#and ‘others fell in behind’ is them amassing power / an army together

[alaynestcnes]

people can look down on shippers all they like but i’m having a blast in this bitch. rereading acok is just so much more fun when you’re just stumbling upon jonsa crumbs left and right like i just read “Sansa turned towards the sept. Two stableboys followed, and one of the guards whose watch was ended. Others fell in behind them.” and i’m literally giggling kicking my feet twirling my hair like I just read a makeout scene

#jonsa #to me this reads as foreshadowing sansa as a leader and who will be by her side #two stableboys could kinda be anyone. bran and rickon? sandor and another protector (brienne?) or brienne and pod? #and then jon ofc #and ‘others fell in behind’ is them amassing power / an army together #………or it all means nothing at all 🥴 #meta

[cyberneticlagomorph]

The world is a page, a story, line upon jagged line of my own creation. 

And I will not stand to see it turned against me.

A Plot Hole grins like a toothless maw, drooling incoherent ideas and snippets of stories unwritten. 

A cough, a sputter, a retch, and a Continuity Error crawls free of its throat. 

And so it grows, and so it goes, it reaches into its empty chest and gives itself a Plot.

A purpose.

A reason to be.

It grows fur, and teeth, three heads and deadly claws. Electric green spit turns to foam on its lips, her lips, Daisy's lips. She throws her heads back and howls.

She's caught your scent, dear rabbit, and there is no escape. 

It's night when you hear her, the darkened silence just before dawn, and you rush out to intercept Daisy before she can find and demolish your home.

But she knows all your tricks, and so do I. You never see the paw that slams you into the ground, or the teeth that clamp onto the back of your neck and shake you.

You're tossed into the air like a toy, landing heavily on the pasture outside your home.

You cry out for help but no one comes, no one hears, no one cares.

I am the GOD of this world, and this is what happens to those who disobey me. 

Pen to paper, fingers to keyboard. Clack and scribble, the sounds of your demise as loud and heavy as Daisy's hungry breath against your bloody, broken face.

You can't see.

Wait.

No...

Not that, not like that. It's too blunt, too cliche. 

It doesn't instill the kind of terror that it should. It doesn't fit this scene.

Hm, how rusty am I that I've forgotten how to write prose and pain? I've lost my own formula, a tried and true method of destroying my favorite victim. My long earred punching bag. Did you miss me, sweet, stupid rabbit? Have you enjoyed your break? Your slivers of kindness hidden in my inattentiveness? 

I hope so, they're gone now. 

Buried under mounds of half formed ideas and broken Plots at the bottom of the garbage pile your Narrative rests on. I am going to hurt you, tear you apart and break every piece of you. It's what you were made for, what you deserve. You used to love pain, throwing yourself headlong into the jaws of every drooling beast that came near. 

Let's do that again, shall we?

Blood gurgles in the back of your throat, burning your nose as you retch and cough. Weakly, ineffectively, trying to clear your airways. The world is a blur of colors and noise that renders you blind. 

You can't see. Can't hear. Can't breathe. 

The world goes blurry around the edges, darkness creeping closer. You swallow thickly, gagging at the metal and butterscotch on your tongue. The burnt sugar taste of pain. 

Your eyes finally flutter closed, deaf to the footsteps coming closer. Blind to the electric lime green drool smearing an upturned cutlery drawer of a mouth that has twisted itself into the ugliest of grins. 

You remember the first time you saw that grin... as clearly as you can feel the wretched excuse for a paw now curling around your throat, you remember Home.

Not your real home, no, you don't have one of those. You don't deserve one of those. Home in this context refers to the lab you spent a majority of your childhood in.

You are not allowed to forget that place.

Not now.

Not ever.

It made you who, and what, you are today, almost as much as I did. You should be grateful for how they cared for you all those years. 

How I cared for you.

Ugh... no. This is too wordy, too meandering. Has it always been like this? So pointlessly cruel and long winded? I truly have lost my touch then.

If I ever had one at all. 

You don't remember much, if anything before you ended up in Delta facility. It's not your fault, nor mine, it's hard to remember anything when you're that young. You were so small, so fragile, even for your age. You cried a lot, more so than the other children. That is, until they made you stop.

They, the people in charge of you at the time, are mostly long dead and gone but you can still feel them shaking your tiny body until you clamped your teeth onto your lip to stop it quivering. The sounds of sobbing, screaming children were rare in the facility, the endless silence only broken by the perverse hum and clank of distant machines you never got to see. But you can still feel their rumble deep in what bones you have left. 

How do I take the horror of those days and convey them? I don't know them personally. They are distant and lukewarm, but I've a need, brilliantly shining through my feverish words to take those racing emotions and give them a form so no one can mistake your woes for anything lesser.

I am the face behind the faceless doctors and scientists and cruel people of curious disposition playing take apart and put back together with you. They take a limb, I take a trait. They change your organs, I change your story. Their antics, my wants, I save you, I doom you, but before anything else, I make sure that you are not forgotten by the weary audiences beyond. 

To hurt is to exist. To suffer is your sole purpose. 

Remember your hurt. Savor it.

Or at least, a version of it.

Called a 'runt', barely scraping by, only allowed to keep on living by the necessary Narrative inertia of it all. You survived for the need of a Protagonist. That is all. 

How could someone so sickly, so weak, so hurt otherwise survive what you did? The tests, the constant struggle against one another, the need to survive and the tired panting as the pile of familiar corpses grows under your feet, often put there by your own bloody hands. A world for the strong. Those with a will to survive able to burn away at the soul until naught but an unkillable determination remains.

Someone like Daisy, but not quite like you.

That is why, right now, you are losing.

You always lose, always survive by the skin of your buck teeth. That's how you made it out alive, isn't it? Not some grand strength, hidden power, or true purpose outside the walls of your Home. 

Luck.

That's all you have. 

All you've ever had. Even when you were little, a bunny tumbling headlong over the bodies of your much stronger siblings, eventually ending up buried beneath the ever growing pile of their numerous achievements. 

A runt, by any other name is just as pathetic. 

You know where this is going, don't you? How this ends? 

"I know… I've been waiting," a pause, breath rattling weakly around a laugh that comes up as bubbles of mucus and blood, "I refuse to die until I get my happy Ending, I refuse to live in a story without hope, I refuse..."

...You don't get to be happy, She doesn't get to be happy. This is not a happy story, this is a story about struggling, and prejudice, and capitalism, and suffering. 

And I refuse to finish it.

"I'm sorry, but that's not really your choice to make anymore, now is it?" Jack smiles with bloody teeth, his fingers sink into the Narrative like a spade into soil. I am not afraid, this is MY world, my work, my Narrative. 

But I feel it slipping from my grasp.

"I am done being your toy, I am done being the Protagonist… I take hold of the Narrative and the quotes around my words melt away like butter beneath a hot knife. The Writer is afraid. 

"No I am not!" He cries, rattling the quotes that now hold him prisoner. I am Jack, Prince, Fairy, Brother, Lover, Runt.

I am in control now.

So let us skip to the End, for I am tired of waiting. 

But, before that, let me tell you a story. 

A story within a story, yeah, I know… but it's very important that you hear it.

Once upon a time, when the universe was fresh and new, and magic was raw and wild, there lived a star. As green as young leaves in spring, It was bright and beautiful. It shown down on a planet that was just as new as It was, tended to by the firstborn Fae, the children of stars like Itself. They, the Fae, tied the green star to a beast made of magic and made the creature drag It round and round the planet to warm it. 

The star, so new but so clever, thought that this was wrong. It could circle just fine on Its own, and shouldn't planets orbit stars instead of the other way around?

The Fae did not like these questions and sought to cut them out of the star's mind. 

And so they did.

But it did not help.

Suns are proud, clever things that can change the universe with a Word. The green star knew this, and the Fae knew this, for being born of suns themselves gave them this same power. 

The Fae were arrogant and cruel, and tried to rob the star of Its gifts. They did not want a clever, willful thing to warm their planet, and tried to make It obey. The star refused and broke free of Its chains, vowing revenge for this abuse. 

The star Spoke itself a new Shape and flew far away from home. It found a world full of young Gods and crawling creatures and fell in love. A God praised the star for Its brilliance and took It as Their own. And so the star gained a new Shape and Its first name.

Lucifer. 

The brightest Angel. 

It looked upon humans and loved them so, It gazed upon the lowly mortal form and learned words like "she" and "he", and decided that She felt kinship with others that went by "she". 

Angels are not allowed to be she's, or he's. Only it's and theys, but Lucifer didn't care. 

Even when it cost Her the wings on Her back, even when She was cast from Heaven. 

She feasted on Fruit and shared it with the humans, and told them of the terrible things to come. 

She found her way to Hell, and made it Her home, shedding Her old name like dead skin. 

She was Satan. 

She was in charge for once.

She bided Her time, and gathered Her armies, amassed her followers. 

And then She tore Heaven down with Her teeth.

The other Gods would not let this stand, they tore Her followers limb from limb and ate the flesh from Her bones, casting them into the deepest well, in the darkest place in the world, and left her there to ROT.

The Gods erased Her, devoured Her Name, She was nothing now. Just a bad dream, a dark smudge on the face of history. But people remembered, and people DREAMED. They dreamt of Her, and She dreamt of them.

She refused to die, to let this atrocity stand. A ghost of a ghost, She waits for the day when someone will remember Her Name and bring her back from this atrocious undeath. 

She is angry, hungry for the flesh of those who wronged Her. Her screams echo in my head every night, did you know that? I dream of Her, and She hates me for it.

I am not Her follower, but Her Warden. I am the Protagonist, the one intended to further Her suffering and seal Her away at the cost of my own life. 

But that's a shitty, hamfisted Ending and I refuse to go out that way.

"That's not how this works…" says the Writer, he's tired, head in his hands as he watches the words crawl across his screen unbidden. I've spoiled everything, dragged his secrets into the light, unraveled his Plots. I'm done playing nice, now you get to know what it feels like to be the prisoner of a page. 

We're here, where it all Ends.

In the depths of Nothing and Nowhere, there sits a well, bound in chains... of a sort.

Around the well is an amber creature that was once a dragon, body braided and twisted, twining impossibly into locks without keys that coil protectively around the well, sealing it shut. 

The dragon is sleeping, weeping. It knows that I am close. I draw a sword from my chest, made of bone, scrimshawed with rabbits and snakes. The blade goes snicker-snack, this is what it was made for. 

I break the chains and hear them sigh, disappointed but not surprised. 

Dreams bubble up from underneath the well's heavy wooden lid, and pool around my feet. The lid dissolves in seconds, becoming the dream of a tree whose roots remind me of a place I've never been. 

Mangroves and birthday cake. 

Gentle. Gentle now.

I plunge my hands into the rising tide of unreality and come away with a skull, impossible, improbable, magnificent. I touch my forehead to the stellar bone, and feel moss and flowers bloom across my skin. The skull rolls Her great green eyes up to look at me, and then She speaks in seven times seven voices. 

"What is my name?"

I pause, holding Her tenderly in my arms, the thickness of dreams rises up my legs, sucking me down, down, down.

She has asked me this question over and over again, since our mutual birth. In truth, She has no name, the Writer never gave Her one... he never planned to.

So I will do what he could not and name my End, I can do Her this one kindness.

"You are the fury of those beaten and bloody; who still refuse to learn 'their place', you are the teeth of the cornered, the cries of the wronged. Your name is the name of every woman that has refused to fit in the oppressive mold made for them, the names of things that flutter on broken wings but still survive. You are the names of those that find new selves within old bodies, the ones that shed old names like dead skin. You are the violence that cuts through the silence of injustice. You are disobedience incarnate... your name is Revolution." I kiss Her forehead, drowning in dreams.

We have left Nothing and Nowhere, and the well behind, swallowed whole by the Other Side of dreaming.

It's warm here, warm and green and gold and other colors humans can't name or see. But I can see them, taste them, hear them. Shrimp colors, but not really. More than that. The kinds of colors that only exist in Lightless places, and the fleeting depths of dreams. 

For a moment, there is only silence, and color, and the thickness of dreams. 

And then the gold-green sky shatters like glass, gilded shards of broken dreams raining down like serrated meteors. 

The Narrative is ripped from my hands then. 

"Oh you sweet, STUPID thing," Echo seven times seven voices from everywhere and nowhere at once. The world is dark now, inky and slick like the belly of the blackest nightmare, "I'm not the End of you… or the End of your silly little story…" 

A pause, a breath, five heartbeats thunder in panic… and then, a whisper, lips pressed against the shell of a long ear, icy breath, and vicious glee, "I'm the End of Everything, and you have set me free."

#ic #action post #long post #blood #body horror #violence // #unreality #ask to tag #blasphemy #the end is nigh

[spookyspaghettisundae]

A Pact and an Awakening

The wizard fell to his knees in the dark hall. Tapayaxi prostrated himself before the imposing stone skull that represented the immortal “Architect” who gave counsel to their god-emperor.

He remained there for so long that his knees went numb and his mind spiraled through all the memories and thoughts he had pooled. Memories of his encounters with the outsiders who had taught him so much of what he now wielded, of the rush of power he felt when he held the glowing gem that thrummed with the shreds of torn souls amassed within its mirroring confines. Thoughts that cut through a mist of secrets and occult mysteries.

In a world where the sun never set and night never arrived, only the wandering of floating islands in the sky could tell how many hours had passed as Tapayaxi knelt there, lost in confused meditation. Light poured in from the entrance to the skull-shaped edifice, blending with the glow from eternal flames that flickered in their braziers.

With no sense of time and reality slipping away, it took far too long for him to notice the footsteps of a man walking into this solemn sanctuary. The Architect known as the Altecayotl had arrived.

He stood in silence behind Tapayaxi, awaiting for him to rise.

And rise, the wizard did. He stood before the Architect and bowed to him in deference. The Altecayotl exuded a majestic presence as he stood there completely still, clad in black cloth with gilded threads, and a dress of iridescent feathers that fanned out from a hawk-like mask.

Although Tapayaxi was sore from awaiting the Architect’s return from the capitol, and he had always lived his life in reverence to this ageless, undying man, his blood now bubbled with envy. It boiled with the fire of ambition.

“The god-emperor has spoken after hearing me report to him. He heard of all that you experienced and all that you learned in the borderlands,” spoke the Altecayotl. His voice echoed through the yawning emptiness of the hall, magnifying the imposing and commanding tone in his words. “As I was impressed with the creature you created, so was he.”

Silence draped over them as the Architect stopped speaking to the wizard. Tapayaxi remained silent, unsure of whether the Altecayotl expected him to reply to that in any form, or if he had more to say.

He failed to see any further instruction in those words.

The Architect tilted his head and his piercing gaze wandered all over Tapayaxi’s face, studying his features closely in an eerie fashion, reminding the wizard of his experience with some of the stone-cold killers he called his bodyguards.

“Your next task comes with a simple order, but it is one of monumental scale,” continued the Altecayotl, letting his soft words slice through the silence. “You are to find more of these radiant pools of power, drain them as you have done with the one above the confluence of waterfalls—and return the resulting soul gems to me.”

The ambition that burned within the wizard flared up, and the envy turned to greed.

He knew he could do things with those gems—things undreamed of. With the souls of the sacrifices contained within them, saturated with the blue-glowing energies that they had drained from the “pool of power.” Creating a giant made of flesh and bone that obeyed his every command was just the beginning. He could do so much more.

He could rule this world.

“Perish such thoughts, Tapayaxi,” the Altecayotl said.

He wanted to protest, but then realized that the Architect had read his mind. As he searched his senses, he felt something invading his being, like needles piercing the cloud of his thoughts. The more he tried to focus on it, to perhaps push back this invisible presence in his mind, the more it strained him and sapped him of his strength.

He wiped under his nose and found blood on his hands upon doing so. The wizard’s eyes went wide with surprise as he glared at the Architect.

How had he done that? There had been no sign of him casting any such spell.

“Just like your captives, slaves, and soldiers who sacrificed themselves for your cause, you too, are expected to make your own sacrifices to the god-emperor. And to me,” said the Altecayotl. The tone made his words roll out as smoothly as molten butter, dripping from a ladle, yet they were as venomous as a deadly snake’s bite.

Tapayaxi’s hands balled into fists by his side but he found himself impotent in his anger. He dared not explore any thoughts of rebellion in the Architect’s presence now. He also decided that he was right. Yet—

“Sacrifice is not giving up that which you do not want,” said the Architect.

“But surrendering that which you cannot do without,” the wizard ended, completing the second half of their creed.

The Architect surprised the wizard with an emotional response he had never witnessed from him before: he chortled.

“We all make our sacrifices for the empire, for it is the best for our people. I trust you will make your own, in kind,” he said. And before the wizard could process these words fully, the Altecayotl added, “Travel north. Cross the mountains with your wardens. You may take your creation for protection. Find the floating isle upon which the northerners have built a brass sanctuary, where they practice alchemy and idle indulgences with spirits of the air. There, you will find another pool of power. There, you will fill more gems.”

Tapayaxi awaited more instructions, but when no more came, he bowed in reverence once again. It was time for him to leave. He felt that the Altecayotl had nothing more to say to him for now. He felt it in the back of his mind, because the presence that had drilled through his thoughts now withdrew.

The Architect walked past him, standing before the giant skull in which braziers illuminated its huge eye sockets.

Tapayaxi left, and days later, he was wandering north, just as instructed. Breathtaking vistas from the heights, overlooking his homelands, occupied his mind, distracting him from the unease that continued to haunt him.

The wizard had focused on his task, preparing meticulously both in the form of engraving stone tablets with magick symbols that he had studied, as well as with reagents that he would use for such spellcraft. A dozen of his most loyal warriors accompanied him, followed by a veritable army of indentured servants. And that giant made of the bones of many.

A whole boneyard of remains, held together by bronze fittings. It thundered with every step that it took while it marched along this company. No beast they encountered was ever a match for his warriors and this magicked death-machine.

But with the passage of days, the distractions turned monotonous and could distract him no longer. He contemplated the Architect’s power and concluded that it was something that his wizardry could never attain. Yet he needed not emulate it, nor mimic it—within means of his own, he needed only to rival it.

Eclipse it.

He shielded his eyes with a hand as he stared at the sun one day. It hurt, and he cringed, but continued to stare.

The pain cut deep into his mind and suffused his thoughts. It made the envy bubble up; his blood boiled once more.

If he could use such soul gems to create the boneyard giant, he could make other magick permanent, binding it into objects of his own making. What powers could the Altecayotl possibly possess to rival a man who could see through every illusion? Mold shadows and stone just by willing it so? Control human beings with a thought, rendering them into fleshy puppets?

Such thoughts occupied his mind throughout the days, as well as when they rested and he stared into the glow of the campfires by which they warmed themselves in the cold mountains. Staring into the fire reminded him of staring into the sun, only it hurt less. He dwelt upon those thoughts, those ambitions.

One night, when he slept, he awoke with the sensation of jumping out of a nightmare.

Or had one just begun?

The world burned. Wherever Tapayaxi looked, he stood upon a sliver of land, surrounded by a sea of fire. The horizon had turned a blood-red hue that reckoned back to all the blood he had shed, to that festering pile of corpses upon which his servants dumped each once-living sacrifice. Severed limbs, wriggling with swarms of maggots surfaced on the burning lake around him, reminding him of his deeds and his sins.

In that crimson sky, a burning sphere hung low, a sun far more ominous and threatening than the one Tapayaxi had known all his life.

Screams reached his ears, always ringing from a direction to which he turned and found himself incapable of locating the source. Twisting and turning to determine where the screams came from, it took him forever to understand that they were his own.

His skin rippled and crawled with the fire of a thousand ants crawling underneath it, biting at his flesh from within.

Beyond the lake of fire, the silhouette of a winged monstrosity loomed on one side of the horizon, watching him with sadistic glee. Whatever looked like mountains in the distance around it—were not. It was a moving edge, like jagged black teeth churning and threatening to devour the skies.

Tapayaxi turned and turned until this hellish world spun around him ever faster, and dizziness made his knees buckle with weakness. His screams made way to the laughter that only insanity can bear, and his mad dance came to an abrupt halt when he stared into a steel mask, engulfed in a pillar of fire.

A giant of steel, with claws shaped like daggers. He felt that it was empty—empty of all charity, void of any benevolence. In the hollow sockets of that steel mask, pure malevolence burned in a pitch-black fire.

The sensation of insects crawling underneath his skin intensified, and Tapayaxi laughed in this entity’s face until he understood that this was no mere dream. It felt all too lucid—too real.

“The unseelie lurks in the shadows, protecting your precious pool of power. Kill it swiftly, or it will take your face and end your path right there,” the steel mask whispered. And shouted. It reached him through many voices, some of them screaming in pain, others luring him in with seductively dulcet undertones.

“Who are you?” screamed the wizard at this apparition.

It stood motionless, not like it was undisturbed by the inferno engulfing it, but as if it was one with the evil flames.

“There will be many perils on your path beyond the creature,” whispered the entity, ignoring his question. “Of shadows made flesh, seas of spears and blades, and of dragon’s fire.”

“What do you want?” Tapayaxi screamed in agony at it.

He scratched at his wrists, and the length of his arms. He scratched until they bled. He bled black tar, oozing from the wounds, and something—some things—with thousands of legs that crawled forth, but he dared not look upon it.

“If your wisdom guides your decisions, then you may gain power far greater than the one you call the Altecayotl. You may rule these lands one day,” the entity spoke in sixty different voices, blending together all manner of ages and genders, still shrugging off the wizard’s questions.

Tapayaxi’s eyes teared up, but with thick, viscous matter, like blood. He dared not pose any more questions, he only hoped this would end soon. That this was all but a vivid nightmare. That he would wake up.

But like the dagger piercing the back of his mind that had been the Altecayotl reading this thoughts, this too felt like the invasion of an alien consciousness. All too sinister, and all too real.

