearing now to relish the opportunity to show off. “She’s the wickedest one, my friend. What you have before you is a known Jüren-slayer. The stuff of fairy-tales, yet there she stands.”

The quiet was run through with gasps of horror, disbelief, intrigue. The hairs rose on the back of Grey’s neck. Her face was hot.

Mercifully, at that moment, a deep chime rang out, turning heads towards the vast doors to the south of the hall. Iron carts were being wheeled in, all towering with platters of food. "Main course will be served!" the head servant proclaimed. A small army of others began to transport dishes along the table, mingling meat and bread and vegetables with the already-present fruit.

Once they were done, the king waved the servants to their own seats at one end of the table, where they had access to the same luxuries as the rest. “Please don't wait!” he bade them. “Help yourselves and tuck in.” He lifted his brimming goblet towards them all. “To our Amma above, may she light our path and bless our bounty, always.”

The entire chamber roared in agreement, lifting their glasses in return.

And then it was beautiful chaos: conversation of dozens of giants at once, laughter and a massive crowd eating and ladling food onto their plates. Grey had long since become accustomed to the amplified noise of the titanic race, but so many at once made her ears ring slightly.

As she looked about, she finally caught sight of Evander. Her stomach twisted pleasantly as she took him in; he looked absolutely radiant in his fine clothes— though she made a mental note to tease him about the number of flowers stitched onto his sleeves for warriors of his rank.

She got to her feet at once, not caring what anyone watching thought as she waved to him until his head turned, and he spotted her, too. He was seated much further along the banquet table than she would have liked. There were at least five giants sat between them— he would never be able to hear her from this distance. To her elation, however, he kept his gaze on her and lifted his glass towards her, a silent toast of his own making. Grey couldn’t help the grin that spread over her face, and without thinking lifting her empty hand in a pantomime of the same motion.

Happy Midnight Jubilee to you, too.

They drank together and shared a laugh from across the table. She was sorely tempted to climb down from her assigned perch and make her way to him.

Slight commotion stirred in the corner of her eye before she could devise a proper plan, pulling her gaze from Evander’s mirthful expression. From the walkway along the veranda, a latecomer came striding in. His asymmetrical cape billowed out behind him as he moved, shimmering like the night sky under the light of the hundreds of candles

“By all means, don’t stop on my account.”

Grey’s breath caught as a solid lump in her throat as Alasdair took the empty seat in front of her. The sight of him took her breath away, and she wondered if he had been delayed merely to perfect his appearance. His hair was combed and he had shaved recently— she could smell it. Every Juren was handsome; it was simply in their nature. But tonight… there was no question in her mind that Alasdair was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. With his fair skin and dark clothes, he looked like he could be a god of midnight himself.

And of all people, this deity was ogling her, too.

“My, my, Grey… Whoever dressed you tonight deserves a treasure,” Alasdair greeted her with a purr. “You look good enough to eat in that gown.”

Eat. Grey’s gaze turned steely and flitted to his lips. He was a monster, not a god.

Alasdair cocked his head slightly. Waiting for a reaction. His grin widened into something familiar and wicked. “What’s the matter? Speechless?”

“I haven’t seen you around the palace these past few days,” Grey remarked coolly. “Has Phillip grown sick of you?”

Alasdair helped himself to a seeded roll and buttered it. “I was sent out to investigate a series of supposed attacks in a neighboring village. Miss me?” His sky blue eyes seemed to pierce right through the velvet covering her.

Grey glared right back, ignoring the empty flirtation. “Human attacks?”

“Naturally.”

“Did you capture the intruders? Or did you simply devour them on the spot?”

She felt the humans to either side of her stiffen in their seats. Alasdair, too, looked ruffled for an instant. He placed the bread bun delicately on his plate and offered a smile that did not reach his eyes.

“Now, where did you hear such a nasty rumor?”

Grey crossed her arms. “Your mighty sovereign has a penchant for gossip.”

Alasdair glanced across the table at Phillip, who was laughing loudly at something his wife had said.

“It hardly comes as a surprise,” Grey went on wryly. “I can’t count how many stories I’ve heard about your kind’s… appetite for justice. Little did I know they were all about you.”

His smile never faltered. He resumed loading up his plate. “I guarantee many of my brothers around this very table have done the same.”

Grey refused herself the uneasy look round she instinctively wished to take. She could only hope none had honed in on their conversation amidst the frightful din. “Evander is no man-eater.”

Alasdair’s hand paused halfway through shaving a slice of meat from a bird-shaped thing a little ways along the table. His knuckles were white on the knife. “My. You’ve taken quite the shine to him, haven’t you?”

She refused to be baited. “He’s good to me. Unlike so many others.”

“Good to you?” he snorted.

“He protected me from you, for a start.”

His eyes glittered with cruel laughter. “It was he who delivered you to this castle in the first place. He doomed you to a lifetime of slavery.”

