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dontpetmeibite · 1 year

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let us bury lies instead of the living

Justice is alien to the natural world. It is inexorably a product of the sapient mind. And yet it cannot be outsourced.

Nature favours the strong, however they come by their strength. We are deceived when we believe that those who become strong cannot take whatever they will from us, or that we do not need to become stronger to thrive.

But the grace of the strong is in choosing what to protect and what to destroy, and the grace of those whose minds are stronger than their bodies are is to know when to trust in the strength of each other, so new things may grow.

If every one of us were held to a perfect accounting of all of the pain we have caused, the universe would be even more of a burning grave than it already is. The world we live in has been broken over and over. There is no ledger strong enough to hold all the accounts.

If Primus exists and writes debts in his heart, his accounts are clearly in error; people die every day for being in the way of the whirlwinds they didn't see coming.

Certainly those of us who have had greater power have done greater harm. Under the shields of wealth and the law, of fame and of glory, those who are shielded from seeing the evil they do can break worlds. But once they see through the lies, they will know where the wounds are.

If you need to seek vengeance for that which you loved, then of course you must and you will. Revenge is not always optional. Sometimes there's only one way to restore yourself.

But revenge should be personal.

I am not saying that you cannot have revenge unless you are someone with enough power to break through the shields of wealth and the law, but I do say: revenge is not for the bystanders.

If we must have rulers and courts, they should not be forced into the business of dispensing revenge for those who refuse to hold their own blades in their hands.

And we should not lock people away so that those who want to believe that the world is already just can forget them and tell themselves they are safe, and pretend that those who have done these terrible things are not like themselves. All this does is make them all responsible for keeping those people alive, while they can do nothing at all to atone for the damage they’ve done.

I know you will say that such people cannot heal what they've done. They cannot bring back the dead, or restore the great works of the past. But nothing lasts forever, and everything that they have destroyed would have fallen to something. The destroyers have this power: to clear the way, remove the scrap they made, and help us build the world anew.

I am not sure that we haven’t all been destroyers. Does anyone who is old enough to read and understand these words have clean hands? Even if we haven’t killed or enslaved anyone, haven’t we all enjoyed the bounty we took from the land that drank up all their oil and their energon?

There are those who will read this and say that you know who I am, who I have been before, and who I have loved and served. You will say that these sentiments are all very finely attuned to my own loves and interests. As if anyone who has loves or interests does otherwise.

But I will tell you this: I did what I did because there were murders that were hidden from the world, and some of the people who were murdered were mine, people that most of you never had to face. I could not accept the knowledge that some of you lived in comfort you bought by feeding the land with their extinguished sparks. Even though you did not know this, and you were deceived, it is still true. And yet, having now gorged myself on what my people stole from the bodies of those we destroyed, I can only judge you as I judge my own crimes.

All that we can do, together, to honour those who fell in innocence, is to stop throwing stones and use them to build anew.

Some of us will never care about the pain they caused. But laws do not distinguish between the repentant and the proud, only the guilty and the innocent. Only people can do that, and juries are forbidden to. But if the unrepentant fall to vengeance, let it be at the hands of those they wronged, and not some cold-construct just following orders, who doesn't deserve to be made a murderer to ease your conscience.

Those who are forced to murder for hire quite often develop a taste for it.

There will always be those who must be stricken down if the world wants to survive. But after the battle is over, we who remain on both sides are all that is left. We can clean up the mess much faster together.

If we are going to deceive ourselves and say that justice, which does not yet exist, should become a real thing, then we have to live in reality, so that we can be clear about which things are real and which things we want to be real. Once you decide that justice exists just because you desire for it to, you have again deceived yourself. Justice cannot exist until we can figure out what it looks like, and all we know is that none of our previous attempts to create it have worked—because we have deceived ourselves.

Because we have told ourself that comfort for some, or comfort for more, will be comfort enough for all. Because we have learned not to see the people who don’t have that comfort. Because we have told ourselves that the people who don’t have that comfort do not deserve it, because they have not done whatever the rest of us think we have done to deserve it.

This is the truth: everything we have valued and loved has been broken, at least a little bit. Including ourselves. It doesn't matter who broke what. Maybe the person who broke you is already dead. You do not have to wait for your vengeance to be realised to start repairing yourself, and the others around you. There are broken things everywhere. Many of them are in front of you, now, wherever you are. Pick them up and put them back together, one by one. Make yourself whole by returning the rest of the world to its wholeness. Do not try to hide the scars. Build beauty within and without them, and let the people, including yourself, remember and grieve, but also allow them to change, and to love.

If you are a weapon, whatever your function or form, out of preference or out of necessity—do not allow yourself to be used for any violence not your own. Protect yourself and that which can’t protect itself. Avenge yourself if you need to. Do not do violence because others exhort you to. We cannot survive and keep doing that.

The Afterspark may be real, but it will be too late to live if we find out upon our deaths that it is not. It is probably something so far from this life that we cannot even imagine it.

The world we are told to believe awaits us after we die isn’t real, but it could be. The purposes we were told we were made for aren’t real, but we can have purpose. If you do not know what to do, and most of us don’t, just start where you are. Pick up the pieces, don't think of who scattered them. Rebuild what was broken and possibly someday, we will be able to live in the world we thought we were making.

Just…don’t, whatever you do, destroy the safety and beauty that others will try to build for themselves. Even if you don’t understand why they think it is beautiful. Everyone finds their own way, and perfection does not exist.

And you do not have to seek vengeance unless you need it. Most people find that they don’t, once they start to build lives they’re not willing to lose. If you are fighting to defend yourself, and not because you’re ordered to, you can stop if the fight is over, and the point has been proven. If the monster you think you’re fighting sheds its armour when struck with your blade, and you can see the bloody protoform, too weak and vulnerable to do you further harm, you can show mercy if you dare. And it may give you strength you did not have before. The monster you pardon today may stand at your side when the next one comes.

There is no world outside the empire of blades and claws. But when you walk with a knife of your own in your hand, you may choose when to strike, and when not to. Nobody else has the right to demand that you do their murdering.

Most of us who have lived through this war have murdered in the service of greed and deceptions and lies. We have too much to do to submit to the judgement of those who would leave us unable to fix what we've broken. Maybe someday, someone will kill me because I destroyed something or someone they loved, and if they do, they will be acting out of their natural rights.

But I don't have to let it happen, and they are always free to stop. Justice is not natural. It’s only by joining together that we can survive what nature is always willing to do to us.

I will certainly not accept my death from heads that nod over books, and would not have the courage to strike out my spark on their own behalf.

The shining city will never be built if only clean hands are unchained.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232297/chapters/66645118#workskin

#cat writes essays

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newstfionline · 1 year

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Sunday, April 16, 2023

Leaked secret documents detail up to four additional Chinese spy balloons (Washington Post) U.S. intelligence agencies were aware of up to four additional Chinese spy balloons, and questions lingered about the true capabilities of the one that flew over the continental United States in January and February, according to previously unreported top-secret intelligence documents. The Chinese spy balloon that flew over the United States this year, called Killeen-23 by U.S. intelligence agencies, carried a raft of sensors and antennas the U.S. government still had not identified more than a week after shooting it down, according to a document allegedly leaked to a Discord chatroom by Jack Teixeira, a member of the Massachusetts Air National Guard. Another balloon flew over a U.S. carrier strike group in a previously unreported incident, and a third crashed in the South China Sea, a second top-secret document stated, though it did not provide specific information for launch dates.

Leak Suspect Charged (1440) A Massachusetts air national guardsman, allegedly responsible for the worst US intelligence leak in a decade, made his first appearance in court yesterday, facing two counts, including one under the Espionage Act. Federal prosecutors revealed 21-year-old Jack Teixeira will be charged with unauthorized transmission of national defense information and unauthorized removal of classified documents or material. He faces up to 15 years in prison if convicted on both counts. The 21-year-old Teixeira was arrested Thursday, roughly one week after circulation of the documents on the social chat platform Discord became widely known. According to reports, the documents—which Teixeira accessed through a global Air Force intelligence sharing network—first appeared as early as last summer, eventually migrating to larger Discord groups and other online forums.

The Primary Breadwinner Is Disappearing From More Homes (WSJ) Nearly a third of marriages today have no primary breadwinner, as women continue to make strides toward greater equality at work and home. About 30% of U.S. opposite-sex marriages are egalitarian in earnings, according to new data from Pew Research Center, meaning each spouse earns somewhere between 40% and 60% of the couples’ joint earnings.

California’s superbloom is so big and bright, it can be seen from space (CBS News) California’s superbloom phenomenon is so big and bright this year it can be seen from space. NASA’s Landsat 9 satellite, which was launched in 2021 to capture images of Earth’s land surface, sent back images of bright purple and green blooms in Carrizo Plain National Park. A superbloom occurs when desert areas in Southern California receive more rain or cooler weather through the fall and winter, allowing more flowers to thrive.

In China, Lula seeks help to build back Brazilian industry (AP) The trip by Brazil’s President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva to Beijing has made clear he is counting on China to help reinvigorate the South American nation’s ailing industrial sector—particularly by picking up the slack of exiting U.S. companies. After Lula met Friday with China’s President Xi Jinping, Brazilian finance minister Fernando Haddad told reporters the nations are planning a “leap forward” in their relationship. “President Lula wants a policy of reindustrialization. This visit starts a new challenge for Brazil: bringing direct investments from China,” Haddad said. He added that Brazil wants strong bonds with the U.S. as well, but noted with regret that recently “some American companies made the decision to leave Brazil.” Industrial policy is near and dear to Lula, a former steelworker who became a union leader. Brazil’s national statistics institute said in July 2022 that Brazil had lost 1 million industrial jobs over the prior decade, a decline of 11.6%. The institute said in 2021 that the country’s industrial sector represented 18.9% of Brazil’s GDP, down from 38% three decades earlier.

Food or medicine? Inflation squeezing retirees in Argentina (AP) With trembling hands, the bingo players at a Buenos Aires retirement center put the buttons they use as markers on their cards. Small containers hold their betting money, coins and crumpled low-denomination bills that every day seem able to buy less. Monthly inflation was 7.7% in March, up from 6.5% in the same month in 2022, Argentina’s National Institute of Statistics and Censuses announced Friday. Analysts project annual inflation—the measure used commonly internationally—will come in at 110% in 2023, one of the highest rates in the world. The impact has been particularly devastating on Argentina’s retirees, 85% of whom receive a state pension averaging 58,500 pesos a month, the equivalent of $265. That barely covers a third of their expenses for food, medicine and rent.

Drought will cause crop failures in Spain, farmers warn (AP) Drought now affects 60% of the Spanish countryside, with crops like wheat and barley likely to fail entirely in four regions, the main Spanish farmers�� association said on Thursday. Spain’s long-term drought is causing “irreversible losses” to more than 3.5 million hectares of crops, the Coordinator of Farmers’ and Ranchers’ Organizations (COAG in its Spanish acronym) said in a new report. Some cereals need to be “written off” in the prime growing regions of Andalusia, Castilla La Mancha, Extremadura and Murcia, and are likely to be lost in the driest areas of three other regions, according to the report. In the wine-growing region of La Rioja, farmers were in the exceptional situation of “having to irrigate cereals ... when normally they are never watered,” the association said. Nuts and vineyards are also struggling, and olives will be badly affected if rain does not arrive in the next few weeks, the report stated.

Germany ends nuclear power era, shuts down last of its plants (Washington Post) Germany is ending its nuclear energy era with the shutdown of its last three nuclear reactors by midnight on Saturday night—a moment pushed by the country’s steadfast anti-nuclear movement for decades and promised by successive governments, though it comes at a time when many other countries are moving in the opposite direction. Originally scheduled to be turned off by December, the three plants won a brief extension as Germany dealt with the fallout of the war in Ukraine and scrambled to find substitutes for cheap pipeline gas from Russia. German government leaders worried that the country might not be able to power itself through the winter. Chancellor Olaf Scholz announced he would keep the nuclear plants going for an extra 3½ months. In the end, a mild winter, a natural gas buying spree and the firing up of old coal power plants helped Germany avoid energy shortages. Government officials insisted it was time to make good on pledges to end nuclear power. But many Germans aren’t so sure. The latest polls show a majority wanted to keep these reactors going, for now, even if they don’t support nuclear energy indefinitely. Objections to the shutdown came even from within the ranks of Germany’s three-party governing coalition.

US, Vietnam pledge to boost ties as Blinken visits Hanoi (AP) Fifty years after the last U.S. combat troops left South Vietnam, Secretary of State Antony Blinken looked Saturday to strengthen America’s ties with its old foes in Hanoi as it seeks to counter China’s growing assertiveness in the Indo-Pacific. Blinken and Vietnamese Prime Minister Pham Minh Chinh pledged to boost relations to new levels as they met just two weeks after the 50th anniversary of the U.S. troop withdrawal that marked the end of America’s direct military involvement in Vietnam. And it came as Blinken broke ground on a sprawling new $1.2 billion U.S. embassy compound in the Vietnamese capital, a project the Biden administration hopes will demonstrate its commitment to further improving ties less than 30 years after diplomatic relations were restored in 1995.

Japanese leader Kishida evacuated after apparent smoke bomb thrown at him (Washington Post) Japanese Prime Minister Fumio Kishida was evacuated from a campaign event Saturday after what appeared to be a smoke bomb was thrown at him. There were no injuries reported and Kishida was unharmed. Authorities detained a man at the site, Japanese media reported. Video footage from the event showed attendees tackling the man after the attack, which took place in western Japan. The incident served as a chilling reminder of security concerns for Japanese politicians, who typically appear in public with little visible protection.

Dozens killed as army, rivals battle for control of Sudan (AP) The Sudanese military and a powerful paramilitary group battled for control of the chaos-stricken nation for a second day Sunday, signaling they were unwilling to end hostilities despite mounting diplomatic pressure to cease fire. A doctors’ group said at least 56 civilians were killed and that it believed there were dozens of additional deaths among the rival forces. The Sudan Doctors’ Syndicate said close to 600 people were wounded, including civilians and fighters. The clashes capped months of heightened tensions between the military and its partner-turned-rival, the Rapid Support Forces group. Those tensions had delayed a deal with political parties to get the country back to its short-lived transition to democracy, which was derailed by an October 2021 military coup.

Christian faithful flock to ‘Holy Fire’ under restrictions (AP) Christian worshippers thronged the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem on Saturday to celebrate the ceremony of the “Holy Fire,” an ancient, mysterious ritual that has sparked tensions this year with the Israeli police. In the annual ceremony that has persisted for over a millennium, a flame—kindled in some miraculous way in the heart of Jesus’ tomb—is used to light the candles of fervent believers in Greek Orthodox communities near and far. Little by little, the darkened church is irradiated by tiny patches of light, which eventually illuminate the whole building as the resurrection of Jesus is proclaimed. Chartered planes then ferry the flickering lanterns to Russia, Greece and beyond with great fanfare. Many trying to get to the church—built on the site where Christian tradition holds that Jesus was crucified, buried and resurrected—were thrilled to mark the pre-Easter rite in the city where it all started. But for the second consecutive year, Israel’s limits on event capacity dimmed some of the exuberance. Israeli police say they must be strict because they’re responsible for maintaining public safety. But Jerusalem’s Christian minority fear Israel is using the extra security measures to alter their status in the Old City, providing access to Jews while limiting the number of Christian worshippers.

Christian man in Gaza brings dates and water to Muslims stuck in Ramadan rush hour (Reuters) In the hour before sunset during Ramadan, Gaza’s roads become choked with cars as people dash home in time to break their fast with their families. Frustrated drivers beep their horns or try to cut through the gridlock, and there are more accidents than usual as a whole day without food or water dulls concentration and shortens tempers. For those unlucky enough to miss breaking the fast altogether as they stand in solid traffic, Ehab Ayyad is a welcome sight. The Christian man from Gaza offers dates and water to Muslims held up in traffic or late home to break their fast, in keeping with the Prophet’s tradition. Five years ago, Ayyad began by offering neighbours dates and water, the first thing Muslims normally eat when they end their fast at sunset, and decided to make the offer general. “It isn’t their month and they don’t fast but they feel for us and this is something good,” said coffee shop owner Louay Al-Zaharna, after receiving one of Ayyad’s gifts. Gaza, the coastal strip under an Israeli-led blockade since 2007 and run by the Islamist Hamas group, has only around 1,000 Christians, most of them Greek Orthodox, in a population of 2.3 million.

#headlines #news

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

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Au acosf - part 26

what started as a few little chapters is spiralling into something bigger so thank you for sticking with it

@sv0430 @mis-lil-red @confusedfandomslut @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @a-court-of-valkyries @swankii-art-teacher @moodymelanist @nestaarcher0n @my-fan-side @c-e-d-dreamer @nestaspegasus @champanheandluxxury

Darkness curled around his body in a cloak of onyx as the shadow singer landed on the roof of the house of wind. If Cassian hadn’t been there, gazing out at the city he adored, he’d not know that his brother had arrived. Azriel had mastered silence and darkness, more shadow himself than substance.

‘I thought you’d be in Windhaven,’ he said by way of greeting.

Cassian shrugged. ‘I’ve been here the last couple of days going over plans with Rhys. The Blood Rite is coming.’

Az waved a letter in the air. ‘That blacksmith from my mother’s village. It’s his year to enter. He’s written back to Nesta.’

‘Oh.’

That was the only word his body would allow him to say. Anything else would have been an insult, an involuntary reaction to the bond that saw any other male as a threat. Azriel only rolled his eyes. ‘He wrote on behalf of my mother too.’

‘What are his chances?’

‘A bit of a runt. If he keeps his head down he’ll have a chance of surviving though, he’s smart enough.’

Cass knew that Azriel had no love for anything Illyrian. The Blood Rite held no value except allowing monsters to thrive, he said. Cassian was inclined to agree with it to a degree; those who relished the killing often saw the Rite as a free for all, a chance to settle any squabbles. Those were the ones who survived. They were the warriors the Night Court armies needed though and the Rite was an important element of their history. It did feel a bit like a waste of life sometimes, but if it was taken from them, Illyrians would riot. As a boy, all he wanted was to prove himself in the Blood Rite and show the world he was more than just a bastard orphan. It was a chance to be greater than your birth.

‘Are you staying for dinner?’

‘No,’ Az said shortly.

He’d not spent a night in Velaris in weeks, not since they’d met with Eris. Cassian had split his time between his home in Illyria and the House of Wind. He was always invited for dinner with Feyre or Mor, but it didn’t fill the hole slowly spreading inside of his chest. He missed Azriel. He missed Nesta. Missed them both ganging up on him.

‘At least have a drink. You look dead on your feet.’

Either the drink or the pleading look on his face caused Azriel to relent and follow down the stairs into the house. Both males sighed with relief as they collapsed onto couches by the fire. Although spring had arrived to the city, there were still a few bitterly cold evenings that clung to winter.

‘When are you delivering the letter?’

‘Tomorrow. If I have to see Tamlin this evening, I’ll snap his neck. I’m not in the mood for it today.’ His brother was always a quiet unassuming force that was happy to linger in the background then sometimes words would pass his lips and Cassian was reminded of what a dangerous power he could be.

Azriel withdrew a lengthy scroll of parchment. ‘Will you give that to Rhys?’

As Azriel shifted, Cassian smelt a faint whiff of blood from his brother’s direction. He did not pass comment.

‘Not a letter of resignation, I hope,’ Cassian teased though with how distant Azriel had been in the last few weeks, it would not surprise him. Az held all of his cards to his chest. Always had. Always would. It still shocked him that he’d trusted Nesta enough to take her to his mother’s home. Mor had never even met his mother in all the years that had passed between them.

He chuckled softly. ‘If I can put up with you for five hundred years, I doubt anything could make me leave for good. A report about Briallyn. We found a group of Eris’ soldiers under her control.’

‘Not the ones I trained in Illyria?’

Az shook his head. ‘No. Not those. Lucien is braving the Autumn Court to dispatch that message to Eris.’

‘Were they truly under her control – or another trick from that snake?’

Azriel spread out his scarred hands to show he didn’t know. ‘I’d have liked to observe him when Lucien informed him to gage his reaction, but it’s not worth me going there. Beron would love to string me up in the dungeon.’

Beneath Azriel’s nails, Cassian caught sight of mud and blood. Azriel tucked his hands out of sight as a shadow curled over his wing, whispering in his ear.

‘We had to kill the soldiers. It seemed as though parasites had invaded their minds; unable to make any movement without a whisper telling them to.’ Cassian spotted the flecks of blood on his boots that he’d not been able to clean in a hurry. ‘It was necessary, but awful. They did not put up any sort of fight. Just stood there as we killed them. Not the kind of news we could send in a letter or wait until Eris crossed our path again.’

‘But you can send it in a letter to Rhys?’

His brother met him with one of his unflinching stares. Az had every mark of an Illyrian; the hazel eyes coupled with black hair and bronzed skin yet there had always been something other about him. He had never fitted in to Illyria, had no desire to.

‘My father kept me locked up, Cass. Every day I spent alone in darkness lasted an eternity. I’d have agreed to any deal anybody offered me to just get out of there. Feyre’s desperation was once mine; I can’t stand that Rhys took advantage of her.’

‘They’re mates.’

‘And if they weren’t? If Tamlin’s partner was dragged here for a week each month in revenge and hated every minute of it? Would he have kept her in the Hewn City? Just because it’s worked out now, it does not mean Rhys knew at the time.’

For a general, Cassian hated conflict. This emotional conflict between brothers. Azriel had his struggles. Even after centuries, he would continue to carry them alone rather than share the load with any of them.

‘Tamlin is the reason his mother and sister are dead, Az. You can’t hate the male for holding a grudge.’

Azriel waved a hand. ‘Exactly. If Feyre wasn’t his mate do you think he’d not act on his grudge against Tamlin’s partner?’

