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hisui-dreamer · 1 year

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through the endless daydream (part 2)

Pairing: Lilia Vanrouge x gn!reader

Synopsis: There is a rumour that there is a hidden advisor of the Draconia family, who has guided the ruler of all fae for years. They say he is the one responsible for the peace established between humans and fae. What they don’t know, is that he has been doing so for millennia, cursed by the gods to be immortal as punishment for his crime of killing a human who was beloved by the gods—his very own lover, for whom he must forever repent until he can be killed by his true love.

Tags: angst, character death, brief suicidal thoughts, loss, historical, war, bot proofread

Word count: 4.4k+

Notes: I am honestly in disbelief of how long this fic is getting, but hopefully my motivation doesnt fade and I can finish it. By the looks of it, it'll be one chapter? ehehe

Part 1 ✧Part 2 (you're here)✧Part 3✧Part 4 (coming soon!)

Lilia had hoped the two of them would stay at the orphanage together and live their lives caring for the children while secretly caring for each other as lovers. It was the beginning of a new chapter in their relationship, one filled with love, trust, and a newfound sense of joy. But fate had other plans in store for him, which was made clear to him in the moment.

"Lilia, my dear general,” the Fae King greeted Lilia with a warm smile, but it quickly faded as he got straight to the point. “I'm afraid I have some grave news to share with you," he said.

The throne room was decorated in a gothic style, with black stone walls and ornate carvings that seemed to watch him as he walked. The room was filled with a solemn atmosphere, the only light came from the flickering candles with green flames scattered throughout the room. At the end of the room, on a raised dais, lay the Fae King's throne, carved from obsidian and adorned with sharp spikes and intricate, twisted patterns. Lilia had been in the room many times before, he remembered the times when he discussed war strategies with the Fae King, the times when he gave his all for his people, and the times when he made choices he wasn't proud of. This meeting would be different than any other he has had before, and the ominous atmosphere of the throne room only added to his apprehension.

Lilia had been washing bedsheets by the river when the guards of the Fae King approached him. His expression unreadable, he asked, "What brings you here?", trying to sound casual, but his voice was tense.

The guards relayed that the King summoned him to his court. Lilia could only accept, knowing that a summon from the Fae King was not to be taken lightly. After quickly casting a spell to teleport the laundry back to the orphanage, he closed his eyes and concentrated, the air around him shimmered and distorted. The trees and riverbank of the human world faded away, replaced by the familiar sights of his homeland. The sound of rushing water was replaced by the quiet hum of magical energy, and the air smelled of burning candles and fresh roses. He was in front of the King's castle when he opened his eyes once more.

Lilia knelt before the Fae King, his eyes fixed on the ground as he spoke. "What is this news you speak of, your majesty?" He sensed that the King's sudden seriousness might indicate that something was amiss.

The King replied in a low, menacing voice, "General Vanrouge, I have decided that we will wage war on the humans once again."

Lilia froze in shock as he heard the words. He had hoped that the days of war were behind them, that they could all live in peace now, and that he could continue enjoying his peaceful life with his beloved. He knew he couldn't bring himself to do it again, to face the devastating consequences of taking countless lives once again.

"Your Majesty, another war? Why must we continue this cycle of violence? Is there not a better way to coexist with the humans? We have already lost so much in the last war. Can we not find a peaceful solution?" Lilia pleaded.

"Peace? With those filthy humans? They will never stop until they have wiped us off the face of the earth. We must strike first, and strike hard," the King scorned in disgust.

"But your Majesty-"

"Silence, general," the King's face contorted in rage, his brows furrowing. His entire body tensed as he pounded his fist on the armrest of his throne, staring daggers into Lilia. You dare defy me? You forget your place as my general and my subject!", he hissed, resonating around the room with all the authority of a king.

Lilia kept his head low and continued to kneel. Knowing the King's temper well, he knew it would not be wise to provoke him further, but he knew he had to make a choice. Either he would obey the King's orders and risk losing everything he had grown to cherish, or he would defy him and face the consequences.

"Your Majesty," he replied steadily. "I cannot in good conscience wage another war on the humans. We have already caused them enough suffering. I will not take part in this war,"

The King's expression darkened. "Do not question my decisions, Lilia. You are a loyal subject of the Fae Kingdom and you will do as I command."

Lilia stood his ground, even in the face of the King's increasing wrath. "I am not just your subject, your majesty. I am a living being with my own conscience and beliefs."

The King’s eyes narrowed to slits as he glared ferociously, "What changed? What has caused this shift in your loyalty?"

Lilia hesitated for a moment before answering, "I have seen the good in humans, your Majesty. They are not all evil, and they do not deserve to suffer because of past grievances."

The King scoffed, "Is it the human you've gotten close to who has led you astray?"

Lilia was taken aback by his words, instinctively looking up, realising that the King had been keeping an eye on him in his travels. Quickly straightening his posture, he met the King's gaze head-on. "No, your Majesty. The human has only shown me kindness and compassion. They have nothing to do with my beliefs."

The King stood, his height towering over the general, step by step walking closer to him. "You have become soft, my general," he said with disdain. "You are a hypocrite. You have always despised humans, you were at the battlefronts annihilating the human forces, yet now you protect one of them. Have you no shame?"

Lilia looked directly into the King’s eyes as a shiver went through his body. "I have come to learn that my past actions were mistaken," he replied. "I no longer wish to continue down the path of destruction I once walked on."

The Fae King sneered. "Mistaken...", he spat. "Humans are nothing but weaklings. They are not fit to be with our kind. You have betrayed your people, Vanrouge. You have betrayed your King."

Lilia could tell from the force his boots hit the ground that he was furious as he continued walking closer, his eyes cold and calculating. "If you do not wage war on the humans, then there is only one other option," he said. "You must eliminate the source of your weakness. Kill the human."

Lilia's body shook with horror at the King's words. He felt sweat gather on his palms, his breath quickening. After a few moments of silence, he spoke up, his voice trembling with emotion.

"Please, my King," Lilia said, desperation creeping into his voice. "I cannot do what you ask of me. I cannot harm them."

The King's eyes narrowed, "You will do as I say, or you will suffer the consequences. You are my general, and you will not show weakness. If you fail to end their life, then rest assured my dear general, I shall finish the job myself. Your disgraceful actions shan't taint our reputation as Fae."

Lilia felt a tear escape his eye as he realised the gravity of his situation. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts; he wanted to stand up to the King, to tell him that he wouldn't kill the human, that he wouldn't wage another war on the humans. But he knew deep down that he was too weak, that he didn't have the strength or the power to take on the King and his army as he was.

"I understand, my King," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lilia felt a cold shiver run down his spine as he rose from his kneeling position and turned to leave the throne room, knowing that he had just sealed his own fate.

He had no choice but to obey. And he only had himself to blame.

The moon was full, casting an eerie glow on the buildings around Lilia as he trudged towards the orphanage, feeling the weight of his mission heavy on his shoulders. Pushing the door open, he quietly crept inside, making his way through the dark corridors, the only sound being the soft patter of his feet.

Finally, he arrived at the room of his beloved. Lilia took a deep breath and raised his hand to knock, his sword held tightly in his other hand. But when stood there, the reality of his task hit him like an immense wave, making his resolve waver as his mind raced with conflicting thoughts.

"I can't do this," he whispered to himself. "I can't... take their life."

Just as he was about to lower his hand and turn away, the door creaked open, and his beloved appeared, confusion etched onto their face. The moment they caught sight of his sword, fear flickered in their eyes.

"Lilia, what are you doing?" they asked, stepping back.

Tears welled up in Lilia's eyes, blurring his vision. His sword shook as he tried to steady himself. "I... I have to do this," he stammered.

His beloved's expression turned to one of horror and disbelief. "You can't be serious," they gasp. But as they look at Lilia, they see the turmoil in his eyes and the way his hand shakes. "Please, tell me what's going on."

Lilia closed his eyes in an attempt to blink away the tears. He tried to push the sword towards them, but his hand refused to move. "I can't do it, my love," he cried out. "I love you too much to hurt you."

As Lilia looked into their eyes, he knew he could no longer hide the truth from them. "Beastie," he whispered, "I have to leave. The Fae King wants you dead, and I've been ordered to kill you. I can't disobey him."

The human was stunned, their body trembling in shock. "You... you have to kill me?" they echoed, their voice unsteady as tear began to flow freely from their eyes.

Lilia nods, his tears of sorrow continued trickling down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Beastie," he sobbed, taking their hand into his. "I never meant to hurt you. Please forgive me, it's all my fault."

As Lilia stepped closer, trying to see their expression through his blurry eyesight, he was surprised to see acceptance in their eyes. "Lilia, it's okay," they said softly. "I understand."

Lilia stopped in his tracks, his grip on the sword tightening. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was the person he loved, and they were accepting their fate. "I can't do it, Beastie," he said, his voice breaking. "I love you too much to hurt you."

Their gentle smile, filled with care and affection as it always had only made Lilia's heart ache even more. "I know, Lilia," they said, their eyes filling with tears, their lashes wet and clumped together as the tears overflowed onto their cheeks. "I know... I love you too."

They stepped closer to him and wrapped their arms around his trembling form, forcefully leaning in and mashing their lips onto his. Lilia could only stand there frozen, eyes widened in surprise at their sudden actions. He felt as a warmth seeped onto his hands, and it is only then he realises what they have done.

He pulls back immediately, looking down at his hands coated in red, the scent of iron thick in the air. The sword is lodged deep into his beloved's chest.

"No, no, no," Lilia cried, his mind racing. "What... what have you done...? What have I done?"

All too soon, their strength began to leave their body, causing them to stumble forward. Lilia rushes to hold them in his arms, cradling them tenderly as he feels their life slipping away. Despite years of fighting on the battlefield, unwavering in the face of death, he now felt overwhelmed, the prickly sensation in his heart more intense than ever before.

"I did it for you," they whispered weakly, their breaths becoming shallower by the second. "I couldn't bear the thought of you having to choose between your duty and your love. This way, you don't have to."

Lilia's heart shattered as he heard their words. They had sacrificed themselves for him, and now he was left to face the repercussions alone.

"Why did you have to love me?" Lilia whispered, droplets of tears falling onto their face. "If only- If only I hadn’t gotten close to you..."

As Lilia turned towards them, he was met with a gaze filled with love and forgiveness. Their hand reached up and tenderly cupped his cheek, his tears leaving a moist trail on his skin as they wiped them away with the palm of their hand. "It's okay, Lilia," they whisper. "I forgive you."

Their words of comfort fail to bring him relief however, knowing that his actions have caused irreparable harm. If only he could turn back time, undo everything that led to this moment. Perhaps if he had not met them that fateful day, not stayed with them, not fallen in love with them, they would be living a peaceful life, never to be endangered by him. But it is too late for his regrets now.

"Lilia?" they murmured.

"Yes, Beastie?" he whispered, choked with emotion.

"I love you," they said softly, their arm lost its strength and began to fall to their side, but Lilia cupped his hand over theirs, holding it in place. "Will you… sing for me?" they whispered, eyes fluttering closed.

Lilia lifts his tear-streaked face to meet their gaze and nods solemnly, taking a deep breath. He holds them close and sings a lullaby, a melody that brings peace and comfort to even the most restless soul. The very song that he used to sing for them in the forest under the moonlight.

“Through the endless daydream,

I saw you on the way back.

There I walked with you in my arms.

Through the blurry darkness,

who's veiling on the twilight,

we've been far away from my fears...

Hush, now my angel,

I will always be with you.

In your pretty smile,

in a glow of tears,

out across the frosty night,

I'll be there with you...”

His voice is soft and choked with emotion, his heart breaking with each passing moment. But he continues to sing, pouring his love and sorrow into each note as the song echoes through the room, soothing and peaceful. It's as if time had stopped, and nothing else mattered in that moment.

As the song came to an end, his beloved took their final breath and passed away peacefully with a gentle smile, content in the arms of their lover. Lilia embraced them tightly, tears cascading down his face like rain, grieving the loss of his beloved. His hands trembled as he struggled to accept the reality of what had just happened. Despite his promise to protect them, he had taken their life. He had killed the person he loved most in the world, the one who had accepted his fate with open arms. He had failed them, failed himself, and failed everyone he had ever cared for. Lilia's heart felt as though it was being ripped from his chest as he let out a heart-wrenching cry filled with agony. He had never felt so alone in all his centuries of existence.

He had distinguished the only light in his life.

Nothing else mattered anymore.

For what reason could he live on, in a world of darkness without his dearest star?

In that moment, he made a decision. He couldn't live with himself anymore. He didn't want to live in a world without his dearest human. Eyes devoid of light, the same full red that stained his fingers, he pulled out the same sword that had taken his beloved's life and pointed it to his heart, ready to take his.

Suddenly, a gust of wind shook the entire room, and a bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree, splitting it in half with a deafening crack. A loud roar of thunder followed, halting Lilia in his actions. And then, he heard a voice—not from the Fae King, nor from his human, but from someone far more powerful.

The voice resounded throughout the sky, "You have taken the life of our beloved child. You have been bestowed the punishment of immortality. You will live forever, unable to die until you have atoned for your sin. You will wander the earth alone for centuries, seeking redemption for your actions. You will only be released from your curse when your true love ends you," it declared. With another roar of thunder, the gods disappeared, leaving Lilia alone.

Lilia felt a rush of power surge through his body. He closed his eyes, feeling the energy course through his veins, and he knew that he was no longer a mere mortal. His senses sharpened, and he could feel the world around him in a way that he never had before. The colours seemed brighter, the scents more potent, and the sounds clearer. At first, the sensation was overwhelming, and he clutched his head hoping for it to stop. But then, as he steadied himself, a sense of clarity washed over him. He would never be able to join his dearest in the afterlife, forever haunted by the memory of their death. He wondered how he would survive without them, how he would endure the weight of his guilt and the emptiness that now filled his heart. He wished with all of his being that he could turn back time and undo everything, but it could never be possible.

Lilia carried their lifeless body to the field where they first met, and with trembling hands, he dug a grave for them. As he placed them gently inside, he covered them with earth and flowers, whispering promises to them all the while.

"My love, I'm so sorry. I failed to protect you," Lilia said, his voice shaking with emotion. "But I promise to make it right. I'll honour your memory and ensure that your kindness lives on. Beastie, I'll love you for all eternity."

Lilia then made a vow to make amends for his past mistakes and to honour their memory by living a life of compassion and kindness towards humans. "I'll spend the rest of my immortal life working to make the world a better place and to make up for the pain I've caused, a place where innocent souls like yours wouldn’t be caught in war," he declared to the empty field.

And the first step he must take, is to stop the incoming war.

Once again, Lilia stepped foot into the King’s palace. This time, he had nothing to lose, nothing to fear. Lilia's heart was heavy as he approached the Fae King's palace, but he knew that he had to do what was right. He was determined to make things right, no matter the cost. He had to challenge the King and put an end to the cycle of suffering that had plagued their world for centuries.

At last, he arrived at the throne room, where the Fae King sat on his throne, surrounded by his courtiers. Lilia kneeled as was customary, his head nearly touching the ground, but his presence exuded power.

"Fae King," Lilia said, his voice steady and clear. "I implore you to cease your plans for another war."

"You dare challenge me, Vanrouge?" the King asked, his voice heavy with disdain. "It seems you have learned nothing from your lesson."

"I have learned that I cannot sit by and watch as you continue to put innocent lives at risk," Lilia replied, his voice steady despite the fear that threatened to overtake him. "I will not stand by while you inflict misery upon the humans," Lilia answered, unwavering as he rose to his feet. "For too long, we have lived in a world of violence and pain, of hatred and fear. It is time to put an end to it. I challenge you to a duel, Fae King. If I win, you will obey my orders as an advisor to the royal family. If I lose, I will serve as your general in this war as I had previously"

The King laughed, a cold, cruel sound that sent shivers down Lilia's spine. " A mere traitor and oath breaker challenging me? You are a fool, Vanrouge," he mocked. "But if you wish to die, then I will be happy to oblige."

With a wave of his hand, the King summoned his weapon, a sword of black iron that glinted with malevolent energy. The courtiers rushed to get away from the battle that would surely threaten their lives. Lilia drew his own sword, the same one that had been cursed with his immortality, and prepared himself for the fight of his life.

The two began to circle each other, their swords clanging against one another as they clashed. The battle was fierce and brutal, with both combatants fighting with all their might. Lilia was faster and more agile than the King, but the King's dark magic was a powerful force to be reckoned with. The clash of swords echoed through the throne room, and the air crackled with energy as the two opponents battled on, but the fate of the duel had been decided from the beginning. With his immortality, Lilia could continue to fight forever. Indeed, he would feel the excruciating pain of his injuries, but they could not end him. For hours they battled, until the fatigue finally weighed down the King, and Lilia saw his chance. The King had lowered his guard for just a moment, and Lilia seized the opportunity, his sword poised at the Fae King's throat. The King was defeated, and he knew he had no choice but to obey Lilia.

"Please, spare me," the King begged, panting for air. "I will do anything you ask."

"You have lost, Your Majesty," Lilia said, extending a hand to help the fallen King to his feet. In complete contrast, Lilia seemed completely unaffected by the long duel. "It's not too late to make things right. You can use your power for good, for the betterment of our people."

The King groaned. "Yes, yes, I will. Just spare me, please."

Lilia sheathed his sword. "The war ends today. And if you or any of your followers break your promise, I will be back to finish what I started."

The Fae King nodded, acknowledging his defeat, and Lilia walked away with a sense of victory, knowing that he had achieved what he had set out to do. From that day on, Lilia served as the royal family’s most trusted advisor. He would attend council meetings, offer wise counsel and guidance to the rulers, and utilise his expertise and knowledge to steer them in the right direction.

For centuries, Lilia dedicated himself to rebuilding the relationship between humans and the Fae. He worked towards negotiating peace treaties and fostering mutual understanding and collaboration between the two groups. As time went by, Lilia's efforts bore fruit. Humans and Fae started to interact more and more, and the tensions began to ease. Lilia watched with satisfaction as the world he had known for so long began to transform for the better.

Over time, Lilia became a trusted advisor to many rulers, and he played a key role in shaping the destinies of countless Kingdoms and empires. He used his knowledge and experience to prevent wars and conflicts, and he worked tirelessly to promote peace and unity among the people.

As Lilia walked through the bustling streets of the human city, he couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over him. The world had changed so much since 5000 years ago. Humans and fae now lived together in harmony, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction. It was a far cry from the war-torn world he had known long ago. Humans and fae were no longer at each other's throats, but instead living side by side in peace and harmony.

He marvelled at the sight of humans casually using magic to go about their daily lives, the fae mingling freely with them. The once-gothic buildings of the fae had melded with human architecture to create a unique, vibrant landscape.

Yet, as he looked around, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of loneliness. Despite all the progress made, he was still an outsider, a being that had long outlived his kind. He had seen so many faces and places come and go, while he remained a constant presence.

It was then that he heard a delicate voice singing, a voice that he believed he would never be able to hear ever again. He turned around, scanning the crowded street, but couldn't see them anywhere. He wondered if he was imagining things or if it was just someone who sounded like them.

But then, he heard it again, and this time he recognized the tune.

"But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream..."

It was the song they used to sing to the children at the orphanage. His heart raced with excitement and anticipation as he followed the sound. Upon arriving at the source of the singing, Lilia discovered a small park where people were enjoying the sunny day. In the centre of the park, he saw you sitting on a bench surrounded by children who listened to your singing with rapt attention. Lilia's heart swelled with emotion as he watched you. Your appearance had changed, but your eyes were just as beautiful as ever, and your singing was as angelic as he remembered. He longed to run to you and embrace you, but he hesitated, not wanting to disrupt the moment.

Instead, Lilia stood back and watched you from a distance, basking in the joy of hearing your voice once again. He knew he could not approach you, lest he ruin your new life as he had done before. As the song came to an end, Lilia took one last look at you and the children and turned to walk away. Suddenly, a hand reached out and grasped his wrist, and Lilia halted in his steps.

"Wait! Sir!" you said, looking at him with a perplexed expression. "I've seen you before. In my dreams! Have we met before?"

Part 1✧Part 3✧Part 4 (coming soon!)

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst wonderland #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge x mc #twst lilia x reader

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skountart · 8 months

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FALLEN

Fallen, a thought-provoking and visually captivating sculpture that serves as a profound reminder of the devastating impact that humans continue to have on our world and it’s delicate ecosystems.

Each detail of the sculpture, meticulously crafted with precision and care, holds its own story, the cut tree is depicting the solemn journey of a fallen tree amidst a sea of human actions against our planet and it´s ecosystems. The symbolism of this tree trunk is to bear the weight of time and destruction, standing as symbolic witness to the forces of deforestation and as a painful reminder of the relentless pollution that plagues our planetthat have ravaged our once-vibrant landscapes. And the old rifle embedded in the tree is a powerful imagery serves as a poignant representation of the aftermath of our agresive and reckless actions against other cultures and our planet, a stark testament to the consequences of our relentless pursuit of power and "progress".

Fallen, is not merely a work of art; it is a call to action, urging us to take pause and reflect on the ways in which our actions have shaped and are shaping the world around us.

The Destruction of Cultures and the Planet: A Grim Reality

In the relentless pursuit of progress and unyielding desire for comfort, humans have unintentionally set foot on a perilous path towards destruction, wreaking irreparable havoc upon both the fragile equilibrium of our planet and the different cultures that inhabit it. As the inexorable tide of globalization continues to surge across nations, traditional cultures are gradually withering away, losing their intrinsic essence and distinctive character. The inundation of standardized ideas, fads, and technologies has triggered a lamentable decline in the richness of various languages, customs, and rituals that have been meticulously passed on from one generation to another.

Compounded by the rapid urbanization and escalating consumerism, the age-old indigenous knowledge, practices, and wisdom have been eclipsed by the overpowering forces of a mainstream culture. Simultaneously, our relentless exploitation of natural resources, rampant deforestation, and unbridled pollution have wreaked havoc upon the planet. From the heart-wrenching spectacle of the melting polar ice caps to the disconcerting surge in carbon emissions, our flagrant disregard for the environment has placed countless species on the precipice of annihilation and disrupted the intricate interplay of ecosystems that uphold life on Earth.

It is of paramount importance that we awaken to the dire consequences of our actions and ardently strive for a harmonious coexistence that reveres the immeasurable diversity of cultures and safeguards the sanctity of our planet. Failure to do so imperils not only our collective heritage but also the very foundations that sustain life itself. In this era of rapid change and boundless possibilities, we must conscientiously tread the delicate tightrope between "progress" and preservation, carefully balancing our aspirations for advancement with deep respect for the tapestry of life that envelops us. If we allow ourselves to be consumed by blind ambition and thoughtless pursuits, we risk forever losing the intricate tapestry of human experience and the delicate web of life that has nurtured and sustained us for millennia.

The awakening of consciousness and collective action is crucial in healing the wounds inflicted upon cultural diversity and the environment. This requires that we actively engage in efforts to promote and protect the aspect of cultural identity that forms the cornerstone of human society. By embracing cultural exchange and celebrating the unique contributions of each community, we can foster an environment where traditions, languages, and customs can flourish without fear of extinction. We must invest in education and awareness, empowering individuals to appreciate the beauty and worth of their own heritage, as well as that of others.

Furthermore, we must embrace sustainable practices that harmonize human activity with the delicate balance of nature. This entails reducing our reliance on non-renewable resources, adopting eco-friendly technologies, and conserving biodiversity. By acknowledging the interconnectedness of all life forms and acknowledging our role as stewards of this planet, we can foster a future where humanity thrives in harmony with the natural world. Only through collective effort and unwavering commitment can we forge a path towards a more sustainable and equitable future for generations to come. The time for action is now, as the sanctity of cultures and the fate of our planet hang in the balance.

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allisondraste · 3 years

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Death and Other Things That Should Have Been Fatal

Fandom: Mass Effect

Pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian

Word Count: 4715

Summary: A follow up to Cockroaches and Other Things That Just Keep Living, Shepard wakes up after destroying the Reapers and copes with the fallout. Thankfully, she doesn't have to do so alone.

[Click Here for AO3]

“Shepard?”

The voice was little more than static in her ear, jarring her back into excruciating consciousness, head throbbing, extremities numb. Spears of pain coursed through her chest with each and every breath, and she didn’t know whether it was the several broken ribs or the sight of Anderson's lifeless body slouched next to her. She tore her gaze away from the closest thing she’d ever had to a good father figure, eyes fluttering closed as she attempted to focus only on the person speaking to her.

“Garrus?” His was the first name that rolled off her tongue, the only person in the galaxy she wanted that disembodied voice to be.