“Oh, thank you, I had quite forgotten,” Grey retorted tersely, ignoring the hammering of her heart. “He was only doing his duty.”

“As am I.” He propped his head in his hand as he ate, eyeing her closely. “You just don’t like the way I do it.”

“Of course not. You’re disgusting.”

He appeared not to have even heard, busy sucking his fingers clean. “You know, you really do look ravishing in that dress,” he said after a moment. “It makes a man imagine things.”

She clutched it to her as though he could rip the garment off with his eyes alone. “I know exactly what you’re imagining,” she snarled.

“I sincerely doubt it.”

“Then you’d better keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“Or what? Will your lover boy descend upon us to defend your honor?”

“He’s not my…” Her cheeks were fire. “Y-you are deluded.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm. Or, perhaps, jealous?” She dared to lean forward. “I know your game now. Your tricks no longer work on me.”

Something cold and dangerous flickered across his face. “Is that a challenge?” he said, in a voice like silk.

#gt #g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #giant #gt writing #fantasy #support size diff fiction #obsess confess #artists on tumblr #size difference #tiny #Alasdair #grey #Christmas

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keyofjetwolf · 4 years

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Xena and M’Lila

I genuinely and sincerely love this show, and no question it was progressive in a lot of ways for its time. But there’s been nothing made by human hands that’s perfect, and I can’t help but wince a bit as I watched this episode, featuring M’Lila, the slave from “The Land of the Pharaohs”, and keep in mind that we’ll soon meet Lao Ma from “Chin”, and how both of these women were deeply impactful in the course of Xena’s life, recognizing her potential, teaching her signature skills, and then dying so the white woman can live and use their shit better than they did.

IT DOESN’T SIT SO WELL IN THIS THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2020.

That won’t be the focus of my discussions, but it would be disingenuous to not acknowledge it. It’s an ugly mark, and if the show ever gets a reboot, as has been rumoured for a while now, I hope the new creators do better on this front.

Xena meets M’Lila on the same day she meets Caesar. IT’S A BIG FUCKING DAY. Unfortunately, M’Lila is short-changed, not just by the episode, I think, but by the series as a whole. For as HUGE as her role in Xena’s life, she’s astonishingly under-mentioned (particularly versus Lao Ma, who comes up every other second once we learn of her). “Destiny” itself doesn’t really give her much either, what with the language barrier and then her going and dying and all.

Here’s a brief list of shit M’Lila does for Xena in this episode:

Did and then undid The Pinch on Xena’s leg (this is a bad episode for Xena’s leg)

Did and then undid The Pinch on Xena’s NECK (you know, the whole “you’ll be dead in thirty seconds” thing)

Taught Xena HER PIRATE CAPTOR how to do and undo The Pinch

Cautioned Xena against trusting Caesar and being wholly ignored

Hid well enough on a boat that an entire Roman legion couldn’t find her

Solo-invaded a Roman camp to rescue Xena from death by crucifixion

Dragged Xena for who the fuck knows how many miles to a healer

Took an arrow for and died for Xena

CAME BACK AS A SPIRIT TO SAVE HER ASS AGAIN

Inspired Xena’s breastplate armour and arm cuff design, probably.

YOU DESERVED BETTER M’LILA I’M SO SORRY

I really do wish the episode had done better splitting its time between Caesar and M’Lila, or at least taken a moment for her and Xena that was about THEM. We can infer a lot, and I’m not against that, but when we have AN ENTIRE MINUTE AND CHANGE for a slow ass sad sea montage, I start throwing side eyes.

Obviously, in their time together (I’d say months, at minimum), Xena makes a huge impact on M’Lila. I mean, fuck, what she winds up doing for Xena is proof enough of that. But ... what, exactly? It seems reasonable to assume that Xena spent most of her time with Caesar BONING Caesar, and she spends her time between Caesar leaving and Caesar smashing her legs in PINING for Caesar (if our 80-something second Sad Sea Montage is anything to go by), so Xena and M’Lila became bosom mates when? And WHY, I mean Xena’s functionally an angsty sixteen year old who can kill you on a whim, if I’m M’Lila, I’m thinking about running off with those dolphins from the montage.

AND XENA TOO. M’Lila’s death basically sets off TEN FUCKING YEARS OF CARNAGE. And the show goes out of its way to make sure we know it IS M’Lila’s death that does it, too, and not just Xena being sad about not having Karl Urban for a boyfriend.

We take several pointed seconds with Xena searching herself for an answer. ANGER IS XENA’S GO-TO IF SHE WERE TRULY ANGRY SHE’D FUCKING KNOW IT. All of her aside comments, too, indicate that Xena’s definitely having a bad time, quite possibly a little depressed, almost certainly embarrassed and feeling foolish and used, but angry? Nuh-uh.

Xena does make her choice tonight, a choice she’ll make again and again over the next decade-ish, but interestingly enough, that choice has little to nothing to do with Caesar. And so I wish SO MUCH that the episode had spent more time showing us why M’Lila.