‘She is my mate though,’ an icy voice said from the doorway.

If Azriel felt embarrassed that he’d been caught speaking such things of his high lord, he did not show it outwardly. The cool, calm exterior remained as he locked eyes with Rhys. ‘And I’m happy you have each other, but my point remains.’

‘A hypothetical,’ Rhys said, stepping into the living room and settling into an arm chair. ‘There’s no weapon that will cleave the past. What’s done is done. Feyre forgives me and understood my motives.’

The tone suggested the matter was no longer up for debate but either side of him the anger was simmering away. Rhys leaned forwards to receive the report from the table. They sat in silence while he read.

‘Does he have soldiers in the Spring Court?’

‘He did when we were last there.’

Rhys nodded, mind already calculating their next step. ‘Can you spare any of your spies to keep a watch on Nesta?’

‘Why?’ Cassian ground out, ready to combat the doubt Rhys had about her.

Rhys frowned. ‘I don’t want any soldiers who are likely to be controlled by Briallyn getting to her. Tamlin won’t lift a finger and she’s refused every offer of training. Have you worked out how they’re being controlled?’

When Az shook his head in response, a plan had already formed in Rhys’ mind. ‘That needs to be our priority. I’ll ask Helion to search his libraries too. He’s already researching Koschei. Az, try and keep an eye on Nesta, as often as you can. We need to keep an eye on Beron somehow. I would not put it past him to sacrifice his own soldiers.’ Rhys waved his hand thorugh the air drawing a bottle of whiskey and three glasses towards them. ‘We need to meet with Eris and Lucien. I’d go to Spring myself but Nesta might set me alight again.’

‘It was an accident that day – and you provoked her,’ Cassian said reaching for his glass. ‘You’ll kill Az off if you give him any more duties. You look a male half dead. I’ll go to Nesta.’

Azriel snorted. ‘She’ll definitely set you alight after your last meeting.’

‘Actually, I saw her a few days ago on Calanmai,’ he said casually, stretching his wings out behind him like a puffed up peacock. ‘It was nice. We watched the celebrations. I’m teaching her Illyrian.’

‘I’m happy for you,’ Rhys said, raising his glass in a toast.

Cassian shrugged, not letting himself hope too much that maybe they could forge a path back to each other. He wanted to shout from the rooftops that they’d spent the night slumbering together. That her deep steady breathing as she slept peacefully was a symphony to his ears. That seeing her alone, watching her as Nesta, not Feyre’s sister had been a gift. But he kept quiet. He had learnt his lesson from speaking too loosely about Nesta. She valued her privacy.

There had been a moment during the war as if their two souls had finally converged, but ever since then it was as if they were going in different directions, drifting further from each other every day. There was no guarantee they would meet again unless he went to her.

‘It’s just a few language lessons,’ he said, stretching his toes towards the fire, feeling the strain in his calves. ‘She misses your mother, Az.’

‘And she her. I have to go.’ The whiskey lay untouched.

Rhys held up a finger. ‘Before you go, this arrived. Nesta has organised a high lord meeting in the Dawn Court.’

‘How in the Mother’s name has she managed that and why?’ Cassian was awestruck by that female who continually surprised him.

‘Maybe you can figure it out so we don’t end up with any nasty surprises.’

***

They had had a blazing row. Twice. Nesta sat on the edge of the bath with her jaw clamped shut listening to the storm swirling through the house while the taps streamed. It was an improvement. Usually, she got no reaction from Tamlin. An argument was positively fantastic.

They had argued over attending the meeting in the Dawn Court. Tamlin ignored her the first few times she tried to raise the subject then he had physically moved her out of his path and she’d erupted at him. No kind words left her lips, but Tamlin deserved every single one. They had shouted at each other until he had involuntarily burst into his beast form then she’d blasted him down the corridor with her fire to buy her time to run to her room and bar the door. She hadn’t slept a wink that night, only sat rigid in the chair that still smelt like the bat with Zasha pressed onto her lap.

Their second argument had been about the first. Nesta could not help herself from starting it again; so long she’d been without that wild anger. It had helped her in the past. It wasn’t healthy, and she could admit that now, but it had been an outlet for all the feelings she fought to hide. If arguing with Tamlin would bring back the high lord then she would do it every day. This court needed a leader.

It only ever happened once the servants were gone for the day. Likely the sentries could hear it though as they both shrieked at each other, but Nesta already had their trust. She would push and prod the high lord, knowing exactly what his limit was just as she’d known her own. If she had been the mortal taken above the wall, they would likely be under Amarantha’s dominion because Nesta would have strangled Tamlin in his sleep rather than love him.

With Zasha at her side, she sought out the brooding male. He’d smashed up his bedroom this time. The door hung from its hinge and the top panel had splintered from where a claw had dragged through it as easily as if it were butter.

‘Bath. Now.’

Tamlin snarled at her. Nesta was used to it. All the males did in this land was snarl and growl, no better than animals. Except perhaps Azriel. He had manners, at least.

Zasha growled back at the high lord. The hound had grown so he stood as tall as her knee although he had a lot of growing left to do.

‘Don’t drown yourself. I need you at the meeting next week.’

And Nesta would like that pleasure for her own.

So Nesta waited in the kitchen. The servants had made a soup earlier in the day, but Nesta had declined it, knowing she’d try again at rousing the high lord from his lethargy. She stirred the pan with a wooden spoon, letting the smell of the mushrooms drift throughout the house.

When the final shards of her hope were slipping from her fingers, Tamlin appeared in the doorway with damp hair hanging loosely around his shoulders. He had never asked for Nesta to live with him. It had been Eris’ doing. He could throw her out at any moment if he wished it. It had been his money that had supported them when they were still mortal. It was guilty money, for stealing their sister, but he still had not needed to take care of them financially.

‘I’m not here to take your court,’ she said, gesturing to the seat beside her.

Tamlin took his bowl of soup to the opposite end of the table so they could both be in command. ‘Your sister would like this court after she ripped it open.’

Nesta bristled at the mention of Feyre. ‘I do not support her decision nor am I aligned with the Night Court. I support the fae who have been displaced. I’m not here as your enemy. Quite frankly, I’d prefer it if you led your own folk. Please pass the butter.’

The dish slid along the wooden table and Nesta buttered a roll in silence. She’d have liked to have seen the world rather than spend her days with no company but a dog and a beast piecing together a court that made her rub her eyes constantly.

‘The pianoforte in the back room,’ she said, ‘could I play it?’

Tamlin narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You play?’

‘Badly. But I should like to practise in between running your court.’

‘Unusual. Queue. Slaying. Conflagration.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

Tamlin gripped the arms of his chair. The green eyes that bore into hers lacked the warmth of the bat’s big hazel ones. ‘I wrote your sister poems to help her understand words.’

Nesta got to her feet and cleared the table. Faithfully, Zasha followed her every movement. ‘You could have written Feyre a symphony and it would not make a shred of difference to me. Or to her. She has her mate. She is happy. No amount of wallowing will ever bring her back. And I have to ask, why would you even want her back? The damage she has done to this court is incomprehensible. Or is it simply the slight against you that she’s now with your enemy? The female herself doesn’t matter.’

The dishes could wait until the morning. She had an evening of uncomfortable quiet ahead. Nesta craved company – company on her own terms where she could say goodbye when it had become enough. She either spent the nights in the high lord's office or alone reading a book with only Zasha tailing her.

‘The meeting is in five days. I expect you to attend and I expect you to support this court.’

The next couple of days were a blur. Something in her words had prised the male out of his shell and Nesta was damned if she was letting him sink back into himself. Fionn had managed to bring him into training; the males watched him with awe even if his skills were rusty. The pianoforte needed tuning – a task she’d beg of Eris – but she had found a fiddle and thrust it at Tamlin. She had heard him playing alone, but the melody was sprightly. A tailor was sent for, to produce new clothes for him – and for Nesta - to signify an alliance. So much of politics was made up of gestures and imagery. They would give the illusion they were allies.

A letter had arrived from Beron requesting information about Eris’ movements, saying Nesta had been given ample time to befriend his son. Boldly, Nesta had simply written back that she hoped to see him at the Dawn Court so they could discuss their budding alliance. Did he think her stupid enough to leave a trace of evidence?

On the third day since their terse dinner, Tamlin remained in the grounds as the sun had set enjoying conversations with his sentries and servants who lingered after their shift. Nesta sat on a cushioned bench that hung from a large oak tree with Zasha splayed across her legs. She had been reading until the light became too dim then admitted defeat and watched the display. The instruments had come out; Javién, the soldier with a nice voice, had begun singing too. It was a noise Nesta often heard while he walked the grounds. She was not an expert on battle strategy, but the singing was likely not a move of stealth. Still, it was lovely to listen to.

Zasha’s movements alerted Nesta to two figures in the distance. The off-duty sentries moved at once, but the dog was quicker, streaking across the lawn. One of them winnowed away and the other already had a red glow pulsing into the shadows.

Fionn escorted Cassian across the grounds, his hand poised on the pommel of his sword in case he needed to react. Nesta had not the heart to tell him that if Cassian moved first, the male would not even have the chance to draw his sword.

‘My lady,’ Cassian said as greeting, a lupine smile on his features.

Nesta could feel the eyes of those gathered watching them, including the high lord of the court. Even if they did not know exactly who he was, the Night Court had such a reputation, he was villain enough. Nesta slipped her arm through Cassian’s to try and soothe the uncertainty rippling across the sentries and servants then led the bat away from nosy eyes to a quiet portion of the garden, Zasha scampering along behind them chasing after moths.

‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘I had not known we had agreed to meet.’

Cassian peered over the tall hedge towards the festivities that were occurring. Nesta could not read his expression. If she had to name it then it was puzzlement. Then he turned to her, eyes bright, smile genuine.

‘I owe you a second lesson. But besides that, I have a letter from Balthazar and Rovena. Az was meant to deliver, but he’s shattered – so you’re stuck with me.’

Nesta squealed with delight as she tore the paper from his large, warm hand. Her eyes scanned the lines quickly then her joy turned to ash in her mouth.

‘He’s entering the Blood Rite? He’ll die, won’t he?’

Cassian shifted uncomfortably. ‘Have a little faith in him.’

‘We have need of a farrier here. I had offered him a position. He said if he survives he’ll visit.’ Nesta touched her heart, ‘Oh, I miss Rovena even more now I’ve read this.’

‘I can take you to Illyria – even if just for the day, if you wanted to see them. And those children.’

‘Lule and Lorin,’ Nesta supplied.

Cassian nodded. Nesta knew it wasn’t a false promise, that he would do anything she wanted of him.

‘If you flew me to Illyria, there is no telling how many times I’d vomit on that long flight.’

'I'd be gentle,' he said, voice low and coaxing. ‘Rhys or Mor could winnow us.’

‘Not them,’ she said sharply. Out of the two, Nesta could not say which one she least would like to be in close proximity with.

‘Az is too busy, Nes.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Mysterious things,’ he said, deftly snatching the letter from her hand and tapping the end of her nose with it.

They sat for a long time, until darkness had seeped into the sky. Cassian leaned forwards on the bench to shrug his jacket off. Wordlessly, he draped it over Nesta’s shoulders, protecting her from the slight chill of the night. In their silence, the noise carried to them; the bright, bouncing melodies, the clapping. From the cheers, she imagined dancing – not the precise waltzes she adored, but the wild, loose fae dancing from stories.

‘Is this what you want? To do all Tamlin’s dirty work?’

‘I’m good at it.’

‘But is it what you want, sweetheart?’

No, no it wasn’t. She was good at accounts, good at taking charge to spearhead a political assignment. It did not mean she enjoyed it. There were days she still wanted to curl up in bed and forget the world, but with so many relying on her, she could not.

‘I want to make a difference to those who need help.’

‘You could do that in Illyria.’

Nesta reflected the question back on him. ‘Is that what you want? For me to do all Rhysand’s dirty work?’

Zasha brushed against her leg, demanding attention. It anchored her, stopping her anger from sweeping her away.

‘I don’t want to argue with you. I argue with Tamlin enough.’

The siphons flashed a warning beside her. ‘What?’

Nesta shrugged away his concern. ‘If we don’t argue, I’m ignored. It’s how I’ve learnt to communicate with him.’

‘Mier,’ the bat said. ‘Peace.’

Nesta repeated it. It had become a mantra of hers to repeat the words he had taught her to solidify them into her mind. She listened as he listed the words for the moon, the stars, the hedge and flowers. In a sudden movement, he’d snatched the dog onto his lap and flipped Zasha so he was supine.

‘Zuby – teeth.’ The dog playfully tried to chew at the male’s hand as he thrashed in his lap. ‘Chvost is tail and paw is labka.’

‘And more than one?’ She asked leaning over to rub a hand across the pup’s exposed belly.

‘Labky.’

‘And big?’

‘Veľký.’

‘Aha.’ She remained quiet for a while. ‘How do you say bat?’

‘Netopier.’

‘Žena,’ she said, placing a hand across her chest then to Zasha, ‘pes,’ and finally towards Cassian, ‘Veľký netopier.’

‘You cruel female. Accurate but cruel.’

Even in the darkness, Nesta could make out the grin branding his handsome face. He was handsome. Cassian had a rugged and wild sort of look, one she’d found interesting since the moment she had met him. He did not fit the mould of what her beloved was meant to be. Part of her reluctance to the bond was because of that; because the Cauldron had taken so much from her already then gifted her a male the entire opposite of what she was taught she deserved. For so long she had been raised expecting a poised, well-mannered rich man. None of those qualities made a good man though. A good male she supposed now. And Cassian was that.

‘Why do you even want to learn the Illyrian tongue?’

‘It sounds so nice when you speak it. I am butchering it. I don’t know. I enjoyed my time there with Rovena. The food. The clothing. The company. It’s a pretty place, all mountains and wildness. It’s a pity the males treat their females so badly.’

‘Rhys has changed the law. Any male guilty of clipping will receive the same fate.’

‘Better late than never, I suppose,’ she said coldly.

She asked him to talk about the Blood Rite. From books, she had gained a decent idea, but he would give the truth. Nesta listened with a furrowed brow to his own time - how he and his brothers had been spread across the land and clawed their way back to each other. It was a barbaric tradition, she decided. Her stomach clenched as she imagined sending her son to the Blood Rite one day. Then she blushed, embarrassed she’d suddenly imagined an Illyrian son as her own.

‘You alright?’ Cassian said, amusement dancing in his tone. That damn bond. It unfairly gave him an advantage in reading her emotions.

‘How long does the Blood Rite take?’

‘A week. I’ll be in Windhaven when it’s done. I can send word about Balthazar to you – either way.’

Nesta nodded solemnly. ‘It’s silly really to care. I’d only known him a couple of days, but it was nice to have a friend who was solely mine and didn’t judge me. Do you know a female shopkeeper in Windhaven? Emerie.’

‘I’ve met her, yes.’

‘We ate pastries in her store, the three of us that morning before I… Before everything went wrong. Worse than it had been. It was nice. I should have liked her as a friend too. Illyrians are full of warmth.’

‘Don’t let Az catch you saying that. He’ll think you’ve been brainwashed by his mother.’

Nesta missed that soft female more than she could put into words. Cassian seemed to sense she was growing upset, missing what she had lost and brushed a thumb down her face. It left a trail of heat in its wake.

‘I think this is the most we’ve ever spoken without trading insults or worse.’

‘I did call you a big bat.’

‘But you said it in perfect Illyrian.’

‘I have a good teacher.’

#acotar #acowar #acosf #acofas #acomaf #au acosf #nessian #nesta archeron #tamlin #cassian #azriel #rhysand

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echo-of-sounds · 4 years

Text

marry me

Small drabbles of you suddenly getting the desire for more in your relationship.

All three of these came out to be exactly 261 words long. Weird.

Aizawa Shouta

“Are you going to keep staring at me?”

“I’m not staring,” you mumbled, going back to your book.

Shouta scoffed then continued his scribbles. Whatever he was working on agitated his eyebrows, raising and scrunching them every other second. His tied-back hair showcased his gorgeous jaw. It opened into a big yawn and he scratched the scruff that had grown long.

It roused a yawn in you. So many catnaps and close cuddles. The couched housed your languid fondles, pleasing, pampering each other in the dim room. Rain was a lullaby. His heartbeat was your timepiece, affording soft dreams and deep sleep.

He sighed your name, tiredly, handsomely. “Why are you-”

“Marry me.”

Dark eyes snapped to yours, drowsy but direct, made of silk, sable, and satin. “What?”

He was the locus of your love. A blunt, caring lotus you wanted to be yours. You wanted his burdens, his natural weary temper, his heavy warmth on you every single night, drifting off to slumber, safe and sound under him.

No more foggy what-ifs. They needed to wake to full-fledged needs. He could never truly understand his importance, your emotions. But you tried, barely vocalizing your desires, “Will you marry me, Shouta?”

He stood. He approached. He grabbed your cheeks and kissed you. The book tumbled. He drew you to stand, lips never leaving yours.

You mumbled, “Is that a yes?”

“Undoubtedly.” Unkempt hair, rundown, rough hands, and dull clothes looked like the most heavenly thing on earth when he smiled his threadbare smile. He droned into your mouth, “I love you.”

Yagi Toshinori

You both thanked the vendor as he handed you the ice cream. Toshi grabbed your hand, leading you along the park walkway. Cool air drifted between you.

He stopped at a bench overlooking a small pond. Gentle fingers tilted you to kiss him. Strawberry wet his lips, sugary and shivery. He suggested, “Why don’t we sit here.”

You followed him to the bench. A yellow flower grew near one of the legs. You picked it, noting to an amused Toshi, “It looks like you.” You slipped it behind his ear.

He stared. The cutest smile pulled his lips. Yellow hair brightened against the orange sky.

Heat bloomed in your chest, sprouting passion, blossoming affection, bearing nothing but love and rapture. A floret upon floret created a bouquet of honey, fruit, and nectar only he could grow. You breathed under the weight, “Marry me.”

His surprised face matched your internal shock. He whispered your name, rooting the desire. A meadow nurtured of yellow and blue; happiness and candor. No sun nor sky could equal him. Petals flourished again, overrunning, vast, bright, and deep.

You repeated yourself, willful of your words, “Will you marry me, Toshinori?”

Water coated his eyes, falling just like the ice cream did from his hand. “Of course, I will.”

You dropped your own dessert and hugged him tightly. He kissed your head. Your ears savored his voice, his heart, “I love you. I love you so much.”

Vines wrapped your lungs, but it didn’t hurt; it never hurt. The sweet flowers thrived because of the angel he was.

Yamada Hizashi

The white keys were spotless. The red sparkled, contrasting and highlighting his beautiful eyes. Excitement stumbled his usually nimble work.

“Can you hand me that piece?” Hizashi pointed to the strap.

“Here.”

You watched his trained fingers switch from fumbling to fiddling with the harness, finally getting the accordion together again after days of deep cleaning it. The sound wasn’t the most pleasing and he was definitely no master of the art, but his smile and happiness made the suffering worth every second.

He tiled the instrument towards you with a handsome grin and sang, “What do you think?”

The question built an aria, light, airy, perfectly matching his elation. Hums and whistle so often serenaded your ears. Wonderful songs fell from his mouth, waterfalls of his love and joy. But you wanted it to be a duet.

You asked, wishing your voice could parallel the melody of his, “Marry me.”

“What?” He set the accordion down. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I love you. Will you marry me, Hizashi?”

He was quiet, letting the drum in your chest beat. Susurrus turned sonorant at his smile. It burst into a strident laugh- his laugh that was greater than any anthem.

“Hiza-”

Arms circled your waist. Your feet left the ground. He spun in circles, cheering yes repeatedly.

You didn’t get a chance to say anything when he set you down. Lips kissed all over your face, landing on your own. Chants of devotion and affection echoed so sublimely. It vibrated your body to his tempo and now his music would forever be with you.

#aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #all might #all might x reader #yagi toshinori #toshinori x reader #present mic #present mic x reader #yamada hizashi #hizashi x reader #aizawa imagine #all might imagine #present mic imagine #bnha x reader #bnha #bnha imagines

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viking-raider · 3 years

Text

Seals of the Lost - Prelude

Summary: An Order of Riders in the East and West, united in keeping the World harmonious, is fractured by greed and corruption. The survivors go into hiding to protect the world from the evil that wants to destroy it and rule all. But, nothing remains lost.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 7,648

Rating: PG - Language, Violence and Death, World-Building, Mythology, Lore, Magic, Historical and Modern Fiction

Inspiration: A mash-up of several movies and books I've seen and read.

Author's Note: Thanks to @wondersofdreaming for her support and encouragement and @firefly-graphics for the divider.

Tag List Blog: @viking-raider-taglist

Once, in bygone millennia, two groups and majestic creatures lived in true harmony with one another, and did for many centuries.

They had always been harmonious, the East and the West, even separated by the vast ocean between them, like they were. Both cultures took great pride in caring for the majestic creatures that inhabited the world with them. Even though in the beginning, when the creatures first appeared, it was not that way.

At first, the sightings were brushed off as nothing more than crack stories of drunks and attention seekers. But, more and more of them came in, then the first attacks started happening. Whole villages burned to the ground, all across the East and West, no side was shown special exception or spared; countless people displaced and killed.

Before, one man, Edward Williams, the East's best tracker, managed to follow one of the creatures back to its lair. But, when Edward sneaked inside, he found an entire world inside the earth, filled with every type, size and shape of the creatures, more than any of his people, East or West, could ever have imagined.

The creatures easily outnumbered all of the humans outside of their world-like cave, and it scared the life out of Edward.

