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sleepydross · 11 months

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"Perimortem"

Chapter One: Lone Digger Warnings: Extreme, detailed gore. Sibling abuse and, let's face it, extreme sibling disharmony. Death. Murder. Intrigue. Visceral horror, gaslighting and implied abuse.

Hi. Welcome to Chapter One. Do me a favor okay? Mind the content warnings, I'll try to do them comprehensively on every chapter. Mind the tags, if you want to find story posts easily, search 'Perimortem Story,' every post will have this tag. If you like my work please reblog I guess, I'd like people to read it. <3 Thank you. >>>>>>.

"I need to know where you're at on the information regarding Exro N'Tone and his Mistress," Nisal said. Malla blinked, a few times, and then chuckled.

"His Mistress is the least interesting thing about him," she replied, waving her hand. A holomonitor shifted aside, allowing her to look her sister in the eye. Houndite physiology being as varied as it was, her sister had four arms, and was using all of them to interact with various screens, her synthetic eyes darting in various directions. Admittedly, Malla was used to it, but understood why people found watching her work freaky. She got one eye to stare at, and that was generous in and of itself.

"Spill," Nisal said, absently.

"Exro isn't just fucking Janna Onie, from BioUltra, the lady third down from the top, he's also bottoming for Iko Kalavan, the secretary to the ceo of his competitor. There's shit going on there, and people are definitely being pumped for intel and then some."

"Fascinating. Formulate a strategy for acquiring proof and necessary supplementary intelligence, and operate underneath the sheets, little sister. I do not need a repeat of Kango Fortali's home."

"First off, that op went shitways because your dog squad crawled their asses in there itching for a throw down, and also, apparently weren't trained in proper curse ward detection and penetration," Malla said, and she regretted it instantly, as the older, taller houdite froze, all four of her eyes staring in different directions. One by one, she closed her screens and lowered her thickly muscled arms, each eye snapping in order onto Malla's face.

Nisal did not like having her own inadequacies thrown in her face.

"S-Sister, apologies. I grew too bold, and spoke inappropriately," she said, bowing her head, tensing her shoulder muscles for what was about to rain down on her. Her sister had made a mistake, and shit had rolled down hill, and desperate to please the only person other than their father who remotely mattered to her…

She'd taken the heat.

Bringing it up again was just, shitty… she made her own damn choice. She'd chosen to take the heat. She'd…

It felt like she'd chosen. Did she choose?

"Yes, of course," Nisal said. "And you took the heat, for which I am grateful."

Malla looked up, blinking. Her sister was smiling at her. Coolant ran in her veins, freezing her heart in her chest, tightening it all until she couldn't breathe. There she sat, frozen, eyes like iced over, unfocused. All four of her arms were stilled, her hands trembling quietly in her lap. It felt as if she'd been poisoned, as if this was a trick, as if the room was too hot and too cold, all at once.

Nisal just smiled at her, and it looked… it looked right, it looked genuine. It looked like a person's smile. Her sister only smiled at her when she did things right, and only smiled like that when she did things REALLY right.

"Why is your heart beating nearly three times as fast as usual - the left one, I assume your primary, right now," Visal asked, or said, Malla wasn't even remotely sure. "You appear afraid. Are you afraid of me, little sister?"

Click, clack, that sound of a revolver's cylinder being shut. Slow pull, now.

In the silence of a loaded gun, Malla opened her mouth, tried to speak, and failed.

"Little sister?" Nisal asked, tilting her head, hellhound like ears twitching from vertical for a moment.

Click. End of the slow pull. The hammer was back. Finger on the trigger.

Wasn't it?

"I… yes, I… I meant nothing, I meant no disrespect, Nisal. I… I meant nothing by that, I meant, i meant only to reaffirm what I will do to ensure you are not bothered, Nisal," she said, rapidly, and slowly - pausing lots, and then managing words in short spurts.

"Naturally, little sister. If I believed anything else I would be terribly angry," she said, softly, without a hint of venom. "Now, go get your team together, and get to work planning out the op. We need this intel, as fast as possible.

"Y-Yes, Nisal, ma'am. I will do so," she said, rising, bowing at the waist. "I will do my best for you."

"Yes, of that I am sure," Nisal said, chuckling. "Go on, make me proud."

Malla rose from her bow and turned, walking one footstep at a time because if she didn't do it manually she was going to collapse to the floor and humiliate herself. In the short hallwaylet to the door, she resisted the urge to support herself on the wall, and then passed through the door and waited until she heard it automatically close behind her before turning, and walking calmly away. That was all she had to do.

She had to be in control. She had to be calm. She had to be perfect. Every movement was measured and she felt her freedom come in the absolute focus on that perfect motion, on walking with her four hands clasped behind her back, staring calmly down her muzzle at the curving hallway ahead of her.

She hated the Al'lal'lix Structure, and emerging onto the lowest viewing balcony gave her a single moment of relief in the fresh, cool air ruffling her fur before she headed to the allistor moor. As perfectly as possible, as utterly focused as she could look, Malla swung her leg over the seat, settled in, and activated the clamps that closed on her legs. She let herself lay forward, then, the seat softening significantly until she was near horizontal, staring forward into the primary drawscreen, all but snuggling the vehicle's interior.

Her optic nerve interrupt hardware kicked in and her eyes went dead, and then the view from the primary cameras came in nice and clear. She pulled away, piloting the deft craft without an ounce of drift, signal resistance, or anything else. She had to gather the team.

She had to get the plans done. It was her third day awake, and she was fine. She was absolutely fine.

To some sandpounder far below, the sight of Neon Glass from an aerial position might have been breath taking, the cavern a full six hundred miles at the widest, three hundred and fifty or so at the narrowest, eight miles in height. Lightlace like what 'held up' the infinite stone ceiling of Hell ran in veins through the great pillars left in place when the cavern was bored over two centuries, as the city grew in around it. It had stood finished for over a century.

Pyramids and rivers of glass and light and steel hung from above and grew from below, the innersky a choked place of endless jet transports, cargo craft and civilian vehicles, a constant flurry impossible to navigate without an AR hookup and a vehicle connection to the primary transportation network - or a fuckload of skill and even more magic.

She had a high priority connection and was glad to only provide subtle guidance and basic organic judgement tasks - watching out for surprise obstacles and other vehicles, primarily, in case of emergencies. At the speed she was going, no one was going to entirely trust the AI network.

She didn't fly into the glittering glass sky, but down to the floor, between canyons of light and advertisements, past billions of people she couldn't bother to care about, because she had a job. She had a job, and she was useful, and she was especially useful to people with significant power in the real way in the city. That made her better off than half the fucks she flitted past and-

That line of thought was terminated as soon as she realized it affected her heart rate. Nisal, she no doubt, had access to all of the biometrics and monitoring systems in the craft. Calm was absolutely required.

Perfection was the name of the game, as she flew down into the primary access tunnel for the sub-chamber below, where the industrial district found its horrible, annoying home. They were scheduled to be moved into a more fitting location soon, but at that time, she simply hadn't proven herself valuable enough have a place in the main chamber. Intelligence Operatives were a dime a dozen and she had to be a dollar a dozen more before she warranted a glittering glass office or anything else - at least.

That didn't matter. Her craft came to rest on the rooftop of the building, and almost before the shell opened, the roof structure closed over her and the vehicle, to conceal its presence - all formality, the entire district area they operated out of was largely automated systems. They were dodging the prying eyes of botwatchers and other freaks, not other operators.

Operators.