Consequently, I feel I’m not really able so much to do a great job on this topic (WHICH SADDENS ME), because we just don’t have the same tools to build with as we do Caesar. BUT LET’S SEE WHAT WE CAN DO.

A lot of M’Lila works best, I think, as a collection of ideas and possibilities. When we first meet her, she fights so much like we’ll come to see of Xena, she almost feels like a spirit. M’Lila is TOUGH and FAST, and honestly how the fuck anyone was able to keep her enslaved is beyond me, but okay. She’s bested by Xena, only just, and really becomes quite amendable after that. We don’t see it happen, but she most likely taught Xena a lot about fighting beyond just The Pinch, and those are lessons Xena still applies to this day.

Alongside Future Xena, though, M’Lila represents a different path Xena might have walked. The world they live in is pretty god awful, with the strongest routinely and violently taking from the weakest, We know Xena rallying her village to stand up to warlords didn’t go super great, but they DID win the day, and Amphipolis DID remain an independent town after Xena put her “all enemies of Amphipols get to eat my sword” plan into action. Does that mean Xena had to become the thing she was defending against to keep from possibly being enslaved and dying? Hell no, that’s the entire point of the fucking show. Xena makes her choices, XENA CONSISTENTLY MAKES HER CHOICES. But not making a choice is also a choice, and choices have consequences. These might have been Xena’s.

We also can’t overlook M’Lila’s compassion (though in the same breath I laughingly note how she left all her other shipmates strung up, OOPS). Assuming Caesar’s assessment was correct, M’Lila has been a slave since she was a child. Presuming she had only recently managed to successfully escape, her time with Xena may well have been the first in memory she’d spent it free. From what we know of Xena to that point, M’Lila is the first and possibly only person since her own family drove her away to show her kindness.

But at the end of it all, sadly, M’Lila’s purpose is to die show Xena the way she COULD be, the things she COULD do with the skills and abilities she possesses, so that Xena can go “Mm, no thanks.”

M’Lila is an excuse. A really good excuse, don’t get me wrong! However I wish the episode had done a better job with it, I truly believe Xena’s pain and grief at M’Lila’s murder. Xena has loved and trusted so few people in her life, and when the world hurts her, all she wants is to hurt the world in return. (***MAKE A MENTAL NOTE WE WILL RETURN TO THIS IDEA***) But really, M’Lila is the excuse Xena wields, the fuel she uses to burn down EVERYTHING.

And you know, I say that, and I think I’ve talked myself into a good headcanon for why Xena doesn’t bring up M’Lila more. Oh the shit she’s done in her name. Even if she never said it, that’s what it was. Of all the things M’Lila didn’t deserve, that has got to fucking rank. Yeah, I’m not sure I”d feel worthy of evoking her again either.

Really though: SORRY M’LILA YOU DESERVED BETTER

#jet wolf watches xena #xena ep 2x12

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thecandywrites · 4 years

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Of Heaven and Fire Part 14

So, I have been so writer’s blocked for this part. I restarted it several times trying to get it right because the part after this flowed like water and you can blame Lover’s Death and Without You by Ursine Vulpine and Annaca, Surrender by Natalie Taylor, Sober by Bad Wolves and especially Pictures by Judah and the Lion featuring Kacey Musgraves for the next few chapters.

Tagging the crew- @probablyclever @imherefortheforthefanart and @funmadnessandbadassvikings

Of Heaven and Fire

Part 14

Like Matae predicted, within two weeks, all your suitors bowed out. It was almost comical to see how they would literally wake up one morning and realize- that you were not the woman for them. They were all gracious with their withdrawals and gave many gifts of goodwill.

You were relieved when Suriel was the first to do so, promptly going after your sister Yaviane who was a little weary at first but once the two got to know each other, realized they were fated and were soon inseparable. And Suriel assured you that if the council were to go after Brock, how he would help you expose them.

Your elder sister Misia seemed to catch Oriles eyes, while Railtor realized your other elder sister Shakaia was a better fit for him before Cordene was drawn to your other older sister Audrilora who was closer in age to him than you were.

However at the end of the two weeks, you were still just a little bit anxious to see if the same phenomenon would happen to Brock all while the nightmares intensified, as you were able to see more and more, like a crumbled cloth being smoothed out. However, much to your relief, he did not. Instead he acted towards you the same as before, if not more reassuring that his love for you would never fade. Cordene and Suriel made the cloud cities for the orcs permanent structures and Onvam happily took Vraum to the sister colony who were happy to have him and the fish from his own boats up his own river to them.

Two months passed and the nightmares grew infrequent and things fell into their new ways easily. Cugas and Kaive were themselves inseparable and Kaive was all too happy to take to the sea with Cugas and fell into the life of a fisherman easily and it was a prosperous time for everyone as you grew to accept that the council never was going to give back Brock’s cloak and with Brock’s insistence, you let it go.