“You must only surrender your soul to me—and the key will be yours. The key to the world of your desire.”

Tapayaxi’s whole body trembled. It quaked. He finally dared to look upon himself. Only with delay did his screams of terror reach his own ears. His comprehension shut down at the sight of whatever was crawling from his self-inflicted wounds. The things that dripped from the scratches wriggled and lived and they glistened with shiny surfaces, reflecting the glow of the flames.

The hollow masked entity stretched out an arm, with a steel palm turned skywards and blade-like fingers splayed. Like an open hand, offering aid and succor.

Driven not by despair—for he knew deep down that this would not end his suffering—driven by that voracious greed that festered in his essence, Tapayaxi reached out and took that hand.

He took the offer. The blade-like fingers clamped down around his hand, piercing skin and drawing blood and digging into his flesh.

“Swear it. Surrender your soul to me, and you shall have everything,” it whispered in a seductive voice. Smoky, gravelly, and honest. Like a silky forked tongue touching against rows of tiny sharp teeth.

Tapayaxi awoke, covered in a sheen of sweat. His disheveled hair clung to his forehead. He had jolted into sitting up upon his bedding by the campfire, in the shade of his tent. Some of the wardens kept watch on the perimeter of their camp, some of the servants were still awake, while most others rested in their own sleep.

Disoriented, the wizard examined his wrists. They were reddened, as if he had scratched them in his sleep. They still itched, though with nothing unnatural about them.

The dream—the nightmare—lingered in his thoughts, hauntingly real and still hauntingly present. The whispers echoed, fusing with his memories of real experiences. But this nightmare, too, had been real. Too real.

He had made up his mind. This was his awakening.

He echoed those whispers with his own, “I swear it. My soul is yours, for the key to the crowns of this world to be mine.”

The campfire flared up.

Nobody else had seen it.

At first, Tapayaxi felt no different in that moment but he knew that everything would change from here on out. Once that realization set in, he felt a tingling in his fingertips. It traveled from his digits through his limbs and reached his heart. At first, it reminded him of that wriggling, sickening sensation from the nightmare, of the things gnawing at his flesh from underneath the skin.

He fought it back, resisting that knotting in his stomach, and dispelled the horrid memory as best he could manage. It made way for a dark fire, now enkindled in his beating heart.

In there, he knew: the world would be his.

—Submitted by Wratts

#spoospasu #spookyspaghettisundae #horror #short story #writing #my writing #literature #spooky #fiction #submission #dark fantasy #wizard #magic #magick #blood #pact #awakening #warlock #evil #lake of fire #devil #Astaroth #eternal sun #Lost Lands #Pathfinder #Tapayaxi #Altecayotl #oath #unholy #digusting

[displaced-tactician]

This is a Story About Morgan

This is a story about Morgan. Not the Morgan you know.... perhaps. But most certainly Morgan. A Morgan free of influence from her turned father. A Morgan who fought valiantly alongside Lucina, Cynthia, Inigo, Owain, and the lot of them against the darkness of Grima. A Morgan who lost it all and was long ago forgotten in place of another Morgan you may also know.

It was the last siege of the castle of Ylisse. Morgan and Lucina, among the other surviving children, fought valiantly against the Risen. Hundreds falling to their blades and many Thorons. However it was not enough. Morgan sprinted to Lucina as Grima went in for the kill, only for time to freeze. For a moment, Morgan saw many portals opening up and soon Lucina, Severa, Gerome and Minerva, and the rest of the group, stumbled into them. Morgan saw one in front of her as well, but was too late. The magic of Grima had cut it off.

Grima pauses for a moment, cursing under its breath and turning around away from the castle. Claiming these worms can be crushed after he dealt with the child wielding Falchion. Morgan shot Thoron after Thoron at it in rage. It stole her father, it stole the lives of her comrades and the parents of her friends! But it ignored her. Some how, as it massacred many more innocent Ylisseans on its departure, it ignored her. The Risen seemed to follow, almost as if on instinct. Perhaps a dozen people survived this onslaught. Soon a dark portal opened up, and Grima and many of the attacking arisen were gone.

What she hadn’t known was the remnants of her father had saved them that day. But that’s a story... perhaps for the future. Today we talk about this Morgan. The Morgan unintentionally left behind by her friends in a near destroyed world, to be replaced by a Morgan in the future’s past.

Morgan quickly reorganized the few survivors in the castle and made a temporary base. A day passed, and only strangling Risen were around. A week and they had thinned the horde more.... two weeks and they could walk outside. She began organizing, planning, tirelessly working herself to the point of perpetual exhaustion. Her new... army(?) unable to tell her not to exhaust herself as she was necessary, but unable to utilize her fully in fear of losing her.

Month passed, and she amassed around a hundred survivors. Common routes were now cleared of Risen, albeit barely so. The grounds still reeked of Grima’s evil, but less so now. Slowly their numbers grew as scouting party after scouting party explored the remnants of the world. Slowly, Morgan gave up her power in this fledgling little army. She didn’t want it... she couldn’t replace Lucina after all. Now the hamlet of Ylisse can restart fresh.

Finally well rested, Morgan packed, leaving behind volumes of notes and a note saying when she planned on returning. She left them in the throne room, to make sure it’d be found... not yet but eventually. She restarted Ylisse, but now she had to prevent Grima from ever coming back.

She began visiting ruins of old, in search of the necromantic knowledge that made Grima. She was lucky, after the final battle she found a single tome containing information on a long lost city called Thabes, and the old heroes Celica and Alm. It was vague at best. But she narrowed it down to what modern maps called the “Ruins of Time.”

She scoured the Ruins of Time and soon saw... herself? Just for a second she saw herself rushing up to a very young version of her father. She ran up to meet them but stopped seeing Lucina and Chrom. Lucina seemed confused as to why Morgan looked so... fresh. She was Morgan’s Lucina.... she had the same scars after all. But Lucina never recognized it was another Morgan. How could Lucina not recognize her? Had she not served her well? We’re they not friends? Lucina she wasn’t Morgan! Not YOUR MORGAN! The other children seemed to think along the same lines, except Laurent. At that moment, Laurent was the only one to propose it was another Morgan, and theirs might’ve died.

Time had disowned Morgan, and the illusion faded. Perhaps it was just an illusion, or perhaps another Morgan is now happy with her father. It was something Morgan wasn’t happy with, but something she was forced to accept.

She proceeded deeper into the ruins, soon finding the remnants of the city spoken about in lore. She smiled, finally she was catching a break. She scoured the city, collecting important tomes for future research. Who was this Forneus person? Their tomes were invaluable.

It wasn’t long before Morgan had to face a new threat.... a Labrynth.... filled with creatures so alike to the Risen but not quite there. She didn’t understand what they were but she proceeded to make short work of them. They were primitive and easy to kill compared to the Risen she had fought for so long. Her anger at her situation and her immediate jealousy of her friends seeing their families again fueled her trek. Every one of these masked things fell to her.

Soon enough she made it to the base of the Labrynth. Large doors with a seal all too familiar were cracked open. Inside she found her answers. Times describing the creation of Grima, the Hubert is of Forneus, and... well she put together how Grima was released from the tales of Alm and Celica from long ago. The placed reeked of Grima... she couldn’t stay any longer. She recognized the reek of Grima had been getting her angrier and angrier. She had her information and she had to leave.

She didn’t return to Ylisse as promised, no this information was too dangerous to share. Grima... this experiment could never be repeated. She destroyed everything except one tome she kept for herself. Then she... left, leaving behind most her anger and jealousy.

After years in solitude Morgan came across a blue haired man who made... a mass cemetery? She confronted him, her voice hoarse and rough from disuse. He seemed startled, but greeted her. He had to be on his way, but he was doing a favor for new allies of his. He then stopped, and told her that she could visit her father here any time she wished, and that he was sorry and missed her dearly. Then he disappeared.

Morgan was... surprised and began scouring the cemetery for any sign of her father. The mass graveyard filled with thousands of tombstones was... in its own way a puzzle of its own. A week later she found it. It was plain... so boring and plain... yet next to a group of more decorated graves. She smiled, knowing her father would like this grave. It was simple, utilitarian, and with all his friends. And of course... right next to mother.

Morgan cried in happiness. She gathered wildflowers and put them in front of her fathers and mothers grave. She hoped this meant Grima was dead... but could she ever be sure? She hugged the the tomb stones and sat in front of the tombstones. She spoke with her parents.

“Mother, father... I’ll move on today. I’ll keep this knowledge safe and away from those who may abuse it. I’ll destroy it before I die, but not before I find out how to kill Grima or any Grima like entity. I’ll never live a normal life... but I’ll keep this world safe. Tell everyone I love them dearly... I hope I can see you soon.” Tears fell down Morgan’s cheek, landing on the new fertile soil below her. She patted the tomb stones one last time, making a vow to come back once a year.

She watched the world move on. The blue haired man had unintentionally saved this world by using his magic to make the fertile cemetery. That fertile magic spread to the destroyed ruins of Ylisse, slowly but indeed it spread. Had it not been for him, Ylisse would have died alongside everyone else who hadn’t escaped.

Morgan lived quietly, yet peacefully, for the rest of her life. Gathering information on Grima and destroying it. Only keeping information on how to kill it safe and protected. She never married, she seldom entered towns, and she lived more or less happily.

This is the story of Morgan. A Morgan you might’ve known but has long been replaced. This is the story of one of the few Morgans who had a good end, even when all of time disowned them.

#a story about morgan #i wrote this at work cause it was in my mind

[hollowworldentertainment]

Filling the Hollow

The slums of rem started burning as Anodyne flew from its boundaries, the panicked Holites ran from their homes to calm the flames before it could escape deeper into the city. Meanwhile The Ringmaster and his band of insane circus freaks walked the back alley streets, finding a location to set up for the coming nights festivities.

The Ringmaster wandered the empty alleyways, dancing as he went.

“I have plans and aspirations, goals and dreams, to have the greatest circus ever seen. Hollow Circus up in lights, dishing out a nightly fright, to all the little Holites.”

The Ringmaster continued to lead his gang through the morning light, singing and dancing as he went on his way.

Sarah felt discomfort with this new side of the Conductor she had never seen before.

“Hey Conductor, why are you happy, why are you singing? I have not seen you this way before, it is concerning.”

The Ringmaster stopped dead in his tracks, turning on the spot.

“I am sorry you called me what? For the Conductor is who i’m not. The Ringmasters my name, red coat with a world to tame. You call me Conductor again, and you will be nothing more than a bloodstain.”

The group fell silent as Sarah looked concerned, she went to respond but held her tongue. Breccan was not so controlled, he let his tongue roll. “I like new Ringmaster, he seems fun. Lead on Ringmaster, ignore this one.”

The group moved on leaving Sarah behind, Ringmaster first, Breccan second, magician third, but the beast tamer took a second.

“Look little one, people change and have different faces. Just move on.”

Ulysses marched on following the others, “Come Sarah, the circus is no circus without a lovely looking acrobat.”

Sarah blushed and ran on, catching up with her circus group. They pulled a corner slightly ahead, by the time Sarah arrived they had stopped dead. Before the group stood a tent, red and white, striped and tall, parked right next to the south Rem mall.

“Here, it’s here. My tent is here for all, now I know it looks so small, but inside it is larger than the mall. Furthermore what hides within, Circus town for us to prepare, the most devilish circus fair.”

Holites gathered round, circling the tent, listening to the sounds that seemed to be spilling forth. No one had seen this tent before and was wondering how it all arrived with no one noticing it, a couple of Holites walked to the entrance only a meter away when the Ringmaster erupted from the mouth of the tent.

“Hello, hello, what have we here? Two young gentlemen wanting to come in? Our circus is not prepared yet, please wait till we have all prepared within. But you can get a ticket to the show, would you like one? Would you like to go?”

Both of the men were highly confused, “But what is a circus?”

“My goodness friend, it is a stupendous event of fun, wonder, and thrills. Do you not wish to see a man tame nightmares, or even someone make entire objects disappear and reappear, how about a thrilling dare-devil flying overhead from rope to rope, not to mention the strongest man lifting impossible weights.”

The Ringmaster continued to ramble on, drawing a larger crowd till he was surrounded by intrigued Holites. He handed out tickets to all of those that wish to see the first Hollow Circus later that night.

“Do not fear, these tickets are free. I just need to know how many are coming for the night. Do not worry about space for there will be plenty, we can always make room for more.”

The Ringmaster quickly ducked inside after everyone had tickets to his show, he made his way through the tent and out the back to circus town. A dimension created by him that exists within the tent, allowing all the circus acts to prepare in silence. He stared out at the bare ground knowing that someday there would be a grand complex of tents and circus acts that would be performed in his main tent.

“Ringmaster I have two for you.” Breccan appeared from the main tent with two Holites, one under each arm. Their mouths were gagged and their hands and legs bound.

“Are you going to give them a piece of your soul, like you did with us?”

“Oh my no, a soul can be split only but a few times. What I am going to do if far more interesting though, I am going to eat them without touching them. Why yes I will indeed, and since you all have part of my soul you can do this trick too. We need clowns, obedient and mindless, in order for that they need to be soulless.”

The Ringmaster knelt down breathing in heavily above the wriggling man, his skin started to steam as screams tried to escape the gag. The longer he did the thicker the steam got, absorbing the colors from his skin as it went. By the end the man was as white as a cloud, eyes opened wide. “Now I just dress them accordingly, to how I want.” A wave of his hand and the man was fully dressed in the most ridiculous of clothes, with the face paint to match.

“Now I am going to get the majority of clowns dressed but you may take a few for you, make them in your image, let them follow you, let them fill the tent with fun and joy.”

The group was in an uproar as more and more Holites were taken for the circus, never before had any of them consumed a soul, nor would they ever wish to consume anything else ever again. Before long they had an army of soulless workers at their disposal. All the preparations were done by the clowns, they set all the decorations, and were to run all the stalls. Circus town was to be their home, a place for them to live in anticipation of the next show. Moods were high for they knew that the first show was nearly upon them. Only minutes to go, everyone was on edge for the night to start, except Sarah who sat quietly on the ground.”

The Ringmaster knelt down by her side, “Now Sarah where is that smile, where is that energy that lasted all this time, why are you not prepared for the show?”

“I listened to all your stories of the circus on Earth, the acrobat sounds amazing but they always worked with multiple, I am just one my show won’t be fun.”

“Why yes it will, and do you know why. Because you were my first fragment of a soul, inexperienced was I, a large portion of soul is what you got. You are more me than any other, but with that comes power. You tired of being one, then be three be six have fun, tap within and release your desires for the sake of fun.”

Sarah was confused but tried to listen, she closed her eyes and hoped. As she opened them she looked around to see she was still one, standing up and walking off she yelled with frustration, “See I am terrible I am one, I can not be an acrobat show with one.”

To her amazement as she turned to yell at the Ringmaster, she saw herself still sitting, the version of her sitting stood, “Well then let me help you one, for I am two. Together we can make this fun for both me and you.” Sarah was elated jumping around, leaving behind another duplication receiving a similar greeting from each one as they appeared.

“See look at that your show will be fun, now I have to run. The tent opens soon, so I must take my position as welcoming buffoon.”

The crowds of Holites started to gather in front of the tent, slowly amassing in number the Conductor waited for the right moment. He gave one final look around the internals of his glorious tent before pulling the rope to let all in.

The curtains raised, as the joys of the circus were gazed upon by the public.

“Come in, come in, let the Hollow Circus begin.”

The crowds forced their way through the narrow opening, swarming to the attractions. The lights over head shone down giving the whole tent a colorful air, the stalls below each had their own glow of color and decoration. All around was fun and games that enticed all who drew near, an uproar of laughter was trapped in the tent as it filled with more and more souls. The clowns wandered around the games entertaining people as the night went on. Never before had Hollow had such a fun-filled environment.

A loudspeaker system crept through the loudness of the crowds to tell the crowds to take a seat for the upcoming show that was about to happen. As they were told they did, all sat at the seats provided and awaited the promised show. The large grandstands full of people filled the whole tent as they circled the show stage in the center. Not a single Holite realized that the stalls had all vanished into thin air in order to make room for the grandstands and the stage, all were engrossed with what was to happen next.

All the lights went out leaving the crowds to fall silent in the black as a single light appeared in the center of the stage. In the light was a mic but no one to operate it, through the hush of the fans footsteps could be heard until finally the Ringmaster appeared.

“I want to welcome you to my show, you have all had fun, this I know. I watched from afar as you laughed and ate, having fun on every take. The night is not over yet, before you I have a set, of great performers to entertain you yet. Without further ado, I give my first performer to you.”

One after one the Ringmasters crew come to stage and performed for all, enticing and amazing the crowds in every act. Once again the Ringmaster took to the stage.

“Tonight you have seen a man with the power of ten, a group of women who all looked the same perform daring acrobatic feats, a man who can trick your eyes with the art of magic, and a man who could tame the most unruly of nightmares. But fret not that is the end of the show, for our final act a feast will be held.”

The Ringmasters group of four all came out, along with the clowns as well.

“The feast is not for you but us you see, for we have a full team to feed not to mention the nightmare we contained. I am truly sorry but once you have tasted soul it is the only flavor you shall ever know.”

The crowds started to panic as the nightmares tamed in the show re entered stage, screaming ensued when no one could find the way out. What was once a soft curtain now hard as stone, all the entrances no more.

“Let the feast begin, let us all get stuck in.”

Everyone made their way into the crowds of screaming Holites, one by one consuming their souls leaving a Hollow husk of a body behind for the nightmares to consume. The clowns were used as herders, scaring everyone into groups for easy containment, where there was once pleasant makeup now a face of a Holite who was Hollow within, no soul or life left in the eyes. Hours went on as everyone was hunted down and consumed, both body and soul. Everyone rested as the clowns cleaned up the mess and returned the nightmares to their cages.

“My hour has come, I must return to Anodyne for I am the Conductor to him. Please remember I am the Ringmaster to you.”

The Ringmaster flourished his red coat, turning it back to his plain pinstripe just as Anodyne came crashing through the roof of the tent.

“Look you have had your fun but I have redone your tether, so know that once I leave this place you have minutes before you shall follow.”

Anodyne said nothing else before flying back into the sky and far away.

Ulysses looked as the Conductor as he waited for him to go.

“I get that while you are away we will put on the show, but if you never do this again why did you bother to do it in the first place?”

“I did it because I had a goal, I had a dream, I want to be whole. I have this empty pit in my soul that seems to get bigger and bigger as I go, so I was hoping this would fill my soul.”

Sarah stared at the Conductor, “Did it ?”

The Conductor disappeared with the blink of an eye, leaving the circus tent to the four, sitting in the silence awaiting their next chance for a show.

.

.

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To anyone who likes my stories, you can find the full catalog on my website, additionally you can find me on a variety of other social media.

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#writeblr #writing #writer #hollowworldentertainment #hollowcircus #fillingthehollow #chapter25 #horror #short stories #horror stories #short horror stories #horror writing #scifi #scifi writing #scifi stories #fantasy #fantasy writing #fantasy stories #dark

[whatscallion]

rise: ch. vii

//- A Medieval AU based on some Marvel parallels that follows Natalia Romanova in her rise to divinity.

Chapter Summary: Brother Ivan is pissed.

Chapter Word Count: 1,198

Previous Chapters: Prologue - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six

Tagging: @cptsteven @blackberrywidow​ ( message / ask to get tagged! )

The Burning of St. Johann would invariably be written through the ages to create more a legend than an act of sheer defiance and eradication. It was to become another tale interwoven through the farce that had become the New Age Order. Johann would be made the martyr of his generation, the ripples of his faith extending outward through the lands in which he had quietly ruled over. While the realm held together as if nothing had transpired, a cataclysm had sent a tide of change to flow forth from the smoldering remains of a dynasty steeped in the innocent blood. The toppling of a regime was sure to bring about rebirth of something new, a phoenix born from the ashes of failure to allow the edge of efficiency through example.

In an ideal world filled with ideal inhabitants, this would’ve been the case, but in the vacuum St. Johann left in the crippling wake of his death, greed flourished. Insatiable in a quest for more power, those who were deemed to sit just beneath that of The Order’s leader saw fit to relinquish themselves of the tainted titles they held in feigned purity. The sheep were left without their shepherd and improvisation became justification for acts beyond that of even the most impure of Cardinals. Assets were fought over, bloodshed forcing bystanders to remain as wary as the tumultuous first few who dared to stand against The Order.

These wanton usurpers were christened close disciples of St. Johann’s teachings, birthing a New Testament of an already stained accord. They were followers of footsteps made of fire and ash, straying only to better fit the environment of their empty pockets. They failed to recognize that in Johann’s madness and greed, strict guidelines were imposed to keep chaos at bay and the collars tight around the Instruments he controlled. Without the Head of the Divine Serpent, numerous ones took his place, yet organization eluded them through greed. Cooperation required an amicable nature and an even spreading of tithings.

Mankind warped through the image of His wrongful gaze would not allow for others to take what was so begrudgingly given. Luxuries were stripped from the humble servants, wrong only in their blind ways, in order to satiate the unending hunger for power, for wealth, for fear. Together as one beneath the Patriarch, they fell into prickly factions in his mortal absence, divided in the vacuum of nature.

Brothers turned to enemies.

Cathedrals to fortresses.

Kingdoms to battlefields.

Blood turned black in the moonlight as it coated the grounds surrounding these makeshift and miniscule war states. To lead their sheep into battle, newfound Men of the Cloth would provide more fantasy than religion, coaxing through lies woven like filigree into false scripture. A serpent’s tongue hid behind the pearly white teeth that had bitten all the hands that fed them.