What he hadn't expected was one of the creatures appearing behind him as he spied them, from what he had believed to be a hidden vantage point. Edward was sure his life was forfeit as it stood over him, caging him in with it mountainous body, thick and frothy drool dripping from its snarling, scaly lips and dagger-sharp row of teeth, puffing foul and hot breath from its nostrils into his face, like the great heat of a blacksmith's forge or a venting volcano. Edward trembled, squeezing his eyes shut and mumbling a prayer to himself, giving himself his own last rites, and lifting hand to his face to cross himself, when he felt a very gentle touch against the side of his palm, and dared to crack open one of his eyes.

“Well.” He dared to croak out, his throat dry, as the creature eased back from him. “That was an interesting turn of events.” He mumbled, blinking at the creature, thunderstruck by the fact the creature didn't either eat him or roast him, like something on a spit over a fire.

He flexed his fingers and slowly reached out and and touched two fingers to the creature's face, felt what he could only describe as a purr and relaxed, throwing out all the knowledge and preconceived notions he had about them.

Yes, they had attacked, blackened villages and killed, but he felt there had to be a reason for why this was, and endeavored in finding out why. So, Edward Williams vanished inside the creature's underworld, protected by his new friend and in the years that followed he became one with the creatures that lived and thrived inside of it, until he emerged and returned to the world of his own kind, with his friend, who he had named, Mavy.

Then, with time and many trials, the people of the East and West became harmonious with the creatures, protecting and caring for them, each group, each culture having their own way of doing so. They revered them and the creatures returned that sentiment in the same gratitude and measure. Many of the humans bonded to the creatures, becoming linked together, like one mind inside two very different bodies, even allowing the humans to have gifts, becoming what was known as Riders.

But, like all things, especially things of good and harmony, it did not last.

“The bond between us and them is a bond that should not be corrupted!”

“Aye!

“Who do you think you are!? This is not what we stand for, Christos!”

“This isn't what you stand for!” Christos roared back, slamming his fist on the stone table before him. “And I am sick of your do-gooier ways. The rulers gain riches from Riders protecting their borders, lands and people, and from what?” He hissed, looking around the table. “There hasn't been a war, a skirmish, not even a riot, in nearly four hundred years!”

“That's because of us, Christos!” One of the others at the table with him sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, exhausted and exasperated with Christsos's pettiness. “We don't do it for the money or the glory. But the greater good and prosperity of the world around us.”

“Both worlds.” Another agreed, nodding his head. “For humans and them.”

“Not any longer.” Christos growled under his breath, glowering at the table. “I'm sick of it. I demand a Rider's right, so I can get what's right; payment for protecting these greedy men's lands.”

The men around the table looked at each other, surprised at his demand to have the right to their lifestyle, their occupation and what had been passed down to them through birth and proof of passage. The leader of the group, who had remained silent during the arguments, stood from his chair, letting out a heavy sigh and shook his head at Christos as he leaned his hands against the table.

“No, Christos.” He told him, plainly. “You have no birth right to be a Rider, and you have not proven yourself worthy to become one either. Your greed and anger is plain to see, and even if it was not now, I fear it would be not too far in the future, corrupting your bond as a Rider, and as the head of this Order, I can not allow that.” He spoke honestly, meeting Christos's furious brown eyes.

Christos jerked out a stiff finger, pointing to the head leader. “You will regret this, all of you will regret this, from this moment to the very ends of time and your bloodlines!” He threatened, spitting on the table, before spinning on his heels and storming out of the hall, with a determination that would fuel the flames and tides of the war that would fracture and splinter the East and West into the world as people know it, in current times.

The Order didn't take Christos's word as a threat, in the beginning that is.

He vanished off the map, not a whisper on the winds or from the other Order Houses about his movements throughout the world. The leaders and rulers believed he had let out his hot air and ran off to pout and lick his wounded ego over his rejection. That was until people started disappearing all across the lands, of all statures and social standings, even the family members of the Riders, but that wasn't the worst of it, the evidence left behind the disappearances was damning, and damning for the Order and Riders.

“Sir, they're gathering outside!”

“Yes, Marcus, I can hear them.” The Order leader sighed, pacing the room, hearing the echo of the jeering voices in the stone room around him, causing the situation to weigh even more heavily on him.

“How could they think that we and our creatures are behind these disappearances?” Marcus asked, looking to his leader for comfort. “We've spent centuries in harmony, protecting them, keeping the peace and prosperity. We find what causes people to go missing, not cause them!” He roared, his temper overcoming him, and the room around him shaking.

“Calm yourself, Marcus, getting angry will solve none of this.” His leader sighed, resting his hands on his shoulders.

“But, it isn't fair, Alaric.” Marcus hissed, still angry.

“We will right this, Marcus.” Alaric assured him with a pat on the shoulder.

The doors to the Order house flew open and one of the other Riders came rushing in, out of breath and his clothing torn, from his struggle through the mob crowded outside, and skid to a halt before Marcus and Alaric, taking a moment to catch his breath again.

“What is it, Asher?” Alaric asked, with wide eyed concern.

“Whitewich has been attacked.” He wheezed, stumbling over to the table in the middle of the room to grab a tankard sitting on it and gulp down the remaining liquid inside, quenching his dry tongue.

“By one of our own.”

“What!” Alaric roared, flabbergasted at the news.

“Ronan, from one of the West Order houses, flew into Whitewich on his creature and attacked the village, torching the whole place. Nearly killing all the inhabitants within its walls, before denouncing the Order and the Riders, then flew off again.” Asher told Alaric, leaning against the table and mopping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

“What does Bowen say of this?” Alaric asked, lifting his brow at Asher. “He's the Western Leader for our Order there.”

“He and his Riders are trying to track Ronan down, to bring him to justice.” Asher replied, sighing heavily.

A door to the south of them swung open, admitting a bent back, severely bow-legged, elderly man, with long, thinning white hair, twisted into two braids, each resting on either shoulder. Alaric turned towards the old man and lifted a brow at him, giving him a patient moment to collect his energy and find the words in his senile mind, before letting out soft, but good-natured, sigh.

“What is it, Gilbert?” He asked in a gentle tone.

“Mess..enger—birds,..your..grace.” Gilbert replied in a shaky voice. “Many..of..them.”

Alaric pinched the bridge of his nose, not at all having a good feeling about the messenger birds appearing in their coop. “All right.” He groaned, and followed Gilbert very slowly out of the Order's central room and into the open air of a courtyard, where the angry voices of the crowd was even louder, and to a tall circular tower, dominated by the fluttering and flapping of bird's wings and their calls. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, Alaric, Gilbert, Asher and Marcus entered the tower, where a group of four men were gently holding ravens and pigeons, removing teeny scrolls from leather tubes tied to one of their feet, before letting them go, to fly up into one of the empty cubby holes to rest from their long flights.

“What are the messages?” Alaric asked the workers.

“Mostly the same, sir.” One of the men answered, carefully unrolling the message he removed from the raven balanced on his forearm. “Several Riders across multiple Houses, in the West mostly, but three here in the East have joined them, have turned their backs on the Order, attacking villages, towns and cities all across the world.” He read from the scroll, also reciting several of the others he and others had read before Alaric arrived.

“They're flying under the banner of a Serpent and uttering the same one name.” He said, looking up at Alaric. “Christos Forebine.”

“So,” Alaric sighed, dropping into a nearby chair. “He's kept his promise.” He whispered, dropping his face into his hands.

“Alaric, we must do something!” Marcus barked at him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him violently. “You are the Leader of our Order, you can't not admit defeat and let this monster take over! Christos will not stop until he has destroyed us all and taken every last one of our creatures, then has taken control of the world!”

“He's right.” Asher agreed with Marcus, nodding his head. “Christos could corrupt more of them and the Riders to tip the world's balance into his favor, making himself supreme ruler of us all!”

“We need to stop him, before this gets fully out of our control, Alaric.” Marcus said softly, frowning down at his long time Leader and friend.

“You're right, we need to gather our Riders and get things in the sky and ground under our control again.” Alaric nodded, biting his lip. “Gilbert, Tomas.” He looked to the workers for the messenger birds. “I want you to send out birds to as many Riders as possible, the ones here in the East and any remaining from the West. I want them here as quickly as they can get here.”

Tomas nodded and got quickly to work, while Gilbert stood in place for a moment, before shuffling away somewhere.

“Asher and Marcus, come with me.”

The resistance of Riders gathered in the East Order House, only one of the Order Houses from the West was left not corrupted from Christos and by the time all of the messenger birds were sent out to the Houses, two of the Eastern Order Houses fell under him.

Alaric knew Christos would never again sit down and talk with the remaining Order Houses about peace and coming to an agreement to stop the conflict and unrest he was creating between the East and West. There was only one thing Christos knew, especially now that he had a league of experienced and seasoned Riders on his side, and becoming a Rider-in-training himself, and that was war and skirmishes. The two groups that had once rallied together, now fought on that same land wrecking havoc and leaving behind bloodshed and death, fighting family and friends, leaders and teachers to maintain a way of life or to create a new one where they could be the new masters.

“Asher is dead, as is his creature.” Marcus informed Alaric, wiping blood from the corner of his brow. “Two of Christos's Rider's dragged them out of the sky.” He frowned, the sight of Asher's death still fresh in his mind.

“Neither stood a chance at survival.”

Alaric, leaning against a table as he surveyed a map of the current battlefield, bowed his head, devastated by the news of Asher's death, his worn and cut up face pinched with deep emotion. “It's a heavy blow.” He mumbled, not lifting his heavy head.

“Alaric Saintwatcher.” A voice called across the makeshift war room.

Alaric looked up and saw Darius Simperwill approach him, limping rather badly, a bloody rag bound tightly around his thigh, with several of the other Riders, in no better shape than he was behind him.

“What is it, Darius?” He asked, rubbing his face and standing, groaning at the stiffness in his back and limbs.

“We can no longer sustain the fight against Christos and his followers.” Darius said, stopping at the table. “More of our Riders either join his forces or die. We need a better plan.”

“And you have one?” Alaric replied, lifting an exhausted brow at him.

“There has to be somewhere we can take our creatures and people, where Christos and his filthy traitors can't get their hands on them.” One of the Riders with Darius grumbled behind him.

“Don't you think, if there was such a place, genius, we would have gone there already?” Marcus retorted, scowling at him.

“It might not exist now, genius.” He belittled Marcus back, huffing at him.

“Speak plainly!” Alaric roared, tired of the nitpicking and petty squabbles of late.

“We all know that our bonds with our creatures can give us power, aye?” Darius said, looking around the room.

“Aye.” Alaric sighed, nodding his head and dropping into his chair.

“Well, Edward Williams believed that Riders and their creatures could combine their powers together and open a door, creating a completely different world, only they could open and close.”

Marcus's head reared back, his laughter filling the room with a thunderous boom. “Open a door to create a totally different world, where we can all have a merry little jaunt into, while Christos stays here, in this world, and rules?” He continued to laugh, shaking his head and held his stomach.

“That's a marvelous idea, Darius.”

“Marcus, hush!” Alaric snapped and rolled his eyes at him, then looked to Darius. “How do you expect me to take those I now have under my care into this world we could possibly create for safety and leave those Christos has under his corruption here?”

“They are already lost!” Darius hissed at him, slapping his hands on the table.

“And the innocent people that wouldn't be able to cross this door with us?” Alaric demanded, angrily. “I've read of this theory in the old texts before, only a Rider and the creatures can cross the doorway. Regular humans would be trapped on this side of it.” He said, jabbing his finger into the table top.

“Leaving them to Christos's fury, when we vanish into it. I won't do that. I won't leave them to that fate, it's against everything we stand for.”

Darius huffed and pushed away from the table, frustrated and at his wit's end.

“What about an ambush?” Marcus asked, biting his lip.

“What kind of ambush?” Alaric asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Set Christos and his traitors up in an ambush of some type that allows us to kill them and their creatures. Then, once they are gone, we can open the door and take the remaining Riders and creatures through, protecting them, so no others are able to do such a thing like what he has again.”

Darius turned back towards Alaric, holding his gaze for a long moment, before they nodded at each other.

“Gather all those we have left.” Alaric said, his eyes never leaving Darius.

Within the hour, the remaining twelve were gathered in the war room and were told the plan on how they intended to put an end to the war.

“How do we open this door?”

“It takes five of us to create and open the door to the world we make for ourselves, but three of the five, must stay behind.” Alaric explained to the group.

“Why?”

“Three Seals will be forged within the door, when it is created. To lock the door behind us, the three Seals must be removed from the door.” Darius picked up explaining. “We can't allow just anyone to watch over the Seals once the doors are closed. It has to be three people out of this trusted group, or all will be for not.”

“I'll be one of the three.” Marcus spoke up, standing up from his seat. “It would be my honor to guard the door that gives my people safety.”

“As will I.” Another Rider vowed, standing with Marcus.

A soft murmur went through the room.

“Aye, I'll be your third.” said a man in the back, raising his hand above his head.

“Then, those two, Marcus, Alaric and I will open the door.” Darius said, nodding his head as the plan came together. “Now,-”

“I won't be going.” Alaric interrupted him.

“What?” Marcus and Darius snapped in unison.

“We need someone to set the ambush.”

“Absolutely not!” Marcus hissed, stomping over to Alaric's side. “You can't! Take my place, protect the Seal. I'll set up the ambush with Christos, it was my idea after all.”

“No, Marcus.” Alaric shook his head, sighing softly at him. “Christos won't go anywhere without just cause. He's always been suspicious and paranoid, so for him to be led into a place for any reason, has to be for a good reason.”

“Am I not a good enough reason?”

Alaric smirked at Marcus and lifted an amused brow, his face getting the point across that he certainly was not good enough to lure Christos anywhere, making Marcus's shoulders slump.

“You couldn't lure him out of the loo.” Darius teased him.

“Oh, shut it.” Marcus hissed at him, angrily. “I can't let you do this.”

“Marcus, I am the Leader of the Order, it is my job to protect it and all those inside of it.” He told him, sincerely. “I am also the only one Christos will deem valuable enough to meet.”

“He's right.” Darius agreed, sadly nodding his head. “What do you have in mind, Alaric?” He asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Just leave that to me.” Alaric replied, his mind already working on it.

“All right, then we need one other for the door.” Darius sighed, looking around the room.

“I'll help.” A soft voice in the back answered.

Heads turned and looked at the timid face of Tomas.

“I know the history behind it.” Tomas said, gulping and looking around the room.

“Thank you, Tomas.” Alaric said, smiling at him.

Tomas smiled shyly at him, nodding his head and shuffling his feet.

“There has to be someone else.” Marcus whispered into Alaric's ear.

“I chose Tomas, he'll do well.” Alaric replied, dismissing Marcus's notion.

“Where do we make this door?”

“We need a safe place. We'll scour for it, while preparations are made for the refugees to go through the door, once it is opened. Make sure to gather as many supplies as possible, for all those that cross the threshold. There's no telling what will be found there, once on the other side.” Alaric said, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room.

“I might have a place, as well.” Tomas spoke up, lifting a pointer finger.

“Where?” Darius demanded, narrowing his eyes at the younger man.

“The original world cave is nearby.” Tomas started to explain to them, moving over to the table, where several maps were laid out. “Here, this was the original world cave, where Edward Williams discovered our creatures.”

“It's unmarked and very few actually know where it is.”

“How do you know where it is?” Marcus asked, looking at the map where Tomas's finger was tapping.

“I've spent my life studying the ancient texts.” Tomas answered, looking up at him. “He described the specific world cave countless times, and I've explored several of them myself, and this is the one that fits the description of it.”

“You're sure?” Alaric asked, leaning forward to look at the map.

“On my creature.” Tomas nodded, sure of himself.

“Then, what?” Marcus asked, lifting a brow at Tomas.

“We go to the world cave, open the door and those going can enter through the doorway. Once that is done, the Seal Keepers remove the Seals and the door will lock behind them.” Tomas explained to the room. “I do propose, once the door is closed and the Seals removed, that the three of us Keepers collapse the entrance of the cave, preventing anyone from finding it again. So, anyone that would wish to take Christos's cause up after his demise can not find it and do so.”

“That is a solid idea, Tomas.” Alaric replied, stroking his chin and nodding his head. “I want the five of you to go there and start the preparations to open the door, the rest of you will start gathering supplies to go through it.” He said, standing up.

“And you, Alaric?” Darius asked, standing up with him.

“As I said, leave that to me.” Alaric replied, before leaving the room.

The five who agreed to open the door arrived at the world cave discovered by Edward Williams all those centuries ago, finding a small path that laid to a shelf and a reasonably flat enough rock face.

“This'll do.” Tomas said, pressing his hand against it. “It's perfect for what we need.” He nodded, then turned to the others. “Do you all know the words?” He asked them, hopefully.

“I know them.” Darius spoke up.

“Darius told me about them after the meeting.” Marcus added.

The two others just glanced at each other and back at Tomas.

“Right, so.” Tomas sighed, pressing his fingers into his eyes and paced the narrow shelf. “The words go like this; 'Through our shared bond, with we and them. We call upon it, in this time of need, to open this door, so that we may soar into a new world and be free, once more'.” He recited the words.

“Understood?”

“Aye.” the four other men nodded their heads.

“Place a hand on the stone.” Tomas motioned for them too.

The four approached the wall, reaching out a hand to touch the cool wall alongside Tomas.

“Now, tap into your bond with your creature.” He instructed them. “Let the bond flow wide open and free, like the flowing of a river.”

They all took a deep breath, opening themselves and feeling the tingle and hum of their bonds strengthen to their fullest potential, making the air around them shimmer with it.

“All together now, say the words.” Tomas said. “And push it into the rock.”

“Through our shared bond, with we and them. We call upon it, in this time of need, to open this door, so that we may soar into a new world and be free, once more.” They all said in unison, squeezing their eyes shut.

They repeated the incantation over and over, the words slowly getting muddled as they did, but their meaning and purpose was not lost with them. With each completed pass of the incantation, thin glowing blue lines cracked through the face of the wall, tracing and weaving the outline of a mighty door, making the cavern around them rumble and quake, then slowly scrape open.

“It actually worked.” One of the men huffed, stepping away from the door, mouth hanging open.

“What did you actually expect, you daft monkey?” Marcus snapped at him.

“Calm down, Marcus.” Darius sighed. “Ian doesn't mean anything by it.”

“Yeah, I don't.” Ian replied, making a smug face at Marcus.

“Ian, come with me, we'll go and tell Alaric that the door is ready. The rest of you stay here and make sure no one comes that shouldn't, and set up the explosives for us to close the cave entrance, when the time comes.” Darius said, motioning for Ian for him to follow, making for the mouth of the cave and returning to the sanctuary, where the remaining Riders were holed up.

“Alaric, we're ready.” Darius said, entering the Leader's private chamber.

“Good, excellent.” Alaric nodded, standing near the fireplace in his chamber. “I'm leaving soon, Darius.” He said, staring into the flames. “But, before I go, I have one more thing I need to do. To ensure.”

“All right.” Darius nodded, frowning at Alaric's back.

“Will you help me with it?” Alaric asked, turning towards him.

“Aye, tell me what I can do?”

Alaric touched a pendant hanging around his neck, then took it off. “Come here.” He said, motioning Darius closer to him.

Darius regarded him for a moment, before approaching him, and Alaric held the pendent out to him, both of them holding it together.

“I, Alaric Saintwatcher, give you, Darius Simperwill, the pendent of the Order of the East-” Alaric began.

“Alaric, wait.” Darius began to protest. “You can't do this.”

“I can and I will, Darius.” Alaric growled back. “Those remaining will need a Leader.”

“Marcus is the second in command.”

“He's one of the three Seal Keepers, he can't be the Leader of those who go through the door.” Alaric barked at him, agitated that Darius was causing them precious time with foolish protests. “You are the only one it can be. You're the only one I trust enough, with enough experience and respect for those going.” He argued.

“Now, shut up and let me finish.” He huffed, squeezing their hands around the pendent. “I, Alaric Saintwatcher, give you, Darius Simperwill, the pendent of the Order of the East to take responsibility for all those that the Order encompasses, for their safety and well-being.” He recited the oath from heart, remembering from when he had taken it, all those decades before.

“Do you take this oath, Darius Simperwill?” He asked, meeting his eye.

Darius stared at him for a long moment, conflicted about taking the oath, of taking his place, knowing Marcus would lose his mind when he found out. But, it was what Alaric wanted. “Aye, I'll take the oath, Alaric Saintwatcher.”

“Then, I pass this on to you.” Alaric said, letting the pendant go. “Wear it with pride.”

Darius stared at it for a moment, rubbing his thumb over the raised symbol on the pendant, before hanging it around his neck by the worn and frayed leather cord. “I'll do you proud, Alaric.” He said, a lump in his throat.

Alaric clasped him on the shoulder. “I have no doubt otherwise.” He smiled. “One last drink?” He asked, grabbing an emerald green bottle off a nearby table and held it up.

“Aye, one more drink.” Darius nodded, tears burning in his eyes.

“To the Order, to the Riders, to our Creatures and to our ways of life!” Alaric declared, holding up his glass in salute.

Darius nodded, holding up his glass. “To true friends.” He added, holding Alaric's eye with a soft smile.

“To true friends.” Alaric agreed, quietly choked up, before both of them swallowed their drinks in one mouthful.

Alaric watched as the Order's refugees silently funnel out of the sanctuary, carefully vanishing into the dark hills that surrounded it, making their way towards the mouth of the world cave that secreted the door to their refuge, led by Darius, their new Order Leader.

Sighing, he turned to his creature and mounted, flying off to do his last bidding. He took a deep breath of the cool night air streaming past his head, his eyes falling shut and letting the free and weightless feeling take over him, an ocean of inky purple clouds and sparkling stars and constellations all around him.

“Our last ride, Tila.” He murmured, resting forward and wrapping his arms around his creature's thick, scaly neck.