She still hadn't been approved to work field things, she had to run ops from the sand splashing fucking…

Inside. She walked, her boots clicking quietly on the stone tiles of the rooftop, her body weak, her legs trembling and then…

She was inside. In that space, she was king, and she made the rules. She placed the bugs. She controlled every single thing, including the small bathroom on the first floor that was a complete blindspot including having a natural reason to block biomonitor implant signals. In that bathroom, with the door shut and one of the floor's primary thaumic field regulators in the wall next to her humming softly, she vomited up everything she'd eaten that morning, and then followed it with letting out a wracking, horrible sob. There, broken and alone, she huddled in the corner beneath the sink and thanked the stars that Jackos had kept his word on making sure the damned bathroom was clean.

It wouldn't have mattered if the spiders were still there. She was losing her shit, and she had to get a grip, and get a grip fast. The moment she entered the building, everyone was called from their labs, or called back to the building from wherever they were nested up to do their research, planning and softsliding and…

She had minutes, a counter on her visual hud ticking marks as her team made their way into the main building, a floor below, greeted their analysts and assistants, their personal subteams… and headed up to see her. She choked and sobbed, cried and threw up a second time, and then set to work. It was critical that everything was perfect. Every drop of vomitus cleaned up, every tear washed carefully from her cheek fur.

Her people couldn't know she was weak, couldn't see her being so. Any team of operators was only as good as their controller - which was why she wanted to get into field work, but the idea of killing, it was…

She couldn't let them see her weak.

Standing in front of the mirror, she peered at her rich black fur, long and thick in the relatively cold, climate controlled cavern city. She carefully dabbed at the still damp patches of fur until they were dry. With her kit, she reapplied the fur stain that shaded the red around her eyes, and then took only a moment to re-oil her mane and brush it out. Satisfied, she turned and opened the door, hands clasped behind her back as she walked down the short access hallway and into the top floor operations center. Outside of that room, it was all hellcrete and industrial steel. Inside?

Inside was sanctuary.

Damnatium laced meta-panels covered every surface, some custom cut and molded to fit over the minimal machinery in the room - it had once been a board room, before automation made industrial jobs in the sky a lot less common. Behind her, a panel slid over the door, adding extra meta-panels to block signals that might slip through the cracks. It was a dead zone, cold and signal free, and she couldn't even cry in there.

Her team awaited, and she looked to Green, the freshfaced imp with a penchant for knifework and a body small enough for the cramped vents used in high security facilities.

"Green, do you have the floorplan for the related areas of the building? And an actual location where this tryst is happening?"

"Sure do," he said, gesturing to Koka, a huge taurosi woman who looked as concerned as Malla had ever seen a taurosi look - and Malla didn't show a thing in response to that concern, because the few times they'd slept together was purely recreation, and she couldn't afford letting anyone close to her. It was a dangerous position, existing as the youngest daughter of the Vix Patriarch, CEO of one of the most prestigious private security and intelligence gathering operations corporation in that section of the city.

It was a dangerous position if she fucked up. Anyone near her would go down so hard they'd hit the sand before they knew what was happening.

"Got 'em. Had to punch a few holes in a fellow, but he won't be talking," she murmured, discontentedly, as if something about the plans made her uncomfortable. Standing around the table, they waited as she slid the slickstick into the port. Their command table's holoprojector kicked on, and displayed a squat, five floor rectangle.

Malla raised an eyebrow.

"He's… fucking another CEO's… secretary… in a prefab industrial building?" she asked, slowly.

"The location comes straight from Nisal's personal penetration team, so, I guess so," Green said, but it was clear he too was somewhat unnerved. "Same model as ours. Standardization gone mad, I guess."

"I guess," Malla murmured, glancing to Xees, a succubus with at least enough hound in him to have a tail and ears. "Let's get on with this. Xees, what have you found out about the location?"

"So far, not much. Getting scans from the structure was impossible, that whole zone is high yield fucking bugged. I got coords, right? But the access tunnel was blocked off, locked down, one of those access-only-during-certain-hours sectors - dangerous high value manufacturing. I couldn't fuckin' get in, access is guarded when open.. I had to buy this off Kekel in the Whisper Market," he confessed, sighing, and he too stuck his slicky into a slot. The building's hologram exterior was peeled away, highlighting rooms in an identical layout, one they were all absolutely familiar with. Standardized buildings had been all the rage when the city was just being built and its industrial zones were bored out - they were fast, cheap, and made of nice and sturdy hellcrete.

There was still something surreal to plotting their entrypoints and planning an op on an identical structure to their own, but… at the same time, it wasn't as if they didn't know them well. What became bothersome was when Xees keyed up his data, providing them with thermal and thaumic scans of the building, arcanametrics profiles of the structure, and so on.

Their building hologram replicated itself into a total of three, which formed a pyramid that slowly rotated, showing the thermal, magical, and acoustic hotspots in the structure.

No one spoke. No one knew what to say. They all just stared, confused, knowing each other's habits and where their workspaces were, where the loud machines were, and they could see the building there were staring at was not merely a copy of theirs, not merely standardized…

It was theirs, down to the notes suggesting a command holotable on the top floor due to heat and acoustic data, and significant signal and thaumic shielding and…

"Boss," Xees said, good and slow. "What in the sand is this shit?"

"I don't know," Malla replied, that cold, frozen feeling returning, slowly. "I… I don't know. It looks, it appears… to be our building."

"It doesn't appear to be, it fucking is!" Green shouted, slamming her hand on the command table. "They're burning us."

"My sister is not burning us," Malla said, shakily. "S-She was pleased with me, she-"

"I do not have time for you to be psycho about your crazy asshole family," Green spat, pivoting and opening the cabinet where they stored the shotguns. "I'm sending an alert signal to the folks downstairs and our techs and shit, we all have to split. This is fu-"

Malla actually couldn't process things, for a few seconds. The huge taurosi woman stood there, arm extended, hand on the door - but a thick gray plate of something silvery-gray (enchanted bonesteel, Malla realized dimly) was just… also there, and then… it wasn't. The sound it made coming out was louder than the horrible THUCKSNAP of it punching into the building, this awful grinding noise that lasted less than a tenth of a second.

Green still stood there, just… unmoving, until her knees buckled and she went down hard, arms limp at her sides. When she fell sideways, the upper half of her head rolled wetly off, squirts of hot red blood still jutting from cleanly cut veins.

"GET DOWN!" Malla screamed - but Xees was already on the floor, crawling towards the corpse and then over it. He reached in, managed to snag the sidearms stored in the bottom, and rolled onto his back, head on Green's stomach as the blood from the eight foot tall woman's body spread slowly outward. Occasionally, her legs twitched. One of her arms shifted.

Her mouth opened, at least once, and then just stayed open. Malla didn't even notice the sidearm sliding towards her, she didn't hear Xees shouting at her…

Her eyes drifted left, to Koka, the only one in the room who had ever seen her cry, the only person in the entire world she felt like she could call a friend. Koka, a bullfaced taurosi, was typically less facially expressive than most, but…

But Malla had, had seen her face, learned her face. She dreamed of her, sometimes, half of the time they were nightmares at the end, where some fuckup got the Taurosi killed.

Koka was staring at her forearm, confused. Blood squirted in time with her heartbeat, because that forearm ended about an inch from the elbow.

The houndite heard her confused question, the last words she'd say, through the ringing of adrenaline and terror, and then it all went to white noise again.