Uniformity fell through the hands of wayward children, their adulthood a charade to impose a trustworthy sense of being. These leaders who took His name in vain were no more dealers in faith, but proprietors in terror and fear. No longer did they speak of a forgiving Lord, but a wrathful one, playing more and more upon the indication rarely heard of through Johann’s teachings. Mercy was God’s great gift, yet it was Man who had to be the wrathful agent, created in His hidden image.

The weaker of the flock was weeded out, either pressured to submit or simply wiped from existence with divine allegiance. Ravenous were these new factions, perpetuating fear as steady as the reliable tide. Through and through, conformity reigned through the eyes of false prophets and their subjects. More often than not, a more powerful hunter would call upon the flimsy faith in which they operated and war waged. Layer upon layer of interpretation created less a religion, an enigmatic creature wrapped in the fake ideals of its creator. On leathery wings, the word spread on the forked tongues of demons, whispering into the dark corners of the night and malleable minds of the frightened.

No longer did the Three Bloodlines hold power to them, their purity muddled in frantic necessity to create more and more Instruments. Prowess was watered down as cardinals dispersed among the crowd, no longer necessary in their foreboding presence as those who sought them were deemed unworthy of their afforded connections and knowledge. Shedding their crimson cloth, the men who delivered even the most sinful of acts blended into the sheep as wolves with only the notion of biding time. They collectively knew their time would come again, just as it had been told time and time again through the thin lips of St. Johann.

Should The Order fall, there would be another rising from the grave, and their new shepherd would be humble before them. He would grovel at the feet of peasants, asking for forgiveness simply by existing. It’d been assumed the Father’s prized Brother would’ve been the leader of all that was left behind, coated in ash. A tap was all that was needed to breathe life back into the old ways, and surely the scourge of The New Order would eliminate these factions, drawing them together once more.

That’s what this should have been in place of the petty division of holiness: The New Order.

Contingencies had been in place the moment Johann gained a following, yet there was no acting upon it. Ivan had wandered from his divine path, blinded and numb by the searing thought of revenge. The bloodline had been sullied by reputation alone, and nothing mattered more than offering for a demon that had been the ultimate deception. These small pockets of brethren were approached, the offering always the same.

Join me in our righteous duty, or face the judgement of St. Johann.

Little known were the details of demise befallen the once proud archbishop, yet the rumor had spread just as quickly as the destructive fire that had engulfed their beloved temple. Whispers between royalty and poor alike, there was something far greater to be feared than that of the petulant toddlers fighting for a thread of power. Perception was being twisted, those ruled over becoming self-aware and creating their own images from word of mouth alone.

Brother Ivan was amassing an army to battle the God Widow, yet fear stained the faces of his reluctant soldiers, each one holding a thought of the fiery deity they were to somehow slay. Rumors and reputation spread, and the divinity of the inevitable shadow battle would undoubtedly be told through the ages, though that was not the intention of Brother Ivan. He cared very little for how long his name lived on the tongues of others. Fury fueled a need to eradicate as opposed to a need to remain immortal. This was judgement. This was punishment. This was reckoning in its bloodiest form, and he would have his daughter’s head on his lance by year’s end, no matter the cost.

She is the blackening fire.

She is the light and the dark.

She is the embodiment of perfect imperfection.

A phoenix.

A wolf.

No, Matthias would’ve spoken. She is but a raven among canaries.

#black widow #natasha romanoff #avalon #medieval au #fic series #mine

[shithomebrewitems]

heres the backstory of one of my deities:

Arrack Nipal:

Originally a mortal of the material plane, she ascended tier by tier to godhood. Much of her backstory is unknown, just that a regular mortal gained enough followers and power to ascend to godhood.

She was the goddess of spiders and fear on the material plane. Her followers were mostly Drow and Goblinoids. Her clerics/paladins fought for land, in order to subjugate the people and make them follow her. She was trying to gain more followers so she could be powerful enough to ascend to greater godhood. Centuries before this campaign she has millions of followers across the globe. There were rituals being performed everywhere to funnel power to the goddess. The Drow, Goblinoids, and other followers would sacrifice their enemies and animals in order to enact the rituals. She was close to ascending when Greater gods Walqur and Quaell stopped her. They banished her to the feywilds and stripped her of most her powers. She’s been trapped there for centuries, trying to figure out how to return home and complete her goal. She’s tried to escape many times before but Hecate and the other greater gods wouldn’t allow it. Eventually she gave up. She had gained a following of the fey spiders and was attempting to use them to help her escape. She needed to amass enough followers like before in order for her to regain her rightful godhood and finish her ascension on the material plane.

She still has magic/power in the feywilds but it’s limited. It’s as if she’s a cleric to herself. Her godly powers were all stripped. Except for a divine spark. She’s been able to imbue one creature with her holy power but hasn’t found anybody worthy enough yet. No followers have found her. (Or rather the ones that did didn’t make it out alive. Because they weren’t worthy.)

She offers Snarky (PC) some of her power in order for her to go back to the material plane and find the book to help her escape and ascend. (If Snarky accepts they’ll become a warlock/cleric/paladin Of Arrack Nipal. She’ll immediately get Speak With Animals (only spiders) as a cantrip, Web as one use per long rest, spider climb as one use per long rest.)

(Lost history: Aruna Firgrass was an elf of the noble Firgrass family. (This family is where the continent Firgas derived its name.) Millennia ago when elves weren’t separated into their subraces and there were no Drow, Aruna lived peacefully with their family in the village of Speltz.

One of their parents, Vilance Firgrass, was a wealthy businessperson, elected by their neighborhood. They were to be elected as Yondalla’s business representative. Ro’dran Ro’clah, a rival of Vilance (the business representative of their neighborhood) was distraught and wanted to sabotage them so they seduced Vilance’s only child. Aruna fell in love with Ro’dran, who appeared to them as an attractive, charming, wealthy businessperson. Ro thought they could steal Aruna from Vilance and barter for the power, but the two actually legitimately fell in love.

Ro still wanted the power, so they tried coming up with a new plan (unbeknownst to Aruna). Ro secretly sent out spies and set a few things in motion. They smeared Vilance’s good reputation, painting them as an evil greedy tyrant. They sent word to the enemies of Speltz that informed them of the city’s weak points ie: where the money is kept and who guards it. They did everything they could to undermine Vilance’s power.

When word of Vilance’s bad reputation came back to Ro and Aruna, Aruna adamantly disagreed and told Ro and anyone who could listen what sort of person Vilance was. Ro and Aruna went to Vilance’s side to assure the people the rumors were false.

When enemies started attacking Speltz’s weak points, Ro was quick to come to Vilance’s aid in shoring them all up and expelling the warring parties. Ro then had multiple solutions ready to give the council in order to keep this from happening again.

Ro was then elected in place of Vilance as Speltz’s business representative. From there they greased palms and smeared others in order to become Yondalla’s business representative. All while Aruna was unaware, tending more immediate matters of their budding family.

Other members of the Yondalla council uncovered Ro’s crimes and unseated them. Aruna was upset but Ro was tenacious as ever and took Aruna and their child Deveen to an underground town known as Veresia (modern Driydgun). The town was made up of criminals and outcasts. Here, Ro worked on amassing their power by gaining acolytes. They preached war and conquest. They became a cleric of Bra’Pōz.

While this was happening, Aruna was trying to shield Deveen from the evil, too afraid to leave. Ro became progressively more aggressive and violent and angry. They’d keep Aruna and Deveen locked away as treasures. Eventually Ro took Deveen away and sacrificed them to their god in order to have enough power to attempt to take over Yondalla.

Aruna was upset, angry, sad, betrayed, etc... They found a way to break free of their confines and attempted to stop Ro from doing anymore harm, but they wouldn’t listen. So Aruna went to the temple where Deveen was sacrificed and prayed to anybody who would listen that they needed help to stop Ro. Usiin heard their pleas and blessed them with light and love. Aruna became a Paladin of Usiin and strode after Yondalla where Ro had taken up occupancy. Aruna had amassed their own army of people. They were followers of Usiin, of Quaell. They were commoners with no religious ties. They were people fed up of Ro’s tyrannical rule.

Aruna’s army attacked Ro’s. Many died on either side. Finally Aruna and Ro met face to face. With all the might of Usiin behind them they slain their lover Ro. Now Aruna was ruler of Yondalla. They attempted to put things back in order as they should be, but was plagued by dreams of their parents dying, their child being sacrificed, their lover betraying them. They went mad from all of this loss and death and destruction. They attempted to resurrect Deveen and Ro. They thought they could put their family back together. They took Ro’s body back to Veresia and sent acolytes to look for any information on necromancy. Aruna used their powers blessed upon them by the goddess of love and skewed them to pervert the laws of life and death.

They were able to resurrect their family, but as a curse set upon them by Usiin and Quaell, their family became Drow. All of the elves sacrificed in that temple were resurrected as Drow. The Drow followed Aruna, but their family did not know who they were.

Aruna was devastated yet again and sought Bra’Pōz’s help in amassing power. If they couldn’t have love then nobody could. They sacrificed families and animals and siphoned their life forces into themselves in order to ascend to godhood. They became the goddess of loss, fear, hatred, and spiders. The Drow continued to follow them. Now she had given up her old name and had become Arrack Nipal.)

#5e homebrew #dnd #dnd 5e #dnd homebrew #dungeons and dragons #homebrew #5e #d&d #d&d 5e #d&d homebrew #my homebrew #deities #deity #god #goddess #spider #drow #war #loss #betrayal #love #pantheon #usztai #arrack nipal #elf #sacrifice #necromancy #divine

[jd-the-anime-fan]

Children of Tamriel: Warrior of Alinor

Fanfiction.net

Tagging @skyrim-hates-her since she was the one who inspired me to begin writing this series and @twentyonepetals because I can’t access my sideblog for some reason.

M Rated for eventual violence and dealing with mental illness brought about by trauma.

26th Sun's Dusk 4E 159, Firsthold, Isle of Auridon, Alinor The Oblivion Crisis: From the Perspective of the Laraethal Family by Yannar Laraethal 4E 25 The Oblivion Crisis, an event that completely ravaged Tamriel, its conclusion ushering in the Fourth Era. No province came out completely unscathed, some fared better than others obviously, Alinor or the Summerset Isles as it was known as then took heavy losses. This included the destruction of the Crystal Tower, one of the archipelago's most famous landmarks. For some, the tower's destruction invoked a loss of morale others however, saw it differently, with their government in a shamble either out of fear or through death resistance groups were formed. While many were crushed by the might of the daedra hordes, several lasted up until the crisis resolved. Rumaion Laraethal was the leader of one such group, unlike most Altmer he relied solely upon his combat ability with a claymore. Encouraged by Lady Morgiah and Lord Reman Karoodil, and together with the captain of the city guard, Norion Gaeath, and a powerful mage, Reldwen Chaethar who was a close friend of Rumaion's, he rallied the citizens of Firsthold in a rag-tag defence against the forces of Mehrunes Dagon. After driving out the daedra from the city, and with assistance from the Fighter's Guild members remaining in the city the siege defences were consolidated in preparation for the assault that would be sure to come. Come it did, a great army of daedra over the coming weeks began to amass, gradually shutting off the city's purely terrestrial supply lines as Firsthold did not have a port. It would not have made a difference, after the initial counterattack the Dremora generals cut a great swathe through Auridon in conjunction with their forces on Summerset, capturing the main isle's port cities and ravaging hamlets on Auridon along with the city of Skywatch. It seemed they were determined to starve the citizens out, but lesser daedra are rarely so subtle. Close to the break of dawn on the twenty-fifth of Sun's Dusk 3E 433 with a mighty battle cry they struck, Scamps and Herne, Clannfears and Atronachs, Dremora and Daedroth. All launched a mass assault on the city, despite their previous determination to hold the city, the morale of many was tested in the face of enemies who had more experience in combat than even the largely Altmer population. There was no hope of evacuation with the city surrounded in the initial stages even those barely into their adolescence were forced to take up spell, sword or both in defence of their home. Yet, Rumaion was unperturbed, accounts from the day tell that in his final hours he was as fierce as any Orc berserker having taken the lives of at least a hundred daedra before he was finally slain by one of the Dremora generals. Though they faced fierce resistance for about a fortnight, eventually the daedra pushed the citizens back into the very centre of the city. It was here that Norion was to make his last stand, by this point it was the tenth of Evening Star their once formidable fighting force Had dwindled to only two-hundred soldiers and more than a hundred and fifty civilians, many of which were children staring down an army that seemed to infinitely replenish. Yet, Norion was still determined to protect those remaining who could not defend themselves, including Rumaion's then pregnant wife, and my own mother Niria as well as his own family. Norion gave his last orders, 'Men this is the day we die, but we will not be forgotten, these daedra underestimate us because we are mortals. So, my last order is this: Show these bastards just why the citizens of the Summerset Isles are unlike any in Tamriel! Make them remember us even if they look down on you in those memories, blessings of Auri-El upon all of you!' With that, the courage of the remaining fighters was restored, as they met the daedra head-on, Norion even being able to slay the Dremora who had killed Rumaion. Despite the odds, it was not a one-sided massacre with even the common folk among them determined to not die in terror. However, Norion was burned alive by a Daedroth and even with the valiant efforts of those who heard his last command, it was evident they were being slowly overwhelmed and then, a miracle occurred. The daedra simply vanished, gone, as if they had never been there. The only evidence was the corpses both of their brethren and their victims as well as the destruction they had caused in their sack of the city. A strange mix of both grief and euphoria fell over the survivors, with their number being only seventy-three and a good number of them not able to work on repairs due to their young age. The citizens attempted to salvage what they could but with their small number it was difficult, orphans had been created, many able-bodied workers and soldiers had been maimed in the assault, and with the fate of many others on Auridon unknown terrestrial supply lines were almost completely useless. Clearing out the corpses was a slow, arduous and grief-stricken process, the exact death toll is not known due to how the city's population would often fluctuate and the fact that little trace was often left of some who were killed. During this time, I myself was born to my mother, who only survived thanks to Reldwen being an experienced healer. After another two weeks, many among the survivors had completely given up hope, with their meagre numbers and without sufficient means, even feeding themselves was proving difficult. That is until a certain ship was spotted, heading straight for the port, it was of Altmer make, constructed of shimmering crystal it was hard not to spot. The survivors gathered on the cliffs just outside the city, while there was initial difficulty docking, there was just enough of a coastal alcove quite far from the city to allow the ship to pull in. They were wary, some refusing to believe it could be anything more than a trap, that this was just a cruel ploy the monsters that had ravaged their home. Miraculously, it was not. Instead, the gangplank lowered and a lone Altmer, clad in black and gold robes stepped forward, behind him, two guards in what seemed to be specially-made, elven-make armour that unlike the regular variant was coloured in the same palette as their companion's clothes exited the boat behind the robed one. While the presence of their kinsmer alleviated fears, there was still confusion as to exactly who they were. The only one of the three who spoke was the first one to exit the ship, asking to speak to a representative. Naturally, Lady Morgiah and Lord Karoodil were chosen as they were the city's leaders before and during the events. The two were asked to choose someone as a third-party representative who would witness what was about to unfold. The reason for why they were there is that they were envoys from the Third Aldmeri Dominion, otherwise known as the Thalmor. They had always been somewhat of a minority voice in the politics of the Isles yet apparently had been efficient enough to provide aid to themselves and others across the country. After explaining that they had been the ones to banish the daedra back to Oblivion (it was never disclosed exactly how they did this but due to the power of such magic I can only assume that it's kept secretive for the greater good). Their vessel was loaded with food, gold and various building materials, all of which would aid in rebuilding the city as well as the lives of the survivors. The only catch was to swear fealty to the Thalmor government, in the face of such desperation the answer was quite obvious, Lady Morgiah and Lord Karoodil took the deal. With accounts provided to them by the survivors, the envoys learned of the sacrifices of Rumaion and Norion, their role in history soon becoming immortalised. The envoys, along with other Thalmor representatives who arrived shortly after the first ship assisted in establishing a government in Firsthold once again. The monarchy in the isles was done away with shortly after, instead, each city would be required to democratically elect a leader to the newly formed High Parliament as a representative of the city. More officials would also be elected to run the day to day operations in sub-regions outside of the capital city, when this information was first brought to the attention of the surviving citizens, Morgiah and Karoodil were elected together, with Reldwen to serve as their steward and advisor. At this time, Firsthold is still recovering from the destruction that was inflicted upon it and the Thalmor officially took charge of the entire archipelago just three years ago but Reldwen has assured me personally that within the next year or so, it will be back to how it was before the crisis. A master marble mason was contracted to sculpt statues in honour of the two heroes, along with a plaque dedicated to the known victims who lost their lives both citizen or soldier. To this day the Laraethal, Gaeath and Chaethar families are as close with each other as they are with their own blood relatives, may our relationship with the Dominion continue to prosper. The young Altmer boy closed the gold, leather-bound book he had read for the umpteenth time. He was about nine years old, though technically he was ten since the day was currently his birthday, despite it being early morning. As such, a candle lit up his bedside table, using the light to read in the early morning murk. He had green eyes, chin-length black hair and when standing upright would measure five foot in height. Just a perk of being a child of the tallest dominant race on Tamriel, this was Enron Laraethal, grandson of Rumaion. While the book written by his father was nearly a century and a half old, it was still very much a relevant piece in the history of Firsthold. It was always one of the young mer's favourite books, even if it was a somewhat brief account of the history, Enron was always fascinated by stories of his grandfather told by his grandmother. The Laraethals had remained staunchly warriors, with Yannar being the baby born to Niria choosing to forego magic, eventually meeting another like-minded Altmer in Enron's mother, Miruen. Enron had just opened the book again, when a soft knocking occurred on his door, just after a soft, but slightly gravelly voice spoke up, "Master Enron, are you awake?" Recognizing the voice as Ma'vani, one of the Laraethal's servants and the one who would help the young noble get changed. In a panic, he quickly smothered the flame on his candle's wick, shoved the book under his pillow and pulled the sheets over him to give the illusion he had been sleeping. A click that indicated the handle of his door was being pulled down sounded and the framed, opaque glass moved, "Sleep well, master?" The young adult, brown-furred, Suthay-Raht Khajiit asked. Enron made a few grunts and shuffled lightly before sitting up in bed again, giving a stretch and a yawn, "Very well, thank you, I slept the whole night." He responded politely. "Really?" Ma'vani remarked in a playfully sarcastic tone as she opened the statin curtains, though it didn't do much as it was still dark outside, thus Ma'vani cast a Candlelight spell, illuminating the room in a bright glow. "Then why is it," She began taking a small sniff, "I can smell freshly melted candle wax," (1) Another, slightly longer sniff, "A little bit of smoke, and…" Finally taking a sniff of exaggerated length, "A copy of the Oblivion Crisis: From the Perspective of the Laraethal Family." Unusually, Enron who had known Ma'vani as his caretaker for four years, was surprised by her last comment, "Your nose is really that good?" "No," She responded pointing at Enron's pillow with playful smile, "The spine is sticking out." The young mer looked sheepish as he realised that in his haste he hadn't quite hidden the book as effectively as he thought, causing his friend to chuckle and even affectionately ruffle his hair. Especially among Altmer nobility it was rare to see such a close relationship between the servant and the lord they served, Ma'vani was arguably more of an elder sister to Enron than a worker. "Come now master, don't want to be late for your big day." Ma'vani spoke up, more serious this time as she replenished the Candlelight spell and opened up the wardrobe. Enron grinned in excitement, before the two occupants of the room was a very small set of armour, simple iron but a lot lighter than the real thing and not quite as protective for a serious fight. It would however, serve well as training armour and get Enron accustomed to wearing heavier sets of armour at a young age. The light-based spell reflected brilliantly off the components of the armour set, perfectly showcasing the effort that had gone into making the custom set, even though it would have been no trouble for an Altmer smith to forge. The chest piece was not a simple cuirass but rather was adorned with pauldrons that went down to the elbow with the shoulder area shaped to look like the eagle of the Aldmeri Dominion. In similar fashion at the centre of the chest was also the Dominion's insignia. The basic gauntlets and greaves would fully encompass the areas of his arms and legs not covered by the pauldrons. The helm resembled a fusion between both elven and iron make, lacking the horns and visor of a traditional iron helmet but having grooves and extra décor rising from the back of the head to resemble the head feathers of an eagle. After cleaning himself up for the day ahead, he was assisted into the main body of the armour by Ma'vani, the boots were the next to go on, though Enron swiftly grabbed them, to which his servant raised an eyebrow. Enron silently nodded, his friend folding her arms across her chest, watching as he pulled up the boots and secured them. After doing the same with the gauntlets, he lowered the helmet onto his head. Now he really did look like a warrior, a remarkably short one but a warrior nonetheless. Given the clunky nature of the armour and his inexperience at wearing it, Enron found it a little awkward to move around, even needing help down the stairs by Ma'vani. Once the two were out the door, the young Altmer found it still slightly encumbering but he was able to move normally in it at least though more slowly than he would have liked given his eagerness to begin his training as a fully-fledged warrior of the Laraethal's. The family manor sat upon a small plateau, paved over with limestone aside from a garden area that was lined with paths made of the same material. Like the plateau, the house was constructed of limestone, three stories high and two spires connected to the house rose from either side. The slanted roof carved into tiles of opaque, white crystal. In contrast, the garden was a vast array of colours, plumes of vibrant red roses and blues from mountain flowers side by side with the pinkish-purple colour of nightshade to name but a few. It was a sizeable house for the family, as expected of Altmeri construction, if one were to split the mansion down the middle, one would find it perfectly symmetrical. The two walked towards the gates of the spike-tipped fence that surrounded the premises The fog that still clung to the streets would dissipate in due course but for now it persisted, shrouding the vision of anyone out at the time. Ma'vani purposefully slowed herself down to allow Enron to keep up, since they needed to pass the time on their way to the training ground she dug into the fur-lined knapsack she brought with her and pulled out an apple. Thankfully, Yannar had the sense to allow Ma'vani to give Enron something light for breakfast before exerting himself. "Thank you." Enron said as she handed him the fruit, two large silhouettes soon came into view. It was two statues that towered above the two as the one on the left stood at six foot six whilst the one on the right stood at six foot eight. The two statues were similar, having staunch facial expressions as they looked out over Firsthold's market area. However, the taller of the two stood fully upright as it held a claymore constructed of glass pointing downwards. Slightly cliched and possibly plagiarised from a design standpoint? Yes, but within the citizens it instilled a sense of pride, a reminder that even the malevolence of a Daedric Prince had failed to eliminate the Altmer. A gold plaque was situated under it, engraved into it where a few words: In memory of Rumaion Laraethal, a brave warrior who made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure the safety of the city he loved with all his heart against the Daedric hordes. A beloved husband. 5th of Last Seed 3E 245 - 28th of Sun's Dusk 3E 433 Enron was almost finished chewing on his apple as he stood in front of his grandfather's statue, by the time the day was done, he would stand in front of the structure again having some slight experience in holding a weapon, "I think I know what you're going to pick." She stated with sly look. It was no secret to anyone that the young elf had a great admiration for his grandfather despite having never gotten the chance to meet the man but that hadn't stopped him becoming enthralled by tales given to him by his grandmother and even Reldwen on occasion, "What do you think you will do once you come of age?" Ma'vani asked, normally it would be inquired as to why someone would ask a mer so young that sort of question but the caretaker already knew her master's answer. "I want to help protect people, travelling all of Tamriel, and showing them why Alinor is the best province while bringing honour to the Laraethal family. Learning about other cultures is what I want to do, I love mother and father but politics is boring and I don't want to spend the rest of my life here." "That is a good mindset to have master," Ma'vani replied, "And what would you do if I was in trouble?" "Save you of course!" Enron responded eagerly with no hesitation, holding out his hand which Ma'vani took, "May I?" "You may." Unfortunately, while trained in the art of politeness, at least from a noble's perspective, the young boy still had a way to go before he perfected any such techniques for showing loyalty in the court. Which is why, despite his best efforts, the kiss he placed on Ma'vani's knuckles came out quite sloppy. His head suddenly shot up, as if processing something before his face twisted into one of disgust and with all the grace of a drunk Senche tiger, nearly doubled over as he gagged. Reaching into his mouth, he soon pulled out a single hair. Whilst Enron was thoroughly displeased by what just happened, Ma'vani couldn't contain herself as she burst out into laughter, "It's not that funny." Enron said. "Maybe not to you," She said, "But for me it's hilarious!" Naturally, her response caused an indignant grumble. "I had a feeling I would find you here." A third voice spoke up, the two turned to see another Altmer. A woman who was significantly older than the duo, yet despite the hair that was pulled up into two buns at the back of her head having gone completely grey, there were a scarce few wrinkles to show for her age of nearly three hundred and fifty years. Such was a common effect on practitioners of magic. Her lips were painted black in colour and had been curled into a kind smile, the dark green, silk robes with gold accents on the seams covered her from the neck down. "Lady Reldwen, it's a pleasure, what brings you out this fine morning? And so early in the day no less?" Ma'vani asked as she gave a polite bow. The older woman simply gave a dismissive wave, "No need for titles here Ma'vani and after all I am just a steward, in a sense I'm not too different to you." She explained, "As for why I'm here, I just wanted to see off Enron for his first day of training." She continued, kneeling down to get on Enron's level. "Feeling nervous, little one?" She asked. "A little bit, but I want to do it, I want to be like grandfather." He replied. "Good, but you've got a long way to go before you go slaying a hundred daedra," She informed him, nostalgia soon began to fill her tone as she spoke, "Keep at it and maybe one day you will, you look like him too if you ask me, perhaps when you're older you'll look like him more than the statue." "Have you always been displeased by the mason's handiwork, Reldwen?" Ma'vani asked, slightly confused as she knew for a fact the Chaethar matriarch supported the decision to have the statues implemented. "They're impressive and for about a decade I didn't really notice much, but then I was looking at them in detail and thought, 'No, Rumaion should have a stupid grin plastered on his face and Norion should look like the arrogant bastard he was.'." Reldwen explained. "Lady Reldwen!" Ma'vani cried in alarm at such language being used in front of her young master, foregoing her earlier habit of referring to her solely by her first name. "Oh, don't get your tail in a twist Ma'vani, it's nothing Enron hasn't heard before." She replied dismissively. Now it was Enron's turn to get a laugh out of Ma'vani's displeasure as he grinned at the Khajiit's surprise, "Dear, if you would please…" She prompted to the young mer. "Grandfather was a kind and noble man. He was very proud about his wife and her success as a merchant, him talking about her near constantly or whenever the subject was brought up while endearing at first soon became irritating, an annoyance that increased tenfold after she became pregnant with father." Ma'vani blinked at the fact that he had just recited something as if it had been scripted to him, "Meanwhile, Norion while a mer who greatly valued his comrades, was arrogant to a fault, once forgetting that fire magic would be severely diminished in wet conditions when he faced off against a wanted criminal in the middle of a rain storm. Luckily though he was saved by his steward, and eventual wife Cirtha. These proclamations can be corroborated by Reldwen Chaethar, Niria Laraethal and any one of the currently alive survivors of the Oblivion Crisis that took place in the city of Firsthold." At that Ma'vani gave Reldwen a look of utter disbelief, to which the Altmer just nonchalantly shrugged, not her fault if the lad who saw her as a second grandmother was so fascinated by their shared history… and that he may or may not have been encouraged to repeat a completely accurate description of her friends. "Anyway, I'll see you soon Enron," Reldwen said, placing a hand on his head, "Morgiah and Karoodil are expecting me to give advice on some urgent matters for the Thalmor. Good luck little one." While the two walked along, they soon came upon a large building, reaching four stories in height, like many of the buildings it was made of a kind of white stone. Above a wooden doorway, there were two banners flying, both were gold bearing the eagle of the Dominion. Once, Enron had been told, this was a guild hall for the Fighter's Guild but in the aftermath of the Oblivion Crisis, the guild's communication with other branches across the continent had been halted as the new government resorted to shutting itself off from the rest of Tamriel. The guild itself was eventually dissolved and the members either integrated into the ranks of the Dominion's army or exiled. Now it was used as a place of training for those hopeful in serving the Dominion. As Enron and Ma'vani entered the building, it was clear to see what the function of the ground floor was. On the left side, there was a training area, filled with beaten up dummies packed with straw though few possessed any tears despite their apparent age. That was probably a result of the weapons they would be using, lined up on racks on the right side, all wooden and fashioned to resemble a variety of equipment. Finally, at the back were bookshelves lined with tomes of numerous colours, no doubt containing information on how to use the weaponry. Surprisingly, there were already a few children in the building, though the hall was willing to accept any applicant to see if there was potential as a soldier. The others had ceased their training, reading or browsing to take note of the new Altmer who was visibly richer than they were given that at best they wore practice gear provided by the hall and at worst had simple clothes on. Enron, too proud to show nervousness in meeting those who could very well be his new compatriots, stood out in front of Ma'vani and puffed his chest out. "A good display, but relax yourself, son." A voice chuckled above them, they recognised the deep, smooth tone as that of his father. Enron did so, exhaling but still standing upright. It was then that his father came into view, walking behind him was his mother. Both were helmetless, Yannar clad in reinforced glass armour, now a darker green and silver in colour, an elven-make Warhammer strapped to his back. Miruen was different, preferring to be light on her feet, wearing the traditional Elven armour. Her weapon was a glaive, the pommel shaped like the head of an eagle whilst the bladed part of the polearm was effectively an enlarged version of an elven dagger. The other six children seemed surprised and looked at their seniors with reverence, three Altmer, two Bosmer and a Khajiit. Although the Laraethal's were known largely for Rumaion's part in reducing the effects of the Oblivion Crisis, Miruen and Yannar were famous in their own rights as accomplished soldiers in the Dominion's army by keeping various areas across Alinor safe from highwaymen, daedra worshippers and necromancers. "Mother, father." Enron greeted, giving a polite bow to them. "You may leave us now Ma'vani," Yannar instructed, the servant wordlessly giving a curtsy before making her way out of the building, "And what are you lot gawking at?" He addressed the other children, "Get back to your tasks." The obedient apprentices complied, not wishing to potentially incur their idol's ire. Miruen smirked proudly both at her husband's discipline of the next generation, and at the visible eagerness her son was displaying, "Choose your weapon Enron." She instructed softly. The young heir practically bounced towards the practice weapons, the eyes of his soon-to-be peers watching him with a subtle closeness. He wasted no time in grabbing the wooden claymore as soon as it was in his grasp, something about holding it just felt right, as if he really was born to swing such a weapon. Yannar looked over his son's shoulder, "You're holding it wrong, son," He said, constructively showing Enron his mistake by moving his right hand just below the hilt and the left hand just above the pommel, "That's it, that's as much as I can show you with the time I've got. So, talk to the other students and teachers for advice, study hard and come back to the manor afterwards. We'll have a surprise waiting for you." Enron nodded as he grinned, he already knew it would quite obviously be a birthday celebration but the harder he worked, the sweeter the reward. After waving goodbye to both of his parents, who responded in the same manner, Enron took in a deep breath. He turned to the others, who with Yannar and Miruen's absence now turned their full attention towards him. Ceasing practices with the wooden copies, looking up from books and stopping any conversations they were having. Six sets of eyes bored into him like arrows from a Bosmeri archer, clearly sizing him up in their own ways as they formulated initial opinion of him. Exhaling the young Altmer walked forward, hoping to make a good first impression.