His mind flitted back to the message he had sent to Christos in his own battlement, giving him a place to meet, under the false pretense of peace between both sides. He arranged for them to meet inside a world cave, claiming it was Edward's world cave, what perfect place to set him up in, making him think it was the cave that started it all, the cave that would give him all the power he wanted.

The mouth of the cave came into view and Alaric could see a few of Christos's Riders standing outside, waiting for him to arrive and join them inside. Letting out a heavy breath, he and his creature landed, ignoring those already on the ground and entered the world cave, those outside following him inside, closing in around him and Tila.

“Where are the rest of your brats?” Christos's voice echoed over to Alaric.

“Back at our sanctuary.” Alaric replied, slipping off of Tila.

“Doing things on your own, as always, Alaric.” Christos mocked him. “Keeping your pups cowering behind your walls.”

“Do you want to talk or throw insults, Christos?” Alaric sighed, rolling his eyes, feeling antsy.

“Peace!” Christos screamed, throwing his arms out wide, and turning in a circle, making every one of his followers laugh. “The great Order Leader, Alaric Saintwatcher wants peace, in exchange for what, exactly?”

“You stopping this crusade, this needless bloodshed of our kind.”

“Ha!” Christos hissed back. “Now, I'm one of your kind.”

Alaric sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose, knowing there was no real way to get through to Christos Forebine, unless it was on his own terms.

“How about I take my Riders and torch your precious sanctuary and Riders?” Christos suggested, pandering to his riled up followers. “Then, there will be true peace!”

“With you as the ruler of us all?” Alaric replied, lifting a brow at him.

“Exactly.” Christos grinned at him, impishly. “But, that starts with getting rid of you.” He growled, narrowing his eyes at Alaric. “Kill him!” He screamed at the top of his lungs.

Alaric's heart started to pound against his ribs, he rested his hand on Tila's neck as Christos's followers started closing in on him. He waited, calmly, before it was almost too late for him to make his move.

“Now, Tila!” He shouted, patting her on the neck.

Stretching her long neck and letting out an ear splitting shriek, Tila opened her mouth and shot a blueish-purple flaming orb into the dome of the world cave, causing the entire cave to quake, huge pieces of the ceiling came crashing down and hitting Riders and Creatures alike, startling them. As they started to recover again, Tila let out another blast to a separate part of the world cave's ceiling, causing

even more of the ceiling to collapse on top of them.

“Alaric, what are you doing!?” Christos shouted over the noise of crashing rock and panicked voices.

“What I must!” Alaric roared back at him.

With one alarming rumble and strong tremor, the rest of the world cave's ceiling gave way, crumbling away on top of them. Many of Christos's followers attempted to escape, to get to some kind of safety before it was too late, but it was too late, the mouth of the cave fell in on itself, closing them in, with no other way out, leaving them to their deaths.

Meanwhile, Alaric's remaining Riders and creatures, now under the watchful leadership of Darius, felt the ground shake as they ascended deep into Edward's real world cave towards the Seal Door. Darius and Marcus glanced at each other as they stood beside each other at the door, knowing what was causing the shake.

“Well, I'll assume Alaric was successful.” Darius sighed, watching the last few remaining Riders funnel in.

“We'll soon find out.” Marcus replied, biting his lip and felt a sharp heaviness in his chest. “Still can't believe he made you the new Leader of the Order.” He huffed, folding his arms over his chest, dejectedly.

Darius sighed again, rubbing his fingertips into his tired eyes. “I told him, it should have been you who took his place. But, he said, since you were chosen to be a Seal Keeper, it had to be me.” He said, dropping his hands to his sides and looking over at his long time friend.

“I know.” Marcus answered, lightly jabbing his shoulder into Darius's and gave him a teasing smile. “Still can't believe it.” He chuckled.

“Do me one solid favor, though?”

“Anything, Marcus?” Darius nodded, his brow pinching with sincerity.

“Will you take care of Icarus for me?” He asked, looking at his creature, with a loving, but sad, smile. “She's a good ol' girl, spits ice farther than any I've ever met.” He reminisced, petting her incandescent blue wing.

“You have my promise.” Darius swore, resting his hand on Darius's back. “I'll take care of her, like I care for Elio.”

“I appreciate it, Darius.” Marcus sighed, clasping him on the arm. “I really do.”

“Everyone's here and ready.” Tomas said, approaching Darius and Marcus.

“Ian and Coda, are you ready?” Marcus asked, looking at his fellow Seal Keepers.

“We are.” Ian nodded and glanced at Coda.

“All right, that just leaves the rest up to you, Darius.” Marcus said, respectfully bowing to him.

“Oh, don't go giving me any of that bullshit, Marcus Cuillen.” Darius huffed at him, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders and pulled him into a bear hug. “I'll miss you.”

“Don't go soft now.” Marcus roared, squeezing him back, before they broke apart, and he stepped away from Marcus to stand beside Coda and Ian.

“Riders!” Darius called out, his voice reverberating off the stone walls.

“We are all that is left. We and our creatures, who we are tasked with protecting, but we are also tasked with protecting the way of our life, of our Order.” He shouted, meeting the eye of as many Riders he could. “For that reason, we will enter this door, into a new world, where it is safe for us and them. I do not know, if ever, we will return to this world, or what we will find, when we do.”

“But, for now, this is what we must do, and as your new Leader, I will step through first, to show to you, it is safe!”

Taking a deep breath, Darius turned towards the open stone door. He couldn't see what was on the other side of it, because of a shimmering, dark purple membrane stretched across the opening stood between the Order and their new world. So, squaring his shoulders and fortified by what he was doing was for the greater good of his people and the world at large, Darius strode forward with his head held high and confident. He reached his hand out, touching the membrane with his fingertips and found it to be cool, as the rock face itself, before pushing his hand through it, making it ripple, like water.

Darius looked over his shoulder and smiled at the group behind him, then stepped through, vanishing on the other side. A gasp rippling through the group left behind. A moment later, Darius's creature, Elio, stirred its scales and approached the door, slipping through it without a thought or hesitation.

“It must be safe.” Ian spoke up, after a minute of nothing. “Or he wouldn't have summoned his creature to follow after him.” He pointed out.

“True.” Marcus nodded his head. “Okay, everyone!” He shouted, getting the group's attention as they all stared at the doorway, wide eyed and astonished. “Single file, start going through. No pushing or shoving! Nice and easy, that's it.” He nodded his head, as the group started to trail in, somewhat hesitatingly at first, through the door with what belongings and supplies they could carry, as well as with their creature.

Once all of the Order was inside, the three Seal Keepers said their last good-byes to their own creatures, knowing for their safety, they had to also go through the doorway, and sent them on their way; Ian tearing up a little bit as his creature's tail disappeared through the membrane last.

“Now what, Marcus?” Ian asked, looking at him, as a lonely feeling starting to spread inside of his chest.

“We close the door.” Marcus replied, having a similar feeling. “Help me push it.” He said, moving around and planting his hands on the door.

Nodding their heads, Coda and Ian joined him, then with grunts and groans, they pushed the door closed, slotting it back into the rock face seamlessly, except for the eerie blue glow it still had to it.

“Right.” Marcus sighed, dusting his hands on the thighs of his pants. “I'll take the top Seal.” He said, reaching up for the object slotted into the front of the door, and after a moment of figuring it out, gave it a half turn to the left and popped it out, feeling the hefty weight of it in his single palm.

“I'll take the right one.” Ian replied, grabbing it and with a quarter turn to the right, had it out in his hand as well.

Nodding his head, Coda removed the left Seal with a full turn. The three of them stood together for a long while, staring down at their Seals, each with a different symbol on it. They could feel a faint hum of power slowly fading out of them, as the magic that opened the door vanished into the thin air around them, causing the glow of the now closed and locked doorway to dull and darken, leaving a pale outline of where they had once been, the only evidence of their existence, other than the Seals.

“How about a pint?” Ian suddenly suggested, looking up from his Seal.

Marcus heaved a sigh. “I could use a drink.”

“What about you, Coda?” Ian asked, lifting a brow at him.

Coda stared at his Seal a moment longer, then looked up at the other two men, shook his head and started making his way back out of the world cave. Marcus and Ian shrugged their shoulders at each other, but followed him out of the cave as well. They stopped outside of the cave, tucking the Seals away on their person for safety, before lighting the fuses to the explosives they had laid, then put several yards between them and the cave as the muffled explosions went off and the earth around it folded in on itself. With a respectful bow, Coda took his leave of Marcus and Ian, going off into the night, on his own.

“I think it's best we also part ways, as well.” Marcus said, setting down his pint, as he and Ian sat in an ale house in the nearest town. “We're no longer Riders.” He sighed, staring into the foam of his drink. “Even if we still had our creatures, we couldn't do anything with them, it would be too dangerous.”

“I believe you're right.” Ian burped, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “We would be daft to be in the same town, let alone the same city with our Seals, should anyone come looking for them.”

“No one should even be alive, other than the three of us and those that crossed the door, that know about the Seals either way.” Marcus commented, flicking his hand to motion to the full room of patrons. “If Alaric's plan went off like it should have, all of Christos's followers should be dead.”

“You know, there has to be some low life, wanna-be, Rider that followed that madman out there.” Ian huffed, lifting a brow at Marcus. “You would be an idiot not to be slightly paranoid about it.”

“I am.” Marcus barked, lifting his tankard back to his mouth and took a deep drink. “That's why I suggested we separate too. Just like Coda did.”

Ian bit his lip and pushed his jaw forward, nodding. “All right.” He huffed, rubbing at his face and feeling the weight of his Seal in his pocket. “I've always loved it across the sea, the land is nice.” He mumbled. “I'm sure Coda is going back to his corner in the far East.”

“Why don't you stick around here, we'll all three cover those bases.” He suggested, lifting a brow.

Marcus cleared his throat and thought it over. He wasn't opposed to staying in the part of the world they were in, but he still wanted a change in scenery, just like Ian and Coda did. “I might wander up North a bit. I'm sick of this area, nothing but heartache and bad omens.”

“That's up to you.” Ian replied, shrugging his big shoulders.

“I doubt the three of us will ever see each other again.”

“Good.” Ian chuckled, hoarsely. “I'm sick of your face and have been for years.” He said, cracking a smile.

“The feeling's mutual.” Marcus grinned, lifting his cup and knocked it against Ian's, when he lifted his. “To the Order and, hopefully, a better world.” He toasted, before they both gulped down the rest of their ales, shook hands and took leave of each other, their Seals safe with them as they went.

“Yes, Mum. I just got the box delivered ten minutes ago.” Henry replied, pressing his phone to his ear with his shoulder and pulled a steak knife out of the drawer, to cut the packaging tape off the box his mother had shipped to him from Jersey.

“How are you liking the new place, love?” Marianne asked her son.

“I really like it.” He answered, pulling open the cardboard flaps of the box. “It's quiet out here and there's a ton of yard for Kal to go wild in.” He grinned, twisting his upper body to look out the kitchen window in time to see a Kal sized blur bolt across the backyard and into the side yard. “He's already dug five holes.” He chuckled, turning back towards the box.

“Anyway, what's in this thing, mum?” He asked, peeking inside.

“Just some stuff from your room and things I didn't know what else to do with.” She answered him.

“Ah, I see, it's my turn to house some of the family nick-nacks.” Henry laughed, pulling out a few things that had been in his childhood bedroom, smiling fondly at them.

“Oh, I have another call, Henry. I'm glad you love the new house! I'll call you later”

“Thanks, mum!” He replied and hung up with her, then put his full attention on the things in the box. “What's this?” Henry frowned, pulling out an old, round disc that had a bit of weight to it and a worn marking on one side. “Weird.” He mumbled, turning it over and looking for any marks that could tell him what it was, the nerd in him interested and drawn to it.

“I wonder if there's a place I could get you checked out at.” He said, biting his lip and set it down on the kitchen counter, but he wasn't even sure where he would start to look. “I'll have to do some research later on tonight.” He decided, then finished unpacking the box and putting the things inside of it away in various places around his new house in the English countryside.

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poptod · 3 years

Text

Make Me Your Queen (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: He’s never seen anything like you––nothing comes close to your royalty, your beauty, your power, and it draws him in deeper.

Notes: based off ‘make me your queen’ by declan mckenna. i wrote this story with a female reader in mind (bc like, hatshepsut but canaanite) but as always its gender neutral, no pronouns WC: 2.6k

"Now I want you two to stay quiet. Do you understand that? Under no circumstance should you speak without being spoken to," Merenkahre said under his breath, his voice low as he spoke to his two sons. Ahkmen nodded––Kahmuh did not, but he'd heard his fathers' words nonetheless.

"These are the Canaanites, right?" Kahmuh asked in a flat tone.

"Phoenicians," Ahkmen corrected.

"Same thing, but don't let them know I said that, okay?" His father said.

Before Ahkmen could even chuckle, his mother called the three of them into the throne room. He hurried past his brother to stand beside her, looking over the long, glorious hall adorned with pillars and vases towards the tall double doors. Shrouds of silk hung from the ceiling, clouding the paintings drawn so painstakingly on the ceiling.

The breath of fresh air in his chest left him the moment Kahmuh came up behind him, taking his spot closer to the throne.

"I was -"

"We go by rank, don't you remember?"

He curled his fingers into his palm but said nothing. Kahmuh loved to annoy him, and though he never benefitted from teasing him, he continued to do it. Now, however, was a bad time to give into the urge to retaliate––the doors would open anytime now, bringing with it streaming sunlight and foreign royalty.

For several years now Kemet had been embroiled in a conflict with Phoenicians. It was one begun by his father, who had hoped to control several of the bay cities for the trade links they provided to Mesopotamia. This part of his father's life had been kept secret from him––entirely on purpose––until they began to fight back. A treaty was established the moment Merenkahre realized his armies could be beat, and now here they were, waiting for the one who had stepped up to take control of Phoenicia. Ahkmen had yet to know their name. His mother had given him scant information, and his father was unwilling to tell.

Rustling from outside brought his attention back to the front, eyes training back onto the door as it began to crack open. It was a sight he'd seen before, the opening of those mystical doors––rarely at sunset, but today was lucky. Red light streamed into the room, clashing brightly with the gold built into the pillars and marble floor. The light fell saturated on his tan skin till he and his family practically glowed auburn.

A short train of people came through the doors, their shadows stretched against the red carpet before them. The hall fell silent at their entrance; all eyes locked onto the veiled figure in the middle drifting closer to the throne. His breath halted right up to the moment the train came to a stop before the Pharoah. It was then the soldiers surrounding the cloaked figure fell into a bow, revealing tall tresses of black and red silk, a veil lined in gold, and purple hair framing soft cheeks.

Ahk's mouth opened unwittingly, staring at you. Were you born like that? How was that possible? And you––you couldn't be much older than twenty. This was what his father had to find peace with? This was what they would've died to?

The stone look on your face matched his fathers' bitter politeness perfectly. Merenkahre's jaw set as he smiled, rising from his seat to greet you personally. He raised his hand to shake yours and you matched him, raising a hand adorned in golden rings and blood red nails, shaking his hand without a hint of the Pharaoh's kindness in your eye.

"I thank you for the invitation to your country," you said, your lips twitching upwards just slightly, just enough to look polite.

"I'm glad you took up our invitation. We have a feast prepared––I'm sure you and your men are tired from the journey," said the Pharaoh, gesturing towards the doorway opposite the entrance.

You glanced down at the bowed soldiers. As your eyes flickered upwards they landed upon the youngest Prince, leaving him petrified from the acid in your gaze.

"Yes," you said after a moment, turning back to the Pharaoh. "That would be kind of you."

Several of the palace guards took the lead of your group, leading you through the small hallway to the dining hall. The hall was placed near the court for convenience, but the decision left Ahkmen little time to ask his father anything, leaving him stumbling over which question was more important.

He pushed his way past his mother and brother, landing beside his father, who still had his teeth gritted tight.

"How old are they exactly?" He asked, but earned no response from the distant thoughts of Merenkahre. Clearly his father was a tad preoccupied––Ahkmen would, most likely, not be getting answers from him anytime soon.

Ahkmen stared at you throughout the whole dinner. Not once did you glance to see him––if you had, he probably wouldn't have been staring. At least not so hard. You're impressively hard to look away from, your smile curt and teasing, unearthly purple hair curled around a crown of spindly gold.

Over the course of the conversation, he learned several things, most namely the duration of your stay. No one had an exact count of days, but you and your soldiers would stay until a peace treaty was reached with the Pharaoh. Knowing his father's advisors, Ahkmen surmised you would be here for a while, a fact that brought a smile to his face. Even though you hadn't spared any more than a single glance at him, he found he didn't care as long as he could keep looking at you.

He wasn't invited, but he followed anyway when one of the priests led you to your room. You bid the priest good-night only when two of your soldiers entered the room with you, before turning to Ahkmen, a soft but blank expression on your face.

"You're one of the princes, aren't you?" You asked in the silence. His eyes widened at the unexpected question.

"Well, um – yes," he said, stammering over his words.

"How old are you?"

The question took him by surprise but he didn't hesitate to answer.

"Seventeen years."

You paused to take in his reply, apparently finding much to contemplate in his age.

"When I was your age, I was spending my time uniting my Kingdom and clawing us out of starvation," you said in a lofty tone, but before he could form a response, you continued. "I suggest you do something useful, like that, instead of staring at foreign dignitaries."

Oh.

"I – I'm sorry, I didn't –"

"No need to apologize. Just keep it in mind."

"But... then how old are you now?" He asked, nails digging into his palm. You held his eye so intently now that you were speaking to him.

"Eighteen," you said with a smile, promptly shutting the door in both Ahkmen and the priest's face.

The priest turned to Ahkmen, a single brow raised. An awkward silence stretched between them.

"Can you not tell my father about this?" Ahkmen finally asked.

"As long as I never have to watch you two converse again," he said.

"Deal."

Ever since you came he was enchanted by you––that much was obvious to see. His mother knew, as did his father (although reluctantly), and by his count you probably did as well. Fortunately enough for him, you didn't tease him about it. Instead you kept a polite distance from him––a decision he simply couldn't understand.

He's rarely allowed inside the court while something important is in session, but his father called him in, and he didn’t mind an excuse to be in the same room as you.

"Ahk, come here," the Pharaoh said, and he obeyed, standing by his father's side. "You and the princ-"

"King," you said sharply. It's a title you insisted on constantly, one that your soldiers willingly upheld despite the obvious contradiction. The Pharaoh pulled his lips into a thin line in clear irritation.

"You're around the same age, right?"

Ahkmen nodded.

"Why don't you show them around a little? I'm sure they'd like a break from all these meetings," Merenkahre suggested.

"I assure you I am perfectly fine," you said.

"Septy," one of your advisors leaned over to you, whispering in your ear. He couldn't quite make it out but the tension in your face fell. It was almost nice––you're always irritated around the Pharaoh and it showed.

"Very well," you said, and it looks like it took an enormous amount of pain to get the words out. "I will go with your... son."

Ahkmen practically beamed, making his way across the room to you before taking your hand, and leading you out of your seat. Before you could send any more of a scathing glare at Merenkahre, he guided you out of the room and into an empty hall.

The already-quiet voices of the court faded away as the distance grew greater, leaving the two of you in a common silence.

"He's not making your job easy, is he?" Ahkmen asked despite knowing the answer.

"Neither of us truly desire peace," you said bitterly. "Only to destroy the other. We'll both have to get over that if we're to reach any agreement."

"... I agree," he said, still caught up in staring at you.

The purple in your hair glinted in the streaming sunlight, the only color in the barren hallway lined with arches. Outside, the city sat in its' great bustle, ships lining up and down the Nile, markets flooding each section of Memphis. The sight is one he knew well, but you halted. In a flash he remembered you never came from a wealthy country––you had to build it. Unless you visited some other country, you had never seen a thriving city market.

His footsteps fell quiet when you stopped at one of the arches, eyes trained on the tiny subjects below. A lump grew in his throat the closer he stepped to you.

"How does commerce within the city work for you?" You asked.

Truthfully, Ahkmen had little clue on how the government worked. Only the tidbits he'd picked up from his father. Kahmuh was the one becoming Pharaoh––that was why he was in classes and Ahkmen was allowed free roam.

"We use a fair amount of trade," he began, though had little idea on how else to continue. "We, um... we use grain as a form of currency."

"How much in just one unit?"

He sucked in a sharp breath, biting into his lower lip as he tried to recall. Most times he went out to buy things, they priced far above a single bag, as his tastes were heavily influenced by his palace life.

"It's fine," you said curtly, stopping him in his plight. A small, relieved sigh left him.

"You must know quite a lot about your own government," Ahkmen said in a soft voice. You didn't move from your position, didn't tear your eyes from the market, but the edge of your lip quirked up just slightly.

"I should hope so," you said with a growing smile, "I built it, after all. Or... some of it. I must admit I was aided greatly by my advisors."

Ahkmen chuckled, following you when you left your spot at the arch. He took a quiet lead of the path forwards, discreetly guiding you outside the palace, where the sun shone freely on his skin. The warmth of it gave him good reason to wear few clothes. You, on the other hand, were still adorned in your black and red silk.

"I'm curious," Ahkmen said, keeping a keen eye on you, "how did you come to rule the Phoenicians? Were you royal to begin with?"

"Yes," you said with a sage nod. "My parents were descended from our Gods. When I took control, it was a crucial part of me––it was the only way I could unite the entirety of our cities."

"That's fascinating. So you control the entirety of that coast, now?"

"The cities are independent from me, but for the most part, yes. Now; I would love to discuss such matters with you, but I was promised a break from the politics," you said, and Ahkmen quickly remembered his manners.

"Of course, yes. Sorry. I know a few places you might like," he said with a smile, earning a small one in return as he led you down the sunlit street.