“No.” Came the stern reply. There was a long pause as any hope for comfort in her final moments came crashing down around her. Then the voice spoke again. “It’s Hackett.”

A jolt of resentment toward the Admiral coursed through her at his introduction. What more could he possibly want from her? Had she not already done enough, sacrificed enough for just a ghost of a chance to stop the reapers. Surely someone else could take it from there. Why did everything fall on her?

Because someone else would have gotten it wrong.

She shook herself out of her head and back to the present. She would have been mortified under normal circumstances, but she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn now. “I apologize sir, I’m— What do you need me to do?”

“The Crucible is docked, but is not activated,” he explained, “We think there’s something that needs to be done on your end. Is there a trigger? Some sort of terminal?”

His words clung to the air around her, and her eyes locked onto the terminal the Illusive Man had used earlier. It was just a few feet in front of her and still so far away. She tried and failed to bring herself to her feet, legs buckling beneath her and sending her plummeting to the floor. Hot tears burned in her eyes as a new array of pain shot through her body, and she groaned in agony.

“Shepard?”

“I’m here, sir,” she growled, forcing herself up onto an elbow and dragging her body to the terminal, vision beginning to blur at the corners.. Not yet , she pleaded with her consciousness as she reached up toward the terminal, hand sweeping clumsily across the haptic display. Not. Yet. “I’m at the terminal but I… I don’t— I can’t find—”

Her vision went dark, supporting arm trembling and giving out as her consciousness faded. Hackett’s voice called out to her repeatedly, further and further away until it was gone entirely.

She awoke to bright, burning light, buzzing in her ears, sensations anyone else would have associated with death. But Shepard had been dead before, and this was nothing like the last time. She’d never forget that dark, quiet empty.

“Shepard,” shouted a voice, both familiar and foreign, “Wake up.”

“What?” Blood dripped into her eyes from a wound she couldn’t feel. “Where am I?”

She scrubbed her face with the back of her hand, blinking until her vision cleared. Her body screamed in protest as she rose to her knees, louder still as she brought herself to her feet and searched for who—or what— had spoken to her.

“The Citadel,” came the reply, “It is my home.”

She snapped her head in the direction of the voice, it’s owner a glowing, translucent entity in the shape of a ghost. Her heart slammed against her aching ribs, and a name rushed to her mouth before she could stop it. “Kaidan?”

The entity examined her for a moment that felt more like an eternity, long enough for her initial relief to fade, consumed by dread as she awaited its answer.

“No,” it stated in a cold, matter-of-fact way Kaidan could never have managed, “I am the Catalyst.”

Rage ignited in her stomach and chest at the sound of him twisted and distorted by a chorus of synthetic echoes, and she growled. “I thought the Citadel was the Catalyst.”

“The Citadel is part of me,” it explained, then paused, tilting its head in examination of her again, “My appearance disturbs you.”

Shepard let out a derisive snort. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“I apologize,” it said, “I chose a form that I believed would help us communicate. You had fond memories of this one.”

“Too fond.” She looked down, unable to meet its vacant eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Is this one more suitable?” It’s voice shifted registers and when she glanced up Thane stood before her.

Hot tears burned in her eyes but she held them back and shook her head. “No.”

“Perhaps you would prefer this?” This time it’s tone was higher pitched, clipped. Mordin.

“No,” she spat through clenched teeth, “I’d prefer if you’d just pick a nightmare and tell me whether you can help me or not. ”

“Very well,” it said, Kaidan once again as it motioned for her to follow after it toward the beam of light before them. “Perhaps we can help each other.”

She limped after it, listening as it spoke, as it explained its creation, it’s function, the purpose for its very existence. It was nothing the Leviathan had not already revealed to her, but spun in a way that painted the Reapers as innocent pawns simply fulfilling their duty, wiping out entire civilizations to ensure galactic balance, to protect organic life from its own chaos.

Bullshit , she thought as flashes of destruction played behind her eyelids with each laborious blink. She remembered the sinking void in her gut as she fled Earth, watching it burn beneath Reaper hands. She thought of Palaven, the harrowed Turian faces as their military and government collapsed, the anger and disbelief that vibrated in Garrus’ voice and beneath his skin. She recalled Thessia, the most advanced civilization in the galaxy reduced to rubble before her eyes and she, helpless to even salvage one artifact, Liara’s anguished sobs as she trembled in her arms.

The Catalyst and its Reapers were responsible for every lost colony in Batarian space that Shepard had shouldered instead. Every single face on the memorial wall at the Citadel, every orphaned child and refugee, every life touched by this goddamn war, and the lives of those in every cycle that came before— it was all their fault. They had corrupted and indoctrinated some of the greatest minds of her time, broken some of the strongest wills. She wondered what had been said to convince Saren and Benezia. What had the Catalyst become to take hold of The Illusive Man?

The echoes of Sovereign’s boasts of supremacy and Harbinger’s threats of annihilation rang out in her ears as clear as the days they’d been spoken. And this entity, this artificial intelligence with the power and capability to stop it all, expected her to believe they were simply creatures bound to a purpose. The Catalyst truly believed she would help it achieve its pinnacle of evolution.

No, just because it was in a shark’s nature to eat her, did not mean she would allow it to do so. Despite the original intent behind their creations, the Reapers were monsters, and they had to be stopped. The galaxy deserved justice. She took one lumbering step toward the trigger on the right, one step closer to settling things once and for all.

“It will happen again,” the Catalyst called after her, “Machines will be rebuilt, and chaos will continue. Organics and synthetics cannot coexist separately.

“That’s…not true,” she grunted, and took another step, “The geth and the quarians have brokered peace.”

“It will not last.”

“You don’t know that,” she shouted, fists clenched at her sides, “The beauty of chaos is that you can’t know that.”

The entity fell silent, briefly considering what she said, then continued. “Perhaps not; however if you choose to destroy the Reapers, the geth will be destroyed as well. The two will not have the opportunity to disprove your hypothesis.”

A pang of guilt pierced her and she halted in her tracks.“All of them?”

“Yes. The Crucible’s beam is powerful but unfocused. It will be unable to distinguish between Reaper technology and other forms of synthetic life.”

Another pang of guilt as realization dawned on her. That meant EDI would die, too. Someone who was every bit a friend and member of her crew as anyone else, someone who had put herself on the line multiple times to protect Shepard, to make certain she could get the job done. EDI, who confessed just before the battle that she finally felt alive. Now, Shepard was forced to weigh her newfound life and the newfound intelligence of the geth race, against the destruction of the Reapers.

What was it Garrus had called it? Ruthless calculus, that brutal math that awaited anyone who spent enough time at war. Shepard had done plenty of those calculations, had made more than her fair share of difficult decisions, and she’d dealt with the consequences, good and bad.

This time, it was different, more final. And she was entirely alone. The future of the galaxy lay upon her weary back, and she was far past the point of compromise.

Shepard wanted the Reapers to pay for what they had done for millennia, wanted to watch them disintegrate in space as the cheers of her fleet rang out over the comms. She wanted to know with certainty that the war was over.

More than anything, however, and most heavy on her mind, she wanted to survive. It was a potent wave of selfishness that overwhelmed her as she thought of her friends back on the Normandy, of the relationships she’d forged and that had forged her. Her heart ached at the thought of never seeing them again, never hearing their voices. She was sick at the possibility that her last moments with those who had carried her through every storm were hurried and spent in a war torn camp on Earth.

Knowing that they were worried and waiting for her to return, remembering Garrus’ desperate plea that she come back alive, it was more than she needed to motivate her to do so. For the first time in her three decades of life, she had something to go home to. She had given so much of herself to save the galaxy, and she had more than earned the right to live in it.

There was no certainty that destroying the Reapers would ensure her survival, but it was the only choice without the certainty that she would die. She was willing to take her chances. She had to. With a trembling arm she raised her pistol, aimed at the glass case guarding the trigger mechanism, and fired.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as the glass shattered and her vision faded to white. “I’m so sorry.”

Shepard had been dead enough times to know that sound always came first, the discomforting beeping of medical equipment and garbled chatter ringing out in the darkness as her nervous system attempted to orient itself. Smell and taste came next, a package deal. This time the antiseptic and the metallic tang of blood barely masked the rank of burnt flesh.

Then the pain set in, dull but constant and everywhere, numbed only slightly by neural blockers and local anesthetic. She did not need to see her injuries to know how serious they were, how fatal they should have been. Yet there she lay, once again waking up from something that would have killed anyone else.

And she was alone. Again.

She began to panic as her eyes opened to the empty, sterile room, setting off the many monitors she was hooked up to. Her heart pounded violently, each breath she took sharp and shallow as she yanked herself free from the dozens of tubes and IVs constraining her. How long had she been out this time? What covert operation for which secret, extremist organization had found and resurrected her for their benefit? How much more could one galaxy ask of her?

There was a hiss of opening doors and an unfamiliar asari entered the room urgently, arms extended out in front of her. In one breath she reassured Shepard that everything was going to be all right and in the next called for a medical restraint, a sedative. She stepped slowly toward Shepard as one would approach a frightened, feral animal, and two more uniformed aliens entered the room. Shepard stood tall, despite the ache in her bones and glared at the three of them.

“Ma’am, I know you must be very disoriented right now, and I am happy to answer any and all of your questions,” the asari said, holding her hands up, “But you are in no shape to be out of bed. I need you to calm down before you hurt yourself further.”

Shepard glanced from the asari to the two salarians on either side of her. They all wore generic attire that was standard for medical professionals across the galaxy, but their uniforms had no indication of their names or who they worked for. She crossed her arms and winced through the pain as she argued. “How about you start by telling me where I am, then I’ll decide if I want to calm down or not.”

Just as she finished speaking the doors opened again, this time to faces she knew, and the subsequent wave of relief that washed over her nearly knocked her back into the bed on it’s own. On the right stood Dr. Michel, who she remembered helping out on several occasions during the Reaper War. A bit sweet on Garrus, if she remembered correctly. On the left, wearing a smirk and a raised eyebrow, was none other than Miranda Lawson.

“Sit down, Shepard,” Miranda asserted in her trademark tone. She flashed the hint of a smile and continued, “The residents aren’t being paid enough for you to harass them.”

Shepard’s eyes flicked over to the three aliens who’d been tending to her just moments before. They were now speaking nervously with the doctor, who muttered something about tests they needed to run followed by some other medical jargon that Shepard couldn’t decipher. She did as her friend directed and eased herself back down onto her bed, offering a sheepish grin as she did so. “I feel like such an ass.”

“Don’t,” Dr. Michel chimed in as she approached the bed, and began to scan Shepard with her omni-tool, “You have been in a coma for almost a month. It was expected that you would be agitated when you awoke, especially considering everything you’ve been through.”

Shepard’s chest swelled with something like gratitude. A month . She’d only been out for a month, and she had woken up in what she could now tell was Huerta Memorial under the care of a physician she trusted and one of her closest friends. This was nothing like the last time she died. She looked up at Miranda and asked,“Had to put me back together again, I see?”

“I only helped this time,” Miranda explained as she worked to reconnect some of the IVs Shepard had ripped out, “Dr. Michel contacted me a few weeks ago for a consultation about your cybernetic augmentation. I was already on the Citadel, so I came in person to oversee the repairs.”

“Is everything working?”

“Mostly,” Miranda shrugged, “Not quite up to specifications, but your injuries are still healing. With time, you should be fine.”

“And hopefully far away from any more life-threatening battles, yes,” remarked Michel, moving to a terminal near the wall and transferring data collected from her omni-tool scans.

Shepard let out a huff, and let herself recline onto the bed, walls crumbling away at the comforting conversation. She took a breath and let her eyes flutter closed for just a minute, and said, “If I can. If the galaxy will let me.”

“The galaxy’s going to have to,” announced an unmistakable voice from the door, and Shepard bolted upright to face it. To face him .

She hadn’t even heard the door open, and yet there stood her turian, with all that easy confidence he’d always carried himself with and a bouquet of indistinguishable gift shop flowers in each hand. Her pulse jumped, a fact the vitals monitor in the corner was quick to inform her and everyone in the room about. She would never live that one down.

“Garrus!”

“Is that cardiac arrest—“ he motioned toward the screen with one of the bouquets— “Or, uh… are you just happy to see me?”

Shepard just rolled her eyes, unable to stop the grin that twitched at the corners of her mouth as he sauntered up to the bedside.

“I wasn’t sure which you’d like better,” Garrus explained, glancing with uncertainty between the flowers in each hand, “So I got both. There’s also some chocolate and a few books of hanar poetry back at the gift shop if you just absolutely hate the flowers. I can run back down and—“

She laughed and shook her head at him. “They’re perfect.”

“Are you sure?” He examined each bouquet again. “You might need the poetry to bore you back into a coma.”

“I thought that anthology was quite beautiful and romantic, myself,” Michel remarked, amused. She approached Shepard again and administered something that relieved the throbbing pain in her head she’d barely noticed in all the commotion. “There, that should keep you comfortable for a time. I will come and check on you in a few hours ”

“I’ll be going as well,” Miranda said, eyeing Shepard and Garrus knowingly. “Call me if you need anything.”

She turned to follow the doctor out of the room but stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, and Shepard? I’m glad we got to see each other again “

Shepard nodded. “So am I.”

With that Miranda left the room, the door sliding shut behind her. Shepard turned her gaze up to Garrus who was already looking at her, pale eyes scanning every inch of her face intently. His mandibles twitched and flared in the very specific way they always did when he was agitated or worried. He shook his head, discarded both bundles of flowers onto the nearby bedside table, and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, staring off at the wall in silence.

“Shepard I— I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,” he said finally, turning to look at her and placing a hand on her leg, “I’d just gone to get some air…I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, reaching for his hand and wondering just how many sleepless hours he’d sat by her bed waiting for her to come to. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, lingering there for several long moments. She brought a hand up to trace the rough ridges of scarring along the right side of his face. His eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and he let out a heavy sigh, as if she’d lifted some invisible weight off of him with just the tips of her fingers.

“You know,” she spoke up, breaking the powerful silence between them, “I think I finally have some scars that’ll give you a run for your credits.”

Garrus laughed, but it was quiet—almost sad— and he pulled back to examine her.

“How bad is it,” she asked, “There aren’t any mirrors in here.”

He laughed again, this time with more enthusiasm. “Hell, Shepard, I don’t know. You always were ugly, so it’s hard for me to say.”

“Okay,” she admitted with a smirk, “I had that one coming.”

The room went quiet again, with the exception of the buzzing and whirring of the equipment around them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though— nothing had ever been uncomfortable with Garrus— but it was heavy with unspoken pain and unasked questions for which Shepard wasn’t sure she wanted answers.

“How’s everyone else,” she ventured.

“Recovering,” he answered with a sigh, “Joker tried to outrun the blast, but even the Normandy wasn’t quick enough. Crash landed on some human colony world. Everyone made it except—“

“EDI,” she said, name bitter on her tongue. She’d hoped the catalyst had been lying about the Crucible’s effect on synthetic life.

“Yes… how did you—“

This time, she was not able to dam up the wave of emotions that crashed into her. Tears rushed to her eyes, shame and remorse tightening her chest like a vice. She was a soldier, and she knew that sacrifices won wars, but that did not make it any easier.

“It’s a long story,” she said with a sniff, looking away from him and attempting to wipe away the tears before he could see them, as if he hadn’t already.

“Well—” Garrus reached out and grabbed her chin, gently, giving it a tug until she brought her gaze back to him. “It’s a good thing I cleared my afternoon schedule, then. Tell me everything.”

And so she did. With a shaky voice, she recounted everything that happened from the time she called the evac for Garrus and Liara to the moment she was struck by the Crucible’s blast. She told him about The Illusive Man, Anderson, the Catalyst who wore Kaidan’s face, and the impossible choice she was given. He listened to every word, offered her his hand, and didn’t complain as her grip grew tighter and tighter with each devastating revelation.

When she was finished, eyes swollen and head throbbing, she looked at him and said, “I fucked up, Garrus. I had a chance to save EDI and the geth, but I just… couldn’t do it. I was so angry and… scared , and—“

“Shepard,” Garrus interrupted her, laughing and shaking his head.

“What?”

“You’re about the only person I know who could save the whole damn galaxy and feel guilty because you didn’t save it better.”

“My life isn’t worth more than EDI’s was, and it definitely isn’t more important than the entire geth race,” Shepard argued.

Garrus blinked back at her a few times, then responded. “It is to me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come, so she clamped it shut and frowned. Her entire argument fell apart in the wake of his blunt confession. How the hell was she supposed to respond to something like that?

“It was selfish,” she finally managed past the lump in her throat, “It was genocide.”

“Maybe,” he answered, firmly, “Maybe not. We have no way of knowing that anything the Catalyst told you was true.”

“Why would it lie?”

“I don’t know, maybe to save it’s own ass?” His words were pointed but not directed to her. “It was clearly trying to get in your head, Shepard, using Alenko like that.”

“But—”

“No,” he snapped, “You made the right call, and no one is going to fault you for it except you.”

“ Garrus …” she began, but trailed off when she noticed him looking down at their intertwined fingers, shaking his head and seeming to struggle with his emotions.

When he spoke up, his voice was hoarse. “You’ll forgive me if I say I don’t think you owe anyone—not EDI, not the geth, not the Alliance, not the rest of the galaxy— any more than you’ve already given.”

He paused for a beat, then added in a lighter tone, “Except me. You owe me a long retirement on your fancy Alliance pension.”

Shepard snorted out a laugh, despite everything, and reached up to take his face in her hands. She pulled him closer to her, just so that she could press a kiss against the side of his mouth.

“I’ll think about it,” she whispered.

Just as they pulled apart, the door opened and they both turned to see who had entered. Dr. Michel stood at the threshold smiling at them apologetically. “I am sorry for the interruption, but—”

“Someone tell Garrus to quit hogging the Commander,” complained an all too familiar voice as he pushed past the doctor and into the room. “The rest of us have been waiting just as long as he has.”

“Joker,” Shepard exclaimed, nearly jumping up out of the bed to greet him.

“The one and only,” he said proudly then held up a small plastic crate to show her, “And I brought you something. Basically had to wrestle the Alliance brass for it when they declared you dead.”

“What—,” she asked as she squinted at the box, noticing movement in the corner, “Is that my hamster?”

He sat the container down carefully on the table next to the flowers Garrus had tossed aside, “It’s not two bouquets of useless flowers or anything, but, well…you know.”

“We can’t all be as romantic as you,” Garrus said sarcastically as he stood up and stepped away from the bed, allowing the other man space to approach Shepard.

“Thank you, Joker,” Shepard said with a nod as she sat up in the bed, “And about EDI, I—“

He cut her off with the shake of his head, clearly not ready to discuss it. “Not your fault, Commander.”

Shepard just nodded, sorry, but not wanting to force the issue. Joker puffed his chest out and saluted her, just as more commotion rang out from the door. She darted her eyes across the room again to see the flood of other people pouring in from the hallway.

Ash was the first to rush to the bedside, throwing appropriate Alliance protocol out the window as she threw her arms unceremoniously around Shepard. The embrace was firm, but not so forceful that it caused her aching body any extra pain, and when Ash pulled away, Shepard could see the tears glistening in her eyes. She stiffened up and saluted just as Joker had done, and said “Ma’am.”

Much to Shepard’s surprise, Ash then approached Garrus and embraced him briefly as well, pulling away and then giving him a pat on the arm.

The others followed suit after that, offering words of gratitude that she had saved the galaxy, and relief that she’d managed to pull through. Tali and Liara had followed Ash’s example and hugged her. The others didn’t but greeted her with enthusiasm all the same. Vega mentioned how “epic” it was when the fleet realized she’d made it to the Citadel and got the arms opened while Traynor and Cortez nodded along. Javik, in his typical fashion stood quietly in the corner but nodded at her with a look of admiration she had yet to see from the Prothean. Dr. Chakwas and the crew from engineering squeezed themselves in the now cramped space as well. Chakwas approached the bed and gave Shepard’s hand a firm squeeze.

Humbling was not a strong enough word to describe the experience of seeing everyone who’d been on the Normandy with her in that final journey to Earth gathered around celebrating her survival. They had all meant so much to her, and only now did she realize that she’d meant the same to them.

She’d grown accustomed to being a sole survivor, watching her own back and carrying on alone with each of her mistakes strapped to her shoulders. She was used to blaming herself with the voices of those she lost, of nightmares and flashbacks and consoling herself back to sleep in the middle of the night. She had trained herself to be numb because she could not bear feeling guilty.

Now, she didn’t have to. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had people who cared about her, people who she trusted, and they had survived. For the first time, she wasn’t alone with her grief and she didn’t have to be numb. She had friends who would hold her together while she sorted herself out, just as she had done for each and every one of them.

“You okay,” Garrus asked as he approached the bedside again, letting a hand tousle her hair gently before falling to her shoulder.

“Yeah.” She nodded and glanced around the room slowly, taking it all in. “I really actually am.”

#mass effect #mass effect legendary edition #garrus vakarian #femshep #shakarian #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfic #my writing

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aterlupus · 3 years

Text

Varis's Speech Transcription (Part 1 of 2)

Part Two: Link Here

I've been meaning to post this for a while since I talk about it a lot but I want to finally have it written out. This will be a long post since I am essentially posting the entire cutscene three times over (The English Text, the JP Text, and my translation of the JP text.) Please note I don't consider myself fluent in Japanese and I do not claim this translation is perfect. This is why I post the JP text alongside it in case there is some things of note I might have missed.

If you ever see an asterisk in parenthesis like this: (***) it corresponds to a footnote at the bottom of the post.

OK to Reblog

...

ENG: Varis: Esteemed representatives of the Eorzean Alliance -- on behalf of the Garlean Empire, I thank you for inviting me here today. As this parley was convened at your request, I invite you to speak first.

JP: ヴァリスゾス・ガルヴァス：エオルゼアの盟主たちよ我こそ、ガレマール帝国第二代皇帝ヴァリスゾス・ガルヴァスである。まずは聞かせてもらおうか、停戦を訴える貴公らの言い分を……。 TL: Varis: Lords of Eorzea, I am the second Emperor of Garlemald, Varis Zos Galvus. First, you should let me know what you have to say about the ceasefire. (*)

ENG: Nanamo: Very well, Your Radiance, I, Nanamo Ul Namo, Seventeenth in the line of Ul, should be pleased to oblige you.

JP: ナナモ・ウルナモ；それでは、わらわ、ウルダハ第十七代国王、ナナモ・ウル・ナモより、エオルゼア都市軍事同盟の総意を伝えよう。 TL: Nanamo: Now then, let me, Nanamo Ul Namo, 17th King of Ul'dah, convey the consensus of the Eorzean Military Alliance.

ENG: As recent events in Ala Mhigo and Doma have made plain, the subjugation and exploitation of neighboring nations is not a sustainable policy.

JP: ナナモウルナモ：貴国、ガレマール帝国の力による支配は、一時は成功しようとも、必ずや綻びが生じることは明白アラミゴ、ドマでの戦はその証左であった。 TL: It is clear that rule by the power of your country, the Garlemald Empire, will surely break even if it succeeds for a while, and the battle in Ala Mhigo and Doma was proof.

ENG: Should this day end in war, you may very well defeat us, but you will never extinguish the people’s desire for freedom. Though it may not be in our lifetime, there will be another revolution, another war, and the cycle will continue.

JP: ナナモウルナモ：我らはたとえ、此度の戦に敗れたとて幾世代にもかけて、自由を求め戦い続けるであろう。この終わりなき負の連鎖は、ここで断ち切らねばならぬ。 TL: Even if we lose the battle, the fight for freedom will continue for generations to come. This endless negative chain must be broken here.

ENG: Doma has entered into a concord with the nations of Eorzea. A partnership wherein we recognize one another as equals. Garlemald could be afforded similar treatment. You need only set aside your ambitions and join us in paving a path towards peace.

JP: そして、我らエオルゼア諸国、並びにドマ国は、各々が独立を保ちながらも、確かな同盟関係を結んでいる。そなたらガレアン人国家とも、平和裏に手を取ることができるはず。 TL: And as well, the countries of Eorzea were able to form a solid alliance with the countries of Doma, all while maintaining their independence. If this is the case, then we should be able to peacefully take hands with those of the Garlean Nation. Now is the time to abandon your grudges and desire for control, and seek a way of coexistence, is it not?

ENG: Varis: Hmph! You will not win me over with sophistry, Your Grace.

JP: ヴァリス・ゾス・ガルヴァス: フン…説弁だな。 TL: Varis: Hah, So that’s your excuse?

ENG: As you know only too well, this alliance lacks the strength to keep the peace within its own borders. Even now, your struggles with the beastmen continue unabated.