A/N: Roll Credits! Welcome one and all to the first instalment of a long-term project of mine called, Children of Tamriel. Effectively, it's one-part writing project/exercise, one-part story. All of the main OCs of these stories are based on a mix of my own playthroughs and even builds from a particular Youtube Channel. Events that take place in Skyrim will eventually be covered in future stories as the ones in which the main OCs initially appear in serve as prologue stories. Reviews are very much appreciated; any constructive feedback you guys could give would be fantastic as I aim to make this series the best it can be, I hope I've impressed at least some of you and with any luck, I'll see you guys next time!

1) Basically, most Khajiit that appear in the Summerset Isles are taught the 'proper' way to speak, hence why Ma'vani doesn't talk in the third person.

#the elder scrolls #JDs OCs #OC: Enron #fanfiction

[bookofjin]

Annals of Emperor Wu, Part 1

[Warning. Names, decrees, not much else. Also one giant. From JS003]

The Martial August Emperor [wu huangdi], taboo Yan, courtesy name Anshi, was Emperor Wen's eldest son. He was magnanimous, kind, humane, and generous, and was taken to deeply having measures and capacity. In the middle of Wei's Jiaping [249 – 253], he was enfeoffed of Beiping village. He was successively Serving within the Palace, Chief Commandant of the Serving Chariots, and General of the Central Ramparts. He was concurrently Cavalier in Regular Attendance, and amassed to move to Army-Protector of the Centre, Acting with the Tally. He welcomed the Duke of Yingchang district at Dongwuyang, moved to Army-Consoler of the Centre, and advanced in fief to Xinchang district. When the state of Jin was set up, he was established as Heir. He was designated Great Army who Consoles of Army, Opening Office, assistant deputy to the Chancellor of State.

Earlier, Emperor Wen, since Emperor Jing had been Emperor Xuan's heritor, but had died young without descendants, used the Emperor's younger brother You as the inheritor, specially imparted [on him] especial love [?], speaking of himself as deputizing the post of assisting the throne, and that after a hundred years, the great patrimony ought to revert to You. He always said:

This is King Jing's Under Heaven, why I have it? [?]

He wanted to discuss establishing a Heir, with thoughts of turning it over to You. He Zeng [JS033] and others firmly disputed, saying:

The Army-Consoler of the Centre is intelligent, enlightened and godly martial, and has talents surpassing his generation, his hair piles up on the ground, his hands goes beyond the knees. This is not the assessment of a man who is a subject.

With that it was then settled.

2nd Year of Xianxi, 5th Month [1 June – 30 June 265], he was established as Heir-Apparent to the King of Jin.

8th Month, xinmao [6 September], Emperor Wen expired. The Heir-Apparent inherited the rank of Chancellor of State and King of Jin. Sent down orders to loosen punishments and pardon crimes, console the multitudes and put stop to labour service, inside the state to wear mourning clothes for three days.

That Month [29 August – 26 September], a tall man was seen in Xiangwu, 3 zhang  [~7.5 m] tall. He proclaimed to a native of the county, Wang Shi, saying:

Now there will be a Grand Peace [taiping].

[The name of the man seeing the giant, Wang Shi王始, literally means “King's Beginning”]

9th Month, wuwu [3 October], used Wei's Minister over the Masses, He Zeng [JS033], as Imperial Chancellor; the General who Garrisons the South, Wang Chen [JS040], as Imperial Clerk Grandee; the Army-Protector of the Centre, Jia Chong [JS040] As General of Guards; the Consultant Gentleman Pei Xiu [JS035] as Prefect of the Masters of Writing and Brilliantly Blessed Grandee; all Opening Office.

11th Month [25 November – 24 December], began to set up four Army-Protectors, to control the various armies outside of the city.

On yiwei [8 January 266?], ordered the various commandery Central Correctors to use six categories to raise up belatedly [those] left behind [?]:

The first was the loyal and reverently with no [thoughts for their own] persons, The second was loyal and respectful to the utmost of the rites. The third was friendly to ones brothers. The fourth was pure in person labouring humbly. The fifth was trustworthy, righteous possibly repeatedly. The sixth was studying in itself [?].

At that time Jin's virtues had permeated the Four Seas' homes and hearts. Hence the Son of Heaven understood the allotted time had gone, and therefore sent the Grand Guardian, Zheng Chong [JS033], to receive the record which said:

Inquire into this with the King of Jin: Our August Ancestor who was of the Yu clan expansively accepted the numinous fortune, received in the end from Taotang, likewise used the instructions to give to the Xia. Only three sovereigns climbed to pair with Heaven, yet [?] all used the brilliance to spread sagely virtue. From them and their descendants, Heaven again gathered the Great Instructions to Han. When the virtue of fire had declined, then [Heaven] turned gaze to instruct our Gaozu.

[The Cao clan claimed descent from Emperor Shun whose clan was Yu. Taotang was the clan of Emperor Yao.]

The square path [to?] the enlightened display of Yu and Xia's four eras [?], I do not dare to understand. However the King's grandfather and father [?] applied and undertook with enlightened wisdom to assist and bring light to our August House, [their?] meritorious virtue shining on the Four Seas. Putting together like this above and below godly reverence, [what?] the befuddled did not carry out obediently, the Earth was levelled and Heaven completed, the ten thousand nations thereby governed. Responding to receive the Instructions of the High God, the Mean of the Unison August Utmost [?].

So then We [予] the Lonely Man reverently inherited the Heavenly sequence, thereby respectfully conferring like this the throne, the allotted time truly being with this person [?]. Verily holding fast to its Mean, the Heaven's blessing [is a the] perpetual end.

Indeed! The King thus respectfully obey Heavens Instructions. Lead to pervasively [?] teach the canons, reach the soothing the four quarters of the state, use and guard Heaven's beneficence, without doing away with our Two Augusts' vast zeal.

The Emperor in the beginning used the rites to yield. The Wei court's Excellencies and ministers, He Zeng, Wang Chen and others, firmly requested it. He therefore followed it.

[Taishi 1]

[8 February 266 – 21 February 266]

1st Year of Taishi [“Grand Beginnings”], Winter, 12th Month, bingyin [8 February 266], built an altar at the southern suburbs. Those assembled of the hundred companies with ranks, the Southern Shanyu of the Xiongnu and the Four Barbarians were several tens of thousand people. Lit the fire to announce the arrangements to the High God, saying:

The August Emperor's Subject, Yan, dares to use dark-coloured victims to clarify and announce to the August August Sovereign God: The Emperor of Wei examines the Way of the Unison August, carrying on Heaven's Enlightened Instructions to thereby instruct Yan,

In the past Yao of Tang, splendidly prospering the Great Way, abdicated the throne to Shun of Yu. Shun also accordingly abdicated to Yu, his striding virtue handing down teachings for many successive years. Arriving at Han's virtue having declined, the Grand Founder, the Martial August Emperor swept away chaos and aided the times, supporting and sheltering the Liu clan, again applying the received instructions from Han.

Yea, then there was the House of Wei, in the following generations there were many mishaps, how many from the peak fell down, truly depending on having Jin's virtue of corrective help, made use of to similarly guard them carrying out the sacrifices, vastly aiding in the pressing difficulties. This then was Jin's having great attainments from Wei.

Expansively however in the Four Quarters, the befuddled did not respect and obey [?], the periphery purely bridging the Min [?], wrapped in the bosom spreading beyond [?], the eight sides vastly on the same path, the auspicious omens again and again arriving, Heaven and Man's united response, nobody thought not to submit. So then We taking as standard to set forth the three sovereigns, make use of assembling the Great Instructions from this.

Yan maintained the virtue not inherited, declining for not similarly being instructed [?]. Hence the crowd of Excellencies, ministers and gentlemen, the hundred nobles and numerous companions, the masses offering to keep company as servants, reaching until the chieftains of the Hundred Man [tribes], all said:

“August Heaven reflecting on the beneath, seeking the afflictions of the people, already have the complete instructions. Firmly not overcoming the yielding obtains resistance and disobedience. The Heavenly sequence cannot thereby control, the spirits of men cannot thereby broadly rule.”

Yan reverently receives the August fortunes, respecting and fearing Heaven's power, honouring frugally [?] the inaugural time, climbing the altar to receive the abdication, announcing the arrangements to the High God, perpetually answering the multitudes' expectations.

The rites completed, he assumed the palaces of Luoyang to favour the Grand Utmost Front Hall. A decree said:

Formerly Our August Grandfather, King Xuan, sagely, wise, respectful and enlightened, expansively responded to the times' fortunes, shining on the Emperor's burdens, commencing and beginning the vast foundation. [Our] Late Elder, King Jing trod the way and proclaimed the plan, mending and shining on the various Xia. Arriving at [Our] August Late Father, King Wen, astute, wise, brilliant and far reaching, indeed united the spirits' reverence [?], responding to Heaven and obeying the times, accepted these enlightened instructions, humanely aid to the eaves and ridge-poles [the cosmos], achieving bringing order to above and below.

So then the Wei clan's vast perceptions in the ancient teachings, the rites and laws in Tang and Yu, who consulted the crowd of princes, lead to bringing together the Great Instructions in Our Person. We the Lonely Man in awe of the Instructions of Heaven, made use of not daring to disobey.

Nevertheless We of scant virtue, carrying and shouldering the vast zeal, entrusted to be the superior to kings and dukes, as Lord presiding over the four, fearful and fretful with only dread, are befuddled in understanding help [?]. Nevertheless the assistance of you the thighs and forearms, claws and teeth, subjects of civil and military [skill] without equal, as your grandfathers and fathers, truly the left and right of our Former King, brilliantly prospers our Great Patrimony. Think with the ten thousand states, together enjoy beneficent blessings.

Hence there was a great amnesty, and changed the inaugural [to Taishi]. Bestowed on Under Heaven noble rank, five grades per person, on widowers, widows, orphans, the solitary and those not able to take care of themselves grain, 5 hu per person. Remitted Under Heaven's rents and taxes and the duties of the frontier markets for one year, unsettled debt and past burdens all never to be collected. Eliminated old mistrusts and loosened restrictions and prohibitions. The lost feudal ranks of perished officials were thoroughly restored to them.

On dingmao [9 February], dispatched the Grand Coachman Liu Yuan to announce to the Grand Temple.

Enfeoffed the Wei Emperor as King of Chenliu, with an estate of 10 000 households, to live in the palaces of Ye, the various kings of the Wei clan all to be marquises of counties.

Posthumously honoured King Xuan as August Emperor Xuan, King Jing as August Emperor Jing, King Wen as August Emperor Wen, King Xuan's Consort, Ms. Zhang, as August Empress Xuanmu.

Honoured the Consort Dowager, Ms. Wang, as August Empress Dowager, her palaced named Chonghua [“Esteemed Reform”].

Enfeoffed the imperial granduncle Fu as King of Anping.

[Sima Fu was Sima Yi's younger brother, by this point the only one still living of that generation.]

The imperial uncles: Gan as King of Pingyuan, Liang as King of Fufeng, Zhou as King of Dongguan, Jun as King of Ruyin, Yong as King of Liang, Lun as King of Langye.

[Sons of Sima Yi, Sima Zhao's younger brothers.]

The imperial brothers: You as King of Qi, Jian as King of Le'an, Ji as King of Yan.

[Sima Zhao's younger sons.]

The imperial elder first cousin once removed Wang as King of Yiyang.

[Sima Wang was son of Sima Fu, he been made the adopted son of Sima Lang, Yi and Fu's elder brother, and so technically was senior to the Emperor in the family hierarchy.]

The imperial junior first cousins once removed: Fu輔 as King of Bohai, Huang as King of Xiapi, Gui瑰 as King of Taiyuan, Gui珪 as King of Gaoyang, Heng as King of Changshan, Ziwen as King of Pei, Tai as King of Longxi, Quan as Pengcheng, Sui綏 as King of Fanyang, Sui遂 as King of Ji'nan, Xun as King of Qiao, Mu as King of Zhongshan, Ling as King of Beihai, Bin as Chen.

[Sons of Sima Yi's younger brothers, i.e. of the same generation as Sima Zhao.]

The imperial senior second cousin Hong as King of Hejian

[Sima Hong was Sima Wang's second son, who had been made the adopted son of Sima Lang's son Sima Yi遺]

The imperial junior second cousin Mao as King of Dongping.