"How come?" Koka asked, anything but innocent, but baffled and nearly childish with terror anyway - and then a three foot wide plane of metal slammed through her, just below her shoulders. Both blades, the lower one having cut halfway to her spine through her side and stayed there after severing her arm, retracted rapidly…

And Koka was gone. Just like that.

Just… gone.

All she heard was ringing. All she smelled was the growing stink of blood iron. All she…

She had never pulled the trigger on anything but paper targets, she'd never… she'd never seen someone die, not up close. Sure, her job had her eat her fill and then some of photographs of horrible or gory deaths. She'd seen videos of enhanced interrogation, but… she'd not watched any more of wetwork done on her orders than she had to, she…

"-SNAP THE FUCK OUT OF IT," Xees barked, in her face, on all fours in front of her - and she heard that THUNKSNAP, felt a whisper of air moving over her head. He went rigid, eyes wide. His right pupil dilated, blood trickling from the corner of his eye as that very orb wandered off to the side. Red splattered from his nose. His mouth fell open and hot red flooded out of it, splattering on the floor, speckling her face.

On all fours, he was sliced from ass to the tip of his nose, his head raised. The blade ended inches from Malla's face, a wide, flat chisel tip. His eyes widened at her, and then rolled back.

The lower half (including his belly, arms and legs) fell, and she stared silently at his severed insides, as the half-digested food in his split stomach burbling, running out into the tissues around it, his kidneys left above the plane of gray metal above her, and half his heart still throbbing, reacting to some latent impulse even though his brain was, as far as she could tell, largely gone.

The grinding came again, that horrible, loud, utterly rapid withdrawal, and his back and the top of his head splatted down onto what remained of the lower.

Malla was screaming, incoherently, crawling in terror to the corner of the room. She could taste him, all that was left of him, in her mouth - his blood, in her mouth. She threw up, again, curling into a ball and breaking completely, sobbing as the room was perforated over and over, as other agents were forced into the room and diced to pieces, or ran in shouting about incursion.

It was like being trapped in the corner of a blender, and something downstairs was forcing them up into the grinder, gunfire cracking and turning the horrible sound of this new blade weapon into a kind of underlying beat to a symphony of death.

The sound, very suddenly, stopped. Malla clutched her pistol, hands shaking so bad she couldn't have hit someone two feet in front of her - and then… the roof access hallway door opened, the panel sliding aside. Her sister stepped in, in plain black pants, a plain black shirt, and a standard company vest.

Malla tripped and stumbled over the corpses of people she had known, had worked with, for years. Past the carrion field, soaked in vital red and sticky with it, she barreled into her sister, wrapping her arms around the woman.

"N-Nisal… thank the Lucifer… we, I don't know, we were made. You, you got here just in time, I just… I-I don't know how… I don't-"

"Shhhh, little sister," Nisal said, drawing her sidearm. "You're annoying me."

Malla barely had the time to register those words before the pistol pressed to her unarmored stomach and pain filled in the gaps between horror and trauma with a BANG! She staggered back, confused, sick, and pressed her hands to her stomach. They came away even slicker, even redder, and in a panic, reacting on animal instinct, she frantically tried to cover the holes, before sinking to her knees.

"You're pathetic… utterly broken. Lacking rage, lacking hate, lacking malice. Weak insects have no place in this family, and as our father dies tonight, you fucking pathetic freak, I will have no further concerns to my name," she said, with such calm, such terrible satisfaction. She smiled that same loving, beautiful smile, but now it was… twisted - or was it the same? Malla felt twisted, writhing in agony on the floor, her life leaking out all the new holes in her torso. "Goodnight, little sister. Don't take it personally. You just weren't made for being in my life."

Malla tried to raise her arm, fire her pistol, do anything - but Nisal just stepped forward, ripped the pistol out of her hand, and returned to the wall beside the door, shutting it.

"No signals, no distress calls. I'm going to watch you die, little sister," she murmured.

Malla would take time… so much time…

Time to bleed out, time enough to roll away from Nisal, to stare out over the entirety of her life. A room full of corpses she'd been… friends?

Did she even have friends? It was a room full of corpses, and all of them died to save her, and she could only best describe them as colleagues. It dawned on her she didn't… know most of their lives, their families, anything about them. The less that intel operators knew about each other, the better.

The room was a monument to everything she was - the corpses of disconnected strangers, piled up at her feet for the crime of simply working with her.

"P-A-T-H-E-T-I-C," a soft, androgynous voice said, right in her ear. Nisal said nothing. Malla rolled, panting blood into her mouth, and found herself staring at a metallic face made up of tiny, mirrored tiles that floated strangely in the vague shape of a head. These tiny little tiles flooded in and out of a dark, strange robe… and in a hand made of steel that looked like an ancient mechanoprosthetic, it held a small pistol. This creature's face, the tiny mirrors of its 'skull,' were disorienting. They made it hard to think. Her eyes darted to its armament. "What, this? Look at this, instead of my face, idiot."

It brought the weapon close to her face, showing her the frame of glinting damnatium-steel, black and smooth, with an inlay of bonesteel. It opened the cylinder, and pulled a round free - it was copper jacketed, but with some odd kind of polymer-

It was not polymer. Frost coated the bullet in seconds, leaving only the oily, almost black tip untouched.

Nithilite.

A reaper.

"Bingo, fucknuts. I am The Thing You Can't Defeat of the Seven Deaths, and this is my friendly pistol, Charon," it said, chuckling, mirrors jittering with the sound. "Stare at the pistol, and think to me, or your asshole sister will hear."

Malla blinked, wondering if this was an actual reaper, or DMT.

"Fuck off, idiot, arachite don't get Deathdreams, you get Purgatorium Walks. If this was fake, you'd be in the woods already. See any fucking treeeeees?" it asked, sarcastically. She looked back to its face, and then back to the gun, wondering if it would use it. "Yes, I will, you dense bitch, if you don't want a chance to get revenge."

The dying houdite scoffed, wetly, choking on her own blood. Revenge?

She was pathetic.

"Yeah, you are, but you don't have to be. You can live… if you're willing to do something for me. There's this, thing, let's call it a disease… and a few people managed to exterminate it, a while back. It's funny, cause I sort of… liked it, it's a gift, you know? I'm a giver, like that," it said, its tone warm and slightly nasally, strangely accented though it was. "Drink their blood. Suck down the muck and shit and slime, kiddo. Drink it in, like a fuckin' FREAK!"

Malla stared at the gun, still, but furrowed her brow. It was getting kind of hard to see, or… maybe to process what she was seeing. Pain was… complicated, and whether she was in any, mysterious.

It told her to drink the slick liquid she laid in, her own blood, the blood of fallen friends, messes of organ fluids, digestive contents. It must've been fucking crazy.

"Rude, and unnecessary, and… I can go, if you want. Like, you can die, I'll just sorta do the spooky shadow thing, all that. You'll forget me, die… whatever. Or you can do me a favor, and become a monster. Do it, and do it quickly. Drink the deathmuck, spyling. Suck down the blood and death of all the horrible people that you barely know. Drink the blood of warriors who did your dirty work."

Why the fuck would she do that?

It swooped in close, and whispered in her ear, "because you've lived your whole live sucking fucking boot, and what happens next is going to change… everything. It will suck, oh yes, fucking MIGHTILY! But, you will get to live. From there, it's all up to you. Transmission of this, hm… disease, is not easy. I'm excited to see if you choose to pass it on."

Malla rolled over, struggling herself up onto all fours.