All your former suitors built a home for you in a cloud, each adding their own touches as a blessing for you. Which you happily accepted and it was soon filled with all kinds of treasures from all the realms and you even made a spot for it to settle in Stormbreaker after the solstice celebration but for now, it was attached to Drauch.

Usually a week or two before the solstice every woman in the colony seemed to have their period, except for you and your sisters who had started to court their own suitors. Because they themselves didn’t have their moon blood, you thought nothing of it that you did not get yours because you were so focused on making sure your life in Stormbreaker would be as smooth and comfortable as possible besides you were busy teaching Brock the dances since you would be spending your solstice dancing with him and only him. The only problem was that Brock- didn’t have a lick of rhythm. No matter how hard you tried working with him, he would always do it just half a beat off because he was always trying to watch you and mimic you but was just a touch slow about it. But honestly, it didn’t bother you too much because you loved him anyway.

The day of the solstice, you were so happy, you were with Brock, dancing in the engaged circle where you didn’t switch partners and you still had fun dancing until your feet were sore and when the solstice was done, you spent a whole day resting in your new home wrapped up in his embrace before spending another day just having all the sex you wanted because you were practically married by all standards.

But the happiness was not to last. The moment you two left the house to get something to eat, Brock was arrested and thrown in prison and the moment he left you, the nightmares came back with a vengence and with an intensity that made you never want to sleep again, no matter how badly your body needed it.

It seemed Matae had been right, that the council would not let you be with Brock. In retaliation, you demanded that they drop the charges and let you and Brock leave in peace or else you would make good on your own threat. They didn’t think you had the capabilities. But when they denied it, you very publicly made your own accusations to the entire council and with Suriel backing you up and showing the whole colony that what you were accusing them of was true. It didn’t matter what lies they tried to spin, you had them dead to rights and the whole colony revolted against the council because the colony felt just as betrayed as you had been just as this part of the nightmarish prophecy became clear in your mind.

For another month, there was one huge trial. Every counselor was found guilty of multiple crimes, Matae even came and proved that he had been tasked with stealing all of these orc’s baby’s cloaks on order from the council and how the council had purposefully asked your brother and your brother in law to get the last one because they knew that you would not kill them on sight. It was revealed that not only was Suchi guilty of this, but others, and when the truth was exposed, the colonies themselves felt broken and the guilty councillors were all cast out of the colonies and suddenly all dropped off the face of the planet and could not be found anywhere.

However through all of this Brock remained imprisoned and the judges judging his case was filled and refilled over a dozen times. But once an honest and upright judge was found from a colony half a world away, you felt like you had a chance at justice for Brock since you were not the one accusing him and his accusers were impossible to find and you hoped that his case would be thrown out. Even though your prophetic dreams showed otherwise.

But sadly, in Brock’s trial, he and his shaman were still found guilty of the crime of enslaving a moura which was proven even by your own account and theirs because of the physical shackle and rope and both were sentenced to death by hanging and you were put under a special spell to keep you from changing into any form than your human one and if you intervened, you too would be arrested and tried as a criminal yourself for interfering and obstructing of justice.

So here you were, changing into sackcloth to show your grief before Matae reappeared in the room, looking guilty.

“What are you doing here?” You asked as you tried to tie a belt around your itchy garment but you were too numb to notice.

“To offer my apology.” Matae said. “Your life is going to be very hard from here, raising a little one all on your own.” Matae finally said which made you look up at him.

“What?” You asked. “What little one?” You asked.

“The little boy in your womb, it’s Brock’s, four months strong already.” Matae answered as you looked at him in confusion. It was true in the last month or so, you seemed to have become a voracious eater and had put on a fair bit of weight because of the stress of Brock’s trial.

“I’m not...I’m not…” You tried to argue before Matae pulled his own version of lira light and touched your chest before you looked down to see the lights over your womb that were the most beautiful mix of your moura light marks and Brock’s. One way moura’s showed pregancy is a moura baby would have their own moura light marks around them that would show around the womb and you felt your legs give out and Matae managed to catch you and help you sit down on the floor before you broke down into sobs as you clutched at your middle while Matae did his best to comfort you.

“What if..” You tried to ask but Matae just shook his head no. “No, they won’t change it.” Matae finished for you.

“What do I do?” You asked.

“Tell Brock and take care of yourself.” Matae advised.

After you managed to regain composure you gathered the food you had prepared for Brock, his last meal as Kaive and Cugas helped you carry it and walked with you to the prison to spend the night on the other side of the bars since you were not allowed in the cell with him and you came to see his family on the other side of the bars. In all of this, they never once blamed you for any of this and they were so happy to see you stand up to your entire colony to defend them and especially Brock and you fought for what was right and for justice and you had given it your all, and it still...was just not enough. And they all understood that Brock was sacrificing himself in order to ensure Stormbreaker’s success and glory, sometimes it had to be written in blood before it could be written in gold.