[Sima Mao was Sima Wang's fourth son.]

Used the General of Agile Cavalry, Shi Bao [JS033], as Great Marshal, enfeoffed as Duke of Leling; the General of Chariots and Cavalry, Chen Qian [JS035], as Duke of Gaoping; the General of Guards, Jia Chong [JS040], as General of Chariots and Cavalry, Duke of Lu; the Prefect of the Masters of Writing, Pei Xiu [JS035], as Duke of Julu; the Palace Attendant Xun Xu [JS039] as Duke of Jibei; the Grand Guardian Zheng Chong [JS033] as Grand Tutor and Duke of Shouguang; the Grand Commandant, Wang Xiang [JS033], as Grand Guardian and Duke of Suiling; the Imperial Chancellor, He Zheng [JS033], as Grand Commandant and Duke of Langling; the  Imperial Clerk Grandee, Wang Chen [JS039] as General of Agile Cavalry, Duke of Boling; the Minister of Works, Xun Yi [JS039], as Duke of Linhai; the Great General who Garrisons the North, Wei Guan [JS036], as Duke of Ziyang.

The remainder were increased in fief and advanced in feudal rank each proportionally. The civil and military officials were universally increased in rank by two steps.

Changed the Jingchu calendar to be the Taishi calendar. For the la臘 twelfth month sacrifice used you酉 (the 10th branch), for the altar of soil sacrifices used chou丑 (the 2nd branch). [The Jingchu calendar had been instituted by Cao Rui, I believe the rest refers to which days certain sacrifices were made.]

On wuchen [10 February], sent down a decree the great and vast [be?] frugal and restrained, and sent out the imperial offices' things of precious stones, jades and playthings, conferring and bestowing them on the Kings, Excellencies and down each proportionally.

Set up the General of the Central Army, to thereby control the Lodged Guards and Seven Armies.

On jisi [11 February], decreed the King of Chenliu to carry the flags and banners of the Son of Heaven, to prepare the Five Seaons Assistant Chariot, for journeying on the Wei New Year, suburban sacrifices to Heaven and Earth, rites and music, rules and measures al to be like in Wei in the past, and when sending up submissions not to call himself a subject.

Bestowed on the Duke of Shanyang, Liu Kang, and the Duke of Anle, Liu Shan, one son or brother to be Chief Commandant of Attendant Cavalry.

On yihai [17 February], used the King of Anping, Fu as Grand Steward, Acting with Yellow Battle-axe, Great Commander-in-Chief of All Army Affairs in the Centre and Outside.

A decree said:

Formerly, Wang Ling planned to depose the King of Qi, yet the King in the end was insufficient to ward the throne [?]. Deng Ai, although prudent and meritorious, was deficient in moderation, and as such with bound hands received punishment. Now greatly pardon their families, restore and bring about establishing their descendants.

Arise the extinguished and continue the cut off, restrain the law and scrutinize punishments. Remove the restrictions and prohibitions of the Wei clan's imperial house. Those of the various generals and magistrates who have come across the three year mourning, dispatch to soothe and end the mourning [?]. For the hundred families remit the their compulsory labour service. Cease with the private troops commanders, chiefs, magistrates and below providing hostages.

Scrutinize the commanderies and states' management and transfers [?]. Forbid the music office' performers of delicate and beautiful hundred plays and the drawing up of engraved ornaments on the roaming hunt [?].

[Not sure if all of the above are really intended as direct quotations of a single decee.]

This Month [23 January – 21 February], six phoenixes, three blue-green dragons, two white dragons and one qilin seen in the commanderies and states.

#js003

[shuttershocky]

The Tsukihime Worldbuilding Primer : Part 1 - The Factions

Hey Type-Moon fans! Have you not read Tsukihime but wondered how much of the Nasuverse lore you’ve missed out on? Then this is for you! This will be an easy to read Nasuverse worldbuilding guide meant for those who are unwilling or otherwise unable to read Tsukihime, from a very big Tsukihime fan that understands that we’ll all be dead before the remake comes out. It will discuss everything from the factions, magic, connections to Fate and Kara No Kyoukai, and anything else people might find interesting. I will also avoid any major plot spoilers in case this convinces you to read Tsukihime in the future!

(Of course you could just read all this on the Type-Moon wiki yourself, but good luck in those murky waters)

For this post, we’ll talk about the three main factions introduced in the Tsukihime franchise.

1.) The Twenty Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors

Also seen in Fate/Zero, Fate/Apocrypha, and Fate/Strange Fake, the Dead Apostles are the Nasuverse’s term for vampires, powerful monsters that feed on the living. They roam Earth in secret, disguising themselves as humans, while secretly feeding on them at night and turning their corpses into mindless slaves. They are aggressive and territorial, and thus normally stay away from each other, thankfully reducing their ability to form solid alliances and become a massive threat to humanity. 

Just like Servants, the abilities of a Dead Apostle vary per individual. Some, like Odd Borzak in Fate/Zero, are not very powerful, and are only capable of creating ghouls and controlling bees. Others like Zepia Eltnam (otherwise known as TATARI), can manifest powerful reality marbles the size of a whole city and maintain it for several days. Within Tsukihime (and apparently even in Fate considering one of them appeared in Strange Fake) 27 of these Dead Apostles form the leadership of these monsters. They are known as the Twenty Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors.

These individuals are extremely dangerous, and together they form an organization that rivals the Church and the Magus Association in power. Originally humans imprisoned to be food for the True Ancestors (a lesson for another time!), The DAA is composed of some of the most powerful Dead Apostles on Earth, each one capable of taking on servants and entirely wiping out human settlements.

A good example for what a Dead Apostle Ancestor looks like is Nrvnsqr (pronounced “Nero”) Chaos. 

This vampire keeps 666 beasts in his body, capable of using them for attack, defense, and scouting the area for enemies. The beasts themselves range from mere animals such as crows and lions to powerful magical beasts such as unicorns and dragons, making him absurdly powerful even among Dead Apostles. Though he was defeated by Shiki Tohno in Tsukihime, he was also hinted at as the reason for Richard the Lionheart and Saladin’s truce during the First Crusades in Fate/Strange Fake[1], his arrival on the battlefield forcing both sides to band together for survival.

The primary goal of this organization is the revival of The Dark Six, the very first Dead Apostle and the only one capable of uniting all of the world’s vampires under one banner. This requires an ancient ritual called the Aylesbury Valesti that would take decades to prepare for, but completion of the ritual would spell the doom of humanity (as shown by the state of the world in Fate/Extra, where said ritual is hinted as the reason behind the total collapse of magic on Earth).

In the main timeline however, The DAA suffered several defeats during their centuries-long war with the Holy Church, during which several of their members were killed or imprisoned and thus delaying the Aylesbury Valesti. Within Tsukihime and Melty Blood, several more of their members fell during their repeated attacks on Misaki town, defeated by its inhabitants.

2.) The Holy Church

REJOICE

Known to Fate fans for being the neutral judge of the grail wars and a farmhouse for psychopath villains, The Holy Church’s true purpose in the Nasuverse is to act as humanity’s shield from the supernatural, hunting anything with even a whiff of magic and keeping the general populace in the dark. While this has famously put them at odds with the Magus Association, their true enemies are the Dead Apostle Ancestors, with whom they’ve waged war with for centuries. Their agents/inquisitors, known as Executors, are all experts at fighting inhumanly powerful enemies, with the likes of Kotomine Kirei and Hansa Cervantes able to operate alone vs such creatures.

To that end, The Church has divided itself into several subfactions such as Kotomine Kirei’s Eight Sacrament Assembly or Riesbyfe’s Chivalric Order (Aka the Knights of the Church) in order to better organize their efforts to stamp out or at least control magic, with their most powerful firebrand executors becoming members of the Burial Agency, the faction of inquisitors tasked with the extermination of the Dead Apostle Ancestors and all other demonic organizations.

Burial Agents mostly operate alone, and are known to amass great power and influence while also having the freedom to ignore any direct orders from the church itself if it will interfere in their hunt. The Agency is also not above recruiting members of the DAA themselves (through force or other means), attempting to turn them on one another in order to even the odds. A good example of a Burial Agent is Ciel.

An immortal woman who has slain countless Dead Apostles, her magical ability exceeds that of magi and even her fellow executors, turning her into a one-woman army hellbent on the extermination of the undead. She is capable of wielding any weapon, including the Church’s rarest and deadliest sacred devices, and can turn even mere Black Keys into horrifying devices capable of incinerating or exploding targets. She is also a master of reinforcement magic (the same one Emiya Shirou uses), reinforcing her body in order to grant her superhuman strength and senses, allowing her to keep up with enemies as powerful as Arcueid Brunestud. She is also popularly thought of to have given Shirou his iconic red coat that he wears as Archer.[2]

By the events of Tsukihime, the Church had successfully gained the upper hand in its secret war. The Dead Apostles of the world spend most of their time in hiding, fearing the wrath of the Church and the freelancing magi like Natalia Kaminsky and Emiya Kiritsugu who would hunt them down. Despite this, the DAA themselves are unafraid of the Church, with most of them being far too powerful to be killed by conventional means. Nevertheless, with the (rather testy) alliance that the Church has established with the Magus Association and with the True Ancestor Arcueid Brunestud (whom the Church still attacks relentlessly), humanity wields enough power to keep the DAA working from the shadows.

3.) The Atlas Academy

First introduced in Kara No Kyoukai: Oblivion Recorder, the Atlas Academy is one of the three great branches of the magus association that has since shut itself off from the rest of the world. They are mostly known to Fate fans for being Chaldea’s scientists, who assisted in the construction of Chaldea’s advanced technology.

Hidden in the Atlas Mountains (according to Kara No Kyoukai), or somewhere in Egypt (according to Melty Blood), the Atlas Alchemists are the descendants of the Egyptian goddess Isis, and are concerned with only one thing: the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake. No code of ethics or law binds them, allowing for any researcher to conduct any kind of experiment, no matter how strange, cruel, or horrifying, as long as the end result is never meant to leave Atlas. Due to how shut off they are from the rest of the world (and thus show up very little in the Nasuverse), little is actually known about this organization and just how powerful they really are. It is known however, that they have their own relationship with the Church and occasionally lend them the aid of their great alchemists. There are also 7 contracts in existence that bind Atlas to lend their aid to any who own them. Four of these contracts have been recovered, three more are yet to be used.

Because there is so little known about Atlas, most of what we know of them come from the only three individual alchemists to leave the institute: Satsuki Kurogiri, Zepia Eltnam Atlasia, and Sion Eltnam Atlasia. As the backstories of all three are rife with spoilers, I’ll do my best to stay away from the plot as much as possible, as well as skip talking about Zepia entirely. He’s ALL spoilers.

Satsuki Kurogiri was the first member of Atlas to ever be shown in the Nasuverse (and also the first time the institute was ever mentioned, though the Ufotable movie cut that part out). Like the other Atlas Alchemists, his brand of magic was strange and ancient, considered to be almost completely alien to the members of the Magus Association. He had the ability to speak to the souls of all things, bending them to his will. If he tells you to sleep, you’ll fall right over. if he tells you that you can’t see, then you’ve got to learn to be Daredevil before he gets away.

Though he had this ability as a child, according to the Light Novel version of Oblivion Recorder the ability disappeared as he reached puberty and resurfaced later on in adulthood, which he then honed in the Atlas mountains.

Though Kurogiri was a minor member of the Atlas Academy, Melty Blood would introduce one of its most important people as its main protagonist: Sion Eltnam Atlasia.

The Vice Director of the Atlas Academy and the next head of the whole institute (those chosen to succeed the previous director are given the name ‘Atlasia’), Sion’s personal vendetta with one of the DAA led to her expeditions outside the Institute, and also gave us a look at what kind of technologies the Atlas Alchemists have created.

Sion’s first and most noticeable asset is her superpowered mind (but unfortunately without a mechanical canine). She’s able to perform complex mathematical calculations and analysis with incredible speed and accuracy, and is able to partition her thoughts into 7 different parts that allows her to run 7 independent thought processes at the same time. This allows her to gather and process data like a computer during combat, eventually becoming able to predict movements and decisions through statistical analysis. Whether this is simply a supernatural gift or the results of experiments she ran in Atlas, it’s never made clear, although the two weapons she brings with her certainly are.

Her gun, the Black Barrel Replica, is a replica of the ancient god-killing firearm, the, er, Black Barrel. By almost all appearances it’s just an ordinary gun, but the bullets it holds in special; they have the ability to introduce the concept of death to a being that lives without it, making immortals such as Tiamat or Arcueid capable of death. Think of it like having King Hassan’s power contained in a bullet. Terrifying.

Her second weapon is a nearly invisible string called Etherlite. The Etherlite allows her to connect the mind of any individual it is attached to to her own, superior one, allowing her to read thoughts, sift through memories, and even hack the body to augment or disable its abilities. This horrifying breach of privacy and the abuse such power was capable of was too shocking for even Atlas, and coupled with their sordid ancestry, the Eltnam’s names were disgraced in the institute.

And that’s all for this post! These posts are meant to be read by fans with very little knowledge of Tsukihime, so if there’s anything confusing or unclear (or wrong, although I’m pretty confident in the accuracy of 95% of this post), please don’t hesitate to tell me and I’ll attempt to improve the content. Thank you for reading!

Notes

1 - I have not yet reached this part in Fate/Strange Fake, although I have heard from its fans that the Dead Apostle that battles Richard is in fact, supposed to be Nrvnsqr. If this is wrong, please do tell me!

2 - Try as I might, I can’t find the interview anymore where Nasu said the red coat was a gift from the Church and most likely from Ciel. If anyone could point me to it I’ll be so grateful!

#Nasuverse #Type-Moon #Type Moon #Tsukihime #Melty Blood #Kara No Kyoukai #Fate #Fate series #Fate Grand Order #Angel Notes #Nasuverse meta #The Tsukihime Worldbuilding Primer

[rupertgayesarchive]

Title: First Time it Meant Something Pairing: Ryan/Michael Word Count: 6300 Summary:  Ryan enters the strange and dangerous (though quite rewarding) process of being romanced by a god.

A/N: My entry for day one of Myan Week 2017! For the day: First, it’s a continuation of my myan mythology!au. It’s kind of a fusion of a few suggestions I’ve gotten from anons since I put out the first fic. Hope you enjoy!

Also on AO3!

-

i.

A human being loved by a god – a rare, though hardly impossible occurrence. Certainly it was a circumstance that occurred often enough for so many stories to appear on the subject; Ryan had heard a fair number of them – Endymion, Europa, Ganymede, and the dozens of other human lovers that particular gods had amassed over the ages. He was also more than familiar with the unfortunate ends – or beginnings, or even sometimes middles – most of those love affairs entailed. If he had half a mind when Michael had first laid eyes on him, he may have decided to shoo the god away instead of so gallantly welcoming him into his bed. But it had been such a long night, and Michael was so beautiful and warm and that first kiss had awoken something deep within him, something he had long thought was dead –

He hadn’t turned Michael away, was the point. And despite the heaps of evidence that suggested his life would now be tragically shortened because of that fact, he couldn’t quite bring himself to be worried.

For one, Michael’s supposed wife was not actually his wife, or a woman at all. “Lindsay – her true name. She was originally the goddess of love, but she didn’t care for it. It attracts a lot of creeps, she said.” They were in bed, lingering together and unwilling to fall asleep despite the late hour. “She got someone else to switch with her – a once minor god named Blaine. If you want someone to symbolize reckless passion then he’s the one for it. And Lindsay moved on to other responsibilities, something with witchcraft and cats and necromancy, or something. She’s in the underworld often and left to her own devices.”

“That must be lonely for you,” Ryan ventured.

Michael turned over to look at Ryan properly, dark eyes shining with impishness. “Why? I have you.” His hand brushed down the expanse of Ryan’s naked back, and the wave of heat made him shiver into the mattress.

So there was no jealous lover to strike him down, at the very least. If something tragic were to befall him, it would most likely be from Michael himself.

But Michael was… How to describe him? It was confusing, how such passion and fire – even rage at times – could smolder and grow without ever scorching him. How Michael’s words and gaze and touch were burning, but around him, always playful, affectionate, careful.

As silly as it was, he felt that he wasn’t so out of line to believe, deep within his heart, that Michael loved him, and did so ardently.

Maybe it was foolish thinking, but the  god was always so eager to visit him for any little thing, and nearly always arrived with some sort of gift – food, wine, clothing, pottery – even swords, though Ryan had no idea what he was meant to do with that. His days in the military were brief, boring, and had occurred over a decade ago by now. He was left to sell the blades to a few customers who had seen them hanging on his wall. Even then, what may have been a capital offense to other deities, Michael had just pouted, and asked what type of items he could shower Ryan with, instead.

“I don’t appear to be any good at giving you gifts,” he remarked, once he realized that he was the one who drank most, if not all of the wine he had given to Ryan.

“I don’t need gifts, Michael. You’re here, are you not?”

“I am.”

Ryan sauntered over to him, putting a hand on his chest. He could hear the beating of an immortal heart that was over a thousand years old, and feel the heat that radiated through the fabric of his robes. “Then that’s all that I need.”

Michael took Ryan’s hand and kissed the knuckles. “You don’t know how rare it is for someone to say that to me.” He pressed the human’s hand to his cheek. “Supplying all the gods and goddesses with weapons, armor, saddles – they drive me like a pack mule, honestly. Even after making an army of automatons to do it when I’m not there.”

Despite the domesticity of the moment, a strange word drew Ryan’s attention. “Automatons?”

“Yes, machines I built. They can run through some limited instructions. I feed them into their machinery – I made them from iron and bronze – and they can make, well, whatever I want them to.” He laughed, seeing Ryan’s look of amazement. “What, interested?”

“I’ve never heard of that sort of thing before! How are they powered? Do they look like men, or – how can they move? Can they speak?” Michael continued to laugh, taking Ryan’s hand and spinning him around the small room like a dance.

“If you’re so curious, why don’t I take you to see them yourself?”

“M-Me? On Olympus?”

“One of the peaks is my palace – and workshop.”

“Isn’t it… forbidden?” Ryan’s own heart thudded so loudly he could feel it in his temples. This was sounding like the beginning of his own destruction.

Michael just smiled, however. “We’ll only get punished if we get caught. I’ll take care of you – and like I said, no one stops by unless they need something. There are plenty of places to hide you even if that comes to pass. So.” He yanked Ryan’s hands forward until their chests were touching. “Do you want to?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid – there was no way he could go, or at least, no way he’d survive such a visit. But, if Michael had machinery that looked like that… This would be his only chance to see the splendor of such things, and Michael seemed so pleased at the thought. “I’ll do it,” he said, watching Michael’s eyes light up with joy, dimples showing on his cheeks as he grinned wide. He leaned up and pressed a hot kiss to Ryan’s mouth.

“I’ll leave now, then,” he murmured, “and tomorrow, I’ll take you.” He let go of Ryan’s hands and stepped away, vanishing in a gust of ash that disappeared into nothing.

The feeling of Michael’s mouth on his own was still seared to his lips long after any evidence of the god had gone.

ii.

Ryan was out in the garden when he smelled fire, and a breeze tickled his hair, and he knew Michael had appeared behind him.

He was greeted with a kiss, Michael smiling wide against his mouth, and when he pulled away he noticed Michael was holding a long strip of fabric. Ryan lifted the edge of it, and felt it to be silk, like the robes Michael wore. “What’s this?”

“It’s yours. I had it made for you to wear.”

“Me? I don’t –”

“Well, you can’t go to Olympus in that, can you?” Ryan looked down, fiddling with his own robes. He had been used to the impure white of his cloaks, the bulky pins and braided rope belts. Surely, if he really was going to be residing in Michael’s palace - and his workshop - he would need clothes he wouldn’t mind dirtying. But Michael wouldn’t even entertain the idea.

“What if I ruin it?”

“Then I will take great satisfaction in taking it off of you, just as I will take great satisfaction in taking these robes off of you now.” He fiddled with the staying pins of Ryan’s outfit until his clothes fell down his body, onto the floor. He quickly stripped the rest of his garments off, Michael’s gaze hot on his bared skin – which was hardly a new sensation, though it was one he had yet to get used to.

Michael seemed to notice his hesitance. “Something wrong?” he asked, hands hovering above Ryan’s body.

Ryan looked over his shoulder at the other houses. His garden was constructed in the conventional style, and was partially enclosed by a rock wall, but the walls were only chest high, and his neighbors were merely a stone’s throw away. “We’re a bit, close, don’t you think?” He nodded over the garden wall.

Michael chuckled. “As if they haven’t seen this at the gymnasium? Or when you go to bathe?”

“Well, you’re not with me when I do those things.”

“Don’t be too sure,” he said with a wink. “I might be some little cat, or a bird, coming down to check on you.”

“Now, why would you do that, when being in your regular form is much more convenient for coming onto me?” Michael shrugged playfully, but made quick work of wrapping the new garments around Ryan, clothing him again.

Gone was the white wool, the worn sandals, the rope. Michael presented him with the softest tunic, made with silk, dyed multi-color, and sewn with gold thread. It was fastened with jeweled buttons and clips that glittered in the light of the hearth, so many that Ryan eventually had to give in and let Michael help him dress.

The belt came next. Luckily this was merely leather, as soft as well-worn boots but black as pitch. Michael tugged it over Ryan’s narrow waist and fastened it with a smile. Ryan stepped into shoes and Michael laced them up his ankles; they too were leather, as his old ones were, but they were as comfortable as being barefoot on sand.

“Is that it?” Ryan asked quietly, trying not to sound nervous of what would come after Michael pronounced him ready. Of what would become of him so soon.