JP: ヴァリスゾス・ガルヴァス：いまでこそ同盟関係にあるのやもしれんが、エオルゼアとて、かつては国同士の戦争や内乱が絶えなかったさらに言えば、今なお「蛮族」との争いを続けておる。 TL: Maybe you call yourself an alliance, but Eorzea is still fighting with the “Barbarians”(**), and once before, the wars and civil wars between your nations were constant.

ENG: Divided, you sow this fertile soil with the seeds of your differences and reap naught but discord and chaos for your trouble. Eorzea must be united under one leader, one purpose. I would offer you both and bring an end to your strife.

JP: ヴァリスゾス・ガルヴァス：断言するが、国が分かたれていれば、争いの種は尽きることはないすべての民が、ひとつ理想の下に集わぬかぎり終わりなき負の連鎖とやらは、断ち切れはせぬというものよ。 TL: Varis: I do affirm, that if the nations are separated, the seeds of conflict will never run out. Unless all people are gathered under one ideal, the endless negative chain will indeed never be cut off.

ENG: Lyse: With all due respect, Your Radiance, the only thing that you offered the people of Ala Mhigo was fear and hopelessness.

JP: リセ：お言葉だけど…帝国に支配されたアラミゴでは、属州民は自由を奪われ虐げられ、恐怖と絶望の下で生きていたそれが、帝国の掲げる理想というものなの。 TL: Lyse: If I may have a word... In Ala Mhigo, which was dominated by the Empire, the people were deprived of freedom, oppressed, and lived in fear and despair. That is the ideal of the empire.

ENG: Hien: The citizens of Doma can also attest to the meager alms of Imperial Rule. There is no purpose to be found in a life of oppression, each day more uncertain than the last.

JP: ヒエン：ドマも同じだ……。支配された民は圧政に怯え、明��をも知れぬ身に、皆、震えていた. TL: Hien: The same rings true for the people of Doma, the ruled people were terrified of oppression, and trembled in the face of tomorrow.

ENG: Lyse: Our people are willing to die for their freedom. A great many already have. And countless more will, if we don’t put an end to this madness here and now.

JP: リセ：結果、自由を求めて戦が起こり、多大な犠牲が出ることになった。帝国のやり方は、悲惨な争いを生むだけなんだ。 TL: As a result, war broke out for the sake of Freedom, and at a great cost. The Empire’s way only creates disastrous conflicts.

ENG: Varis: We brought order and stability to your lives. This madness and bloodshed is of your own making. You broke the peace, not Garlemald.

JP: ヴァリスゾス・ガルヴァス：統治者に逆らい争いを起こしたのはそちら。圧政を敷かざるをえんのも、反逆者が絶えぬため従っていれば、平和は約束されていたものを・。 TL: That was those who fought against their ruler. The reason why we have put up these oppressive rules is because peace was promised if the Rebels obeyed, but they only continue to rebel.

ENG: Raubahn: Peace? Order? You kill our people, despoil our lands, take everything that is ours. And what? You expect us to lick the boot that grinds out faces into the dirt?

JP: ラウバーン：仲間を殺され、祖国を疎潤され、すべてを奪われた者たちが、大人しく従うことはない反旗を翻すのも当然のことではないか………？ TL: Raubahn: Our friends were killed, we were deprived of our homeland, and deprived of the ability to rebel against the Empire, and what of the sacrifices of those who obeyed quietly...?

ENG: Varis: I expect you to weigh the costs. To recognize that countless lives have been lost on both sides in pursuit of a greater good -- and to not squander all that we have achieved in a fit of petulance.

JP: ヴァリス・ゾス・ガルヴァス：その反逆によって出たこちらの犠牲も、決して少なくはない。戦死した兵らにも、それぞれの人生があったのだ。尊い犠牲を無駄にせぬためにも、歩みを止めるわけにはいかん。 TL: Varis: The sacrifices made by the Rebellion are not small. The soldiers who died in the war also had their own lives. You cannot stop walking this path, so that you do not waste their precious sacrifices.

ENG: Aymeric: Your Radiance, I fear I can personally attest to the dangers of pursuing one’s vision with such righteous fervor.

JP: アイメリク：では、私から少し話をさせていただこう。 TL: Aymeric: Please, permit me to talk a bit.

ENG: For a thousand years, the Holy See of Ishgard waged war with dragons. A thousand years of sacrifice, of sorrow and hate, in which we bathed in the blood of friend and foe alike. Had it gone on any longer, we may well have drowned.

JP: アイメリク：我が国、イシュガルドは千年にわたってドラゴン族と戦ってきた。双方とも犠牲の山はうず高く積まれるばかり、戦はどちらかが滅びるまで続くものと思われた。 TL: Aymeric: My country, Ishgard, has been fighting dragons for a thousands years. On both sides, the mountains of sacrifices were piled up high, and the war was expected to continue until one of us died out.

ENG: Yet we have chosen to raise ourselves out of this bloody spiral, and have since made peace with our former enemy.

JP: アイメリク：しかし、我々とドラゴン族は千年の禍根を乗り越え、竜詩戦争を終結させ、融和の道を歩み始めたのだ貴国との間にも、必ずや和平の可能性があるはず… TL: Aymeric: However, we and the dragons overcame this millennia of wrath, and ended the Dragonsong War, and we have begun a path of reconciliation. There must be way... to have peace with your country.

ENG: Varis: So I understand. No doubt the dragons were more receptive to your overtures in the wake of their leader’s demise.

JP: ヴァリスゾス・ガルヴァス：その融和とやらも、竜の頭目かの邪竜を殺すことでのみ、成し遂げたと聞くが？ TL: Varis: I hear your reconciliation was only achieved by killing the Evil Dragon, the Head of the Dragons...

ENG: You speak of peace, yet use war to achieve it. Your father would not have bothered to obscure his intent with honeyed words. He understood that strength is all that mattered in the end.

JP: ヴァリスゾス・ガルヴァス：私は、美辞麗句を語る責様より、強大な力によって、すべての者を統べようとした先の教皇にこそ、共感を覚えるのだがな。 TL: I sympathize with the Pope, who tried to rule with great power, rather than to shift responsibility by speaking in rhetoric.

ENG: Without his clarity of vision, I can but wonder what will become of Ishgard and her people. There was a time when Garlemald too lacked a leader of conviction. Weak and unable to wield magic, we were at the mercy of the strong, from whom we sought refuge in the bitter cold of the north.

JP: ヴァリス・ゾス・ガルヴァス：まったく話にならぬな………。そもそも、「己の国」とやらの定義は何なのだ. ガレアン族は、故郷を追われた民である先天的に魔法が使えぬ我らは、領土争いに敗れ、北方の寒冷地に追いやられた歴史を持つ。 TL: That is to say... In the first place, what even is the definition of “My country”? The Garleans have a history of being displaced from their hometowns, who are congenitally unable to wield magic, and have been defeated in territorial disputes and driven to the freezing regions of the north.

ENG: Were it not for the discovery of ceruleum, and the subsequent development of magitek, we might never have gained the power to take back which was rightfully ours.

JP: ヴァリスゾス・ガルヴァス：そこで青燐水を発見し、魔導技術を得たからこそ、領土を取り戻し、強国へ成長することもできたが…それまでは厳しい生活の中、苦汁をなめてきたのだ。 TL: It is because we discovered ceruleum, and acquired the ability to wield magic skills, that we were able to regain territory and grow into a powerful country. Until then, it had been a bitter and difficult life.

ENG: Merlwyb: You speak as if your people were the first to have been driven from their homes. Limsa Lominsa was built by wayward souls in search of a place to call their own. On the shores of Vylbrand we found it, and from those humble beginnings did we grow and flourish. And all without robbing our neighbors of their liberty.

JP: メルウィブ：我らリムサ・ロミンサの民も、同じく故郷を追われた身だ。それでも、新天地を切り開いて海の都を築き上げた。だが、必要以上の拡大はせぬ。不遇な境遇だからとて、侵略が肯定されるわけではない。 TL: Merlwyb: The people of Limsa Lominsa are also displaced from their hometowns. Still, we opened up a new world and built a city of the sea. However, we didn’t expand more than necessary. The aggression is not there because of the unfavorable circumstances.

ENG: Varis: So sayeth the pirate. Am I to believe that you simply asked the kobolds to yield up their lands, and that they were happy to oblige you? That you did not drive them out like rats in the hold of one of the man ships seized by your “privateers”?

JP: ヴァリスゾス・ガルヴァスさすがは海賊、略奪が日常ゆえに忘れてしまったか？バイルブランド島を、先住民のコボルド族から奪ったことをもっとも、蛮族を駆逐するとは、よい心掛けだがな。 TL: Varis: As expected from a Pirate... have you forgotten this because looting has become an every day occurrence? Taking Vylbrand Island from the indigenous Kobolds was the best way to get rid of those Barbarians.

ENG: I will concede that, after centuries of exile, reclamation may be mistaken for invasion. Nevertheless, it is not -- and those who till stolen soil have no right to object when cast out in turn.

JP: ヴァリスゾスガルヴァス：ガレアン族が故郷を取り戻すまでの数百年間で、その土地に根付いた民にとってみれば、我らは所詮、侵略者。相互理解などという、生ぬるいもので共存できようはずもない。 TL: In the hundreds of years it took for the Garleans to regain their homeland, for the people rooted in the land, we are, after all, invaders. There is no way we can coexist with lukewarm things such as a mutual understanding.

ENG: Kan E Senna: Your uncompromising nature rivals that of the Ixal. They too lament circumstances which they themselves perpetuate. Were they but to embrace peace, we would welcome them with open arms. Indeed, some few have done just that, and now receive the Twelveswood’s bounty.

JP: まるで・…行き場がないと嘆き、黒衣森の恵みを奪うことで精霊の心を乱す、イクサル族のようです。しかし、そんなイクサル族のなかにも、己の拠り所をみつけ充足を得た者たちもいます。 TL: Kan E Senna: Ah... It’s just like that Ixali tribe. You lament there is no place to go, and are like them, who disturb the Spirits by robbing the Blessings of the Twelveswood. However... there are some Ixal Tribes who have found their own bases, and they are satisfied.

ENG: Kan E Senna: Would that your people might learn from their example.

JP: カヌ・エ・センナ：ガレマール帝国にも、拡大路線だけでなく、民の幸福を実現する、ほかの道があるのではないでしょうか？ TL: Kan E Senna: Isn’t the Garlemald Empire not just an expansion route, but a way to achieve a means of well-being for the people?

ENG: Varis: You would dare compare us to the birdmen? You who thought to invoke the Twelve and threaten all of creation?

JP: ヴァリス・ゾス・ガルヴァス：まさか、我らが蛮族に喰えられようとはな・。容易く神に救いを求めるそちらこそ、世界の脅威だ。 TL: It is impossible to compare, considering you would have been consumed by the Ixali if not for threatening the whole world with the summoning of your Gods...

ENG: I came here in the hope of finding some speck of common ground, but I see now these discussions will accomplish nothing. Despite what you people may believe, I am not wont to choose the sword over the olive branch. ‘Tis but a pity men are loath to accept one without first being shown the other.

JP: 少しでも停戦の可能性があればと、会談の申し出を受けたものの、このままでは、将が明かぬな。こちらとて、無駄な血は流したくないのだがやはり、武力で語り合うしかないということか。 TL: I was offered a parley if there was any possibility of a ceasefire, but I believe it has been made clear to me... I don’t want to shed wasted blood, but after all, I have no choice but to talk only by force. (***)

ENG: Alisaie: Wait, I beg you! This meeting was supposed to be a chance to find a way forward together, not to bemoan the missteps which brought us here.

JP: 待ってせっかく、敵対し続けてきた者同士が会談の場を持てたのだから、もう少し話し合いましょう。 TL: Wait, we have been hostile this whole time before even having a chance to meet, so please, let us talk a bit more!

ENG: Please -- if you truly consider violence a last resort, there must be a way we can come to an agreement.

JP: お互い戦いを望んでいないのなら、過去の非をあげつらうのでなく、停戦に向けて歩み寄るべきよ. TL: Alisaie: If you don’t want to fight each other, you should walk towards a ceasefire instead of blaming the past.

ENG: Nanamo: As Mistress Alisaie says, we did not come here to bicker over the past, but to discuss how we might strive towards a brigter future. Emperor Varis, may I suggest a short recess, that all present might compose themselves prior to begin anew?

JP: ナナモウルナモ：確かに……その通りじゃ。この会談は、お互いの未来に向けて話し合うはずであった。ヴァリス殿、議論がもつれてしまったいま休憩を挟んで、皆で頭を冷やしてから、改めて話し合わぬか。 TL: Nanamo: Certainly... That’s right. This talk was supposed to discuss each other’s futures... Lord Varis, now that the discussion has become muddled, let us take a break, cool our heads, and then discuss again.

ENG: Varis: Very well. I pray this intermission will suffice to move these talks in a more constructive direction.

JP: ヴァリスゾス・ガルヴァス：よかろう。一服の後に、建設的な話ができることを期待しているぞ。 TL: Good luck. I hope we can talk constructively after the break.

...

*Worth noting Varis did not actually give them the same sort of in like he did in English, in Japanese they begin to tear into him with no prompting to do so, making them appear even less professional.

** In saying “Barbarians” in quotes, He means the beast tribes. Garleans refer both to Eorzeans and the Beast Tribes with the term Barbarians, which is why he highlights this, because he knows the Eorzeans consider the Beast Tribes to be lesser, while Varis considers them to be the same.

*** He is essentially saying the group has not really given him a chance to talk about peace at all, and therefore, he will talk about peace only by force. (Essentially saying “I suppose I’ll actually be able to talk peace with you once I defeat you. Because we aren’t talking about it right now.”)

...

I’m breaking this post into two so this is the end of the first cutscene, the second one I will link to later.

#ooc #ignore me #mun speaks #long post #very long post #if read more doesn't work i am very sorry #ff14 translations #sort of #translation post #tmi

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royalstorm · 3 years

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‘ what did you dream of? ‘ / question starters (accepting) .

His voice is the sound that prompts her to stir — eyes fluttering open, her lips abuzz with a confused hum. Even amidst her grogginess, it isn’t all that difficult for her to figure out where she is.

Mondstadt. Keqing spends what little free time she has strolling down its quaint cobblestone streets. At that moment, however, she’s curled up in a patch of grass ... likely somewhere on the outskirts of the city.

She’s also quick to register that she isn’t alone ... but fortunately, the doe-like, blueish-green gaze gaping at her is a comfort, as is the lap she’d inadvertently used as a pillow.

“Hey.” Hoarse is the voice that resounds in the air ... something that Keqing remedies with a faint cough. She props her head up off of her companion’s lap and takes to sitting upright beside him instead. “Sorry that I knocked out like that ... again.” An apologetic smile flickers on her lips, as she tends to tangled, wayfaring strands of her bedhead. Venti’s probably caught onto her slipping back into her workaholic ways — the habit that she could never seem to break.

Yet, that isn’t what he addresses once she’s regained all her bearings. He instead asks her, in that awed, gentle voice the Yuheng had grown fond of ...

“What did you dream of?”

At first, all she can do is laugh. It’s free and clear, like a tinkering of bells — a mannerism that came by easily in Venti’s presence. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” begins her teasing reply ... but of course, of course, of course, she would tell him. He’s the only one who would listen and the only one she’d want listening, anyway.

“The dream I had ... it’s almost as if it'd come out of the pages of a fantasy book. I was exploring Liyue Harbor, but ... everything was different —” Violet eyes widen, winsome and bordering childlike. “ — Everything was ... how I want it to be. My new vision of Liyue.” Here, her once dopey grin grows in size and in sincerity. “In this new vision of mine, nobody hurt. I figure that may sound foolish coming from a skeptic such as myself, but ... it’s as if everyone was bright and beaming. Every merchant met their quota, every child and family was fed ... no longer did people loiter on the streets without shelter or money. And —”

The enthralled expression upon Keqing’s features softens here. Her eyes grow mild. “ — Your adeptus allies ... they roamed free among the people — people like me. They were not isolated from the ones they’d protected for a millennia, nor were they regarded as beings beyond our humane understanding. Each of them had a new purpose. Each of them had a home. None of them had to suffer anymore. We were united by a sense of togetherness. We all coexisted ... happily.”

Tenderness continued to adorn her visage for a few more moments, as she savored each last detail of the dream she’d just shared. Had Keqing been alone or in the company of another mortal such as herself ... it would have been impossible to divulge these sentiments. It’s as she had just verbalized: skepticism was a defining part of her character ... for her to outright condemn the Qixing’s divine, adepti predecessors and then, all of a sudden, welcome their existence with open arms — it would ruin her credibility.

The Liyuen people had already been divisive with their perspective of her. There’s still so much more she had to accomplish before this new vision of her could be realized.

For now, however, Keqing would relish in her mirth — raw with no rhyme or reason. She could cherish the fact that her vision is no longer confined to the chambers of her mind; someone else — someone special — had access to it now, as well.

That’s what she resigns herself with, as this impression is stowed away ... for now. She flexes her hand and gingerly intertwines her fingers with Venti’s.

Keqing could dream all night. But the dream she’s living now, in the form of a soul that’s sweet and soft to the touch, couldn’t wait any longer.

@windbards .

#I AM SORRY THIS GOT SO FUCKING LONG OH MY GOD #but woozy here is my headcanon for keqing's vision for liyue post osial #and ofc she trusts venti w it hehe #* CHARA. STUDY / waiting ; seething ; blooming .#* RE : WINDBARDS / the only thing worse than a boy who hates you : a boy that loves you .#* ANSWERED ASKS / what are you all up in my kequssy for ?

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the-necessary-unnecessary · 4 years

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hey, can you tell us a bit about racism in Spain? I'm incredibly uneducated about it, and I don't know much about Spanish history especially racism wise so it would be really nice to get an insight from you about it.

this is a big question, since Spain’s relationship with xenophobia dates back centuries and I’m neither the most qualified person to take you through it nor someone who has suffered from Spanish society’s racist tendencies. However I’ll try to piece a bit of something together and maybe other people can add on if there’s other stuff to include. Also, this is mainly Spanish history from a racism perspective, there are many other positive things in other areas that I haven’t included (patriota pero no mucho)

So basically, up until the 15th century, Spain (in its then form) was a relatively harmonious melting pot of different cultures. With the Roman invasion, settlements and a Visigoth takeover (Germanic population) thereafter, Christianity was pretty firmly established in the country/iberian peninsula by the 2nd Century AD. In 711 AD the Moors, who had control over Islamic Africa, invaded the peninsula and established a Caliphate named Al-Andalus which had a particular stronghold in the south: in Andalusia and their Córdoban capital. Rule was stronger or weaker depending on the region but largely Islamic rule was established and Jewish and Catholic people were treated as second class citizens. Córdoba became the wealthiest, largest and most sophisticated city in Europe by the end of the tenth century, with trade and rich intellectual North African traditions forming a unique culture in the region.

There is a strong historical basis that during a lot of this period there was pockets of ‘La Convivencia’ ie. the co-existence of Jews, Christians, and Muslims. Like for example, around Toledo where in universities the three backgrounds contributed to tremendous amounts of sharing of knowledge etc.

However, from about the 9th century onwards the Catholics who still held strong points right in the north, begun ‘la Reconquista’, the “reconquest,” where they began chipping away at the Caliphate’s dominance. By the early 11th century they had gained more land than was held by the Muslims and 1492 is where we set our next scene.

This is probably one of the biggest and most path changing years in Spanish history. Most known for being the year when Columbus landed in America, this enabled the start of Spanish imperlism which would extend to almost 5 centuries afterwards, conquering territories in South America, Africa and Asia and subjecting them to imperialistic rule and policies of white totalitarian dominance.

The second important happening in this year was the fall of Granada, the last remaining territory the Caliphate had in Spain, signifying the end of Muslim rule in the country. They were, as expected, thrown out of the country in their droves and many others were forced into hiding being subject to situations that would only get worse with the Inquisition in full swing.

The third, and last, big event in this year was outlined in the Alhambra Decree where the expulsion of all practicing Jews was announced. Now this had already followed the forced conversion tens of thousands of Jews had been subjected to in 1391 and 1415 (ie. crusades and masacres against them). As a result of the Alhambra decree and the prior persecution, over 200,000 Jews converted to Catholicism and around 160,000 were expelled.

This ended religious diversity in Spain, the Inquisition sealed this fate. If you’ve heard of one thing about all of this I’m sure it’s the spanish inquisition. Primarily set up to identify heretics among those who converted from Judaism and Islam to Catholicism and ensure the establishment of the Catholic monarchy, it became a method of torture, fear and murder for those who were perceived to cause any threat to the Spanish catholic order. The effects of the Inquisition are widely debated, with some saying the death toll and magnitude has been blown up by the Protestants in other European countries at the time and does not show the full picture of the hundreds of thousands of converted jews and muslims who remained and overtime became integrated into Catholic society. Whilst others remaining firm to the devastating measure of these actions and the ‘pure blood’ mentality it created. What’s for certain though, is that by the end of the Inquisition in 1834 very little religious nor ethnic diversity remained in Spain.

Jump forward about 100 years and the Spanish Empire is no more after the 1898 crisis, there’s a weird back and forth period with Republics and Monarchies and dictatorships until the Civil War broke out in 1936. It lasted until 1939 when the Nationalists, led by Franco, took total control of the country and submitted it to a dictatorship that would last until his death in 1975. I don’t even know where to begin with a period that many people see as rosy and many others ignore completely whilst Historians have now gone so far as to call the 1940s and 50s the ‘Spanish Holocaust’. However I’ll break it down to one or two main things that have predominantly spurred on today’s racist attitudes.

During the Civil Rights movements of the 50s and 60s Spain was largely immune to the winds of changes due to their isolationist policies and dictatorial power holds. We didn’t take part in any of the dialogue nor go through any racial reconciliation, at least to much a lesser extent than most other countries. It’s quite a common thing to say that what much of europe did in 70 years we’ve only had time to do in 45, and there’s much of a grain of truth in this.

A famous conservative spanish politician called David Aznar defended these views and can be extrapolated into the sentiment that existed to facilitate the transition to democracy and still remain today: "In the democratic transition there were implicit and explicit agreements. One was that we Spaniards don't want to look to the past. Let's not disturb the graves and hurl bones at one another.” As a society, we hate to think about the past, it’s just not widely done. There’s ONE museum solely dedicated to the Civil War, the Historical Memory Law passed in 2007 to try and increase the rights of victims and their families was met by so much opposition and is devastatingly underfunded etc etc. This still translates to spaniards’ views on racism, saying it just doesn’t exist here and moving on. There’s a refusal to confront this and microagressions are ingrained in the culture.

As I’ve kind of mentioned before, issues of race extend much further than towards just black people which is why the US BLM movement cannot simply be traced onto Spain. People who are originally from Latin America face extreme stereotypes and varying forms of discrimination against them as do Arab populations and other people who have immigrated from MENA countries plus the large Roma communities.

The refugee crisis has further perpetuated the stigma around African immigrants in the past years, whilst the social effects of the 2008 Financial Crisis and beyond also continue to contribute to a xenophobic and nativist perspective where true spaniards should be prioritised with jobs, opportunities etc. For example, the alt-right wing party Vox that’s blatantly racist, anti-immigrants etc posted something with the slogan ‘Spanish Lives Matter’ the other day. They are purposefully incendiary.

Anyways, hope this was a suitable start for you, you can’t summarise millennia worths of history into a few paragraphs but I tried my best. Also there are obviously many who stand for none of these values, politicians who have tried to right these wrongs, activists who keep fighting the fight, people who have broken down barriers and areas where there’s complete coexistance. However the fact remains that these views and ideas are ingrained in people’s minds, theres blatant job discrimination and a lack of equal opportunities despite laws that may have been put in place.

I’m going to point anyone who has got this far to a couple of articles about racism from an Anglo-Saxon perspective below, racist football culture is almost always mentioned. Being a black traveller in Spain; Same Spanish Holocaust link as before but an extremely important book review read; Irish perspective on the Enigma of Spanish Racism; Racism? What Racism? Asks Spain; Opinion: Racism Is Alive and kicking in Spain

#almost a decade of ciencias sociales and cono lessons pulling through #anyways there's a lot here so maybe dont read it all by id recommend having a good skim of it!#i tried ny best to condense almost two centuries worth of histort into one post lol #blm #black lives matter #racism #spain #españa #history #og #the asks #*not two centuries lol two millennia im out here discrediting myself and everything i wrote

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swordoforion · 3 years

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Orion Digest №29 — The Imperative to Fight Against War and Oppression

The world faces a clear and present danger — the quest for greater power. That lofty goal of being raised above others, of being at the top, is one people have sought after for all of human history — and as a result, we have hardly ever gone a year without war, and the concept of being born in a comfortable life without struggling against disadvantage are left to chance. It’s not as if life has to be this way — everyone in the world has a need, and society in its most ideal would serve to use the resources around us to make those needs fulfilled. But even if ‘world peace’ is a goal everyone would like to promote, our world’s current power structure has proven time and time again to be incapable and incompetent at the simple task of achieving it.