And Brock- he was surprisingly accepting of all of it. As if he had known all along that this is how it was going to be and he was at peace with it. That to you was what made you furious at first, that he didn’t fight against any of it. He never once fought against those who arrested him or the jailors or the judges or the jury or anything. He was unashamedly honest about everything and freely admitted his guilt and accepted his punishment without fuss or arguing. Like he was a sacrificial lamb being led to slaughter if it meant the rest of his “flock” wouldn’t be, as if securing a greener pasture free from predators that offered all kinds of shelters was the ultimate goal. His only regret was that you would be so hurt by his death and he urged his family to comfort you and care for you in his absence.

“There’s the love of my life.” Brock tried to coo at you as he gave you the most loving adoring smile as he reached for you through the bars as you went to him and grasped his hands as you simply returned his adoring look the best you could before you broke down and wept again as he did his best to hold and console you through the bars as the food you prepared was added to the other food the rest of his family made as he sat down as close to the bars as he could be as you sat next to him as it was the last full family meal.

It was so surreal, that if the bars had not been there, everyone acted as if they were back at home, talking like they usually did and sharing the meal like they were used to, still telling stories and legends as each person tried to come up with ways of telling this story to the future generations and were able to put such a grand and proud spin on such sad circumstances until it came around to you.

“When this story gets told, it should be told like this...” you began, your throat tightening as you forced a brave smile through your tears as you squeezed Brock’s hand extra tight.

“Since the dawn of time, firebirds would come and breathe fire on the lands, the fires consuming everything it touched, pushing the clans to the seas. And even there, the firebirds dove to eat the fish right from the nets. The clans could only look and see the golden nests the firebirds built in the tall mountains, glittering like a jewel, forever out of reach. But there was a wise warchief who decided to catch the firebirds. Now to catch one he had to be quick, cunning and strong, for firebirds are never caught in traps, not of wood or of iron, but the wise warchief used silver which worked it’s charm. With his silver trap he climbed the mountains, and krept through the scorched earth. He caught a young fledgling by surprise in his silver trap and brought it home. To the firebird he revealed the devastation the fires brought and how so few fish were caught because the firebirds took even them. And in turn the firebird revealed herself and the secrets of the firebirds and how to make golden nests that fire can not burn or destroy. And with these secrets the warchief built his clan with fireproof gold so that nothing would ever destroy it. The warchief used kindness with the firebird instead of revenge and it brought the clan a blessing hundred fold. When he let the firebird go, she stayed. She chased off the others so that the ground could heal and bear its fruit and grains. She invited the sea to give up it’s treasures until there was no more want. She blessed the warchief and he blessed her.” You emphasized as you brought Kihro’s hand over to rest on your lower belly as your voice cracked with the flood of emotions and the meaning behind your words were not lost on anyone and soon everyone cheered which made you laugh through your tears as you were practically swarmed with hugs and congratulations and questions on how you knew before you turned on your lira light to show them the baby and turned Brock’s on to show how it was a boy and it was his.

“Dad, her child is going to be my only heir and the next warchief.” Brock insisted as everyone agreed before everyone took turns to invent legends to tell the little one about their great father once they came into the world and you fell asleep, laying on a bed roll on the prison floor, with Brock laying behind you, his arms through the bars to wrap around you, his hand never leaving your belly. His words of love and encouragement filling your ears. Thankfully your last night with him was filled with blissful, restful sleep.

Come morning, you and Brock’s family were escorted out of the prison before you went out into the courtyard of justice where the gallows were as you sat down and prepared yourself for what was to come as the colony came out to witness it.

Your eyes were too flooded with tears to really see Brock clearly as he and his shaman were led out as you squeezed Rhosland’s hands so tight you feared they would break when all of a sudden a clear shield enveloped the crowd and dragons, being rode by Kaive and Matae flew down and breathed fire over Brock and the Shaman before the nuses could be hung around their necks, the moura’s tasked with executing them fleeing for their lives because the fires were so hot and intense that Brock and his shaman were instantly turned to ash along with the gallows and the ground was scorched.

It all happened so fast, within the span of a heartbeat and the dragons took to the air and went back to their caves immediately and you just sat in stunned silence before a Zirvush tree grew at your feet and delivered Brock’s gold moura collar but the moment you touched it, it turned to ash and you were left holding ash in your hands.

You were both saddened yet relived, because if Brock could be reborn in the ashes, he could return to you. This way- justice was served with mercy.

So you waited until the shield lowered when the temperatures of everything cooled and you still sat there and you waited. You waited to see if he would rise from the ashes.

And you waited, and waited, and waited. One by one and then family by family and group by group the colony left and returned to their normal lives. Even Brock’s clan left the site and returned to Drauch with their heaping piles of gold. Some food vendors even came and brought food for you to eat while you waited which you were thankful for, since you knew you had to take care of yourself in order to care for the little one in your womb.