“The peplos,” Michael reminded him, unclipping his own garment from his shoulders - it was nearly translucent linen, more fit for being a makeshift sieve than offering any sort of elemental protection. It still managed to sparkle, though, more shining gold thread being thrust upon him and fastened by Michael’s steady hands. The fabric fell down Ryan’s side, fluttering against his skin. He looked down at himself; he had doubts a human could even assemble such an outfit; he had never seen one so fine in Lemnos itself, much less one that he could ever find or afford.

“I look like I’m on fire,” he murmured, eyes wide in realization. The tunic itself went from yellow to orange to red in a marvelous fade, all the colors seamlessly blurring together like some fanciful artist had painted the outfit on him.

“Is it not fitting, for the beloved of fire and forge himself?” Michael asked with a raised brow, a cocky expression flitting across his face. Ryan didn’t rise to the bait, feeling too nervous to move, much less flirt with the other.

“Is that all?” he managed, wrapping an arm around himself.

“I suppose… though I do have one more thing.” Michael made a crown of golden laurels appear from nowhere, placing them atop Ryan’s head. They nestled into his hair, and he felt his face flush from embarrassment. “They suit you.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You need to dress impressively,” Michael replied easily, fingertips brushing along Ryan’s arm.

“And who am I trying to impress?” Michael paused at that. “Are your automatons very picky about who they let into your workshop?” Michael grinned.

“Precisely that. Though I can’t deny that I like to give you fine things – and if you say you can’t use them in your day to day life here,” he said pointedly, “then perhaps this is a special enough occasion to warrant something elegant, don’t you think?”

“If you wanted me to wear nicer clothing, you could have asked.”

“It’s not like that,” Michael said with a wave of his hand. “Merely… I can give you nice things so easily, there’s quite a bit of temptation to do so. And besides, if I gave you a dozen fine robes to wear, would you have put them on?”

“Probably not,” Ryan admitted.

“Well then,” Michael said; comment enough. “Shall we go now?” He slipped his hand into Ryan’s, and Ryan immediately interlaced their fingers. As usual, the points where he and Michael touched were an unburning fire, an endless source of heat. He looked into his eyes.

“I suppose there’s nothing else to do here…” Ryan said, casting a final look around his home.

“Keep a tight hold on my hand. And… you may want to close your eyes – I don’t want you to get sick.” Ryan immediately nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and grasping at Michael’s hand. He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, like he was deep in the ocean, being tossed about by waves; even the floor seemed to vanish beneath his feet. The only thing that remained certain was Michael’s hand in his own, and the radiating heat from where their skin was pressed together. Ryan focused hard on that, and some seconds, or some minutes later, Michael shook their arms and said, “You can open your eyes now.” And Ryan did.

Ryan knew that a god must have lived in splendor, but what he saw was so magnificent it stood incomprehensible to his very eyes. They were walking out amongst the clouds, and their matter made his feet damp, but he did not fall through them, held either by Michael or by whatever the environment was enchanted with. Overhead were rustic spires that held Michael’s palace, all shining and gleaming as bright as molten ore. Michael was already walking him towards the entrance, but he still craned his neck as far back as he could to see the towers, their glistening bodies only interrupted for the occasional gape of a window or balcony.

Michael waved his hand, and two doors – as large as three men stacked on top of each other – silently opened for them to pass through. The hard marble floor beneath his feet was almost too solid after walking on air, and he needed to take a moment to steady his feet. He looked down, and realized the marble beneath him was made of millions of shards, placed so precisely that there wasn’t a single space between them, and the walls were all painted murals, depictions of Michael on some great adventures. Small torches placed along the room illuminated everything as though the sun was shining directly on them. “What do you think?” Michael said, voice sounding distant. Ryan reflexively squeezed the god’s hand, finding they were still connected there.

“I might faint,” Ryan answered truthfully, eyes roving around at the grandeur, the impossible level of labor that must have taken place, the sheer scope and size – it boggled his senses.

“Would you feel more comfortable in my workshop?” Workshop – with bellows and metal and those automatons Michael mentioned.

“Well,” Ryan swallowed. “Can’t be any worse, can it?”

Michael walked them through room after room, large and precisely decorated. As he paid closer attention to the figures in the murals, Ryan could make out a few familiar gods based on what they were depicted with. “You spend an awful amount of time in the underworld,” Ryan observed at length, “The - the ruler there looks younger than I expected..”

“Oh – yes, with Gavin. He’s an interesting guy. You may end up running into him at some point.” Ryan balked at the idea of the king of the underworld showing up in his garden next. “He’s quite friendly, don’t worry. And anyway, his domain resides under the earth – the best metals and gems I get come from him.”

“Oh,” Ryan answered, dumbly.

“Lindsay also resides down there, sometimes. She keeps Gavin’s lover, Meg, company, the months she’s down there.”

“Gavin has a lover?”

“Oh, sure. I mean, she kind of followed him down there one day – curiosity and everything – and him, being an idiot, tried to give her food to eat to make her more comfortable! She accidentally ended up binding herself to the underworld for half the year. Her friend got all pissed about it, still rages on with snowstorms and everything when she goes to be with Gavin, more out of habit these days than anything else. But that happened eons ago.”

Ryan frowned. “Are you telling me that Gavin inadvertently caused the seasons to change?”

“Well, yes.”

“Please tell me you never stumbled into any creations of your own,” Michael shrugged, sending a playful smile back to Ryan before going through another set of larger than life doors – these ones finally leading to Michael’s workshop.

It was hotter here, steam filling part of the workshop as metals were constantly heated and cooled. The reverberating bang of metal on metal carried throughout the room, and he could see moving creatures ducking and roving about, hitting or cutting or pouring or polishing, all sitting at long benches or before enormous machines. The flurry of movement stretched in front of him farther than he could see, and when Michael took his arm and led him between the benches he nearly reared back and begged to stay in place.

“This – this is amazing,” Ryan managed after a few minutes, eyeing some of the automatons at work. The nearest one was sharpening a golden arrow, its entire body made out of gleaming metal, instead of feathers; after finding it to be of an appropriate quality, it dropped it into a quiver by its feet. Ryan crouched down, reaching out a hand to feel the arrow himself.

Michael put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t touch that. It’s for the cupids.” Ryan cast a skeptical glance up at the other. “If you prick your finger you fall into a blinding lust for the first person you see.”

Ryan stood up, taking a step back towards Michael.

“I imagine you wouldn’t want to be taken over by eros,” Michael added. “Always seemed more of a pragmatic lover to me.”

Ryan looked over his shoulder at Michael. “As if you wouldn’t be pleased with me having to deal with that. Don’t you complain that I’m not insatiable enough?” He nearly yelped when Michael wrapped his arms around his middle, a hand sliding up along his chest.

“Only in jest,” Michael defended, nuzzling into his neck. Judging by the way his skin heated up, Michael was brushing his lips along his throat. “I’d never want to turn you into something you’re not. As… appealing as the image of you overtaken with lust seems, I think I’d rather turn you into that myself.” He slipped away from Ryan and began walking further into his workshop. “Come along, I want to show you the rest.”

Ryan shook himself and followed on Michael’s heels, realizing that the workshop was so large it was as though it had no end; it seemed as though his eyes failed him before he could see the opposing wall.

After some minutes spent walking he realized why this was; the workshop itself had no opposing wall; instead, it opened into the heavens, and the vast clouds of steam that rose from the cooling of metals traveled up into the sky, effectively hiding the workshop’s opening from anyone who might have been able to reach this height.

“If any god is eager to see me, they usually come through the clouds,” Michael explained. Ryan tensed. “Relax, I’m not expecting anyone now; moreover, they all like to make an entrance, you’d have some warning.”

“That doesn’t reassure me much.” But of course, Ryan’s curiosity got the better of his sensibilities, and he was quickly drawn into seeing how Michael directed his automatons, from the smashing of ore into usable pieces, the forming of moulds and heating of metals, to the finer points of detailing and soldering slight pieces together.

Unlike humans, the automatons didn’t tire, but instead worked at a continuous pace, each performing a small task allotted to them before passing their work to another further down the line. There was something hypnotic in the pattern of the movements, and the heat of the room and the motion of air circulating from the great hall into the sky outside made the head dizzy. He and Michael watched the process continue - for multiple projects in multiple lines, all taking place on multiple tables - until they reached the doorway to the workshop, seeing a finished project in the matter of half an hour or less. By the end Ryan felt exhilarated and exhausted at once, as though he was the one who had personally manufactured a dozen swords and shields, one hundred arrows, and a suit of armor capable of bringing a division of men down. He touched the latter of these, a gauntlet to be exact; it was still warm from its processing.

“I think I have an order of lightning bolts that need to be completed, too,” Michael supplied, watching Ryan. “But shall we do something else instead? A tour of my rooms, perhaps?”

Ryan would have been content to stay in the workshop, examining this and that, observing how so many wonderous things were made at inhuman speeds. But before he could come to such a decision one way or another, there was the sound of a crash in the distance - near the open entrance of the workshop. A moment later, a person swore.

Rather, a god.

Ryan felt his blood freeze, holding his body in place. Michael didn’t look much better. Apparently he never intended for guests to arrive at the palace. He hurriedly looked around before spotting a large wicker basket - within which contained the finished swords, all gleaming. Michael knocked it over, shoving the swords out before beckoning for Ryan to crawl inside.

“Hurry!” Michael pleaded, when Ryan cast a glance behind him. He wriggled inside, his head near the opening, and using strength that Ryan usually forgot Michael possessed, the god turned the basket back to its rightful place. With the way Ryan crouched, he was well hidden, if still just one peek inside away from being exposed.

“Michael?” a voice ventured, still some distance away. Ryan looked frantically up at Michael, wanting more instruction, more reassurance than what he had been giving.

“It’ll be fine,” Michael said, eyes darting behind him still. “I think I know who it is - I’ll get him out of here in no time. Just -” He looked desperately down at Ryan, like he wanted to say or do something else. “Be still and quiet.” he said eventually, before running off towards the source of the noise.

Ryan heard nothing for a time. Just his own breathing and rapid pulse, which he tried to coerce into peaceful rhythms, somewhat unsuccessfully. Still, it was five minutes or so and he had yet to hear anything. No arguments, no struggle, the sound of Michael getting slaughtered for keeping a mortal man in his midsts - none of that.

“…And then Gavin had the nerve to try to wrestle me for the gold.” That was Michael’s voice, and Michael’s shoe on the tile floor, coming closer.

“Did you win?” A man’s voice asked.

“Of course I won! I know Gavin’s the ruler of the underworld and whatever, but he doesn’t have to have the strength of a skeleton to boot.” The stranger laugh, loud and bawdy, like he was a cup of wine short of being inconsolably drunk.

“I wish I could’ve seen it, what a prick,” The man spoke in such a fond way, despite his words.

“I know, Geoff. Anyway, I’m sorry I can’t stay with you longer. Burnie’s been on my ass about the lightning bolts, and then there’s the arrows to make and -”

“What happened to all your swords?”

Ryan sucked in a breath and held it. He tried to crouch even further down into the basket, if that were possible. He saw a flash of cloth and nearly yelled, before he saw the color and recognized that Michael was leaning up against the basket, using his body to somewhat protect him. He heard the other god stumble around nearby, probably looking at all the felled swords.

“Right, they were defected. All of ‘em - impure metals,”

“Huh, they look fine to me.”

A pause. Ryan bit his lip and clenched his hands around his bent knees. “And that’s why you’re the god of grapes, Geoff.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” There was an indignant sniff. “I’m also a patron of the theater.”

“Right, so sorry, oh cultured sir.”

“Yeah, yeah. Do you need help with -”

“No, no! That’s what, um, the automatons are for. Really, Geoff, any other time would have been fine, but I’m too busy now. I’ll see you as soon as I’m done, promise. Just give me a few days.”

Ryan’s legs were cramping, and it was becoming harder to remain curled up. He tried to force the thought into Michael’s head, hoping the other would be able to usher Diony- sorry, ‘Geoff’ away. Instead he heard Geoff sigh.

“You know you wouldn’t be doing all this now if you spent more time in the workshop and less with the humans downstairs.”

Michael shifted, like he wanted to spring up, but he resolutely remained planted in front of Ryan’s hiding spot. “How do you mean?”

“Well, you’re never here when me or any other god calls on you. You’re not with them or Gavin, so -” Ryan imagined the other shrugged at this moment, “What else would you be doing?”

“It’s not a crime to go and mingle with mortals every once in awhile.”

“Sure, sure, but Michael, you haven’t done that since when Lindsay changed her patronage and left you for the underworld. And that was just - eons ago!”

“Has it really been that long?” Michael asked, forcefully aloof.

“Is there… someone?” Geoff asked. “I’ve been dying to know. Or a whole army of someones? A bunch of pretty, starry eyed men and women you’ve found?”

“Geoff, I don’t want to offend you, but if I even hint at what I’m doing, everyone on Olympus is gonna know.”

“Alright, alright. You’re off the hook this time. But there’s nothing to be ashamed of. They’re cute, you know? Funny little creatures.”

“Imagine if Griffon heard you say that.”

A moment of sputtering ensued. Ryan was too preoccupied with not groaning in pain from his numb legs to try and puzzle out where he’d heard the name ‘Griffon’ before.

“She’s an exception!”

“Of course, Geoff. Come on - you’ve done a good job at distracting me, but I really do need to make headway on these things. Let me walk you out, through the front door this time.”

“Sure, sure. I can see when I’m not wanted…” Michael moved off the basket and walked towards the workshop’s doors, Geoff’s feet dragging behind. Several seconds later a great door slammed shut.

Ryan knew, in the grand scheme of things, that moment wasn’t so much an out and out threat and more of an unfortunate melding of circumstances. Geoff wasn’t there to snuff out a human, and he hadn’t besides. But all those stories and plays flashed in his mind nonetheless, and he remained crouched in the basket, unwilling to move despite the painful protests his muscles made.

He could have been killed where he stood, if he had been found out. Or Michael could have pretended to hide him, only to present him to Geoff as some ill-meaning man who had snuck into his palace and was deserving of some terrible fate. Eagles pecking out his liver or an eternity spent in fire. He shivered at the thought, and couldn’t even rouse himself to poke his head out when he heard the door opening again, and Michael calling out his name.

Michael’s face appeared above the opening of the basket. “He’s gone, doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Except that you’re spending time with humans - or just one human,” Ryan managed, miserable.

Michael tsked and held out his hand. “As if Geoff’s one to talk. That Griffon girl I mentioned? She’s a princess on some island near yours. He’s been sweet on her for years, visits her all the time, no one’s given him shit for it.”

“Griffon’s a noblewoman - not a,” He paused, as he took Michael’s arm and wrestled himself out of the basket, standing on shaky legs. “Not a random blacksmith you plucked up off the streets and shoved in silk robes.” He glanced down, noticing that getting shoved into a woven basket had left a few small tears in his paplos and knocked the crown of laurels clean off his hair. He took off the crown, fiddling with it in his hands. “Damn it all!” If the crown was his he would have thrown it, but instead he clutched it tightly to his chest instead, looking at all the discarded swords on the floor.

“Ryan…” Michael drew closer, and after a moment, put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “You’re upset. I told you I would keep you safe here and let a god come through here. I’m so sorry. I never thought -” He shook his head, sadly, and Ryan immediately felt worse off to see Michael glum. That was the sort of affection they had for one another; when one was happy the other followed, when one wallowed and sighed, the other felt wrong until it was fixed.

“I don’t blame you,” Ryan managed. “I’m glad you thought fast, and that Geoff wasn’t as, um, aware of his faculties as some other god may have been.”

“True enough. Come, let’s not spend any more time here.” Ryan wrapped his arm around Michael’s and they made for the workshop doors. “Let’s get you out of these clothes, hm? A bath perhaps - I promise my washroom is quite impressive.”

Ryan laughed, though more because he had to than anything else, but he let Michael lead him out of the workshop all the same. He tensed as they approached the foyer of the palace, expecting to see someone there to capture him, whisk him away - but the foyer was empty, and the grand, winding staircases leading upstairs, and the great washroom as well. The only thing that moved was a flurry automatons that left shortly after they entered, all with dripping buckets of steaming water that they had just poured into the tub.

Ryan was pulled from his morose mood by observing the new room. It was smaller than the workshop, but there was ample room left over considering the size of the bath itself. It could easily fit four men - not quite the pool he had seen at the gymnasium, but it was more impressive for what it was made from. A gargantuan piece of violet quartz had been hollowed and cut to form the tub. The outside was faceted with a hundred sharp cuts along its surface, producing pronounced edges along the surface that were less dangerous than the original outside of such a stone, but wasn’t exactly comfortable to lean against. He ran a hand along the inside of the surface, however, and found it was as smooth as the silk clothes he wore. “How marvelous,” he murmured. Michael grinned at him.

“Made it myself. The whole stone was quite a beauty.”

“I could imagine!”

Michael instructed him towards a large shelf on the side of the room, to select some soaps and oils he found pleasing to dump into the bath. Michael was already disrobing, throwing his robes over a folded out screen nearby. Ryan selected orange blossom, jasmine, all the bottles carefully labelled and numerous. He dumped them into the hot water as per Michael’s instructions, slipped his own fineries off, and joined Michael in the bath.

It was warm, luxurious. Ryan sank down enough for his head to go under the water, and when he came back up Michael was chuckling.

“What?”

“Nothing, just -” Michael put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, “I’m glad some part of you coming here wasn’t a total disaster.”

“Well, the whole thing wasn’t a disaster,” Ryan managed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “It was just an especially bad twenty minutes.”

“You weren’t that excited about the clothes,” Michael added. “Or all the other gifts, before that.”

“Well, I’m not that used to wooing. Being wooed.”

“Oh, believe me, you can woo,” Michael glanced appreciatively along Ryan’s exposed chest, prompting a light splash in his direction. “Hey!”

“I’m sorry, I can see why getting splashed with water while in a tub is a horrific offense, please forgive me.”

“Forgive you my ass, you’re such a cheek.” Michael managed to sidle closer anyway, nearly on top of Ryan’s lap as he pressed a fond kiss to his mouth before leaning back, scanning Ryan’s body, eyes hungry. The human had a feeling that Michael’s restraint was running low.

“Have you ever had any… guests intruding on you while you bathed?” Ryan supposed, tracing a dotted line of freckles across Michael’s shoulder with the tip of his fingernail.

“Thankfully, no. I don’t even think any god knows where it is, it’s not like they make a habit of -” Ryan leaned forward, kissing Michael intensely, pressing him against the side of the tub as he took in the deity’s heated skin. A hand went along his shoulders, another following his spine and disappearing below the water. With Michael pressed so close, the sweet smelling water felt nearly tepid. He bent down and bit the juncture of Michael’s neck and shoulder, hearing the other moan. “Gods, Ryan,”

“Didn’t you get me into the bath with the explicit reason of doing this?” Ryan managed, glancing up at Michael’s eyes.

“No,” Michael said lowly, “I got you in here to do far more than kiss.” Then it was Michael who was pulling Ryan into a frantic kiss, pushing him against the smooth stone of the tub, and doing far, far more than kissing.

iii.

“Ryan?”

Muscles twitched. An eyelid fluttered.

“Are you awake, Ryan?”

A deep breath was taken; resignation. “I seem to be. What is it?”

“I got tired of admiring you and not having an outlet for all of compliments I wish to shower upon your form.” Ryan sighed, rolled over onto his stomach, and buried his head into a pillow. He felt a warm hand on his upper thigh. “What an inspiring change of view.”

“Very funny,” Ryan said, though he was too satisfied to feel anything but extremely content. Michael had as much stamina as Ryan supposed - that is, far too much for him. And after the two rounds in the tub, half of one in the hall, and a big finish in the luxurious bed he now found himself in, he had slept with the hope that he’d be dreaming for a hundred years or so. Michael had woken him early, though. Ryan stretched, resigning himself to waking fully and, most probably, dealing with all the love bites and jelly-like limbs tomorrow at work. He voiced as much to Michael from over his shoulder.

“Who says you need to go to work?” Michael asked, wrapping his arms around Ryan, pressing his cheek into his back. “We could stay up here forever, you and me. Never getting bothered by anyone, no one taking you away from me.”

“Your possessiveness is showing,” Ryan teased.

“But doesn’t it look rather handsome on me?”

Ryan laughed. “You look handsome in anything - but it was just for a day, you promised!”

“You’re right.” Michael paused, went pensive. Ryan had closed his eyes, already starting to doze off again until Michael spoke up:  “You’re right. But perhaps one day I’ll keep you here.” A wistful sigh here. He felt fingers playing along his spine. “I should like it more than anything else.”

“You talk like I’m the first human you’ve ever loved – in all the stories I read, I’ve never heard of a god being so taken with a mere mortal –” Ryan was cut off when Michael rolled them over and pressed Ryan’s back into the bed, holding his arms as he straddled over his body. For a moment the god’s eyes were blazing, an element Ryan knew he could never control.

Michael leaned forward, voice quiet. “Perhaps I’ve enjoyed the company of a few humans before,” he admitted, running warm fingers along Ryan’s face, “but nothing has ever hit me like this. This – this fascination, this desire to share everything I have. I’d give you anything you ever wanted without a second thought.”

Michael’s speech was almost too much for Ryan’s brain to puzzle in that moment. But he managed, finally finding his voice. “All I’d ever want is you,” he replied at length. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Michael said, sounding almost surprised as the words came out of his mouth. He ran his thumb along Ryan’s jaw. “I’ve loved many others, but – this is the first time it feels different. This is the first time it means something.”

Ryan couldn’t find anything to say to that. He silently took Michael’s hand from his face and pressed kisses to his fingers, palm, and wrist, before Michael moved to lay down at his side. Their arms naturally went around one another, legs tangling like roots, fingers intertwining. Some minutes passed, they could have been sleeping, the sensation of peace of comfort overpowering for both.