"Come on, do it. Do it, do it, do it. Drink this gross shit and take my gift, my infection. Drink it, you pathetic fucking idiot, you used little thing. Drink it, and for fuck's sake, be INTERESTING!" it shouted, laying on her, weighing almost nothing, a whisper - but she felt its face, near her ear, mirrors drifting through her mane. "Become something more than the tool these fucking FREAKS made you, or I'm going to shoot you in the fucking head and wash your memories out and shove you back into the coil all over again."

Koka's shoulders, neck and head had somehow, in the chaos, landed upright amid piles of meat that used to have faces and homes and habits and-

Koka's empty eyes stared at her, and Malla realized she didn't know a god damn thing about the woman beyond the sounds she made in bed and how efficient she was at her job.

She got low, drove herself down, and lapped at the blood and shit and death. It was like a fucking ocean, her former colleagues were diced so brutally, so completely. She swallowed it, choking on it, trying not to throw it back up.

"Atta girl… drink, drink, drinkity drink… suck down all that death. Do you taste the gift, yet? It can take some time to kick in. Come on… more, more, more!" The Thing You Can't Defeat howled, in her ringing ears, its voice immaculate and clear despite that she could hardly hear Nisal when she spoke.

"What are you doing you fucking loser?" her older sister demanded - and, frantic, Mala slurped down more. She choked less on every swallow, and the nausea dimmed until she lapped it up like a dog, like a beast, her muzzle caked in clots and gore. "You've really gone insane? Sands and fire, little sister, this is so embarrassing. You honestly do not even know. Dumping your body right into the pools? It'll be a fucking relief."

And then Nisal shot her in the back of the head - twice, to be sure.

#writing #fiction #science fiction #fantasy #cybernetics #spy stuff #intrigue #gore #violence #psychological horror #monsters #magic #story #creative writing #etc #Perimortem Story

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asoiafreadthru · 10 months

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MACE TYRELL, Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach,

His wife, LADY ALERIE, of House Hightower of Oldtown,

Their children:

WILLAS, their eldest son, heir to Highgarden,

SER GARLAN, called the Gallant, their second son,

SER LORAS, the Knight of Flowers, their youngest son,

MARGAERY, their daughter, a maid of fourteen years,

His widowed mother, LADY OLENNA of House Redwyne, called the Queen of Thorns,

His sisters:

MINA, wed to Lord Paxter Redwyne,

JANNA, wed to Ser Jon Fossoway,

His uncles:

GARTH, called the Gross, Lord Seneschal of Highgarden,

His bastard sons, GARSE and GARRETT FLOWERS,

SER MORYN, Lord Commander of the City Watch of Oldtown,

MAESTER GORMON, a scholar of the Citadel,

His household:

MAESTER LOMYS, counselor, healer, and tutor,

IGON VYRWEL, captain of the guard,

SER VORTIMER CRANE, master-at-arms,

His knights and lords bannermen:

PAXTER REDWYNE, Lord of the Arbor,

His wife, LADY MINA, of House Tyrell,

Their children:

SER HORAS, mocked as Horror, twin to Hobber,

SER HOBBER, mocked as Slobber, twin to Horas,

DESMERA, a maid of fifteen,

RANDYLL TARLY, Lord of Horn Hill,

SAMWELL, his elder son, of the Night’s Watch,

DICKON, his younger son, heir to Horn Hill,

ARWYN OAKHEART, Lady of Old Oak,

MATHIS ROWAN, Lord of Goldengrove,

LEYTON HIGHTOWER, Voice of Oldtown, Lord of the Port,

SER JON FOSSOWAY.

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danydragons21 · 2 years

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TSTS Chapter 27: Waves

@sakurakittypeach @shedoessoshedoes @courtofjurdan @lesolehabitantdelalune @suntoksabuwan @sweet-pea1 @ireneherondale24 @supernaturallynerdy @dreaming-of-azriel @bookstaninthesoul @cuppamelia@fawnandshadows @offtorivendell @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @nikethestatue @reverie-tales @nyaxxe @casuallivi @protectorofvel @briar-reads @creatureofnightmares @swankii-art-teacher @the-laughing-bubble @Gracie-rosee @nikethestatue @cntrol @magnolia-blossom87 @ela-ivp @potassium-boron @freepandahugsRead on ao3 here.

Chapter 27: Waves

The sun was just dipping below the hills as the two sisters made their way across the grounds. It was nearing dinner time, and Elain was starving. Hopefully Janna and Elisa had made something good for supper. Absent-mindedly, she scratched the rose tattoo on the back of her neck. For the past several minutes, it had been tingling uncomfortably, like someone was lightly poking needles into her skin. She tried to ignore it and focus on Feyre, who was recounting an incident that had taken place in her art studio recently, but the pain was steadily getting worse.

They were only paces away from the Mortal Manor when the back of Elain’s neck began to burn like someone had taken a red-hot brand and pressed it to her skin. Instinctively, she let out a pained cry, slapping a hand across the scorching tattoo.

And she knew, immediately and irrevocably, that Azriel was in danger.

“Elain? What’s wrong?” Feyre’s face was etched with concern.

Panic flooded her senses. She needed to get to Azriel right away, there was no time to waste, but how could she do that without telling Feyre of the bargain tattoo?

The idea hit her as quickly as the searing pain in her neck had.

Purposefully, she rolled her eyes to the back of her head and held still. Did not make a single movement as Feyre gasped. She felt her sister’s fingers circle around her wrist and give a little shake, but Elain remained frozen.

A long moment later, Elain shuddered and “awoke” from her vision.

“What did you see?” Feyre asked, blue eyes wide.

“It’s Azriel,” Elain said, letting her panic show fully now that an excuse had been wrought. “He’s in danger. He needs help immediately.”

“How do you know this? Where is he?”

“I know because I saw it.” Elain struggled to bite back her growing impatience; did Feyre not understand how pressing this was? Did she not understand that Elain was moments away from succumbing to sheer terror? “But I don’t know where he is, I couldn’t see that. Please, just speak to Rhys with your Daemati powers, ask him where he sent Azriel, Rhys must know where he -”

But she was cut off by a flash of motion to her right. One second there was empty, sunset-lit air; the next, a storm of shadows appeared. The shadows then dissipated to reveal Azriel holding Cassian in his arms, nearly sagging underneath the warrior’s weight. They were both soaking wet.

Elain and Feyre gasped in tandem and rushed forward.

“What happened?” Feyre demanded.

“Koschei,” Azriel responded, out of breath, fear radiating off him in waves. “I couldn’t stop the bleeding, and I was afraid to travel farther with him, and the Mortal Manor was closest -”

As Azriel babbled, Elain moved her attention to Cassian. Dark crimson stains were spreading frighteningly fast from the center of the Illyrian warrior’s chest.

“Oh, gods,” she whispered.

The doors were thrown open as Lucien, Vassa, Jurian and a host of mortal guards came to check out the commotion.

“Shit,” Jurian murmured as he glimpsed Cassian, still unconscious and fully supported by Azriel. Hurriedly, Lucien stepped forward to help.

“We need to get him a healer. Now,” Azriel nearly snarled.

Vassa nodded, all business, and gestured to a few of the guards. “Go guard every entrance to the Manor,” she commanded, “and Jurian, I need you to call in reinforcements.” He nodded and rushed away.

“This way,” Vassa beckoned to the rest of them, gown swishing as she hurriedly led the way to the hospital wing.