World peace is by no means a push of a button, but compared to all we have done, it is relatively simple. We’ve evaporated cities, dug trenches that connect oceans, created vast cities and libraries from the forests and plains we were born into. I speak to you now over a vast, global system of communication accomplished through machines in the sky, available simultaneously wherever you are in the world. To understand that no one can win in the end by trying to create imbalance, by trying to push agendas onto others without effective communication, is a concept we try to teach to toddlers, yet it is something that the nations and factions of the world cannot bring themselves to grasp through the fog of the narrative they have built. Call it protection, call it a crusade, but in the end it’s greed and stubbornness.

Right now, across the world, people are at each other’s throats because the idea of coexisting is intolerable to them. The states of Israel and Palestine wage war against each other over ancient land, stolen and fought for over the course of thousands of years. The insistence upon Israel as a sovereign state rather than the integration of both into a state based on structure and not religious determination keeps the citizens of both nations in fear and anger — a bloodbath in the making all for allies to make a profit and meet a quota. Further east within Eurasia, the People’s Republic of China cracks down upon its citizens with violent force and censorship, undermining the basis of their argument by turning into the very monster secessionists make them out to be. Rather than hear out the claims of their citizens, they choose instead to use live fire, tear gas, and media silencing to solve issues — plugging a leak while creating ten more. Across the ocean, the United States finds itself unable to answer the problems of increasing gun violence, ecological destruction, public health risks, and the incompetence of its own justice system due to the idea that any give will allow the “other party” to gain ground, and thus we must fester in our national stalemate.

The list goes on and on, but the problem remains the same — the world powers as we know them now, whether economic or political, have lost touch with the people they represent, and are so lost in the world they know that they will never achieve world peace. Fighting and scheming around others for the good of their own citizens is their modus operandi, but they cannot see that even their own citizens are losing faith. Worse still, as they fight enemies abroad, they fight their constituents at home, until the question really becomes “who are they fighting for?” This conflict, these wars, this suppression of outcry and questioning loses any inherent sense of morality, and one thing becomes clear — modern government has become incompetent. Perhaps it always was, and the previous millennia were just a story of corrupted growth into what we are today.

So long as people suffer, as long as innocent civilians bleed and die and go hungry because of the conflict of factions and governments, we have a moral imperative to find a better way, and to achieve change as quickly and efficiently as possible. This question of how to build a better world is not just an abstract thought — it is a solution to a real and present danger, a ticking timebomb where every second costs lives. We’ve stumbled as an international society enough times throughout human history to know better, but those in power see a global society as a standoff where only the foolish put their gun down first, rather than a community where everyone has needs, and working together logically, we can distribute the resources and assistance to make sure all those needs are filled.

This isn’t a problem any one nation is responsible for — every nation contributes to it, and every nation must stand down or be made to stand down. So long has mistrust been the way of the world that it is hard to fathom ever letting our guard down, and surely, if one nation were to let themselves be open, another might come in and become opportunistic, unconvinced that every other nation would follow the first’s example. The first nation would then learn to not trust the others, and because of that shared belief that all others would take advantage in a moment of weakness, no one would step forward in the first place. So, if the current existing governments are not willing to sacrifice power for the sake of using it for the greater good of helping and healing the world, they should not be entrusted with it.

It is our imperative specifically to make and fight for change while others suffer, because complacency with unequal and unjust distribution of power and resources makes one yet another resource to add to the wealth of the corrupt. If you simply feel anger but continue along the same path, you will still have serviced that which you hate — another brick lain in the tower. There is no sense of neutrality — we must act together in the interest of ending bloodshed across the world. If ever there was a reason to fight, the growing death and poverty on Earth is absolute just cause. Our opponent is not any one person — it is instead this way of thinking, this system of war and mistrust constructed by fear, and the politics and economics that perpetrates it. It is a battle that must be fought not with guns and bombs but speeches and shields; protecting those in danger and calling with every voice on Earth to stop the train before it runs us all off the tracks.

Society is a construct that should always be for the benefit and ease of the citizens within it. It is a machine we created for the purpose of automating practices too confusing for each person to figure out all on their own. It has lost its purpose of it disadvantages and harms the people within it, and you do not keep using a broken machine, let alone worship it. You fix the machine, and if unfixable, you replace it. It doesn’t matter how old or big our nations and their governments are. It doesn’t matter how important decorated medals and positions may be. As long as just one person is unjustly hurt or unfairly treated, it is our duty to our human family to fight to our last breath until the problem is fixed, no matter how far we have to go, no matter how bold we must be.

- DKTC FL

#imperative #war #oppression #israel #palestine #china #taiwan #esf #power #world peace #politics #international politics #world politics #orion #orion digest #sword of orion #government #corrupt government #broken machine

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fandomflail · 4 years

Text

title: Recognition (8/9)

rating: M

summary: Soulmate trope AU. Set in a world where humans and elves coexist.

a/n: i should be wary of promising exact dates as I have a habit of running the edit brush over and over again until i finally reach a point where i can edit no more. and still, the length of this chapter is monstrous. there will be another chapter, as giving myself an additional chapter before the end has allowed me to share more of the world with you. i hope you dont hate me for it.

also on AO3

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CHAPTER 8: Reveal

Killian kissed Emma fiercely, before he, Liam and Elsa sped off. Killian had left Emma with the keys to his home, and it had been hours now since they’d left. She had little word from him and was doing her best to not worry.

Jefferson had regressed, and was now quietly speaking on the communicator to someone she couldn’t see. Belle had taken the opportunity to tutor the kids in History, walking them through the royal lineage.

Emma joined them after she had cleaned the penthouse, thankful for the sore in her muscles as a lot of the anxious energy had been burned off. Despite the fact that Henry kept interrupting Belle with questions, the Head of the B.E.A.S.T was patient and kind in answering them.

She faltered however, when Gracie suddenly asked, “All the kings and queens mentioned have had long lives. And the ones who have died early, like King Brennan, has been a result of foul play. Was he assassinated?”

Belle looked uncomfortable, tossing a glance at Jefferson who paid them no mind. “Well, it’s too early to say, isn’t it? And that’s a rather… well, it could have been mind maladies, an accident, anything. We can’t know for sure. Why jump to that as the first explanation?”

The girl pursed her lips. Emma watched her, the look on her face was so like her father’s it was uncanny. “Papa may have…” her eyes darted to her father who was still in conversation, “he may have alluded that the Queen…” she trailed off, losing her nerve.

“But why?” Emma asked, jumping into the conversation. Her one and only interaction with the Queen Consort had been highly unpleasant, to say the least, but she stood to gain nothing from a dead king, “Liam’s next in line.”

Gracie, Henry and Belle shook their heads in tandem. “That’s not how it works.”

“But he’s the first born son!” She defended.

Her outburst must have caught Jefferson’s attention, because he interjected, “The way the rule works is that, the next ruler must be chosen by the previous.” He clicked off the communicator, joining their side of the room, “Now of course, Kings have long since just ‘chosen’ their children, thus making it a blood lineage, but it doesn’t have to be.”

“That’s right, and precedence was set thousand of years before the Landing of the First Men, during the rule of King Sanfant, who died young and childless. Queen Elligent became the automatic ruler, and re-married. Her daughter would inherit the throne.” Belle recited, as if she could see the book in front of her. “I think there was opposition to automatic inheritance, which led to the formation of the 13,” Belle finished, her tone unsure as she looked to Jefferson, who nodded to confirm her statement.

“But if the ruler was assassinated or died without naming a successor…” Jefferson said, his tone flat, “then the Council would be forced to ascend from their lofty abodes in Irska and decide. Of the 13, most favor Prince William as he spent a long time in Irska. He would most likely take the throne given that he is well liked and has been cultivated as a ruler since he was knee high. However, that appointment won’t come without politics.”

“You seemed to know this with a certainty…” Emma remarked, watching Jefferson closely. It was imperceptible, but she saw that slight change of expression that told her he hadn’t meant to reveal his depth of knowledge on the matter. Emma realized then that she didn’t actually know what Jefferson did. He kept a remarkably low profile, had little relationships with other elves that she knew of (courtesy of Henry through Gracie) and was really more secretive than was warranted.

Jefferson seemed rigid as he shrugged his shoulder in nonchalance. Emma caught Gracie watching her father critically, validating Emma’s thoughts. “It’s common knowledge,” he said, “just like how one of the barriers for Prince William’s appointment will be whether or not he intends to pass the line to Prince Killian or his own children.”

It may have been an attempt to distract her, but Emma couldn’t help the question, “Why wouldn’t they want Killian to take the throne?”

“I don’t think they like him, mum,” Henry said with an expression that said he severely disagreed with that.

“But why?”

Jefferson sighed, rubbing his neck. “You do remember what I told you all those months ago at the Open Court? That he had eschewed his elven responsibilities and all but left to be human?”

She nodded. Killian had shared with her why he had left, and what he had done in that time.

“It’s a great insult,” Gracie said, nodding sagely.

“There’s 3 books about the incident,” Belle said, squinting her eyes like she was looking through book catalogues in her memory.

“It was big, when it happened. Mostly because of how he did it.The insult to pride has not abated, no matter how nice they play now. I can almost guarantee that one of the conditions of Prince William’s ascension will be that the line will never pass through Prince Killian or any of his progeny.”

Emma felt a wave of rage at the injustice of that, despite the fact that they had not discussed children. Heck, they hadn’t even really discussed their own future! She was also pretty sure Killian had no desire to rule. It was just… the principle of it.

“And Liam will agree to that condition?”

Jefferson scoffed. “Easily. He would not take likely to anyone insulting his family’s honor, but even he would easily agree to such a term. That’s not what will tip the scales.”

“What, then?” Belle asked.

Jefferson sighed, his eyes glancing at them and around the room, as if deciding how much to tell them, and what. His eyes landed on the closed doors, on the eagerly awaiting faces, and when his eyes caught Emma’s, he sighed.

“Understand,” he said in a voice lower than usual, “that what you’re about to hear would be… problematic, to say the least, if repeated elsewhere. Consider perhaps, that some may be hearsay, or completely invalidated.”

“We understand the disclaimer, Papa” Gracie said, sounding impatient.

He sighed again. Emma too, was feeling impatient.

And then, it was like a damn burst.

“The Queen has a rather interesting history, one surprisingly that even escaped the Sukrasa. She’s reinvented herself of sorts. It’s a long story, but she’s from a kingdom far, far, far away. There’s rumored to be a band of elves in the vast desert systems of the Orken, and as no one really knows how to find them or has had much contact with them over literal millennia; most people consider them mythical.”

“They are real?” Belle asks, sounding like someone just told her she’d won a million Glyd. Emma’s sort of glad to see that Henry and Gracie both look as confused as she personally feels.

“It appears so. Her Highness Coraline, though she was nothing but a maiden named Kara then, was… exiled. She was no older than 14 I hear, though I cannot be certain of her age when it happened. It seems she murdered someone, again unverified, or at the least, benefited from the death of some high ranking person in their society. In any case, they sent her to live in a cavern below their systems. Intel implies a deeper level of cave system. In any case, she must have escaped sometime later, though she did so with a baby in her belly.”

“Wait, what? What does this have to do with Liam? How do you know this?” Emma interrupted, incredulous.

Jefferson held up a hand, as if to say, be patient. He eyed Henry and Gracie, as if regretting that they were hearing this, but must have surmised it was too late now, as he continued, “She made her way to a settlement somewhere on the borders of Snoland and Nysno, where it was said the child passed during birth - that a decision had to be made so she chose to live. Fashioned a completely new identity there, became a key strategist in Snoland, was recommended to serve in Irska, where she met the widowed King Brennan, and is now as we know, Queen Coraline.”

Emma had more questions than ever.

“The child, didn’t in fact pass. In fact, the child has grown up to be a very powerful alchemist. Unfortunately, she has taken after her mother in both ambition and ruthlessness. You see, two months ago, my network, don’t ask who or how, received intel about this elf, about 350 years in age, who had set sights on Irska. Not uncommon, to be fair, except that her brand of alchemy dealt strongly in dangerous arts, poisons and services of revenge, both petty and malicious. This was all hush hush. On the surface, she did plenty of healing art too. But then one of the agents had a hunch, and a good thing too, for he tracked her, got close to her, and found out all that I’ve relayed to you now. Her name is Zelena, beautiful, red haired, and fair skin. She’s already in Irska, and she knows whose daughter she is. What we don’t know is if she’s confronted her mother, or worst, is scheming with Coraline to ingratiate herself for the crown. She’s first born. Then of course, you have Coraline’s own child, Princess Regina, who the crown would most certainly pass to if The 13 instate the Queen as Regent.”

“Oh shit,” said Henry.

“Henry, language!”

“So if I understand,” Belle said haltingly, “if King Brennan didn’t bequeath the crown to Prince Liam, then The Council of Elders will be called to decide if the crown goes to him or Queen Coraline. If the crown goes to Queen Coraline, then she will later give it to Princess Regina, provided her alleged first born Zelena, doesn’t come in to demand her rights. Did I get it right?”

“Does Regina know about her sister? Or Coraline know about her daughter?”

“Yes,” said Jefferson pointing to Belle, and “No, I don’t think so, and not sure, we don’t know if she’s confronted her,” he said, answering Emma’s questions.

“This is ludicrous, Papa. Is this true?”

“If Zelena is to be believed. But regardless of whether or not Coraline’s past is true - perhaps she herself made up the rumor about Orken for intrigue - the present remains that the King was, most likely, intentionally disposed. And if so, then it must be because the stars have aligned themselves for some nefarious plan that one, or both of them, are cooking up.”

“Then Killian is in danger. And Liam, and Elsa.” Emma breathed out. “Wait, why the hell haven’t you told anyone this?!?” She demanded, rounding on Jefferson.

He gave her a long hard look. “The ones who have needed to be informed have been. But clearly, they have failed. I don’t know who has been compromised.”

“The Sukrasa?” Belle asked.

“Were aware. It remains to be seen if they failed or were… compromised.”

“But they have a code,” Emma said unthinkingly, remembering that night at the ball.

“Yes, a code,” Jefferson said impatiently, “but morality is separate. It would not be disloyal to follow Queen Coraline’s orders, especially if they didn’t—-“

He stopped, looking like he had just figured something out.

“What?” Emma asked.

“Papa, you’ve lost colour.”

“Belle, I need you to stay here, lock the doors, and keep the children safe. Can I count on you?”

“What is it?” Emma pressed, but he wasn’t looking at her at all.

Henry and Gracie protested immediately, but Belle’s voice was the firmest Emma had ever heard it. “Yes, we won’t move. They will be safe.”

Jefferson turned to her, something blazing in his eyes. “We need to go, now.”

Emma had a million questions, but there was something there that told her she could ask it on the way. She trusted Jefferson, despite the evidence suggesting she shouldn’t. She nodded, and went to Henry, hugging him tightly.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this drama, kid,” she whispered into his hair.

He laughed, despite the worry she felt radiating from him. “Are you kidding, I’m living in a movie. Just,” he inhaled sharply, “just be safe, mum, please.”

“Of course. I love you,” she said, feeling warm when he responded in kind.

She kissed him on the forehead, touched Gracie’s forearm gently, thanked Belle who waved her off, and went with Jefferson.

The dizzying emotions kept her quiet as she warred with the side of her that screamed I told you so!, I told you he’d be nothing but bad news, which she knew objectively was untrue, but also sort of true - getting mixed up in whatever political intrigue was happening was way above Emma’s comprehension and interest. But she also knew that she’d go to the fiery pits of Anbar for him; she loved him, whether or not she was ready to say it.

She had so many questions that figuring what to ask first kept her quiet, and the urge to just show up to the palace and … punch, or kick or just slap the Queen was making her skin itch. This inaction was making her antsy.

Jefferson too, seemed preoccupied. He was fiddling with his communicator, clearly processing a million different things at once. It wasn’t until they were safely tucked in his pod and their harnesses buckled did Emma speak. So did Jefferson.

“I know you must be wondering—“

“What the hell is going on—“

The pod was moving at full speed; Jefferson was masterfully guiding the craft towards the borders of Alamané on the other side of the river.

“There’s too much to tell you, so here’s what you must know. If, if the Sukrasa are executing orders from the Queen, it means that her actions or promised outcomes are likely to be for the better of the realm.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“Maybe so… but she’s smart, and plays the game of politics for more masterfully than the King, or the two princes. One King dying of young age is suspect enough, but two princes? No, they are not in immediate danger - unless they threaten to expose her. How likely is that?”

“If Killian or Liam thinks their father has been murdered—“

“Exactly. Until this moment, the Zelena connection has been tenuous at best. Despite the intel, there was no actual proof, no evidence to suggest the entire story was true. I’ve met both Zelena and Regina; very similar in temperament, both… unpleasant, but smart. Also quick to anger, and impatient. Where Coraline would play games for centuries, Zelena finds waiting to be strenuous. About 7 minutes ago, confirmation has come through that the King was indeed poisoned.”

“Fuck them,” Emma said, hating the she-elves the more she learned about them. “Of the three, who do we need to worry more about now?”

“Coraline, Zelena, Regina, in that order,” he said, without a moment of hesitation.

“Oh shit,” Jefferson exclaimed suddenly.

“What? What?”

“We’re almost at the border into the Ekilon Forest, where the first checkpoint is.”

Emma had never been there, but she understood.

“Oh,” she said, heat rising to her cheeks unbidden, “I actually… I have right of way.”

“What? How?”

Emma pulled out the chain she never took off, the one that kept Killian’s ring by her skin at all times. She dangled the ring, and the pod swerved slightly to the right as Jefferson reacted to the sight.

The ring Killian had given her was no mere ring. It was delicately crafted, and the official signet ring of Killian Aearinön. At the time, she hadn’t understood the full significance of the gesture, as he’d merely told her that it would allow her to find him, always. Only later had he explained that someone who carried that ring could march right up to the throne room in Irska itself and not be stopped, for it was their right and honor. Each royal had only one to give away, and she had his.

She had wondered if anyone would actually believe that it was a real signet ring. He had licked her cheek, making her laugh and smack him in protest. Then he told her lovingly, that it was made from pure Innenfra which had made her gasp into silence. It was a type of metal that when worn for long periods of time, made elf blood sing, providing harmony to the body. Most elves wore some type of Innenfra, mostly just as a small earring like Jefferson did, as it was rare and terribly expensive. A whole ring was royal indeed.

“Wow,” Jefferson said, “well, that solves one problem at least. Though perhaps not as inconspicuous as I hoped.”

They arrived at the checkpoint, and Emma gave her name, doing her best to remain plain even as she showed them the signet ring. She could see the arch of brow at that, but they did not question her further, allowing their pod to pass through unencumbered. Their mood was not sombre as she thought it would be, they seemed to be mostly unaffected, as if they hadn’t heard about the death of their king.

“Are these elves loyal to Killian’s family? They don’t seem like they’re mourning.”

“Mourning is what we reserve for the tragic loss, like that of a child. A mother’s death is a warrior’s mourn, for she died in the most noble of battles. And as for King Brennan… no one knows about the murder yet. For that, there shall be anger, and a swift retribution. But common deaths? Oh, we celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“We live longer lives than you, ah I mean to say, humans, and so we do not fear death as much as humans, only a life left unfulfilled.”

“So, Cora?”

“There’s more questions than answers. But I have a theory if you will, and it goes as follows. Once the King is disposed, the sons must be discredited. Of the two, Prince Killian would be the easiest to lay blame on. If he is found somehow responsible for the death of his father, that casts aspersions to the whole lot of them. Prince William will be expected to sentence Prince Killian to death, which he would not do, mostly because he will not believe his brother to be conspirator, no matter who accuses Killian as the mastermind. Queen Coraline however, as broken hearted as she will appear to be, will of course avenge her husband. Once her mother is in position, Zelena will appear suddenly, taking credit for setting the whole thing up, if she hasn’t already.”

A sudden, sinking feeling settled in Emma stomach. One that had been building since earlier that day, one that had been growing in the pit of her stomach but she had ignored in favor of other pressing matters.

“This is your best theory?”

They were speeding through Ekilon; she could see the next checkpoint into Irska itself, with its glittering castle not too far in the distance. She needed to play this right.

“I told you, I’ve met Zelena. And Regina.”

“Very well met then, to make such accurate predictions?” She asked more sharply than intended. Cool down, Emma, almost there.

She was looking straight ahead, but she could feel the weight of his stare on her as he glanced her way.

“Enough to know that this is the play she’d make, rather than attack directly.”

“How do you suppose she’s getting information?”

She was watching him out of the corner of her eye, his face remained impassive, though his left hand twitched imperceptibly on the control - she would have missed it if she had blinked.

“Her mother, most likely. Otherwise, I don’t know.”

“Right.”

Clearly, she was terrible at subtlety, because Jefferson, for the first time since she’d known him, growled irritated.

“What are you insinuating?”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You’re not being subtle, Emma!”

“Fine! Are you working for the Queen? Zelena? Or Regina?”

“You have a lot of nerve asking that,” Jefferson said, voice turning dangerous. Emma balled her fists, ready to swing if it came to that.

“Answer the question.”

He huffed, and the pod jerked, accelerating forward faster. He swerved off the main path into a smaller one off to the right, and stopped suddenly at an alcove.

“Jefferson!” Her hand jumped to the handle.

“For fuck’s sake,” he said angrily, “I’m not working for them… anymore.”

“WHAT?”

He had his hands in his hair, gripping it tightly. He looked absolutely mad. Emma had no idea how everything had unravelled so quickly, but she had her balisong in her left hand, ready to be flipped out to become a dangerous blade if needed.

“Look, we really don’t have time for this. But here’s the short of it. I worked for Zelena, before I knew all of her connections. I’m the one who basically… connected the dots of her family line, led her to her mother, so to speak.”

“You said you only found out about her a month ago!”

“I didn’t lie, though there might have been omission,” he admitted.

Emma cursed at him, but he ignored her and went on, “I worked with her on something, unrelated, and we found out her heritage almost by chance. In any case, she wanted me to do…more, threatening Gracie, who was a mere babe at the time; I refused. Needless to say, I disappeared, moved to Alamané. When we found out about an unknown alchemist, and Gr—my partner did digging into it. It’s when pieces started to fall into place. My partner has been very close to Zelena, and we’ve had nothing further to act on since then.”

“Jævla deg,” she cursed at him.

Despite looking frazzled, he laughed. “Prince Killian is teaching you the good stuff, I see.”

“Jefferson, I thought we were…” she faltered, the word friend dying on her lips because they weren’t quite that.

“I mean you no harm, Emma. Truly. But we need to get to the place now. One, to make sure in anger that neither prince jeopardizes their claim to the throne by unwise actions, and two, Zelena is on her way to the castle. She knows something, she had some kind of leverage, and my partner believes he knows what it is.”

“Which is?”

With a deep breath, as if he too were wishing this was true, “The last letter of King Brennan Blåoyne, which states indubitably that he intends for the crown to pass to Prince William. It’s not quite the official bequeathing ceremony per say, but it should be enough to convince The 13 of the will of the king. They would lose face and cast aspersions to their character if they went with Queen Coraline after that, unless of course her reward was more enticing than we could imagine.” He begin moving the pod back in the proper direction of Irska.

“I can imagine an awful lot,” Emma said, annoyed.

“Yes,” Jefferson agreed, saying nothing more.

The rest of the ride was in silence, as Emma, despite her anxiety, irritation and feelings of betrayal, could not help but be awed as the pod moved into Irska. The forest gave way to a valley, with a clear river flowing off to their right. It was the same side where a tall mountain cliff stood strong, and a thick jet of water sprung from its top, rushing down to the river below.

The architecture was so very different from the clean industrial designs of Alamané. Irska was a city built into nature, with buildings carved into the mountain side, wood, stone and marble; and roads paved to curve around the trees. The energy was ancient, and it showed in the intricacies of design; elves of old had plenty of time to dedicate their lives to a small area of mastery, and so the attention to detail was magnificent, even from the little that she could see.

Damn, Emma thought, no wonder elves are so uptight about preserving this.

Ruby would have been pissed to hear her thoughts, but Emma wasn’t thinking of that.

* * *

The security around the castle was heightened, but The Sukrasa gave her no resistance as she showed Killian’s ring. It wasn’t until she was at the front doors itself was her movement given pause.