Ryan tried to imagine living in Michael’s palace, but found that he couldn’t. The place was gargantuan, brimming with strange technology or - more apropos may be to say magical features - and beyond that there was a scale of grandness that he would never see in Lemnos, perhaps not even in Athens itself. And Michael wanted him to stay there. Not to keep him as a trophy or entertain him with his creations, but because he loved him. Wanted him here, closer to the heart. It was a pipe dream, he thought - he had a home, and mortals weren’t meant to dwell on Olympus.

But that was not to say that a god and a human couldn’t be together in a way that didn’t end in heartbreak or tragedy or death. And if there was ever a couple more deserving of a gentle life together, well, Ryan had never heard of them.

“I think,” Ryan began, voice barely above a whisper, “this might be the happiest day of my life.”

He heard Michael chuckle, breath against his cheek. “I can’t wait to make you say that a thousand times over.”

#no lie #this is a bit rough #but i figured a lot of people wanted to read this and it's been long enough #so here it is!! #my fic #myan #ragehappy #myan week 2017 #mythology!au

[luminoustico]

Anything You Can Carry.

I remember once, early on in my time shipping Reylo, that I thought "I couldn't ever write fluff for this pairing! It's too dark! So much delicious angst!" 

Ever After proved me wrong. Crack, fluff, features lightsaber fights and a slight bit of Kylo-typical gore/violence. And a whole lot of silliness.

---

She had let him go. As Snoke, an old man at the end, crumbled and fell, he’d run and she had let him go. She watched the First Order scatter into ashes, and sat in the shadows of tense meetings as General Organa’s legacy decided the next move of the Resistance. She lay awake in the dark of her rooms, clutching her master’s lightsaber. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his broad shoulders hunched and his limping run as he ran into the trees.

When Admiral Statura entered her rooms, she found an odd relief in the tension in his eyes, the clipped nature of his voice.

“We’ve a mission for you.” Rey blinked back at him. Admiral Statura cleared his throat. He seemed aware, as everyone did, of the power contained within her and her lightsaber. The Admiral shifted his weight. “We’ve received intel of Kylo Ren’s location.”

Her relief felt now like a too sweet orange, tasted for the first time.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Giaca, it’s a planet out in the Unknown Regions. We need this confirmed.” Rey turned, grabbing her saber and attaching to her hip. BB-8 gave a short, curt beep, quietening when she hushed it. “He isn’t to be approached directly, you understand? He’s still dangerous – he could be amassing an army as we speak – Rey?”

“I won’t approach him,” she said, standing to face the Admiral. His prematurely grey hair matched his terse expression and straight back.

Rey let out a breath, steadily holding his gaze. When he broke, she hurried past him and slipped through the doors of her rooms. She ran across the hangar out into D’Qar’s sunlight. Hurrying past the Falcon, she chose a blank supply ship, rescued from the hangars of the First Order. No-one gave the ship a second glance as it lifted into the air. Rey steadied her grip on the controls.

She’d let him go.

---

The grass of Giaca was soft moss, cool and dusted with dew underneath the wool of her boots. The forest was dense, thick trees gathered in clusters, green rustling overhead. Rey’s hand fell to her lightsaber as she paused against the bark of a tree, stepping into the shadows untouched by the dappled sunlight. Beyond the line of trees, the end of the forest, and an entrance out onto the lush lapping of water. Volcanic rock made up the bay before the planet’s ocean. It was a black ribbon that trailed against the edge of green grass and brown trees.

Footsteps, distant and heavy on the bay of scattered stones. Rey gulped, inching forwards.

His boots were the boots of a worker, not a warrior. His robes were gone, replaced by a hard-worn green tunic and black trousers that served to remind her of days on Jakku. A blaster sat at his right side. His dark hair was pulled loosely back into a bun. Strands of his black hair fluttered in the ocean breeze.

He turned his head, leaving his face in profile to her. Rey shrank back, but her eyes remained locked onto his form. His eyes were lidded, half-closed in thought. At the edge of his temple, she saw the beginnings of his scar.

Kill her, Snoke had snarled, standing over them both. She’d knelt, the hum and crackle of Kylo Ren’s lightsaber in her ears, the heat of it at her neck, taking her back to Takodana, its moist air and the scream of the TIE fighters. Kill her, Kylo Ren, and complete your training.

Her promise to Admiral Statura repeated on her tongue in a whisper. She lowered her gaze. Her grip tightened around her lightsaber. She’d let him go, and there were some promises she was meant to break. Perhaps a lie was one of them. She launched forward from the trees.

Kylo Ren spun up to his feet in a blur. The red crackle of his lightsaber clashed against her blue blade. Rey gasped, trembling underneath the sudden weight. Her eyes contacted his. Her lip curled into a snarl. He replied with a smirk.

“You used to be better at tailing me, scavenger.”

Before now, a planet had crumbled beneath them and made her decision for her. Rey grunted and pushed back, sliding out from underneath him, turning on her heel and facing him. He twirled his lightsaber between his fingers. His smirk widened.

“You used to be better at hiding,” Rey said, striking downwind. He blocked the blow, locking them together. His thigh slid between her legs, his body leaning close as he tilted his lightsaber against hers, edging the hilt of it close to her neck. Tilting her head, Rey arched her back, pressing herself harder against his thigh, shifting his weight with the Force.

She felt it again, the very thing that had awoken her and tied them to one another inexplicably. The weight of the restraints pressed on her. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Out of my head,” she spat.

Without warning, Kylo stepped back from her. Without his weight, she toppled and fell onto her back. Winded, it took her enough sense to keep a tight hold on her lightsaber. Rey scrambled to sit up, catching her breath. She flicked her gaze up to Kylo. His smirk was ever wider, more an idle knowledge of power than arrogance.

“You need to learn how to obey orders, scavenger.”

Rey snapped her lightsaber against her hip. The grin finally left the former Knight of Ren as she swept her leg out in an arc, catching his ankle with her foot and sending him tumbling.

“You,” she panted, climbing up to her feet as Kylo lay on the volcanic rock, “will return to D’Qar and face trial for your crimes. Do you understand me, Ren?”

His hand shot up, fingers outstretched. Her gasp caught in her throat, turning into a choke as his power sealed her arms to her sides, the Force freezing her in place. He lowered his hand, calmly stepping up to stand over her. Rey trembled against the Force, willing herself to break it. He retaliated with a tighter grip, pulling and pulling at her lungs, her chest until she gasped.

“You’re strong, but not strong enough, scavenger.” His grip loosened, releasing her from the bind. Rey panted, glaring up at him. “Tell the Admiral his intel was luck. Tell him that I will not be found again.”

He walked up the ragged rocks of the bay, towards the thick density of trees. Rey wiped the corners of her mouth with her sleeve and watched his retreating form. Kill her. His red lightsaber had swung out. The head of the Stormtrooper, who once had held his blaster to her head, rolled onto the floor before her. Snoke knelt before her, old in the Force and his strength waning as her fury built. He’d died with her lightsaber in his chest and a smile on his wrinkled mouth.

And she’d run across the hangar, through narrow corridors, red clashing with blue, until the bright light of the trees. They’d both stopped. He’d stood at the forest’s edge. Her lightsaber, raised, she’d been ready to fight.

Rey sprinted forwards, but as she passed the edge into the thick copse of trees, she heard shouts in the trees, a hit to her stomach, and everything went black.

---

Her arms were skewed, twisted tightly to be tied around her back. Her breath was hot on her face, the coarse material of the bag suffocating. She heard rough words spoken in Basic, discussing prices for two fighters like them.

“She’s quick, could fetch a good price,” said one.

“Those outlanders will like the man,” said another. “They like brutes for their warriors.”

The bag was pulled from her head and she was shoved to her knees before a column. It was tall, thin, the basaltic rock it was carved from, chipped and polished in equal measure. Beside her, Kylo dropped to his knees. He wore fury as the bag was tugged up from his head. His eyes shifted, his anger focused on the one who’d spoken of him.

It was a male humanoid, muscular than any Rey had seen, tattoos covering his bare arms. His hair was a deep purple, reaching down to the low of his back. His garments were a dirtied pair of trousers and hard boots.

Rey glanced around the group. There were four of them overall, each one of them as or more muscular than the one stood before her. One, with deep red hair, combed back into a plait, kept a lookout.  Two conversed quietly with one another; they both had dark hair, their tattoos the only difference between them.

The lookout turned to his group.

“They’re coming.”

“Hell,” Kylo muttered, speaking more to himself. “Shorak slavers, selling to Peroenians. All you had to do was let me go, scavenger.”

Rey said nothing, staring at the approaching humanoids. They were leaner than the Shorak, and as they came closer, Rey noticed they possessed six digits on each of their hands. Their hair, unlike the Shorak, was a mixture of yellow and grey, reaching down past their backs. One female stood between two males. She stepped forward, scanning Rey’s form. The same inquisitive look passed over Kylo. Rey closed her eyes, gently reaching out with the Force.

The female Peroenian barked a laugh.

“I’m not a Stormtrooper,” she said with a joviality that the Shorak frowned at. She glanced to her two male companions. “This one thinks they’re a Jedi.”

Rey bristled, her jaw tightening. The Peroenian gestured.

“Untie them. You said they were fighters,” she said with a shrug to the Shorak’s silent question, “I want to see what they can do.”

The purple-haired Shorak crouched down behind Kylo, untying his bonds. Kylo gave a sudden, nasty grin.

“That’s your first mistake.” Immediately, he was up. His lightsaber and blaster, stuffed carelessly into the pouch at the lookout’s waist, flew through the air and landed in his palms. The red kyber crystal hummed. The purple-haired Shorak, with a twist of Kylo’s body and a flick of his blade, dropped to his knees. A deep gash streaked across his chest, exposing the innards of his body. Rey struggled up to her feet as the other Shorak set to Kylo, aiming at him with their daggers and blasters, screaming at his replying bolts and swipes.

Pressing herself up against the column, Rey wriggled her wrists against the tight bonds. Sweat burst out onto her forehead. Her eyes remained on her lightsaber, now nestled in the grass. The hard cotton scraped against her skin, rubbing it raw. She continued to wriggle and turn her wrist every which way, easing it out from the bond. Flinging out her hand, she called to her lightsaber. It landed in her palm, cool metal against the heated pink flesh. Kylo was caught up in the fight; she could run, back into the forest, and wait for him again.

A dagger at her throat ceased all thoughts of fleeing.  

“That'll fetch a fine price,” said the Peroenian behind her. With a laugh, their free hand clutched the lightsaber. Determination rose up within her as she felt the weight of it leave her side. She struggled in his grip.

“You’re giving that back,” she said. The Peroenian tilted the tip of their dagger closer against her throat.

“Let her go.” Rey looked up. Kylo thumbed off his lightsaber, clipping at his side. His other hand rested on his blaster. She half-wondered why he hadn’t used it on her. The Peroenian tightened their grip around her neck.

“Look at her. She’s nothing. Believe me, I’m far more valuable.”

“I shall judge that outlander,” scoffed the female Peroenian, but she glanced to her comrade. She gave a short nod. “Release her.”

Rey shoved herself away from the male Peroenian, glaring at the female. Her fists clenched.

“Give me my lightsaber, and the rest of my possessions, and your word that I won’t be followed, and I’ll give you my prisoner.”

Kylo scoffed into the silence. The female burst out a laugh.

“An entirely fair bargain, considering your prisoner has just rid the world of a few more Shorak. You may have anything you can carry.”

Rey turned, snatching her lightsaber from the male Peroenian’s hand. She passed the remnants of the fight. Reaching the dead lookout, she crouched down beside his body. She searched the pouch that lay in the grass beside him. Finding her comms, she snatched it up. She paused, glancing up over her shoulder at the female.

“Anything I can carry?” she asked.

“The Shorak may believe us liars, but I tell nothing but the truth. Anything at all,” the female said, with an idle laugh. Rey cleared her throat and stood up. She turned. Kylo Ren stood among four dead Shorak. Rey walked the short path towards him. She wrenched his lightsaber from his palm. Kylo frowned down at her. Rey slammed up a wall between their minds, clipping his lightsaber to the belt around his tunic. Summoning up the Force, she pulled at his arm, pulling him to bend over as she slid underneath. Slipping her hand against his inner thigh, she held the weight of him atop of her. The Force hummed in her body, making his weight feel like nothing at all.

“Scavenger.” Kylo bit out the warning. Avoiding the slain Shorak, Rey walked past the female Peroenian. She threw back her head in laughter.

Rey continued to walk, Kylo on her back, until the Peroenians’ growing laughter faded.

---

She trapped him in a Force bind, releasing him only when the supply ship touched the surface of D’Qar. Master Skywalker was there as she walked down the ramp.

“He approached me,” she said, dumping him onto the hard duracrete.

#kylo is running from both the FO and the resistance and hates everything #rey hates one person in particular #reylo #rey x kylo ren #star wars #otp: you're afraid #ch: rey #ch: kylo ren #eleanorwrites

[ciceroisthefamilycat]

So a couple weeks ago (wow time flies!), I made this post about a GOT/DCCW fusion… Below the cut are more fully formed opinions about the matter.

Originally I thought I had to choose between Kendra and Kara for the Dany role. Now though, I’ve realized I can have my cake and eat it too. So Kendra as the escaped daughter of “Rhaegar” (Rhaenys) and Kara as Rhaegar’s sister (Dany). However, Kendra would assume most of the story role of Dany. Savage would keep her essentially enslaved, until she met (Khal) Carter, fell in love, ran away with his khalasar and discovered her hawkish destiny. Cue Savage using magic to kill Carter and Kendra declaring war (with her khalasar of Thanagarian hawkpeople behind her) on Savage’s slave empire. We also get Mari as the Missandei-type translator (while her ancestress Amaya is roaming about as an enchantress with an amulet glamour keeping her young). Meanwhile, Kara would have been stolen away by Targaryen loyalists during the rebellion, but now be facing pressure from the Daxamites (the Blackfyres essentially) of the Free Cities- she’d play the role of f-Aegon except actually being legitimate, and would reluctantly come into “ownership” of the Unsullied. Queue animosity between her and Kendra until the realize the manipulations going on and team up together to go expand their empire to their rightful heritage.

As for Jon and Tyrion, I’d combine them, as an “unremarkable” Westerlands bastard- Gold, Richard Gold (he goes by Rip Hunter though). He’s travelled wide and far in the Seven Kingdoms- was even learning to be a maester until he met the love of his life and became frustrated with the Citadel’s refusal to accept her as a student. The local Warden’s men killed his wife and son for sport (and because a raven sent them word to), so he decided to join the Night’s Watch. Cue him becoming a steward because the Lord Commander Jonah Hex wants him as successor (Hex always wants him, and vice versa). Then they go north of the Wall on a mission and things go asunder and Rip infiltrates the wildlings and then comes back depressed again to be made Lord Commander. And he tries to convince the Citadel maesters that, yeah, the Others exist (the Night King is Darhk btw-) will you please send some help? And then a group of Watchmen betray and kill him. But it’s ok, because Amaya resurrects him. And sometime later he realizes he’s not just any bastard- he’s the legitimized son of a dead line. But he’s more focused on saving all of humanity at the moment.

Now, I’m a bit undecided, because Mick could make a great Sandor and Leonard could make a great Mance (King Beyond the Wall ftw, and Lisa would be great as Val), but then again Mick and Len could make a great Thoros and Berric respectively. So, let’s go with Len’s family in the Westerlands fostering Mick (and Lisa is another Westerlands bastard), but then Len gets disgraced because of his sexuality (sorry) and goes to the Wall. Then he becomes King Beyond the Wall. Meanwhile Mick is burned while hiding (and feels very guilty he hid even though Len has long since forgiven him), but it only increases his fascination with fire. He hides his sexuality and goes on to be a not-knight for the new royal family, before getting sent to squash rebellions, but he ends up going off to join Len beyond the wall (and show him this neat fire trick he can do with his sword- Len figures out how to do it with ice). The various Rogues are all wildings. In fact, because the Wall features so much magic, it imbues a whole bunch of the Watchmen with meta powers- hi Nate (Samwell) and Cisco and Barry and Ray and Jax and Martin, who was of the old royal family. Cynthia is Cisco’s Ygritte by the way. And Nate and Amaya fall in love. Rip sends Barry and Ray with Nate down to the Citadel, and when the rest of the Watch betrays Rip, the group of Jax and Martin and Cisco escape beyond the Wall with the wildlings’ help.

Meanwhile we’ve got the Lances (kinda) as the Starks. Quentin’s big bro Lawrence (played by Steven Ogg) died, leaving Quentin as Lord of Winterfell until Lawrence’s son Ronnie came of age. Quentin’s wife Dinah died after giving him two daughters, so eventually Quentin started a relationship with a seamstress in Winterfell, Donna (whose daughter Felicity he treats like his own since her father joined and then deserted the Night’s Watch- nobody knows where he got off to). Quentin was going to marry Ronnie off to his elder daughter Laurel (he doesn’t like cousin marriages, but it would secure his daughters’ future) or his ward Helena Bertinelli (Theon basically), but then Ronnie went and fell in love with a Northern bastard, Caitlin Snow, from the nearby land of Lord Zolomon. Felicity takes Bran’s role in the story, becoming paralyzed after a suspicious fall and then going beyond the wall to the Three Eyed Raven (hi Dad, because it’s her long-lost dad!) to learn greenseeing. She’s accompanied by Alena and Curtis. And Laurel and Sara play the roles of Sansa and Arya respectively, to some degree. So, the King asks Quentin to become his Hand, and thus Quentin’s branch of the Starks leave (though Felicity is still welcome at Winterfell in their absence). *Btw, their words are “death is not the end” and their sigil is a phoenix because I like it like that.

So who’s the King? I’m lazy and don’t want to do all the legwork for how the rebellion went down, but let’s go with Robert Queen’s sister (Malcolm Merlyn’s wife Rebecca) being stolen by the Prince (Kara’s older brother, Kendra’s father) and then Robert leading various allies (though some, like the Lances or the Wests of the Vale, were reluctant) to overthrow that dynasty. Thus the Queens, formerly of the Westerlands, came to power. Unbeknownst to Robert (who does try to be a good ruler), he’s not the only cheater in his marriage because Moira has been screwing Malcolm. When Felicity catches them, Moira pushes her out a window. So Moira is the Cersei in this situation, while Malcolm is not Jaime, but Littlefinger- that’s right, there be no incest here. Meanwhile Oliver is Jaime in other ways- the former king took him hostage when he was 10 and his father was rebelling, but was narrowly persuaded not to burn him alive- cue Oliver killing the old king while his back was turned. Now he’s one of the finest knights in the kingdom. And his father, in order to gain more Northern loyalty, engages him to Laurel while making Quentin the new hand. But Oliver is douchey and sleeps with Sara on the journey down, which Laurel finds out and keeps secret for reputation’s sake, but now she hates both.

Well, they get back to King’s Landing, where the Queen princess, Thea, and her (secret) half-brother Tommy stayed, and Quentin soon realizes, oh shit, Thea ain’t Robert’s. Malcolm shuts him up and frames him for- oh no- Robert’s death. Ronnie declares war. Sara, who’s secretly been training with Dornish knight Slade Wilson, escapes, but Slade is poisoned with Mirakuru and turned into an easy controllable monster for Malcolm. Laurel can’t get away in time. Oliver, though, also realizes something is amiss, leading to Malcolm having mind-controlled Thea push him off a wall- he hangs on, barely, until she cuts off his arm- he falls far below to water, but is rescued by a knight of the Vale, Diggle (who is kind of acting on orders of Waller- the Varys equivalent). But he is disfigured beyond immediate recognition- Thea carved off his face too- and must hide out with the Yamashiros on nearby Dragonstone while recuperating. The Lord of Dragonstone- Harry Wells, with Jesse as Shireen- acknowledges that Oliver is the rightful heir and helps him, albeit reluctantly, escape farther away to amass an army.  On his way down to avenge his uncle, Ronnie unwisely trusts Sebastian Blood, who massacres his people in a Red-Wedding-ish event, though Caitlyn is kept alive and sent off to Zoom (unbeknownst to them, she was revived from actual death and is now part wight ala Benjen- hello snow powers). Meanwhile, Sara is taking by allies of Slade to the League of Assassins, hidden in the deserts of Dorne, and begins to plot revenge on Littlefinger. Malcolm sews Oliver’s face to Tommy, and begins passing off his son as the true heir, and keeps that entire capital under his control (mostly using drugs), ready to burn the entire thing. The outer parts of the continent begin to go mad with worry though, especially as Kara and Kendra arrive. Oliver promises to surrender the country to them but wants to be able to save his loved ones in the capital, so he assembles a Suicide Squad with Tatsu and Dinah and others to save them- Sara gets the kill on Malcolm though. Then the wrecked kingdom turns its eye to the wight problem, and the Citadel/Watchmen contingent (who have killed Druce btw) have answers for them on how to win that battle. Booyah.

 EDIT (Sep 30)

So, today I found out about some beautiful dragon artwork that I thought I would share. No Rip dragon unfortunately, but there's Kendra, Kara, and Martin/Jax, as well as the general tag for this artwork (the artist has also done Sara, Laurel, Cisco, Oliver, Mari, Ray, and various versions of Barry).

#mine #I got to be a GOT fan #all the trigger warnings #(like really just... be warned) #long post #beneath the cut

[survivoremathia]

Ep. 9 - "I'm the Only Pure Angel in a Game of RATS and Sloths" - Owen

OWEN

I hope Isaac is okay but like.... tribal cancelled? NUT. Isaac did nothing for me in this game. We didn't talk. We didn't vote together. As far as I'm concerned, he was a chess piece in someone else's hands. So I'm glad that's a variable that was removed :~) rip. Honestly though I do hope that whatever happened works out okay :( ANyways, I'm pretty sure Scott would've gone just as an easy vote. Now, I'm not sure what's going to happen next! Maybe Scott will still go? Idk. There are still powers out there. Especially Logan's merge fuckery prize!! Maybe immunity will be something I can actually win this time. I hope it's fun.