You waited until the sun went down and you lit torches over the ashes to illuminate them so that if they stirred, you would see it. You stayed up all night and by dawn you had passed out, and when you woke up, Kaive had returned to you and kept vigil for you and when you woke with a start, Kaive was there to assure you that you didn’t miss anything. That nothing stirred in the ashes.

Then a storm came and you didn’t want the ashes to get swept away and scattered in the run off so you swept up every bit of ash and put it into huge jars before Brock’s family brought the jars of ash into your home and you left Suchi, flying your home back to Stormbreaker and settling it down in it’s spot that you and Brock had prepared for it. You then took the ashes and scattered them over the land around your home, offering every prayer to every god, even Zirvush, to return Brock to you and that hoping that the fact that his ashes were now at his home, he would rise now.

No sooner had you scattered them before a rainstorm came, big fat raindrops drenched the earth and you had to take shelter in the house and watch and wait until it grew dark.

Lightning struck outside your home and you went out to see the Shaman had risen from the ashes as a dragonborn orc, which to you felt appropriate since moura’s and dragons would always be allies and the clan was overjoyed that their spiritual leader had returned to them and it gave you hope that Brock would return too.

Come morning, the ground around your house was thick with all sorts of vegetation, spices and fruits and vegetables and all kinds of grains grew around the house and even grew out, from there, even a Zirvush tree had grown and on it’s branches were the bronzed collars of all the councilers who had sinned against the orcs and you knew that Matae had killed them in vengence for you over his own guilt. You would make a crown of the collars for Brock to wear once he returned.

The whole clan called out for Brock before they noticed a mighty golden eagle flying over the clan before it landed and transformed into Brock who was shaken and dazed and confused as to how he had been a bird before everyone swarmed him. So grateful he had come back as they all made way for you to go to him and hug him.

But instead of returning your hug, he froze.

“Uh, excuse you” Brock frowned in confusion as managed to pull you off of him and looked at you like he didn’t know you and didn’t like it that someone he didn’t know was hugging him.

“Brock, do you know who I am?” Rhoslan asked, wondering if he had some kind of amnesia.

“Of course I know who you are mom,” Brock frowned before he started naming everyone off that was around him.

“But I don’t know you.” Brock said as he continued to frown at you.

Fuck.

#Ugy laughter turning into ugly sobbing #look.#I'm not proud of this part #But the next part is even more heartbreaking I guarentee it.#it's gonna hurt so good #orcs #orc husband #orc love story #orc lover #Moura #Angel #Siren #Mermaid #Elves #Fae #Of Heaven and Fire Part 14 #Of Heaven and Fire

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faquarlofmycenae · 4 years

Text

A first summoning

Summary: A young sorceress seeks assistance for a crucial task and decides on finding an ally with whom she indirectly shares history, but not everyone shares her idealism.

Notes: I said I was going to write the story of how Morgên and Nimuë met so here we go. There is a certain amount of backstory to both characters that I’ve either not typed out or throughly explored yet but there will be more to come, eventually, as well as said backstory not being that relevant for the understanding of the following story.

I might even crosspost it on AO3 (which is obviously a much friendlier platform for writers) so once I do, I’ll post the link to it.

Any commentary is more welcome. Enjoy!

Morgên waited in the summoning circle, still as a praying mantis, eyes closed and legs crossed as she sat on the floor. Impatience was beginning to gnaw at her in addition to general nervousness, and she felt a single bead of sweat travel from her forehead over her temple and down the side of her face. But she didn‘t swipe it away, she remained a statue, the only movement about her being the slow rising and falling of her chest as she tried to keep her breathing calm.

The smell of incense clung in her nose, different herbs than those the other magicians used, so she had been told by the minor djinni that had been in her service until recently.. There had, of course, been a fair chance that it was attempting to trick her but despite her better judgement - something instilled in her by Myrddin that had always been along the lines of „Demons are inherently untrustworthy, vile and wicked, watch your back around them because otherwise they will not hesitate to kill you“ - she had done as the spirit had told her, thanked it by promising to not summon it again and erasing its name from history to end its slavery. The entity that had appeared to her as an innocent goldfinch had thanked her in a raspy deep voice but it had been obvious it didn‘t believe her. She couldn‘t exactly blame it.

The temperature shifted in the ruins and Morgên felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She felt a gush of wind messing up her long auburn hair and how another smell crept up her nose; that of brimstone and ash. The faint noise of cracking flames could be heard.

She swallowed thickly, straightened her back just a portion and took a deep breath. Then she opened her eyes and looked at the figure across from her in the other pentacle, most likely constructed by some minor lord's magicians before their sovereign's fortress had been torn to its foundations by battle and time - but still, the symbol of slavery had remained. In this case, it had been to her advantage.