The tall elf standing straight near the doors wore a bright white uniform, his skin sun-kissed and his arms muscled. He was a person of authority, and wasn’t used to having it questioned.

“You’re the Lady Emma?” The elf asked. He wasn’t eyeing her with distaste, exactly, but it wasn’t friendly either.

“I don’t know about Lady…but I’m Emma, yes.”

“Vi må se prinsen, voktere,” Jefferson said, giving the elf a short bow.

The elf answered in their language, clearly giving Jefferson a set of strict directions. Emma opened her mouth to ask, but the elf turned to her. “My name is Robin, Kjærlighet.”

“Char-lie-et?”

“It’s the title of royal paramours.”

Emma felt her face heating - being labelled a paramour seemed so clandestine.

“His Highness, Prince Killian has been alerted of your presence. He awaits you. Adel Jefferson, you may —“

“I will accompany Kjærlighet Emma.”

Robin’s face soured. He gave Jefferson a severe look before he said, “If she would allow it.”

“Uh,” Emma said, taken off guard. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him exactly. He couldn’t be trusted for one, especially since he seemed to be keeping everyone on an information diet. But she could often tell when someone was lying, and he wasn’t… she didn’t think he was being malicious. But she wasn’t sure, either.

“Okay, yeah, he can come.”

“As you wish,” Robin said, turning heel with the air of someone who expected they would follow.

So they did.

* * *

When she saw him, she rushed into his arms without even thinking about it.

“Killian!”

“Emma,” Killian laughed in surprise, “it’s only been a couple of hours.”

“A hell couple of hours,” she muttered, to which he agreed by kissing her on the side of her head.

“Highness,” Jefferson said, his tone indicating whatever he had to say was going to be about the matter at hand, “I have some news. Is this a safe place to talk?”

“Is anywhere in this place safe from prying ears? But I reckon Liam is going to want to hear whatever you have to say,” Killian said, his body straightening against hers as if preparing to fight.

They gathered in a small room, with Liam looking troubled and Elsa with a frown marring her features.

“You seem to be a little too informed, lytting” Liam said, watching Jefferson suspiciously after the elf had told them what he had told Emma in the pod. Killian had only just avoided decking him in the face.

Jefferson shrugged, “In any case, that’s the start of it. There were traces of Marjaga in his late highness’ blood.”

A sharp intake was heard, and Liam slammed his hand on the table. The name Jefferson mentioned niggled at a memory, but she couldn’t place it. More importantly, it seemed that they hadn’t known about the king’s cause of death.

“I knew it,” Killian hissed. “Damn snake.” He increased his pacing, looking like a scorpion ready to sting. Emma remained perched where she was, looking away from him as his pacing made her queasy.

Elsa stood up suddenly. “I’ve seen her. I’ve seen her.”

“Who? Zelena?”

“Yes! She’s the healer they sent for Voktere Walsh when he was injured from his fall a few weeks ago. Beautiful redhead, he seemed to forget his pain when she was tending to him.”

“Whose security detail is Voktere Walsh on?” Jefferson asked.

Elsa shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I only saw everything from a distance.” She turned to her husband, asking without words if he did. Liam shook his head.

“Okay, so she’s in the palace. A Sukrara may have a a soft spot for her, making him easily manipulatable. By the time the royal coroner gets the full test, the Marjaga might be undetectable. The 13 should be arriving within the hour to convene.”

“Why should we trust you?” Liam interrupted, his body language reminding Emma of a wild animal about to spring.

“Because I have information, and you have whatever they tell you. And because, it is in my best interests that the throne does not pass to the Queen or her brats.”

Killian and Liam had been looking at each other every time Jefferson let loose another nugget of information, glancing at one another as if able to communicate by eyes alone. Maybe it was a sibling thing.

“I would like to skin her alive. And I’m surprised Killian has shown restraint thus far in not rushing out. But we must not loose our heads or our upper hand. Your partner,” Liam said, getting up and walking to Jefferson, “is he still in position?”

“Yes,” Jefferson confirmed, “though if we want him to… incapacitate Zelena, we would have one shot of it.”

“And what about dear stepmum?” Killian asked, every syllable dripping with venom.

For the first time since Liam had hugged her hello, he smiled. “I took care of that actually. We didn’t want her to be… distraught, see, so I gently suggested to her maiden that she be given strong dose of a magnolia bark, valerian and blue skullcap mixture.”

“What do those do?” Emma asked.

It was Elsa who answered. “Put one in a deep, deep, deep sleep. Oh, and I might have suggested a bit of chloroformius orchids, just to make sure she stays really relaxed.”

Emma stared in Elsa in surprise while Killian let out a whoop and clap. “Well done!”

“So that leaves Zelena and Regina.”

“Regina just left the palace in Snoland about an hour ago, it will take her at least two days to get here.”

“How do you know these things?!” Killian asked Jefferson.

“Can’t you trust that I do?”

“No,” Emma snapped.

“Fine. Your accusation was right, Highness,” he said looking at Liam, “I’m a lytting, though I’m sure when you called me that it was an insult. I served as the second in command to the Master of Whispers in Snoland, before the Snowdrop Wars, under the command of Queen Eva. The networks I built there reached Irska, and many of those relationships are active, even though I no longer serve the house that sits there. As you know, Princess Regina married King Leopold and she’s not who I wished to serve. If she succeeds in bearing him a blood heir since his first daughter’s family was killed in the Snowdrop Wars, and her mother bequeaths her Irska, then they become a powerful line indeed. And I’m not ready for the abuse of power that would follow. There, you now know my motivations, is this enough?”

* * *

As Emma walked to the dais where the dead king lay, she took a moment to reflect the insanity her life had become. She was now dressed in a dark blue dress of Elsa’s that was suitable for the occasion; it was a party after all. Elves left and right were high in spirits, regaling tales of the late king, surely embellishing details about how big the monster was, or how clever the foe.

It seemed Liam and Killian were showing the kind of restraint and strategy she thought went against their very nature, two whirlwinds of emotions now having to temper their anger for the bigger picture. There was a greater plot at play, and Emma wasn’t sure if she wanted to know it all. The Sukrasa Jefferson had warned, the informant in the palace, was no where to be found, suggesting another brand of foul play that may have resulted in the death of the king.

They had sent a trusted maiden to collect all of the Queen’s notes from her study, anything to link her to a plot. Jefferson’s partner was busy collecting and recording indisputable evidence that Zelena was part of it too. Liam had been summoned to The 13’s chambers. It seemed like a great wheel was spinning and the pieces would soon fall, once the blue smoke rose from The 13’s fire which would indicate a chosen ruler.

Emma reached the top of the dais, Killian holding her waist gently.

She stared down at the face of King Brennan, whose face had sunken in from the water loss. He didn’t look like he was sleeping. He looked like he was dead.

“I’m sorry you’ve lost your father,” she said finally.

“I’m more sorry that Liam has to take his throne this way.”

“Killian…”

“He wasn’t much of a father, to be honest. Vengeance will be mine, on his behalf, but I’m more sorry for all the trouble this is causing than anything else. I’m tired, Emma. It’s why I left. The title of a prince means little. We honor it and traditions because without it, elves are little else. Stuck in the past, averse to change. For what? So we can delude ourselves with grandeur and importance? I’ve paid my respects, let’s just go.”

He turned, but Emma stopped. She had just realized something.

“Killian, there’s ink on his hands.”

“What?” He turned back. “That’s not possible, they clean and dress bodies to ensure they keep for the Death Day Celebration.”

“Well, yes, but look at his fingernails. Look at the pad of that finger there.”

King Brennan’s nail bed had ink on them. Dark blue ink that could easily be mistaken as discoloration. There was a tinge of Aurum ink on his right index finger, and on his signet ring. Barely there, but now that she was looking, she could see it.

“You think he was writing the document Jefferson mentioned? The bequeathing letter? A bit much as coincidences go, don’t you think?”

There were whispering to each other, but Emma felt the hair of her neck stand at the implications of this discovery. “But what if it wasn’t? What if that’s the reason he was poisoned?”

“We’ve got to go find Liam and search father’s study, let’s go.”

* * *

Their search turned up nothing, but the whole thing was for naught. Because, too quickly, though a day had since passed, a blue fire rose into the night sky.

It happened just as Emma shut off the communicator, having been assured that Henry and Gracie were fine.

Jefferson moved to stand next to her, as Killian gripped her waist. The late king was to be interred in a few hours. Hhe had professed to her that he wished to just go home after that and lay in bed with her and forget the world for a while. Perhaps his father’s death and the plots surrounding it had affected him more than he care to let on, but he wasn’t talking to Emma about it, and as much as she wanted him to, she knew she had to give him space.

After all, she was aware enough to know that she’d have demanded the same.

The elves of court moved into the hall, with Liam and Elsa leading the front. The air was markedly more solemn than it had been earlier where King Brennan lay, but Emma had since given up understanding elven culture. She’d leave that to Henry.

An ancient elf stood; he looked like he had been left in the sun too long. His skin was weathered, voice deep and coarse. He might have been the oldest elf she’d ever seen.

“Sem Artur Pendrégon in sluzim Svetu starejsih. Var første og helligste plikt er abeskytte alvene, alvenes frihet og var guddommelighet. Felly mae wedi bod. Ac felly y bydd.”

“Felly mae wedi bod. Ac felly y bydd,” the elves repeated.

She looked up at Killian inquiringly. He was holding her so close to his body that every exhalation blew her hair to her cheek.

When he whispered the translation, her body reacted, suddenly very aware of the close proximity of her… of him.

“I am Arthurus Pendrégon, and I serve the Council of Elders. Our first and most sacred duty is to protect the way of life of elves, the liberty of elves, and our divinity. So it has been. And so it will be.”

But Arthurus was already speaking.

“Danes ne bomo stali na hitro ali slovesno. Razmislili smo, kaj je najboljše za irsko kraljestvo in kraljestvo vilinov, kot ga imamo vedno. Krona ni narejena samo iz dragocenih draguljev in kamnov, niti iz auruma in srebra. Krona je narejena iz discipline, pravičnosti, poguma in hrabrosti. Kraljeve linije so izbrane tako, da služijo ljudem, in tega ne smejo pozabiti nikoli tisti, ki služijo, in tisti, ki jim je služeno. Svet starejših se spominja in ohranja tradicije vilinov že od nekdaj, in to bomo storili, dokler ne bo stal zadnji vilin. In zato smo danes sklicali sem, da bi izbrali naslednjo Irska krono.”

“We will not stand on prompt nor ceremony for today. We have considered what is best for the kingdom of Irska, and the realm of elves, as we always have. A crown is not made of just precious gems and stones, nor of aurum and silver. A crown is made of discipline, justice, courage and valor. The royal lines are chosen to serve the people, and this should never be forgotten by those who serve and those who are served. The Council of Elders remembers and conserves the elven traditions from time immemorial, and we shall do so until the last elf stands. And for this, today, we have convened here to choose the next crown of Irska,” Killian said, translating to his best ability as Arthurus spoke. The words spoken were solemn, and they made Emma feel like she was now apart of something bigger. It was silly, but the atmosphere in the room of the noble elves, the grandeur of the hall and the way Arthurus voice reverberated made her forget she ever lived on the streets as an unwensket.

“Vi har ogsa mottatt det siste skrevne ordet om Hans Oppstegne Højhet, King Brennan, som overlot sin krone til et valgt individ.”

Killian stiffened, as did Jefferson beside her.

“What?” She asked.

“My father must have… I don’t know how, but they got it. The letter.”

“She’s here,” Jefferson hissed.

“What? Who?”

“Zelena is here, corner of the room to your left, in the dark green hood.”

Arthurus’s voice increased in volume. “Vi fant ingen alver mer egnet for dette. Vi fant ingen alver som ville hedre kronen like mye som Prins William Beriothien. Mine edle alver, jeg presenterer deg, din neste kral, Kral William Beriothien.”

Emma didn’t need a translation for that last bit.

“They chose him! Their plots were in vain!” Jefferson uttered, looking as though someone had slapped him.

Killian let out a giant breath of relief, as Liam, walked up to Arthurus, looking perfectly poised. Emma could see it, the way his eyes scanned the elves in attendance, the fire in his eyes that many would mistake for relief or joy. There would be retribution, but it would come so fast and swift his enemies would have no way to escape it. He was reciting some words of acceptance, looking very kingly indeed, but Emma’s attention was focused on Zelena.

Underneath the green hood there was a shock of red hair, and beside her, a tall elf which chiseled features spoke quietly into her ear. Emma guessed that to be Jefferson’s partner. Before Killian, he’d be exactly her type. His hair was reddish brown and curly. He had broad shoulders and wore a light brown tunic that highlighted it well. He must have felt her gaze, for as he turned to look at her questioningly, his curiosity blossomed into a smirk. Emma looked away quickly, embarrassed at being distracted, and fervently hoping Killian hadn’t noticed.

“That’s Graham,” Jefferson said suddenly, giving her a fright. He was speaking very softly, and while Killian’s attention was devoted to his brother, she knew he was listening.

“The partner?”

“The partner. I’m not sure what happened today. Truly. But perhaps, the His Ascended Highness was more crafty than we thought, more prepared than we anticipated. Perhaps we should never discount basic preparation compared to complicated plots.”

“That’s it?”

“Oh no. Definitely not. But with King William at the helm now, the Queen now Dowager, with significantly less hold, it will be easy to usher her away to Snoland, where she can be their problem. And Zelena will likely follow. And in the mean time, a way for justice to be served can be found.”

“And it will be,” Killian said, though his eyes were still on his brother. His hands however, were secure around her, and his heart in tandem with hers. It was time to go home.

#cs ff #cs au #cs recognition #recognition #rouhn #kmomof4 #teamhook

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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My kingdom for a fic where Dick just full on ignores the fuck out of every reservation, concern and condemnation Bruce has about Jason and his choices after his return, because like this is his brother, the only family member that’s ever come BACK from the dead after Dick’s lost them, and he’s not about to let anything get in the way of that, thanks.

(But also in this AU Jason didn’t almost kill Tim, because that’s the one thing Dick wouldn’t easily be able to look past or forgive and still be in character, even for the sake of another brother, and its crazy to me that it doesn’t come up more as Dick being like, hey Jaybird, you are Valid for a lot of what you feel and are doing but you were NOT Valid for almost killing Timmy and I can be and am quite rightfully peeved at you for that like wtf bro).

Right, so here, Jason doesn’t do that, and literally everything else he does Dick is more than capable and willing to shrug and go oh is that it? And then blithely resume having a relationship with his little brother wherein they hang out and have movie nights and be obnoxiously competitive, with not a single fuck given about anyone else’s feelings that Dick should not be doing this.

Meanwhile, the vein in Bruce’s forehead has grown so large its evolved its own consciousness and identity, its name is Vinnie, Vinnie the Vein, and Bruce and Vinnie are of one mind when they’re like “Richard John Grayson, I FORBID you from shenaniganning with your wayward brother until he has ceased his murder sprees.”

And Dick’s just like can’t stop, won’t stop, anyway love to stay and chat but I promised Jay I’d meet him in half an hour and I’m already running late, gotta go love ya lots, byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye.

Eventually Bruce really tries to put his foot down because its highly unlikely Jason will come in from the cold on Bruce’s terms if Dick keeps ‘enabling’ his brother, mostly because Jason’s not really out IN the cold in the first place as long as the brothers are hanging out, as they do, having a perfectly chill familial relationship whilst waiting for their father to get the hell over himself and also unclench long enough for Timbers to escape the inexorable magnetic pull that is Bruce’s Aura of Contagious Paranoia, and like...come join them on their brotherly outings, it’ll be fun.

And finally Bruce is all, Dick, you realize your brother is killing people, right? And Dick serenely is just like: “Oh is that what all the fuss is about? Gee, I thought it was all just a fight about the proper pronunciation of ‘gif.’ You know how out of control those can get. No shit Jason’s killing people. I’m aware. Also, I don’t care.”

Before Bruce can finish firing up his Righteous Indignation and Judgment and jump in there, Dick continues, ticking points off his fingers one at a time.

“One of my best friends is literally the daughter of Evil, and has on occasions, plural, been evil herself. I couldn’t care less. One of my best friends has a daughter with an internationally infamous assassin who has definitely tried to kill me multiple times, with this quite probably being a violation of some kind of Bro Code. I couldn’t care less. One of my best friends was possessed by evil spirits and did tons of terrible things right before he died and I couldn’t care less when visiting his grave, nor do I care that his dad, an even more internationally infamous assassin than Roy’s baby mama, and who has DEFINITELY tried to kill me multiple times, does lots of terrible things on the regular, both before and after we meet up for coffee every now and then to reminisce about Joey.”

He comes up for air, refuels his tank, keeps going.

“One of my teammates is an identical duplicate of the former teammate who betrayed us all and almost got us all killed. Its weird and awkward but we make it work. Another one of my teammates was a killer robot that previously murdered one of my dearest friends. SUPER fucking awkward, but again, we made it work. Other things I give no fucks about: the rap sheets of any of my teammates on the Outsiders, the rap sheet of one of your star-crossed lovers, the body count of your other star-crossed lover. I mean sure, I’m a snarky asshole about it, but I’m a snarky asshole about butter pecan pie too. I don’t like, care care. Not like the way you cared about Huntress’ unwholesome methods before I was her booty call, and yet that too played no part in my decision making before I let her hit this. Half of your teammates decided to treat your memory like an Etch-a-Sketch once, but somehow you all managed to make nice again, but not until after the invasive spy satellite you made got hijacked and unleashed an army of killer robots that definitely did kill a metric fuck ton of people. Major Disaster and multiple other Justice Leaguers have done some Very Bad Things, Diana snapped a guy’s neck on candid camera and still isn’t sorry, you play chess every once and a while with a guy who spends half his time as a millennia old demon who has eaten entire fucking civilizations, and do not even get me started on Hal Jordan. Are you starting to see a point here, B?”

Bruce says nothing, but Vinnie the Vein has a shit poker face. Dick sighs.

“And you know what all of those people have in common, Bruce?”

Bruce bites. “What’s that?”

“None of them are my goddamn brother. So if I can figure out a way to coexist in the same sphere as all of that insanely hot mess, I can figure out a way to coexist with my brother, so long as I know and trust he’s still fighting the good fight. Which I do. Do I like that he kills people? No. Does he know that? Yes. Do we fight about it? Occasionally. But know who I’m not gonna let be the reason me and my miraculously back from the dead brother don’t meet up for Taco Tuesday night? A bunch of murderers and rapists, because I wish they were sitting in Cell Block D for the next sixty years instead of dead. End of the day, their lives just aren’t as important to me as my little brother’s, and that may make me all kinds of hypocritical, but I’ll give you three guesses what’s another thing I don’t give a shit about. Now you can go home and spend the night hanging out with your moral convictions, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather spend it hanging out with Jay. And if we’re all done here, buh-bye, I’m late and I wouldn’t want Jay to think I flaked and wasn’t coming, who knows, he might go out and kill people instead.”

And eventually Bruce too pulls his head out of his ass because he can be Unconditionally Moral or he can be Unconditionally Dad but he can’t unconditionally be both, and this was kinda a choice he was supposed to have made back when he first signed on the dotted line that supposedly meant his kids would no longer be pinballing through life looking for someone to unconditionally love and support them, because he was volunteering as tribute to do just that.

And finally Bruce makes nice, or at least actively less hostile, baby steps are sometimes required with superhero cryptid shaped a-holes, and then they all live dysfunctionally ever after. Periodically interrupted by one of them dying and the rest of them besieging Death’s door and banging obnoxiously on it and refusing to let her get any sleep whatsoever until she crankily says none of them are worth this aggravation and she’s not getting paid enough for this shit and tosses their recently deceased relative on their ass back on the mortal coil just to be rid of the annoying pests.

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lightcreators · 4 years

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@witchingrey continue from here

Her brow slants; pulling back her share of the covers, rather greedily stolen and pausing. Since when did the aristocratic, exiled prince, despite having a sweltering disdain for nobles, complete devotion to cleanliness, class and ‘sophisticated’ dishes want something so simple ( in his eyes at least ) as pizza ? Her accomplice certainly was going into the deep part of the pool now; but for him to ask such a thing …was this same soul she knew?

“ …. Have you finally seen the light or are you that hungry? I wonder about you, you know. “

Her voice is deadpan and slightly groggy as C.C. rubbed her eyes; sitting beside him on the bed’s edge . It’s teasing, but also suspicious, as all who even remotely knew her knew that the woman had no qualms with dwarfing an entire box or two or even thrice her size alone and without anyone interfering. The possibility that she’d remotely share it with even her accomplice was dubious at best.

The immortal lets a silence pervade; owlish in her stare for a passing moment; a brief dwelling into long buried humanity within. Those large eyes blink in a comedic fashion as if he had spoken tongues she hadn’t heard in almost the length of a millennia before once more lidded in that lazy, half-sleepy suspicion . Was this really her brilliant and scheming, at times rather picky charge and partner in crime? She felt that odd sensation again; a concern for his…odd request.

Not that she’d so easily admit it. Her shoulder brushes naturally against his rather loosely as she adjusts herself upright, thinking for a long pause…then:

“It’s pretty late. It’s not like you to even want pizza. Maybe Cheese-kun’s influence is finally giving you insight into the finer tastes in life. Or this entire thing is really getting to you after all, and you’ve succumbed to the call you’ve denied for so long. Well who am I to deny those enlightenment? The alternative is, well…

Maybe you’re just becoming more weird, Lelouch. “

But she seems pleasantly amused; it shows in that faint smile of hers, twirling a strand of verdant hair before rising with a sleepy, muffled yawn. “Well, if there’s any reason to get up for something? It might as well be pizza . Where’d I put those leggings … “

Suddenly the often sly and teasing witch seemed far more earnest to partake in his hunger, as well as her own. She had to admit….she was curious to see how Lelouch took to it. She’d never so much has seen him touch what he’d consider ‘junk food’.

“Are you getting up, or do you expect me to deliver it to you?” She’s already digging her right leg into her pants; reaching for her skirt and brown jacket; cleared from the occasional ‘red stains’.

“Because if you are, it’ll be finished by the time I get back. So let’s do this. Every time is a good time for pizza, so naturally there’s one open. Or we’ll just find..”

Her grin almost borderlines on frightening.

“Other ways. Come on Lelouch.”

Many options were possible for an night shorting itself in the middle of an started sleep --- the quiet desire to enjoying the night without no one around unless an immortal witch that will notice that something troubled his mind ; a silent overthinking into the dreams landscape, recalled the necessity to checking his mouvements before morning fall ; recollections of memories he pushed behind when the daylight welcoming him, repressed into endless nightmares who were another prison he coming familiar with...and stomach troubles in very rare occassion, when hunger sensations were too high for even relax. When he opened his eyes to the darkness around him, during a couple of seconds disconnected about the time that could be exposing under various means to reach it and didn't care about it --- the faint pain into a quick need to have something to eat went out of his mind. Food deprivation or even sleep deprivation were another habits who sometimes making uncanny his own consideration as a human --- because he was a symbol, work overtaken anything else ; because he was Zero, no ones would cared about the boy with an Lamperouge name ; because he sought something more than his own humanity, his own needs even the primaries ones mattered less. An single thought crossed his own desire to forgetting altogether his own selfish and uninteresting passing wish to have his hunger contented --- a pizza. His aristocrat education didn't prioritized that kind of food who was very low, who was not going to give enough energy to his body and whom he would normally mocking...but having been used to having C.C having fun with that guilty pleasure...maybe...maybe it sounded something quick to eat, good-enough for the stomach food doing it job.

Even before his hands reached for awakening the witch closer to him, even before the words dropped his mouth into an natural tone for someone of his age --- but he wasn't someone simpler as an high school student wit nothing to worry ; he was an exiled prince who wanted taking revenge of his own family and making them regret to have messed up the entire world for their selfish power-hungry souls he cannot tolerate to coexist --- Lelouch knew the dramatic domino he would bring down by admitting only such a simple need. The Lelouch she knew was an mole hiding every one of his deepest needs, even the most easy ones because the Lelouch he was used to wear was an man in which his own existence mean nothing that achieving an result on the end of the road --- that Lelouch didn't needed to have someone understanding the density of the sacrifices he was doing to himself, how many pain he accepted to take because rewritten his entire world as a self-proclaimed mastermind mean be the source of all loss into the moves been made into the game. Even the man he was, having no barriers to showing an such different self, was amused to the bend of his personality --- there were times when smaller part of this soft and desired-normal being awakening into shorter moments, before be pushed behind back into the lock.