By the time they reached the infirmary, Feyre had already spoken to Rhys via her Daemati powers. He came storming into the room mere moments after they’d laid Cassian on a clean white bed, Majda behind him with a healing kit. The last to enter was Nesta. She walked in, her gray-blue eyes wider than Elain had ever seen them, and immediately went to Cassian’s side. She began stroking his dark hair, murmuring words far too quiet for the rest of them to hear.

“What in the seven hells happened?” Rhys demanded, turning his attention to the shadowsinger.

Azriel, who was standing in a corner half-hidden in the shadows, slowly looked up. Grief and guilt hung heavily on his beautiful features.

“Koschei,” he croaked. “We were monitoring Pentalos, and I left him alone for all of twenty minutes, and when I returned to our meeting spot he was gone. And I couldn’t leave, I couldn’t move without my shadows, and then I saw him on the beach, and he was bleeding so much, and he hasn’t -” but Azriel cut himself off, breathing heavily.

“It’s not your fault, Azriel,” Feyre said quietly, but the spymaster gave no sign that he heard her. There was an emptiness in his hazel eyes that Elain had never seen before. She bit her lip in an effort to keep her tears at bay. She wanted so badly to go to Azriel and wrap him up in her arms, to provide him what little comfort she could, that it was a physical struggle to resist the urge. Instead she wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed tightly, as if that would keep her pain at bay.

Lucien, who had immediately walked to her side after placing Cassian on the bed, seemed to sense her sorrow. He placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder and squeezed once; she sent him a grateful but sad smile.

Almost instinctively, her gaze darted to Azriel, and to her surprise he was staring at her. Well, not at her. He was staring at Lucien’s hand curled around her shoulder, and his shadows seemed to be swirling faster and faster by the second.

Elain averted her attention from the shadowsinger at the same time Lucien’s hand fell back to his side.

“How is he, Majda?” Rhys asked, his voice tight.

Majda, who had been examining Cassian, turned toward the others. At the sorrowful expression on her face, Elain’s stomach turned upside down.

“There is nothing I can do for him,” she said. “The venom in his wounds…it is made of something much stronger than my magic. It is the kind of poison that worsens over time.” A heavy, pregnant pause. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Nesta snarled. “I do not accept that.” She turned to Lucien. “You,” she pointed, “You are a healer. Heal him.”

Lucien’s gaze flicked down to Elain before he slowly approached the unconscious warrior. Gently, he laid his hands on Cassian’s chest, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. They all waited with bated breath.

A moment later, Lucien looked up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “There is nothing I can do, either.”

The following silence was deafening. It was broken when Nesta let out a heart wrenching sob and buried her head in Cassian’s shoulder, hiding her face from the rest of them.

Without another word or glance at any of them, Azriel strode out the doors. They slammed shut with a resounding finality.

“What do we do, then?” Feyre whispered. “Just sit and wait for him to die?”

“No,” Rhys responded, violet eyes glowing with fear and fury. “We will find a way. We need to contact Helion, see if there’s any magic he knows of that we don’t…we’ll have Nuala or Cerridwen tell the priestesses in the library to start scouring every book on healing magic they can find. We will try and find a cure until - ” but he cut himself off, swallowing deeply.

The intangible string around her lung tugged sharply, startling her. She looked up to find Lucien staring at her intently, both his normal russet-colored eye and the golden, artificial one pinning her in place. “Yes,” he said out loud. “We will do all of that. And we will pray to the gods for the miracle of life,” he said.

The miracle of life.

She knew what he was telling her. What Lucien didn’t know was that he was telling her something she already knew. Something she already planned to do.

But to do it in front of everybody else…anxiety twisted in her gut. Why she was still so hesitant to share her healing powers with the rest of her family, she could not say. No matter her reason - or lack thereof - the fact remained that she could simply not fathom announcing the capabilities of her magic to everyone in this way.

Thankfully, Lucien seemed to understand this without having to be told.

“Come,” Lucien said. “You contact your priestesses, and I’ll contact Helion. It will go faster that way.”

Hesitantly, Rhys and Feyre murmured their agreement and, along with Majda and the rest of the room, followed Lucien out the door. Nesta, however, grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it next to Cassian’s bed. She sat, entwining her fingers with his.

“I’m staying,” she said harshly, voice slightly muffled, face nestled against Cassian’s motionless form.

Lucien glanced warily at Elain, who gave a subtle nod.

“I’ll stay with her,” she said quietly, and the others departed, leaving the two eldest Archeron sisters alone. When their footsteps faded entirely, Elain turned to Nesta. An overwhelming scent of worry and grief emanated from her sister in waves.

For the first time in a long time, Elain felt the desire to comfort Nesta. To wrap her in her arms and promise that everything would be fine, just like they used to do when they were children with empty bellies, shaking from the bitter cold. But there were no promises she could make that would ease Nesta’s ache.

She could, however, provide her momentary peace.

Elain inhaled deeply, magic writhing inside of her like a snake, and allowed herself to plunge into that depthless reservoir of power. When her fingertips began to glow, she carefully rested a hand atop her sister’s tense shoulder. “Sleep, Nesta,” she murmured, and a second later, the eldest Archeron sister’s body went limp and languid as she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

To sleep is, after all, just one way the body makes itself whole again. One way it heals itself.

When she was sure Nesta had passed out, Elain walked to the other side of the bed and stared down at Cassian’s handsome, weather-beaten face. For a male who looked carved of stone, who laughed as he slaughtered formidable enemies on the battlefield, he appeared unnervingly fragile right now. Vulnerable.

She placed a hand in the center of Cassian’s broad chest, right above the worst of his wounds. The bright light gleaming in her hands traveled across his sternum, his torso; it grew brighter and brighter until she could hardly see; she was trembling from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, summoning more of her magic than she ever had before, pushing herself to the point where black spots appeared in her vision and she was on the verge of passing out. But still, she did not stop. But still, she did not yield.

Only when the chest beneath her suddenly surged upward, only when a burst of air - of life - escaped from the sleeping male’s lips, did she step back and sink to the floor. Heavy breaths percolated through her lungs. Beads of sweat dripped down the back of her neck and ran over the knobs of her spine, and her limbs felt like jelly, weak and trembling.

But on the bed, fresh life flowed through Cassian’s newly-healed body.

***

Sitting in the den of the Mortal Manor, Azriel nursed a glass of - well, he wasn't quite sure which liquor he was consuming at the moment. Just knew it was dark and bitter and strong enough to numb the debilitating ache in his chest ever so slightly. Throwing back another sip, he stared ceaselessly into the fireplace, where roaring flames licked and danced, and tried his very best not to think.

It was pointless, of course. He could not quiet the voices in his head any more than he could quiet the buzzing of his shadows as they circled him anxiously, far too aware of the guilt and grief consuming him. Even his shadows knew that he was past reprieve.

He’d found Cassian on his fourth lap around the island. He was flying above when he saw a motionless body lying on the shore. Heart in this throat, he dove toward it. Cassian was lying on his back, the lower half of his body in the water and the upper in the sand, waves lapping gently over him. A single large stab wound lay right above his heart, and the blood seeping through his leathers turned the water around him a light red.

He shoved the mental image away, unable to stomach it any longer. How could he have allowed this to happen? How could he have been so distracted, so focused on other, less important things that he allowed the very fucking enemy he’d been trying to track for months kidnap and harm his brother right under his nose? It was a failure beyond comprehension. And if Cassian - Azriel could not even bear to think of the word. But if the worst was to come of this, he would never forgive himself.

With white knuckles, he tossed back the rest of his drink, refilled it and returned to hating himself.