The more free-roaming children that passed by, the more relaxed you grew, eyes dancing at every market stall and homefront. Ahkmen had never known anything but this––to see a King who knew none of it at all was rattling to say the least. Even you, in all your majesty, found the same happiness in others that Ahkmen found in his people. The citizens seemed to like you as well, though he would've been surprised if they didn't. It wasn't every day they got to see someone with purple hair.

"I have a question," he said as the two of you passed by a murmuring crowd. "I, uh, hope this isn't rude, but how is your hair that color?"

"Dyed, actually," you answered, staring forward at the approaching Nile. "Half our trade is made up of this dye. We are great craftsmen and traders, but only recently have we been able to show that to the rest of the world."

"Why's that?"

"Well, before I came, we had no way of travelling to other cultures. I managed to befriend a great architect by the name of Batnoam. You've seen him––he stands beside me in court, but... he built these ships of curved hulls and long sails, allowed for us to hold power over your Pharaoh," you said, your accent becoming more pronounced as your hands moved thoughtlessly to the words. "Once we gained that we gained allies and established trade routes that, I believe, turned the war against you. No offense intended."

"None taken. I know my father can be.. difficult," Ahkmen said. He jumped when you belted out a laugh, raising your chin to the sky.

"I know firsthand your father's military tactics. But there are things he wants from me, things that he realizes he can't take by force."

"Such as..?"

"Look at me," you said, and as he stopped before you, he noticed the sudden quiet of the world around you. You'd made it to the Nile, and walked down far enough to escape the bustle. "Do you see my beauty?"

He nodded.

"Can you feel the power I have?"

He nodded again, too absorbed in your dulcet tone to notice the meaning of your words.

"I have made myself like this, but Merenkahre doesn't know that. He believes my power comes from my riches, from the items my people trade with those around us, and he wants that power. I don't blame him."

"You are so beautiful," he blurted out, eyes still wide as he stared at you.

"I know, dearest. You can close your mouth. I have no need for a prince, and I'm not looking for a Queen."

A soft, dreamy sigh left him as you turned, your attention shifting to the slow waters of the river. He just smiled––his heart burned warm in his chest, leaving tingling in his limbs each time they moved.

I can be your Queen, he thought without much logic behind his words besides the adoration he held for you. You took the title of King when you rose to power; there was no need for a Phoenician King, but they could do––you could do––with a queen such as himself. At least, that's what he liked to think. That's what made his heart giddy.

"Do you come down here often?"

"As much as I can," he answered. You smiled imperceptibly.

"I've always enjoyed the water," you murmured, staring at your reflection. In a split second you seemed to return to yourself, looking up to Ahkmen. "I grew up on the coast."

"I'm happy to take you down here anytime you need a break from the pressure," Ahkmen offered, his heart skipping at the thought of this happening more often. You contemplated his words for a moment before answering.

"I would like that."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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superfrumpkin · 3 years

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WORTH IT.

Read it on AO3

You always knew this day would come. In fact, you knew you had many of them ahead of you. And yet, when your necklace starts glowing, you feel the dread creeping up, the fear of finding out who's turn it was.

As if she could hear you, Pike's broken voice comes through in your mind: "Kiki, it's Grog. Please, come to Whitestone".

As quickly as you could, you let your father know, open up a portal, and you're out of the Sun Tree. Vex'ahlia, tears in her eyes, and Percy, holding her by the shoulders, are waiting for you there.

You hug them both tight, and you head to Sarenrae's temple, where Pike and Scanlan are standing beside a lifeless Grog.

He looks peaceful. His hulking form isn't menacing with his eyes closed, and his mouth so relaxed. It was time.

You let a few tears fall, hold the gnomes, and you have a small service for the goliath.

You then head to a tavern and drink his beloved ale in his honor, reminiscing of all the good times.

"To Grog Strongjaw, Grand Poobah de Doink of All This and That" a slightly drunk Percy shouts "a great fighter and an even greater friend!"

"To Grog!" You all cheer.

Just as the day begun, it comes to a close. You're all tipsy, and teary eyed. You say your goodbyes and head back to Zephrah, your heart a little heavy.

You carve a space for a cup of ale next to the shrine to the Raven Queen, and head to sleep.

A few years go by, you visit Whitestone from time to time, get to see all the De Rolos grow up, share a knowing smirk with Percy when Cassandra finally introduces her girlfriend to all of you.

You participate to all the great events, the weddings, the births, the tearful final goodbyes to your allies.

Allura introduces you and the Tal'Dorei council to a group of colorful individuals from Wildemount, called the Mighty Nein (but there's eight of them? No one says it but you all think it), who apparently had saved the World and managed to let it go undetected.

You recognize them from your mother's stories, they are the ones who brought her back to you.

You thank them profusely, and you catch the redhead wizard blush as the white haired drow next to him smiles and rubs his shoulder, and stifle laughter knowingly when you see the dark skinned woman, the pale and tall one who was holding her hand and the blue tiefling all looking at Vex with their mouth open. The yellow clad halfling smacks them subtly as their half orc friend politely smiles at all of you.

It's funny, you knew the feeling of being caught staring at Vex'ahlia very well.

You see Percy grow a beard that makes him look older and cheer loudly alongside Vesper when with an excited "Auntie Keyleth, look!" she druidcrafts a snowdrop in her hands.

A few years later, as you're tending to the needs of your people, the necklace pulsates again. You have a suspicion this time, and your heart clenches.

Coming out of the Sun Tree once again, you can see the whole atmosphere is somber. Black flags with the Whitestone crest glowing gold wave in the breeze, falling from the Castle's large windows.

You lean against the Tree that's become like a friend to you.

"Hey, Keyleth. It's quite the sad day. I can feel the grief of the whole city in my roots."

Tears fall and you ask what you already know.

"It's Percy,isn't it?"

"It is. You might want to go to Lady Vex. I know she might need you."

You find them once again, gathered in the temple. The De Rolos are surrounding their mother, who's sobbing loudly. You'd seen her this broken only once before, for her brother.

Only this time, it was your brother, laying limp and quiet, with Pike performing the last rites.

You see Taryon held by Lawrence in the large crowd, but you make a beeline to Vex.

"Mom, aunt Keyleth is here," Vesper whispers.

Trinket is next to her of course, whining in pain too.

Vex'ahlia opens her bloodshot eyes, looks at you briefly and runs into your arms.

You feel her pain, all of it. You try to convey everything you can in that hug.

I'm here. I know. I feel it too. I've felt it too. She holds you like you're the last thing keeping her standing. And you hold her like she held you many years before.

Drinks are had, words and stories are shared. You decide to stay at the Castle one more night, you let Korrin know through Pike.

Everything goes quiet. In the dead of night, you hear a knock at the door of your guest room. You already know who's going to be on the other side, and yet when you open it and the dim candles show a shattered Vex'ahlia, her cheeks wet with tears, her eyes sunken with exhaustion, your heart aches.

"Keyleth..." she says with a barely audible whisper.

No more words are needed. You let her fall into your arms, and hold her through the night, let her sob in your arms until she passes out.

Eventually, you fall asleep too.

Vex gives you the raven skull you made for him before you leave, and you make sure to place it next to the mug of ale, with a pocket watch.

Years keep passing by, you see Vesper's magic thrive and see the proud look in her mother's eyes. You know you must share that same look. You see her become every bit of the leader Percy was, with her mother's wits and her father's strong willpower.

Eventually you have to go to Deastock and say goodbye to Taryon, that's another hard hit on Vex. He was her best friend.

This time you carve the logo of his Brigade in what has become the Vox Machina tree in Zephrah.

You and Vex grow closer. She reminds you of him in so many ways, and yet she's so different. A few wrinkles are starting to appear near her eyes, but as you keep observing her, she's never been more beautiful.

Many things start to become usual occurrences, like you visiting the Castle, and her coming to Zephrah with the help of her daughter.

Everytime you see each other, it seems like the pieces start falling back together.

One day, as regular as any other, you're watching the sun setting on your tribe and you catch her looking at you intensely.

"You're so beautiful, darling."

You're taken aback. She doesn't give you time to reply. Without even being able to register it, her mouth is on yours, and her hand is in your hair.

You'd lie if you said you hadn't ever dreamed of this.

Suddenly, she stops, touching her lips in shock "Keyleth, I'm so-" this time you cut her off, shaking your head and catching her sorry with your mouth.

You're not sorry. You're glad she did that. You would have never had the guts to make the first move. And Gods, her lips are so soft, her hands tangle in your hair and you don't know what to do, but bask in the comfort her body pressed against yours gives you.

She must be feeling something similar, cause her breath becomes shallow as she whispers "Key" in between kisses.

That night you make love and it's sweet, and calm and slow, nothing like you thought Vex would be. You both needed this so bad, you know you've loved her for a long time and if only an ounce of her felt the same, you'd be happy with it.

Waking up next to her is nothing short of magical. She's peacefully sleeping, her dark, naked back warmly lit by the sunrise creeping in. You softly brush your fingers along her spine, and her eyelids flutter to reveal warm hazel irises, looking at you with a small smile. Your breath catches.

"I love you," you whisper, unable to keep it in anymore.

Her smile widens. She kisses you and your heart races fast when she says "I love you too, Keyleth," brushing your noses together.

You feel happier than you've been in a long time.

Life goes on between Zephrah and Whitestone, you both have responsibilities you can't run from.

You say your last goodbyes to Allura, and shortly after Kima, who are buried together as they always asked.

Once Vesper is ready to take the helms of Whitestone, Vex decides that it's maybe time to leave, not without hesitation.

"Mom, go. I get it,okay? We will visit all the time, you won't even have time to miss us".

Vex gives her a teary laugh, kisses her forehead, and with an "I'm so proud of you" she comes to Zephrah with you.

Korrin and Vilya treat her like their own, and you look at her in adoration when she tells you they're like the parents she always wanted.

Vesper keeps her promise, and the De Rolos come visit all the time. You don't catch when Percy IV, their youngest, calls you mama, but Vex does and maybe sheds one little happy tear.

Zephrah is always buzzing with life, thriving under Keyleth's leadership, and Vex's advice.

Their necklaces glow once more, and they know it's time to say goodbye to Scanlan this time.

Kaylie plays a sorrowful piece in honor of her father, as you and Vex hold Pike. They both know what it's like to lose a soulmate.

As always you gather in the tavern and share stories of Scanlan the bard.

"He died as he lived," Kaylie raises her cup "hard and fast!"

You all share a teary laugh and get drunk as you say goodbye to another friend.

You show Vex the Vox Machina tree for the first time in years, as you carve a space for a miniature shawm.

She holds you as you both look at the Raven Queen's shrine.

"I hope they're all together," Vex whispers. "I hope he doesn't hate me for this," she chuckles and kisses your cheek.

Just as she says that, as if out of nowhere, a large raven lands between you two on Vex's shoulder. It nuzzles her.

"I guess you have your answer," you smile and scratch the top of the raven's head. It leans in your hand.

Life goes on, the kids aren't kids anymore, Vesper leads Whitestone fiercely, you say goodbye to Gilmore a couple of years after Allura and Kima, but you have each other to lean on.

One day, Vex feels too tired to get out of bed and Trinket lets out a long groan.

You quickly message Pike, who comes to Zephrah with the children.

She does a quick scan of her body and confirms what you already know.

There's nothing wrong with your Vex, nature is claiming her. It's time to say goodbye.

A sob wracks your body, you knew it was coming. You saw the wrinkles getting more prominent and her hair going gray with the passing of years, but it still hurt to know.

You can never be ready.

You let the kids say their goodbyes, not wanting to intrude on such an intimate moment.

When your turn comes you try to be strong, but your heart is in too much pain.

She lays a hand on your now wet cheek, and strokes it with her thumb, wiping away some tears. "Kiki..." her flebile whisper is full of love.

"I don't know if I can do this without you,too".

"Of course you can. You're strong, and caring, and kind. Your people rely on you. You don't need me to succeed. I will always love you, Key. I will always be with you. Far, but never gone, remember?"

You kiss her hand.

"I love you. You're every bit as beautiful as the day I first met you."

You lean over her to kiss her lips, and with a smile, she lets out her last breath.

You can't help but hold onto her a little longer.

Trinket plops down next to you and lays his head on Vex's stomach, breathing heavily.

You know he must be close as well.

You clutch his fur, as he breathes one last time, too.

All the kids and Pike kneel down to hold you, and together, you mourn the loss of Lady Vex'ahlia.

You take her blue feathers, tie them on your staff, with the black ones you had from Vax.

In the tree, you leave the tip of an arrow, and one of the pink bows you and Vax once put on the bear.

The De Rolos go back to Whitestone, Pike spends some days with you.

It will take a long time to heal, but you have plenty of that.

You'll outlive them all, it's your tragic destiny, you signed up for it. It doesn't hurt any less.

Pike is of course the next one to go, the worshippers of the Everlight all gather to say goodbye to her Champion, you look around and see just how many lives Pike's kindness had touched. It's beautiful.

Your tree has another spot, with the symbol of Sarenrae and a miniature mace.

You carve one last spot on the tree, that you know won't be filled for many years still.

You leave instructions for your antlers to placed there.

You're thankful to have your parents by your side, as the days blur together.

Eventually you feel happiness again, when Vesper brings her firstborn to you and you get to see new life blossom in every corner of your tribe, the Ashari growing and leaning on you, the love on your mother's face and the pride on your father's.

Years, and years, and years pass but you never forget them, not once, not for a second.

Vax'ildan, with his smirk and his daggers, and his wings that held you in safety. Your first love. Forever and ever and always.

Vex'ahlia, matching smirk on softer lips, the best of hagglers, witty and beautiful and quick with her arrows. The lover you got to keep. The lover that got you through.

Percival, your very best friend, your brother and partner in crime, a quick draw, the smartest of you. A loving husband and father, a fierce leader.

Grog, big and strong with a heart of gold, with his smile and fun in fights and taverns, his gentle hands with small creatures. Not the smartest, but still one who thought you so much.

Scanlan, the embodiment of fun and laughter, always ready to pick everyone up and help out, cheering and inspiring with his voice and his charm.

Pike, the kindest of spirits, her heart bigger than her small frame could ever contain, sweet and loving like a mother to all.

Taryon, flamboyant and fun, with his desire to be accepted and his mind full of ideas, always accompanied by his thousands versions of Doty, faithful companion.

Trinket, friend of Vox Machina, her Vex's best friend, as much of a member as everyone else.

You never forget any of them. You feared it would happen after meeting Sprigg, it felt like looking in a mirror of your future.

But you keep them in your heart until you're old and gray, tell your stories to your tribe, make sure they are spread across the world so that Vox Machina may never be forgotten.

As you close your eyes for the last time, you dream of them and hope that the Raven Queen will be kind enough to let you see them once more.

On the other side, what you see surprises you. It's them, all of them. Vax, with his wings spread, in the middle, smiling bright. Vex is next to him, looking like the day you met. None of them is old and gray. Percy's hair is even black, rid of the stress and weight of the world.

Pike's hair is black as well, like the day you first called her to help you with Grog.

Everyone looks young, and happy. You feel yourself crying. As you look down, you notice your hair are long and flowing, a fierce red.

"You did so well, princess." Vex'ahlia winks at you, and you suddenly feel surrounded by all your family's arms.

You smile in the cuddle pile, think back to your adventures, and realize that everything was worth it, after all.

#vox machina #vexleth #i made some people cry on twitter and thought #eh why not do it on tumblr too #vex'ahlia #keyleth #critical role #cr fic #vm fic

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lunarreaper-ut · 3 years

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Alright I have had a multiverse idea stuck in my head for the past Three Days and I am tired of not talking about it!

Ranting under the cut, not sure how in depth I’ll get this (I also dunno how original this idea even is)

So we all know Empireverse right? Nightmare and Dream are both Emperors of the Sun and Moon Kingdoms? This is kinda like that!

BUT

In this AU, Dream and Nightmare were created to rule their kingdom side by side.

Their mother, the previous Queen, had no lover and no children to succeed her. She was, however, exceedingly powerful, and was worried for her Kingdom. She had no guarantee that the next ruler would be a good one, so she decided to create the next ruler of the Kingdom. The Queen created Dream, a kind and benevolent child who would quickly grow into a wonderful King! His creation was celebrated, and the Kingdom was happy to see a future ruler that seemed to radiate positivity!

However, as Dream grew up, the Queen realized he would have difficulties if he were to rule on his own. The job she did was tiring, and she wanted her son to live a peaceful, happy life free of stress. (A rather high hope for one destined to be a King). The Queen, although she was aging and already rather low on power, mustered up nearly all of the remainder of her magic in order to create another child. Nightmare was created, but he was far different from his brother.

Nightmare was Dreams opposite in many ways, but he was not evil. He was soft-spoken, intelligent, and empathetic. Dream was excited! He never though he would have a brother! The two grew close almost immediately, and the Queen was happy.

The years went by fast, and the two brothers grew quickly. The Kingdom was at peace. And yet, as all good things do, it came to an end... As the brothers reached adulthood, the Queen finally passed, the last of her magic fading, and the Kingdom seeming to fall into a dark sorrow.

The brothers mourned their mother, but in far different ways.

Nightmare poured himself into his work, ensuring the kingdom that their mother had entrusted to them would prosper.

Dream, despite his sadness, as determined to give their subjects happiness. He wouldn’t allow them to remain sad for long, and would often spend his time amongst his people. Dream quickly became the face of the Kingdom, and his people adored him. He was benevolent, strong, and gentle, all qualities of a good King!

And while Dream certainly was a good King, he failed to realize his own negligence. The duties meant to be shared amongst the brothers fell solely on the shoulders of the younger brother. Nightmare rarely appeared before their people, often finding himself too busy.

Nightmare, noticing his brother’s neglect, tried to speak with him. He was angry, and frustrated that the elder seemed to not care for his duties. Dream was confused. He was keeping the people happy, wasn’t he? That was his duty! Dream assured his brother that things were fine the way they were, and his brother’s concerns fell on deaf ears.

Centuries passed like this, Dream being a people pleasing King, and Nightmare being overworked, and living within his brother’s shadow. He hardly felt acknowledged as the King he was meant to be. Did his people even care he existed? Was Dream the only King they wanted? Did they not appreciate all the things Nightmare did for them!?

As years passed, his rage grew, and Nightmare had had enough. He turned on his brother, demanding he took responsibility where it was due. Dream didn’t understand his brother’s anger and retaliated. The people loved Dream, so there clearly was nothing he was doing wrong! Nightmare, tired of his brother’s excuses, used his magic to turn his brother into stone, imprisoning him.

The Kingdom, after hearing the news of what happened to their beloved King, was outraged and afraid. Their negativity fueled Nightmare, only giving him more strength. The people rallied, and in an attempt to dethrone the “False King”, only experienced a devastating massacre. Nightmare sat upon a blood soaked throne, and declared to the people that there would be no more Dream, no more of their precious Sun King, and no more dawn.

He plunged the Kingdom into an endless night, and let his own created creatures roam the land to “keep his subjects in order”. He had become a monster, and he thrived.

As time went on, however, Nightmare felt something missing. He had everything he wanted now, and yet..?

And yet he was still missing something...

Nightmare visited his brother, Dream’s statue having been kept in the catacombs of the castle. He spoke to the statue, telling it all his woes, his regrets, his pain. He knew his brother could not hear him. Placing a hand over where his brother’s soul would be, Nightmare silently wished for things to return to how they used to be, when their mother still lived.

Nightmare left the catacombs, and unbeknownst to him, he had weakened his own spell on his brother. Dream’s magic began to slowly work away at the spell, breaking him free. By the time Dream was fully free from the spell, a hundred years had passed under Nightmare’s reign.

Dream escaped the castle and rallied his people to him. Their hope, joy, and the light of the kingdom was beginning to be restored, and Nightmare’s power grew weaker. Gathering an army, Dream stormed the castle, demanding Nightmare to step down. Nightmare refused, and a battle between the brothers began. Many lives of Dream’s army were lost, and eventually Nightmare was defeated. Dream, wielding his sword, intending to end the life of his younger sibling, found himself hesitating.

Instead of killing his brother, Dream sentenced him to be imprisoned. He threw his brother into the void for a thousand years, and only after a thousand years would he be released.

In the time of Nightmare’s absence, Dream reclaimed his place as the Sun King, bringing a new dawn to their kingdom. Ruling the kingdom alone, however, proved to be a far greater feat than he’d realized. He slowly came to terms with how wrong he truly was, and began to understand his brother’s frustration. Had he truly neglected his own brother so? Leaving him to handle all of this alone? He only hoped, that at the end of these thousand years, he could beg for his brother’s forgiveness.

#Whew #big post #I wonder what I should call this...#Ehhhh #It's a working title #I have more lore for this AU btw #if you're interested #Luna's writing #And when I say I have lore #I mean that I've already thought out how the murder trio fit in #How cross and the star sanses fit in too!#UTMV #Kingdomverse?#Kingdomverse

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 81: Occultus

Chapters: 81/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg13

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time, And Now For A Detour

Summary: Some secrets revealed, some questions answered.

Beyond Iceland. Beyond Earth. Beyond the Solar System and the Sagittarius Arm.

Beyond the Milky Way, and beyond Yggdrasil. Beyond the Virgo Supercluster. Beyond the Boötes Void, and all the quasars. Beyond the edge of the observable universe.

There were three giant women.

That is how they appeared to you at least. Something in you knew that they were something else, something far beyond your ability to perceive, let alone comprehend. Something greater than you could possibly imagine. So instead, they seemed like huge, cowled women, working together to weave a great tapestry. It was practically unending, yet somehow still fit on the loom, each thread a life, a place, an event. The finished cloth was all of time, all of space. It sparkled with stars and galaxies, like intricate beading, and the loom weights were raw, glowing gemstones, like you thought you'd seen in a dream once before. A handful of them were missing. They wanted you to know something. Something that had come before. The oldest one unrolled the finished cloth for you to see. You looked in, and fell away. Time was an unknown concept to Ymir. They did not understand or measure it. They did not see nor feel it. Truly immortal, and completely alone, they noticed change on unimaginable timescales, but thought nothing of it, save to admire the beauty that came into being, and flared out, again and again. They did not know how or when they came into being. The weave informed you this was before Earth, before Asgard, before the galaxies you knew and understood. The weave knew when Ymir had started, but it did not show you.