The form the spirit had chosen for this encounter was certainly human-shaped, two heads taller than Morgên and had pale skin with a vague green-greyish tinge and limbs so thin and spidery they almost appeared skeletal. Clad in a thick grey cloak over a green dress so dark it was almost black, long hair, as white and brittle as chalk fell over the torso. The face was gaunt but at the same time had an absolute agelessness to it. The most otherworldly feature though were the eyes of the spirit’s guise: a pair of empty sockets as dark as the void of the night sky in which two small balls of green fire raged. The veins running down the cheeks were visible and gave the face even sharper features, as if it was merely skin taut over a skull. Around the feet of the entity a circle of flames lapped at the dress and cloak without burning it, the same shade of green as the terrible eyes.

“Most exalted spirit hailing from the Other World, pardon me for awakening you from your slumber.”

She tried to keep the voice at level and had chosen the words carefully to address a creature such as what she had summoned. This was no mere foliot or even a djinni but a noble afrit; a spirit made of pure fire and the second most powerful sort of entity magicians could bind to do their bidding.

As Morgên had spoken, the spirit's head had been tilted sideways and the green fire regarded her calmly. She took that as a sign to continue.

“You may call me Morgên, and I called you, great Nimuë, to this mortal plane to ask for your assistance.”

The thin lips were curled as if in a mixture of revulsion and amusement and the hairless brows were raised.

“I know your story. I summoned you specifically because of it for I am in need of an ally who will help me avenge not only the wrongs done to them but to you too - and the countless spirits that endured penalties and hardships underneath them. But for that I need you to assist me in a journey I need to take, to gain knowledge from someone who, judging by your guise, you at the very least have heard of: Mórrígu, the Queen of Spirits.”

Morgên took a deep breath and looked up at the banshee, waiting for her response - and there had to be one.

It opened its mouth, a flash of bright and (to Morgên's surprise) human teeth. A voice that sounded equally ageless as the face of its guise, clear like the ringing of a bell and in a way reminded Morgên of someone she had once known but banished their memory from her mind.

“You certainly sound like a most ambitious woman, mistress.”

“It is a tremendous task, I won't deny it. What do you think of it? Speak as freely as you wish.”

The afrit crossed the arms over another and looked down at her.

“The simple fact that I am bound by mortal chains in this circle forces my hand into accepting this. Otherwise I'd have a lot to say.”

“Please do. But before, sit down. It hurts my neck to crane it that much.”

The fires in the empty sockets didn't leave her as the afrit crossed its legs in the air, in a similar way to how Morgên was seated and gently floated to the ground.

“Be so kind and tell me your thoughts, great spirit.”

“'Be so kind? Tell me, girl, is this your first summoning?”

Morgên blinked. Something told her that this was going just as she had predicted but she tried to keep her cool.

“By far not. You're only the latest of spirits I have summoned.”

The afrit nodded and I studied her face.

“Are we in Cymru?”

“Yes, indeed.”

This seemed to have an effect on the spirit. Something within the sockets stirred and the air around them grew even hotter. The smell of burnt thyme intensified and Morgên stopped herself from pressing her hand to her nose to avoid the smell from stinging her nose.

“I know who you are, vile witch, and if your doughy brain is not beyond salvation besides everything else that is wrong up there, you'd do well to speak the dismissal right away, lest I will break out of this circle and tear your throat to ribbons.”

Morgên forced herself to hold the now-terrible gaze of the afrit and straightened her back.

“I will not. What issue do you take with my demand? You're going to have to fulfill it either way, there is no way for you to break out of the summoning circle.”

The spirit's gaze traveled alongside the circle. They both knew Morgên had spoken the truth; if there had been even a minimal error in the summoning, Nimuë would have doubtlessly seized the opportunity and ripped her into pieces, the presence of the thyme incense, a much less irritable alternative to rosemary and sage but to be used in much higher dosage, as a peace offering wasn't enough to prevent a being as powerful as an afrit from breaking through.

“Spoken like a true slavemaster.” The afrit said dryly.

Morgên jerked up. As she did so, she noticed how Nimuë's long spider hands might have grown sharper and longer nails than before. She forced herself into a relaxed position once again.

“I ask you again: tell me your problems with my charge. Don't beat around the bush, I will consider your criticism. And don't attempt to throw me off with threats upon my person - it will not work.”

“Aren't you a prim and proper one?” The afrit regarded her with an amused expression, the thin lips were curved in a sardonic grin. “But what else to expect from someone who carries the blood of Uthyr Bendragon within herself? His stench taints everything about you and makes my essence revolt more than any iron or silver ever could. I'm beginning to reconsider my previous statement - killing you and throwing your corpse into the courtyard of his accursed fortress would give me much more pleasure.”

Morgên wasn't surprised, neither by how Nimuë had figured out her heritage nor the fact that spirits were able to do such things.

“King Uthyr is long dead. If you want to exact revenge on his person, I have to disappoint you; all there is left are the bones in his tomb.”

“Fair enough. But I sense something else about you and it disgusts me just as much as your blood. You shouldn't even dare to put my name in your mouth or mention knowing anything about me.” If the afrit's haughty look could have burned her, she would've surely been aflame by now.