He heard Elain before he saw her.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she said, a note of exhaustion in her voice. Her presence, which usually brought him inexplicable comfort, now incited a rush of anger. What the fuck did she have to feel exhausted about? Cassian was in the other room dying, and she had the audacity to act tired and overwhelmed?

Not bothering to turn around, he said, “What do you want?”

Elain paused, her confusion tangible.

“I came to tell you something,” she said after a long moment.

“Spit it out, then.”

“Why are you treating me like this?” she demanded, her tone aghast. As if she couldn't believe he would ever speak to her this way. “What is the matter?”

“What is the matter?” he repeated darkly. Coldly. “What in the hells do you think is the matter? Cassian was taken from right under my nose. Then he almost died. He could still die.” He let out a humorless laugh. “He probably will die. And when he does, it will be all my fault.”

“Azriel, none of this is your fault.”

Ignoring her, he swiftly stood and crossed the room to the bar cart. Poured himself yet another glass, scarred hands shaking with barely restrained emotion. In one swift gulp, he downed the contents, welcoming the burn as it traveled down his throat and into his veins, imbibing him with sweet, sweet numbness. Then he poured himself another one.

“I felt you,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“When you were in Pentalos. I felt our bargain tattoo burning. I knew you were in danger.” A pause, then a whisper. “I was so scared for you.”

“Hmm.” He took another heavy sip, still refusing to look at her. “Would have been helpful for you to do something about it.”

Another tense silence followed his venomous words. He didn’t care. Barely even registered what he’d said; barely even comprehended what was happening right now. All he could see, all he could think of, was Cassian’s body lying motionless on the beach, waves washing over him again and again.

“I tried to get to you,” she said, sounding close to tears. “I tried so hard, Azriel. But by the time I’d convinced Feyre to leave, you had already returned with Cassian and -”

At the sound of Cassian’s name, Azriel’s fist clenched so hard against the glass he held that it shattered. Little glass shards fell to the floor, catching the firelight and glinting like diamonds.

Surely now Elain would leave him alone. Surely now she would understand that he was in no mental state to have a productive conversation.

But still she remained, her jasmine and honey scent fluttering in the air, taunting him.

“Is that why you are angry at me?” she asked. “Because I did not come to your aid?” She sounded genuinely curious and concerned.

Unwarranted and misplaced wrath burst forth from him with a mighty vengeance. In the span of a second, he’d crossed the room, stopping inches away from Elain. He towered over her with wings taut and fully extended. “No, that’s not why I’m angry with you,” he hissed. His shadows pressed so close into him that even he could not tell where they ended and he began. “I’m angry because if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been so distracted. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be unraveling at the goddamn seams. Wouldn’t be so out of my head that I don’t even notice when a Death Lord tries to kill my brother!” He was screaming now, fury and guilt swallowing him whole. Again, he saw Cassian’s body; again, he saw the relentless, punishing waves.

To her credit, she did not retreat. How many fae warriors, who spouted valor and fearlessness, had balked at his deathly temper? At the dangerous essence that ran through his veins like a drug? And yet Elain Archeron in her simple green dress, the ubiquitous smell of flowers wafting around her, stood steady. And yet she remained, staring his darkness right in its face.

There was no fear in her expression. In fact, her face was as smooth as marble.

And just as cold.

“You’re being mean,” she said, lips barely moving.

He laughed, cruelly, because that was all he knew to do.

“And you’re being useless, like always.”

Azriel thought that nothing could make him feel worse than he did right now, but the devastation in Elain’s big brown eyes did the trick. He regretted his words as soon as he said them, but they were out, they were said; how could he take them back? Of course he didn’t mean them. But he hadn’t meant for Cassian to get hurt, and it had happened, anyway. It was all his fault, all of it, all of it -

“I came to tell you that Cassian has woken up,” Elain said, her face once again unreadable, the sadness that had been splashed across it just moments before gone. “He is expected to make a full recovery.”

Azriel froze as her words resonated. The very next moment, hot and dizzy relief flowed through him, and then he was melting, legs going weak and the debilitating fear rushing out of him like water down a drain. He let out a strange sound, something between a sob and a laugh. Ran his hands through his hair as he continued to chuckle wetly.

“How?” he croaked out. “I don’t…how is that possible? An hour ago, he was dying. An hour ago, he was as good as gone. What changed?”

When Elain’s eyes darted to the floor, clearly avoiding his gaze, understanding dawned on him.

“You…It was you?” he whispered. “Elain?” he questioned as she continued to remain silent. His giddiness dimmed as he recalled the venomous words he’d spat at her only moments before, regret replacing it. “Elain, baby, I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered, reaching for her hand, but she stepped back, pulling out of his reach.

“You should go speak to Cassian,” she said, still speaking in that detached voice. Still refusing to look at him. “He was asking for you.”

Before he could begin to process her words, she had walked out. The light floral scent of her remained, though, a reminder of the ruin and rot he continued to bring to those who deserved it least.

Azriel sunk into a nearby chair. Buried his hands in his face.

Let the waves wash over him.

TAGS

@sakurakittypeach @shedoessoshedoes @courtofjurdan @lesolehabitantdelalune @suntoksabuwan @sweet-pea1 @ireneherondale24 @supernaturallynerdy @dreaming-of-azriel @bookstaninthesoul @cuppamelia @fawnandshadows @offtorivendell @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @nikethestatue @reverie-tales @nyaxxe @casuallivi @protectorofvel @briar-reads @creatureofnightmares @swankii-art-teacher @the-laughing-bubble @gracie-rosee @cntrol @magnolia-blossom87 @ela-ivp @potassium-boron @freepandahugs

#elriel #elrielfanfic #elrielfic #Elain #elain acotar #azriel x elain #elain archeron #pro elain #elain x azriel #Azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acosf #tsts #danydragons21 #theshadowsthatsing #acotar #post acosf

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boldstarks · 1 year

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Dagmar's Children

Dagmar had a reputation for being a devoted, borderline obsessive parent with a fervent desire to shield her kids. Her behavior was seen as justified after losing one of her sons and her first husband in an attack by a hill tribe near Gulltown. It is generally accepted that a tribe called the Moon Brothers was responsible for the attack.

Hugo Moore: Born 109 AC. Dagmar Royce’s first son who she gave birth to a little over a year after her marriage to Jason Moore. He is said to greatly resemble his Moore father in both appearance and temperament. It was said that he noticeably darkened after the death of his father and brother. Hugo would eventually become the last wielder of Lamentation, House Royce’s ancestral sword, before it was stolen during the Fall of King’s Landing. Despite losing his sword Hugo is able to escape with his life and eventually return home to Runestone. Upon his mother’s death in 146 AC Hugo became Lord of Runestone upon which he changed his last name to Royce. He married Janna Hersy in 136 AC, they had six children and lived together happily.

Harlan Moore: Born 111 AC. Dagmar’s second child with Jason Moore. He, along with his father, were murdered in an attack by a hill tribe near Gulltown in 119 AC. Harlan was described as a happy child who rarely fret over anything, much like his brother and father. He and Jason were horseback riding for amusement when they were attacked.

Elinor Arryn: Born 127 AC. Dagmar’s only child with her second husband, Addam Arryn. She has her mother’s coloring and facial features, but inherited her father’s silver hair. Elinor is a dragonseed through her father who is of Targaryen heritage. Elinor was said to be headstrong and she married a knight sworn to her older brother, Alyn Karstark, in 148 AC. They only had one son.