Amusement brighted his expression as the second Lelouch hear her expected comment. He had been sitting back in the head, already have preparing himself for going out but didn't moved too far afterwards have given some physical signal he was needed her and expressed the dramatic sentences. Her first remark had been correct --- he was that hungry that the thought of pizza crossed his mind naturally. Lelouch himself could argue about hours that as much he was able to controlling pretty much everything thanks to his perfect grey cells, his mind left him some kind of mystery to solve of the reason of why that particular day, he asked something as simple as pizza. It was something trivial as best but he could perfectly saw themselves discussing over this simple fact for a couple of hours. How something like him could eventually lowered down himself to that point? How the powerful Lelouch vi Britannia could accepting his defeat in front of an oval pleasure filled with different ingredients heated in an oven? Some of her second comments increased the perfect 'you got me' sentiment he feel the first time around which higher some contentement smile. He loved how the tease with some of his decisions came out --- it was never nasty of her part, instead she was showing her own surprise towards some unexpected things coming from him...and he had lot of those still unexplored seeking some good opportunities to shine.

❝ Weird look like a second nature but choosing to turn into a demon without burning into some physical hellfire but a hot metaphorical one might helping it. ❞ He teasing back with a great appreciation of the compliment she had offering him. ❝ It seems nothing can escape you and even the mysteries of myself can be solved in one second by one word. I might have succumbed to some delayed call that I would have liked remain in denial with if my mind hadn't requested that simple need thanks how empty my stomach feel. ❞ Natural compliments were returned to her, and there was further amusement into the admission. Yes, the impression he was making a real fool of himself was fully present. Softness followed afterwards his features as her positive answer to having her preparing herself for answering his desire was...something beautiful to see. Cute crossed his mind as consideration but he wasn't the man to confessing he could find something 'cute' --- it looked bad into his lips and it was an overbearing tone for one observation of his eyes. ❝ I try to forget my pain by relaxing and let you time with my selfiness --- I'm not going to call off the food desire that rule into my body right now. ❞ He commented with an laugh as he forced his overall intention to laying down for a while to wait a little before moving away. ❝ If the others ways imply seeing you cook, I'm going to be an impatient man at you while be far more distracted during a moment I guess about commenting. Better we check if we can have some delivery since the world shall know it's not a good idea to make me hungry. ❞

#witchingrey #ic :: lelouch vi britannia #verse tbt.#i managed to write a novel over pizza xD #you are welcomed with meta feels!!!#i like how lelouch is just like: my mind requested pizza don't ask me why #which lead to such a wonderful thing since lelouch have to assuming his need lmao #lelouch and c.c tbt.

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thinkyoureholy · 6 years

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Blood Lust [8]

[Warning : I feel like this chapter might trigger some people so as a warning I'm letting y'all know right now. There's some self inflicted injuries in this chapter along with a main character being in a depressive state. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with these kinds of things]

Pairing : Oh Sehun / Reader

Genre : Angst, Fluff, Suggestive Language, Vampire! AU

Words : 2.4k

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt 4. Pt 5. Pt 6. Pt 7. Pt 8. Pt 9. Pt 10. Pt 11. Pt 12. Pt 13. Pt 14. Pt 15.

-Y/N’s P.O.V; A Week Later-

I looked down at my hands, watching as my claws elongated and retracted back in on command. I left them elongated as I stared at the claws with a blank face, my eyes unfocused. I reached out to take one of the claws between my fingers, suddenly starting to pull them off my fingers. My face stayed blank, numb to the pain as I yanked it off, watching the blood drip down to the floor. I stared in curiosity as the wound closed, the nail regrowing as if nothing even happened. The only thing that let me know that I had even bled in the first place was the stain the blood left on my fingers. Something in me still couldn’t believe that I was...well whatever Sehun turned me into so...I started pulling out the rest of my claws on both hands. My mind was in a haze as I pulled at them slowly, not even noticing how many times the nails grew back and elongated into claws every time. I didn’t stop until I felt a hand grab at my wrist tightly.

I looked up to see that the hand belonged to Sehun, his eyes shining with worry. I could see his lips moving but why couldn’t I hear him? I mean I have these new and improved ears how come I couldn’t hear him? I frowned at that, closing my eyes before shaking my head. I pulled my wrist out of his grip, bringing my hand up to my ear before snapping my fingers. I snapped my fingers multiple times until finally I heard it, causing me to wince at how loud the sound was. I brought my hand back down to rest on my lap, staring at my blood stained fingers.

“What have I done to you?” I heard Sehun say quietly, his voice breaking.

I looked up at him to see that he wasn’t staring at me, but at the pile of pulled out claws and dried blood on the floor. I reached out and picked one up, rolling it in between my fingers before letting it rest on my palm.

“Fascinating isn’t it? No matter how many times I pulled them out...they just kept growing back, like a starfish when it loses a limb and grows it right back.” I said, my voice sounding as if it weren’t even mine, “I wonder what would happen if I lost a finger, a toe, an arm, a leg...maybe even my heart. Humans die if their heart is damaged in anyway...is it the same for you vampires too?”

Sehun said nothing as he listened to me ramble, a deep frown on his face. I let out a dry chuckle at my last sentence, looking down at my hands as I made my claws come back out.

“I guess I shouldn’t say it like that, huh? I’m like you now.” I said as I looked back up at him.

I was shocked to see the tears in his eyes, one stray tear cascading down his face. I frowned as I followed its trail down his cheek, reaching out to stop it and wipe it away. At feeling my finger on his face Sehun simply smiled sadly, more tears falling. I frowned deeper, moving to catch the new ones that fell.

“I’m...so sorry...I-I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was saving you. But what was the point if you’re not even you anymore.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I looked down at hearing that, letting my hands fall to my lap once again, letting his words sink in. He was right. I didn’t even know who I was anymore. This hunger was eating me alive but I refused to feed on human blood because I know that once I do I’ll lose the small part of me I locked up in the small recesses of my mind. Even though it might seem like I’ve come to terms with what I’ve become...I really haven’t. I hated every inch of my being. I hated what I’ve been turned into and I hated the fact that there’s nothing I could do about it even more. There was no cure, no way to turn me back into a human. Some could argue that I should be thanking Sehun for saving my life but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. That would be me accepting what I am and why would I ever want to accept being something I’ve despised for my entire life?

I turned my hands over in my lap, staring at my palms as silence settled over us. I sighed heavily before looking up at him to see him already staring at me, the tears still in his eyes.

“My throat hurts…” I said softly, changing the subject.

“It’s because you haven’t fed since I changed you…” He said softly, the frown still on his face, reaching out to brush my hair behind my ear.

“I’m not drinking from anybody…”

He smiled softly at that, nodding, “I know. I can’t believe it took me so long to remember.”

He pulled out a blood bag, shaking his head as he saw me already start to protest.

“A long time ago hundreds of vampires used to feed on animals but with humans being made so readily available to us now this method has all but been forgotten. Typically they would only feed on animals when they couldn’t get to a human but there were a select few that were like you. They refused to hurt a human, no matter how much they needed to feed.”

I took the bag from his hands, noticing that the blood was still warm, “Its fresh…”

“It’s better fresh. If you let it sit out for too long the more the taste becomes unbearable. It doesn’t taste that great to begin with but...it’ll keep you alive. This is from a grizzly I saw out back, considering the fact that you’re practically starving you’ll be able to down this and the other bags in no time,” He explained, pausing before continuing, “I’ll go out to hunt for you every few days so don’t worry about running out and getting hungry again.”

And with that he got up, heading towards the door. I looked down at the bag in my hand, suddenly feeling tears start to gather in my eyes. I let a small smile grace my face for the first time in what felt like forever. With this it felt like I didn’t have to throw my old self away completely. I’d still be able to hold onto some part of my humanity. Humans ate meat all the time, I would just be getting my nutrients from the blood instead of the meat.

“Thank you…” I let out, my voice breaking with the unshed tears.

Sehun froze at the door, his hand clutching the door knob in his hand tightly. He said nothing as he opened the door and left, leaving me when this new found hope in my hands.

-Sehun’s P.O.V-

I plopped down onto the chair, rubbing my hands over my face roughly. I could hear Chanyeol sigh from his seat, knowing there was nothing he could say that would make me feel better. She looked...so dead on the inside. The fiery spark that once glowed in her eyes has disappeared completely, all because I couldn’t let her go.

“Sehun...I know this might not be a good time to bring this up but…” Chanyeol started before pausing, probably thinking of how to approach the subject, “We need to talk about her eyes.”

“What about them?”

“Well for starters they’re blue when they’re supposed to be I don’t know, this color.” He shot back, pointing at his own crimson red eyes.

“It's probably-”

“Sehun stop making bullshit excuses. In the long ass time that I’ve been alive I’ve never seen another vampire with her eyes. The only ones that have different eyes than the rest of us are you purebloods...and you and your father are the only ones left, even then your eyes aren’t blue. So what the hell does that make her?”

I said nothing, knowing that he had every right to freak out. Truth be told I was freaking out as well. I’ve never seen any one that had those glowing blue eyes of hers when she shifts...I had only heard stories. As a child my mother would tell me stories about these all powerful vampires that lived up north with glowing blue eyes. They were the most powerful of our kind. Not only were they purebloods but legend has it the leader of their clan was actually the first vampire that ever existed. Somehow, somewhere along the bloodlines their blood was still able to coexist with human blood inside their own bodies. The other purebloods and other vampires that had been turned all had their blood running cold through their veins. But not these vampires, their blood was warm like a human’s, they even smelled like humans. Their eyes were not only that bright blue color because of their blood but I heard the place they lived in contributed to it as well. They ruled over the rest of us, that is until they suddenly disappeared. Some believed they went into hiding, others believed they mated with humans more often than they did their own kind causing their vampiric genes to become dormant and others simply forgot they existed in the first place.

Now that I think back on it, Y/N could be one of their last human descendants. When I changed her that could’ve awakened her dormant genes. This was the only logical explanation there was as to why her eyes were blue. No matter how else I looked at it I always came back to this same conclusion. If I was right and there was a slim chance that I was wrong, Y/N could be the strongest vampire that’s ever existed for the past millennia.

“Sehun!” Chanyeol shouted, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I shook my head and looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. Chanyeol simply sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“What?”

“Tell me what you’re thinking. Don’t leave me in the dark.”

I contemplated telling him, thinking if it was even worth mentioning. Chanyeol was the only other vampire I trusted so it couldn’t hurt to let him in on what was going on in my head.

“Have you ever heard about the Knights?”

I walked down the hallways with my hands behind my back, thinking about everything I told Chanyeol weeks ago. He laughed in my face at first but when I started pulling out the facts he started to believe me, especially when the explanation I gave him was the only one that made sense. I had thoughts running rampant of how to protect her from the others. Surely if they caught wind of who and what she was there would be some that would be out to kill her. She’s stronger than any of them ever will be and to them she was a threat, one that needed to be eradicated as soon as possible.

I stopped in my tracks at seeing something outside that caught my eye. It was Y/N out in the gardens. Ever since I had been giving her that animal blood to feed on she’s slowly becoming herself again. Slowly but surely she started coming out of her room; walking the corridors, exploring the library, watching tv in the foyer, helping the humans out with their chores, but this is the first time she’s actually gone outside. She was sitting out in the garden, crouched down as she looked down at something in front of her. I was shocked to see her with a rabbit sitting in front of her, most of the time rabbits tend to run away from us but this one was perfectly content on just sitting in front of her. But that wasn’t the only thing that shocked me, what shocked me was the look on her face. She looked so happy. Her eyes were shining and the smile on her face, I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen her smile that wide before.

Before I knew it my feet were carrying me over to her, the sound of the back door opening catching the rabbit and her attention. She turned to me while the rabbit dashed off as soon as it saw me.

“You scared it away.” She said with a glare.

I smiled softly, walking over to her, “Sorry….do you mind if I join you.”

She simply looked out towards the garden before speaking, “It doesn’t really matter if I do does it? You’re just gonna do whatever you want anyway.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle as I sat next to her, finally feeling like I had the old Y/N back. We sat in silence for awhile, Y/N looking out into the garden while I shamelessly stared at her. I couldn’t help myself, it’s been so long since I’ve been able to just enjoy somebody else’s company. Even back at my own home I was always on edge, passing the time by pushing every last one of her buttons. Now everything seemed blissful, a feeling I haven’t felt since Mijin.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” She said under her breath, keeping her eyes on the flowers in front of her.

“A picture can never compare to the real thing.” I said, a smile playing at my lips at seeing a blush rise to her cheeks.

Suddenly her face changed, a type of seriousness washing over her, “Why’d you save me…?”

I sighed heavily, looking out into the garden before returning my gaze to her, “Because believe it or not you mean more to me than you think. And I...I couldn’t save her but I had the chance to save you so I took it. I-”

“I’m not her, whoever you’re trying to compare me to. I’ll never be her so I don’t know why you even bothered.”

I smiled sadly at hearing her say that, looking down at my lap, “She was the whole reason why I loved humanity so much...but in the end it was because of her that I came to hate them so much.”

I could see her from the corner of my eye, looking at me in confusion, wondering why I suddenly changed the subject. But before I could dive into the subject any further we were interrupted by Chanyeol running out of the house.

“He found us, Sehun. Your father….he’s here.”

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corisanna · 6 years

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how about the bleach- Inconspicuous doc? I am intrigued

This was going to be a collaboration of comedic shorts with a couple friends, but it fell apart. The premise is shinigami think they’re great at concealing spirit shenanigans, but THEY REALLY ARE NOT. We had a list of scenarios, like shinigami accidentally starting urban legends and UFO/cryptid conspiracies. Maybe I’ll do it myself someday.

Series summary:

The Gotei 13 think they have a handleon the whole hidden spiritual activity thing, but it’s actually theworst-kept secret in the history of mankind. Not just in Karakura,but all over the world. A series of stories about the humancivilians who totally see what you’re doing there, shinigami.

serious intro chapter to set up the context:

TEXTBOOK POLITICS

Over several millennia, the diversecultures of humans in the World of the Living came up with manytheories regarding the existence and details of the realm thatawaited them when they died and how it coexisted with and bled intothe world they knew. Some of these ideas were more correct thanothers, but most were built upon at least a grain of truth. Even someof the more bizarre ideas about demons and fairies and liches andgenies could be traced to sightings of beings from the realms beyonddeath, even if they were then wildly misinterpreted.

Many of the shinigami in Soul Societycould recognize this, but almost as many refused to follow the factto its logical conclusion: That at least some humans must have haddirect interaction with the spiritual world and been aware enough toconnect some dots. This faction was largely comprised of new soulsborn into Seireitei. The nobility in particular were enamored withthe image of themselves as higher beings than those in the World ofthe Living, more enlightened than the human masses who moved abouttheir lives ignorant of the spiritual. The rare times a nobleshinigami would encounter a spiritually aware human and questiontheir teachings were swept aside as examples of one of their latepeers having been reincarnated, their strength and awareness shiningthrough their mortal shells. How admirable in the face of adversity.A pity that light would be smothered by the realities of beingtrapped in a human body. Best not to dwell on what once was. Movealong, move along.

Never mind that these incidentsoccurred with a frequency disproportionate to the rate of death amongnobles, even including minor nobility. The numbers approached balanceif all recruits to the Gotei Thirteen were included, but this wasrarely brought up in seriousness because it would imply paritybetween the nobility and the lowliest Fourth Division sewer-scrubberfrom the most distant district of the Rukon. We can’t have that, now,can we?

Because an afterlife with nobility,military, and an economy was inevitably an afterlife with politics–and thus an afterlife with budgetary concerns– there were fundingpriorities within its structure. As often happens, education became apawn of politicians. Someone had to bankroll the Academy when it wasnew; of course, it was the nobility. Even though they were faroutnumbered by the souls who cycled through their realm betweenmortal incarnations, the nobility kept a tight grip on seats ofpower. It was simple enough just by virtue of being a more permanentpresence than the multitudes who visited Soul Society without anyestablished ties. Few of these souls could truly make something ofthemselves in Seireitei before they were ushered off to their nextmortal body. Thus, it was difficult to raise much sustainedopposition to politicians’ suggestions for Academy curricula. Central46 did whatever they wanted, anyway. So textbooks and teachers pushedthe line that humans were ignorant of the spiritual world. That theywere like confused children who made up stories to fill the gap wherethey lacked understanding. Harmless.

So the human speculation about theafterlife became a quaint form of entertainment in Seireitei. “You’llnever believe it– I ran into a human who drew circles, scribbled inthem, lit some candles, said some awful poem, and expected to summona demon. Hahahaha, humans are so ridiculous!” Never mind that heimmediately found himself fighting off some low-level Hollows thatsuddenly approached all at the same time. That was an unrelatedincident.

That’s how it had been for millennia.Absent a great force of change, that’s how it would continue to befor future millennia.

To summarize this history: Mostshinigami were woefully unprepared to deal with the living. Theireducation on the living could only come from the School of HardKnocks.

To summarize that which is to come:Shenanigans ensue.

#wip challenge #fanfic #bleach #my writing

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cooperhewitt · 6 years

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Practicing at the Boundaries: Where Design, Science, and Cultures Meet

Written by Rebeca Méndez

Since I can remember, I have always spent hours observing nature, asking “Why do living things and physical phenomena take the form they do? What are the essential mechanisms of nature?” I was born and raised in Mexico City by parents educated as chemical engineers. They taught me to see the world from a physicochemical point of view and on occasion even brought out multiple chemistry tomes when they needed to further explain a complicated concept. They instilled in me respect and love for the natural world, but most importantly for the nature of matter: its composition, organization, and behavior, its cycles and systems. In other words, they taught me to relate to the world through its design.

Poster, Identidad/Exceso, 1992; Designed by Rebeca Méndez (Mexican and American, b. 1962); Screen print on white wove paper; 60.9 x 90 cm (24 x 35 7/16 in.); Gift of Rebeca Mendez, 1996-59-4

This lesson was instilled in me early on through my family’s summer vacations spent deep in the jungles of southern Mexico in pursuit of obscure Mayan archeological sites. During extensive expeditions, we would spend two or three months every year camping in the jungle experiencing its overwhelming presence and sounds. I could separate the loud oscillating din of cicadas from the soft roar of the howler monkeys, and feel the dense humidity that overwhelmed every facet of the environment. During these trips, I sensed the vitality, the vibrancy, the presence of everything around me. These experiences profoundly shaped my captivation with design—particularly when we camped among Mayan temples, such as Uxmal, surrounded by powerful iconography and glyphs. I would make rubbings on paper, fascinated by this ancient form of symbolic storytelling. Mayan glyphs became the doorway for my interest into graphic design.

Fundamentally, design is storytelling, but it is also a way of organizing—to classify and give structure to an otherwise vast abstract pool of elements. We know it is through our organization that we will make sense of this world, understanding who we are and our place within it. Historically design has always been a principal concept within the Mexican consciousness, beginning with the Olmec civilization (ca. 1200–400 BCE). Understood to be the first society to emerge within Mesoamerica, the Olmec are credited with the invention of the calendar and the concept of zero. The early emergence of these sophisticated and complex sociocultural systems in Mesoamerica signaled not only the manifestation of highly evolved design, but also refined design thinking. I have always believed that my design work is the expression of the various cultures and peoples that form me as a person. My life is a historical yet continuous narrative that involves a multicultural and multiethnic amalgam, reflected through my capacity to allow chaos and multiplicity to coexist with order and minimalism. Before the word “design” even existed the Olmec understood that at its core design was system making, and I find it fascinating to consider how the genesis of our design evolution began millennia ago with America’s first civilization and the concept of zero.

Poster, Circumpolar 2, 2010; Designed by Rebeca Méndez (Mexican and American, b. 1962); Archival inkjet print on paper; 111.6 x 79.5 cm (43 15/16 x 31 5/16 in.); Gift of Rebeca Méndez, 2018-12-2

It may seem that I was destined to be a designer. The idea of working with people to help make sense of a world filled with disorder, to create stories, and to communicate through graphic imagery should have been a clear path for me. Yet, I came to design circuitously, because initially I wanted to become an astronaut and my primary choice of study was physics and mathematics. As it happened, friends talked me out of these areas of study. It was actually my cousin who at the time was studying design in Mexico, who introduced me to industrial and graphic design. The fields were so new that no one could talk me out of the idea. The opportunity to explore the unknown was why I ended up in design, and it remains a driving force in my practice. At the time, I did not know much about the discipline, just that it seemed like a creative, contemporary field with a balance of both the irrational and rational mind—two thought processes that I have always straddled.

Poster, The Will of the Potato, 1995; Designed by Rebeca Méndez (Mexican and American, b. 1962); Letterpress and screen print on paper; 73.8 x 52.7 cm (29 1/16 x 20 3/4 in.); Gift of Rebeca Mendez, 1996-59-7

I began my studies at Art Center College of Design at a fortuitous time. In the early eighties, I was among the first generations trained to use computers for design—we were the bridge between analog and digital. Since my early years as a student and throughout my thirty-plus-year career, I have seen firsthand the incredible transitional growth from analog to digital. I began with my airbrush, Letraset and Super 8 film, and now work with augmented and virtual reality. The exponential growth of our computational power continues to change the design field and how we tell and experience stories every day. Indeed, since the beginning of time it has been society’s ability to design and produce new systems of experiencing and connecting with each other, and with the world at large, that has shaped our evolution as a species. So as a designer, artist, and educator I consistently strive to energize humanity rather than keep us isolated, depressed, or weak. I aspire to engender moments that access our imagination, our capacity to visualize, invent, and create a sustainable future for our environment and ourselves. Because if our imaginations have been entrenched in fear, we cannot invent the future, and a civilization without imagination is paralyzed.

Rebeca Méndez is a designer, artist, educator, and winner of the 2012 National Design Award for Communication Design. At UCLA, she is a professor in the Department of Design Media Arts and is director of the CounterForce Lab, a multidisciplinary research and fieldwork studio dedicated to creative projects focused on the social and ecological impact of climate change.

Rebeca Méndez Selects (October 5, 2018–July 10, 2019) is the seventeenth installment in the exhibition series that invites designers, artists, architects, and public figures to examine and interpret the museum’s collection. This article was originally published in Design Journal Spring 2018.

from Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum https://ift.tt/2QIvERM via IFTTT

#cooper hewitt #design conversations

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wingardium-leviohsnap · 2 years

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Humans have spent millennia trying to figure out how to human, and I don't think we'll ever be perfect at it -- Life as a force of nature is far too complex; too varied and fluid for us to ever master. Then there's the individual life to consider -- each starting that neverending learning process from square one; aided by the progress of our species overall, nonetheless we each much make the journey ourself.

When you live in a society, brushing the lives of countless people, it's inevitable that you will, at times, cause pain, but that doesn't make you, as a person, toxic. It makes you human.

We all cause scars and bear scars; we learn from them -- how to better comport ourselves, how to coexist, how different one life can be from another and how to better handle it. We make mistakes. We pick ourselves back up. We keep living.

What makes a good person isn't how much pain you have or haven't caused, it's whether or not you care; whether you want to be good. As long as you continue to do what you can to be good with what you've learned so far, you're a good person. It wouldn't be fair to ask perfection. The best we can do is try, and forgive each other our faults.

After all, to err is human.

#philosophy #society #to be human #be a good person #to err is human #forgiveness #imperfect

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kpopfanfictrash · 6 years

Text

Eros (I)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Seokjin

Rating: PG

Genre: Fantasy, Mythology!AU / Royalty!AU

Word Count: 9,958

Summary: In the futuristic world of Europa, Queen Venetia rules her land an iron fist. None are more feared than the Akeran, an alien race Earth fought eons ago, who bear a remarkable similarity to the angels of lore. When you find yourself at odds with the Queen, it seems that there’s no safe place on Earth for you to run. Nowhere but your mysterious rescuer, and even he may be more trouble than he’s worth.

[ A re-telling of the Greek myth of Psyche and Eros ]

[Prologue]

“Y/N, wake up.”

You hear, rather than see your blinds being pulled away from the windows. Feeling the sun too bright upon your eyelids, you let out a groan and bury your head in the pillows.

A tried, male voice lets out a sigh. Silence follows, save for the quiet – yet menacing – sound of his foot, tapping against the wood. You ignore him, almost drift back to sleep when your room abruptly fills with noise. From deep beneath your pillow mountain come the sounds of the world’s headlines.

“TWO HOUR DELAY ON THE TRANSATLANTIC DUE TO OVERBOOKED BULLETS…”

“RUMORS OF THE CONGICAN GOVERNMENT SUPPLYING EUROPAN REBELS WITH WEAPONS…”

“EUROPA DOLLAR DROPS COMPARED TO CHINESE YEN…”

Taehyung, your assistant, exhales while clicking the channels. “Boring, boring, boring.”