Ymir only knew that they lived, and that change happened, and that it was beautiful. Once, all had been dark. The heat of a singularity met the cold of nothingness, and Ymir was. They had drifted for a long time, between tiny lights, through glowing dust. They collected the tiny lights along the way, multicolored pinpoints, pressed into fingertips, bringing thought, solidity, movement, selfhood, the realization of cycles, and the will to act.

You saw the eons pass, as they slowly realized their sense of self, their name, and their possibilities. They drifted alone for all that time, until captured by one of the great lights that had grown up all around them. Then began their long period of admiring the growing star, learning what warmth was, and, in it's light, coming to understand what they looked like, and adjusting that as they saw fit.

They did not know how their presence effected the development of the star system. Their gargantuan mass allowed for only a single, rocky planet to form, close in to the star, constantly disrupting the rock, gas, and ice that orbited further out. Planetoids and comets often crashed into them, the resulting debris careening around the system, creating massive meteor swarms that rained fire and ice down upon the singular planet. Eventually, they noticed that the little round rock had changed, showing patches of blue and green. It was a lovely neighbor, and they enjoyed looking at it. Occasionally, their presence still caused fiery crashes and cosmic explosions to occur on the planet, but the damage always seemed to rebound, and left the little world even more beautiful for its scars.

The beauty of it compelled them. They wanted something. They wanted to create. First, they tried grabbing two asteroids and pressing them together. But upon letting go, the asteroids just drifted apart. Then they tried throwing one at another. When they collided, it caused chunks to fly free, spinning in all directions. They noticed the fresh surfaces had a glint that they liked, and snatched one up to look at it closer.

Breaking asteroids to see what was inside became something of a little game. Some had tiny green crystals, some had metal, some had ice, and smooth, glassy surfaces. Eventually, they noticed that sometimes, when they dragged their fingers over the surface of a chunk of rock, streaks of color were left behind. The points of light embedded in their fingertips imbued the cosmic stones with hue and light. Once they started thinking about it, every time they tried, their fingers traced glowing color behind them. Soon, the asteroid field around them was littered with pictograms, whatever shapes and designs they could come up with, glowing in a rainbow of colors. They set the drawings into orbit, delighting in how the art would parade before them, as the rocks raced around the star. Occasionally, one of the artworks would fall to the planet, where Ymir presumed it lost forever, so they drew more and more, their work becoming more complex and refined. One of their favorites, one with many shapes vaguely like their own fell to the planet, causing Ymir to try to make it again. For the first time, the colossal being had to reach into their memory to recreate something that had come before. For the first time, they were faced with the concept of the Past. With that, came an idea of the Now, and the Will-Be. They were strange ideas But Ymir realized that these ideas had always been, that always and forever those three things existed all at once. They realized that they could use these things in their creations. And so, using all their colors, they drew the shapes they liked. Cylinders, triangles, ovals, and cones, with arms and legs, eyes and mouths, whimsical patterns in all shapes and sizes. Set them to dancing with the power in their fingers, sent them spinning though space. When these fell to the planet, Ymir watched closely, and saw that under the clouds, all of their old fallen drawings were there: sprouting from the rocks, blanketing the land. Darting here and there through the air and in the water. So too, did their favorite shapes begin to wander, spreading over the little world, and they were pleased to see this. They watched in delight as the eons passed, and the planet changed and blossomed with ever new shapes and colors. Their favorite shapes worked and formed the land, building and creating, just as they had. Cities went up and came down, different each time, but with a kernel of the last in each new form.

Fighting occurred between the shapes, and peace as well, over and over, until the whole planet united in partnership. Through it all, Ymir's great presence still perturbed the orbits of other celestial bodies, causing icy comets and stony artworks alike to rain down on the ever-changing world. Each time, destruction ruled for a time, but always did the beloved shapes overcome and thrive, rebuilding higher and greater each time. Ymir saw, with great wonder, when sleek artworks built by the shapes began to leave the planet. In a reflection of their own origins, the shapes returned to the vacuum from whence they once came.

It didn't always work well. Many of the streamlined artworks were destroyed on their voyages. But the shapes tried, again and again, refining their artworks, until they performed perfectly each time. The world had been changing in the meantime, this time in a direction Ymir had not yet seen. The white clouds had gone gray and thick, the blue seas had a brownish tint. Volcanoes glowed orange, more than they had ever seen. It had started after a particularly large swarm of meteors had struck the planet. The shapes had rebuilt, as they always did, but this time, the change continued on in this new direction.

New artworks began to leave the planet in droves, great hordes, thousands strong. Ymir watched them as they gathered, admiring their shapes and shine. Curiously, the great shoal began making it's way across the star system, closer and closer. They were covered in colored lights. Ymir reached out and grasped one, wishing to see it closer, to pick out the ultra-fine details. Unfortunately, tragically, the artwork crumpled under their fingers, igniting in a pathetic, fiery implosion. A terrible shame. Ymir had no idea the artworks were so fragile. But they numbered in the thousands, like their own artworks, and many yet survived. The artworks were acting curiously now, arranging themselves in precise clusters and rows. Their glowing lights brightened, blinked, flared. Beautiful. The many small artworks were making a vast artwork out of themselves. How clever. It filled Ymir with inspiration. They reached for a nearby asteroid. The lights burst into beams and pulses, so bright they blinded the vast being, just before slicing into their alien flesh. Beams swept across their entire body, separating them at every joint, sending each part careening forever through space. As millennia passed, these parts would crash into stars, fall into black holes, aggregate gas, ice, and dust, creating planets around them. Their head, the size of a moon, would become the hub of a mining colony, the harvested parts some of the rarest and most valuable in the universe. And so, the creations of Ymir continued. ****** Their world was dying. It had long been known that fire rained from the sky every few thousand years, sent by the Great Star to cleanse the world. The civilizations that came before were imperfect, and so the survivors built again, better, more precise every time. But this time was different. This time, the destruction didn't end. After the last Fire Fall, the world began to tear itself asunder. Molten rock flowed from deep underground for a thousand years without stopping. It was poisoning the air, the sea, the land. The People's shapes were loose, and they adapted with each generation, but it wasn't enough. They applied their advanced science to themselves, which made them even more plastic, some of their new forms becoming quite terrible to behold. Frightened of how far they would have to go, of what they might become in order to survive, the People looked to a new solution. They needed to find another world. They knew there were others out there, far beyond their own atmosphere. All they had to do was find them. With their adaptable forms, they should be able to survive a variety of possible planets. And so the great building began. All of their industry turned to the sky.

They built spaceships, clunky and clumsy at first, but learning twice as much from every success, and more from each failure. The ships became sleeker, sturdier, more advanced. They learned more and more about how to survive in space, about speed and distance through space, about maintaining health and sanity in the void. Permanent orbital stations experimented with stable, space-bound populations, finding the best ways to live off planet. Ships made voyages further and further from the homeworld. They came home with bizarre and disturbing stories of finding great boulders floating out in the vacuum. Boulders covered with what had to be artwork, on truly enormous scales. At first, the disturbed astronauts could only draw or describe what they had seen from memory. The great stones were orbiting with tremendous speed, after all, and spinning all the while. Many People still on the planet found it hard to believe. Where would these artworks have even come from? But then pictures started coming back, pictures of mile high murals covered in bright colors and frighteningly familiar shapes.

The true terror came with the first high resolution images of the People's ancient nemesis; the Great Star. There was no one on the planet that didn't feel the creeping horror as the images became clearer and clearer, revealing recognizable limbs, a torso, a head. Worst of all, the series of photos showed movement. Somehow, the monster was alive. What had, for the longest time, been no more than a blurry blob in telescopes, obscured by the high number of asteroids in its vicinity, now had a face. A mind. Shock and fear became disgust, became rage. Their ancestors had worshiped the star like a god; dedicated temples and holy spaces to it, made sacrifices and offerings to stave off a destructive wrath that always seemed to come anyway. This entity had wiped countless civilizations off the planet. Even their own now had to abandon their homeworld because of it. The People had stopped believing in gods, considering the Great Star to be simply that. Just another star in the sky, from whose direction destruction occasionally came. To find that it truly was a celestial being, that all those world shaping events, the loss of life, might have been deliberate... The ship building began taking on a militarized aspect.

After many years, the relocation project finally took off. Goodbyes were said, tears were shed, rituals were performed, and celebrations thrown. Then all remaining population, along with as many plant and animal species as could be salvaged from the poisoned world, were loaded onto the ships; a vast fleet of thousands, each meant to be an enclosed community. These then left the planet behind in waves, ready to voyage to their new destiny. There was just one last bit of unfinished business to attend to. ****** When it was done, and the vast being that had tried so many times to destroy them had itself been destroyed, the ships spread out in every direction, journeying into the vastness of space, in search of planets to collonize. One, damaged by space debris, crashed onto a tiny, icy planet, their genetics adapting within a generation. Another fell through a wormhole, onto a world of burning carbon and massive active volcanoes, with similar results. Others landed safely on planets of mostly water, and found the seas more hospitable than the land, while yet others learned to share worlds with inhabitants that were already there. All across the galaxy, the People seeded themselves onto a wide variety of different planets, changing and adapting into forms so different that they would no longer recognize one another. Many lost the technology to travel through space in one way or another, while others simply considered it no longer important now that they had homes. One ship, the smallest, the very last to be built, and the last to leave, remained in the old solar system long enough to watch the form of Ymir scatter and fly away, long enough to watch their old home tear itself apart and create another asteroid belt. This ship, not as well provisioned as the others, due to its size, scavenged the system for rare materials. In the wreckage of their planet, they discovered unusual crystals created during that final destruction, crystals that could contain energy, and even warp local space. They discovered a tiny piece of Ymir that had not yet left the system. Embedded within it was another gem, and they discovered that, when contained within space defying panes of those special crystals, it served as an infinite energy source. With this object on board, they could easily contend with the rest of their People, who had regarded them as lessers, and given them the least. As a final act of remembrance, they took aboard one of the monumental artworks of Ymir, and also contained it within the special crystals. Then they began their long search for home. ****** Theirs was the longest voyage of all the People. Despite their great longevity, many generations passed on the smallest ship, unaware that the encapsulated Infinity Stone they used to power everything, was also exerting influence over themselves. It stabilized their genetic structure, gradually locking them into one basic shape. Brightly colored and patterned skin faded into various shades of brown and cream. Having previously adapted to the confines of the small ship, their bodies became the smallest of all the People, their bone and muscle density increasing, their use of oxygen and nutrients becoming more efficient. The Stone blessed them with the ability to survive in empty space for a time, to be less effected by extremes in temperature, and to withstand powerful radiation, such as that given off by the Stone itself. They concentrated on crystal and light based technology, and eventually, Aesir began to spring from their lineages. From these came lines of famous captains and leaders: Lodurr, Hoenir, Donnar, Tyr, Woden, Gullveig, Nahelennia, and Mimir. Yet, they never found a world worthy of becoming their homeland. Not until the last of the captains, a young and enthusiastic Aesir by the name of Buri, made the fateful decision to just build an ideal world of their own, did hope of settling permanently blossom again. ****** The aged woman rolled the cloth back up partway, and one of the others, a woman who looked no older than you, pointed out a specific part. It had happened recently, in the scheme of things. An invasion, a series of battles, a lost artifact that changed everyone who spent time in its vicinity. A Frost Giant woman, expecting both a child, and a new homeland. The power of the earth, it's spinning core, reached within her and effected the plastic genes of her child, just as in the days before settlement on their world of ice. He would be the first of his kind adapted for life on Earth, but she would not recognize this. The story of her people's origins had been lost and replaced long ago. The first of Earth's Jotnar would not know this for another thousand years. Across the cosmos, Infinity Stones, first collected by Ymir, would change hands, bringing endings and beginnings with them. Great creations and destruction alike would follow their guardians, each destined to foment change. Throughout time, there would be those who tried to gather them all together, to be not guardian, but master. Each time saw reconstruction on a terrible level, but each time, the would-be master ultimately failed. The Stones themselves fought back. They were not supposed to be here, and resented being under the will of a single being that was not of their choice. But their guardians, they blessed in many ways, though not all recognized it as such. The universe was changing, bouncing back from the Stones being used in tandem twice in rapid succession, and not everything was perfectly as it had been. Repercussions still echoed throughout the cosmos, leaving changed memories and messy timelines in their wake. The dead had never died, and there were those who remembered two separate realities. A whole year's worth of time had disappeared. In some places, entire planets changed, as specifically worded wishes from Stone wielders resurfaced them with life lost decades ago. Extinct species surged back to life on worlds no longer fit to take them. Objects popped in and out of reality, as people forgot and then remembered that they existed. The actions of one person were entirely reversed, redirecting the flow of history. It might be eons before everything settled. But for right now, ripples traveled over time, space, and reality. Power fluctuated, and minds warped. Two souls, trapped within the corresponding Stone, had been granted leave to pilot their bodies remotely, for the first time in the entire existence of the universe.

This was going to be an age of strange happenings. ****** The third woman, the one with the wide eyes of a child pulled you away from the bolt of finished cloth, and draped her cowl over your face. It was a strange sensation; you could see, but you somehow got the feeling that no one else could, even though you were the only other person here. Perhaps this was something that had to be hidden from the other two women. She led you to the skeins of 'yarn', the threads of reality not yet woven. Within them glittered the potential of all things not yet come to be. You saw Loki and yourself, gray in both your hair, and a rebuilt Asgard that towered over the river and climbed the surrounding mountains. You saw a Titan whose air was clean, and whose land flourished. You saw a handful of deadly people, black and gray their motif, and the term 'Black Order' flicked through your head and was gone. You saw a toppled memorial in New York, three beautiful, brightly colored alien women carrying strange tidings, and a human body, covered in boiling mud. You saw an armored Titan, similar in appearance to Minos, gazing at the sky with a hate-filled grimace. You could see no further. The 'yarn' became colorless, full of potential, but unintelligible to your perception. The woman retrieved her cowl from your head, and then they all, along with their loom and bolts of cloth, began to shrink. They shriveled, smaller and smaller, their colors fading into monochrome, their forms and outlines simplifying until they were no more than line drawings on a great artwork that stretched across the sky. You floated in the air beneath it, recognizing the style as Ymir's, recognizing the air as winter, and recognizing the growing voices beneath you as the Seidkonas, and the mesmerized crowd. You could feel the runes pulsing all over your body, the light flowing from your eyes illuminating the artwork, which you had expanded to its full size using the power of the Asgardian containment units attached to it. As the trance faded, and you sank back to the ground, you closed the ancient, precious artwork back to its compact size, carefully passing it off to Saga, who had apparently had her phone out, and had filmed whatever it was that had just happened. Then you fell over, and you did not wake back up for a full day.

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel)

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arctic-comet · 3 years

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Osblaineweek2021, Day 2: Prose

I love book quotes. Looking at quotes is one of my favorite ways to to inspire myself to write more fic.

Here’s a small collection of book quotes (and recs!) of where I’ve “found” June and Nick.

This post contains spoilers for the following books/series:

- Lover Mine by JR Ward

- The Wrath and The Dawn duology by Renée Ahdieh

- A Court of Thorns and Roses series by Sarah J. Maas

Lover Mine by J.R. Ward

Summary:

John Matthew has come a long way since he was found living among humans, his vampire nature unknown to himself and to those around him. After he was taken in by the Brotherhood, no one could guess what his true history was- or his true identity. Indeed, the fallen Brother Darius has returned, but with a different face and a very different destiny. As a vicious personal vendetta takes John into the heart of the war, he will need to call up on both who he is now and who he once was in order to face off against evil incarnate. Xhex, a symphath assassin, has long steeled herself against the attraction between her and John Matthew. Having already lost one lover to madness, she will not allow the male of worth to fall prey to the darkness of her twisted life. When fate intervenes, however, the two discover that love, like destiny, is inevitable between soul mates.

It's basically a paranormal love story between two warriors. He's really young (although he's actually a reincarnation of a very old vampire warrior, but he doesn't know that), and she's like 300 years older than him. In this book, she's been raped and abused by a guy who also used to bully him. She escapes, but he saves her life. She's hungry for revenge and wants to die after achieving that goal, but of course eventually changes her mind. In the end he actually serves her rapist to her on a silver platter so that she can kill him (sound like anyone we know?). He literally holds the guy down while she kills him.

They're my ultimate favorite ship in this series, and IMO their relationship eventually develops into one of the strongest ones. This series is a bit of a hit-or-miss for most people, because the language and the writing style are pretty ridiculous in all seriousness. If you decide to read this, I recommend starting the series from the beginning because John and Xhex meet for the first time several books before this one, LOL.

Here are some of the quotes that make me think of Nick and June:

“Besides, the story of the two of them was written in the language of collision; they were ever crashing into each other and ricocheting away—only to find themselves pulled back into another impact.” ― J.R. Ward, Lover Mine

“As his ears rang and his heart broke for her, he stayed strong against the gale force she let loose. After all, there was a reason why here and hear were seperated by so little and sounded one like the other. Bearing witness to her, he heard her and was there for her because that was all you could do during a fall apart. But God, it pained him to see how she suffered.” ― J.R. Ward, Lover Mine

“...the only thing that had tethered her to the earth had been him and it was strange, but she felt welded to him on some core level now. He had seen her at her absolute worst, at her weakest and most insane, and he hadn't looked away. He hadn't judged and he hadn't been burned. It was as if in the heat of her meltdown they had melted together. This was more than emotion. It was a matter of soul.” ― J.R. Ward, Lover Mine

The Wrath and the Dawn duology by Renée Ahdieh

Summary:

One Life to One Dawn. In a land ruled by a murderous boy-king, each dawn brings heartache to a new family. Khalid, the eighteen-year-old Caliph of Khorasan, is a monster. Each night he takes a new bride only to have a silk cord wrapped around her throat come morning. When sixteen-year-old Shahrzad's dearest friend falls victim to Khalid, Shahrzad vows vengeance and volunteers to be his next bride. Shahrzad is determined not only to stay alive, but to end the caliph's reign of terror once and for all. Night after night, Shahrzad beguiles Khalid, weaving stories that enchant, ensuring her survival, though she knows each dawn could be her last. But something she never expected begins to happen: Khalid is nothing like what she'd imagined him to be. This monster is a boy with a tormented heart. Incredibly, Shahrzad finds herself falling in love. How is this possible? It's an unforgivable betrayal. Still, Shahrzad has come to understand all is not as it seems in this palace of marble and stone. She resolves to uncover whatever secrets lurk and, despite her love, be ready to take Khalid's life as retribution for the many lives he's stolen. Can their love survive this world of stories and secrets?

This is a young adult fantasy romance, and basically, Khalid is a lot like Nick. He’s made mistakes that he needs to own, but at the same time he’s forced to commit atrocities he doesn’t want to do. He hates himself and doesn’t believe himself to be worthy of love, and yet he falls in love with Shazi. He's viewed as the villain of the story by everyone aside from Shazi and a few other characters until almost the end of the 2nd book.

“I love you, a thousand times over. And I will never apologize for it.”

―Renee Ahdieh, The Wrath and the Dawn

“It’s a fitting punishment for a monster. to want something so much—to hold it in your arms — and know beyond a doubt you will never deserve it.”

― Renee Ahdieh, The Wrath and the Dawn

“When I was a boy, my mother would tell me that one of the best things in life is the knowledge that our story isn't over yet. Our story may have come to a close, but your story is still yet to be told.

Make it a story worthy of you”

― Renee Ahdieh, The Wrath and the Dawn

“In that moment of perfect balance, she understood. This peace? These worries silenced without effort? It was because they were two parts of a whole. He did not belong to her. And she did not belong to him. It was never about belonging to someone. It was about belonging together.”

― Renee Ahdieh, The Rose & the Dagger

“A boy who'd thrived in the shadows.

Now he had to live in the light.

To live . . . fiercely.

To fight for every breath.”

― Renee Ahdieh, The Rose & the Dagger

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas

Summaries:

Book 1

Feyre's survival rests upon her ability to hunt and kill – the forest where she lives is a cold, bleak place in the long winter months. So when she spots a deer in the forest being pursued by a wolf, she cannot resist fighting it for the flesh. But to do so, she must kill the predator and killing something so precious comes at a price ... Dragged to a magical kingdom for the murder of a faerie, Feyre discovers that her captor, his face obscured by a jewelled mask, is hiding far more than his piercing green eyes would suggest. Feyre's presence at the court is closely guarded, and as she begins to learn why, her feelings for him turn from hostility to passion and the faerie lands become an even more dangerous place. Feyre must fight to break an ancient curse, or she will lose him forever.

Book 2

Feyre survived Amarantha's clutches to return to the Spring Court—but at a steep cost. Though she now has the powers of the High Fae, her heart remains human, and it can't forget the terrible deeds she performed to save Tamlin's people. Nor has Feyre forgotten her bargain with Rhysand, High Lord of the feared Night Court. As Feyre navigates its dark web of politics, passion, and dazzling power, a greater evil looms—and she might be key to stopping it. But only if she can harness her harrowing gifts, heal her fractured soul, and decide how she wishes to shape her future—and the future of a world cleaved in two. With more than a million copies sold of her beloved Throne of Glass series, Sarah J. Maas's masterful storytelling brings this second book in her seductive and action-packed series to new heights.