Main Masterlist

Extras Masterlist

#hotd #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #rhea royce #oc x oc #daemon targaryen x oc #hotd fanfic #royce!oc #house royce #asoiaf #the vale #house royce of runestone #runestone #game of thrones #house targaryen #house arryn #fic: bronze star #house moore

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444names · 1 year

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brythonic deities + german forenames + the entire wikipedia article on cadwgan ap bleddyn

Abdudius Aboridone Aded Adel Adermill Adinnise Adiusus Aellivid Afte Aftenepon Agdo Agers Agoth Agotuck Agreted Agria Aliannus Alla Amagneph Amanchann Amelmuta Amente Amna Amorg Amut Ander Andrannus Andrenze Aned Angth Anik Ankarle Annahaert Annaldoms Anne Annes Annuetch Anustle Apom Arachris Arich Arietitz Arinth Arloth Aroborian Ated Atis Aurvicus Austast Aves Avets Barich Bart Batren Batrulin Beades Becad Beed Befndrike Beldogus Beranus Berews Beriches Berik Bernhar Berth Biannand Binia Bodedied Bord Boreled Bormar Bors Borthew Brol Brutther Buncamara Buxoner Canna Captis Card Cardt Care Carus Ceflesus Celiessit Cene Char Chat Chrik Cidogedd Cine Cithera Citinhard Civenly Civolfga Clouta Cluddy Cocim Cold Coldan Colf Colto Cona Conterna Corwed Cynd Cyner Dagards Dagus Demar Dems Desto Dieducars Dona Edembents Edrettles Edriesce Eingdol Ekke Elia Elving Emai Eman Embroke Emicorks Emirks Emistinry Ered Erianna Ertard Everds Exch Fain Famarbas Famber Fambrar Fand Fannee Fearingdo Finna Fired Firkon Fita Flenus Folby Forwin Frachros Fral Frand Fras Fria Frice Frick Fried Friked Frin Frobius Frobor Frolge Gebhanne Gerhan Gertimer Gerts Gisa Gislaum Goma Gooker Gotto Gottsce Grand Grast Gredmut Grelly Gremsey Greter Grethis Gron Grum Grunus Grus Guisbere Gwdwga Gwer Gwys Güntio Hadron Haelo Halsh Hanca Hanist Harnus Harola Hart Harvoston Heing Heize Heldog Helmuntz Herielves Hert Herwigis Hester Hiang Hilhaer Hilheing Hilhen Hilianika Hill Hille Himen Himsey Hiram Hiryl Hisa Hisana Hollatto Holph Howyn Hubeter Huelga Huelly Hughang Hughte Imsegus Inee Inus Ioscenis Iosio Ireturst Ishimille Itald Itall Itia Jacold Janna Jere Jerts Johandea Johandesl Johaned Johanko Joharlo Joina Jona Juludon Jupparg Justar Jürge Karlonto Kathig Killy Kilowe Kins Klad Klannesce Kold Landsus Launstim Lausus Layear Lenius Leve Lied Llwn Lona Lonodwild Lormar Lort Loutta Lovalter Luddwr Lüto Lütomanna Madefnd Madoger Maeried Maertry Maidon Mainthily Mald Malieb Maloto Manded Manne Mannia Maraim Mard Mareding Marik Marisand Mart Mastiold Matios Mauka Mellerth Mice Mildo Milhenes Milyndt Mircia Mirius Mirs Miselia Monry Mule Muns Nand Nanotob Nantobern Nast Nathentia Nattarid Neliang Nelly Nemedeade Nese Nich Nord Nore Ogmutts Olle Oniusus Onus Orrida Owaing Owas Parl Parricurn Peach Pemin Petut Pher Phira Phisa Plaig Ponan Prietrid Pris Prom Protth Ralte Rame Rast Redriesel Reing Relsact Renz Retiand Retitack Rets Returie Rhis Robeen Robing Robis Romain Rottertia Ruffel Ruffudd Rusteate Sabarne Sagania Saing Sameigne Sana Sandolfga Saner Santucene Saxim Selix Selmuel Seposevis Shred Sinedinne Skiffert Skin Sold Solf Sona Soned Stata Sted Steph Ster Sucadrine Sury Sverthed Thad Thare Theliete Therned Thim Tios Tobarl Tona Toneented Trads Trang Traringom Twen Twer Udiansta Utin Uwenus Vaus Vher Vilhan Vina Vinerdt Vinnalia Vins Vitz Vive Vola Voscetch Wald Walde Wale Walvinus Wela Welk Welsh Wevolge Wheinz Wherming Whict Whilby Wigar Wild Wilm Wilyn Wina Winger Witert Witiany Wold Wolfrah Yeachave Yearsted Yspwyn Ysta Ystya

#444 names #444names

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seph7 · 3 months

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German Press Kit for Defenseless (1991). Below is the translated production info from inside, plus J.T. Walsh’s actor profile.

Lawyer T.K. Katwuller (Barbara Hershey) seems to have everything the successful woman of the 90s needs: she has a top job in a renowned law firm, a great apartment in Beverly Hills, great clothes. Only something clouds the image of the career lady: her private life is a single disaster.

After a failed marriage and several unsuccessful attempts to find Mr. Right, she ends up with an absolute Mr. Wrong - her client Steven Seldes (T.J. Walsh). He is charming, cosmopolitan - but married. And not only that. Seldes is in a complicated case where it is about porn movies and child pornography.

T.K. stands behind her client and his version - that he is only involved to the extent that he unknowingly rented a warehouse in which the porn was shot.

The events roll over after porn director Jack Hammer (John Kapelos) is brutally beaten up in Stevens' warehouse converted into a studio.

Shortly after the incident, T.K. visits the place of the event. She hopes to find relief material for her client - and runs to the police detective Lt. George Beutel (Sam Shepard) across the way.

From the first moment, there is a tension between the two between Attraction and aversion.

A little later, T.K., obviously by chance, meets her old college friend Ellie (Mary Beth Hurt), who has not been seen for years - and discovers that she is Steven's wife.

Ellie doesn't know anything about this relationship and invites T.K. to dinner to give her her husband and the half-grown daughter Janna (Kellie Overbey).

The evening is, as usual, highly embarrassing and ends for T.K. with the decision to end the private relationship with Steven immediately. She leaves the Seldes House, extremely excited and angry. Steven follows her to the waggon and T.K. demands her apartment key back. Steven convinces her to a debate a little later in his office.

T.K. arrives there before Steven and accidentally finds material that clearly proves Steven's suffocation in the porn affair.

After Steven arrives, she confronts him. There is a fierce dispute in the course of which Steven becomes tangible. T.K. tries to defend himself and stabs Steven in the arm with a letter opener. In a panic, she leaves the Office.

Arriving in front of the house, she has to realise that she left her car keys in Steven's office. She turns around again, but does not find Steven in the office - but loud traces of blood on the floor. A few moments later, she discovers Steven in the men's toilet - brutally murdered.

T.K. is calling for the police. Lt. Beutel leads the investigation, which finds that Steven was killed by several stitches in the neck and chest. In a certain awareness that she cannot possibly have killed Steven with a stab in the arm, T.K. decides not to report this incident to the police.

The next day brings another terrible surprise. Ellie was accused of the murder of her husband and is arrested.

Ellie insists on being defended by T.K. T.K. can be convinced. A fatal decision, as it soon turns out. T.K.'s attempts to prove Ellie's innocence gradually reveal secrets that connect the two women in a strange way....

J.T. WALSH (Steven Seldes)

Walsh embodies the morally bankrupt entrepreneur in WEHRLOS

Steven Seldes, whose dubious businesses are the starting point of the tragic-bloody events.