A quick gaze traveled to her own pentacle, something not unnoticed to the sharp eyes of the spirit. She almost slapped herself for her stupidity. Not even during her first proper summon on her own, back when she had been a maiden of thirteen summers in Peredur's chambers which always smelled of herbs and sulfur, had she been so out of her element. If she was going to make a simple beginner's mistake such as openly showing insecurity, then maybe Nimuë deserved to break out of the circle and tear her into shreds with a swipe of sharp claws.

“I know of your enslavement at the hands of the magicians of Caerleon. I know of them abusing your skills for the late king to wield power to lay waste to his enemies - and I am truly and deeply sorry for it.”

There was silence. The flames which surrounded the afrit flickered briefly and changed from forest green to sea green, the temperature in the room subsided but instead of remaining comfortable grew even colder.

“'Abusing my skills', that is a fine way to describe that little affair. And do not try to explain the predicament of my summoned siblings again, mistress. I have first been summoned by the shamans of the Steppe, then the Phoenicians, the Romans, the magicians of the Germanic tribes both on the Cold Peninsula where the sun doesn't rise for half a year and don't descend another as well as beyond the Rhine, and then,” a grimace, “your miserable lot on Britannica. I remain a slave, no matter if granted some freedoms or none at all. But do tell me which magician you wish to see destroyed with the power of,”, Nimuë chuckled, “this charlatan queen. Then let me leave your service so I don't have to be surrounded by your vapid idealist insanity.”

Morgên couldn't help but register how talkative this spirit was on its first summoning. Other afrits she had seen summoned hadn't been like that at all, instead there had been a deep distrust between the two parties as well as an additional layer of mystery in their words. This individual was different; resentment bubbled openly and dripped from each word like the sweetest poison.

The thin lips curled into a smile. “Still on track with your demands? Or did,”, the afrit sniffed, “whatever that is supposed to be, cloud your senses?”

Morgên chose to ignore the latter remark and cleared her throat. It had been suspiciously dry.

“I wish this could work without the process of binding, I really do. It brings me no joy to rip spirits such as you from the Other Place - quite the contrary. It's the reason why I parted ways with my master.”

The afrit sneered. “Surely that is what happened. Is he the one you seek to destroy once you hold the wicked sword in your hands? What a typical thing to do for you witches.”

Morgên smiled. Now that was her trump card.

“Yes, I indeed intend to destroy Myrddin Wyllt.”

The flames burst into a column of green fire, filled out the entire pentagram and both brightened the entire room as well as sucking all light from it. Candles were blown out, a sudden burst of wind roared around them and the banshee within the circle had disappeared. Bolts cracked within the fire column.

“I know how famed you were for your abilities as a blacksmith, great Nimuë.” Morgên spoke loud, louder than before. “And how my master used and tricked you into not only forging Excalibur-” a loud pained scream cut her off. The piercing yell made the ruins shake as well as the floor. Beyond the ruins and in the forests, resting birds took flight in panic.

“Don't you ever speak that thrice-damned name, foolish girl.” The voice was thunder and lightning and for a moment Morgên feared being swept away by the wind.

“- but also to imprison fellow spirits for magicians to use them for their own ends. This is what I wish to correct, for there never to be a spirit who has to suffer, be it the burden of committing this crime or being the prisoner.”

The column of fire raged on and on, had this fury been underneath the guise the whole time? Her father Uthyr, long gone 20 years ago as an illness had claimed him, had been given the sword by Myrrdin to seek victory over his enemies on the battlefield. That must've been 40 years ago… a lifetime for her, who hadn't been alive back then; but nothing for an immortal being.

There was a deep sigh within the column and slowly, very slowly, the lightning subsided, the rotations grew slower and when it halted, the fire shifted and as it fell away gave view to the banshee, floating above the ground and regarding her with a steely look in the burning sockets.

Morgên's legs shook as she slowly rose, careful to not cross the lines of the circle to Nimuë's level - or at least something close to it.

“How many winters are you old?”

“Twenty-two.”

“You cannot be serious about this.” The afrit snarled.

“I have never been more sure of something.”

Nimuë sneered. “So be it then.”

“So you will assist me in my journey?”

The afrit regarded her for a long time. “I am bound to your commands, but I will not deny that I am not convinced of them.” White hair framed the haggard face as Nimuë's piercing gaze searched her face. “But Mórrígu is a myth - she never existed. This is a futile charge, any imp could recognize that.”

Morgên smiled. “I have evidence that shows the complete opposite. And I will prove it and use her wisdom to change the way of magician-spirit relationships forever.”

The afrit looked at her, Morgên couldn't tell whether it was disdain or pity this time. Neither pleased her.

“Of course, mistress. Now, would you mind stating your definite charge so I have something to actually work with?”

#fomwrites #bartimaeus #bartimaeus sequence

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