Fantasy romance with explicit sex scenes, and book 2 is a lot better than book 1. Our main character Feyre falls for a really boring fae guy, but also meets the hottest guy she’s ever known. The first guy of course isn't the real love interest (this is a twist this author loves to do). They all end up as prisoners, and the 2nd guy saves her life when the 1st one is totally useless. He also makes her hate him as he does it because he has to. After getting out, she tries to make her old relationship work, but it doesn’t, and guess who swoops in?

I do see some Nick in Rhysand (in addition to his role in the love triangle). They’re both traumatized and prefer to keep a lot of their feelings to themselves. I also see some of the same selflessness in both of them. Rhysand wants Feyre to choose him because she loves him, but he’s willing to accept that she may not, and doesn’t tell her that they’re pretty much destined to be together (it’s a supernatural thing, and he will suffer a lot if she decides she doesn’t want him).

“Everything I love has always had a tendency to be taken from me.”

―Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“It took me a long while to realize that Rhysand, whether he knew it or not, had effectively kept me from shattering completely.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Regardless of his motives or his methods, Rhysand was keeping me alive. And had done so even before I set foot Under the Mountain.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Because," he went on, his eyes locked with mine, "I didn't want you to fight alone. Or die alone."

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“He thinks he'll be remembered as the villain in the story. But I forgot to tell him that the villain is usually the person who locks up the maiden and throws away the key. He was the one who let me out.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“And I wondered if love was too weak a word for what he felt, what he’d done for me. For what I felt for him.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“I was his and he was mine, and we were the beginning and middle and end. We were a song that had been sung from the very first ember of light in the world.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

#osblaineweek2021 #osblaine #the handmaid’s tale #nick x june

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aku-writes · 3 years

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I tried to flesh out Ji-Woon Hak more. Dunno, key word is tried.

Note: I kept some of BHVRs OG lines from his lore, so please keep that in mind. A good chunk of the beginnging is pretty much bhvrs.

Another note: Everything highlighted in blue is BHVR's original words. This will include rewording.

Ji-Woon Hak thrived under the attention of others, energized by every eye that watched him and every tongue that spoke his name. Amidst the prestige, he had only one desire: more.

Working at his family’s restaurant as a child, he would draw in business with knife-throwing spectacles. Gullible tourists gladly handed over their money to see part of the “traditional Korean experience”. His talent for knife-throwing was not the only thing that brought in customers, Ji-Woon was a natural with his voice and his father only nurtured his talent for singing. Ji-Woon’s father spent the restaurant’s earnings on dance lessons and vocal lessons for his son, pushing him to attain the fame he could never achieve.

Ji-Woon did not disappoint.

After years of showing his abilities to nobodies at talent shows, he finally got his wish of a chance of stardom when Yun-Jin Lee, a producer at Mightee One Entertainment, recruited him into her training program. He was swept away as soon as possible to a dormitory in Seoul where, for fourteen hours a day, he was crafted into a star. Ji-Woon was not only taught how to move and sing, but how to carry himself with the right balance of confidence and modesty as well. Each detail was chiseled into him as if he were a statue.

Draining as the process was, it worked. Yun-Jin selected Ji-Woon to join the band NO SPIN, and with him, he brought raw new energy to their tracks that sparked almost immediate fame. Ji-Woon lived in a daze of interviews and adoration, and though the frenzied schedule exhausted his bandmates, he was invigorated by it. Each day was an affirmation that he was greater than the mediocrity society spewed out.

But one person can only take so much pressure. Fame or no fame, Ji-Woon and his bandmates were still drilled on being more than perfect. It may not have taken its toll on him as physically as it had his friends, but those around Ji-Woon could see the change. There was a different spark in his eyes. A spark that would set everything ablaze. Including them.

They screamed out his name as the fire spread through the studio. Smoke filled their lungs as they pounded on the window for him to free them, their escape blocked by fallen speakers. Yet, as he stood there, seemingly frozen in his spot as he stared at the heavy equipment. . .he backed away from them. Ji-Woon’s back soon faced them as he ignored their cries as he quickly made his escape.

To Ji-Woon world had become stale; the fame, the fortune, the attention, all of it was becoming background noise. It was old news, he needed something new in his life, and fate had granted him the change he desired. The death of his bandmates reinvigorated him and his new solo career. No longer was he just part of NO SPIN, now all the eyes would be on him, The Trickster. He rode on the attention his bandmates gave him, moving him into a prosperous career as a solo artist and producer; a wild child with a soft heart hidden beneath the glam.

Something, however, was growing within Ji-Woon; something akin to the embers of obsession. The last words his friends had called out had been his name. Their voices were the fuel that fanned the embers. He needed to hear those cries again, the feeling they sparked in him filled the empty cavity that the staleness had started to create.

But no one could see it, not even through his eyes, the gateway to the soul. A decade of being taught how to be perfect made it an effortless task to hide what had begun to burn within him.

The first time he killed it was at random, a spur of the moment. An open window. A fire escape. A bat to her skull. Gagged and bound, he played with her, dissecting her alive on her bed like a frog. But something was not right, there was no satisfaction in it. All Ji-Woon got from her was muffled cries and please, not the screams and wails he had craved.

But Ji-Woon learned and he adapted. He changed his tactics, from breaking in to abduction. It wasn’t hard for him to find a secluded area to do his dirty work, far from where anyone would hear and soundproof enough to hide the cries he let ring from his victims. Each kill was recorded, each sound was utilized and hidden into the music that he produced. But he did not stop with just incorporating the wails of his victims into his music; Ji-Woon began to leave a trail of breadcrumbs with each murder, a mink boa from a photoshoot around a slashes throat, teeth plucked out to mimic the mouth of a boxer that had appeared in a recent music video.

But he was not garnering the amount of attention he wanted from it. So he struck closer to home. The idol turned his attention to a fan who had recently come to a VIP meeting with him, she was to be his next victim. He brutalized her, keeping her restrained as he beat her. The fan’s wails when he carved his blade through the flesh of her breasts as he slowly spelled out I HAVE SEEN GOD sent shivers down his spine. Ji-Woon waited patiently as she neared death before he struck again. He drove his fingers into her eye sockets gauging the soft and squishy orbs from their holes, vitreous fluids leaking from one of them as it ruptured within his palm. In their place, he pressed the diamond cufflinks he had been wearing down into now empty sockets. There was a second where he paused, only to simply wipe the precious stones clean

But nothing lasts forever. Violence quickly became Ji-Woon’s preferred media of art. His obsession with the cries of death left him a mental wreck, all his focus being on planning and committing the gruesome murders. This, of course, did not play out well in the eyes of the executives. Though he may not have had the largest cut in the company’s revenue, his fame and audience still played a major role in the continued success of the production company.

They were going to give him one last chance. A last chance to create his magnum opus. If not, he was done. He was going to be cut off. Ji-Woon would go back to being nothing but a dying spark of what had been a bright career.

He was incandescent..

Exhaustion was driving his mind in circles of brutal attacks and complete focus on producing a hit with Yun-Jin. But it would be done, it would be his best performance yet. They would all see. The performance would be like none they had ever seen. And it would be their last.

Animosity swarmed in his chest as he strode to the performance room where he was greeted by the filth that sought to throw him out like dirty rubbish. Behind him the door clicked shut, the lock quietly being done to provide some privacy.

The clicks of the heels of his shoes echoed as he walked up to the stage. As the music began, it played like he had started with Yun-Jin, but it slowly faded into a vile and grisely beat. A twirl on his feet hid the motion of drawing a throwing knife from its hidden spot. None had even seen it escape his fingers until it was already lodged into the neck of one of the trash, blood spraying out and coating the desk and floor. It took Ji-Woon no time to fill the room with the stench of death as the blades flew from the tips of his fingers effortlessly, impaling and slicing through soft flesh. The only one who was left untouched by the whirlwind of death was Yun-Jin. She had been the person to drag him out from the grime of the masses. She would be the true VIP of his greatest performance yet.

There was no pause in Ji-Woon’s wave of violence as a dark cloud formed on the floor of the room. Fiery yellow eyes turned to Yun-Jin. She now would have his full attention, and his her’s. She had frozen to her chair the entire time, watching in dreaded awe. He settled the razor tip of a bloodied throwing knife under her pretty chin, tilting her head up towards his face. Gore drenched his clear skin.

But that scared look on her face disappeared as a dark fog began to swallow the room, her lips pursing as she spat in his face just as she was consumed by the plume of inky darkness. A roar of pure rage crawled out Ji-Woon’s throat as he swiped at the empty chair as he too was swallowed in the cloud.

It was not heaven nor hell, nor anywhere in between. It was a land entirely of its own. A stage with thousands of eyes watching him. A stage with many sets. Hunting grounds to make his prey scream beautiful notes for all to hear. All he had to do was accept and the only death in his story would be the continued slaughter of his victims.

His stage is The Fog, and all eyes are on him.

#dead by daylight #dbd #dbd the trickster #the trickster #ji-woon #ji woon hak #dbd yun jin lee #yun jin lee #lore #lore rewritie #aku writes

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gowyuko · 3 years

Photo

Had there existed a time when Ko Gowyu had been nothing of what he was now? Perhaps a time when he’d been a young boy, without any worries in the world, playing and running along with his friends. Or even the idea that he’d been close enough to someone to call them more than a mere acquaintance but even worse a friend.

There had been a time as such; it was but long ago.

The fae realm possessed magic that Gowyu would catch himself missing more than he ought to, because behind all that was ethereally beautiful in his homeland, there also was something ugly that made him nauseous at the thought of returning. The mere thought of finding himself back there, stuck and unable to leave. Gowyu had left something rotten to the core, but the way it’d corrupted him from within, he was not regretful of, rather, Gowyu was grateful for the lessons it’d taught him as a young child.

Two hundred years he’d been when betrayal had landed at the tip of his tongue and the furry of it had sent him almost commiting a crime that would not have seen any mercy, not even from his dear mother. From his father, Gowyu had never expected anything, the respect he had for him would never compare to the affection he carried for Inyri. A conversation between Tooen and Inyri started the spiral, Sayge’s name for the first time putting forth a conflict against their name.

Another one, more sinister than the other, of contempt and how Gowyu would never get them where they needed to be and his sister would be a better bet. But alas, she’d been gone for so long and it did not seem as if she would return anytime soon. That did start to plant the seed of envy, because the whispers came from mouths that had smiled at him, hands that had held him and voices that had carried to shower him with praises that Gowyu had soaked in years after years.

It led to doubts; did his mother also think the same of him while she told him she loved him? Was it the kind of love that was only displaced because the truly adored one was not complying with the rules of her lineage? Gowyu had been red with rage, but deep somewhere within, a place that had ceased to exist now, he’d also been hurt. Far from being the innocent and docile fae he’d always portrayed himself to be, Gowyu had always thought that he’d one day be the pride of his clan.

He’d been socially thriving, the facade had been paying off, he’d been doing so good at making connections, creating himself links that would strengthen his position in the clan; or so he’d thought. Gowyu had been nothing else but a puppet in a game that many had been playing, a piece that was only pushed forward and idolized because the main one had fiercely locked its defenses and refused to let anyone try to climb up to its fences.

The hurt had come from the thought that he’d been getting played as much as he’d thought he’d been playing the field as well. The anger, he’d let it diffuse by returning to his chambers and doing something he’d grow fond of doing over the next years to come; sitting in the dark and letting his thoughts invade him in the shape of shadows that carried somber whispers. In this darkness that would soon come to carry no light, there had been something close to it before the downward spiral.

Gowyu had grown more suspicious, more paranoid of people’s intentions, of all of them, even his own mother. All but one person. Their voices had not been present during the conversation that he'd accidentally heard talking of him as if he was nothing but an insect in a world of predators. Gowyu had had one person to consider keeping his trust in, they’d grown up together. Ran through the years with smiles and laughter that no one else had genuinely brought forth from him.

Contrary to what he’d wanted to seem like for so many years, Gowyu had never felt emotions the way he’d supposed it should have been felt. He’d always had this vague sense of what he should have been and his mother’s affection had slowly softened the parts that had wanted to harden before its time. But this friend had done something Gowyu had never thought himself capable of doing; they’d brought out sincere feelings.

Had it been a spell? The Gowyu of now would affirm it had. The Gowyu of then was only a simpleton who thought this was a gem, something that belonged to him, made for him. He’d jealously cherished this friendship like he’d cherished nothing else before. If he could have locked it up in a shell that only he could access with a magic word, he would have. An idea he’d entertained very young, an idea that had tasted bitter the day his friend turned his back on him and spoke with a venom that Gowyu had never known to taste so sweet before.

Ko Gowyu had always known that snakes were the most powerful; slithering, double edged tongue and the strength to suffocate a prey that outweighed them by triple at times. They were marvelous. He’d always had a fascination for the kind. Dragons had always seemed to be just a bigger imitation of the one animal that ruled supreme. Subtle in the way they preyed, their venom capable of poisoning over a period of time and the warmer the blood, the faster the spread.

But Gowyu had had to get bitten and filled with the cold reality of it, feeling it spread from roots to tips before realizing that he too; had been born with the ability to sink his fangs in veins and never let go until his prey had succumbed to his venom. Because what it’d done to him was to know that the last person he expected to betray him had always planned on doing so; had only befriended because he wanted to have Gowyu eventually present him to the first born of the clan. There would, after all, be no greater honor than to find their place at her side as a mate.

Gowyu had started seeing green, at first, not from envy, hatred, or jealousy; but from the bite of another snake. It marinated overnight in the darkness of his chambers; rather than killing him, it grew and it festered an ugly wound that began to spread like an illness. A fever that began to grow faster than any mold. Gowyu had still had the thought of locking this rotten snake, this time only to see how long one could stay under a rock that weighed heavy enough to crush the bones but not give the mercy of death.

Then his mind lashed onto the one common thing behind everything that had begun to transpire; the first born of the Ko, Sayge.

Gowyu had spent quite a few days locked in, refusing to eat and refusing to sleep as he hissed. He’d felt the scales on his back and down his arms; he’d seen in the darkness, his eyes turn the color of a serpent and he’d found himself unable to speak without his tongue darting forward and sliding against his teeth. The whispers would sound like millions of snakes crawling up his ears, their venom would bulge in his veins and grow exponent to the point that one night he’d slept and awoken to his curtains pulled and a wet cloth against his forehead.

Inyri’s face had come from a blur above his face; Gowyu had felt nothing at first.

“What have you done, child of mine?”

His mother’s voice, he’d always loved the way it sounded; so Gowyu had let himself shed the last of his skin with it lulling him back to sleep in the background.

After seven days of unrelenting fever; Ko Gowyu had awakened a changed fae.

#the serpent ( solo )#the green ( venom )#ajkdhs last but not the least.#it's a new dawn for gowyu too.#thought i could start with a glimpse into who he was before the sayge arc

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risingsouls · 3 years

Text

Recruited: Chapter 1

[Yeah it’s for real happening because I’m weak. So here it is. I’m basically going to write out my new recruited verse because I have lost control of my life.

Shoutout to @kiealer for a mention of her OC’s healer race and the HC we have that Vegeta and co demolished most of them. :3]

Nabooru

Traveling beyond the bounds of her desert home had always been limited. Within the desert, never ending sandstorm made venturing too far from known landmarks treacherous for fear of never returning or serving as a meal for the beasts lurking beneath the sands or in caverns. Beyond the eastern border lay greater Hyrule. Lush, green, thriving.

To Nabooru, it always felt like she was stepping into an entirely different world and not simply because of the stark contrast of weather and scenery. In her younger years, the culture shock hit her harder than more recent years. Women didn't fight and served their husband's needs and desires. It was rare that they served in government, and it was almost taboo for them to talk about it. To have an opinion of matters deemed "too dirty" for the so-called fairer sex. Most resided in the home and only the men provided. They dressed modestly, and did not speak out of turn. None of which would have bothered Nabooru had the denizens not tried to hold Gerudo women to to same standards while traipsing through Castle Town or outside of the desert. The mostly matriarchal Gerudo, where women ruled and fought and drank and cursed. Where their sexuality was celebrated and not demonized (though many Hylian men and women alike had celebrated right along with them for at least one night of their lives until the sun rose and those same Gerudo became whores and heathens once more). Who cooked and cleaned and raised children. Gerudo women did everything Hylian women did and then some.

If the lesson didn't stick with Nabooru the few times she ventured out with her best friend, Aveil, against her will, it certainly did when she joined Ganondorf at court. When she spoke among the other delegates of Hyrule's court, it wasn't uncommon for her to face chortling, eye rolling, or grimacing. Ganondorf could then repeat the same point moments later, word for word, and be met with at least some modicum of agreement or a proper debate.

And that only touched on the prejudice spurred by anger and fear Hyrule harbored toward her people. The Civil War may have ended in a peaceful treaty, one promising unity and safety, a new beginning. But none forgot how avidly and proudly the Gerudo fought for their sovereignty until their second to last breath. The skills and power of the demons from the desert.

None of that mattered for Nabooru any more. Hyrule was far behind, somewhere in the vast, new realm of space that she could never possibly fathom before she boarded a ship primed for traveling such an expansive place beyond the world and reality she understood. She could only guess what other planets might offer her in terms of terrain or people. What her new life as a soldier to a galactic emperor entailed. But beneath the inorganic lighting and in the midst of technological advances even the brightest on her home planet could not begin to dream up, she hadn't found much opportunity to ask while she struggled to process her surroundings. Stars and debris whizzing by windows as they passed them. The words her new commanders spoke amongst themselves.

“Remind me your name?”

It took Nabooru several seconds to note the silence that had befallen her company, curiosity and shock holding her gaze transfixed to the door that slid open of its own accord to admit them. She tried to mask the hurried step she took over the threshold as well as she could, though her continued awestruck surveillance of her surroundings--the large screens along the walls displaying information, the flashing lights, the beeps and low, mechanical hums--displayed the mixture of her curiosity and apprehension of it all no matter the measures she took to downplay them. And, when she finally found the emperor and his generals again, their mixed bags of expressions confirmed her failure. Frieza stared at her with an increasingly amused smirk, his tail tapping against the side of his chair, one a parent gives a learning child. The wide, pink general with a layer of spikes on top of his otherwise bald head and forearms grunted, his expression squished in impatience. The taller of the two sporting a green braid and a tiara with matching earrings tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, yellow eyes half-lidded in either boredom or disbelief.

Nabooru straightened her posture, mind working overtime to replay the last few seconds and figure out what sort of answer they expected her to give to a question she hoped she heard. She chewed the inside of her cheek, and hoped the blush in her cheeks was less apparent than it felt when she came up short.

“I apologize,” she bowed her head, unsure of the proper etiquette, “did you ask me something? I’m...a little overwhelmed.”

“Yes, I suppose even just this ship is quite a marvel to you, isn’t it, coming from such a technologically barren planet as yours? It has been quite some time since we recruited someone from a planet like yours.” Nabooru released the breath she held and raised her head again, returning to her full height and her hands behind her back when Frieza didn’t berate her for her misstep. A small voice inside her whispered how it wished he hadn’t whisked her away from her home, but she tamped it down like a stubborn weed before the sentiment could reflect itself in her eyes. “You will get used to it soon enough. As for what I asked, I requested your name. I like to know what to call my more promising acquisitions.”

Another fight to keep her expression neutral, her pride festering at being referred to as some otherworldly trinket that caught his eye. She lowered her head again. “My name is Nabooru, my lord. I thank you for the opportunity to serve you.”

Bitter words on her tongue. Subjugation didn’t suit her, but laying the act on thick felt like the right move with the emperor. The whispers of his other soldiers about his temperament swirled through her mind as a constant reminder to behave if she wanted to survive. A reality that would take some adjusting to, and, once more, a role she didn’t want to play. One given without the luxury of choice.

“Splendid. Then, let’s get straight to business then.” He raised a pitch-taloned hand and the taller of the generals stepped forward. “Once we arrive at the base, Zarbon will give you the tour and enumerate your daily schedule for the time being. He will also outfit you with a proper uniform.”

Nabooru glanced between the three of them, taking the time to note that they all sported similar attire, as had the soldiers who first landed on Hyrule. She still wore the clothes she left Hyrule in: her patterned bandeau and pink pants in the typical Gerudo style along with the jewels she adorned herself in. The chest piece looked like armor of some sort, and though she never cared much for it, it didn’t look entirely uncomfortable. She wasn’t worried about the look of it either, as there seemed to be different styles and perhaps she would get lucky with one that suited her taste and figure. What did bother her was that her attire was all that she had with her to remind her of her home, her past and people, due to the instruction to pack light if anything at all. She gripped the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder; the changes of clothes she brought along felt all the more irrelevant.

She nodded as a show of understanding, sensing that resistance or questioning of the regimen set out for her would only go ignored if she was lucky. When the three returned to their own conversations about the successes of a few planetary ventures, the prospects of others to be considered in the future, Nabooru used the rest of the flight to drink in whatever information she could from them and her surroundings. What she would be expected to do. How the technology surrounding her worked or what she would needed to understand for her own purposes. The personalities of the emperor and his most trusted generals. A difficult task when, perhaps purposefully, they kept their talk clinical and impersonal. Emotionless reactions to each report, whether good news or bad.

When the ship landed at the base, a large edifice that could pass for a castle on her home planet save for its plainness and more angular architecture, Zarbon led her away from the emperor and his fellow general, his boredom once more pervasive on his immaculate face. His tone of voice matched it as he pointed out areas of interest: the mess hall, showers and bathrooms (a mild concern to her when she only saw what she identified as male bodies entering or exiting them), and the expansive halls that held the soldiers’ quarters where she would sleep. He did not spend much time discussing any of them, their functions self-explanatory enough. So Nabooru hoped. The last thing she wanted was to find that, after a long day, her bed was some sort of complicated apparatus or had some fancy voice command that made it comfortable enough for rest.

The door to another room slid open and she followed. “This is where you will have your daily lessons considering your...under educated background,” he said, the hint of a sneer on his lips. “Mostly teaching you the basics you will need to operate the most rudimentary of our tech needed to do your job efficiently along with the expectations of your role in planetary trade.”