Though you’re not looking, you can see him in your mind – both arms likely crossed, eyes wide behind tortoiseshell frames while impatiently flicking his iComm at the screen. Taehyung – stubborn, brusque, not afraid to tell you how he feels. One of the main reasons you chose him as your assistant.

A reason which seems stupid, when Taehyung abruptly yanks the comforter off your bed.

“Hey,” you gasp, feet exposed to bitter cold – you draw these quickly upwards, like your bony body frame could ever suffice for a blanket. “A little warning,” you groan, burying your head further.

“The first warning was your blinds,” Taehyung cheerfully explains. “The second warning was the screen. This is actually the third warning and if you don’t get up now – a bucket of ice water is next.”

He sounds just threatening enough to make real of the promise, so you crack open one eye. “I’m up,” you grumble, rolling sideways. “I’m up. No need to waste good water on me.”

Plastering a huge grin on your face, you slide out of bed and head into your bathroom. Turning on the water, you begin to brush your teeth with large, exaggerated movements – as though to prove how awake you are. You’re rewarded by the sound of Taehyung’s laughter, loud from the next room. As he walks away, you see him already re-absorbed in his iComm – probably lining up the rest of your day’s schedule.

Taehyung always has a million things to think about, a million things to do because you’re currently the most popular movie star on the planet. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you switch the angle of your toothbrush and touch your iComm to the surface. News leaps from the device to your reflection, as you flick past the stories. Dropping Europan dollars, the movements of Congican rebels – seeing this, you pause, reading the word Akeron.

The Akeron. An alien race, one that’s been of great fascination to you. For many years, there have been peace between your people – but it wasn’t long ago, a furious war raged between the two worlds.

Today’s story is an interview, given by an Akeron historian insisting the alien race is set to invade Earth through your iComms. iComms – short for individual Communication device, one of which, you hold in your hand now. Setting your toothbrush back in the holder, you begin to brush your hair while the clip continues to play.

REPORTER: “Dr. Simms, why do you think the Akeron are still a threat to Earth?”

DR. SIMMS: “I think the better question is, why do some people think they’re not? This may seem shocking, but there are people out there who want to befriend the Akeron. It’s the nature of time, isn’t it? As the years pass, we become accustomed to peace. We start to think, ‘Oh, maybe we were wrong. Maybe the entire war was fought over a misunderstanding. Maybe the two of our species can coexist,’ but these people are wrong. If you didn’t see the war firsthand – if you didn’t see the destruction it brought, it’s easy to forget.”

The historian speaking a twitchy man – each sentence is punctuated by him slapping the armrest of his chair, shifting uncomfortably when he does. In between words, he twirls his pen with long, bony fingers. While the reporter continues to respond, you read the brief history of Earth and Akera scrolling across the page.

SCRIPT: EARTH BEGAN EXPLORING SPACE IN THE EARLY 2050’S, AN ATTEMPT TO FIND A PLANET WHICH COULD HOLD THE SOLUTION TO EARTH’S GROWING CLIMATE PROBLEM. IN 2106, HUMANS LANDED ON AR-VII, AN INHABITABLE MOON IN THE NIVIRE GALAXY. A COLONY WAS ESTABLISHED IN 2110 AND IN 2112, EXPLORERS DISCOVERED WHAT APPEARED TO BE AN UNINHABITED TRADING POST ON THE FAR SIDE OF AR-IIV. THE AKERON PEOPLE (PLANET XII754) REVEALED THEMSELVES TO EARTH IN 2115 AND FOR THE NEXT THIRTY YEARS, EARTH AND AKERA CO-EXISTED PEACEFULLY. BETWEEN 2115 AND 2140, HUMANS REPEATEDLY ATTEMPTED TO EXTEND THE COLONY BEYOND THE EXISTING BOUNDARIES. EACH ATTEMPT TO DO SO RESULTED IN A LOSS OF MOMENTUM, AND THE HUMANS PULLED BACK AFTER A FEW MONTHS ON THEIR OWN ACCORD. EARTH-BOUND HUMANS BECAME SUSPICIOUS OF THE PATTERN AND INVESTIGATED THE INCIDENT IN THE YEAR 2145. THEIR LEARNINGS SHOWED THE AKERAN POSSESSED A DANGEROUS POWER – PERSUASION; WHEREIN THEY CAN MANIPULATE HUMAN EMOTION FOR THEIR OWN, PERSONAL GAIN. WAR ERUPTED OVER THE DISCOVERY 2150, ONCE TENSIONS ESCALATED BEYOND CONTROL. THUS, BEGAN THE FIRST WORLDS WAR. HEAVY CASUALTIES RESULTED ON BOTH SIDES, WITH OTHER GALAXIES EVENTUALLY INTERVENING TO SAVE BOTH CIVILIZATIONS FROM EXTINCTION. LINES OF PEACE WERE DRAWN, AND UNEASY PEACE WAS BROKERED BETWEEN AKERA AND EARTH. EARTH DECLARED ITSELF A NON-HABITABLE ZONE FOR THE AKERAN PEOPLE. MOST LEFT EARTH IMMEDIATELY – THE FEW WHO REMAINED WERE IMPRISONED, AFTER A FAILED COUP-D’ETAT BY THEIR POPULATION. AS OF TODAY, THERE ARE NO AKERAN LEFT ON THE EARTH’S SURFACE.

You stop pretending to brush your hair, reading the words flashing across the bottom of the screen. Your interest in the Akeron is a closely guarded secret. One you’ve never dared tell for fear you’ll be considered crazy – or worse, branded a traitor.

With snowy wings, midnight hair and violet eyes, the Akeron look just like angels. Likely, they were the angels of old religion – there are several historians who’ve validated the Akeron presence on Earth for several millennia back. It was the Akeron, who first gave fire. The Akeron, who built the pyramids and invented the wheel. Each inexplicable, unexplainable event of human history: it can be explained by the Akeron.

Physically, the Akeron are beautiful. You’ve never seen one in person to verify this fact – only in propaganda, or through the screen of your iComm. Though the messages beneath their photos are usually terrifying, you can’t help but linger on their beauty. Hair silken as night, skin smooth as ivory but most incredible of all are their wings. Wings, stemming from their backs to brush the sky.

It’s small wonder, humans used to think them angels. The Akeron are oddly humanoid, if you look beyond their wings and their eyes. If it weren’t for those two features, they could easily pass for Earthlings. It’s the eyes, though. Eyes the color of violets and sunrise; on your iComm, the photos of Akeron always seem to be staring at you. Scientists explain that they don’t blink due to a heavy, purple-hued shield covering their retinas, the purpose of which blocks out foreign particles during flight.

Still, it looks freaky in photos. You blink looking at the photo – it breaks your staring contest in the mirror and you look awkwardly away.

“So, it’s a pr-etty busy day,” Taehyung admits, sauntering back into the room. Whenever Taehyung admits to something being busy, it means it’s probably unbearable. “At 9:00 am, there’s a promotional talk about the Fresh Water campaign,” he continues, munching on an apple he’s pulled from god knows where.

Your gaze moves to his in the mirror. “The what?”

“There’s a lack of Fresh Water,” Taehyung explains, waving a hand. “Company X is going to solve all that. You support Company X – Company X gives Y/N and Taehyung money in return.”

“Got it,” you mutter, turning away. Promotional appearances are just part of the job.

“From 10:00-10:45, there are touch-ups for that United Nations spot. You know, the one with the flag...?” Taehyung trails off, looking as though he’s trying not to laugh.

“And the crown?” you groan, nodding glumly. “Yep. Great.”

Just add this to the list of awful photoshoots, honestly. The UN shoot was for national pride or something, you faintly recall the messaging while getting your hair pinned into place. It was implied the Queen herself asked that you do it – though you highly doubt this to be true. The Queen has far better things to do than concern herself with you, a movie star.

Taehyung continues talking, reciting a fifteen-minute break for lunch, a couple of limo rides and one meet and greet with fans. You tune all of this out, allowing your mind to wander away.

“Are you listening to me?” Taehyung suddenly interrupts, one hand on his hip. “What if I walked out now, let you get dressed by yourself? You’d probably wear something awful, like chartreuse. Oh,” he blurts suddenly, a thought occurring to him. “Chartreuse.”

“Veto,” you respond, wrinkling your nose. “And I am listening,” you sigh, even though you weren’t.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, not believing for a second. “Well, you’re going to want to listen to this, since tonight is HUGE.”

Everything is huge to Taehyung. The sentiment is a foreign one since all concept of magnitude and scale for you have long since worn off.

“At 17:00,” Taehyung begins, voice dropping, “you’re doing a news panel… with Queen Venetia!”

Your gaze snaps up, make-up brush slipping to clatter uselessly against the counter. “Is this…” you pause, dazedly shaking your head. “Is this what shock feels like?”

Taehyung laughs. “Get used to it, emotionless girl. You’ll be in her presence in a mere ten hours.”

More than a little shaken, you look at yourself in the mirror. The Queen – tonight you’ll be meeting the Queen and suddenly, everything about you seems wrong. Your hair is flat. Your bangs are long and childish. Your usually dewy skin is dull, grey with the lackluster aura of no sleep and coffee. You tug on your bangs expectantly, as though the motion might cause them to shrink.

“Stop psyching yourself out,” Taehyung calls out as he leaves.

Sticking your tongue out in the mirror, you grab your makeup brush to pick up where you left off. You’ve never met the Queen before, Venetia is older, nearly fifty in Earthen years. She was just twenty-five when she found the throne, when the people crowned her Queen of Europa. This was at the end of the first Worlds War.

Queen Venetia is beautiful, as most things in Europa are. With auburn hair and deep brown eyes, her face is all sharp angles. Rumor has it Venetia is single-minded to the point of ruthlessness, but you prefer to think of her as ambitious. Powerful women are always feared for this fact. For all her potential faults, Venetia united your country. Long ago, Europa was a pitiful coalition of nations trapped by small-mindedness and petty desires. China laughed at you in the distance, growing its economy while you struggled with basic policy.

Being divided was a weakness, one which allowed the Akeron to easy manipulate. During the first Worlds War, Venetia was the leader of an anti-Akeron political faction. Her group gained traction by supplying Earthen troops with both military and money and most historians cite Venetia as the tipping point in the war, due to their funding leading to the creation of the Block. The Block is a (not very creatively-named, admittedly) device able to block the Akeron from manipulating waves of human thought.

The Block forced the Akeron to fight you physically, without their powers – and once this happened, they started to lose. Despite their superior strength and wings, the Akeron are a largely peaceful nation. They aren’t used to altercation and were woefully unprepared for the type of guerrilla warfare Earth instilled. This was one of the main reasons Akera decided to make peace with Earth.

This peace wounded their pride, though, which is why many here on Earth still view the Akeron as a threat. Queen Venetia does – she’s constantly speaking on the dangers of complacency. Peace isn’t bulletproof, she likes to say. In fact, the real dangers posed by the Akeron at the end of the war were so great, it led to Venetia being elected Premier General of Europa.

When Europa consolidated, it became clear that a monarchy was the best system of governance and Venetia became Queen, putting into place a large board of advisers. One adviser exists from each state in the nation, though they hold no real power beyond a certain, antiquated influence. It’s hard for any, one, voice to be heard today. It’s a problem which stems from Europa being divided into so many political factions, making it hard for any one faction to gain enough influence to be heard.

Of course, no one dares say these things out loud. Fiddling with a bobby pin, you stare nervously at yourself in the mirror. Venetia has done a lot for your people, as well as for Europa. She’s a competent Queen, one who’s enabled Europa to hold your own against the remaining global powers.

This is what you tell yourself when you resume brushing your hair, pushing all uncertainty to the back of your mind.

“If you’re not ready to go in five minutes,” Taehyung calls out, bored. “I’m going to take a picture of your messy bedroom and post it online.”

Hurriedly twisting your hair up in a knot, you leave your bangs low for the time being. Both hair and make-up will be touched up at the promo shoot, anyways. While slipping on a pair of printed pants, you hop zipping up a tan, leather top and black ankle boots. With two seconds to spare you walk out of your bathroom, just as Taehyung is entering with his camera app in one hand.

“Oh, good,” he grins, turning this off. “I was afraid you’d make me break my confidentiality agreement.” Taehyung pauses to evaluate you briefly, clinically. “Are you even wearing make-up?”

Shrugging, you shake your head no and wonder if Taehyung will tell you to go back inside. It’s always a toss-up, which he values more – your face in the public eye or your schedule.

“God,” Taehyung groans, turning. “It’s unfair that your face looks like that. Go downstairs and get into the car – the sight of you is making me sick.”

Giggling, you duck past him to head out in the hall. While walking towards the front doors, you glance sideways in the mirrors and try to see what Taehyung does. You tend not to examine your physical appearance too often, since it’s all anyone else seems to notice.

Objectively, you know you’re pretty. Your proportions are even, bone structure delicate and your eyes are a sparkling shade – dark at the edges, before giving way to a lighter center. Your eyebrows were once labeled out of control, but constant styling and tweezing has made them a, ‘defining feature.’

It’s nearly impossible to see yourself as others see. In your mind, you feel your beauty is too much. It’s like looking at the sun when all you really wanted was a candle. In theory, boys and men all want you but, they tend to go for something less threatening. Even other male actors and models won’t touch you. Every night, a different girl or boy is brought back to their bed, but never you. You’re on another level to them, a woman on a pedestal.

Turning away from your reflection, you decide to stop looking. It’s best not to look, before your reflection shows the bitterness of your thoughts.

The iCar is waiting when you step out the front door of the hotel and, fighting the usual barrage of hover-cams and photogs, you and Taehyung slip into the backseat.

“Fuck,” Taehyung mutters, glancing outside. “Those hover-cams need more restrictions, I tell you. It’s perfectly indecent, the way they pop up out of nowhere. You could’ve been naked or doing something compromising.”

“The most compromising thing I’ve ever done, was when I compromised to give up desserts but not salty foods,” you return, arching a brow.

Taehyung sighs, mock-serious. “Now, imagine a camera had been there for that.”

Despite yourself, you smile. Taehyung can be annoying sometimes, but when it comes down to it, he’s the closest thing you have to a friend.

“Front station,” Taehyung intones at the car.

An automated voice indicates affirmation and you pull away smoothly from the curb. Watching the city flicker by, you stare out the shape of your window. The two of you landed late last night, meaning it was too dark to see anything on the drive in. The city today is shrouded in fog, like most places are. Every so often, a sleek black building emerges, only to melt away quick in the sheer wisps of grey.

You think about this often, the fact that most of your life is spent in pieces. A bit of street here, the edge of a lamppost there. Most people only see what’s in front of then – wherever your eyes happen to be looking, at that moment. You’re trained to see only part of a picture, to assume the whole based off those parts. It means limited perception isn’t the fault of mankind, but perhaps your insistence on full perception is.

While the scenery slips by, grey and black are blurred by a stream of cars passing on either side. All too soon, you feel the vehicle slow – pulling off the main highway to approach a large, steel gate. Entering the building, Taehyung rolls down his window to punch in a code on a pad which wasn’t there a second ago. The doors shudder open and you continue, deep into the clear stretch of tunnel. The doors slide shut behind you and you blink, at the sudden flood of light. High-def strips blare to life on either side and when you finally reach the end of the tunnel, your car neatly parks along the side of the landing pad.

“Thanks, machine,” Taehyung says cheerfully, patting the front console before exiting, gesturing that you do the same.

You exit as well, sans the patting.

Entering the building to walk down through the hall, you pass frosted doors which are impossible to see beyond. A seemingly non-descript one is your destination, coming to a stop midway down while Taehyung knocks. A flurry of excitement results at your entrance, your arm immediately grabbed and yanked sideways to sit down at a dressing table. Coughing weakly, your eyes water at the wave of perfumes and hairspray, watching while your hair is brushed and combed, neatly styled in place. Your eyes are lined in kohl, lips plumped and glossed to perfection. By the time the artists are done, you barely recognize your own reflection, which honestly suits you just fine.

Your clothes are declared edgy and boho-chic – whatever that means. At least it means you get to wear your own items. While they’re pulling and prodding your body, you read through the speech you’re supposed to give at the event. It’s lengthy, boring and makes you sound like a complete idiot. You think this is probably a bad thing, the fact that you don’t care.

The moment you think this, you wince. You don’t mean to sound ungrateful. You know in theory, you have a good life. You’re wealthy, famous, considered incredibly beautiful by many. You’re beloved by the public, without any physical hardships to speak of. It’s hard not to notice the gaps though, the holes in your life which exist around facts. You’ve never had a friend, nor even a boyfriend. Your parents died tragically when you were young, though the tragedy has somewhat escaped you, because it was so long ago, you can barely remember them anyway. There’s a hole in your life, where attachment should be and sometimes you wonder what the point is, without the quintessential kinds of relationships the world seems to love. Ironic, that the world’s interest in you has led to your disinterest in the world.

Once your skin is considered flawless and your eyes inhumanely perfect, you’re led aside to a small, white waiting room. The furniture, the walls are all blank and you quietly pass the time alone with yourself. Perched on the edge of the couch, you recite your speech in a voice no louder than a whisper.

Water, the most important substance on Earth…

The rest of the day passes in the usual blur of lights, applause and handshakes. The meet and greet is your favorite part of the day, like usual. You love meeting the children and making them smile. Less fun are the older men you’re forced to hug, pretending not to notice when they try and cop a feel. Worse still, are the men your own age. The ones you don’t know how to converse with, nor they to converse with you. Give you a script and you’ll dissolve into character within seconds, filled to the brim with quippy retorts, snappy comebacks and romantic banter. But place you, the real you, in the middle of a room full of men, and you get something like this:

“Hi.”

Unidentified male looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. “Uh, hi.”

Long pause.

“So,” you cough, shifting your weight. “Did you travel far today?”

Refusing to make eye contact with you, a bead of sweat rolls down Average Guy’s perfectly cute forehead. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Travel can be fun.” Travel can be fun? Why would you say that? “I do it a lot,” you inform, wondering why speaking is so hard.

“Yeah, for sure.”

This is usually the point where either A) the guy looks around in panic, or B) where he steels himself suddenly to look you in the eyes. Either way, the result which follows is rarely positive.

“…”

Silence, just silence. This is usually the end of things because the guy will inadvertently look stricken – unable to believe you look like this in person, as though he thought every photo, each video and broadcast was a trick. Some sleight of hand which made you invincible. After they look at you, there’s typically only one of two options. Most lapse into stunned silence, going through the motions of a handshake or hug with you – maybe a photo before they’re pulled slowly away by your guards. The rest adopt a sleazy bravado, as though trying to prove you don’t affect them. Today was no less than six of these jerks and when the event is finally over, Taehyung shakes his head from side to side.

“I don’t know how you put up with those people,” he mutters softly.

“They’re not all bad,” you sigh, thinking about your last guest. A little girl, no older than three who hugged you and said, “beau-thi-ful,” through the brunt of her lisp.

“You must be a saint,” Taehyung laughs, scrolling through his iComm. “Actually – from the way the people worship the ground you walk on, you might as well be.”

When he says this, you look down uncomfortably. By now, it’s hard not to believe in a higher power. Your life has held too much cruel irony, for someone not to be pulling the strings. Only some omnipotent, slightly sadistic other being could take someone as shy and introverted as you and give you the face that you have.

Upon entering your second iCar of the day, the two of you are swept away to an unknown location. Taehyung is too absorbed in his iComm to explain, flicking past messages with the touch of expert fingers.

“Oh, look – the prints from the touch-up are done,” he announces, turning his device around to look. Taehyung manages to keep a straight face as he does, which means that the moment you see them, you nearly spit out your drink from laughing.

“Oh, dear god,” you laugh, grabbing the iComm. “These are absolutely terrible.”

Taehyung starts to laugh, openly cackling while you flip through his iComm. A few weeks back, you did this photoshoot for the UN for World Unity month. The theme of the shoot was national pride, with a spokesperson from every nation chosen to take part in an interview and photo shoot. You were chosen for Europa, which came as a huge surprise. Typically, Venetia is the one who’s asked to do such things.

‘The Darling of Nations,’ reads the caption and while scanning the article, you’re surprised to find you sound rather intelligent. Your interviewer was impressed with your knowledge of current events, and the chat gradually drifted from a teen, fluff piece into something more.

The photoshoot, though. The photoshoot is comical, at best. Europa is a nation of monarchies and as such, they thought it’d be brilliant to dress you up in a crown – one so loaded with diamonds, your head still aches from the thought. Just a crown, though – nothing else, beyond the national flag. Said flag is draped provocatively across your frame, shadowing all the right place to provoke desire and not much else. It’s an interesting contrast to the content of your article, that’s for sure. The piece below it isn’t nearly so scandalous.

“I mean, I get that they’re trying to promote international unity,” responds Taehyung, tapping the frame. “But maybe they’re trying to promote other unity, as well…?” He raises both eyebrows suggestively, while you promptly sock his arm.

“I have no control over what they do or don’t make me wear, dickwad,” you grin, flipping your hair before looking outside the window. Taehyung continues to laugh on the seat beside you, while you mostly ignore him. Despite this, you’re in a remarkably good mood arriving at the Sveen Hotel.

No less than ten guards scurry outside to greet you, surrounding your car to open the frame of your door. “Looks like a storm brewing, Ma’am,” one nods, holding out an umbrella. “Best be getting inside.”

When he says this, you look up to see that yes, it is dark but then, this also isn’t unusual. When the skies aren’t covered with man-made smog, they’re enclosed by disasters of the Earth’s creation. Weather hasn’t been stable in nearly fifty years; that teetering balance of climate change tipped long ago.

The umbrella is opened over your head, lest your perfect curls and makeup be ruined, and you allow yourself to be herded, hustled inside while the skies open above you. Rain slams to the pavement, bouncing at your ankles when you enter the building. In the ensuing silence of the doors, you pause, shaking water free from your shoes. Tall, black beams rise from the floor, interwoven before you to meet in a peak overhead. The floor beneath you is obsidian, polished and gleaming in electronic candlelight. The sight of it is beautiful, a little over the top, if you’re being entirely honest.

Kind of like the woman walking towards you.

Queen Venetia is tall, stately with deep, red hair and pale skin. The set of her face is elegant, nose sharp amidst high brows and cheekbones. Her face is expressive, those arching eyebrows able to be a person all by themselves. Right now, though, they rest in a thin line. She mutely takes in the rest of her surroundings – including you, acknowledged with a quick sweep of her gaze.

Standing in the entryway, damp pants clinging to your legs and complexion windswept – you find yourself flooded with feelings of inadequacy. When Venetia comes to a stop before you, the emotions only intensify. It’s amazing, how she manages to look down her nose at you, despite being the same height – if not slightly shorter. Venetia seems to be one of those people always at the center of the room. Even standing in a corner or off to the side, every eye turns her way out of respect. She’s a black hole, in that way; sucking in gazes, thoughts, the attention of others. Even light can’t escape – there’s no shine to her hair, nor her eyes; rather, they seem to be the most severe form of matte. She exists to draw in color, but not release it.

It’s odd but standing here you feel a similar pull towards the Queen. Your entire body is riddled with awe and unsure what else to do, you make an awkward attempt at a curtsy. Glancing upwards, your breath quickly catches at the murderous expression on Venetia’s face. This smooths away quickly though, rearranging to one of pleasantry. The rapidness of this makes you question your sanity.

“My darling, Y/N. How wonderful to meet you,” the Queen trills. You must have imagined the earlier expression, since now Venetia is showing such concern and happiness, it’s impossible to imagine her otherwise. Enveloping you in a hug, Venetia turns her lips to your ear.

“Dry your clothes, dear. The cameras don’t like a sullied princess,” she whispers through closed lips. While the Queen pulls away, her smile never wavers. She gestures elegantly at the crowd, linking her arm through yours. “We must away to make-up! Thank you all, for kindly coming tonight.”

As you turn, dazedly led aside by Venetia’s pincer-like grip on your arm, it’s hard to control your rising panic. Still, you keep up the façade until entering a twin panel of doors separating you from the cameras. Venetia’s expression immediately drops, along with your arm.

“Those cameras drive me insane,” she mutters, her clipped tone matching her brisk pace. “What a horrible photo opportunity – the two most beautiful women in the world,” she mimics, lips curling while she walks. “You. You, there,” she intones, snapping her fingers at a black-clad assistant hurrying alongside. “Whose idea was it, having me hug her?” The Queen refers to you as though you’re no longer in the room. “As if it were not enough for me to speak to her, a hug?”

The assistant looks back and forth between you, wide-eyed. “I... I don’t...”

“Oh, forget it,” Venetia snaps, heels clicking against marble while removing a customized iComm from her pocket.