Walsh was born in San Francisco. At the age of five, he moved to Germany with his family and only returned to the states at the age of 19. He only started his acting career at the age of 30, after he had previously tried numerous other jobs.

The stage career began in Connecticut and led to New York at the St. Clemens Theatre and the Manhattan Theatre Company. In a "Richard III" production, he played alongside Al Pacino on the Broad-way. Other roles there: in Frank Gilroy's "Last Licks", next to Nicol Williamson in "Macbeth", with Glenda Jackson in "Rose", with Williamson again in "Glengarry Glen Ross".

On the cinema screen, he has now established himself as a villain from the service. In "Good Morning, Vietnam" he was Robin Williams stubborn superior, in Robert Towne's "Tequila Sunrise" (with Kurt Russell, Mel Gibson and Michelle Pfeiffer) an ambivalent drug searcher, in Fred Schepisi's "Russia House" a cold-nosted military, in Ron Howard's "Backdraft - Men Who Go Through Fire" just a corrupt municipal politician.

He has already been in front of the camera twice with Barbara Hershey: in Barry Levinson's "Tin Men" and in Woody Allen's "Hannah and her sisters".

Recently, he shot a Hollywood satire with "The Big Picture" and played the disclosure journalist Bob Woodward in "Wired".

#jtwalsh #j.t. walsh #jt walsh #underrated actors #defenseless

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theorist-influencer-untitled · 11 months

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6.9.23 Friday

7:58 am

Yeah! I go for it angels!!!

Let's do it! The world war 3!

Unity of the world!!!

youtube

Uncle Jun is preparing going to the Georgia'Z forest...

From the past weeks Uncle Jun's sofa-crib whenever he left in the morning, he always well-arranged everything on his sofa-crib.... Strange changes.... hmmm...

8:15 am

I go for "Amanda Gorman"!!!

For the unity of the world...Yeah! Let's go... For the harmony of the world... Sure! Let's go...For the equality of the world.... Yes! Let's go...

Coz the one will not come never feel defeated coz they are on the top of the hill and never experience being at the bottom...

FOR GOD'S NAME!!!

11:28 noon

I'm ready for a call...

1:45 pm

Still,having windblow trap and done eating lunchie with everyone...

I still feel bitter and life is unfair for me since 2007, some particular Monkeya'Z took my seat and my college diploma... I always dream to be on rightful spotlight but there will always be an obstacle for me since this windblow came into me and just spinning me for nothing... I'm not happy and I'm not fulfilled since 2007...

They repeat me for multiple times,it's like killing me multiple times without allowing me to fight that they got some of my ideas and concept about the important wisdom about everything....

Another thing, I feel bitter I can't find a new support system ( bf not monkeya'Z)... I feel bored... It doesn't matter if there will be a world war 3...So what? Life came from God and we are all human...Life these days aren't equal for me... I know that I deserve more but they took it away from me and I feel hurt since 2007...

2:08 pm

I feel bored... I miss starbucksing....I badly need a support system (a religious and an understanding bf not monkeya'Z ) yeah! To be my support system ( my financial support ) most specially these days....I want someone mature and with stability and I don't wanna commute that far, it doesn't matter if it's colored or white but willing to be respectful on my needs.... Having nice teeth of course and know rightful hygiene...

I need to remove my "deep smile lines"....I feel fat and ugly...I miss going to gym and most specially AF (anytime fitness )... But I need a job as well... I'm so angry and irritated coz I have windblow trap since 2007 and aging is supposed to be not on my system... They just aged me for nothing...

2:28 pm

Plus, there is a shoppee delivery for Uncle Jun but still unpaid it is 899, since last Wednesday he was having delivery from shoppee but unpaid! I told the shoppee to simply text or call Uncle Jun coz he didn't leave any money for that...

The parcel of Janna is here already from Shopee as well but good thing paid already...

So, J & J? Janna & Jun... Nothing, no meaning at all...

4:26 pm

I'm just thinking of "Moonson" but this happened in the states ( America ).... But here probably mixed of church of christ and other religions and high society people but mainly led by an Indian people ( perhaps,people came from India )...Just wondering how did everything start here in Cavite, Philippines?

4:47 pm

I don't wanna think extreme....But the shoppee delivery guy wore a sunglasses and bandana kerchief but on his face... It is kinda weird... The guard here must check everyone before they will allow to enter our village...

Good thing Neko is in the garage....If in case there is a bad soul, Neko can detect...

5:39 pm

Is there an application just like on "missed connection" movie that if you wanna find a person that you bumped somewhere, you can make an announcement there... But I want an app titled as "link with me"...

Like here? Wanted bf?

Now? I wanted the 2 colored guy here but I'm just wondering if they can be my financial support. One is skinhead, I hope he is good guy but he smells good the last time I saw him walking here in our street....He smells good and chubby.... Coz he smells good the colored guy ( I accidentally noticed his presence ), he was at my back, I was near on the store of Ate Cha....I saw him twice,but that day, the colored skinhead guy walked towards my direction ( near ate Cha store ), I just noticed him coz his scent lingered on my nose... I turned back and saw this colored skinhead chubby but good smelling colored guy...

The other colored guy is still young...

Are they wealthy, who can be my support system? But I wonder where are these 2? I think they have different circles...

I really feel bored these days and I wanna have some action in life, angels... I need a support system...

7:30 pm

youtube

I still have pelvic/ priformis/ sciatica pain...

I want a bf, aside from English speaking, I want someone who can respect me and be supportive on my "me time or my own moment"...

8:21 pm

I always wanted to flatten my tummy and I exercised since high school, I joined martial arts aikido (during high school ) and taekwondo ( during college ), just to control my weight and home exercise...

And after college on and off I went to different gyms here in Cavite and belly dancing class ( believe or not I went to belly dancing class for my waist line ). I hate gaining too much but my body built is really chubby...

Recently,I went to AF ( Anytime Fitness ) but pandemic came in everything changed and now I feel bitter...

If I will get a bf I want someone who can respect me coz I have different character, if I gained too much I became "Kitty Galore"...

youtube

9 pm

Done, exercising.... Too much of waiting is too much, angels...

I still have windblow trap... I feel hurt since 2007 and a lot of mean or wicked most of FilipiNOSE Monkeya'Z made up a story that I'm not a college graduate, I feel hurt... I just had an on and off job, after Cebu Pacific Air but before that I had a job but I hopped into different industries...

9:48 pm

Relaxing, in a lil while will take my shower...

It is just nowadays that I'm bum... So, after Cebu Pacific Air year 2007 that I had my amnesia that my 3rd partner named Ryan was somehow my bf and personal assistant or nurse coz I just remember now that my aunt Jasmine ( the first legal partner of Uncle DD ) became my guardian or personal assistant those days that I was with Ryan ( After Rocky & JP )...

I can't remember our anniversary even on Rocky and JP or the dates that should be remembered...

But my first puppy bf during high-school named Jimbo, I remember our anniversary it was Feb.14 that I gave him 2 donuts... But I wasn't that focus on our relationship, it was just a "love team" for school charity/ money/ popularity contest... Weird!

In the Nutshell:

I want to have new circle of friends who can accept me and willing to embrace me and concern about me but never interfering on some personal matters about me such as my love life.....I want friends who will not judge but willing to accept and know me....

But these days I want a support system ( a bf for my financial needs and my personal needs )...I need a bf after 16 years, I need some action in life...

#Youtube

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