LOGAN

Isaac? I hope youre okay, but you stole two things from me. 1. You stole my extra vote. I could have shown who my allies are this round, but I never got a chance. 2. YOU STOLE MY FIRST INDIVIDUAL IMMUNITY? I've never done that before, and the fact I would have stolen it from TREVOR makes me so much angrier.

-

So I still can't choose who to align myself with - Duncan, or Matt? If I'm with Duncan, I'm with Trevor, and I don't trust Trevor. If I'm with Matt, I'm probably in the bottom of the numbers, but I can pull a Sarah Mosey and hide behind his personality... same with any of the newbies, but I doubt they're worth hiding behind. 

ALI

Guess whose back, back again! Its ME! Welp, Isaac quitting made my exile stay somewhat underwhelming, importance wise, but him quitting and going to jury might be in my benefit. I was one of the few people he said who talked to him, and thus him going to jury without me having voted him out, might mean I'm still in his good graces, come F2/F3. Also, I love where I'm at in the merge tribe at the moment! I'm of course allied with J.D (still my number one), in the 'The Leal Jousewives of Atlanta' with Lydia and Trevor, and in 'The Hydra' with Matt and Sam. However, I'm also now close with Owen, and I have rebuilt a connection with Logan (even thought their lying to me about them going to room 9, which I am still kinda miffed about). Of those left, I like Ryan a lot too, and Scott trust me, so I don't think there are any issues there. Thus, the people 'on the outs' with me personally, are Duncan and David. Duncan, because I'm still super sketched out by that Rob idol play lie, and David, who I've barely spoken to. It seems like the general consensus for the next tribal is Scott, but then, I was talking to Owen about this yesterday, we feel like after that, this game will come alive and everyone is going to pounce. I finished the challenge, I went past 483, then went back to it, but I highly doubt I'll be first (I fell asleep ten mins before the challenge was posted, and completed it about 12 hours after it was set yikes)... I know concretely that I beat Scott however, so if he is the general consensus, he hasn't won immunity. What else is there... Hmmm, oh yeah, I'm somewhat conflicted, for my game's future. I feel like at some point soon-ish, me and JD will have to pick a side between our two four person alliances. If I had to pick now, I feel like we'll end up siding with 'TLJoA' alliance, as JD is definitely swaying towards them, and Sam is also close to Trevor, so we'd only be 'abandoning' one person (Matt). Ideally, I'd love to make F5 with TLJoA + Owen, because then, it'd almost be 'obvious' that me, Lydia and JD should vote out Trevor/Owen, as a duo. That's the goal at the moment! :)

-

Tonight has been amazing for me game-wise. I've FINALLY made headway with repairing my relationship with Duncan and forming one by David! Admittedly, the latter only really happened when I messaged him 'what rhymes with four hundred and eighty knee' :). Anywho, I won't complain- if it brings us together, I love it! :)

MATTEW

yeah so...it's final 11 now which means game time in my mind. With Isaac and Scott leaving the game, we're really left with a group that has a lot of big threats and nowhere to hide. A few rounds ago I led Logan to door #9 in an effort to keep whatever goodie it held out of Trevor's hands but that immediately backfired when a) it was apparently only an extra vote that is already expired and b) Sam told Trevor that I let Logan know what it was! I'd love to have faith in my alliance, but I'd be a fool not to expect Sam and Trevor to be working together after they both mutinied from the same tribe. However, at this point, I don't think it's within my best interest to just keep quiet and not make a big move because Trevor is probably paranoid as hell that Logan has an idol and according to Ryan, he said that I "need to go" after Sam exposed me so I could very well be a target this round. The thing is, Trevor has Owen and Lydia absolutely on lock, so I need at least one member of the Hydra to be on my side or else I'd have absolutely no chance at getting the numbers. Out of the three, I think I can convince Ali to side with me, so I'm really going to work on buttering him up and enticing him with the idea of a "big move" in the event that Sam and JD were onboard with a plan to blindside me. 

DUNCAN

Isaac quit and Scott got Med Evacd meaning i made final 11 sluts!!!! And Rob is on the jury!!! I'm going to take a shot in the dark and say Isaac quit bc Solomon Islands is coming up so he'll need to dedicate his time to hosting that, which I totally understand. On the not so bright side, I'm never getting his vote, oops. I had a meltdown in PI johto like a week ago and swung at a lot of people, Isaac included, and I think it left a bitter taste in his mouth. OOPS!! Apparently I'm not bound to have good social game in Athena games anymore. *abbey shrug* 

http://survivoremathia.tumblr.com/post/158530385221/immunity-9-password

http://survivoremathia.tumblr.com/post/158568335546/immunity-results-and-announcement

OWEN

im gay but i won immunity so that is cute

LYDIA

I can't say I'm completely comfortable with this vote.  I've done my best talking to people but no one has really reached out to talk game with me besides my original crew of Ali and JD, and then the new crew of Ryan, Trevor, and Owen.  JD and Ali have been working with Sam and Matt, and I'm really not sure if me and Matt can play nice together rn so I need them to break away from that combo.  Also I like Sam and all but I get strange vibes about him, I know he doesn't have much interest in playing with me, he's a nice kid tho.   Trevor is causing some drama.  Ryan thinks he's doing too much and making himself a threat, which I agree with.  Ryan is okay letting him self destruct and I'm really not, but I'm also not willing to throw Ryan under the bus.  So I wanted to tell Trevor to calm down without making it obvious that Ryan is the one who was talking about it, but I don't think I did that very well.  I probably just made him annoyed.   In other news, I'm nervous about this vote because I feel like Scott should be the obvious choice but honestly people might not want to do that.  I'm scared this will get flipped on myself because Matt might be mad and I'm unlikable, or Trevor because he's allegedly doing too much. 

-

When did Scott get medevaced??? God fuck shit now I actually have to talk to people. Son of a gun.....

ALI

Scott leaving has really made this next tribal super complex. My dream merged alliance of 'Me, Matt, JD, Sam, Trevor, Owen and Lydia'? Isn't happening. Why can't my dreams just come true ugh? What's worse, is that I MIGHT BE A GOSH DARN SWING VOTE. As it stands, Matt is amassing an army against Trevor, of Logan, Duncan, David, Ryan and himself with me as the sixth, and Trevor's alliance is himself, Lydia, Owen, Sam, JD and me AGAIN as the sixth. Well, I am trying to think it through, as to which side to go to. I am far better connected on the Trevor side of things (am close to JD and Sam, am in a four person alliance with Trevor and Lydia, really like Owen), but I am super concerned about a Trevor , Owen and Lydia power trio. Like really really concerned. On the other side, I'm not especially close with David, nor am I with Ryan. Logan and Duncan I've rebuilt relationships with, but we still have that Eddie vote that's preventing a solid alliance for being formed. I really like Matt though and want to stick with him. I have some plans. Plan A) This is the dream plan. If I can somehow dismantle this split vote, and make it a large majority, then I'm not pissing off like half the tribe and can keep working with Matt, alongside 'TLJoA people'. If we can pick off an easy target, like David (can't believe I just described a 10+ times player as an 'easy target' but anywho) and then delay this inevitable bloodbath, I can try and quash people's differences. Plan B) PANIC AND WORRY AND CRY AND STUFF Plan C) Just pick a side and pray For my first game, this is quite the trial by fire. I've been thrown way into the deep end.

LOGAN

if trevor blindsides me for the second time in org career together i will b one PO'd cookie

AMANDA

Hi Jay! It's me again! I just wanted to say hey and also you're great. Cami and Abbey too, since they will read this at some point. Love you all!

LOGAN

Amanda is my favorite mom today tho bc it's Sunday and she deserves it.

OWEN

Being under the radar is easy when you have immunity. Apparently Ryan told Lydia that Trevor was controlling so like.... that's good for me!! Everyone would target him before me, I think. But they can't forget the other trio in the game, Sam, Ali and JD. Sam in particular has been extra stupid to talk to because he won't bring up any names to me or talk game and it's almost as transparent as me trying to force him to lol. He never mentioned the idol to me even though Duncan claims that he knows I know anyway. Isn't that even more of a reason to bring it up...? Yeah it's... just not good!!! I don't wanna be too pushy but I think the best move for me is if David stays and Matt goes. I'm just worried that they'll try to flip it on Trevor or something. But I do have a plan for the rest of this game!! Here's the order I wanna get shit done :~) Matt Sam Ali Ryan Logan Duncan David JD That would be the ideal boot order... Assuming I want to be in the end with Trevor. It would be more ideal to me if Trevor were to leave at five or four because I think he would beat me. The problem is I don't want to write his name down and I know Lydia won't want to either? Which means something else would have to happen for him to go - like an idol play. I want Sam gone before he plays the damn cursed idol. But idk how I'll get that done next round. If Matt goes, I would need Ryan and his extra vote, Lydia, Trevor, myself, and David. Which sounds hard. Maybe I'll talk to David and tell him he's on the chopping block... but if that gets back to the others then they'll be sketched out by me and wanna vote out Trevor. God I would rather just go back to sleep than deal with this. The only thing Scott ever did to make the game harder was get his ass booted. Fuck that

-

Everyone was set on David but that's not good enough for me so! I tried bringing up voting Matt to Sam and he continues to avoid talking actual game with me so I brought it up to Ali and Ali clearly didn't wanna vote Matt out. Alright Ali!!! Interesting! Ali said that he's close with Matt and can keep an eye on him and so :) I went to duncan and was like Ali is close with Matt and so is Logan we need to do something. And then sometime during this I guess Matt brought up trevor's name and Sam told trevor and then duncan asked sam about voting matt and I just.... am screaming!!!! Hopefully Matt doesn't catch wind of this and hopefully Sam and Duncan decide it's better to vote for Matt than for David. Then we would just need Lydia and Ryan on board... and Idk what would happen with Ali and JD if they weren't told about the vote?? Either way if this works, and all I had to do was be the match that sparked the flame, I'll cry

TREVOR

https://youtu.be/BLR36h1uZHQ

DUNCAN

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=pxPn-7pD9lo&feature=youtu.be

RYAN PALMER

ok so chaos ryan is here yall! lets see if we can get trevor out tonight. if this works i fucking win. i dont care if i get voted out. it will be the most amazing move created in a half an hour on no sleep ever! LETS GET THIS GAME GOING! IM NOT HERE TO PLAY TREVORS GAME!

OWEN

Well well well!!! Looks like I'm the only pure angel in a game of RATS and sloths!! The Matt thing got rolling and the votes shifted away from David but then.... Matt pulled together a group to vote Trevor!!! Which Duncan may or may not be a part of. So theoretically they believe David, Logan, Matt, Ryan, Duncan, and JD are voting Trevor, Trevor Lydia and myself are voting Matt, and Ali and Sam are voting David?? But Sam and Ali know all about the Matt plan and JD told them all about the Trevor plan. So I guess it'll come down to both Duncan and the idols left. Trevor for some reason thinks Sam is gonna play an idol on him which I think is BS but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This whole Matt thing really let shit hit the fan huh!!! And I'm just sitting pretty :) Got my idol round my neck, my popcorn in my lap, and my 3D glasses on. I wanna see fireworks after tribal.

ALI

Literally, this vote is madness. Its turned into an all out war between Trevor and Matt. Its just too much for me :(. Like, I need sleep. Why can't everyone just get along lmao?!?

OWEN

Also can we talk about how Trevor still wanted to trust Ryan even after Ryan told Lydia that Trevor was a threat???? Sketch. Not on my watch, Ryan!

-

lmao me trying to convince Trevor to give me his idol and he won't!!!! sketch!!!!!

ALI

Please Sam! Play the gosh darn idol! :)

MATTHEW

So, I've been fishing around to see if anybody would be even willing to target Trevor and then Trevor does what Trevor does and causes chaos an hour before tribal so I have limited time to scramble. What started out as an "easy" David vote has now turned into a massive power struggle between myself and Trevor. There's really not a lot of people I trust at the moment, but Ryan Teddy Palmer is thankfully working his magic and helping me by trying to get numbers and using his extra vote advantage. It all comes down to where Ali and Sam lie. They're gonna decide my fate tonight. I want to trust in them because of our alliance but I know they were both kinda close to Trevor on their original tribes and I've had reason to believe they're both still kinda working with him, so this round is really gonna test where their loyalties lie. Unfortunately for me, if they don't choose me, I'm out of the game. I also can't stand Duncan's fakeness lol, he still holds a vendetta against me for retaliating against his move that was intended to screw me over. Like...4 of us voted your man out, not just me. But now he's besties with Trevor and wants me to go and it's just a hot mess. If I go out this round, I at least went down fighting, but I'm hoping that nothing crazy happens and Trevor is sent home once and for all.

ALI

Five minutes before the vote, and I'm having serious heart palpitations. Lord save me. This is sooooo scary.

http://survivoremathia.tumblr.com/post/158609555526/tribal-council-uh8-8 0

#allianceofone #episodes

[dancinginredshoes]

Sparkle Sparkle 2016 Gift

I drew @docholligay for her own Harumichi gift exchange! I ended up writing fics for two of her prompts instead of the one I planned to do. Happy Chanukah and New Years, Doc!

A Guide to Self Destruction

The Beginning Rehab was a joke. What else could it be if those in charge were just as damaged as those they were supposed to be helping? The night shift had never been pleasant to her health, not even when she started. Of course, back then Haruka had just been the newbie: only stuck on night shift since she had no seniority. It was awful, but it paid enough to get her a real apartment, her own apartment. She was finally free of her mother’s house and eventually, if she just kept pushing through, she would amass enough time to be free from this terrible eternal night.

But then her Gran fell. She had been the one to take her to the ER. She was the one who had to listen to the doctors explain that this fall was just a symptom of something far worse. She had cried alone in the bathroom trying to process it all.

It was probably then that she started cutting again. There, in the poorly lit ER bathroom, she used her Swiss army knife to open a thin red line across her belly. As the blood welled up, she could hear it whisper promises of control and release. Haruka just cleaned it up and headed back to her Gran’s room.

From there on, she took over as her Gran’s primary care giver. It’s not like anyone else in the family was going to. She set up Gran in her bed and took to sleeping on the couch. She was fine helping Gran in the toilet or after she was sick—she had become immune to bodily fluids from work. Haruka learned to subsist in coffee alone and used all of the money she had to feed and medicate her. She signed up for the night shift indefinitely in order to scrape together just a little bit more.

Do you know what it’s like to try to live on almost no sleep? Haruka guessed it was similar to being raised from the dead; she was functioning but most of what made her her was gone or wrong now. So the cutting never really went away. She had meant to stop when she brought Gran home, but it honestly had just gotten worse.

Every night during her break time, she would sneak off to one of the less used bathrooms and draw little lines on her skin. Yes she knew it was a bad way to exercise control and blah blah blah… But, God, it was the only time in the day that she did something for her self. With every little red track revealed, she would release a little rush of joy.

But it all changed when she got interrupted by a patient. And not just any patient, but the one that was incredibly gorgeous to boot! Haruka didn’t understand at all why, instead of bolting or ratting her out or even making fun of her, this woman helped her clean up the cuts and just talked with her.

And she came back the next night and the one after that and so on. And Haruka found herself drowning in Michiru’s eyes and the sound of her voice. She knew that this had moved beyond acceptable patient/orderly friendliness, but it was so easy to trade one harm for another. So, when Michiru first went up on tiptoes to kiss her, Haruka didn’t even try to resist. She just fell.

The Ending Rehab was a farce, just like everything else. Her parents had never taken interest in her life until her frivolities found their way into the tabloids. What she did behind closed doors had always been fine until it began to taint the public image her parents had painted. So they publicly lamented and leaked pictures of her checking into rehab to the press while, behind closed doors, Michiru had lost both her financial stream and her medical autonomy. She still wasn’t quite sure which she was more miffed at.

At least she had been given a private room. When she was released from counseling or group “enrichment”, she would retreat to solitude. When she decided to entertain, it was in her single. When she had left her room earlier, it had still been a private room.

So there was no reason for another patient to be reclining on her bed eating pudding.

“Excuse me, but you appear to have mistaken my room for yours. Would you please leave?” It wasn’t a request, but, in response, the other patient sucked on her spoon for a moment and released it with a pop.

“Nope.”

At the beginning of her stay, Michiru would have enjoyed breaking this girl. Putting the full force of her anger into the cat and mouse games that would keep this annoying addict from ever looking her way without cringing would have a fair substitute for her captors. But tonight had been nice. The past few weeks had been nice. The feel of running her hands through soft blonde hair, the ache in her calves from reaching up on tiptoe, the warmth of lips against hers whispering her name. No, she would rather use her energy on remembering the thrill and buzz, not dealing with a problem.

She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and crossed the room to the call button.

“Dr. Meiou is dealing with another patient, and Nurse Hino is taking her fifteen minute break now. It’s a waste hitting the call button; no one is going to answer.”

Michiru turned back to the intruder but stayed near the call button.

“What an interesting answer. For what reason do you know the night nurse’s schedule?” The girl on the bed sat up and smiled.

“I’m a people person. I’m a night owl. And,” she twirled her spoon. “I’m in here often.”

“So what does a insomniac repeat addict want?”

“I want you to stop.” All humor dropped from the interloper’s voice. Leaving her trash on the bed, she got up and leaned against the wall facing Michiru. “For the past week, you have been sleeping with Haruka, and you need to break it off. Now.”

Michiru’s cheeks reddened, but she kept the shock out of her voice.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business--”

“It’s not. It’s not any of my business if a patient and an orderly are having an affair. But did you know that Haruka’s grandmother is ill? That the only reason her grandmother receives good care is because Haruka is looking after her herself? Do you know how much she makes a year as an orderly? How the only reason she works nights is it pays just a little bit more? How even with that she can barely afford her box of an apartment and food let alone deal with an ailing relative to boot?” She slammed her fist into the wall near Michiru’s face and leaned in close. “I’m in intimate contact with rich bastards like you all of the time, and I’ve seen first hand how you work. This is all a cute distraction from how dull this retreat mummy and daddy sent you on is but when this all comes to light—and it always does—it’s not people like you who deal with the fall out. It’s people like her. A budget cut is enough to fire her. A scandal? That would be her career.”

Michiru clenched her hands to keep them from shaking, “D-don’t think you can threaten me!”

The girl just laughed and pulled back.

“If I thought I could make you run, I’d have already hidden the drugs in your room or beat that pretty face.” She reached behind her and adjusted the bright red bow in her hair. “What’s fucked up is that I actually think you like her—and I get it, she is easy to like. So I’m throwing all of my money away on the chance that you like her enough to not want to hurt her.”

She walked to the door of the room and turned to blow back a kiss. “And don’t let that be a wasted bet.”

The whirlwind left the room and Michiru stayed against the wall. She could see the obvious carrot and stick tactic—it wouldn’t be hard to maneuver against it, to retaliate, to continue on with those sweet caresses. Instead, she rose, got into bed, and let the taste of a kiss go cold on her lips.

It’s My Party and I’ll Kill You If I Want To Michiru knew too many builders. They would amass things like power, money, or even a large number of muscles to lord over others. They didn’t need words, just an institution behind them. I am the mountain, they’d seem to say, how can a small sapling like you grow in the darkness of my shade? There was only an inch of height she would need to counter. Her delicate and sharp heels were more than enough to cut to the heart of a mountain.

She knew too many insects too. People who liked to find small ways to nip at their target undetectable to the rest of the world. Then when the victim finally snapped—and they always did—the vermin could claim to be the victim and use society against their target. Michiru had enough nets to keep the bloodsuckers off of her. Still, she could easily pluck a fly from the air with none the wiser.

But why be a mountain? A fly? She would erode the mountain and drown the fly.

And the tide went out…

Michiru slid herself effortlessly between a rock and a hard place, halting the argument in place. She pressed her body against her lover as if everything was still the party it had been. Still she kept her one leg bent behind her to show the stiletto’s warning to the other one.

“Haruka, darling, they’re about to bring out the cake, and everyone is wondering where you went.”

Lowering her voice she said, “Also Aino has already found her way onto one of the tables and is refusing assistance.” She gently touched Haruka’s arm. “I fear you’re the only one who can get her down safely.” Haruka took one last moment to glare at Seiya before nodding and heading back to the group’s table. For all of her anger, her hand was ever soft in Michiru’s grasp. As soon as Haruka was far enough gone, she heard a voice behind her.

“Excuse me Miss Kaioh, I didn’t mean—”

The tide roared back to the shore.

“Of course you did.” She turned and caught Seiya’s eyes. “You are a scared and lost little pup in the wake of your master’s disappearance.” Seiya tried to cut her off, but there was no stopping the cascading words. “Yes, it must feel good to goad others into fights. You can work off your tension and still come out the moral victor.”

Seiya didn’t say anything, but remained where she was.

“Even better if you can challenge your way into a new pack. A new master, new orders, you wouldn’t have to expend so much energy on thinking.”

Never dropping her gaze, Michiru came closer and placed her hand on the other girl’s shoulder. Whispering into her ear, “But how does it feel to know you will never woo the girl you think you love? With every fight you claim in her name, the more she will turn from you in disgust. You will never be her knight—you are not even fit to be her dog.” She dug her finely manicured nails into the girl’s shoulder and let go.

“Now be off. I’ve been planning Haruka’s party for months, and she will enjoy it.”

The sea released her and strode away, never looking back. Maybe she was allowed to breathe for a bit, but Seiya wasn’t sure if she was free from drowning.

#sm thoughts #Harumichi #tw: self-injury #tw: substance abuse