You continue to walk beside her, wondering what, exactly, Taehyung signed you up for. Only a moment ago, the Queen seemed so warm and welcoming but all that is gone, without the face of the cameras. You feel suddenly like a teenager – awkward, gawky, uncomfortable in your skin. Young, juvenile, unworthy. Words swim through your thoughts, dance in the seams to swirl before your eyes.

“Y/N? Y/N?”

Blinking, you realize you almost walked into a door. Your thoughts were so single-minded, so oddly wrapped around your feelings that you exhale, turning around for Taehyung to swim into focus. “Oh. Hi.”

“You okay?” Taehyung looks at you with a semi-concerned expression and you realize behind him, Venetia has stopped to watch.

“Yeah, fine,” you mutter, shaking your head – as though clearing any residual inadequacies.

When she sees this, she smiles, the Queen turning quickly away. Once she’s disappeared, whirled around the corner in a haze of silk and perfume, Taehyung turns his head to look at you.

“Well," he exhales, arching a perfectly-made brow. “What a truly,” you pause, when you shoot him a look, “special woman,” Taehyung finishes, smiling weakly.

“That’s our queen,” you respond, quietly pulling yourself together. Without saying another word on the matter, you enter the dressing room. Whatever the Queen’s feelings are towards you, whatever that interaction just was – you’re here because you have a job to do. Nothing more.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t vote for her,” Taehyung grumbles, following behind.

His words are utter nonsense, or course. A slur used throughout Europa to describe dissatisfaction with the Queen. The idea of democracy is now laughable, thought you cannot deny it holds a certain appeal. Having the power to be heard, to make a difference – well, it sounds like paradise. The only way to make change today is to be rich. Or powerful. Which really, means being rich.

Whenever reporters ask Queen Venetia, “Your majesty, how has Europa’s monarchy changed today’s surface of politics?” she always chooses to answer, with a withering look and a shrug.

Her answer is stark. “Simple, it has not changed the landscape of politics at all. True Democracy is a myth, a utopian state which cannot be reached. Truthfully, whether money is controlled behind the scenes or from center stage, it matters very little. Politics and power are always the same.”

The unflappable determination of the Queen has always been an inspiration to you. You’ve wanted to meet Venetia for so long, that to be so instantly despised by her is crushing. It’s your worst fears, confirmed – the fact that you’re not good enough, you never will be. It’s foolish of you to liken yourself to the Queen when you’re very clearly unequal.

She knew what to say, how to walk while single-handedly charming the entirety of the room. It was unnerving, impossible to stand beside. Thinking this now, you very nearly walk into your chair, so consumed by the thought.

“Y/N!” Taehyung exclaims, saving you in the nick of time. “Your head is in the clouds today, I swear. Pull it together before the panel,” he chides, clucking his tongue to walk in the direction of wardrobe.

The panel. A moment of panic follows, as you begin to wish you’d listened to Taehyung explaining this morning. The danger of floating through life is that you tend to miss things and from of the corner of your eyes, you see Taehyung rifling through a stack of outfits laid out for you. He shakes his head at each option – no, no, no.

“This way, Y/N.”

An immaculate woman gestures you follow, so you do. Winding your way through heaps of clothing to the make-up station, you sink into your fourth chair of the day. For someone constantly referred to as the most beautiful face in the world – this sure seems to involve a lot of make-up.

“Just a quick touch-up,” the woman nods – before proceeding to spend over an hour contouring, blending and prodding with numerous instruments of torture.

“You having fun?” Taehyung teases, appearing behind you one hour later. He smirks, bending low to lean his hands on the chair.

“Oh, loads,” you respond dryly.

Taehyung lets out a snort. “Well, whenever you’re ready – I’ve picked out your outfit. It’s fabulous, you’re going to love it.”

“Just a few more minutes,” your make-up artists allow, waving him away and the poking and prodding continues.

It feels like hours, that you stand from your chair and wandering into the dressing area, you find Taehyung has laid out your outfit. A royal blue dress with a plunging back, sensually curving to a point over your rear. Tiny pearls line the seams, stitched upwards to create a truly stunning visual. The dress itself is short, but long sleeved. Classy, yet sexy and Taehyung has truly outdone himself choosing. When you turn to look at him, you find him lounging over yet another chair, grinning.

“Told you,” he declares, waving his hand. “I’m even a little jealous you get to wear that.”

Grinning widely, you grab the dress to disappear behind the curtain. The dress doesn’t have a zipper, just slides up over your body and when you appear from behind the wall, Taehyung lets out a whistle.

“You’re going to blow them away,” he declares, walking forward. “Y/N, if you’re half as smart as you are pretty, the rest of the world doesn’t stand a chance.” Reaching out, he stubbornly fixes a loose strand of hair in your up-do. While he does this, the door slides open to reveal yet another woman in the threshold.

“Hello,” she smiles, walking inside. “I’m Nicola, I work at GNN. I’m here to guide you through a couple points before the panel tonight.” Nicola is beautiful, with flawless dark skin, brown eyes and hair pulled back in a bun. The only makeup she wears is gold eyeliner, which causes her eyes to sparkle. Her face is wide, open and you feel you can trust her instinctively.

She must be dangerous. “Sure,” you smile, pulling out your chair. “What would you like to talk to me about?”

Nicola nods, sitting delicately beside you. “Well, how is your day going?” she asks to break the ice.

You arch a brow, since you’re not used to small talk. “Fine, and yours?”

“Very well, thanks.” Nicola pulls out her iComm to flip through the screens. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way,” she responds, stifling a smile when you laugh, “let’s get on with this. The segment you’ll be in is a follow-up to your most recent article. A ‘review and react,’ if you will,” Nicola adds pleasantly, glancing upwards.

When she details this, you freeze. Looking over at Taehyung, you see him frowning in the woman’s direction. “React?” he asks, his voice low. “To what?”

Nicola seems surprised by this. “To what? Haven’t you read the article? It’s causing a sensation, and it’s not even published. I think the key points you’ll need to address will be Intergalactic Policy, Democracy in the Present Day, and –"

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Taehyung drawls, holding up a hand. His expression, pleasant before, is now decidedly not. “Hold on. None of this was in the brief I was provided.”

“Yes, well,” Nicola crosses her ankles, the gesture smooth, “the network decided to change tonight’s content rather recently. There wasn’t enough time to notify all parties.”

“Right,” Taehyung’s gaze flickers. “I’m sure there wasn’t.”

Nicola doesn’t respond to this, merely looking away. “Anyways. Your thoughts on the matter, Y/N?”

You’re speechless, staring in horror while you begin to realize the gravity of the situation. Searching through the haze of your memories, you remember being in a rather bad mood the day of the interview. Another arrogant man who looked down on you, who thought you were just another vapid actress he’d need to handhold. When he asked condescendingly if you knew what “colloquial” meant, you began to get mad, and spouted actual opinions – not the usual, boring nonsense you rabbled. The reporter noticeably perked up, engaging you in lively conversation and you were so happy to be seen, you failed to realize what was happening.

That man was a reporter, and you were his prey. A thin sheen of perspiration breaks out over your skin, while frantically try to remember the things that you said “I…” you trail off, looking at Taehyung. “I’m sure there are less sensitive topics to discuss?”

“Oh, no.” Nicola’s response is eager, rising out of her chair. “The people want to listen to what you have to say, Y/N. Ever since the article leaked, do you know how many hits it’s received?”

Mutely, you shake your head no. Whatever the number, it can’t be good.

“Over three billion,” Nicola states, voice quiet. “The article was leaked at 14:00. It is now 16:00. Do you know how many hits per second that is?”

“I can do basic math,” you reply to her, voice stiff.

“Of course,” Nicola responds quickly, almost gently. “I only meant that it’s astounding. You’ve always held mass appeal, Y/N – may I call you that? – but now, with a newfound personality,” she adds, smile widening. “We have a true star on our hands.”

Taehyung snorts to the side, unamused.

“Not that you weren’t already a star,” Nicola backtracks. “The public has always had a certain fascination with you. But may I be so bold, to say that you rarely speak your own mind? You always sound like a character from one of your movies, never entirely yourself. Never Y/N,” Nicola comments – and it sounds as though she may have more, but Taehyung cuts her off.

“That’s enough,” he demands, standing to cross into the room. He plucks Nicola’s iComm from the chair, shoving it into her arms and motioning she leave. “Out, please. I’m sure Y/N can prepare for the rest on her own.”

“I meant no offense,” Nicola responds, as she walks towards the door. On the edge of the threshold, she pauses to look back. “Y/N, I’m rooting for you tonight. Don’t overthink the answers. Your article was a breath of fresh air, honestly.”

With that, she exits, and the door falls shut behind her.

A long, tense silence falls over the room. “Y/N.” Taehyung’s voice is quiet, deadly. “What did you say, exactly, in that article?”

“I don’t know,” you groan, biting down on your lip. Your head spins with the effort, suddenly nauseous. “It might be bad, Taehyung. I was really frustrated and,” you sigh, “I might have… just slipped.”

“Well, let’s have a look,” Taehyung snips, pulling up his ever-present iComm. With a flick of his wrist, Taehyung passes the article from his device to the wall, pulsing before you in living technicolor.

The photos are there, you draped in the flag and smiling coyly at the camera. The caption beneath it reads: “Y/N: more than just a pretty face.” When you see this, you groan, knowing there are worse things ahead.

There’s a quote of you stating, “I believe the Akeron people are misjudged, today.” Another, where you add, “history is written by the victors.” Taehyung continues to flick past each paragraph, mouth becoming a thinner and thinner line in response. He groans at, “the entire point of utopia is that it’s unattainable – it’s man’s endless drive to reach beyond that has historically, driven progress.”

When he reaches the end of the article, Taehyung clicks off his iComm. “I think… that’s enough,” he responds, looking a little sick. “I – well,” he pauses. “It’s small wonder, Venetia doesn’t seem to like you.”

Your laughter is manic, a high-pitched sound more hysterical than comical. “Yeah, after I publicly shat upon her monarchy and global policy, it’s understandable she’s not overly fond of me.”

“Not only that, Y/N.” Taehyung exhales, looking up from a second article he’s reading. “Just look at what you’ve started.”

Walking over to the window, he yanks back the curtains and looks over expectantly. Gathering your courage, you walk up beside him and let your gaze tentatively drop down below.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

People. Lots of people – hundreds, maybe even thousands. All of them craning their heads to look and when they see you standing there, they start to applaud. There come shouts of your name, shouts of approval and with your eyes wider than normal, you watch the drapes fall from his hand. “Taehyung,” you exhale, looking his way. “What do I do?”

Taehyung continues to stare at the curtains, jaw tight. “Y/N, I have no idea.”

You’re sweating, standing in the wings of the GNN news set. Tonight’s panel is comprised of a semi-circle of couches, set in the middle of a studio – mirror cameras wrapped on all sides to catch every angle. Mirror cameras – just the thought of them makes you roll your eyes. It’s a self-centered, narcissistic invention at best; a camera which is also a mirror, enabling the person being filmed to see every flaw of themselves.

Shifting nervously, you try to calm yourself by memorizing the details. It’s a game you play when you’re bored – which is a lot of the time, on your modeling shoots.

“Good evening, citizens of Europa! Welcome to the nightly news, here at Global News Network.” The announcer sits at his desk, speaking with an eagerness that exhausts you. He’s middle aged, tanned with slicked-back hair and when he flashes a smile and winks, you wince away from the wings.

“Our first guest is new. You may know her from her movies or one of her many digital spreads. Or maybe even the tabloids,” he winks, insinuating edge to his tone. “The always lovely,” he drawls, “slightly controversial,” he gestures, “darling of Europa –Y/N!”

The lights pan lower when you enter, walking out of the wings to wave at the mirrors. Smiling happily, you mouth, “hello!” to the cameras.

When you sit, you purposefully turn your back and draw attention to your dress. The newscaster takes the bait, making small talk about the designer while you nod and smile, emitting one-word answers. The newscaster’s script flashes red on the mirrors, reminding that you need to keep to a schedule and with an apologetic smile, he turns around to the audience.

“Y/N caused quite a stir these past few hours, hasn’t she?” he asks, titters answering from the dark. You sit there motionless, beatific smile frozen while you pretend you can’t hear. “Her article brings into question the very pillars from which our society is built – proving brilliant brains, to rival that incredible exterior. Is a militaristic dictatorship still necessary? Do the Akeron still pose a threat to the Earth?” The announcer arches a brow, as though posturing his doubt. “We’ll find out, in tonight’s panel.”

Leaning back, he turns to face you. “Over the next hour, we’ll explore these issues and more. Now, some of you may not realize how high this woman’s influence reaches,” he chuckles, leaning conspiratorially into the lens. “But tonight, our World Unity spokeswoman’s thoughts captured more than just our attention. Oh, yes – tonight we will hear a rebuttal from none other than Queen Venetia herself!”

Even though you knew this was coming, your stomach drops at the mention of her name. You mutely applaud when she enters, eyes transfixed on the Queen as she crosses the stage. There’s no girly waving when she walks, merely a nod of acknowledgement from one screen to the other. Her smile doesn’t quite meet her gaze, which remains cold when looking at you. She’s dressed in an elegant black pantsuit, looking equal parts understated and in command while walking into the room.

The announcer stands to shake her hand, eyes widening, when she deigns to give him a smile. Venetia sits in the chair opposite yours, demurely crossing her ankles to gaze, stone-faced, at the cameras.

“Two of the most beautiful women in the world tonight,” the announcer chuckles, sitting back down. “I’m truly a lucky man,” he adds, while Venetia laughs easily.

“Ah, Charles – you do flatter us,” she winks, lightly touching his arm.

Charles – that’s his name. You recall this with a snap, dejectedly noticing that Venetia is so much better at this than you. When a beam of light swivels, momentarily blinding Venetia – you shake your head sideways, feeling suddenly lighter. Your thoughts were self-deprecating, more so than normal and turning away, you reaffirm your decision to ignore the Queen. Tonight, is about damage control, deflecting the results of the article.

With a tiny tinkle of laughter, you cross your ankles. “Thank you,” you murmur, lowering your eyelashes – forcing the entire room’s attention to you, while Venetia’s eyes narrow.

“Let’s dive right in, shall we?” Charles asks, blissfully oblivious to the tension before him. “Y/N, in your recent article you state you believe the continuation of a monarchical regime may limit our capitalistic growth. Why did you mean by this?”

Ah, shit. “Wow, Charles,” you smile. “You weren’t kidding about jumping right in.” A laugh track plays somewhere in the back, as you airily wave a hand. “I meant only that diversity is key in economy. Here in Europa, we have a very diverse population.”

The announcer raises a brow. “Ah. Perhaps you misunderstood my question. If I was too complex,” he frowns, “let me know. Did you have help, when you gave the earlier article?”

A slight buzzing crawls over your skin. Staring at this man, listening to the way he dismisses you, the blood in your veins starts to boil and, fingers tightening on your armrest, you struggle to control your emotions. “Not at all,” you respond pleasantly. “The idea of a monarchical system of governing being the sole driver of a nation’s economy is presumptuous, of course – but there’s no denying it has significant impact.” When Venetia’s eyes widen, you realize your mistake – but now it’s too late to backtrack. You’ve already lost your temper, already said your piece and now there’s nothing to do but continue. “The consolidation of power in one person,” you state, refusing to look at the Queen, “places limitations on the creativity of the masses. It eliminates the ‘think tank’ effect, if you will.”

“The ‘think tank effect,’” Charles jumps in, eagerly turning to the camera, “is a theory popularized in the twenty-first century, capitalizing on the worth of general human ideas. It involves a group of people sitting for long periods of time while ideating new concepts and theories. These ideas, in turn, are sold for money.”

“Well, yes,” you frown, “but also for the betterment of society. There was a trend in business, towards the middle of the twenty-first century, where larger corporations drove change; societal change, environmental change, economic change.”

“And look how well that turned out,” Venetia interrupts, her voice soft.

Both your heads swivel her way – only to find her cool, calm, collected.

“It’s true,” you nod, allowing her criticism. “Not all businesses choose to operate for the greater good, but don’t you think that’s driven from a natural human inclination to greed, not from the nature of business?” you demand, meeting the Queen’s gaze head-on.

Her lips tighten, almost imperceptibly. “In which case,” she muses, “monarchy and capitalism are really the same.”

At this, you shake your head. She’s twisting your words. “In some ways, yes. But where a capitalistic society succeeds, and a dictatorship fails,” you wince, when there are audible gasps from the audience. Venetia doesn’t like to be called a dictator. Stammering slightly, you continue, “is t-the delimitation of power, and the pressure of supply and demand. It’s the notion of checks and balances – eliminating individual greed, by having more than one voice in the room.”

From offstage, you see Taehyung’s head fall softly into his hands. It appears you’ve just made things worse – much worse. Charles struggles to regain control over the room, leaning forward – until Venetia cuts him off, dark eyes bright with her anger.

“But why,” she hisses, “should decisions be left to society? Are the masses so faultless, so irreproachable? A few hundred years ago, the people elected puppets into office. Movie stars and TV personas who did nothing but spout childish exhibitions and lead us into war. Why should they, the people, have the chance to break us again?”

Venetia turns towards the cameras. “Our lands have a bloody history from the wants of the people,” she declares – stating the word people, as one might say leprosy or cockroaches. “Each attempt to create freedom and equality led to what? Socialism, communism, war, famine,” she answers, spitting out each word with vehemence. The sound is barely human, a permeating hiss audible throughout the studio.

“We were a laughingstock,” she adds, deadly quiet, “of the universe, due to the wants of our people. The only way to rebuild is through leadership. The only way to be strong is through vision,” Venetia bares her teeth, emphasizing she is the one with that vision. Not you.

Fingers trembling, you lace them together in your lap. She’s right – but no, she’s also not. Blinking, you attempt to clear your head because it’s odd, your thoughts are all muddled. They keep snaking around one another, arriving at Venetia’s conclusions.

“Strong leadership exists in monarchies,” Venetia declares. “You want a history lesson, little girl?” she asks, turning to meet your gaze. When she does, you recoil – because Venetia’s eyes are pure, unadulterated black. Not dilated, but black in their entirety. You’ve barely time to register this, before Venetia blinks, dark eyes returning to brown and leaving you wondering if maybe you’re the one hallucinating.

Venetia tilts her head. “Allow me to quote Napoleon,” she continues. “’One bad general is worth two good ones.’ When power dilutes, the entity weakens, and the people suffer. Is this what you want – a weakened state? One the Akeron can attack, or worse?”

The Queen leaves her thought open-ended, settling back while you’re left to consider. Her fire has calmed to a dull flicker, self-satisfied smirk appearing while she waits for you to counter. You’re shaking, sweating and when you look helplessly at Charles, he looks pointedly away. Taehyung is no longer standing in the wings; you notice this fearfully, uncertain when he would have left. He’s no longer there though, meaning you’re alone – except.

You remember the article. You remember Nicola and the hundreds, thousands of people who stood waiting outside and slowly, you turn back to the cameras. You are not alone, you remind yourself – and when you remember this, you open your mouth.

“Europa,” you start. The word is too quiet, so you clear your throat. “Europa is a great nation. A mighty one, with a storied history and complex, cultured assortment of people. At one time we were fractured,” you acquiesce, bowing your head. “We were many different countries, all of them weakened by our divisions. Venetia is right, saying we are stronger now. We are stronger in our unity, but that’s just it,” you exhale, turning to look at the Queen.

When you move, you see even Charles is listening – he’s forgotten his place, leaning forward in his seat.

“We are stronger united,” you repeat. “We are stronger together. Think of a rope. A rope is one hundred different pieces of yarn, wrapped together to form something much stronger. One, single piece of yarn cannot pull a ship. A rope can.”

“Outdated,” chimes Venetia, sounding bored.

“This is not a courtroom,” Charles interrupts. “Continue, Y/N.” The Queen sits up straight, somewhat shocked by his interruption – but Charles pays her no heed, looking at you.

“Europa is a great nation,” you resume, licking your lips, “but we could be better. The limitations on business, individual expression have hindered our ideas, which in turn, has weakened our economy. Other nations – like Congica – export. We only import.”

Taking another breath in, you relish the freedom of speaking your mind. You’re saying too much, you know you are – but you also know the damage has already been done. Looking at Venetia, you see her fuming. Her gaze threatens to strike quick where you stand, so you look up and continue.

“This paranoia over the Akeron, the constant preparation for a war we aren’t fighting – it’s distracting us from our true potential,” you insist, wishing desperately to see the citizens you’re addressing. Instead, all you can see is the mirror image of yourself.

“I’m not trying to overthrow, anything here” you add, somewhat quietly. “I’m not suggesting we reinvent the system, nor that we put an end to the current one.” Looking over at Venetia, you manage to backtrack. “I’m merely suggesting, your Grace, that the people of Europa are worth more than what they’re currently valued.”

That’s it, that’s all you have to say. A dangerous silence falls, radiating from every pore of the room while the Queen seethes before you, though her face doesn’t change. Her beauty is a mask, one which smiles in agreement with everything you’ve just said. Her eyes, though – her eyes on yours are death incarnate.

“Wow, wow! What a night – what a show!” Charles beams, attempting to wrap things up. His naiveté and charm seem to serve as a reminder – the Queen breaks eye contact with you, as turning to face the host.

“Yes,” she laughs, an almost natural sound, “what lively debate!”

Folding his hands before him on the table, Charles nods in satisfaction. “It was, indeed. Unfortunately, this is all the time we have for tonight.” Waiting a beat, pre-recorded groans echo through the studio. “I know, I know,” he smiles, blindingly white. “I’m disappointed, as well. All good things must come to an end though, and we were very lucky to have the whole hour! I doubt this will ever happen again,” he winks, while canned laughter plays.

“Ladies,” he nods, gesturing forward.

At the end of competition, it is customary in Europa to shake the hand of your opponent. It’s a symbol of respect and understanding – and so, you extend your palm. Venetia watches, taking her time, extending so slowly you start to blush in response. When your hands finally meet, you exchange the smallest, briefest of touches before she yanks quickly away.

“And we’re off,” someone yells, blinding lights instantly dimmed.

You blink, taking a moment to adjust to the change and when you’re able to see, Venetia is no longer onstage. She’s gone, leaving just you and Charles alone – while a halo of red-brown, disappears down the corridor. She leaves so quickly, you can’t even be certain it’s her. Charles clears his throat awkwardly, mumbling something about an early dinner appointment before exiting the stage.

You’re now left alone and, heart hammering, you start to descend from the stage. Walking away, you meet the gazes of several curious stagehands, but they look quickly away – exchanging hushed glances and whispers, behind their hands as you pass. You need Taehyung. Need to find him, but while you half-jog through the hall, Taehyung is nowhere to be seen. He should have been there at the end, waiting for you. It’s unusual, that he was not.

“Excuse me,” you ask, tapping a woman on the shoulder. “I can’t seem to find my assistant, could you –”

When the woman sees it’s you, her eyes widen and shaking her head quickly, she brushes past you offstage. It’s strange, and when you try to ask another individual, they barrel directly past you without allowing for eye contact. Slowly, a pit forms in the center of your stomach. It’s okay, it’s fine, you’ll find the way back yourself.

Peering down the hall, you quickly realize all the marble corridors look the same. This was stupid, you shouldn’t have left the set so fast – Taehyung likely just went to the bathroom, will probably be looking for you in a matter of minutes.

Despite telling yourself this, you can’t manage to believe it. Something about this seems off. Something about tonight seems off, as you walk slowly forward. Beginning to walk faster, you berate yourself for your cowardice. Nothing is wrong, you’re being paranoid about that and it’s only after the third or fourth hallway that you notice the quiet.

Taehyung, Nicola, all the skinny, black-clad assistants from earlier – they’re all gone. Steady silence sits in their place, filling the halls with an ominous weight. It presses into your skin while slowly, your speed-walk turns into a jog. Then a run and before long, you’re sprinting, fast through the halls. Shiny black surfaces stare back, reflecting the state of your obvious panic. Skidding around a corner, you pause only remove your god-awful awful heels.

Starting to run again, you have an odd, almost dream-like sensation where you find yourself questioning why, exactly, you’re running – but this moment disappears as quick as it came, when your internal terror eventually wins out. Panic weaves through your veins, forcing you to remember everything said on air and you know that people have been imprisoned for less. The memory of the Queen’s eyes – black and burning – creeps, unbeknownst in the back of your mind. This all can’t be coincidence, it can’t be a dream.

You’re alone, lost – assistant vanished, midway through the show. There’s no way Taehyung would have left you, no way he would have abandoned you so fast. It it’s her, you realize, this must be Venetia.

The moment you think this, there’s a flicker of light and the hall plunges suddenly into darkness.

[Masterlist]

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