“Trading planets?” Nabooru couldn’t help how her eyes narrowed, the implications of such a business unpleasant at best in her mind. Not to mention what that could mean for her own home. Was their fate as secure as she thought? She hid her distaste by continuing to survey the room and commit its location to memory. It looked like a fairly ordinary, all purpose classroom. Another expansive screen replaced a chalkboard at the head of the room with a metal podium in front of it. Two rows of glass-topped desks faced the front of the room. It made her wonder if others would be joining her for her lessons.

Zarbon flipped his braid over his shoulder. “Yes. Our business is in finding planets to trade or sell and readying them for such transactions in most cases. Others are used for the empire’s purposes if they’re deemed worthwhile for some reason or another. Much like yours.”

Hyrule had been lucky, then. Avoided a likely more violent takeover, potentially thanks to her people’s warrior prowess. While she doubted Ganondorf and the rest of the Gerudo would be horribly merciful when they took over, she had a feeling they would spare far more than Frieza’s forces if the decision concerning their planet had swung the other way. She would have laughed at the irony of it had better circumstances been offered for amusement.

“I see…”

“You will learn more about that here. It isn’t my job to teach you such basics.” He moved to the door and Nabooru took her cue to follow. “You will be expected to report here first thing in the morning after the first meal and your lessons will last until the afternoon meal. The rest of your day will be spent training so you can get a better handle on your ki and utilizing it in the most efficient ways for your station.”

“I mean no disrespect and I understand the need for learning the other facets of my new job, but that sounds more up my alley than sitting in a classroom for several hours.”

“Of course. It is expected of you warrior types.” Nabooru could hear the eyeroll in his voice despite her position behind him. Along with the scrunch of his nose with his next scoffed statement: “Speaking of brainless imbeciles…”

Her curiosity outweighed the split second surge in her temper over the insult to her and her people along with whoever the general had spotted in front of him. She took a step to the side to peer around Zarbon as they continued down the corridor. Three men in the similar style of armor as the rest of the crew strode toward them, a shorter one flanked by two much larger figures, the sight reminiscent of her first exposure to Frieza and his generals. The two in the back--a bald one with a mustache and the second’s large stature the only thing keeping him from being swallowed by the mass of black spikes sprouting from the top of his head down to the top of his boots--appeared to be in high spirits, excitedly discussing their latest victories and sharing in each other’s laughter. The one in the middle paid them little mind, his dark gaze only shifting from its fixed, forward position to note the two of them approaching. His lips curled into a smirk.

“Well, well. Did Frieza let you off your leash for once?” He cast Nabooru a fleeting glance but little more. His hand rose to press a button on the side of the device fitted over his ear connected to red glass over his eye. The two behind him had stopped laughing and followed suit, exchanging a glance between them. “And for babysitting duty nonetheless. Is there a demotion in your future?”

“Remember your place, Vegeta, before I have to forcefully remind you of it,” Zarbon sniffed, his haughty air rivaling that of the shorter male. Any ounce of resentment she had sensed over the task meted out to him disappeared, replaced by what she could only describe as pride in his sense of duty to Frieza. Once more, Nabooru had to dampen the urge to, at the very least, snort at the display. “I do hope the report from your latest mission is better than the last. Frieza wasn’t particularly fond of the amount of near irreparable collateral damage you and your baboons caused in sacking it.”

“Hmpt.” Movement at Vegeta’s waist caught Nabooru’s eye. What she had mistaken for a furry belt turned out to be a tail, the end of which had loosed itself from its secure position for a moment before it tucked itself back into place. “Whatever. We got the job done when all your other units failed. It’s a sad day when Nappa here can figure out the secret of their healing abilities when none of your top picks could. How many fleets failed and crawled back to base with nothing to show for it? Three? Four?”

“It hardly matters when you can’t follow simple instructions. Two prisoners is hardly recompense for the damage. But unfortunately, your fates are not mine to decide.” Zarbon twisted around to nod to Nabooru. “Come. We’ve wasted enough time with filth.”

The two larger men stepped aside as Zarbon pushed onward, and Nabooru didn’t miss the fire in their supposed leader’s or their own eyes as she passed. The seething rage bubbling beneath the surface at such a dismissal. The kind she had grown used to on her home planet when dealing with Hyrule’s court. She bit the inside of her cheek to distract her from such empathy she couldn’t afford. While she didn’t trust Zarbon either, she had no real intent of making alliances here if she could help it. She worried enough about the welfare of her people whose fate could very well be tied to her own performance within Frieza’s ranks. Whatever the story of those three tailed warriors and the animosity they had toward Zarbon and he to them, it was of no importance to her. Squabbles between ranks and authority were bound to happen in a militaristic environment.

Another door slid open and the pair entered what Nabooru could only describe as a storage room. Arrays of what she assumed were weapons lined the walls alongside cabinets and displays for the armor she would soon don. She waited near the doorway while Zarbon considered each set. “You would do best to steer clear of those Saiyans if you want to avoid trouble. Or be successful.” He picked out a set and held the pile of clothing out to her. “Before you ask, yes, it will fit. All of it stretches to even the most extreme sizes.”

When Zarbon turned around, Nabooru took that as her cue to change into the new outfit. Setting her satchel on the floor, she picked through the garments to figure out the sequence with which she was meant to put them on before undressing. She started with what looked like the pieces that went beneath the armor: a long sleeved, high neck-lined top in a deep red several shades darker than her bright hair and a matching pair of bottoms cut to cover little more than her private areas. A single test revealed that they did stretch with incredibly little resistance and enough for her to slip them on with little trouble. Though far from what she was used to, the fabric was more breathable than expected and fit her like a second skin.

She picked up the armor next, the same cut as that she had seen on most of the other soldiers save for the wings on the shoulders and hips, and the chest portion looked more suited to a feminine form. It stretched just as easily as the singlet, and she pulled it on over her head, sliding her arms through the straps. Once more, even the armor seemed to mold to her shape without being too tight or restricting her movement.

As she tugged on the last few pieces of her new uniform--thigh high socks of the same material as her singlet and a pair of white, leather gloves and boots much like those she noted the smaller Saiyan wore--she watched Zarbon shift to another storage unit and tap in a code. A drawer popped out and, when she informed him she was decent and he faced her again, he held one of the devices they all wore over an eye in his hand. This one with orange glass.

"This is your scouter. It scans power levels and acts as a communicator, among other useful functions you will be taught in your lessons." He handed it over, and Nabooru turned it over in her hands. "I'm sure you will find it useful."

“Power levels? Like how strong another person is?”

“Indeed. No need to worry about wearing it now, but do remember to take it to your lessons.” Zarbon swept past her and back to the door, and Nabooru didn’t need any coaxing to follow. She dropped the scouter into her bag along with the rest of her belongings and shouldered it before following him back into the hall.

"We have one more stop, the medical bay," the general continued in that same bored tone, but Nabooru noted a flicker of what she assumed was excitement over the prospect of finishing the task so beneath him and returning to his proper duties. "Its use is what you would expect, of course. It is where we will part ways. You will have your translator chip installed. By the time you wake up, it will likely be dinner. After you'll have time to do as you please for now. Fill it how you wish."

She almost failed to register any other information that followed the first bit. "Translator chip?" She felt dumb asking so many seemingly obvious questions. "Installed how?"

"It is a simple and near painless procedure," he responded, his sigh just barely held back. "We all have them for ease of communication. The task of learning every language in the universe would be all too time consuming, and not everyone can speak the galactic standard."

Nabooru nodded despite the discomfort she felt over what sounded invasive and too foreign for her liking. The reason behind it made sense. She had taken the time to learn as much of the other languages of Hyrule as she could, and to describe the endeavor as time consuming put it lightly. Not to mention the imperfection of it. In the time she left her home, she had only gotten a taste of the vastness of the universe. If it took her years to get a grasp on just a handful of languages, it would take eons to manually learn all the languages of every race in the universe. Reasoning through it, deeming this chip useful, still did nothing to ease her apprehension.

The double doors to the medical bay slid to each side and admitted them into the sterilized space so unlike the healing ward back home. Several tanks lined the far wall, and more screens lined half of the one adjacent to it The doctors wore the similar armor the rest of them did, though the one who approached the pair from the rows of cots on the other end of the room wore a white robe of sorts beneath his armor. His bushy orange eyebrows and beak-like snout made him resemble a rotund, wingless bird.

The conversation he and Zarbon held between one another was clipped and short, all business and no filler about the reason for their visit--one the doctor had been made aware of and prepped for prior, he proudly noted--as well as a discussion over new recruits to the medical bay and their adjustment. From the sounds of it, they were the prisoners he had mentioned in the conversation with the Saiyans. She had to keep herself from snorting when the doctor discussed a certain reluctance to help; if she didn't fear her own rebelliousness would trickle down to the fate of her people, she might not be so compliant. Piecing together the brief tiff in the hallway with this information suggested they had little left to lose.

Zarbon turned to her once more. "This is where I take my leave. Keep to your schedule and don't cause trouble. Frieza may have chosen you specifically out of a gaggle of mediocre warriors, but that does not mean you're valuable."

With a toss of his head and one last pointed glare, the general left her alone with the doctor and a smoldering combination of helplessness and anger searing her heart and lungs. He wasn't wrong; that she had no reservations about. But hearing it, feeling it in the presence of these warriors, generals, and other help within the base, she could not deny her expandability. How her rank on her home planet meant nothing now, and she had been kicked from the top to the bottom, her life of hard work and pushing herself to fight better and harder than the next Gerudo, learn everything she could to improve her station, all she did to earn rank and respect among her people had been reduced to cinders here. She was starting over with no real idea where she was headed. Where she could head, if anywhere at all.

Survive. That's what she had been taught to do first and foremost. The costs of survival, of not endangering the deal made to ensure her people got the better life she always wanted for them, would have to be worth paying.

The doctor led her to one of the tables and instructed her to lie back, the cool metal on the few portions of skin left uncovered making her shiver. She listened for a moment to the explanation of the procedure--a gas to put her under, an incision behind the ear, and just a bit of prodding around in her brain--before she decided that her ignorance of it would keep her from bolting. He fitted a mask to her face and told her to simply breathe deep and count backward or recite some poetry. Nabooru hardly made it through a line of a Gerudo poem she did happen to memorize before the gas clouded her brain and muddled her words. Her eyes fluttered closed, the tension in her body eking out of her, her hands balled into tight relaxing as she succumbed to sleep.

#:: nabooru ☀#:: u7 recruited ☀#// vegeta ♅#fic: recruited #pre-z shit is my jam #and im glad to be writing shit in that realm

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insanityclause · 4 years

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Guillermo Del Toro is no stranger to widespread acclaim, especially from his ride or die legion of fans. Pan’s Labyrinth, the Hellboy duology, the list of genre-bending, timeless masterworks goes on. Coming off his 2 Oscar wins for The Shape of Water in 2018, and moving into finally releasing his animated Pinocchio film from the pits of development hell along with an adaption of Nightmare Alley next year, this couldn’t be a more thriving time for the Mexican auteur. Though amongst all the praise and glory, something has still felt missing these last handful of years. Besides his Oscar-winning film, Del Toro’s works prior to the 2010s are what generally buzz conversations of his genius. Those aforementioned films did, after all, skyrocket his name to fame. His titles from the last decade, however, are just as crucial to the Del Toro canon and emphasize his greater influence as a filmmaker. One, in particular, has seemingly gotten by in its young life at the hands of few. But now that Crimson Peak has officially turned 5, it’s time to turn that few into many.

Del Toro’s trifecta of the 2010s (not counting his work on television) stand out vastly from one another. Pacific Rim, Crimson Peak, and The Shape of Water: all love letters penned from the ‘nichest’ corners of his mind. These 3 arguably boast more diversity in genre than Del Toro’s 5 films of the 2000s (3 comic-book adaptations and 2 Spanish-set fantasies). Not a criticism, as established, those films now flaunt an immovable place within the cultural zeitgeist. Though with a career notoriously marked by a slew of unrealized projects (more on this later), it’s not often recognized how the ideas that did make the cut still lead a crystal clear trajectory in Del Toro’s growth as a storyteller. In the eyes of many, Del Toro pulls ideas out of a hat and gambles on which one actually sees the light of day. Humorous sure, but this is far from the truth.

Each Del Toro project feels like a pivotal step for what would come later, take his work on Trollhunters paving the way for his upcoming first animated feature for instance. Despite this trajectory, Crimson Peak feels criminally unsung 5 years later. Pacific Rim continued its life with a sequel and more planned spin-offs. The Shape of Water literally set a new bar for the Academy. This leaves Crimson Peak feeling like the pushed aside middle child of this trio. This isn’t a call for a sequel, and ‘underrated’ gets tossed around very loosely in modern film discussion. But for cinema as quintessential as Crimson Peak, it just doesn’t feel like it gets enough recognition – especially when the current film industry is seeing less big-budget, R-rated projects heavily steeped in genre.

You can easily trace Crimson Peak‘s short-lived spotlight back to its marketing. The timely October release and scare-heavy trailers sold a classic ‘Haunted House’ horror, when in reality, Del Toro’s film is a Gothic Romance. Set in the early 1900s, an aspiring American writer, Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska), is swept away by a promising English baronet, Thomas Sharpe (Tom Hiddleston). They discover true love and marry, leading the young newlywed to her husband’s decaying mansion in the English hills. The age-old manor is slowly, but surely, sinking in red clay – the very source of Sharpe’s wealth. Here Edith is forced to live with her new sister-in-law, Lucille Sharpe (Jessica Chastain), a reserved yet commanding force who works to hide the true nature of the house and its endless secrets. Mystery lingers as untamed lust, envy and greed unfold between the mansion walls, not leaving enough room for the restless red-colored spirits who haunt them. When it snows on this cursed hill, the clay surfaces, making it seem as if the land bleeds. Given more than just red clay rises from beneath, a deeper meaning is given to the place locals call ‘Crimson Peak’.

Just like the clay at the center of its mystery, Crimson Peak is an amalgamation, but of genre. It would be novice to expect anything less from Del Toro. The Gothic elements call back to many classic tales, such as Alfred Hitchcock’s adaption of Rebecca and, of course, Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. On the horror side, homage is paid to Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and Jack Clayton’s The Innocents. It’s a devilish blend that only this filmmaker could pull off so beautifully. And oh is Crimson Peak so god damn gorgeous. To contrast common period pieces that go for muted or sepia-toned color palettes, Del Toro turns the saturation on high. The result is an eye-popping picture that heightens the core emotions at play: fear, pain, and more importantly, love. Simply mesmerizing, avid fans will be quick to recognize the same shades of golden yellows, sea greens, and ruby reds found in Del Toro’s other works. It feels right at home in his filmography visually, while packing its own unique punch.

Red, a color mainly associated with passion, here instead intricately represents endless bloodshed. A twist that would suggest Crimson Peak is just as equal a horror film as it is a love story. Regardless of what might have been initially marketed to audiences in 2015, this film is a Gothic Romance from start to finish. Del Toro himself made this distinction clear to the studio from the get-go and repeatedly draws the line whenever given the chance. Yet, much like the rest of his repertoire, Crimson Peak utilizes horror not as a means to an end, but as a means for introspection. Yes, there are classic horror conventions such as jump scares, but it couldn’t be more obvious that Crimson Peak isn’t trying to evoke the same kind of high and dry fear other films heavily rely on. Del Toro is actively trying to get under your skin to achieve a hell of a cathartic viewing experience.

The ghosts of our past and how we let them define us is a core theme in Crimson Peak. The film opens on a flashback in which Edith is visited by the charcoal black ghost of her recently deceased mother. The nature of this visit sets the groundwork for the rest of the narrative. Mother Ghost, dreadful in appearance, doesn’t necessarily come to haunt her child, but to warn her. “Beware of Crimson Peak,” she says. The way Edith takes in this otherworldly occurrence, and those that follow, sets her apart from everyone else in the film. Wherein others flee from or lock away the ghosts of their past, she learns how to wear them on her sleeves – reaching out to the dead multiple times in the story, each attempt more confident than the last. Not too dissimilar from what Del Toro was playing with before, Jaeger pilots confronting past trauma in their quest to defeat Kaiju. At the same time, the transformation that occurs in Crimson Peak when neglected demons consume you from the inside – humans becoming the true monsters of their supernatural tales – would only be amplified in Del Toro’s next film.

Every minute detail coincides with this strategized, therapeutic use of horror. And to the everyday moviegoer trained by common tropes, Crimson Peak is quite deceptive. Just like Mother Ghost at the beginning of the film, the red spirits never manifest with the intent to cause physical harm, but instead to give messages and guide. Red clay seeps down the walls and the mansion ‘breathes’ as the country winds burst in. The house feels alive in the most cinematic sense possible, but the case as to it being ‘horrifying’ is not so black and white. Expertly designed to every inch, there is plenty of beauty to be found in the manor. Much of it has just been corrupted by a debauched affair – keeping this story rooted as a Gothic Romance. Subversion has always been the name of Del Toro’s game, and it’s within Crimson Peak that he uses it to mix genre so well while still staying true to his vision.

Though Crimson Peak saw Del Toro take subversion to a new level, notably with his main character. This film is a key chapter in his overarching legacy; not the first of his works to be lead by a defiant woman, but the first to have the female hero entangled in an unabashed love story. Effortlessly played by the brilliant Mia Wasikowska, the not so damsel in distress at the center of Crimson Peak is one of the most significant characters of Del Toro’s career. In discussing Gothic Romance with The Mary Sue in 2015, Del Toro explains: “This is quintessentially a female genre, that was written with characters that were very complex, very strong. I wanted to make a movie in which to some degree I recuperated and, maybe if possible, enhanced all that.” And enhanced he did for every central male character acts in more distress than Edith ever does, even when she is literally at the edge of death. A more than welcome change of pace that makes for a more resonating film.

Edith’s willingness to tackle the unknown is captivating and her vigor inspiring. But she isn’t absolved of frailty. For someone who comes to terms with facing the dead, her sheer vulnerability to heartbreak and suffering brings great humanity to the role. Hardly recognized, but Edith is one of Del Toro’s most self-reflective protagonists. A marginalized writer, inspired by the great Mary Shelley no less, in the midst of drafting her magnum opus, she immediately faces backlash from her novel’s inclusion of the paranormal. “It’s not [a ghost story]. It’s more a story with a ghost in it. The ghost is just a metaphor… for the past,” she says – giving Crimson Peak a rare Del Toro tongue-in-cheek quality that he utilizes until the credits roll. Meta enough given that the crimson ghosts Edith later encounters are, in fact, echoes of the past, but when looking back on the public’s initial perception of the film, it creates a charming, albeit ironic, wit only found here.

Additionally, when tracing back to Crimson Peak‘s pre-production days, you’ll find something even more profound. Penned by Del Toro and an old collaborator, screenwriter Matthew Robbins; this was the first script completed after the release of Pan’s Labyrinth in 2006. The two first worked together an entire decade earlier on Mimic, which has now gone down as the only film Del Toro has truly lost to studio interference. Del Toro was supposed to direct Crimson Peak in the late 2000s, but along came Hellboy II and his involvement in launching The Hobbit (another R.I.P). Through this hectic time, Del Toro would reunite with Robbins in writing 2010’s Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark, directed by Troy Nixey. However, the two also spent time together writing something else: an adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness.

For those unfamiliar, At the Mountains of Madness is by far one of, if not, the most tragic of this filmmaker’s unrealized projects. After spending years trying to get this dream off the ground, Del Toro had the following to say to Empire in 2010: “It doesn’t look like I can do it. It’s very difficult for the studios to take the step of doing a period-set, R-rated, tentpole movie with a tough ending and no love story.” The payoff of Crimson Peak being a period-set, R-rated, tentpole film only 5 years after that statement couldn’t be sweeter. In the film, Edith is told to insert a love story for the better of her novel. Del Toro is obviously commenting on expectations tied to gender here, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s also referring to one of the biggest thorns in his own writing career – one that also ties back to writing partner Matthew Robbins.

When faced with the question, Del Toro has consistently said that all of his films carry an inherent Mexican touch just from the utter fact that they come from him, and Crimson Peak is no different. Whether if deriving from his personal experiences with tackling genre, both on and off paper, or from actual events tied to his life – Del Toro reimagines two separate ghostly encounters experienced by him and his mother through Edith – this film beams with the very essence of Del Toro’s soul. Perhaps most personified when the marginalized writer gets bloody and fights back with nothing but her pen, a visual that cements this as an important stepping stone in his career. It’s a fascinating through-line, connecting to very different segments of his canon while still defining a clear path. The mending of our wounds and subversion of gender roles is continued from Pacific Rim, while setting a bold new course for delving into unfiltered, mature romance in The Shape of Water.

This is only a fraction of what makes Crimson Peak quintessential Guillermo Del Toro. Gothic Romance has long been part of this auteur’s framework, and you would be remiss not to indulge in all of its glorious melodrama. Even if it isn’t your cup of tea, Del Toro will make it so. Reaching its 5-year anniversary, the film hits stronger than before. The intricate motifs, compelling use of practical effects (complete with the involvement of Del Toro veteran Doug Jones), and cathartic use of horror make for something that has yet to be replicated by a major studio. Its lacking box office performance suggests that maybe the world merely wasn’t ready for this masterwork? But just like its characters, we hold the power to define what comes next. Del Toro himself has previously ranked Crimson Peak as one of the 3 best films he’s ever made, and straight-up called it the most beautiful. Take his word and dive in no strings attached, because who knows when we’ll get another large scale, unapologetic Gothic Romance with this much grandeur.

#Crimson Peak #guillermo del toro #Tom Hiddleston #Mia Wasikowska #Jessica Chastain #Charlie Hunnam #Jim Beaver #Doug Jones

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